Chapter Text
The week had passed in a blur - between celebrating his acceptance to U.A. with All Might to attempting to use his new quirk to no avail, Izuku had been busy.
Morning light pooled faintly through the curtains, soft and gray against the edges of his desk. His alarm had about five more minutes until it would ring. Izuku sat on top of his bedsheets and closed his eyes. The air felt cool on his skin, the kind that made him want to stay still a little longer, as if motion would shatter something delicate.
His phone sat on the nightstand, facedown. Izuku let it say there.
He exhaled through his nose and swung his legs out of bed. The floorboards creaked lightly under his weight. His uniform jacket hung neatly over his chair - he had ironed last night, though his hands had trembled with anticipations the entire time. He’d wanted to look the part, even if he didn’t feel it.
Breakfast was quick, just a protein shake that his mentor had recommended. His mother had already left for work, a note by the sink reminding him to eat properly and call her after class. Her handwriting was steady but rushed. There was no first day of school lunch box, just this small acknowledgment.
He read it twice more before slipping it into his pocket.
Outside, the air was brisk and clean, the faint smell of rain clinging to the pavement. Izuku walked fast, chin up, adjusting his strap every few steps. He thought about the new power thrumming under his skin, about how excited he was for his firs day of school, about how strange it felt to be heading somewhere he’d only dreamed of.
He didn’t feel ready. But he was going anyway.
The gates of U.A. came into view before he realized how far he’d walked. They rose tall and silver against the bright morning, sharp lines cutting across the sky.
Izuku had read and reread U.A.’s welcome packet until the pages went soft at the edges, it had helped him fully realize that it was actually happening, and not just some dream.
When he stepped through the gates of U.A., the morning light felt warm - slicing through the chill air and catching on the iron bars above him. His stomach fluttered somewhere between awe and nausea. Students streamed past, laughing, confident, already moving like they belonged here. He adjusted the strap of his bag and told himself to keep walking.
He eased the door open. The room was larger than he expected, sunlight cutting sharp rectangles across the floor. Rows of desks stood perfectly straight, and a few students were already seated, voices low, energy taut like a rubber band before a snap.
Izuku stepped inside, trying not to draw attention. His eyes flicked automatically across the room, taking in the details and patterns of the area. It was a habit he’d picked up in middle school. The tall boy with the square glasses stood out immediately, talking animatedly with someone about classroom etiquette and the importance of punctuality. His gestures were sharp, deliberate, almost too formal for a first morning.
“Ah— you must be the green-haired student who passed through recommendation?” the boy said, catching Izuku’s hesitant glance.
Izuku startled slightly. “Oh, um—no. Just… general admission.”
The boy blinked, then straightened even more, if that was possible. “Then allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Tenya Iida, from Somei Private Academy.”
“Midoriya,” Izuku replied, managing a small, polite smile. “Izuku Midoriya.”
Iida nodded briskly, clearly approving of the formality. “It’s a pleasure. I hope we’ll uphold the standards expected of U.A. students.”
Izuku just nodded. He appreciated the earnestness, even if it made him feel slightly out of sync with the room. His gaze drifted past Iida and froze.
Katsuki Bakugou sat near the middle rows, legs sprawled, arm slung across the back of his chair. His expression was unreadable, jaw set, eyes locked on something far beyond the room.
For a second, Izuku thought about walking the other way. But Kacchan noticed him first.
Their eyes met, and the faintest twitch pulled at the corner of Bakugou’s mouth - something between annoyance and recognition.
“Tch. I’m surprised they let you into this school,” he muttered, voice low enough that only Izuku could hear.
Izuku held his gaze, heart thudding but not racing. “Guess they did.”
Kacchan clicked his tongue again. He leaned back, arms crossed, and let out a small “Hmm.”
They weren’t on the worst of terms, but certainly not the best.
Izuku turned toward the nearest open seat. His hands were steady as he set his bag down, but his chest felt heavier than before.
He didn’t need Kacchan's approval. He told himself that again and again, as the classroom filled and the chatter swelled. Suddenly the blonde turned in his chair to look Izuku straight into the eyes.
“How did you do it?”
Izuku froze, and stammered, “Wha…”
Kacchan snapped, “Cut the crap, how did you get into U.A. quirkless?” He glared up at him with sharp eyes, scanning Izuku for answers.
“Ahh, Kacchan. About that-”
Then the door at the front slid open, and a tired voice cut through the noise.
“If you’re here to socialize,” it said, “you can leave now.”
A man with hair black and tangled and eyes half-lidded wrapped in a scarf stood at the front of the class. The room fell silent in an instant.
The class went silent all at once. There were no whispers, no rustling, just the faint hum of the lights and the squeak of a chair leg sliding back as someone froze mid-turn. Twenty new students, suddenly unsure if breathing too loud would count as “socializing.”
The man at the front looked nothing like any teacher Izuku had ever met. His black hair hung loose and uneven around his shoulders, and a heavy gray scarf was wrapped messily around his neck like it was there to hide behind. His eyes were half-lidded, dull but sharp all at once, like he’d already seen everything there was to see and none of it had impressed him.
“Get changed,” he said, voice low and unbothered. “PE clothes. Meet me outside.”
The silence held for a beat longer before a tall boy with neatly pressed clothes and square glasses raised a hand, his movement crisp and rehearsed.
“Sir! Weren’t we scheduled to attend the opening ceremony before homeroom?”
The teacher’s expression didn’t change. “You’re in the hero course. You don’t need an assembly to tell you that.”
A few people exchanged glances, uncertain whether that was supposed to be funny. It wasn’t.
The man - teacher, apparently - turned on his heel and walked out, the door sliding shut behind him with a quiet click.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Then a low murmur rose, awkward and uneven.
“That was… weird,” someone said near the back.
“Guess they don’t waste time here,” another replied.
Izuku stood slowly, tucking his notebook back into his bag. His pulse still hadn’t settled. There was something about the teacher’s tone that pressed down on his chest. It wasn’t anger, exactly. It was expectation.
He followed the others into the hall, keeping his head down. The buzz of conversation followed them half-thrilled.
“This is so intense already.”
“Do you think he’s testing us or something?”
“Man, he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week…”
Izuku didn’t join in. He trailed at the edge of the group, steps measured, gaze flicking between shoes and shadows. The hallway’s white walls reflected everything too brightly; the overhead lights made the world feel sterile and unreal..
Kacchan walked with that same sharp confidence he always had, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted slightly down but somehow daring anyone to meet his eyes. A few students glanced at him, whispering and probably already sensing that something about him felt dangerous.
Izuku’s throat tightened.
He hadn’t spoken to him since the exam results. Not properly. Not since everything changed.
Now’s your chance. The thought came unbidden, small but insistent. You could tell him. You could say you have a quirk now. That you made it too.
He opened his mouth—
“Hey, Kacch—”
The word caught.
Kacchan’s eyes flicked sideways for just a second. A glance, nothing more. Cold, unreadable.
Izuku froze, the rest of the sentence dying on his tongue. The air between them felt razor-thin, humming with something brittle.
Kacchan looked away first, muttering something under his breath to the red-haired boy walking beside him.
Izuku let out a slow, silent breath. His hands trembled where they hung at his sides, so he curled them into fists and shoved them into his pockets.
Not now. It’ll sound stupid. He won’t care.
The group kept moving. Izuku followed.
In the locker room, the air was cool and metallic, tinged with detergent and the faint sharpness of floor polish. The noise level climbed again once they were away from the teacher—laughter, chatter, the slam of locker doors echoing off the tile.
Izuku found an empty bench near the corner. He set his bag down quietly and began to change, careful with every movement. Around him, students swapped names, joked about uniforms that didn’t fit right, tried to sound confident.
He didn’t say anything.
The cloth of the gym shirt felt stiff, new, almost too clean. He tugged the hem once, twice, as if that would help him breathe easier.
By the time he stepped outside, the air felt different—open, warm, filled with the sharp scent of grass and sun-warmed dirt. The field stretched wide before them, ringed by a track and a row of orange cones.
The teacher was already waiting. The same scarf, the same dull, unamused stare. The breeze tugged at his hair, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Izuku slowed his pace, hanging back as the others gathered around.
“Alright,” the teacher said, voice even but carrying easily over the space. “Let’s see what you can actually do.”
The class was still again. It wasn’t the words that drew silence, it was the tone. Dry. Final. Like he already knew some of them weren’t going to measure up.
A flicker of excitement broke the tension for a few students. A red-haired boy grinned, whispering something about finally using their Quirks. A dark-haired girl beside him shifted nervously.
Izuku didn’t speak, didn’t smile. He felt that same low hum of unease settle in his ribs. He could also feel the buzz of his quirk.
Telling All Might had been a shock.
Izuku stood near the waterline, his sneakers sinking slightly into the sand. The wind tugged at his hair as he watched the sea stretch out before him. He’d been here so many times that it felt like the place itself remembered his steps.
Behind him came a familiar voice, half laughter, half pride.
“You’ve really turned this place around, young Midoriya!”
Izuku turned, a faint smile flickering across his face. All Might stood a few paces back, thin and small in his true form, wrapped in that ever-present air of exhaustion. Yet his grin was still there, bright and genuine.
“You wanted to talk?” All Might asked, stepping closer.
Izuku nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, um… there’s something I need to tell you. About my Quirk.”
All Might tilted his head, the grin softening. “Go on.”
Izuku looked down at his hands. The sea breeze chilled his skin, but his palms felt hot - he wiped them on his shirt, and just started speaking. Izuku hesitated. “You told me it would feel like power surging through me. Like energy waiting to be released. But… that’s not what it feels like.”
The wind stirred, carrying the faint crash of waves. All Might’s expression grew more serious. “What do you mean?”
Izuku’s fingers twitched as if recalling the sensation. “It’s not just energy. It’s— I don’t know, tangible. Like something moving inside me that isn’t mine.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “When I use it, it feels like there are these… threads. Or tendrils. They wrap around my arms, under my skin, and it’s like I can feel them pull.”
All Might blinked. “Tendrils?”
Izuku nodded quickly, words spilling faster now that he’d started. “At first I thought it was just the energy, but it doesn’t spread evenly. It moves. It reacts. When I focus too hard, it lashes out—like it’s trying to escape.”
He laughed weakly, but there was no humor in it. “That’s not what you meant when you said ‘stockpiled power,’ right?”
For once, All Might didn’t answer right away. He stared out at the sea, his features tight with thought. “No,” he admitted slowly. “That’s not how it ever felt for me.”
Izuku’s stomach sank. “So I did something wrong.”
All Might turned sharply, the concern in his eyes immediate. “No. Absolutely not. You couldn’t have. You inherited it properly.”
He exhaled, shoulders easing slightly but his voice still low. “Still… what you’re describing doesn’t match what I’ve known. One For All builds up power, yes, but it shouldn’t behave with a will of its own.”
Izuku rubbed his arm, gaze unfocused. “It doesn’t feel like just power, All Might. It feels alive. Like if I stop paying attention, it’ll tear through me.”
All Might’s lips pressed together. He didn’t contradict him this time. “You’re certain it happens only when you activate the Quirk?”
Izuku nodded. “It’s like there’s something inside me waiting to move, responding to my feelings, and when it does I’m not sure I’m the one in control.”
The silence that followed was long, heavy.
Finally, All Might placed a hand on his shoulder - ocean breeze making the golden strands around his face curl and sway. “You’ve always had instincts sharper than you realize. If something feels wrong, we’ll treat it seriously. We’ll train, test, and figure out exactly what’s happening.”
Izuku nodded, though the worry in his chest didn’t fade.
“I just thought it was supposed to feel like yours,” he murmured.
All Might’s expression softened, a quiet sadness flickering behind his smile. “One For All changes with each generation. Maybe it’s changing for you in ways even I couldn’t predict.”
The silence stretched, broken only by the crash of waves.
Finally, All Might exhaled through his nose. “You didn’t hurt yourself?”
Izuku shook his head quickly. “No, but it scared me. It felt like it was going to tear me apart from the inside. Like I couldn’t hold it all.”
All Might glanced toward the ocean, jaw tightening.
Izuku’s chest sank and he could hear his racing heart pounding against his chest. “So something’s wrong with me?”
All Might’s gaze snapped back to him, the firmness in his tone immediate. “No. Not wrong.” He hesitated, then added, softer, “But perhaps there’s more to this Quirk than even I understood.”
The wind picked up, scattering fine grains of sand across their shoes. Izuku wrapped his arms loosely around himself, watching the horizon.
“I didn’t want to tell anyone,” he admitted. “Not until I understood it. But I don’t. I can’t control it. And it feels like if I push too far again, I might-”
He didn’t finish.
All Might’s hand landed on his shoulder, steady but light. “You did the right thing telling me, young man. Fear of your own power is not weakness - it’s wisdom. We’ll figure this out together.”
Izuku looked up, searching All Might’s face for certainty, for something to quiet the unease curling under his ribs.
All Might smiled again, smaller this time but sincere. “You’ve inherited more than my strength, it seems. But even if this power takes a different form, it’s still yours to master.”
The tide rolled in, brushing the edges of their shoes. Izuku nodded, slow but sure.
“I’ll learn to control it,” he said quietly. “I have to.”
All Might’s gaze softened, pride and worry mingling in his eyes. “I know you will, my boy. I have full faith in you.”
He adjusted his sleeves, fingers brushing against the fabric—something to ground himself out of that memory and back to the present. The wind carried the faint sound of someone’s shoes scuffing the pavement, the steady rhythm of breathing beside him.
He didn’t know what kind of test this would be.
He just knew he couldn’t afford to mess up.
The morning air was sharp with early spring chill, bright sunlight bouncing off the red-and-white uniforms as the students followed their new teacher to the training field. He didn’t introduce himself or offer a smile, just walked ahead with slouched shoulders and a long, tattered scarf dragging faintly over the ground.
He stopped abruptly and turned to face them, eyes half-lidded and unreadable. “You’ve all done physical tests in middle school,” he said, voice low and rough. “But you weren’t allowed to use your Quirks then.”
He held up a small tablet, the sunlight flashing off its screen. “In this class, we’ll see what your Quirks can actually do. The one who places last…” He paused long enough for the quiet to stretch thin. “…will be expelled.”
The silence that followed was tight and disbelieving. Someone laughed nervously. “You’re joking, right?”
He didn’t respond. The wind brushed across the field, stirring the edges of his scarf, but he just stood there, completely still. Izuku shifted slightly, watching the man’s face for any sign of humor. There wasn’t one.
Bakugou snorted from somewhere behind him. “Expelled, huh? Sure. Let’s see it then.”
The teacher didn’t acknowledge the tone. He just tossed a soft ball toward Bakugou. “You got eighty meters in middle school, right? Try again. This time, with your Quirk.”
Bakugou grinned, rolling his shoulders like he’d been waiting for this. “Heh. Gladly.”
He wound up and threw. The explosion cracked through the air, scattering dust as the ball disappeared into the bright sky. The sound echoed off the empty field.
“Seven hundred and five meters,” the teacher said, glancing at his tablet.
The class erupted with gasps and excited chatter. Izuku’s pulse picked up as he watched. The sight of the ball vanishing into the distance made his fingers twitch. He could feel the restless power just beneath his skin. It had been constant ever since the day he inherited All Might's quirk, like a low, silent current running through his veins.
“You’ll each do the same tests,” the teacher said, slipping the device back into his pocket. “Fifty-meter dash, grip strength, long jump. Go all out. I’ll know if you’re holding back.”
The tone made something in Izuku’s stomach tighten.
They started with the dash. Iida lined up beside him, straight-backed and focused, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s both give this our all!” he said earnestly.
Izuku nodded, offering a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The signal beeped, and Iida shot forward in a burst of speed, engines roaring from his calves. Izuku followed, still unable to control his quirk he had to rely on his muscles and speed work.
He crossed the finish line a bit after Iida. Not spectacular, but really good for racing quirkless. The other boy had shaken his hand after the run, and patted Izuku on the back.
The rest of the tests blurred together in rhythm. Standing long jump, grip strength, endurance. Izuku kept his head down, focused on giving his all. He didn’t feel the hum of his new quirk once.
Then came the ball throw.
The teacher’s eyes landed on him. “Midoriya. You’ve been holding back.”
Izuku blinked.
“Show me what you can do.”
The words dropped heavy in his chest. The ball felt too light in his hand, the seam pressing against his fingers. He exhaled through his nose and focused. His brows furrowed as the thought. Just the strength. Not the other thing.
He pulled energy from deep within, that bright, surging force All Might had described, warm like a build-up of raw power waiting to explode. He took a deep breath, and… He threw.
The air cracked, the ball vanishing into the sky. His shoulder burned from the recoil, but when he looked down at his arm there was only a faint glow of black and green radiating off his arm like an ozone.
The teacher lifted the tablet again. “Seven hundred and thirty meters.”
Izuku let out a slow breath, relief washing through him.
The teacher gave a small, unreadable look. “You controlled it well,” he said, then turned away.
When the tests ended, the class gathered again, tired and buzzing with chatter. The teacher’s voice cut cleanly through the noise. “Hero work isn’t about being your best. It’s about being competent when it counts.”
His tone was flat, but his eyes lingered on Izuku for just a heartbeat longer than anyone else’s.
When they were dismissed, Izuku stayed behind for a moment, staring down at his hands. The faint buzz of energy still lingered beneath his skin, quiet but present, like a living thing breathing just below the surface. He clenched his fists and exhaled, steady but uncertain.
Aizawa stood at the edge of the field, tablet in hand, eyes half-hidden under messy hair. The class had gathered around him, still winded from the last test. Sweat and dust hung in the cool air. Nobody dared talk too loud.
He scrolled through the results, expression unreadable. “Alright,” he said finally. “These are your overall rankings.”
He turned the screen toward them, and a holographic list projected above his device.
- Katsuki Bakugou
2. Shoto Todoroki
3. Tenya Iida
4. Momo Yaoyorozu
5. Ochako Uraraka
6. Fumikage Tokoyami
7. Mezo Shoji
8. Eijiro Kirishima
9. Tsuyu Asui
10. Denki Kaminari
11. Mina Ashido
12. Hanta Sero
13. Kyoka Jiro
14. Izuku Midoriya
15. Koji Koda
16. Rikido Sato
17. Toru Hagakure
18. Yuga Aoyama
19. Minoru Mineta
20. — Expelled
A beat of silence followed before Aizawa continued, voice even and dry: “That was a logical ruse. No one’s getting expelled. Not today, anyway.”
The collective exhale from the class was loud enough to be almost comical. Uraraka clutched her chest. “You scared us, sensei!”
Aizawa didn’t respond. His gaze moved briefly across the list again, and then the teacher walk out of the training area.
Fourteenth. Higher than he’d expected and still barely middle of the pack, but not last. His chest tightened with a small, shaky breath of relief.
Soon, his other classmates began filing out as well. There were whispered sighs of relief and small conversations.
Izuku trailed a few steps behind, still half lost in thought.
“You did really well out there.”
He turned, jumping with a curt yelp. Uraraka had slowed her pace to match his, her uniform jacket draped over her arm. “I mean, fourteenth? That’s super good, considering that teacher guy basically said he’d kick people out.”
Izuku blinked, caught off guard by the easy warmth in her tone. “Ah, um - thank you. You were incredible too! Fourth place is really good.”
“Ha! I almost floated off during the long jump,” she said with a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Guess I should’ve practiced that more.”
He was smiling, grin reaching ear to ear as he felt completely out of his element. Nobody ever sought out to talk to Izuku.
Before he could think of a response, a sharp, rhythmic sound of footsteps joined them. Iida caught up, arms swinging stiffly, his intensity softened.
“Midoriya-kun! Uraraka-san! I must say, your performances were quite impressive. Especially considering the circumstances of this test.” He adjusted his glasses. “Frankly, I’m still unsure whether that expulsion threat was entirely a bluff.”
Izuku scratched the back of his neck, offering a small, unsure smile. “Yeah, I’m... not sure either.”
Uraraka laughed again, bright and nervous. “If it wasn’t, we’re all lucky we didn’t mess up too bad.”
The three of them fell into step together as they reached the locker hallway. Izuku could feel his heart thrumming in his chest, a fluttering he hadn’t felt before. Around them, students were chatting, laughing in little bursts. Izuku stayed quiet, content just to listen. There was something comforting in the sound - the kind of normalcy he hadn’t realized he missed.
Iida held open the locker room door for both of them, posture perfect. “We should strive to maintain this momentum for tomorrow’s lessons,” he said, tone earnest.
“Yeah,” Uraraka agreed, grinning. “Team... tentative friends, right?”
Izuku glanced between them - her grin, Iida’s serious face flashed with a hit of surprise - and found himself smiling back before he could stop it.
“Right,” he said quietly. “Tentative friends.”
For the first time all day, the weight on his chest eased just a little.
Izuku sat on the bench near the back, untying his shoes, trying to keep his breathing steady. His arms still ached from the tests, the hum of his quirk still faint beneath his skin. He wasn’t sure if it was pride or fear making his chest feel so tight.
A locker door slammed somewhere behind him loud and deliberate. Izuku flinched before he could stop himself.
Kacchan stood a few feet away, towel draped over his shoulders, hair damp and wild. His eyes were fixed on Izuku like he was staring at a puzzle that refused to make sense.
“So that was you out there,” he said finally, voice sharp but too controlled to be a full explosion. “All that showsmanship. That was your Quirk?”
Izuku froze. He could feel his pulse pick up, that same electric buzz crawling under his skin again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess so.”
Kacchan scoffed, but it didn’t sound confident. “Guess so? You just got one? Out of nowhere?” He gave a sharp laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The hell did you do, Deku - fall into a vat of sludge and come out special?”
Izuku’s stomach twisted. He looked down at his hands, forcing his voice to stay level. “It... just happened. I didn’t plan it.”
Kacchan stepped closer, expression flickering between anger and something else, something that looked a lot like betrayal. “You had me thinking you were nothing for years. Then you show up here-” He gestured vaguely toward the exit. “-and pull that crap? You holding out on me or what?”
“I wasn’t,” Izuku said quickly, standing without realizing it. “Kat—” He caught himself. “Kacchan, I’m not lying. I didn’t even know what was happening until recently.”
The other teenager’s jaw twitched, a small, sharp reaction he didn’t hide fast enough. He clicked his tongue, stepping back. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. You’ve got something now - good for you, or whatever. Just don’t start thinking you’re on my level.”
He snatched his bag from the bench and slung it over his shoulder, moving toward the door.
Izuku stayed frozen, his reflection faintly visible in the row of metal lockers. The door shut behind Kacchan with a heavy echo, leaving the air thick and still.
Izuku lingered for a minute after Kacchan left, the echo of the slammed door fading into the low hum of the vents. He sat back down, elbows on his knees, staring at the tiled floor until the sharp ache in his chest dulled to something manageable.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. He’s just angry. He’ll calm down.
But the words didn’t settle right. They never did when it came to Kacchan.
By the time he stepped out of the locker room, the halls had thinned out. Late afternoon light filtered through the high windows, soft and painting the floor in stripes. He adjusted the strap of his bag, straightened his jacket, and tried to push the encounter to the back of his mind.
When he caught sight of Uraraka waving from near the exit and Iida standing beside her, arms folded as he said something earnest. Izuku hesitated for a heartbeat, then forced a small smile and walked toward them.
By the time they reached the school gates, the sky had started to turn gold, clouds streaked with orange and pink. Students peeled off in different directions, voices echoing faintly down the street.
Uraraka waved, backpack bouncing against her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Midoriya! Iida!”
“Rest well!” Iida called back, bowing a little too formally.
Izuku lifted his hand in a small wave, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah... see you.”
He watched them go, Uraraka turning a corner, Iida disappearing into the crowd, and then started toward the station. The late-day light caught on the windows of nearby buildings, sharp and warm, glinting off the edges of his shoes with every step.
For the first time in a long while, the walk home didn’t feel so heavy. His muscles still ached, and the ghost of Aizawa’s threat still pressed at the back of his mind, but something else had settled there too. Something quiet, like cautious hope.
He’d spent years imagining what it would be like to stand beside other future heroes. He never thought it would feel this messy or uncertain. Most of all it felt real.
As the city sounds rose around him and Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Tomorrow, everything would start for real. But tonight, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he belonged here. He could feel the hum of One for All under his skin. It was always there - but right now it felt warm.