Chapter Text
The rescue was completed shortly after. Izuku wouldn’t lie—he did feel a bit more relieved after talking to his mom. He knew he had only one goal: touch Chisaki and steal his quirk. He had to wait patiently for the fight between Mirio and Chisaki to begin, watch, and touch him at the exact right moment. That was it. Just wait and wait.
And even though he had been hiding ever since he left the house, Izuku couldn’t deny that he felt something. And that “something” was a strange, ominous feeling. When he mentioned it to Aizawa, the man reassured him by saying it was just nerves, that it was normal.
Finally, watching the battle from afar —which was certainly devastating— he saw the moment Mirio grabbed Eri while she seemed to lose control of her quirk, and Chisaki transformed into a strange mass. He knew that was the moment. Trying to dodge the destruction around him, Izuku threw himself toward Chisaki, touched him, and felt that familiar sensation of the quirk flowing into him.
He watched Chisaki slowly return to his human form, and saw everyone rushing in his direction. But then he noticed something else: someone was hiding.
And before anyone else could see it, Izuku ran toward that person.
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“Tomura,” was the first thing Izuku said once he confirmed they were far enough from the others. He stared at the young man in front of him with complete neutrality.
“What are you doing here? Were you working with Chisaki?” he asked, showing no emotion at all.
He would’ve never imagined that someone so bratty and impulsive would end up working with Chisaki, but fate was strange… and cruel.
“Obviously not,” Shigaraki replied with annoyance. “I wanted to turn him to dust, but it looks like you beat me to it. You always ruin my plans. You’re the most annoying NPC in the world.” He scratched his neck desperately. “I should decay you right now. You’re not only a traitor… you also did something horrible to sensei.”
Izuku clenched his fists.
“I can’t believe you’re still on his side after everything he did to us,” he finally said. “He used both of us, Tomura. And now he’s gone. You’re free. You could literally do anything. You could leave the country, change your identity, and no one would even recognize you. You haven’t done anything too flashy yet. I could even help you. The heroes could help you.”
Shigaraki let out a dry, almost mocking laugh that echoed through the hallway. Izuku knew Tomura didn’t trust him, but it still hurt how quickly he rejected any chance at freedom.
“You know he was using you, right?” Izuku insisted. “He used both of us. How can you stay loyal to someone who saw you as a mere replacement? He never cared about us. Ever. He only cared about having a weapon he could control. Remember those training sessions? He pushed us until we almost died. Over and over again. And you… you still want to believe he would someday treat you as anything more than a broken tool.”
With every word, Shigaraki seemed to grow tenser, angrier.
“You… you really are rotten because of the heroes, aren’t you?” Tomura spat with a childish kind of hatred. “I never liked you, but I thought you were at least smart. Sensei had faith in you! He had more hope in you than in me. But he was wrong. Very wrong.”
Tomura began stepping forward, his intent clear in the way he held his fingers out. Izuku didn’t think twice. He activated one of the ancient quirks his grandfather had given him—one that slowed down the closest person as long as he held his breath. It only worked within a small range, but it could save his life.
The world around him warped, and Tomura began moving as if trapped in thick liquid. Izuku used that one-second advantage and touched the villain’s arm, stealing the quirk before inhaling again.
“You… you! What did you do?! Give it back! That… that’s cheating!”
Before Shigaraki could shout anything else, Aizawa appeared, descending rapidly with his capture weapon.
“Izuku,” he said seriously, “I noticed your absence. And I see you found a problem.”
In a single motion, he wrapped Tomura with his bindings, neutralizing any resistance.
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Izuku certainly didn’t expect anyone to die during that mission. He expected injuries, chaos, hits… but not death. However, when he was told Sir Nighteye was on his deathbed, he knew he had to say goodbye. He didn’t know anything about social norms or how one was supposed to act in moments like this, but he never imagined he would feel so sad seeing someone die.
He had seen death before, of course. Being his grandfather’s grandson came with things like that. He had even gone to Iida’s funeral, though he didn’t really know him. And he definitely wasn’t Sir Nighteye’s best friend. In fact, Sir seemed to judge every one of his actions… and yet Izuku felt so, so sad.
That was when a doubt struck him. A doubt that had been squeezing his chest for weeks. If Sir died, he would never be able to use his quirk on him, and Izuku needed to know… needed to know if he would really end up becoming someone like his grandfather in the future. So, with the most trembling voice he had ever used, he asked:
“Can… can you use your quirk on me? You don’t have to tell me any details, but… can you tell me if I… well… if I’m not like him?”
He tried to ignore the shocked stares around him. He knew it was inappropriate. He knew it was wrong to ask something like that to someone who was literally dying. But he needed that answer. Just that one.
Sir extended his hand with great difficulty. He barely touched Izuku with the tip of his fingers and said:
“You’re going to be fine.”
And with those words, Izuku knew he didn’t need anything else. He didn’t know exactly what Sir had seen, but those three words were enough to let him breathe again.
“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head before leaving the room. He knew Sir would want to talk to Mirio before dying, and they probably needed privacy.
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After that mission, it was finally decided that Izuku wasn’t dangerous. With the League of Villains scattered and many members captured, there wasn’t much left to do with him. Some villains stood out more than others: that guy Dabi uploaded a video confessing he was Endeavor’s lost son and practically burning his father’s reputation to ashes. He revealed every abuse, every inhuman training session, every pressure he had endured.
Izuku thought it was stupid in the sense that Dabi seemed to enjoy exposing him, although he couldn’t deny it was disturbing to think that Endeavor had children only to create the perfect weapon. According to Touya, Endeavor stopped training him the moment he realized his quirk hurt him, and then became completely obsessed with Shoto. If anyone should be angry, it was probably Shoto. But Izuku didn’t say anything—Shoto locked himself in his room as soon as the video ended.
Later, they captured Dabi. And since he had never committed massive crimes on his own and Endeavor desperately sought “redemption,” he paid for the best lawyers. To everyone’s surprise, Touya ended up on probation… under Endeavor’s custody. Shoto had mentioned Touya before, but always as mild complaints. Now, though, the brothers were getting closer. And Touya, somehow, became Shoto’s official bad influence.
The Commission cleared Izuku of all charges, and he finally decided to join the hero course officially. He still got assigned different activities than his classmates, but he had potential, and everyone knew it.
A few weeks after the mission, he received another piece of news: Eri would move in with Aizawa. His quirk was the only one that could cancel hers without hurting her, so it was the safest option. Interacting with such a small and fragile child was torture for Izuku at first: he didn’t know how to act, what to say, or where to put his hands. But at the same time, she became the greatest blessing of his life.
He quickly learned that if Eri wanted something, he would end up giving it to her. Not because she threw tantrums—she never did—but because there simply wasn’t a single human being capable of resisting those huge, bright eyes asking for help.
Izuku was happy.
Of course, there were still days when the voice of his grandfather returned. But he already knew how to deal with it: ignore it. His grandfather had been left in a brain-dead state months after being captured, so the voice he heard was only residue in his mind. Sometimes it was annoying, a constant whine in the back of his consciousness, but Izuku had always learned fast, and he knew how to adapt.
And now he had something—someone—worth moving forward for.