Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was precisely seven months old when she realised it, and perhaps it said something about her previous life that the entirety of her reaction to her reincarnation was the phrase “Okay then,” and a halfway indifferent shrug.

Then again, Izumi Curtis had never phased easily- so why should Midoriya Inko be any different?

They were the same person, after all.

=+=+=+=

Being a child again wasn’t exactly something Izumi had ever expected would happen to her. She’d never really been religious in her first life, and any hope of getting her to so much as set foot in a holy building was snuffed out the moment she saw That, all those years ago.

How long had it been now?

Truthfully- (no matter her hatred of that word)- she had no idea.

Times certainly had changed since she’d last walked this earth. Cars were everywhere, it seemed, and radios had been upgraded to televisions (which had held her attention for a grand total of two hours as she’d attempted to figure out how it worked), and physical books appeared to have been shuffled aside in favor of things her new parents called ‘cell-phones’ ‘laptops’ and ‘tablets.’

Of course, they didn’t let her touch those. Not after she’d disassembled her baby monitor.

Izumi had been extremely proud of herself for that one. Baby fingers weren’t exactly the most coordinated of things.

=+=+=+=

Walking was hard and it was annoying.

Izumi hadn’t exactly expected it to be easy, or anything. Her little toddler muscles were only just nearing the stability she needed to stand, after all.

Still.

There was something just- aggravating. About being incapable.

She’d known that inability all too well in her later years.

Missing organs took their toll, after all- and improbable meddling by her students’ father aside- she’d been extraordinarily lucky to make it into her early fifties.

Even if her last two years had been spent in that blasted wheelchair.

So- standing. As a toddler.

Difficult.

Walking. As a toddler.

Near improbable.

Her new parents were starting to get concerned. They’d taken her to the doctor once already, worried that her ‘Quirk-’ whatever that was- was developing early and preventing her from gaining the correct muscle mass.

An X-ray and a physical later, followed by a rather confusing conversation about foot bones, Midoriya Inko had been pronounced perfectly healthy- and just a late bloomer.

Izumi was not a late bloomer, and she was not incapable.

If anything, her reincarnation gave her the collective experience and knowledge of a natural genius.

Thus- failure was unacceptable.

Besides, all that crawling around was starting to piss her off.

So, she’d try again. And again. And again. Until she could do it as easily as breathing.

It would be one step forward in her new life-

and she’d make it count.

=+=+=+=

Her first word had been a sentence.

It had taken some time to decide just what to say first, considering the wide variety of options she had gathered over her decades as Izumi Curtis.

Swearing, had come to mind. She’d always been fond of german swears- even more so after the blond brats had suckered her into teaching them. (Alchemy, not the swears. Although she’d taught them quite a few of those too.)

But, considering her parents- (a year since her rebirth they were no longer quite new)- weren’t exactly bilingual in any sense, let alone the germanic one, suddenly spouting a deluge of her favorite german curses would raise questions she’d like to avoid.

So, she’d thought of quotes. Phrases and sentences she’d heard over the years and thought particularly interesting or profound.

But-

Somehow, she’d always known what she’d pick when the time came.

The same phrase she’d held close to her heart all through her first life- and the phrase she’d hold there even through the next.

So, perhaps it was unsurprising that two-year-old green-eyed green-haired Midoriya Inko gathered her parents into the living room; climbed upon a phone book she’d placed specifically for this purpose, cleared her voice and said those six words like a miniature preacher speaking to a choir.

“One is All, All is One.”

“H-Honey?!? Her first words!!”

“Our little Inko is so smaaaaarrtttt~!!! I’m so proud!!!”

“Honey, you’re crying again.”

“I caaan’t heeelp it~”

...Yeah, her parents were weird.

=+=+=+=

Preschool. In a word: Izumi hated it.

Detested, technically, since most of her hatred was reserved for special occasions and- That Place.

It was loud, bright, smelly and gross. The teacher refused to speak in anything but a truly obnoxious baby-voice, even in the face of Izumi’s best glare and firm reprimand. He’d even had the gall to call it cute.

The other children were all completely normal toddlers and therefore did very little other than drool on every surface they could get their grubby little hands on, making Izumi want to touch the toys (or much of anything really) even less than she already did.

In fact, the only thing she really could do was sit down on the garish rainbow play-mat and glare at everyone.

Of course, she’d been doing that since her parents had left an hour ago- (her father had blubbered like the child Izumi appeared to be while her mother remained the calm and rational one, as usual)- and she was beginning to get bored.

How long was this hell supposed to last again?

Izumi’s glare directed itself to the wall clock- which would have shuddered in the face of such a gaze had it been able. Of course, being an inanimate object, it didn’t.

Oh. Right.

It hadn’t technically started yet.

Izumi’s scowl deepened. The clock shit itself.

She. Detested. Preschool.

Had she actually been anywhere near the mental age these drooling baboons were, she might have actually enjoyed herself. But she wasn’t. And. It. Was. Hell.

“Heyyyyyy~ Are you dead or somethin’?”

Green eyes shifted to glare full-force into a set of blood-red irises.

“What do you want.” Izumi growled moodily, scowling fiercely at the young sandy-blonde girl who’d interrupted her perfectly warranted emo moment.

The girl grinned viciously, eyes glittering with dangerous excitement. “Guess you’re not dead then. I’m Mitsuki. Wanna play with me?” She asked, teeth bared in a shape that wasn’t so much a smile as it was a snarl.

It wasn’t a question.

But-

Izumi didn’t do orders. She never had- and she never would.

Her cheeks puffed out in a distinctly childish pout as she looked away, arms crossed. “No.”

...

No one ever said she had to be mature about it.

She was technically three.

…

Mitsuki frowned at that, brows furrowing for a moment in concentration before her grin-snarl returned full-force. “Well I wanna play with you and those other guys are stupid, so there.” She stated confidently, as though that statement destroyed any argument Izumi might’ve had against her.

Too bad Izumi had years of experience debating with annoying blond pipsqueaks.

“Well I don’t want to play with you- so you’re stupid for asking.” She retorted, turning her head away with a huff, green curls bouncing cheerfully with the motion.

…

She missed her box braids.

…

Dumb parents with their dumb excuses. She was totally old enough to get them. It wasn’t like she was asking to get a tattoo.

...

Yet, anyway.

...

A sharp tug quickly derailed that train of thought as Izumi let out a high-pitched squeak of pain.

Izumi blinked.

Did Mitzuki just-

Did she just-

Another, sharper, yank.

That little brat was PULLING HER HAIR.

Letting out a short growl, Izumi turned towards the source of the tugging- and sure enough- Mitsuki had a fistfull of green curls and an insufferably smug look on her face.

Izumi’s eyes narrowed.

…

Alright, screw this.

=+=+=+=

“Inko-chan! I cannot believe you-!”

“Mitsuki-! Young lady you are in so much trouble-!”

“-attacking a classmate like that, just what has gotten into you-!?!?”

“-your father and I have warned you about-!”

“-this sort of behavior is completely unacceptable-!”

“-this is the fourth time this week-!”

“-you’ve always been so well-behaved-!”

“-I honestly should’ve expected something like this-!”

“-what will your father say-!?!?”

“-grounded for a month I swear-!”

Izumi and Mitsuki shared a commiserating look as their mothers’ rants blended together into a mish-mosh of words and admonishments.

Contrary to what the adults probably believed, there were no hard feelings between the girls.

...Despite the vicious looking bite on Izumi’s bicep and Mitsuki’s rapidly-darkening black eye.

After all- there were some things people simply couldn’t go through without becoming friends- and a preschool fistfight just happened to be one of them.

Chapter Text

Izumi stared at the laptop screen in front of her with an expression of utmost confusion, halfway tuning out Mitsuki’s excited bouncing and shouts of encouragement- (mostly along the lines of ‘kick his ass!’ and ‘Ooh that’s gotta hurt!’)- that the garishly dressed people on the screen most certainly couldn’t hear.

…

Seriously- what in the name of that always-grinning-asshole was she looking at?

…

Izumi tilted her head slightly and squinted carefully at the… street performers? That were duking it out on an entirely too unstable looking bridge while uniformed police blocked off traffic.

One of them was shooting bloody lightning and cackling like that royal prick of a Homunculus clone did on the so-called Promised Day; while the other shouted something about traffic violations and literally bent around the bolts like he was made of some kind of solidified gas.

That- was not Alchemy. Not even one of those accursed Philosopher's Stones could pull off anything close to that level of biological manipulation.

Defying the laws of Physics? Sure. Alchemy could do that, no problem.

Making the laws of reality essentially obsolete without any notable repercussions whatsoever?

Hell no.

Izumi knew that fact all too well.

…

Far too well.

…

It was that knowledge that had kept her from attempting Alchemy again since her rebirth.

She would become an Alchemist again- (she couldn’t quite imagine herself without it)- and the warm pulse of her Gate certainly implied that Alchemy could still be used- but Izumi’s physical body was still too young to properly channel the energy without hurting herself.

And there was also the question of whether or not she could still transmute without a circle, which was an entirely different kettle of fish she was all too happy to put on a shelf and deal with later.

…

Speaking of which-

“...Mitsuki, what am I watching?” Izumi questioned blankly, tearing her gaze away from the bizarre street-performance-movie-set-battle-circus- thingy that had since shifted into some kind of extraordinarily violent dance off as the two oddly-dressed weirdos dodged around one another.

It made legitimately no sense, even if she could appreciate their skill at hand-to hand combat.

“A Hero fight, duh!” Mitsuki chirped, blinking innocently at Izumi as though the greenette had said something remarkably stupid.

Izumi’s brows furrowed. “A hero fight? I don’t-” She paused, nose wrinkling in confusion as she frowned. “What’s a hero fight?” she managed a little helplessly.

Red eyes widened as Mitsuki’s jaw dropped in all the abject horror of a three-and-a-half-year-old denied a cookie.

(Izumi had discovered the intricacies of that particular expression after Mitsuki had made it ten minutes into their sleepover.)

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A HERO FIGHT IS?!?!” Mitsuki screeched, lurching forward and grabbing Izumi by the shoulders. “This is awful!! You’ve never seen one before?!? Like never ever?!? ”

Izumi blinked.

Alright. So.

Apparently hero fights were important.

Who knew.

Clearly not her.

“...No?” Izumi offered somewhat hesitantly.

Mitsuki let out a brokenhearted whine and Izumi instantly knew she’d said the wrong thing.

“This is no good very bad badness.” Mitsuki insisted vehemently, her grip on Izumi’s shoulders tightening uncomfortably.

Damn, she was strong for a three year old.

“Hero fights are the best thing ever.” Mitsuki said, her nails digging into Izumi’s shoulders for a moment before her grip slackened- the blond leaning back to eye her friend appraisingly. “They’re when Pro Heroes fight bad guys with their Quirks! They stop ‘em and the police lock ‘em up and stuff!” She explained.

Izumi stared back in slight bewilderment.

Pro Heroes?

Like, professional heroes?

...Those were a thing?

And that word- Quirk. Izumi was fairly certain Mitsuki wasn’t using the ‘odd personality trait’ definition.

So what did it mean?

Izumi had heard it in a similarly odd context before at the doctor’s office- but it hadn’t made much sense then either.

Well then, time to ask the expert.

“...What’s a Quirk?” Izumi managed slowly.

The sound Mitsuki made was inhuman.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A QUIRK IS?!?!?!?!?”

Izumi almost flinched.

….Ow. That hurt.

“QUIRKS ARE LIKE SUPER DUPER IMPORTANT HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT THEY ARE?!?! THIS IS AWFUL!!!” Mitsuki shrieked.

“Is everything all right in there?” Izumi’s mother called from down the hall, her tone somewhere between reproachful and concerned.

Although considering Mitsuki’s standards for volume were rather reminiscent of her mother’s, it leaned rather heavily towards ‘reproachful.’

“NO!!! NO IT’S NOT!” Mitsuki shouted over her shoulder, before whipping her head back to face Izumi at a speed that had the greenette leaning backwards out of a combination of complete bewilderment and mild fear.

“Quirks are like these really cool thingies basically everybody has that do really cool stuff!!” Mitsuki explained. ...Sort of. “Some people get them when they’re really tiny and can’t even walk and stuff and other people get ‘em when they’re preschoolers like us!! They can do all sorts of stuff!!” She said, releasing Izumi’s shoulders in favor of gesturing dramatically in the air, clearly attempting to illustrate the…

Stuff.

“Some people can do stuff like make fire- all whoosh and stuff- and other people get wings and can fly which is really super cool and other people can do like- like-” Mitsuki waved her hands in a strange sort of pattern that looked vaguely like a constipated duck. “Stuff!!” she exclaimed.

Izumi’s brows had likely reached her hairline at this point with the sheer amount of incredulity she was feeling.  

People who could create fire without the use of alchemy?

People with wings?

Functioning wings?

And who knows what else people could supposedly do with these ‘Quirks.’

Mitsuki’s excited babble certainly indicated that the abilities (Izumi hesitated to call them ‘superpowers’) that people gained were quite varied- encompassing much more than what could be explained away as some sort of natural transmutation.

Not that there was such a thing- but it would have been far more likely than this- this whatever-it-was that engineered these Quirks.

...

This required research.

=+=+=+=

Genetics.

It all came down to genetics.

Ridiculous, bizzare, toeing the damn line, genetics.

Izumi scowled furiously at the library computer screen. She’d been at this for a good three hours now- having snuck onto one of the devices while her mother was busy digging through old manuscripts for her latest historical paper- and Izumi was thoroughly disappointed in her findings.

It seemed that people only had the faintest hint of understanding on the rise of Quirks- and even less on how they actually functioned. There had been exceedingly few studies done on the subject, even in the trying times that had surrounded the first appearance of these mutations. There weren’t even any surveys! Nothing! No statistics, no genetic analysis, no interviews!

It was maddening!

The only recurring information Izumi could find was this:

One: A child between two people with Quirks resulted in either a duplicate of one parent’s ability, a merged ability that combined aspects of both Quirks, or an even split that allowed the usage of both quirks. Mutations outside of that rule were astoundingly rare.

And Two: The presence of a Quirk was correlated to the disappearance of an unneeded joint in the pinky toe.

That was it.

No linkage of actual causation between the toe joint and the presence of a quirk.

No analysis beyond casual overviews. No information about what brought on the rise of Quirks in the first place.

Just that irritatingly useless article about a glowing baby.

For Truth’s sake she didn’t give a damn if the kid shat rainbows- and she sure as hell didn’t care about the kid’s parents! She just wanted to know why it happened!

Not to mention how it worked!

This complete and utter lack of anything remotely resembling factual evidence or even the goddamn scientific method was seriously beginning to grate on Izumi.

And when she’d dug into the historical events surrounding the rise of Quirks-

Well.

She could only hope her theory was very, very, wrong.

=+=+=+=

RIIING~ RIIIING~ RIII~

KA-LIK!

“Hello?”

“’Zumi Zumi Zumi Zumi Zumiiii~!!!”

“Haah? Mitsuki?”

“I got my Quirk I got my Quirk I got my Quuuuiiiiirk~!!!!!”

“You did? What is it?”

“I sweat Glice-ren!”

“Glycerin?”

“Yeah, that!”

“So you sweat lotion?”

“Uh huuuh! Momma says I’ll be pretty forever~!”

“Bu- bu- but- how? How can you sweat glycerin? The chemical composition of the human body and the coding of the human genotype just doesn’t account for that! Neither do the biological functions of pores! The kind of perspiration they’d have to-”

“...Zumi, you’re using the big words again.”

Chapter Text

Izumi was glaring again.

Not that that was all too unusual- the young greenette glared at a lot of things. So much so that her parents had fallen upon the age-old trick of insisting her face would get stuck that way in a futile attempt to lessen the frequency (and intensity) of said glaring.

Of course, it hadn’t worked, but it was the principle of the matter.

However, in this particular case, the glaring was not only a result of the object of her ire-

It was also a teensy bit of frustration.

‘Now I know how the Brat felt.’ Izumi cursed silently to herself, scowling up at the entirely-too-bloody-tall counter and the gentle wafts of chocolate-chip-cookie scented steam that hovered just-so-irritatingly out of reach.

She just wanted one single cookie, dammit! Was that too much to ask? 

Strictly speaking, probably, considering Izumi’s mother had already confirmed that she could have one after she’d eaten her dinner- but Izumi was biologically four and she wanted the damn cookie.

Izumi’s scowly pout deepened, her glare intensifying as though that might convince the counter to spring to life and shrink down to a size where she could reach the tray of cooling deliciousness.

Of course, even in this world where Quirks could break reality in ways that had the miniaturized Alchemist cursing whatever annoying deity had decided it would be a good idea to reincarnate her here, the likelyhood of the counter obeying Izumi’s wishes without the use of Alchemy were slim to none.

As much as Izumi despised the logistics of Quirks and society’s complete and utter apathy to how they functioned, they existed; and until she was at a physical stage where she could look into the subject herself, she was stuck ‘accepting’ the knowledge she already had.

Which meant that, in accordance with the frankly stupid and unscientific statements on Quirk development, she would probably end up with some variation of her parents’ abilities, if she got one at all.

Neither of her parent’s Quirks were exceptionally flashy, either, so it wasn’t much of a surprise she hadn’t really managed to make the connection between the odder happenings of the house with pseudoscientific hogwash until Mitsuki has proverbially beaten her over the head with it.

Izumi’s mother had a Quirk she called ‘Recall,’ which allowed her mind to process and store all information she processed without any loss of data. Useful enough for her profession as a historian, and plenty useful for her part-time job with the police department.

At some level, Izumi wondered if the remembrance of her past life stemmed from her mother’s quirk.

The so-called ‘genius’ of the Gate had given her a similarly sharp memory back then, however, and if Alchemy was possible here as Izumi suspected, then it was just as likely that the continued existence of her memory was a result of the ability somehow transferring through lifetimes.

Illogical and annoyingly vague, true, but Izumi didn’t have much else in the way of ideas.

Izumi’s father, on the other hand, had a quirk called ‘Magnetic Link,’ which allowed him to magnetise any metallic object, or with severe concentration, himself. He could only magnetize two to five objects at a time, though, and the charge weakened depending on the type of metal and size of the object. At absolute best, he could stick fridge magnets to his skin; and he rarely if ever used it anyhow- he was a fiction writer.

In any case, no combination of memory and magnetisation could grant Izumi the ability to give life to the counter, or any other kitchen appliance; no matter how much she wanted a cookie.

Which, quite frankly, was annoying.

If people could spontaneously combust at will, then she should be able to get a cookie to come to her when she asked, dammit!

Izumi let out a short growl, and in a fit of childishness, made grabby hands at the cookie tray; futility wishing that one of the treats would fly through the air and into her grasp--

Only for one to shoot off the tray at high speed and smack her in the face.

Izumi blinked.

The cookie slowly slid down her expressionless face, dropping into her hands with a soft thunk as she stared blankly at the cabinetry.

What.

The.

Actual--

=+=+=+= 

“AAAAAARRRGH!!!!”

“...Was that Inko-chan?”

“.....I’ll go see what happened. Go back to work dear." 

“COMPLETELY ILLOGICAL-!”

“......on second thought, maybe we should wait until she calms down a bit.”

=+=+=+= 

So.

Izumi could break the laws of reality.

Apparently.

The mere idea that she could- could- summon things to her without much more than a thought and a grabby hand motion went against everything she knew and understood about Alchemy and the world around her.

But it worked.

For some reason.

After the first… incident… with her… Quirk- and the subsequent hour long screaming fit that had ensued, Izumi had begun minor experimentation to figure out just what she could and could not do with this… ability- and the answer had been... surprising.

She couldn’t lift anything larger than a notebook without earning herself a severe migraine headache that left her parents fussing and worried for weeks on end. Even a few inches larger or grams heavier than that notebook-limit and she would be completely out of commission for a day or more.

That determined, Izumi concluded quite firmly that large objects were clearly out of the question. Smaller objects, on the other had, seemed to have no adverse effects, even if she decided to pull more than one at a time. Small toys, loose change, and cookies were improbably simple to retrieve, just a thought and a soft tug and they would arrive in her hands without fanfare.

….Unless she pulled too fast and her aim failed her. She’d gotten a black eye that way, and Mitsuki had sniggered at her for a full week afterwards.

Then she’d started to try pulling multiple objects at the same time. She’d started small for that experiment. Extremely small. Dust bunnies, specifically.

A simple grab and a thought brought a small army of the things marching out from under the couch and into a dustpan Izumi had procured from a cabinet she wasn’t technically supposed to be able to get into.

(Child locks were insulting to her intelligence. Honestly, they were entirely too simple to pick.)

Summoning the dust bunny army had been so simple. In fact, it had actually been easier than lifting a single, larger object. 

Izumi made it a habit to summon all the dust in a room directly into the trash can whenever she walked by one. It was incredibly simple for her to do so, and there was no way to tell that it had happened in the first place, especially if she went for the smallest particles that qualified as ‘dust.’

It made her wonder just how small she could go.

I just a few more months, once she turned five, she would be old enough to begin Alchemy training again. 

If she could use her Quirk to pull the molecules she needed into range, she could theoretically make it seem like she was summoning whatever she made from thin air.

Or create things at concentrations that were simply not feasible with Alchemy alone.

In theory, she could even pull singular atoms. Electrons and protons.

Provided she could locate it, she could potentially pull and manipulate the fabric of reality.

She could literally perform nuclear fission on a whim, and with little more effort than a wave of her hand.

That amount of power at her fingertips was oddly humbling in a way Alchemy had never been.

Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to exploit the hell out of it. Being an Alchemist required a certain amount of pragmatism, after all.

Chapter Text

To train the mind, one must first train the body.

In alchemy, strength of body meant the resilience and skill to use the ability in any and all situations, under pressure of both the physical and mental sort.

Warriors did not always follow this doctrine. Sword swings or gunshots could vary in intensity and accuracy. The same movement from the same person could have ever so miniscule differences in motion without affecting the results. It mattered little if a bullet hit the heart in the very center or two centimeters to the left, the target would still be dead.  

Scholars and scientists could have their works corrected by peers and editors, negating any true (ugh), need to be correct the first time around. Equations and statements could be slightly off base or completely false without any sort of repercussions.

Alchemists could not afford to make those kinds of mistakes.

A millimeter difference in the diameter of the circle- even the slightest shift in the linework of the array- and that could be the difference between an accurate transmutation, a failure, or a rebound.

An Alchemist had to be perfect every single time. No exceptions.

Izumi may have lived her first life intentionally avoiding combat, but that did not mean she had allowed herself to slip on this tenet of Alchemy.

(If anything, those brats of hers would attest to the exact opposite.)

She had been strong in her past life- and this life would be no different. Not if Izumi had anything to say about it.

She started small, of course, considering a five year old wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of athletic ability, and she had no interest in impeding her physical development. (That said, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to puberty. Why exactly the human body required such an obnoxious period of growth she would never know.)

(It was inefficient, dammit.)

Still, regardless of her feelings on biological processes, flexibility was her first order of business.

Stretches- full splits, toe touches, the scorpion pose- anything and everything Izumi could manage without injury went into her regimine.

And there were few stretches she couldn’t manage. Children were remarkably flexible- and the more Izumi practiced now- the easier such things would be once she finally reached adulthood.

A strangely useful side effect of reincarnation.

(And wasn’t that an odd statement.)

Her parents had been baffled by her new hobby, of course, considering her professed lack of interest in heroics, but after receiving a lecture from their daughter on the benefits of exercise and flexibility training in a ‘barbarically stationary world,’ the pair of adults had been all too encouraging of Izumi’s relentless training.

Her mother had even joined in.

(And wasn’t that strange?)

They started going on walks together. Wandering about the city, traveling to Tatooin station, the library- anywhere her mother would usually take the train or a cab. It was… surprisingly fun.

Izumi’s mother was a brilliant woman- full of anecdotes and bits of esoteric knowledge few people bothered to learn and even fewer bothered to remember. Knowledge about lost civilizations- the sociopolitical effects of the rise of Quirks and Quirked individuals- the formation of the current hero system- and the tangled web of rules and regulations vying for supremacy while the politicians and billionaires fought for control over the most powerful individuals in the world.

Izumi found it fascinating.

Her mother had long since given up dumbing down her explanations for Izumi, recognising her daughter’s uncommon intelligence and adjusting her actions accordingly. She never failed to treat Izumi with respect and sensibility, answered her questions and trusted her judgement, fully aware that her daughter’s responsibility and common sense were sharper than most full grown adults.

Izumi’s mother was fantastic.

To be entirely honest, she hadn’t quite known how this particular aspect of her rebirth would go. Especially considering she hadn’t had much experience with parental love and support in her first life.

She barely remembered her first parents. But Midoriya Shiseki was unforgettable.

=+=+=+=

Izumi’s father was an emotional man. He cried at the drop of a hat, climbed trees to rescue their neighbor’s ungrateful kitten, and did community service like it was going out of style. He was unfailingly polite, helped old ladies cross the street, and cried when they thanked him.

He cried a lot, really.

At everything.

All the time.

Izumi hadn’t really known what to do with him at first.

The closest thing she’d ever dealt with to her father’s personality was Alex Louis Armstrong- and that man had been a bloody experience. And not one easily replicated, at that.

In any sort, Izumi’s father had none of the pomp and circumstance that Armstrong exuded like water from a fire hose, so the comparison wasn’t all that good anyhow.

He just cried a lot, and happened to be a good samaritan.

An obnoxiously good samartan. The man had a hard time saying ‘no’ to anything approaching a cry for help.

(A bit ridiculous, but it wasn’t like Izumi was any better in that department. She remembered that flood all too well- and the boys that had wormed their way into her life in the aftermath.)

Her mother often said that in another life, her father might’ve been a hero by the trade rather than a hero by the pen.

An odd turn of phrase, perhaps, but true.

One of the first things Izumi had ever learned about her father was the simple fact of his trade.

He was a writer.

Fiction.

Izumi had had little interest in such books in her last life, but she could not deny her father’s skill at the art.

He wrote like an artist painted, imbuing every word of his work with pointed emotion and connection. His protagonists- his heroes- each were different- and each and every one proved a point.

People can change. Kindness is simpler than advertised. Strength does not mean physical power. Defeat is not weakness.

Izumi’s father was good at what he did. This was a fact she could not deny.

And when she learned that the man had once made the papers by lecturing a minor villain into turning his life around, (five minutes before a pro hero arrived on the scene to find everyone in the bank sobbing like they’d just watched a sappy chick-flick), Izumi couldn't bring herself to be surprised.

Her own strength may have been steel and spine and bone- and her father may have been an emotional mess- but there was no denying that Midoriya Yasashī was strong.

Now if Izumi and her mother could just get the man to go hiking with them.

“There’s a reason I’m a writer! I’m about as coordinated as an intoxicated dachshund!” He insisted, waving a hand towards his computer, then at himself.

Her mother sighed. “Honey, you’re not that bad.” She stated tiredly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Remember the third year ball? I fell into the punchbowl three minutes in!”

Izumi blinked, eyes narrowing in incredulity. “Tou-san.” She began slowly, “...How.”

“Shoelaces!” Yasashī replied, lifting a foot off the floor and dramatically gesturing to his sneakers.

Shiseki sighed deeply, head dropping into her palm.

Izumi’s brows furrowed. “...That just raises more questions.”

=+=+=+=

Mitsuki had finally noticed Izumi’s exercise regimen.

This, while not necessarily a bad thing, wasn’t much of a good thing either.

Mostly because the bubbly blonde would not stop bugging her about it.

“So you’re suuuure it’s not hero training?” Mitsuki questioned with faux-innocence, tilting her head in a puppylike gesture that would have likely looked adorable on literally anyone else.

(Mitsuki had a resting bitch face. It might’ve been frightening if she wasn’t so damn bubbly.)

Izumi twitched, mentally cursing as her brush ran off the page with the motion, utterly ruining her latest attempt at calligraphy. She flicked her eyes up in a flat glower at her friend. “Mitsuki, for the last time, I am sure.” She bit out.

“But it sure sounds like hero training.” Mitsuki insisted, waving her finger at Izumi. “Especially with that whole mashed marshmallow arts thingy you signed up for this summer.”

Izumi closed her eyes. Counted to ten. Reminded herself that they were both seven. “Mixed Martial Arts.” She deadpanned, “Which I did not sign up for.”

Mitsuki nodded seriously. “Oh right, it was that chai tea thing.”

“That’s Tai Chi.” Izumi stated flatly, carefully beginning another stroke. “I’m taking Tae Kwon Do.”

Mitsuki tilted her hand from side to side, leaning back against her desk. “Ehhh, close enough.”

Izumi twitched. Her brush jittered again. “No.”

“Girls?” The reprimand was all teeth and sugar-free sweetener. “Would you care to share with the class?”

All eyes were on them in an instant- pencils frozen mid-stroke as silence overtook the room.

Izumi pointed a thumb at Mitsuki.

Mitsuki grinned like a cat with a canary.

In the same moment, the girls spoke, one with devilish cheer and the other with put-upon flatness.

“Izumi’s been hero training!” “She won’t stop saying that.”

Mitsuki sent Izumi a pouty frown. “But what else would all that exercisin’ and stuff be for?”

“It’s called a healthy lifestyle choice. You should try it sometime."

“You leave my twinkies out of this you snack heathen!”

“They’re pre-processed chemical facsimiles of decent food! And that’s not even the same subject!”

=+=+=+=

“It’s the first day, Mitsuki.”

“At this point I’m not even surprised. Are you two planning to do this every year?”

“Why do you do this every year?!”

“I suppose it’s not the worst tradition you could have-”

“Shiseki they put these things on their permanent records!”

“No they don’t-”

“They do-”

“They don’t-”

The principle of Katoa elementary made a sound like a dying cow and mentally cursed the fact that the daughters were so much like their mothers

Chapter Text

Alchemist. A noun referring to those who practiced the art of Alchemy, a pseudoscience often attributed to accidental Quirk usage in an age before they were commonplace.

The two nations best known for the art had long faded into the annals of history, save a pointed note in the history books that labeled them some of the first places in the world to begin developing Quirks- a fact several conspiracy theories linked to the lost city of Xerces and the legend of the ‘Promised Day.’

The eastern country of Xing, and the uniquely germanic Amestris.

This information was not common knowledge. Not in the least. Few knew the significance, and even fewer cared about nations that had been so reliant on false sciences and fairy stories about individuals with metal limbs.

Izumi found it painfully ironic.

How could Alchemy fade so completely? To the point of becoming myth?

(Pinako Rockbell would be rolling in her grave at the idea of automail as nothing more than a fairytale.)

It was nothing less than a tragedy.

But.

There were bits of fact that painted a rather different picture.

If, of course, one knew where to look.

And Izumi knew exactly where to look.

Wars.

Border skirmishes that ramped up into outright cold war- suspiciously timed assassinations that pushed unstable countries and unstable kings into the abyss of revenge. An eye for an eye.

It made the whole world blind.

Izumi had no information as to the who or the why- let alone the specifics of the how-

But with the bloodstained rise of Quirks-

It was unlikely she was wrong.

She’d shown her mother her findings- a silent admission of her childish state and a more blatant acknowledgement of her mother’s brilliance in the field of history- and had earned a choked gasp and a painterly view of a series of late nights spent leafing through ancient tomes.

(Izumi missed the days when she could do such things herself.)

It was with frazzled brunette hair, dark-rimmed eyes, and a steaming cup of coffee that her mother confirmed her findings.

For every city that had gained the usage of Quirks- another had been burned to ash.

The world population had not been halved- but that avoided fate was merely a sign of a slightly slower progression. The requisite people had still died, but the wars and blood and death had been spread out just enough to prevent the correlation from coming to light.

(Villains had provided many of them- and with the rarity of organisation in the underworld- no one had cared to notice that things lined up just a little too smoothly.)

Equivalent Exchange.

To gain something, something of equal value must be lost.

It made Izumi sick.

Is she ever found the bastards that had done this-

Well.

They would know what it meant to fear a former housewife.

=+=+=+=

Izumi had attempted Alchemy for the first time in her new life at the tender age of eight- shoving down whatever residual fear and trepidation remained as she repeatedly reminded herself that she was more than ready to channel the energies without harm.

(That had never been what worried her.)

She had practiced her calligraphy religiously, and her penmanship and accuracy were sharpened to a point she had never reached in her first life. The simple transmutation circle she had drawn was flawless down to the nanometer. 

(It was a far shade smoother than necessary.)

As she pressed her palms to the paper, energy humming at her fingertips with a gentle buzz that could never be mistaken for the silky-smoothness of her Quirk, she bit her lip and shoved everything else to the wayside.

(She had never needed this much focus. She didn’t need it now.)

And when a paper crane pulled itself from the circle with a glimmer of blue light-

All she could feel was relief.

=+=+=+=

Practice.

Izumi had never failed to practice in her first life, and she pointedly refused to do it now. Not with Alchemy, not with her painfully boring schoolwork, and most certainly not with her training.

This was the first time she’d ever had someone train with her, though.

(The brats had been different. She’d taught them. They hadn’t been equals. Not until that day when they’d arrived with broken eyes and broken bodies, held together only with that blasted fire that had gotten her attention in the first place.)

(They hadn’t had much time to train after that.)

But regardless of her past- and the utter oddity it had been- the present refused to stop surprising her.

Mitsuki had inserted herself into Izumi’s life with all the grace of a sledgehammer and the subtlety of a rock in the eye, and it appeared that the blond was dead-set on inserting herself into Izumi’s training regimine as well.

At least, so said the yoga mat and hiking boots tucked under the arm and the viciously determined gleam in her friend’s eyes.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other- red meeting green with glints of steel determination sparking in the air between them. 

It was rare that things of such strength would break. But in Izumi’s case, she was an alchemist and fully capable of bending.

Gosh darned stubborn friends. Oliver and Sig were laughing at her somewhere, she just knew it.

Izumi let out a short tisk of air as she relaxed out of her warrior pose, feet dragging slightly on her plush yoga mat as her mouth twisted into a chagrined pout.

“...I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?” She questioned, resigned.

Mitsuki’s grin was blinding.

“Absolutely not!” she chirped, dropping her mat to the floor and unfurling it with a kick. “Now how do you do that twisty pointy foot thingy?”

=+=+=+=

Pencil lead, ink, and chalk.

Three simple, everyday items that Izumi knew more about than scientists and artists alike.

She knew how ink moved and flowed- how to mix it for the precise amount of bleed she wanted- which brushes produced which effects- and how it interacted with different surfaces.

She knew pencil graphite down to its chemical composition- she knew exactly how the wax and pigment affected the mark making of their colored counterparts- and she knew precisely where they would and wouldn’t make those marks.

She knew chalk like she knew air. Powdered or compressed she knew how to manipulate it to do exactly what she wanted it to, when and where she wanted to. She knew the effect of humidity and rain by heart.

Pencil lead, ink, and chalk.

They were an alchemist’s lifeblood in so many ways.

Izumi didn’t need them to perform her art. Few alchemists had.

But they were comforting, in their own way.

So if she spent hours with pencil lead and ink and chalk- making paper cranes and stars and frogs and bears and whatever else her mind cooked up when she was too tired to sleep and the dreams became unkind-

Well. It was cheaper than therapy, and easier to explain to her parents.

Chapter Text

Izumi was ten years old when it finally happened.

She’d always known she wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever.

She’d known.

But she hadn’t expected it would end up happening like this.

It had been a field trip. To the zoo.

The zoo.

It had gone fine at first- Mitsuki had ranted about zookeeping and her analogy of zoo animals being ‘mega pets’ the entire ride there- (she was fascinated by zoology and biology in general, and had even managed to correct their guide a few times during the tour)-

But then- out of bloody nowhere-

A villain attack.

At a zoo.

Had Izumi actually been anywhere near a normal child like her classmates, she might’ve been frightened, but being the reincarnation that she was; she was far more preoccupied with the utter absurdity of a villain attacking a zoo.

What the hell was this idiot hoping to accomplish?! It was a zoo! What on earth was he trying to steal- an elephant?!? If he wanted money he should’ve gone for a freaking bank!

It wasn’t even that big of a zoo!

It was ridiculous! Moronic! Downright stupid!

But nonetheless- here she was- running from some cackling maniac dressed like a horrifying combination of a ballerina and that Australian wildlife hero Mitsuki had a crush on whilst said fashion-challenged dumbass continued to cause massive property damage.

(Seriously why the hell was he wearing tights instead of pants?! This wasn’t a damn Shakespeare production!)

Ducking under another flying bit of rubble, Izumi cursed the absurdity that this world had morphed into over the millennia she’d been absent from it.

This idiot had some kind of blasting quirk- probably air-based, judging by the way he kept grabbing chunks of concrete and metal before they blew apart. He was probably jamming air through the cracks and pores of the rock, causing it to break apart and fly everywhere.

(It was raining dust and gravel like it was that day oh so long ago- she could almost smell smoke over the shouting and cries of terror-)

Of course, that deduction would’ve been far more useful if there was actually a hero on duty, but considering this was a freaking zoo- the hero agencies had probably neglected to put it in their patrol routes.

Izumi could do something herself. She knew she could. A simple transmutation circle to meld the rubble into a barrier too dense for the wackadoodle to blast apart would be child’s play for her.

(There was blood and her hands were raw from scrapes and bruises bloomed from the rocky hail-)

But there were laws. And rules. And regulations. And her quirk was registered as Minute Telekinesis- not Matter Warping or whatever so-called logical explanation they would’ve come up with for the ability to perform alchemy.

Alchemy was a myth to these people. A quirk was more probable. Dual quirks were rare, but more probable.

And more dangerous.

If she was exposed using alchemy, the results could be disastrous.

(If Those People caught wind of her-)

She had read of experiments involving quirked animals. She had read of Quirk Marriages.

Izumi knew that was only the tip of the iceberg they called Hero Society.

To perform alchemy in a public place like this would be nothing short of foolhardy.

(But there were children crying and animals roaring and she couldn’t see Mitsuki-)

(Excuses killed.)

Izumi fell. Tripped on a fallen bar from a fenced enclosure.

Her shoulder met the ground and palm met palm-

And as her stinging hands pressed into the concrete-

The world went white.

=+=+=+=

“Hello again, Miss Al-chem-ist." 

=+=+=+=

The ground shuddered at the Alderran zoological park.

Shuddered, baulked, and twisted.

A tube shot from the ground in an instant- engulfing the villain in a prison of tight-pressed steel as blue lightning fizzled out around its base like the leftovers of a lightning strike.

As a lid slid shut on the makeshift prison, and the rubble seeped into the ground like rainwater- people searched for a new hero.

Not one suspected the fallen girl with palms pressed to the sidewalk.

=+=+=+= 

The smile was full of far too many teeth.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The voice spoke through the smile that was and wasn’t.

“You.” She accused, with venom and fear and anger and guilt-

The grin that was and wasn’t widened further, as eyes that were and weren’t gleamed.

“Tisk, tisk, Miss Al-chem-ist. I thought you knew better. A toll is a price paid once, not twice.”

“So then-” She began.

“You have paid your toll already.” The thing that could and couldn’t be said and didn’t say, “This is just a meeting.”

“Then why am I here?!” She demanded- reaching for answers that were and weren’t.

“You are not the first.”  It grinned and didn’t grin- “You will not be the last.” It laughed and didn’t laugh.

=+=+=+=

Scuffed mary-janes were scratched further as feet darted past milling adults and frazzled animals- the presence of their owner eliciting shouts and warnings that Mitsuki didn’t heed.

Quite frankly, she didn’t give a shit about what any of those adults thought.

‘Zumi was missing, and she was going to find her. End of story.

Fuck the rules.

Screw waiting.

Mitsuki would be her own hero. ‘Zumi’s too, maybe. If she’d let her.

Hopefully ‘Zumi wouldn’t need her to be.

Not today. Not like this.

‘Zumi was weird and strange and much preferred the name Izumi over Inko but ‘Zumi was ‘Zumi, and she was Mitsuki’s best friend.

Mitsuki didn’t know what she’d do without her.

She didn’t want to learn, either.

If the adults wanted to stand around waiting for somebody to show up or their feet to fall off- then let ‘em.

Mitsuki wasn’t waiting.

Not now, not ever.

=+=+=+=

“The world goes on, Miss Al-chem-ist. Things were unbalanced- so the scales were tipped.”

=+=+=+=

Just-too-smooth gravel cracked underfoot as Mitsuki dashed her way through the rubble and debris, following the cracks and breaks in the not-quite-right path.

It wasn’t quite right.

But it was like the paper crane ‘Zumi had given her for her birthday last year.

That sort of not-quite right.

It wasn’t quite like what a quirk would do. Mitsuki knew that much. It wasn’t quite anything she knew about, really.

But it was an Izumi thing.

Which meant that the only thing that the blonde could do was follow that not-quite-right path and pray that her friend was at the end of it.

=+=+=+=

“It will balance out soon enough, Miss Al-chem-ist.” The thing that was and wasn’t did and didn’t smile. “A toll will be collected from one who has yet to pay- and you, Miss Al-chem-ist, will assist in your own way.”

“I will not be part of your- your barbaric machinations.” She snapped, fists tightening.

“Oh, Miss Al-chem-ist. You already were.” It said and didn’t say, “Good luck, Miss Al-chem-ist. And farewell. For now.”

Chapter Text

She was unconscious for almost a full day after Mitsuki found her.

No one knew why. No one could explain why.

The doctors at the hospital were at a total loss, with only vague assumptions and frail platitudes to present to her parents. All they could say for certain was that she was not actually comatose.

Merely sleeping.

It was not the fault of a quirk- at least- there was no evidence of one aside from her own.

There were no bruises or injuries that could have sent her into unconsciousness. No evidence of shock. Nothing out of place.

As far as any of them could tell, ten year old Midoriya Inko was completely healthy. More so, even, than many of her peers.

All they could do was wait.

And watch.

And sure enough-

She woke up.

(Not one person noticed- and indeed not one was meant to see- that the moment green eyes blinked open-)

(Was the very same moment they had slid shut- twenty four hours before.)

=+=+=+=

Izumi hated hospitals.

They smelled like blood and death and that damn lemon disinfectant that seemed to have stuck around since the days when Amestris was still a thriving country.

She hated that smell.

She had been in these- things- far too often.

Far too often.

Not in this life- true.

But as much as Izumi preferred to ignore it- there were things far less pleasant than alchemy that had carried over from her past life.

Her hatred of hospitals was one of them.

(Blood and death and failure and so much blood-)

(How much of it had been hers and how much of it had been-)

(She would never know.)

Izumi grit her teeth as her thoughts returned to that place- banishing the train of thought with a swift shake of her head.

She had sworn she would never return there again.

But it seemed- that that had been a promise she’d been destined to break.

She despised that thing.

It wanted her to play pawn in Its little game?

Then so be it.

Time would tell who played whom.

After all-

Izumi did not intend to lose.

=+=+=+=

She spoke to her parents, after that.

After they had arrived home and worried fussing had faded to a murmur of familial something that slipped through the cracks of Izumi’s shields and reminded her that she was not alone.

(Terrifying but true- how often she forgot that.)

Words spilled out like raindrops, spiraling into a deluge of a tale Izumi would not have believed had she not lived it.

(If she was more… poetic… than she had expected- she placed the blame on her father’s speech patterns.)

She spoke of a life lived in an age before Quirks- of relentless training and years of study- of alchemy and science- of hopeless love and reckless folly.

(It had been a choice made in blood and tears- and she doubted she would ever truly forgive herself for that night.)

She told them of years spent in pain- she told them of stubborn children- of tests and goodbyes- of golden eyes burnt stronger than steel-

(Foolish. The mistakes of the teacher became the mistakes of the student.)

She told them of war- of Homunculi and Chimera. She told them of a plan a millenia in the making- and the handful that had torn it down.

(She was no hero. An Alchemist was for the people. She was an Alchemist. And that was all.)

She told them her once-name-

(Midoriya Inko. Izumi Curtis. One and the same. One is All, All is One.)

(There had never been a difference.)

And the Truth that was their daughter had been poured out like rain.

Her tale was not met with disbelief.

It was not met with fear.

It was met with worried eyes and tears as she was enveloped in hugs and affection and trust and-

Izumi cried.

=+=+=+=

“I’d had my suspicions.” Her mother admitted, from where they were wrapped in blankets and pillows as tea steamed from cups cradled in palms.

A soft smile tugged at her father’s lips as he tucked Izumi closer between them, a hand coming to rest on her mother’s shoulder. “For the longest time I’d thought you had some variation of your mother’s quirk.” Yasashī said, voice gentle as Izumi studied her tea. “Something intelligence based, maybe- but your mother had other theories.”

“My family always believed in reincarnation.” Shiseki explained, sipping her tea carefully as wafts of peach-scented steam danced through the air. “They rarely had proof, but they believed. Some even studied it- talked to people who admitted that they remembered living once before. Many lied. A few were real.”

“My grandmother was one of them.” She said, “Although I don’t think she ever meant to reveal it.” The brunette sighed softly. “She told me when I was very young. Before anyone knew my quirk would manifest in the way it did.”

Yasashī squeezed her mother’s shoulder gently. “It was fairly likely that she’d intended for your mother to forget it. If her quirk didn’t catalogue everything the way it does, she probably would have.”

Her mother nodded in confirmation. “It was actually a few of the things she said about Amestris and the fallen countries around it that truly brought my attention to history.”

Izumi’s hands tensed ever so slightly around her teacup. “Your grandmother was from Amestris?” she questioned, frowning at her hands. She forced them to loosen as she took a sip of tea.

“Oh yes.” Shiseki replied, “She grew up in a small farm town in her first life. I believe she called it ‘Resembool?’”

Izumi nearly spat out her tea.

Forcing the liquid down her throat rather than all over their makeshift blanket-nest, she somehow managed to keep her voice steady as she choked out a question: “Did- Did she ever say what her name had been?”

“Not her full name, no.” Her mother answered honestly, shrugging slightly. “In this life her name was Myōjō Nikkō- but she preferred to be called Trisha.”

Izumi promptly choked on air.

Chapter Text

Izumi had never been fond of secrets.

She wasn’t fond of making them- let alone bothering to keep them when the other party had all the pieces to the puzzle.

So she told Mitsuki.

(Not everything. Not as detailed as the truth she’d told her parents. But enough.)

To be perfectly honest, however, she probably should’ve expected Mitsuki’s response to her admission.

“Well, you being a reincarnated magic-scientist makes way more sense than my alien theory.” The ruby-eyed blond admitted from her catlike perch on Izumi’s dresser.

Izumi choked on her lemonade. 

“...Your what.”

“I mean, your quirk is doing that whole--” Mitsuki made an awkward grabby-hand motion and mimed dragging her fist into her palm. “Floaty thingy-- and the paper crane totally had something off about it, but it definitely wasn’t a quirk ‘cause your quirk doesn’t do that--” She continued, making some sort of wiggly gesture that was probably supposed to illustrate her thought process . “Soooo-- after the whole… Zoo thing… I figured it was some kinda weirdo tech which obviously doesn’t exist on earth, so-- alien.” She finished, shrugging.

Izumi just stared. “You thought I was an alien.” She managed slowly, “Like that Star Wars thing you made me watch.” She blinked, eyebrows raised. “An alien.”

“It was a valid conclusion, okay!!” Mitsuki defended, crossing her arms rapidly and nearly knocking herself off of the dresser with the force of the motion, though she managed to regain her balance before she actually tipped over. 

The blond pointed at her green-haired friend with one hand, the other clamped around the dresser’s edge. “You saw nothing.” She hissed, before clearing her throat in a blatant distraction-tactic and plowing on with her explanation.

“The crane and the sidewalk were weird, ya’know? They had these little line-y lookin’ marks on them in places that normal stuff doesn’t.” She elaborated, pointing at the nearest member of the paper-crane flock that decorated much of Izumi’s room. “And I thought the line-y thingies looked kinda tech-y and unnatural- but I know even pro hero tech doesn’t have anything that can do that-- so it was either time travel or aliens, and aliens are way more likely.”

“My neighbor is literally made of rocks, you sweat lotion, I can use telekinesis, and aliens are more likely than time travel?” Izumi asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Don’t you logic away my logic, ‘Zumi.”

=+=+=+=

“Mitsuki?” She asked softly, eyes trained on the paper cranes strung from her bedroom ceiling.

“Yeah, ‘Zumi?”

“...I’m glad you’re my friend.” She admitted.

The reply was tinted with the tone of a soft smile. “...Me too, you silly green bean.”

=+=+=+=

Palm pressed into palm.

Her breathing was steady and undeterred.

She looked like she was praying.

(Izumi was still terrified, no matter her outward appearance.)

Her hands pulled apart, and fingertips touched stone.

(She was terrified but it would not stop her.)

Lightning crackled as the material warped, pulled, and bent itself to her whim.

A pendant. 

Cold black stone formed into a familiar shape.

(She was tired of being afraid.)

The energy faded as quickly as it had come- and Izumi reached for a brush and red ink.

Smooth lines were traced upon obsidian. 

And with another clap- another flash- they were fused into the stone itself.

Old wires morphed into steel chain.

Threaded through obsidian and clasped behind her neck-

She grasped the pendant and smiled.

(She had always been an alchemist. She always would be.)

(One is All, All is One.)

(An alchemist is for the people.)

The Flamel symbol in her grasp held the form of her resolve. 

It would serve as a reminder of her purpose. Her strength.

...At least until she could get it tattooed.

=+=+=+=

Most eleven-year olds wanted toys or video games for their birthdays, with the occasional odd duck who preferred books or manga.

Most of the time, they received them.

Izumi was not an average eleven-year-old.

Still- as she grinned widely at the paper clenched in her hands- this was one gift she never would have expected.

And one she couldn't be more happy to receive.

She felt a little like her father, with matching tears flowing from near-matched green eyes, as she hugged her parents closer.

She loved her family.

And if anything proved that they loved her back-

It was the words written in government-issue ink.

Midoriya Izumi.

Two lives finally settled into one.

Izumi couldn’t stop smiling, even as tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

(She loved her family.)

She was whole-

And she was home.

=+=+=+=

Middle school wasn’t all too much different than elementary school, in Izumi’s opinion. She was older now- as were her peers- and the difficulty of schoolwork was higher- but there was little else to note.

It was strange in some ways- she’d admit that. She hadn’t had formalised schooling past the age of nine in her first life, and much of what she knew about alchemy had been entirely self-taught.

So large groups of hormone-filled preeteens contained in a single building were a bit… different… than the type of learning she’d been used to.

It was nice to have teachers available to answer questions and simplify concepts, though.

Izumi was fairly certain she would be able to streamline her alchemy even further with the information she was gaining from these science courses. It seemed that understanding of the elements had increased exponentially since her time in Amestris- and she would milk this new knowledge for all that it was worth.

Although she could do without the obnoxiously rigid school uniform.

(If she ever got into a fight wearing one of these things she’d sue someone. They were practically tailored to prevent any sort of movement aside from walking.)

(And she absolutely hated that damn skirt.)

At least her parents had let her get box braids again. If she’d had to go another three years without them, she probably would have screamed.

=+=+=+=

“...You know, technically, since you lived to be fifty two the first time- if you add your current age to that you’re like sixty four.” Mitsuki noted, pointing the back end of her pen in Izumi’s direction.

Izumi’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“You’re technically older than my mom.” Mitsuki continued, undaunted.

“I am not.” Izumi stated testily, “And we are supposed to be studying for tomorrow’s science test.”

“Yeah but that’s boring, and I’m about two more problems away from stabbing my paper.” The blond replied, grinning brightly.

Izumi’s scowl darkened. She knew exactly where this was going and she was not going to stand for it.

No way, no how.

“Mitsuki. Don’t you dare.” She hissed.

The blond held up her hands in surrender, grinning cheekily as she returned to her worksheet.

For a minute, there was blissful silence.

“...You know, you’re technically two years older than my grandma.”

“I AM NOT OLD, DAMMIT!”

Chapter Text

This was very likely one of the outright stupidest things Izumi had ever done.

(Certainly not the worst. Never the worst. But stupid nonetheless.)

“Well- looks like we’re all set, Izumi-chan!” Her father chirped with a winning smile, wiping the sweat of his brow in an exaggerated motion as he took a step back from the pile of assorted rocks they’d been gathering for the past hour. “If I read that math right-” 

“You didn’t, dear.” Her mother absentmindedly noted from her seat at the picnic table.

 “If- I said if- and I had you to correct me!” Yasashī replied, eyes twinkling cheerily as he faked a pout for a moment. “Anyway,” He continued, pout disappearing as he waved a hand at the rock pile. “The point is we should probably have enough rocks!” 

“We could probably do with a few more, dear.” Her mother answered- a mischievous smile tugging at the edge of her lips. “I think I saw another boulder on the other side of that hill.” Shiseki jerked a thumb at the steep incline behind her, finally closing her notebook and lowering it onto her lap, using her finger as a bookmark. 

“But I don’t waaaannaaa-” Yasashī whined, purposefully overdramatic.

Her parents’ antics were mostly for Izumi’s benefit, she knew. This wasn’t exactly something she found easy to do, after all, so the distraction was more than welcome.

But she couldn’t put this off for any longer. It was the reason she’d suggested coming here in the first place, after all.

This little park was one of many similar ones that had sprouted up as Quirked individuals had begun to greatly outnumber those without- and more and more children were born with abilities that could become extremely destructive if left alone.

Quirk Counseling was remarkably expensive outside of the relatively-new mandatory sessions for elementary schoolers- and considering Quirk use in public was illegal without a license or due cause- public areas meant specifically for Quirk practice became invaluable.

Of course, the government couldn’t exactly just let everyone do whatever they wanted while in these parks. Without regulation, Villains and lower-level criminals could simply claim that their actions in these ‘safe zones’ were perfectly legal.

(One of the few sensible things they’d done, in Izumi’s opinion.)

To enter one of these Training Parks, you had to present your ID and fill out several legal agreements at the entrance in order to confirm your identity and allow full prosecution should you purposely misuse your Quirk within the grounds- and if you were under the age of fifteen, you were required to be accompanied by a parent or guardian.

The parks were also patrolled by Pro Heroes at all times, though they rotated shifts relatively often.

It was far from a perfect system- but it remained one of the few places where Izumi could really experiment without serious repercussions.

(She was an Alchemist, a martial artist, and a pragmatist.)

(She could not afford to leave this aspect of her abilities to rot.)

Her hand strayed to the pendant around her neck, fingers tracing the familiar shape.

Izumi let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

It was time she stopped running.

Somehow scrounging up a determined smile, Izumi turned her attention to her father. “Tou-san.” She began, “That should be enough.” 

The green-haired man returned her smile with a much-more-honest grin. “Alrighty then!” He chirped, before shooting his wife a playful glare. “See, I did get enough!”

Shiseki smiled regally at her husband, looking for all the world like a scholar-queen of days long past- an image that was thoroughly ruined as she stuck her tongue out at him.

Yasashī returned the gesture with exactly the same amount of maturity.

Which is to say, none whatsoever.

...Izumi loved her parents.

Smile softening into something far less forced, Izumi waited until her father had joined her mother at the picnic table before settling into a firmer stance.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Breath in-

Izumi slowly raised a hand towards the pile of miscellaneous rock, and concentrated.

(She could never quite name the feeling her Quirk gave her.)

(Silk-smooth nothing and gentle streams coating her palms like ink-)

She reached-

And she pulled.

The smallest of the rocks came to her with relative ease, and as soon as the pebble was close enough, she took hold and swung it into orbit around her.

Centripetal force.

She grabbed and released in rhythm to keep momentum- and the single pebble became an asteroid locked in her orbit.

Izumi had tried this much before, with small beads from a kit Mitsuki had given her for her birthday, slinging them around herself in a colorful tornado of plastic.

The pebble may have been heavier, and somewhat larger, but the principle remained the same.

Now for the next test.

Izumi reached to the pile again, pulling another small bit of gravel into her orbit.

And another.

And another.

Five. Six. Ten. Fifteen.

At twenty pebbles, something twinged within her- and she cut off her Quirk with a wince, sending the small stones crashing around her feet.

“Twenty is the limit.” Izumi stated, shaking her hands gingerly as she frowned at the pebbles lying at her feet.

Her mother nodded, jotting down the information in the notebook.

“Are you all right, Izumi-chan?” Her father asked, making an aborted movement to stand as he frowned worriedly.

Izumi nodded, gesturing for him to remain seated. “I’m fine, Tou-san.” She replied firmly, “No migraines.”

Yasashī made a face at that, but settled back into his seat.

“Just a twinge, then, dear?” Her mother questioned, making another note as Izumi nodded in confirmation.

Izumi had noticed the twinges almost a year ago now. They were almost like- muscle strain, but less physical. She had deduced it was sort of a…

A warning bell. For her Quirk.

If she ignored a twinge and kept going, she would start getting a headache- and the further and longer she pushed, the worse it would get- until she inevitably ended up with one of the debilitating migraines that had left her bedridden as a child.

It was as if her Quirk was notifying her of her current limits and cautioning her not to ‘pull a muscle,’ as it were, in order to prevent Quirk Exhaustion. Like some kind of inherent self-preservation instinct.

Fascinating, and certainly worth a more detailed investigation, but that was not her objective today.

“Next test.” Izumi muttered, turning her attention to a far larger bit of rock than what she had been working with before. Reaching her hand out, began tugging at the surface with her quirk, adjusting force and output as she went.

The rock wobbled, but did not come to her.

Then again, it wasn’t exactly intended to.

Another tug, a frown, and a quick twisting motion- and a small section of rock split from the stone without further protest, careening towards Izumi’s palm until they met with an audible thwack.

It stung, but the small spike of pain was nothing in comparison to the fact that she had done it.

She could manipulate a small piece of a larger object with no adverse effects.

A bit more practice- and perhaps she could combine her Quirk with Alchemy- pulling microscopic materials closer in order to create stronger and sturdier transmutations.

Maybe even manipulating airborne particles to create something solid from thin air.

Izumi grinned.

=+=+=+=

“Holy shit, ‘Zumi that is awesome!” Mitsuki exclaimed, “Pulling parts of stuff instead of all of it? That’s like- like-” The blond waved her hands in a shape that looked vaguely like an intoxicated butterfly. “It’s like a whole new world for your Quirk! You could do so much stuff with that!”

Izumi smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm as she followed the excitable girl through the bustling midday crowds at their local shopping mall. This little trip of theirs had been Mitsuki’s idea- a sort of reward for Izumi’s success during Quirk Training- although it was a reward for Mitsuki as well.

After Izumi had revealed everything to her friend, voiced her suspicions that she might not be the only one reincarnated like this, and explained her plans to regain her former skill set- the blond had taken it as a challenge to improve herself as well.

Mitsuki might not have the slightest interest in learning alchemy, (she’d taken one look at Izumi’s coded notebooks and announced that she wouldn’t even attempt anything that complicated), but she was more than gung-ho about learning hand to hand combat.

The fiery blond had signed up for martial arts classes at one of the nearby dojos- and less than a month later she was consistently defeating most students in her section, regardless of their slightly higher rankings.

(Her teachers called it brutal. Mitsuki called it efficient.)

(Izumi was so proud.)

But regardless, Mitsuki had called for Victory Ice Cream, so Victory Ice Cream it was.

And of course, Victory Ice Cream could only come from one place: Hero Ice, a local hotspot famous for its wide selection of hero-themed ice cream flavors.

As usual, the line was out the door- giving Izumi plenty of time to people-watch as she listened to Mitsuki’s chatter about possible uses of her quirk in heroics.

Hero Ice was on the second floor of the mall, overlooking the food court- and considering out-the-door lines were rather common, the mall had set up a designated area for the waiting queue to prevent the lines from blocking off other stores.

The waiting area was actually fairly close to the rail, which gave Izumi a spectacular view of a gangly teenager tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his face down in the food court.

Izumi winced. Ouch. That had to have hurt. 

With his black school-uniform and mop of sunny yellow hair, the poor guy looked like a trampled sunflower as he-

Just layed there.

On the floor.

Izumi’s eyebrows raised.

...Did he knock himself out?

After almost a full minute of not moving, the sunflower kid finally peeled himself up off the floor- revealing the most utterly done expression Izumi had ever seen in her life.

The greenette stifled a snort as the sunflower kid proceeded to dust himself off and straighten his uniform, expression barely shifting from that flat disappointed-in-life deadpan.

Finally running a hand through his hair, sunflower kid let out a tired sigh and kept walking, shoulders slumping into something that just seemed- sad.

As sunflower kid disappeared back into the crowd, Izumi couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she would’ve liked to meet him.

Chapter Text

Izumi was by no means unintelligent.

By all accounts, she would probably be considered a genius if she ever bothered to get tested.

Still- even geniuses weren’t immune to the occasional bouts of complete and utter stupidity that came with being human.

Like completely forgetting about the fact that she would have to get a job at some point.

And that her middle school required her to present her career interests to the councillor.

Every year.

Which would be the reason why Izumi was currently pacing her room, phone in hand, while she tried very hard not to hyperventilate.

“What do you mean it’s due tomorrow?!”

For a moment, the other end of the line was dead silent. “...You actually forgot?” Mitsuki asked incredulously as Izumi continued forcing herself through breathing exercises. “You? Miss ‘I still remember what I ate for breakfast four years ago?’”

Izumi took a somewhat strangled breath. “Not the point!” She forced out, waving a hand flippantly and accidentally knocking a figurine off of her bookshelf. “Shit-!” she cursed, activating her Quirk just barely in time to prevent the figurine from hitting the ground.

Letting out a relieved sigh as the spike of adrenaline faded, she gently tugged the figurine to her palm as she returned her attention to Mitsuki.

“Mitsuki- I haven’t even thought about what I want to do for a living. At all. I’ve been a little busy trying to deal with the whole-” Izumi waved the figurine in a vague circle. “You know.”

“Yeaaaah, but, still-!” Mitsuki exclaimed, pausing in thought for a moment before continuing in a far more subdued tone. “You’re always so organized and focused and stuff- and you’re like- reaaally good at all that sciency-math stuff you do, so I guess I kinda figured you’d already decided on something?”

...It was incredibly sweet that Mitsuki thought so highly of her.

Misguided , clearly, but sweet.

“I just- I don’t- Uuugh.” Izumi huffed, flopping onto her bed. “I just don’t know what to do Mitsuki. I mean-” The greenette cut herself off mid-sentence, taking a moment to revise her explanation into something she could actually tell her friend over the phone.

(Wiretaps existed, after all- and the phrase ‘In my past life I worked in my husband’s butcher shop for thirty years because I had critical internal injuries and was a damn housewife-’ wasn’t exactly something Izumi wanted just anyone to hear.)

“All I know for sure is that I don’t want to work in an office.” Izumi said finally, rolling over onto her back. “I just- there are things I want to do in the future that mean I would very much prefer working from home.” She admitted, fist tightening unconsciously around the black-clad figurine in her grip.

Like maybe- if whatever fault in her systems hadn’t-

Now with her entirely different genetics-

(Her toll paid and done for and not carried over-)

If she could-

Not- Not yet. But someday.

And dammit, if she could, she wanted to be there.

(Offices were stuffy and robotically stiff, anyway. She wanted no part in that.)

Mitsuki hummed quietly on the other end of the line. “Well… You’re like, super sciency. And math-y.” She began, her voice picking up her thoughtful frown. “Logic-brained, I think mom called it? Maybe you should start with that. I think there are a few science careers that let you work from home?” The blond offered.

Izumi let out a quiet huff. “...Maybe.” She conceded, thumb tracing the edges of the figurine’s white plastic cape and yellow gloves as she frowned at the ceiling. “I guess I just… want to do something I find... meaningful? I don’t want to end up doing busy work for the rest of my life.”

“Meaningful…” Mitsuki began thoughtfully, “Like, helping people? I know you said you didn’t want to be a Pro Hero- but maybe you could do something like, I don’t know… Police work? Wait no that wouldn’t let you stay home… doctor or nurse is also out, they keep weird hours…” She grumbled mostly to herself.

Izumi frowned thoughtfully as her friend continued plowing through her mental- and judging by the scribble of pencil on paper- physical list of occupations.

She needed something scientific and meaningful, that would still allow her to work from home.

Immediately, anything involving large amounts of lab work was out. That would require her to be on-site far more often than she wanted.

Something fully mathematical wouldn’t be horrible, but she’d be bored out of her mind as an accountant or statistician, and neither of those professions were overtly helpful to the sort of people who actually needed her help.

“Why the hell is cryptozoologist on this list? Quirked animal research was banned years ago- and is that a picture of fucking Mothman? This is a school-approved website- I fear for the children-” Mitsuki complained dramatically, ignoring Izumi’s snort at her description, before cutting herself off with an excited “-Oh hey I found a thing!”

Izumi raised an eyebrow. “A thing?” She questioned, “More pictures of Mothman?”

“Nooo, no more Mothman he’s dumb-” Mitsuki whined.

Izumi snorted.

“Rude.” Mitsuki stated cheerily, “But anyway the thing I found was a page on Quirk Researchers.”

“Quirk researchers?” Izumi questioned, brows furrowing. “Like quirkologists?”

“Nope! Not quite.” Mitsuki replied, “That’s like a subsection of a subsection in Quirk Research. They’ve got a lot of different options in here, and it says a lot of researchers choose their own subjects, specialties, and hours. Which sounds perfect for you.”

It did sound perfect.

Too perfect.

“What’s the catch?”

Mitsuki laughed. “To anybody else it’d be a catch- but for you?” Another laugh. “Yeah. The only ‘catch’ I saw was that Quirk Researchers are on-call for incidents that fit their specialty; like dealing with court stuff, villain cases, Quirk abuse cases, and some hero incidents- among other things- depending on the specialty.” The blond explained excitedly, “Plus, certain specialties have to work with people who have that type of Quirk, acting like something between a Quirk Counsellor and a personal trainer.”

Izumi blinked.

That.

That sounded amazing.

Even if she didn’t know the specific area of research she would go into-

A small smile tugged at the corners of Izumi’s lips as she raised her fist into the air, smile widening into something more excited as she stared at the heroically-posed figurine in her grasp.

“Mitsuki… I think I want to be a Quirk Researcher.”

Mitsuki cheered.

=+=+=+=

Izumi had dreaded puberty.

The more… biological aspects, she’d been prepared for. She knew pretty much everything she needed to about dealing with bras and periods- even if she was a bit out of practice with the latter.

(She had not been prepared for that many brands of tampons and pads. Sure Quirks messed with everything but that was still a lot of brands.)

It was the more… emotional… aspects, that she’d truly dreaded dealing with.

Of course, now that she’d finally reached it- that dread had turned into existential horror and a large helping of shit she did not want to be dealing with, dammit.

It had been subtle enough at first that she hadn’t quite noticed- sure she’d been paying more attention to her classmates lately, but that was normal, right? It wasn’t out of the ordinary if she happened to learn a few more names this year than the last- it was just the influence of Mitsuki and a school setting pushing her to be a bit more open to making friends, right?

Of course, that particular delusion had been thoroughly shattered upon the first outdoor gym class of the year.

She’d actually choked on her water when she realised she’d been staring at several of the more… built teens in her class.

Hormones.

Hormones meant checking people out by accident. Hormones meant teen drama. Hormones meant crushes.

Izumi did not want to deal with crushes.

She’d had them before, the first time. Just a few- never serious and never anything that led to dates.

Except for Sig.

She had spent over half her life with that man. The highs, the lows- and even the catastrophic.

She’d loved him.

She’d loved him so damn much- and now-

Now she wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again.

She was the only reincarnation she knew of. The only living reincarnation, anyway.

(Izumi visited Trisha’s grave at least once a month. The woman had been her great grandmother in this life, and the mother of her students in the last.)

(Flowers and a peaceful place to rest were the least she could give in return.)

If she had interpreted that message correctly, there were others. Or at least, there would be others.

Still, the fact remained, no matter how cold and damming.

If she ever did meet another reincarnation in this life- one that she’d known in the last-

The probability it would be Sig-

...If it wasn’t zero, it was close.

Even so. Even still.

She wasn’t certain she could let go.

=+=+=+=

Bare feet slid over the soft mat, movements precise and unflinching.

Izumi turned carefully. Precisely. Exactly.

And within seconds of her burly opponent meeting her extended arm-

He was unceremoniously hurled halfway across the room.

(Specifically into a stack of towels and spare mats a few of the dojo’s students had taken to setting up for events such as this.)

Relaxing out of her previous stance, Izumi gave the sprawled and groaning body of her opponent an unimpressed look, effectively ignoring the sound of scattered cheers from her classmates and choked gasps from the judges. 

Honestly, what did those other dojos teach their students-?! Clearly it wasn’t anything competent, let alone useful.

The referee coughed awkwardly, looking pointedly away from the dazed teenager. “Ah. The winner of this match is Midoriya Izumi, from Matsuoka’s Academy of Martial Arts!”

With a huff, Izumi turned and walked back to her seat and the cheerfully waving form of Mitsuki, a trail of whispers humming behind her like particularly annoying flies.

“What the hell, she’s tiny and she just chucked him out of the ring!”

“It’s got to be a strength Quirk. There’s just no way-”

“Don’t be stupid, she’s in the non-physical Quirk division.”

“Her sensei probably bribed the judges!”

“Excuse you were we watching the same fight?”

The humming of whispers grew louder as she settled back into her seat; silently accepting Mitsuki’s offer of a fist-bump.

“Damn, why is such a cute girl such a hardass bitch…?”

“Better her than the ragey one…”

“OI! CAN IT!” A voice snapped, instantly drawing attention to its owner: a completely androgynous young adult with a fluffy teal undercut and a disappointed scowl. “This is a competition, not a gossip-fest!” They stated firmly, “And if you continue to insult my students, I will personally report you to your parents- and see to it you receive a suspension from the next competition!”

The whispers stopped instantly- the entire crowd returning their attention to the mats as they pointedly refused to make eye-contact.

(They knew full well that that threat would be followed through.)

This was Matsuoka Zhou: sensei and owner of Matsuoka’s Academy of Martial Arts- and Matsuoka-sensei was not one to sugarcoat.

If they said you’d receive a suspension- you would. End of story.

Izumi rather liked them. They were sensible.

Unlike many of the students in this competition.

Immaturity. Honestly, Izumi knew she had the advantage of a full lifetime of knowledge, but would it kill these people to behave professionally at a competition?

Mitsuki bumped izumi’s shoulder with her own, startling Izumi out of her darkening thoughts. “You were getting kinda murder-faced.” The blond noted, smiling.

“Ah.” Izumi said, blinking as she straightened in her seat, shaking off the scowl from her face. “Sorry.”

“Nah, you’re good.” Mitsuki replied cheerily, tossing an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Haters gonna hate, and all that.” She said, “Ya just gotta skate away from the bullshit, ya’know? Ignore the shitty shitheads!”  

Izumi snorted. “Shitty shitheads?”

“Well their personalities are clearly shit, so their heads must be full of the stuff!” Mitsuki chirped slightly-too-loud. Several of the teens who had been whispering earlier flinched at her harsh assessment.

Izumi just shook her head fondly, a soft smile on her face.

She’d never really cared about ‘haters-’ as Mitsuki called them- but then again, she’d never really had any before.

Probably because she just didn’t give a shit about their opinions.

(Although, she had to admit, it was fun rubbing her first-place medal in their faces.)

Chapter Text

Academic lectures were interesting.

Of course, the softly-snoring college student to Izumi’s left was clearly of a different opinion- but there was a reason she had talked her mother into letting her attend these events during the weekends when the historian needed to dig through the more restricted archives.  

There hadn’t exactly been many lectures on... well... much of anything back in the days of Amestris.

If there had been lectures, they were restricted to specific groups, and often required military affiliations just to get in the door.

(And like hell was she going to become a military dog just to get thirty minutes of only possibly-relevant information.)

But now, these academic lectures were available to almost anyone who had the time to sit through them- and Izumi found them fascinating .

She attended almost every single lecture she could find- and found digital versions of any that she missed due to schoolwork or other obligations.

(Those ‘TED talk’ videos were especially useful during long train rides.)

She’d learned quite a bit about the advancements that had been made since the end of her first life, and far more than she’d expected about the way the emergence of Quirks had impacted society.

From the controversial emergence of the Pro Hero system, to impacts in the focus of science and technology as organizations like NASA took a hard swerve away from space exploration to combatting, and eventually managing Quirks and their less than savory effects on their users.

This particular lecture was actually one Izumi had been hoping to attend since the day it had been announced: Evolutionary Acceleration and the Quirk Singularity.  

The speaker, Doctor Fukabun Nara, rarely made public appearances. If ever.

He was an incredibly private man, and even he name he used on papers was known to be a pseudonym. In fact, when read in the western order, the name literally meant “atomic shadow,” a reference to both the carbon-burned shadows created from death in proximity to an atom bomb- and the man’s somewhat-eerie Quirk.

(Looking like the lovechild of a red-eyed grim reaper and a sleep-deprived romance-novel vampire that had gotten lost in Hot Topic tended to throw people off.)

(It was a look, that was for certain.)

Still, to have him give a full lecture? A public lecture?

It was like clouds had turned to cotton candy and started raining chocolate milk. Doctor Nara giving a lecture was nothing short of a miracle.

Although, a good twenty minutes into said lecture, Izumi was starting to see why the wraithlike man had deemed this knowledge so important he’d left his usual hermit-like state to give a public speech about it.

The Quirk Singularity, the man had explained while ghosting across the stage, was not a new theory by any means- but it was beginning to look more and more probable.

Quirk Singularity was fairly simple in and of itself. It was the idea that, as time went on and generations of Quirk users combined, Quirks themselves would begin to grow stronger and stronger- until they became too much for their users to control.

The theorists believed that even the recently-accelerated evolution of the human body simply could not keep up with Quirk evolution and that, at some point, the Quirk Singularity would be reached and humanity would quite literally tear itself apart under the weight of its own power.

Doctor Nara disagreed.

His studies had shown that the side effects of Quirk useage were actually decreasing as generations passed, and that the human genome was quite literally rewriting itself the longer it was exposed to whatever Quirk the holder possessed, in order to better contain and manipulate the ‘rules’ of the Quirk in question.

In fact- it was becoming increasingly common for Quirk users who practiced regularly to surpass their supposedly hard limits and break into entirely new subsections of their Quirk- a phenomenon most seen in Pro Heroes.

So, in Doctor Nara’s view, the Quirk Singularity was not necessarily the problem.

The problem was the emergence of what he called ‘X-Quirks.’

They were the Quirks that manifested early, and manifested badly. They were the Quirks that warped their users’ mental state. They were the Quirks that manifested without limits- the Quirks that required pinpoint control that a child simply did not have.

They were the Quirks that made Villains by circumstance, forcing a child down a path of darkness from even a single mistake- or even without one, as society ridiculed and labeled their abilities.

It was these X-Quirks and their effects- not the Singularity- that were the real danger to their world.

And quite honestly, Izumi agreed.

X-Quirks were dangerous if not handled properly, and right now, there was no one to handle them.

She planned to change that.

As a budding Quirk Researcher- it seemed she had found her specialization.

=+=+=+=

“I am freaking tired of makeup not fucking working on me. I’m going to fix it.” Mitsuki announced, slamming her lunch tray onto the table with unnecessary force as she slid into the seat beside Izumi.

Jotting down another line in her notebook, Izumi flipped to a blank page, setting down her pencil and turning her attention to her blond friend.

“You’re going to ‘fix it?’” Izumi questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup.” Mitsuki replied, nodding as she yanked open the paper milk-box. “Makeup is almost always powder based, water based, or cream based- and it always-” she took a shot of milk like it was high proof alcohol. “-gets ruined by my Quirk.” she finished, slamming the box back onto her tray. 

“So.” Mitsuki continued, “I’m going to fix it. I mean, I figure I’m not the only one with a Quirk that makes normal makeup fucking useless- so if I can figure out how to make a bunch of different types that work around Quirks and weird skin types, I could solve a huge fucking problem in the cosmetics industry.”

Izumi blinked. “...You know you’ll need chemistry for something like that, right?”

Mitsuki grinned brightly. “Biochem, specifically! And a bunch of dermatology too. Though, since I’ve gotta know so much about dermatology to deal with my Quirk anyway- that part shouldn’t be too hard, ya’know?”

The greenette nodded slowly. “That… is actually a good point.” Izumi conceded, “and it would fit with your goal to break into the fashion industry.”

“Exactly.” Mitsuki exclaimed, pointing the back of her fork at Izumi.

Izumi held up a hand. “But didn’t you say you hated chemistry?”

“I hate the math, not the experiment part.” Mitsuki replied, waving a hand flippantly as she stabbed a baby carrot. “But even if I hate the math, that doesn’t mean I can’t do it. I just don’t like it. Unlike some people I know.” The blond teased, smirking as she popped the baby carrot in her mouth.

Izumi smiled, shaking her head in fond exasperation.

(Only Mitsuki. Izumi almost wanted to laugh. She loved being her friend.)

“Plus!” Mitsuki interjected, grin widening. “Since you’re going into that high-class science-y High School for your Quirk Research degree- and I need to go there for their biochem degree- we’ll be going to the same school!”

(That time Izumi did laugh.)

=+=+=+=

The idea of theme parks confused Izumi on a primal level. 

They just didn’t make sense. Sure, the adrenaline rushes from the roller coasters probably brought in a lot of people- and even she would admit to enjoying the racing excitement they generated.

It was more the theme part Izumi didn’t get.

What exactly was so fun about a bunch of poorly-paid actors in cheap superhero costumes? Or those gaudy pro-hero themed decorations that just looked plastic-y and bad?

And sure, some of the plushies and other merchandise were cute and all, but they were either bizarrely overpriced or locked behind the counters of blatantly rigged games. 

Much like the grease-covered heart-attack-inducing crap they had the gall to call food. 

Still, Mitsuki thought these… things… were ‘super freaking awesome,’ so Izumi would grin and bear it- for friendship.

(And if Izumi happened to terrorise a couple of those game attendants by repeatedly beating their rigged games- that was her business.)

(She did rather like this Gran Torino plushie, though.)

(...It was cute, chibified and soft, sue her.)

Izumi had actually been waiting in the queue for the park’s miniature train, mostly-listening to Mitsuki’s excited ranting about the newest coasters in the park and their supposed ranking on Buzzfeed, when a flash of bright yellow caught her eye.

“Huh?” Izumi muttered as she glanced over at the other side of the fake-street, hoping to catch a glimpse of what ever had-

Izumi froze.

That.

Was sunflower kid.

Even without her Gate-given memory, Izumi was fairly certain she would’ve recognised him anyway. He’d grown maybe two inches since she’d seen him at the mall a year ago, but that hair and gangly frame were unmistakable.

But this time- unlike the first- sunflower kid saw her too.

He’d been walking on the other sidewalk, glancing around at all the hero merch and ridiculous fake-buildings and looking for all the world like a kid in a candy store- but the moment he turned to look at the park’s train station-

For a full second, all that came to mind was ‘holy fuck his eyes are blue.’

That thought was closely followed by a very quick realization that sunflower kid was looking at her and not where he was going- 

And with a very loud smack, sunflower kid walked directly into a lamp-post.

“FUCK!” sunflower kid swore. In English. Loudly.

Mitsuki- having long since abandoned her rant to see what had caught Izumi’s attention- snorted.

As the train whistle blew, and the conductor ushered them aboard, all Izumi could do was drop her head into her hands and wonder if this was going to become a trend.