Chapter Text
The week after the entrance exam stretched like taffy—long, sweet, and impossible to rush.
Results wouldn’t arrive until the end of the week. Classes wouldn’t begin for another three hours after that. The city of Musutafu buzzed with spring energy regardless: cherry blossoms shedding their petals in lazy spirals, convenience stores rotating seasonal snacks, trains packed with students already talking about futures that hadn’t officially started yet.
For most applicants, the waiting was agony.
For Izuku Midoriya, Uraraka Ochako, and Todoroki Shoto, it became something else entirely.
It became shared.
_-_-_
The first message arrived late that same evening, long after the adrenaline of the exam had faded and the day had settled into quiet routines.
Izuku was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, notebook open but untouched, when his phone buzzed.
He blinked.
Then smiled.
A new group chat.
Future Heroes 💪🌟🌡️
The name alone made his chest flutter.
Ochako 🌸:
hey!! did everyone get home safe? my legs are STILL jelly from all that running 😂
Izuku let out a soft laugh before typing back, thumbs moving faster than his thoughts.
Izuku 🟢:
Yeah! Just finished dinner. My mom made katsudon to celebrate surviving 😅 How about you two?
There was a pause—just long enough for him to wonder if he’d sounded weird—before another notification popped up.
Shoto ❄️🔥:
Home. Quiet.
Izuku could practically hear his voice saying it. Flat. Honest. Not unfriendly—just… Shoto.
Ochako 🌸:
quiet sounds nice!! my parents threw a little party—dad grilled yakitori and everything 😭 we should celebrate together sometime this week if you’re free??
Izuku’s heart skipped. Celebrate. Together. Again.
Izuku 🟢:
I’m free most days! Training in the mornings, but afternoons are open.
A few seconds passed.
Shoto ❄️🔥:
Same.
Short. Simple. But something about the immediacy of it made Izuku grin like an idiot.
Ochako 🌸:
perfect!! wednesday at that café near the station? the one with the floating mochi display??
Izuku didn’t even hesitate.
Izuku 🟢:
Yes!! That place looks amazing—I’ve never been, but I’ve read reviews—
Shoto ❄️🔥:
Wednesday works.
Decision made.
Just like that.
What followed felt less like a chat and more like something finding its natural rhythm.
Ochako flooded the group with memes—mostly All Might reaction images, some aggressively sparkly stickers, and one cursed chibi Endeavour she immediately apologised for sending. Izuku responded with enthusiasm that bordered on academic obsession, breaking down quirks he’d noticed during the exam (“Did you SEE how Iida cornered that alley? His braking technique was textbook!”). Shoto chimed in occasionally—never often, but always precisely—dropping dry observations that landed perfectly between their energy spikes.
Ochako 🌸:
wait shoto HOW did you casually freeze three bots at once like that
Shoto ❄️🔥:
Spacing. Timing. Didn’t want collateral damage.
Izuku 🟢:
That makes so much sense, actually—if you control output instead of maxing it—
Ochako 🌸:
wow nerds 💕
Izuku flushed even though she couldn’t see him.
It was easy.
That was the strange part.
There was no pressure to perform, no awkward pauses filled with overthinking. Conversation flowed, stalled, and picked back up again naturally. Sometimes hours passed between messages. Sometimes they fired off replies within seconds. None of it felt wrong.
At some point, Izuku realised he was smiling so much his cheeks hurt.
Across the city, in a quiet apartment, Shoto stared at his phone longer than necessary after each notification, that same unfamiliar warmth blooming in his chest. He didn’t understand it yet—but he didn’t dislike it either.
On a train heading back from her part-time shift, Ochako reread the chat log with a soft, thoughtful smile, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.
Whatever happened with the results—whatever the future decided to do to them—
This already felt like the beginning of something.
And none of them wanted it to stop.
_-_-_
Tuesday afternoon found Izuku and Shoto at a public quirk-training park on the edge of the city. The area was licensed and monitored: reinforced walls webbed with old impact marks, rubberised ground that gave slightly underfoot, staff members stationed at the perimeter pretending not to watch too closely. It was the kind of place designed for people who needed to hit things without consequences.
Which, Izuku thought, described him pretty well lately.
He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, red high-tops already scuffed and sanded pale from Takoba Beach. Green lightning traced faintly along his arms as he moved—8% Full Cowl, steady, controlled. Not perfect, but solid. He darted between training dummies, pivoted, struck, and stopped himself short at the last second so his punch cracked the air instead of the reinforced steel.
Shoto stood a short distance away, hands tucked into the sleeves of a plain grey hoodie, breath fogging faintly in the spring-cool air. He watched for a moment before stepping in himself.
Ice bloomed from his right foot in a clean line, encasing two dummies in pale blue crystal. He followed with a precise burst of fire from his left palm—just enough heat to fracture the ice and disable the targets without scorching the surrounding floor. No wasted motion. No excess.
They worked like that for a while. Parallel. Not competing, not coordinating—just existing in the same space, aware of each other in a quiet, constant way.
“You’re holding back.”
Izuku startled slightly, landing from a jump and skidding half a step before catching himself. He glanced over at Shoto, who hadn’t raised his voice or changed his posture—just stated it like an observation about the weather.
Izuku laughed weakly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah—yeah. Trying not to break anything expensive. Gran Torino would kill me if he heard I shattered city property.”
Shoto turned toward him fully this time, mismatched eyes narrowing a fraction. “Gran Torino?”
“Oh—uh. Old hero,” Izuku said quickly. “He trained me for a bit. Brutal. Very… kick-oriented.” He smiled, but his gaze drifted without meaning to Shoto’s left side—the fire side. It had been quieter today. Present, but restrained.
The thought slipped out before he could catch it.
“You could let loose more, too, you know. The fire. It’s… beautiful when you use it.”
The word hung there between them, fragile and unguarded.
Shoto’s ears went pink almost immediately. He turned his face away, staring hard at the nearest wall like it had personally offended him. For a moment, Izuku panicked—too much, too weird, you’re doing it again—
Then a small flame bloomed across Shoto’s fingertips.
Not aggressive. Not defensive.
Careful. Almost shy.
“…Thanks,” Shoto said, voice low.
They didn’t talk much after that.
They trained until the sky softened into gold and orange, shadows stretching long across the park. Sometimes Izuku caught Shoto watching him mid-movement, and sometimes Shoto noticed Izuku slowing unconsciously to match his pace. Neither commented on it.
When they finally collapsed onto a bench, breathing hard, the quiet felt earned rather than awkward. Izuku twisted the cap off his water bottle with shaking fingers and drank too fast, coughing a little.
“You push yourself hard,” Shoto said after a moment.
Izuku shrugged. “Habit, I guess.”
Shoto nodded, as if that explained more than Izuku had actually said.
The sunset reflected off Shoto’s hair, fire and ice both catching the light, and Izuku felt that warmth again—stronger now. Not just admiration. Not just nerves. Something layered and confusing, tangled up with the familiar flutter he got when he thought about Ochako’s laugh or her texts lighting up his phone.
He stared at Shoto’s profile against the sky and wondered, not for the first time, when exactly friendship had started feeling like more—and whether it was okay that it did.
Shoto, for his part, sat very still, hands wrapped around his bottle, aware of Izuku beside him in a way that made his chest feel tight and warm at the same time. He didn’t have words for it yet.
But he didn’t move away.
And for now, that felt like enough.
_-_-_
Wednesday afternoon found the three of them squeezed around a small, slightly wobbly table at Café Float, the place Ochako had insisted on because “the vibes are good and the desserts defy gravity.” The café lived up to its reputation—soft music, warm lighting, and a rotating display of floating mochi drifting lazily behind the counter like edible planets.
Ochako, already energised, lifted all three of their drinks at once with a triumphant flick of her fingers. “Ta-da! Delivery service!”
Izuku watched his matcha latte hover toward him, eyes wide despite having seen her quirk in action dozens of times already. “I-it still amazes me every time,” he said, carefully taking the cup once it settled into his hands. “Thanks.”
Shoto’s order—cold soba noodles—floated more stiffly toward him. He accepted it with a nod, then eyed the condensation on the glass like it was a personal challenge. “The menu was… aggressive,” he said flatly.
Ochako snorted. “You stared at it for like five minutes.”
“I was assessing.”
Izuku laughed, the sound surprising even himself. It came easier around them.
They talked about everything and nothing. The exam, of course, which robots had been the worst, how ridiculous the zero-pointer had been, and theories about whether there was a secret second set of requirements (Izuku knew there was, but stayed silent for now). Izuku rambled happily about pro heroes, hands moving as he broke down fighting styles, while Ochako listened with bright interest, and Shoto occasionally cut in with a dry, precise observation that somehow always landed.
Ochako talked about her parents too, stirring her strawberry parfait absently. “I used to feel like I had to be a hero, you know? To help them. But now…” She shrugged, smiling softly. “Now I still want it. Maybe even more. Feels like it’s actually my choice.”
Izuku nodded, understanding that weight better than he wanted to admit. “That makes sense.”
Shoto mentioned his living situation only once, between bites of soba. “I’m staying with a guardian now. It’s… quieter.”
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
Neither Izuku nor Ochako pushed. Ochako just smiled at him, gentle and accepting, and Izuku offered a quiet, “I’m glad,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.
At some point, Ochako tore open a sugar packet and flicked it upward. It didn’t fall.
Instead, it began to orbit Shoto’s head in a neat little circle.
“Zero Satellite,” she declared proudly. “Round two.”
Shoto froze, eyes crossing slightly as he tried to track it. Then—slowly, almost reluctantly—the corner of his mouth curved upward.
Not the polite, almost-smile he used out of habit.
A real one.
Izuku’s chest tightened painfully at the sight. Something warm and sharp tangled together inside him, and he had to look down into his drink for a second so neither of them would notice.
“Please stop weaponising my personal space,” Shoto said dryly, though he didn’t move away.
Ochako laughed and released the packet, catching it before it hit the table. “No promises.”
They lingered longer than any of them meant to, the café lights dimming as evening settled in. When they finally stood to leave, it felt strangely difficult, like pulling apart something that had just begun to fit.
“Saturday?” Ochako asked as they stepped outside, swinging backwards on her heels. “Maybe training, maybe just hanging out.”
Izuku nodded quickly. “I’m free!”
Shoto hesitated only a moment. “Yeah. Saturday works.”
They parted with easy smiles and the promise hanging between them—another meeting, another step forward—none of them quite ready to name what was growing, but all of them unwilling to let it go.
_-_-_
Friday came wrapped in low clouds and a restless kind of heat, the sort that made the air feel heavy even before anyone started throwing quirks around.
The quirk-training park was quieter than usual—late afternoon, most people still at work or school. Izuku liked it that way. Fewer eyes meant fewer things to overthink. Shoto seemed calmer too, hoodie discarded, sleeves pushed up as he faced Izuku across the reinforced mat.
They were mid-spar, moving on instinct now.
Ice speared up from the ground where Izuku had been, forcing him into a sharp sideways roll. He popped back to his feet, Full Cowl humming at a careful 8%, skidding just out of range as Shoto followed up with a short burst of flame—not wild, not angry, just enough to herd him where Shoto wanted.
“You’re telegraphing again,” Shoto said evenly.
Izuku laughed breathlessly, darting in and tapping Shoto’s shoulder before jumping back. “Says the guy who always pauses half a second before switching sides.”
Shoto huffed—a sound dangerously close to amusement—and raised another ice wall.
Then the temperature changed.
Not from Shoto.
The heat rolled in like a pressure wave, crawling across Izuku’s skin and setting every instinct he had screaming. A shadow fell across the mat, long and sharp-edged, and Izuku turned just as Shoto stiffened beside him.
Enji Todoroki stood at the fence.
Even from a distance, he was unmistakable—tall, broad, fire licking along his shoulders like it had nowhere better to be. The air shimmered around him, oppressive, dominating. He didn’t look at Izuku at all.
“Shoto,” Endeavour called. His voice carried easily, rough and heavy. “We need to talk. Alone.”
Shoto froze.
The ice beneath his feet spread without command, cracks racing outward like spiderwebs. His posture folded in on itself—just a little, but enough. His eyes dulled, focus pulling inward, like someone had reached inside him and turned down the light.
Izuku’s chest burned.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Anger. Sharp and instinctive and protective in a way that startled him with its intensity.
Before he could think better of it, Izuku stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Shoto and the fence. His heart pounded, One For All thrumming under his skin, not flaring—but ready.
“He’s training,” Izuku said, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “If you need to talk, you can do it here. Or later. When he’s ready.”Endeavour finally looked at him.
Those eyes were sharp, assessing, dismissive all at once. The flames along his shoulders flared brighter. “This doesn’t concern you, boy.”
Izuku didn’t move.
“It concerns him,” he shot back, surprising even himself with how firm it came out. “And right now, he doesn’t look like he wants to talk.”
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then Shoto’s hand landed on Izuku’s shoulder.
The contrast was startling—cold on the right side, a gentle warmth on the left. Not gripping, but present. Grounding. His fingers tightened just a fraction, like he was anchoring himself there.
“It’s okay,” Shoto murmured, voice low. “You don’t have to—”
But he didn’t pull Izuku away.
EEndeavourstared at the two of them for a long, burning moment. Something unreadable passed across his face—irritation, calculation, perhaps surprise. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, flames receding as his presence withdrew.
The air cooled.
Izuku exhaled, only then realising he’d been holding his breath.
Shoto sagged slightly, shoulders loosening as the ice melted away beneath his feet. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.
Izuku finally turned to face him, cheeks flushed, heart still racing. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I did. You looked… uncomfortable. And I hated it.”
Shoto studied him for a long moment, mismatched eyes searching Izuku’s face like he was trying to understand something new. Then he nodded, once.
“Thank you.”
The words were simple. They landed hard anyway.
They didn’t really go back to training after that.
Instead, they sat on the grass at the edge of the park, shoulders almost touching, watching clouds drift lazily across the sky as the sun sank lower. Neither felt the need to fill the silence.
For Izuku, the warmth in his chest didn’t fade.
For Shoto, it felt—unexpectedly—safe.
_-_-_
At the end of the week—exactly on schedule—the projections arrived.
Izuku came first.
He was alone in his room, the late afternoon sun slanting through the curtains, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. His desk was unusually tidy, notebooks stacked with care, his battered All Might figurine standing guard near the edge. The small metal disc U.A. had provided sat in the centre, inert.
Then it whirred.
Light unfolded upward, resolving into a familiar, impossibly broad silhouette.
“I AM HERE… as a projection!”
All Might’s muscular form filled the room, grin blazing, thumbs up held high. The sound of his voice—warm, proud, larger than life—hit Izuku square in the chest.
“Young Midoriya! You’ve done it! Sixty-two villain points, forty-five rescue points—for a total of one hundred and seven!” All Might laughed heartily. “Welcome to Class 1-A, my boy. I knew you had it in you!”
Izuku smiled.
It should have felt triumphant. Vindicating. The culmination of everything he’d worked for.
Instead, the smile felt… fragile. Like glass held together by habit.
He’d known he would pass. He’d known the numbers would be high. The knowledge sat heavy in his chest, tangled with pride and something darker—guilt, sharp and persistent. He’d walked a path already mapped out in his head, while everyone else had stepped into the unknown.
“Thank you, All Might,” he murmured when the projection ended, voice soft in the quiet room.
The disc powered down, leaving only the hum of the apartment and the distant sounds of Inko moving around the kitchen.
An hour later, his phone nearly vibrated off the desk.
“OCHAKO” flashed across the screen, followed immediately by a shriek so loud Izuku had to pull the phone away from his ear.
“I GOT IN!!” Ochako yelled, joy crackling through the speaker. “FORTY-EIGHT villain points, FIFTY-TWO rescue points—ONE HUNDRED TOTAL!! Class 1-A!! Can you BELIEVE IT??”
In the background, something clattered.
Inko’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Izuku?? What was that noise??”
“Sorry!!” Izuku called back, laughing despite himself. “Congratulations, Uraraka!! That’s amazing!!”
As if on cue, a notification chimed.
Shoto ❄️🔥: In. 78 villain. 20 rescue. 1-A.
Izuku stared at the screen for a second, then felt something loosen in his chest.
The group chat exploded.
Future Heroes 💪🌟🌡️
Ochako 🌸: WE’RE ALL IN THE SAME CLASS!!! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER 😭💖
Izuku 🟢: YEAH!!! That’s incredible!! We did it!!
Shoto ❄️🔥: Good.
It was a very Shoto response. Izuku could practically hear the quiet satisfaction behind it.
They jumped onto a video call not long after.
Ochako was practically vibrating, floating her projection disc above her head like a party balloon as she spun in place. “LOOK AT IT!! It’s REAL!!”
Shoto sat on Aizawa’s couch, letter disc resting on the table beside him. He looked… different. Softer. The usual reserve was still there, but his eyes were bright, a faint, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he watched Ochako celebrate.
Izuku felt his heart swell at the sight of them.
Then Ochako tilted her head, squinting playfully at him. “Hey, wait—how come All Might seemed to know you in your projection? Also, mine was just Principal Nezu!”
The question landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Izuku’s stomach twisted.
“Uh—” He laughed too quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “Long story. I, um… met him once. Before the exam. He kinda… scouted me? I guess?”
It wasn’t a lie.
It just wasn’t the truth.
Shoto’s gaze sharpened for a brief moment, heterochromatic eyes thoughtful, but he didn’t press. Ochako accepted it instantly, eyes lighting up.
“That’s so cool!! Wow, Midoriya, you’re full of surprises!”
Izuku smiled wider, careful, practised—hiding the way his chest ached.
They talked a little longer—about dorm rumours, teachers they’d heard of, what they hoped Class 1-A would be like. When the call finally ended, Izuku set his phone down and leaned back against his bed.
He stared at the ceiling.
He knew too much about them—their strengths, their fears, the paths they were supposed to walk.
They knew almost nothing about him.
And school hadn’t even started yet.