Chapter Text
The ride itself was uneventful.
At first.
The train swayed gently as it carried its passengers through the evening, conversations gradually fading beneath the rhythmic clatter of steel wheels against the tracks. Midoriya found a place beside one of the doors, one hand wrapped around an overhead strap while the other flipped idly through the small notebook he'd pulled from his blazer pocket. Every so often he'd scribble down a sentence, pause to think, then add another before quietly humming to himself. Shinsou pretended not to notice. It was easier than asking what someone could possibly find worth writing down during a twenty-minute commute.
Several stations passed without incident. Office workers stepped off, students climbed aboard, and the carriage slowly emptied as they moved farther away from the city center. The constant chatter died down until the only sounds left were the train's gentle rocking and the occasional electronic announcement overhead. Shinsou had almost started tuning everything out when something changed. It wasn't dramatic. In fact, it was the absence of a sound that caught his attention.
The scratching of pencil against paper had stopped.
He glanced up.
Midoriya was staring down at the open notebook resting in his hand. He wasn't writing anymore, nor did he appear to be reading what he'd already written. His eyes stayed fixed on the page without really focusing, his brow gradually knitting together as though something wasn't making sense. After several long seconds, he blinked once, then again.
"...Huh?"
The quiet murmur barely carried over the train.
Midoriya lifted one hand from the notebook and pressed it against his forehead, his expression twisting into a confused frown. "...My head..." he mumbled under his breath. The train's speakers crackled overhead, announcing the next station as the brakes began to hiss. Shinsou watched him for another second, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the back of his mind. Midoriya looked... off.
"...You okay?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Midoriya turned toward him slowly.
His green eyes looked strangely unfocused.
"I..." His voice caught for a moment. "...I don't..."
The train rolled to a stop.
The doors slid open with a familiar chime, and passengers began filing onto the platform. Midoriya stepped off almost automatically, moving with the crowd despite still looking dazed. Shinsou followed a moment later—mostly because this was his stop too, he told himself. The train pulled away behind them, disappearing around the bend with a rush of wind that tugged lightly at their uniforms.
Midoriya didn't move.
He stood exactly where he'd stepped off, one hand still pressed against his temple while the other hung limply at his side. His breathing had grown uneven, shallow enough that Shinsou noticed it from several feet away. There was something wrong.
Something was...
Different.
Shinsou frowned.
Midoriya's backpack slipped lower against his back.
His blazer suddenly looked too large, the sleeves sliding over his hands until only the tips of his fingers remained visible. The hem of his jacket hung awkwardly past where it had only moments ago, and his shoes looked loose enough that his heels nearly lifted free when he shifted his weight. It took Shinsou another heartbeat to realize what he was actually seeing.
"...What the hell?"
===
By the time they reached the faculty offices, Shinsou had completely run out of explanations. Every attempt he'd made on the walk over sounded ridiculous the moment it left his mouth, and somehow "my classmate turned into a second grader on the train" wasn't becoming any more believable with repetition. He knocked twice before pushing the office door open.
The room was quieter than usual. Most of the faculty had already left for the start of spring break, leaving only a few lights on and the soft rustle of paperwork. Aizawa looked up first from the reports covering his desk while Present Mic lounged across the couch, lazily sorting through a stack of evaluations with one leg thrown over the armrest.
"...And that's why teachers deserve hazard pay," Mic declared, gesturing dramatically with a pen. "These reports are attacking my soul, Sho!"
"They're paper."
"Dangerous paper."
"They're graded essays."
"They're emotionally dangerous."
Midnight didn't even glance up from the file in her lap.
"You've said that every semester."
"And every semester I'm right."
The office door clicked shut.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance.
Then all three expressions changed.
"...Shinsou?" Aizawa asked, already standing.
Mic blinked.
"...Either you got way taller..."
His gaze drifted lower.
"...Or somebody got really shorter."
Half-hidden behind Shinsou's leg stood a tiny green-haired boy wearing an oversized U.A. uniform. The sleeves hung well past his hands, and the blazer nearly reached his knees. One small hand clung tightly to the back of Shinsou's jacket.
“...Shinsou?” Aizawa asked.
“I need help.”
That alone was enough.
Aizawa immediately stood.
Shinsou was not someone who asked for help casually. He was usually the first person to try solving a problem himself, so hearing those words from him meant something had gone seriously wrong. Aizawa crossed the room without rushing, though his attention stayed locked on the child who was currently gripping the back of Shinsou’s jacket like it was the only thing keeping him steady. Present Mic and Midnight followed behind him, both watching carefully as the little boy peeked around Shinsou for half a second before quickly hiding again.
“What happened?” Aizawa asked.
Shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, clearly struggling with how to explain the situation without sounding insane. “We were on the train,” he started. “Everything was normal, and then he said his head hurt.” His eyes dropped toward the child beside him, who was staring at the floor. “Then this happened.”
Present Mic blinked.
“This?”
“He started getting smaller,” Shinsou explained. “But it wasn’t just physical.”
The room went silent.
Aizawa crouched down until he was at eye level with the child. He softened his voice slightly, careful not to overwhelm him. “Hey.”
Green eyes slowly appeared from behind Shinsou’s jacket.
“...Hi.”
“My name’s Aizawa,” he said. “What’s yours?”
The boy hesitated, fingers tightening slightly before answering.
“...Midoriya Izuku.”
“Nice to meet you, Midoriya.” Aizawa gave a small nod. “Can you tell me how old you are?”
“I’m seven.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Second.”
“And what school do you go to?”
“Aldera Elementary.”
The answers came easily, without confusion, which somehow made the situation even stranger. Midoriya looked around the office, taking in the unfamiliar room and the people surrounding him. His eyes lingered on the U.A. insignia before his expression shifted into confusion.
“...Where am I?”
“U.A. High.”
His eyes widened immediately.
“...The hero school?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, the child looked amazed. A small smile appeared on his face, almost like he couldn’t believe his luck.
Then the expression disappeared.
“Am... am I supposed to be here?”
“No.”
The answer was simple and honest.
Midoriya’s shoulders dropped.
“...Oh.”
There was a brief silence before he lowered his head.
“Sorry.”
Aizawa frowned slightly, not because he was upset, but because of how quickly the apology came. Nobody had accused him of anything. Nobody had even raised their voice. Yet somehow the child had already assumed he had done something wrong.
“You’re not in trouble,” Aizawa said.
Midoriya looked up.
“...I’m not?”
The boy studied his face carefully, like he was searching for any sign that he was lying. After a few seconds, he seemed satisfied with the answer and let out a quiet breath.
“...Okay.”
A small smile appeared.
It was hesitant, but real.
His grip on Shinsou’s jacket finally loosened for the first time since they entered the room.
Present Mic glanced between Aizawa and Midnight before speaking. “I’m gonna get Recovery Girl.” He pointed toward the hallway. “And probably Nezu too, because somehow I feel like this is the kind of weird thing he needs to know about.”
Aizawa nodded without looking away from Midoriya.
“Tell Nezu we have a situation.”
“Got it.”
Present Mic quickly disappeared down the hallway.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
Recovery Girl entered with Nezu walking beside her.
“I came as quickly as I could.”
Midoriya immediately turned around.
“Recovery Girl?!!1???!!”
The elderly hero smiled warmly.
“Hello, dear.”
The examination was quick but thorough. Recovery Girl checked his breathing, height, and weight. Asked him several questions about himself to confirm his mental state. Midoriya answered every question politely, though he kept glancing around the room like he still couldn’t believe where he was. When she finally finished, she closed her bag with a quiet click.
“Physically, he’s healthy.”
Aizawa crossed his arms.
“And mentally?”
Recovery Girl sighed softly.
“As far as I can tell...” She looked toward the couch where Midoriya sat with his feet tucked underneath him. “That is a seven-year-old little boy.”
Nobody spoke.
Because somehow, that was the answer they had all expected and still weren’t prepared for.
A little while later, Midoriya sat curled up on the couch with an old hero magazine resting across his knees. The magazine was nearly ten years old, but he treated it like it was something priceless. The sleeves of the borrowed gym uniform Recovery Girl had given him covered most of his hands, forcing him to repeatedly push them back whenever he turned the pages. Present Mic had found the magazines in storage, mostly because he figured a distracted child was better than a scared one. It worked like magic.
“...Whoa.”
Present Mic looked over.
“Hm?”
Midoriya lifted his head, eyes shining with excitement.
“This rescue!”
He turned the magazine around so Mic could see the article. “You got everyone out before the building collapsed,” he said, pointing at the picture. “Nobody was even seriously hurt.” His smile widened slightly. “That’s really impressive.”
Mic rubbed the back of his neck with an exaggerated grin.
"Aw, c'mon, kid. Every rescue looks cooler after the reporters get ahold of it."
Midoriya shook his head almost immediately.
“I don’t think it was luck.”
Mic blinked.
"...You read the article."
He looked back at the article, studying the details.
“You kept talking the whole time,” he explained. “The magazine said that you kept giving instructions, reassuring people, and making sure everyone knew what was happening.” He looked back up at Mic. “People listen when someone sounds calm.”
"Yeah, that's kinda the idea."
He tapped his own throat.
"If civilians hear panic in your voice, panic spreads faster than fire. So you keep talking, keep smiling, and keep everybody focused."
He flashed a huge grin.
"Makes the rescue smoother and keeps my ratings high."
Midnight rolled her eyes.
"Your rescue ratings?"
"My charisma ratings." he corrected
Shinsou watched him carefully from across the room.
At first, he told himself it was because the situation was strange.
That was all.
A few hours ago, Midoriya had been his normal age, another student in their class who talked too much, muttered constantly, and filled notebooks with hero analysis. Now he was seven years old, sitting on a U.A. couch with an oversized sweatshirt hanging off his shoulders and a hero magazine spread across his lap. It should have been impossible to predict what a younger version of someone would be like, but somehow the core of Midoriya was exactly the same.
If anything, it was more obvious.
Every few seconds, he would notice something new and quietly point it out. A hero’s stance, the placement of their hands, the way they moved during a rescue, the wording of an interview. His thoughts seemed to move faster than he could keep up with, and every now and then a quiet string of observations slipped out before he realized he was speaking.
“...Their response time improved after the third incident, but they changed their approach because the original method put civilians too close to the danger zone.”
Shinsou looked over.
Midoriya was staring at the magazine, completely focused.
A few seconds later, he seemed to realize he had been talking aloud and stopped himself.
Not because anyone told him to.
Because he noticed.
That caught Shinsou’s attention.
Most people who talked too much didn’t realize they were doing it. They didn’t constantly monitor themselves halfway through a sentence. They didn’t stop and check the room to see if they had become annoying.
Midoriya did.
Every.
Single.
Time.
Shinsou leaned back in the teacher’s chair he had claimed earlier.
Honestly, he still couldn’t believe nobody had stopped him from sitting there.
When Aizawa had told him he could stay at U.A. until everything was sorted out, Shinsou had accepted immediately. He had already messaged his parents and told them he would be staying at school for spring break. They had asked questions, obviously, but Shinsou had avoided explaining that he was currently watching over a de-aged classmate.
His excuse was that he had helped with the situation.
The actual reason was that he was curious.
Midoriya was weird.
Not in the way people usually meant it.
Shinsou knew what that looked like.
He knew what it was like when someone decided you were strange before bothering to understand you. He had spent years dealing with assumptions about his quirk, about his personality, about what kind of person he must be because of the ability he was born with.
Midoriya wasn’t like that.
The kid was strange because he was a contradiction.
He was shy but couldn’t stop talking about heroes.
He was nervous around people but completely confident when explaining an analysis.
He would light up when someone asked about his theories, then immediately glance around afterward like he was checking whether he had gone too far.
That was the part Shinsou couldn’t ignore.
Midoriya didn’t seem afraid of people.
He seemed afraid of being too much.
“Present Mic,” Midoriya said holding up a magazine.
Mic looked over from where he was sorting through old magazines.
Present Mic looked up from another stack of magazines.
"Hm? Whatcha got there, little listener?"
“I think your quirk affected your hearing slightly.”
Mic blinked.
Shinsou looked up.
There was no hesitation in Midoriya’s voice.
Not because he was being rude.
Because he genuinely wanted to understand.
Midoriya seemed to notice everyone staring and immediately started fidgeting with his sleeve.
“I mean, it’s just a theory.”
Mic smiled.
“A theory?”
“Mhm.”
Midoriya nodded.
“I have two possibilities.”
Shinsou raised an eyebrow.
Of course he did.
“The first is that your hearing changed because of repeated exposure to your own quirk. The second is that you naturally favor one side when you’re speaking because it’s easier for you to hear feedback.”
Mic stared.
"..."
"...Well."
He slowly pointed at Izuku.
"I've got one question."
Izuku blinked.
"...Okay?"
"Who lets a seven-year-old sound like a support engineer?"
Midoriya paused.
‘What?"
“You’re seven.”
Midoriya tilted his head at that, and Shinsou found himself staring for a second longer than he meant to. It was such a small movement, but somehow it made the kid look like a confused kitten trying to understand why someone had pointed out something obvious. Shinsou had seen Midoriya analyze villains, heroes, and combat strategies with a level of detail that surprised even professionals, but apparently a comment about his own age was where he got confused. For some reason, that was the thing that caught Shinsou off guard.
Wait.
No.
Absolutely not.
Hitoshi, do not start thinking your classmate is cute.
That was a terrible thought to have.
He was a seven-year-old version of someone from his class, and Shinsou was not going to be the guy who looked at a de-aged classmate and went, “wow, adorable.” That was weird. Extremely weird. He immediately shoved the thought away and decided that what he actually meant was that Midoriya’s reaction was unexpectedly childish compared to how he acted most of the time.
That was all.
Definitely.
“Okay?” Izuku siad still confused by what Present Mic meant by ‘support engineer.'
Midoriya’s response was completely genuine, which somehow made everything worse.
He wasn’t joking.
He wasn’t trying to be funny.
He honestly didn’t understand why his age was relevant to the conversation. His head tilted slightly again, his expression carrying the same confused curiosity he had when he was analyzing heroes. It was almost impressive how he could look at everything with the same level of seriousness.
Mic let out a quiet laugh.
“You’re something else, kid.”
Midoriya blinked.
Mic's smile lost some of its usual exaggeration.
"...Yeah."
He reached over and gently ruffled Izuku's curls.
"It's a really good thing."
"You ask questions."
"You notice people."
"And you've got one heck of a brain."
His trademark grin returned immediately.
"So don't go apologizing for that, okay?"
Izuku looked at him for another second.
"...Okay."
Shinsou’s attention shifted immediately.
Because there it was again.
That question, not annoyance or defensiveness. Just uncertainty.
Like he genuinely didn’t know if being himself was something people liked or something they tolerated. The kid could talk for ten minutes straight about hero rescue strategies without hesitation, but the moment someone commented on his personality, he suddenly seemed unsure.
Mic smiled without missing a beat.
“Yeah. It’s good.”
Midoriya stared at him for a moment, like he was making sure he had heard correctly. Then his shoulders relaxed slightly, and a small smile appeared on his face. It wasn’t the huge excited grin he got when discussing heroes, but it was softer. More relieved. Shinsou noticed the difference immediately.
And that bothered him.
Because he was starting to notice a pattern.
Midoriya wasn’t just shy.
He was someone who had learned to measure himself around other people.
Someone who watched reactions before deciding whether he was allowed to be excited.
And Shinsou had a feeling there was a reason for that.
A little while later, Lunch Rush arrived with dinner, saving everyone from realizing they had completely lost track of time.
Lunch Rush set the trays down on the coffe table which was just a circular dining table..
Present Mic immediately threw both hands into the air.
"LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND HUNGRY LISTENERS..."
He gestured dramatically.
"...THE HERO OF DINNERTIME HAS ARRIVED!"
Lunch Rush simply nodded.
"Eat while it's hot."
The food was simple and warm, and Midoriya immediately brightened at the sight of it, asking questions about the preparation between bites and quietly analyzing the differences from U.A.’s cafeteria meals. Shinsou watched from the teacher’s chair he had claimed earlier, pretending he wasn’t paying attention while absolutely paying attention. The kid was still the same strange mix of things that didn’t seem like they should fit together: endlessly curious, ridiculously smart, and somehow still cautious about whether he was bothering people. By the time the plates were cleared away, though, the excitement of the day finally caught up with him.
Midoriya had insisted he was still awake enough to read “one more article,” which lasted about ten minutes before he curled up on the couch with the hero magazine resting against his chest. His quiet muttering gradually faded into silence, and when Shinsou looked over again, the kid was already asleep. Aizawa sighed softly but didn’t sound annoyed, while Yamada smiled and shook his head, gently moving the magazine away before it could fall on him.
He gently slid the magazine off Izuku's chest. The little boy made a tiny sleepy noise but didn't wake. Mic carefully brushed one unruly curl away from his face.
"...Poor little listener."
Then, much quiter,
"So much for spring break..."
Aizawa looked over.
"We'll figure it out."
Mic nodded once.
"Yeah."
Then he automatically reached over and squeezed Aizawa's hand for just a second.
Aizawa squeezed back.
Neither of them acknowledged it.
"And after everything today, he needs somewhere safe to sleep.” Yamada added
Since Aizawa-sensei is Midoriya’s homeroom teacher, he would be responsible for him until he went back to 16-year-old Midoriya. The two of them we deemed to bring him back to their apartment on campus, where they had a spare bedroom and could keep an eye on him.
Shinsou watched as Aizawa carefully picked Midoriya up, the child barely stirring as he was carried away. It was strange seeing someone who normally looked so intimidating handle a sleeping kid with that much care. Yamada followed beside him, making sure everything was ready, and Shinsou found himself standing there longer than necessary.
He still didn’t know what had happened to Midoriya or why someone so excited about heroes seemed so surprised whenever people were kind to him. But watching Aizawa and Yamada quietly make sure he was safe, Shinsou promised himself one thing. Whatever was going on with Midoriya, he wasn’t going to be ignored.