Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku smiled. He saw his mother’s hand grasp his, the lines in her face darkening as tears pricked her eyes. It was weird being able to know touch, to see it, but unable to actually feel it.

“Izuku, my baby!” Inko cried, trying to reign back her tears.

It wasn’t the first time she saw her poor baby boy incapacitated on the hospital bed. She desperately wanted to say, “it wouldn’t be the last.” Actually, no, she didn’t. What mother would? But it would be better than this. It would be better than being unable to come back at all.

Izuku grinned. He was no stranger to death. Whether it was in a physical fight with a villain or gnawing at his thoughts during those lonely nights, death was more of a guide waiting patiently for him than something he truly feared.

It was a morbid thought, yes, but years upon questioning his mortality gave him a slight sense of dry humour (Shinso would be so proud). Well, to say he was unafraid of dying would be a lie. He would miss his mother, his friends, and his mentors. He would also miss all the people he had yet to save and the villains he had yet to defeat. He didn’t fear death, he feared being forgotten and alone.

He saw his mother clutch his hand tighter.

Oh. He must’ve been making a face.

Izuku closed his eyes. His first thoughts of death came when he was four and too young to truly grasp the meaning and impact of the concept. When he was diagnosed as a quirkless child, it shattered his dreams of becoming a hero like All Might. The fact that his mother, who was very loving and realistic now that he thought about it, didn’t believe in him took a part of his soul with his dreams and expectations. He didn’t blame her of course (sans a little bitterness during his middle school years) but as a four-year-old with little control of his emotions… he felt lost. Hopeless. It just wasn’t fair. He wanted to disappear, he wanted the universe to swallow him up and spit him back out.

Maybe with a damn quirk this time.

At the age of four, little Midoriya Izuku didn’t understand the concept of death, but he understood the feelings of why someone would crave it.

The next time he thought of it was in his early adolescents to no surprise. In elementary school, the teachers looked out for you whenever you were in their line of sight. However, in middle school, teachers just seem to give up. At least in his, the staff cared more on their dwindling reputation and paycheck rather than fostering the futures of their students. A majority of his early teens was plagued with bullies and an indifferent staff who’d rather ignore and sweep his existence under the rug.

He wasn’t suicidal. He didn’t like to get hurt. He just wanted to save (someone or himself?) so he kept a delusional dream burning alive within him. Looking back, his mother, All Might, and everyone else he met were right. Excluding the useless “Deku” part from his peers, it honestly wasn’t realistic or healthy to become a traditional hero without a quirk. He could’ve been a hero in any other sense (perhaps an underground hero like Eraserhead or a support hero like Mei or the Intelligence Bureau) but those options were never presented to him as a child.

He wasn’t as petty or stupid enough to solely blame society for what happened but merely the circumstances in which he was born to. In his most vulnerable and idealistic state, the constant dose of reality pushed him to contemplate his death. Not that he would ever do it. It was just a thought. Not a serious one. Just a feigning interest. Of course, Bakugo’s words and the Slime Villain just exacerbated said thought.

But at the age of fourteen, a young Midoriya Izuku willingly stepped into death’s shadow with a mentor and a smile.

At the age of fifteen, he walked alongside death, looking at it straight in the eye.

Izuku scanned the room, the faces of his friends and family stained with tears or a mirthless line. “Mom,” Izuku said in a raspy voice, “everyone… I’m glad you’re all safe. I’m so happy that you guys are here with me right now. I’m sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t be a hero for longer.”

Inko strangled his hand. Ochaco bawled harder. Katsuki left the room. Tenya filled with regret. Shoto remained silent.

He could feel the frustration and culpability coming off his loved ones in waves. And that was just from the present company. Izuku didn’t want to imagine the faces of his friends that weren’t – or couldn’t – be here.

Izuku knew he wouldn’t come back. Not this time. Heroes, by origin, were fated to die. History was a reciprocal cycle; a villain is birthed as a hero is defeated, then a new hero arises from the ashes of the fallen, then the villain is defeated with the might of justice, and then a villain rises from the dust left from the limelight.

For Izuku, All Might was the beginning of the cycle; a burning star that diminished a few years before the fall of the League of Villains and like him, his fire would soon burn out. All for One was gone. Permanently this time. One for All finally fulfilled its purpose.

He couldn’t say he wasn’t glad that the man who was single-handedly responsible for the deaths of thousands, potential millions, was six feet under but he would’ve wanted to see society rebuild itself with his friends as the guides and mentors for the new generation of heroes.

Izuku smiled, a wide smile befitting a hero. He remembered his origins in the darkest of times and said his farewells during his final moments – a luxury given that heroes usually fell in battle.

At the age of thirty-one, Midoriya Izuku saw death lying ahead of him. He understood, walking up and staring at it straight in the eye.

He smiled. “Man, what a way to celebrate a birthday, huh?”

And followed.

Chapter Text

Izuku opened his eyes, the usual groan and creak of his body absent from his morning. He yawned, the grogginess of his limbs luring him back to sleep. After debating for a minute or two, he pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes, failing to notice the lack of scars and roughness that came with his profession. His hand brushed over the slightly damp sheets, the stickiness of his sweat clinging to his skin.

He scanned his surroundings, pausing for a moment. He saw the glorious form of All Might figures lining the shelves, posters scrolling wall to wall with the blinding smiles of his mentor. This wouldn't be out of the ordinary considering his love of heroes, but the room he woke up in was so…. juvenile. It wasn’t bad per say, it was actually somewhat nostalgic. He fondly remembered his younger, more innocent self, spending hours upon hours on hero message boards and watching reruns of All Might’s greatest hits. Not that he doesn't do that now, but he was pro hero and he had better resources. He didn't need to rely on the tabloids and the shaky camerawork of civilians to gather intel. Soon after the memory faded, shame washed over his skin, letting out a small squeal, he cringed at the near-obsessive—borderline creepy—hero worship he once possessed.

“God, no wonder Kacchan hated my ramblings!” He suffocated his pillow, trying desperately to scream his embarrassment away.

Now, returning to more urgent matters: where was he?

Instead of the more muted colours, tacky American colours of All Might painted the small room. Replacing the panoramic windows were something he can only describe as quaint and domestic. Through it, he could see the roof of his neighbour’s house instead of the bird’s eye view of the city. He also noted just how low the ceiling was to the ground. He was by no means tall, especially comparing people with size enhancement quirks or even in his friends, but this was a common civilian's room with no accommodation.

Izuku blinked and stretched out his arm to grab his phone but grasped at nothing. His fingers twitched, staring blankly at the empty space that replaced his nightstand. It took a minute but Izuku jumped out of his bed, eyes wide, jaws open, scanning the room like a madman. If he were younger, he would’ve shrieked and panicked till he someone grounded him again. But he was a grown, responsible man now. He only panicked in increments.

The bits of contradictions triggered a domino effect and things were just starting to click. Where was his hero board? Where were his charts? Where was his safe full of his quirk analysis notes? But most importantly, where were his support gears? Honestly, Izuku was less fearful of any common villain than Mei’s wrath if he lost any more of her “babies.”

Izuku took a deep breath, trying to relax his drumming heart. As his beats settled, he let out a frustrated groan unable piece together how this had all happened.

“Okay, retrace your memories. What do I remember? I know the members of the League were mostly arrested”—his thoughts briefly lingered on Shoto—“well, some escaped but nowhere enough to reform the League. At least not any time soon. Anyone who escaped arrest would’ve been caught eventually, if not, been forced into hiding but Hitoshi and the underground hero network would’ve been on the case. Not to mention Mr. Aizawa’s new project.

"Limelight heroes can handle the fallout from our battle with All for One. Damn that amalgamation of a man, punched me straight through the stomach like All Might. Think he’s poetic with that 'sins of the father to the son' crap”—Izuku mumbled, mouthing tens of thoughts per second, pacing around his room—"seriously, how can one man hold such contempt? Even after my All-Star Smash, he was still monologuing and I used all of One for All for that. My body couldn’t handle past one-hundred percent of my quirk continuously in that large of a timeframe—actually I doubt anybody could handle that—and I think I blacked out? Then I woke up at the hospital, I think?”

Izuku paused, drying his palms on his shirt. “Oh my goodness, why do I feel so pudgy and sweaty? It’s not that hot in here! I haven’t felt this horrible since my middle”—he stared at the reflection, a sliver of his body peeking between the curtains—“school years...”

Well… He couldn’t say this was what he was expecting when he embraced death.

Midoriya Izuku, also known as Deku, was a grown man when he passed away. Granted, he couldn’t live as long as All Might, but an adult nevertheless. He graduated from UA, interned at multiple Hero agencies, became a recognized apprentice of All Might, created a name for himself, dismantled the League, and defeated an age-old villain.

In a span of two decades, he went from quirkless loser to number one hero. He died a martyr, remembered fondly by friends and all as the symbol of hope. He didn’t live a content life, but an impactful one instead. He may have accepted his death, but it didn’t mean he didn’t wish to live a bit longer.

He didn’t expect that wish would come true.

He didn’t expect that wish to send him back to his early teens.

“Uh,” he said unintelligently.

Izuku took a hesitant step forward, brushing the curtains to the side. With no obstructions in the way, he clearly saw the form of his younger self. His reflection was replaced by a lanky body swimming with teenage hormones owned a baby-faced boy with oily skin. Having built his physical prowess over the years, something he not only devoted himself to but he depended heavily on for a variety of reasons, Izuku lamented the loss of his muscles. Gone were his lean yet built body replaced by baby fat and noodle arms. His complexion was lighter—no traces of his battles under the sun were evident—and his skin was smooth with not a single scar in sight.

The reflection carried with him big, doe eyes that honestly creeped him out. This was a child. He was a child. Even if it was his own body, the stark contrast was so glaringly obvious that it almost felt alien. Not only was his physique drastically dissimilar, he now could understand what everyone meant when they said he “changed a lot” from his middle school years. His bones creaked in protest whenever he tried to sit up straight, the hunch in his shoulders seemingly comfortable where they were. Who knew confidence in one’s self changed so much about a person? The dissonance between his mind and body made him feel like someone snatched some unfortunate child and forced him to wear their skin.

“Note to self,” he said, feeling a chill down his spine. “No more horror movie nights with Mina.”

Izuku stared at the—his reflection one more time before sighing in acceptance. Well, it’s no wonder he felt… like this. Looks like whatever higher power that was out there had a sick sense of humour. And unfortunately for Izuku, said higher power had no time for his disbelief.

“Izuku! Breakfast!” his mother said. “Hurry before the food gets cold!”

Izuku’s heart stilled for a minute. Although Inko was alive and well during his time, with hero work and other promises he seldom had the time for his mother anymore. “A-Alright! In a minute!” he shouted back.

He quickly rummaged through his closet looking for his uniform, a million thoughts running through his head. First was the fact that he was a teenager but that overarching problem could be dealt with time considering the situation. It didn’t feel like this was an illusion and he certainly didn’t get hit with some space-time quirk. He’s dealt with the impossible before and, taking out a page from Tsuyu's book, it was better to stay level-headed than in a frenzy.

Second, was his current situation at the moment. His middle school uniform dug up many memories and feelings he had long since buried: the humiliation, the bullying, and his fears.  He honestly didn’t know how to react going back to all that. His middle school bullies were something he didn’t dwell on since it happened so long ago. Not to mention that they were children bandwagoning on an unjust system that devalued the quirkless. But by no means was he trying to justify their behaviour or even forgive them. Actually, he had tried once but he wasn’t as merciful or pacifistic enough to do so. What they did was wrong and honestly? They gave no reason for him to forgive them, but bitterness in others was something Izuku didn't linger too long on. Anger took too much energy—honestly, he didn't know how Katsuki did it for his entire life. His middle school troubles just weren’t as significant as his other problems and the negativity was drowned out by the friendship and comrades he had during UA. So returning to that was… well, giving a sense of uncertainty he wasn’t exactly prepared for.

And finally, his thought wandered to his mother. His mother, bless her soul, was fifty-eight during his time. That was only a few years under two decades of stress and worry for her child. Of the few regrets he had, one of the biggest was missing so many of her birthdays. It wasn't out of childlike glee or any obligatory gesture; it was more so born from his status and the responsibilities that came with it, which gave him an appreciation for the littlest of things. Instead of giving his mother a grand celebration and cake, he only gave her villains and anxiety. Every year he had sent her extravagant gifts from his travels and anything else he might’ve thought she wanted. But how can you celebrate when you’re alone and your child is off fighting some unknown danger halfway across the world?

His birthdays weren’t so much better either. Sure he received a near insane amount of fan mail (and that was saying something considering how much he got on a daily basis) and have no doubt he appreciated every one of them, but he simply had no time to celebrate. Not that he had an express desire to but you really didn’t know you needed something till the opportunity was taken away from you. He missed going out with his friends, doing stupid but fun things—laughing at their own harmless recklessness until someone caught them (often times that job was delegated to a pissed-off Aizawa). He missed spending the time to just unwind and relax, away from the urban environment and villains. He missed spending time with his mother, just enjoying the other’s presence, talking about their life and what was new. There were times where he hadn't visited her in years, only being able to see each other through video chat and sometimes even that was few and far in between.

It wasn’t as if Izuku didn’t try either. This year—the year of his death—he tried to set up a surprise visit to Japan but of course, that bastard All for One and Shigaraki Tomura just had to set up the fucking armageddon at the time. And if there was one thing the League of Villains never changed was the horrifying accuracy of coordinating their plans with Izuku’s schedule.

Izuku's hands choked the fabric of his uniform, eye blazing with a flurry of complex emotion. Recalling the period of chaos and anarchy following the year after All Might's passing left him with a permanent scar that no amount of time travel could heal. With the symbol of peace gone, the world was in a state of crisis: quirks combining to create natural disasters, bombings and shootings, mass genocide of heroes and villains alike, and the omnipresent authoritarian governments that killed more than saved.

Izuku held back the tears threatening his eyes remembering the days where the names of his friends were etched into the monument of heroes. The marble was too big, too long, too many. Tens of pillars stood on top of Remembrance Field. Hundreds of names were carved in stone. Thousands of names were lost to time. Too many good and innocent people died for this pointless war—brave heroes, unfortunate civilians, and misguided villains alike. The memory of his hand gliding over the words—the smoothness of the unfeeling marble under his fingers—haunted him.

...Asui Tsuyu "Froppy"

...Tokoyami Fumikage "Tsukuyomi"

...Aoyama Yuga "Can't Stop Twinkling"

...Shiozaki Ibara "Vine"

...Sorahiko "Gran Torino"

...YAGI TOSHINORI "ALL MIGHT"

He wasn't there to save them. He was just one man. He could cry and moan all he wants but it wouldn't bring them back to life. Worse were the named unwritten in stone because half the time the bodies were never found. He didn't know what was worse: having a friend sacrificing their life in front of you or to not even witness their death at all. Both were helpless situations where he had failed. But if he had to choose, he'd pick the former because at the very least it would give him closure, at the very least he could do one last favour and hear their dying message. So many heroes died a merciless death, alone and forgotten beneath the rubble of earth. He was one of the luckier heroes. But when it was finally his turn, his wish something they couldn't fulfill. Because his wish was to spend just one more day with them.

“Mom must’ve had the worst month ever,” he thought with an empty laugh. First, it was the onslaught of global villain attacks, then the reappearance of All for One, and then just a little over a week later her son died.

What a great post-birthday present he left her.

He knew she often worried for him and it honestly left a bad taste in his mouth during his youth when he brushed off her concerns. Having a veil of denial over his eyes, he ignored his mother’s well-intentioned advice. If not for his luck of meeting All Might, who knows what would’ve become of the symbol of hope? Would he have died at the hands of a villain? Would he have become a vigilante in a vain attempt to salvage what was left of his broken dreams? Could he have been manipulated into hurting others for power like many of the young and misguided villains he fought? He didn’t know and he shuddered to think about it.

“Well, that’s the first thing that’s going to change. I'll protect her properly this time. Everyone. This time I’ll tell her from the beginning,” he assured himself.

...Wait.

...Change?

Change.

“Change!” Izuku’s eyes lit up in realization, his fingers twitching in response. He quickly ran over to his desk, blinking the tears away, wasting no time grabbing a notebook, his hands gliding across the page furiously.

“My mind was sent to the past before I met All Might considering that I don’t have One for All and my physical body is… less than ideal. I don’t feel One for All in me so that means even inheritance quirks can’t travel through space-time. Odd considering the nature of my quirk. I wonder if there are any other applications or exceptions for it? Maybe it’ll come back with time? No, being quirkless at this point is better. If One for All somehow travelled with me, my body might’ve exploded at this state.” He shook his head, ignoring the dull ache in his heart with the loss of his quirk.

“If I’m in middle school, then I haven’t met All Might yet. Which also means the League of Villains haven’t made their move besides the secret battle between All Might and All for One. Hmm... Not ideal. That means All Might’s time limit is about three hours per day but he can still fight. No Nomus just yet. No League. No wars. Good. Everything can change. The calamity won't happen—not if I can help it. I can save All Might, I save them, I can save everyone! I just have to write whatever I can remember in chronological order. If I can just warn UA and the other heroes about the oncoming events I can save—!"

Izuku dropped his pen and let out an eloquent “oh shit.”

It just dawned upon him that he didn’t know how his presence would affect the current timeline. What rules of space-time was he playing with here? Butterfly effect? Parallel universe theory? Ontological paradox? Self-consistency theory? What would happen if he warned the heroes about the League of Villains? Would his previous life cease to exist? Did it even exist anymore? Would the same events, at least the major ones, play out like before? Or would an action or inaction cause a domino effect and change the course of history? Was there such a thing as fate? Would the attack on USJ, for example, still happen even if he warned the heroes? Or will the attack just be moved to another time because the past can’t change what already had happened?

Time travel was such a pain to make sense of.

Izuku bit his lips, drumming his pen. Above all else, one problem arose above others: Would he still become All Might’s successor? He’d been operating on the idea that he would eventually inherit One for All. He knew if he submitted to time and copy the actions he made in his original timeline, then yes, he would inherit One for All. Probably. Hopefully? But what if something happened and All Might passed away early? What if he chose another successor? That sent a pang of hurt to his heart. He knew why All Might chose him, he explained his reasonings countless times to reassure the young hero during his bad days. But this All Might had never met him. This All Might, jaded and despondent, had no reason to believe in a quirkless teenager with self-preservation instincts rivalling a weasel on crack.

Izuku let out a frustrated groan, his anxiety eating away at his mind, the familiar voice of his doubts and failures snickering at him. Any reassurance he had about why he became his successor was just thrown out the damn window. But before the little monster, he called his subconscious, could pick at his brain any longer the sweet voice of his mother broke him out of his trance.

“Izuku! Are you okay in there?” she called out, "You've been in there for an awfully long time..."

God bless his mother. “Y-Yeah! Thanks, mom! Be out in a minute!” He quickly buttoned up his uniform, giving one last glance at his notebook before shoving it into his schoolbag. If he had time to wallow in his own incompetence, he had time to think and strategize.

He scanned his room spotting his old phone charging against the wall. He braced himself and turned it on, revealing the date. He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, relieved that at the very least, he didn’t travel too close to the Sludge Villain incident.

Why? Because Izuku had plans. Inheriting One for All was, to put it simply, absolute hell. In comparison to the trials and tribulations of a pro hero, it didn’t amount to much. But in comparison to Izuku’s middle school body? That ten-month long “Aim to Pass! American Dream Plan!” was a nightmare. A rush job at best, but it was the most they could do at the time and Izuku wasn't known to half-ass things. He'd give an arm and a leg before giving up (and he has, on multiple occasions).

This time it was going to be different. It was July fifteenth of his first year in middle school which was only a couple days away until the first term ended. Perfect. This gave him a fair amount of time to train his body until April of his final year when the Sludge Villain incident occurs.

In regards to any paradoxes, he figured that training his body wouldn’t cause a detrimental alteration of the timeline. Hopefully. He crossed his fingers hoping that time travel didn’t rely on the butterfly effect. Regardless, he couldn't bear standing around until something happened. If life forced him to push the reset button, he sure as hell was going to take every opportunity to use it to his advantage.

Muttering some self-assurance, Izuku headed towards the kitchen, seeing his mother already seated at the table. She smiled at him and he bid her a good morning. What she said next plucked at all his heartstrings, nearly making him burst out into tears.

“Happy Birthday, Izuku!”

Chapter Text

“Happy Birthday, Izuku!” Inko said as a party popper went off.

Izuku felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, the domestic and familial feeling of his mother genuinely expressing joy both tenderly caressing him and pressing on his throbbing heart. This was home. This was his home. The wooden table, cupboards full of mismatched china, jars painted with flowers and cats—all of it was bringing him back to simpler times.

By no means did he dislike moving and setting out on his own—the houses he owned were a feat of human ingenuity—but it’s been so long since he could just relax and relive the nostalgia of his youth. It felt comfortable, familiar, and predictable in the best way possible—a sense of belonging with unconditional love.

He stared at the food set on the table: tea, miso soup, pickled radish, and his favourite, katsudon. It was certainly no Lunch-Rush and it wasn’t made with the high-quality ingredients from his travels as a pro, but this? His mom’s home-cooked meal? It could easily beat anything the world offered him.

Izuku sucked in a breath, his eyes begging for release. God, it was harder controlling this now too. “T-Thanks, mom,” he said, voice wavering. “It smells really good.”

He pulled out a chair, voicing his appreciation again, before digging into his food with added vigour. He whimpered, the sweet and salty flavour danced on his tongue, the warm fluffy white rice coaxing tears to leak from his eyes. God, this—everything felt so good. Like everything he did, everything he sacrificed was worth it. The ache in his heart, though unable to completely heal, hurt less with each bite. It was a feeling akin to his mother kissing his cuts and scrapes better as a child. It was childish. It was illogical. It was slightly embarrassing. But such reservations can be thrown out the window because he revelled in such simplistic gestures of love after the years of fighting for others.

He loved being a hero, he really did. But no matter how much his friends cared for him, no matter how many times the people he saved thanked him, no matter how many lives he changed for the better, he couldn’t share his own pains and insecurities with them. How could he? While All Might was the Symbol of Peace, the symbol that stood to maintain the order of society; he was the Symbol of Hope, the symbol that everyone relied on to ease their worries and forge a better future from a fractured society.

Warmth flooded his senses, his vision becoming blurry, hiccuping as he buried his face into his bowl. If anyone had seen him now, it would seem like he was a villain on death row eating his last meal.

“Izuku? Are you okay?” Inko asked, worried. He nodded, cheeks full of food. “Why are you crying into your rice? S-Should I be concerned?”

“Mmrrpphh!” Izuku shook his head, fat crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks. Concern was a double-edged sword. He appreciated it immensely but also made the pit in his stomach swell with guilt, clenching his skin and slowly dragging him down like tar. He shovelled food into his mouth, just barely chewing before swallowing it whole like a ravenous dog. Nevertheless, just hearing his mother’s voice again filled him with a warm sense of comfort.

He sniffed, various fluids leaking from his face. “Thank you!”

“Um...” She blinked owlishly. “It’s no problem?”

He missed her troubled look, his eyes glassy and unfocused, savouring every bite.

Each spoonful was just a reminder of how long he went without a home, travelling across the world non-stop to defeat villains. Just how long was it since he had time to sit down and eat like a normal person? Just how long has it been to eat properly instead of consuming energy packs and vitamin pills? Just how long has it been since he could fully enjoy the accompaniment of another?

“—then we sent them straight to the police in the cuffs they created.”

Izuku chuckled, playfully nudging Hitoshi with his shoulder. “That's some poetic justice.”

The air nipped at his skin, every breath he took feeling sharp. It was chilly up here—the Yokosuka Bell Tower—but he really couldn’t complain. He was the one who asked for this impromptu meeting after a week-long raid.

“Yep,” he said with a small smirk, offering an energy bar. “How'd things go on your end?”

“Rounded up fifteen of them and rescued ten civilians.” He nodded in thanks, devouring it. “Broke ten windows, a new record, I think I heard a cat jump at that—”

He gasped. “You monster!”

“—and I managed to escape the press. Actually, I have Yuga to thank for that. I don’t know how he deals with the media like that all the time.” He sighed, exhausted at the mere thought.

“Shouldn’t have become a limelight hero if you can’t handle the press.” Hitoshi handed over another bar, fueling his horrible eating habits. “But then again, you sealed your fate when All Might announced you as his protégé. Must be nice to be noticed by such an icon,” he playfully added.

“Like you’re one to talk!” Izuku laughed mirthfully. “Anyone who has an inkling of interest in underground heroics knows that Eraserhead favours his ‘mysterious charge’ more than even his own privacy.”

“You know, if you didn’t look like a two-year-old who just discovered what fingers were, I might’ve been embarrassed.” Izuku quickly wiped his face on his sleeve, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “And did you really compare the protectiveness of All Might, the epitome of the ‘worried parent’ archetype, to Eraserhead?”

“He’s not that bad,” he mumbled shyly, chewing on a new piece. “He’s an amazing hero, but not exactly the best mentor—only at first, of course!” he quickly added. “Besides, he got all his advice off some ‘How-to-for-Dummies’ books and questionable advice blogs. I think I heard my mom once talking about him coming over with a pen and paper looking for guidance.”

Shinso snorted. “We’re talking the man who brought you a triple layer bento and cried at our graduation. Our second year, high school graduation. Remember when we actually graduated from UA? The media had a field day with that one. Face it, Mighty Boy ”—Izuku buried himself in his hood—“everyone knows that he basically thinks of you as his son or something.”

Izuku’s ears flushed, burying his face in his arms, muttering futile attempts of denial. “I have the weirdest sense of déjà vu when you say stuff like that...” Was it just him or did the night’s air suddenly become warmer?

Shinso couldn’t help but laugh at that, losing his dry tone in favour of a genuine one. Izuku followed soon after, their joy echoing off the walls of the bell tower. This… this was nice.

“I swear you’re worse than Shoto,” Izuku said, swiping another piece from Shinso’s stash. He shrugged in response, a coy sense of amusement hidden beneath the indifference. Suddenly, Izuku’s head popped up at his revelation. “That’s where the feeling came from! Shoto said something similar to me a long time ago!”

“Don’t tell me”—Shinso grinned, his eyes wide in amusement and disbelief, almost mirroring his mentor’s—“he pulled that ‘love child’ thing on you too?” Izuku nodded. “Details, man. I need details.”

“You’re going to use this as blackmail, aren’t you?”

His eyes widened further, Cheshire grin splitting his face. If he could get any closer to looking like his mentor, this was it. “You know I never mention who my sources are.”

Izuku grinned like a parent retelling their child’s most embarrassing moments. “So back at UA...”

His back connected with the mat, letting out a strangled groan as he winced in pain. One for All made it so his body was cushioned against physical pain, but no amount of strength-enhancement could fully block this person’s attack. Izuku shook his head, taking only a second to gather his bearings and sprung back into action, eyes filled with determination.

He readied his stance, taking a deep breath, preparing for another attack. “Again—!”

“Deku! You stupid fuck!” Katsuki interrupted, smoke billowing out from his hands. “How can you expect to work at one-hundred-percent when you’re eating like that?!”

Izuku’s lips quirked into a nervous smile, scratching the scars on his fingers. He knew he shouldn’t have told him about his diet. “I didn’t have the time for—”

“Stop making excuses, Deku.” A scowl marred his face, arms crossed in front of him—the scars running up his palms to his deltoids in branch-like veins. “This isn’t the first time I told you this. Get it through your thick skull already.” He clicked his tongue. “How can you be number one when you can’t even block my explosions?”

Izuku rolled his eyes in jest. “Kacchan, I seriously doubt anyone but Eijiro can handle your explosions, let alone block it head-on.”

He glared at him, ignoring his attempts at deflection. “You don’t have the time? Fine. He and I will handle whatever the League throws at us next. In the meantime, you go get some real ass food. You’re getting sloppy and I can see your line of action, what are we, fledgling heroes back at UA? I bet even my third-year self could beat your scrawny ass right now. You’re hardly a challenge in this state, tch, there’s no point in fighting some weaken idiot that doesn’t even know how to take care of himself—”

“Aw, Kacchan! You’reso sweet, you remind me of Auntie,” he cooed.

“— but there is a point in killing an idiot that doesn't know when to SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Katsuki’s palms crackled menacingly and Izuku took it as a cue to run.

“So…” Izuku drawled out.

“So,” Shoto replied.

“Are we not going to talk about this?” He struggled fruitlessly grabbing at the binds latched onto his torso. He had a good guess on who created it based on the design and material.

“It was necessary.” He dunked his soba into the soy sauce, seemingly indifferent.

“No, what’s necessary is for you to unlock this thing !” He tried activating his quirk but stopped immediately when the small monitor blinked ominously, the number ticking from a three to a two. “S-Seriously?”

Izuku threw a panicked look at Shoto, the latter glancing at him with amusement.

“I don’t know what happens when the number reaches zero. Citrinitas only mentioned that something ‘exciting’ will happen when you attempt to activate your quirk more than three times”—Izuku cradled his coming headache in his hands—"she also mentioned wanting to know the results of her ‘baby’ so please feel free to use your quirk,” he added with a faint smirk.

He banged his head on the table with a loud thud. “Her and her babies, I swear...”

He hummed. “If you had just listened to us when we told you to eat properly the first time, this wouldn’t have happened.” He gestured to the meal in front of Izuku with his chopsticks. “Now eat.”

“Do you all have some vendetta against me?” he mumbled, pouting childishly. “Besides, I was eating just fine. Enough vitamins, minerals, water—”

“Not enough. Nutritional supplements will only take you so far.”

Izuku hummed, avoiding the statement. “So why’d you get stuck babysitting me? I’m sure you’d be more comfortable against villains.” Izuku glared at his food somewhat pissed that his comrades would waste valuable manpower for something stupid as this. “Who the hell decided this?”

“I did.” Izuku's brows shot up. “You and Bakugo together will no doubt result in a fight, Tenya is out on recon overseas, Momo is working with the Interpol, Twinkle is out on a scouting mission with Tsukuyomi, and long story short the rest of the heroes are busy.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here with me.” Izuku winced at his tone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not like I don’t like you here with me but...”

Shoto placed his chopsticks down, looking at him without an ounce of facetiousness. “You once told me that I should relax. Well, I’m bringing those words to you now: relax. Just because most underground heroes can live on nutrition packets and catnaps, it doesn't mean you should follow in their footsteps. Stop burdening yourself with everything. You may be the Symbol of Hope, but that doesn’t mean you should neglect yourself.” He sighed. “You’re lucky Mister Aizawa isn’t here right now. You would’ve been tied to your bed with capture tape in less than a second, problem child,” he added, trying to lighten the mood.

Izuku squirmed in his seat, scratching his scarred hands. He appreciated the attempt but knew what Todoroki was referring to.

“I didn’t faint this time… I’ve been looking out!” he quickly blurted out. “I learned from the Musutafu incident. I know my limits—I calculated everything from emergency situations to my breaking point. I-I won’t compromise the mission or burden anyone this time.” He bit his lips, nails digging into his scars. “Shoto, you know I can’t just sit still and enjoy this luxury while Shigaraki is out there destroying innocent lives,” he spat out, his voice laced with venom.

Shoto remained silent for a long while as Izuku broke skin. “Is this about her?” he spoke, giving him a steadying look. “She chose to do that. That wasn’t your fault—”

“I know it wasn’t!” Izuku recoiled when he saw Shoto flinch. “I know it wasn’t,” he added softly, “but it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.” He rubbed his tired eyes, hands curled into fists. “I know it’s not my fault but if only I could’ve been there just a second sooner. If I had been there a second sooner, she wouldn’t have d-di” — fire. smoke. suffocation. burning. anguish. screaming. fire. so much fire! — “ die-died… She c-could have—”

“Could have lived.” Shoto placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, making sure they held eye contact. He appreciated the gesture more than the other would ever know. “She could’ve also never been a hero and saved half the prefecture. I could’ve been there; I could’ve saved her as well. But the harsh truth is that I wasn’t. None of us were. We can’t stop to mourn the people who sacrificed their lives for us. We can’t just stop”—Izuku tried to protest, but Shoto shook his head—“self-destruction is also stopping. You’re stopping yourself from moving on, you’re stopping yourself from remembering what they represented, you’re… stopping yourself from smiling.”

Izuku bit his lips, trying to contain the well in his eyes. Dammit, he just had to use the All Might card, didn’t he? But fuck he was right. He couldn’t afford to lament. If he had time to cry, he had time to save. If he had time to overthink, he had time to act. He remembered the one regret All Might had confided in him before he passed, one of the heavier regrets he had confessed to him as he his pulse weakened in his hands...

“Live, my boy. I wasted so much time thinking of what-if-s that I never realized I was the only barrier from saving others until it was too late. I’ll pass onto you what my mentor said to me once: remember their sacrifices but don’t let it bind you. So live, Izuku Midoriya. Be the Deku who can .”

“A-All Might — !”

“Hahaha! You still haven’t fixed those leaky eyes of yours! C'mon, my boy, show me that heroic smile!”

“I’m trying! I swear I’m trying! I’m —! But you’re—! ”

“Fine. I’m fine because you are here.”

Izuku breath hitched, the warmth of his friend’s hand slowly bring him back to reality. He felt slightly numb, like he detached from his body, but otherwise held onto the warmth. He rubbed his eyes, giving the other a shaky smile. “I thought you brought me here to eat, not cry,” he said jokingly.

Shoto looked away guiltily, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry. I'm here as a safety net just in case anything goes wrong with that”—he pointed at Mei’s invention still ominously blinking—“I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm still working on my communication. Transparency has been helping me with that.”

“I was joking!” Izuku said, feeling a bit lighter. Shoto was always so serious and straightforward. It was actually endearing in situations like this. “But it is a surprise that Toru is helping you with that—”

“Among other things.”

“—and I see you took Momo’s advice about seeking a therapist.”

“It was about time I did.” He paused, mulling over his words. He looked at his hands, memories of blue fire licking his palms flickering over his fist. “I don’t want to regret anything because I was too immature to say what I wanted.”

Izuku nodded solemnly, unable to add anything else.

“Ah. I… brought down the mood again.” Shoto fumbled over his words, something he rarely did that never failed to bring Izuku great amusement, much to the former’s ire. “I’ve also been talking about some of our UA experiences.”

“Like what?”

A ghost of a smile formed on his lips. “The sports festival. Do you remember our fight when we were first years, Izuku?"

"Of course I do! That was the first time I experienced both your sides and I still think I can feel the ache in my bones." He smirked. "Thanks for not holding back."

"It would've been disrespectful. You were among the first to gain my trust and respect."

"Shoto!" he yelled, slightly embarrassed.

He closed his eyes, a small chuckle coming out. "Remember our third year when we had to postpone the chase event because Anivoice accidentally crowded the arena with pigeons and strays?” Izuku snorted. That was a mess. At least Aizawa and Shinso got a kick out of being surrounded by cats. “And the cultural festival when we tied with class 3-B and to settle the dispute we organized a scavenger hunt?”

“I think that marked the day when we finally broke Mister Aizawa and Vlad King... and the rest of the faculty at UA. Except for Principal Nezu, he got a kick out of that one.”

“Our class trip to the research facility wasn’t any better.”

“Forget the teachers! I don’t think Tenya will ever let us live that down.” Despite his tone, Izuku’s eyes held a wealth of fondness.

Shoto’s shoulders relaxed, proud of himself for cheering up his friend. “I also talked about some of the things that happened in our first year like the concert, the class escape room, the haunted house incident—”

“Like the time you called yourself the ‘hand-crusher?’” Izuku continued in a similar tone, holding back a snicker as Shoto shot him an unimpressed glare.

“...eat your katsu, Deku.”

Izuku’s jaws tensed as he ate, the memory both stinging his eyes and coaxing his poor heart. It made him laugh at the sillier moments and remember the tender ones.

He missed them so much.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Inko said sincerely, breaking him out of his daze.

Izuku nearly dropped his spoon but quickly recovered, swallowing the lump in his throat. How did she always know how he was feeling? Mother’s intuition, possibly?

“I...”—he fidgeted in his seat, opening and closing his mouth, trying to push out the words hopelessly clinging to his tongue—“it’s complicated.”

He wanted to tell her. If not for him, for her. But there was too much to tell. He didn’t how to say it all without rambling on and on, seeming mad and his mother admitting him to the nearest psych ward.

“Sweetie…” He didn’t like that worried look on his mother’s face. It didn’t belong there. “I know it’s weird and pretty uncool for your mother to say this but I know how it feels to be young and—”

“You’re wrong!” Inko jumped at his outburst and he immediately backpedalled, clearing his throat. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to yell. I—You’re not ‘uncool’ mom. You’re the best, I promise. You are. It’s just”—he took a deep breath—“going to take a long time to explain everything. I want to tell you, I need to tell you this time. I know it’s unfair and irresponsible for me to keep so much from you but please give me some time to sort things out in my head. You know me: scatter-brained Deku!” Izuku’s chuckles died as Inko frowned. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I promise to tell you everything later. I’m not sure how long that may take but I promise it’ll be before I attend UA. So um… sorry, mom?”

His mother looked at him with eyes wide as dinner plates trying to process all the information he threw at her. He didn’t blame her for her reaction. He actually expected her to call him out on it, to check his temperature and get him checked by a quirk specialist to make sure her son wasn’t replaced by some body-snatcher (which was half-true). Inko was stunned into silence and Izuku felt the monster in the back of his head gnaw at him as the seconds ticked by. What was she thinking? Did she believe him? He doubts it. Was she angry? Sad? Disappointed?

“Mom?” He fidgeted in his seat, chewing on his chopsticks. He just hoped it wasn’t fear.

He saw her take a deep breath before levelling him with a stern gaze. “Izuku… Are you thinking of doing something? Something… you might regret later?”

He had no idea where that came from but at least it wasn’t fear. He shook his head. “No. It’s more like if I don’t do this, I’ll regret it.”

“That isn’t very reassuring, Izuku.” It physically hurt him to see his mother so anxious.

“I-I know it’s not very reassuring and I promise I won’t do anything illegal. I don’t expect you to believe me, I know you don’t,” he quietly added.

Shame and surprise took her. “Izuku… I do—”

“You don’t,” he said, unwavering. “You don’t have to lie to me, mom. And I don’t blame you for it. From your end, I’m your quirkless son in a world that thrives on quirks. It’s dangerous. It’s unknown. It’s unfair. I know it doesn’t seem realistic now so I going to make it realistic.” He paused. Maybe he should start talking about some short-term plans. As it was, it still seemed like the ramblings of an idealistic child. “I’m going to start small. A change in diet, self-defence lessons, training, exercise—I’ll find something for all of it.”

“Izuku...”

“I don’t expect you to believe me now”—his eyes burned with determination—”but I’m going to be a hero.”

Chapter Text

Inko was perplexed.

Granted, raising a teenager in itself was a mystery but this was not what she expected to happen when she said “happy birthday.”

“Izuku? Are you okay?” she asked. "Why are you crying into your rice? S-Should I be concerned?”

“Mmrrpphh!” Izuku shook his head, fat crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks. He shovelled food into his mouth, just barely chewing it before swallowing it whole like a ravenous dog. He sniffed, various fluids leaking from his face. “Thank you!”

“Um...” She blinked owlishly. “It’s no problem?”

Inko loved her son to bits for all his gifts and flaws, but this was very disconcerting.

Teenagers often hid their troubles from their parents and he was no exception. She couldn’t blame him, she felt so useless when it came to pacifying his insecurities and anxiety. He would close himself off, deflecting her concerns with a shaky, downtrod smile. If she tried to press on the matter he would become defensive like a frightened cat backed into a corner. Of course, he would apologize after but the nature of their relationship was strained since that fateful day to the doctor's.

However, today was different. Today, Izuku came out from his room as if he returned from the most exhausting day of his life. Physically, he was the same baby boy she loved—chubby cheeks and all. But something was different now. He held himself to a higher degree, his spine straighter and smiles brighter. Raising a child by herself meant that she had no support to rely on so naturally, she noticed when her son, who rather keep his head down and mutter under his breath, suddenly came marching in with a confident smile and voice. The change gave her whiplash as just yesterday he locked himself in his room, deflecting her concerns with a shake of a head, obsessively watching reruns of All Might's greatest rescues.

Though not all the changes were good. With a brighter smile, his eyes grew darker. His tone, though more genuine, carried the weight of a scar. It was as if every word he spoke carried an anchor. She didn’t know how else to describe it. The closest thing he reminded her was of Hisashi after he came back from military service: distant and detached. Don't get her wrong, she was no battered or estranged housewife. Her husband was never outright cold towards her but after his service, there was always this unspoken distance between them. She never tried to pry, respecting his boundaries. Even when he confided in her, there were just some things words couldn’t hope to describe.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Her words, although automatic, held no less sincerity in her voice. It was words she said often and equally went ignored.

Izuku froze, nearly dropping his spoon. He quickly recovered, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I...”—he fidgeted in his seat, opening and closing his mouth trying to push out the words hopelessly clinging to his tongue—“It’s complicated.”

Her chest tightened, worried, as he clammed up. Was it another bully again? Her guilt may have bound her from prying into her son’s life but she wasn’t an idiot. She may not know the specifics of Izuku’s social life but knew enough to know he wasn’t exactly enjoying his time at school.

She just hoped it wasn’t Bakugo Katsuki again.

Talking with Mitsuki was slightly intimidating.

Inko chided herself. This was no time to be thinking of herself. Her baby was hurting! She gave him a gentle, encouraging smile. “Sweetie… I know it’s weird and pretty uncool for your mother to say this but I know how it feels to be young and—”

“No. You’re wrong!” Inko jumped at his outburst and he immediately backpedalled, clearing his throat. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to yell. I—You’re not ‘uncool’ mom. You’re the best. I promise. You are. It’s just”—he took a deep breath—“going to take a long time to explain everything. I want to tell you, I need to tell you this time. I know it’s unfair and irresponsible for me to keep so much from you but please give me some time to sort things out in my head. You know me: scatter-brained Deku—!”

Inko was offended that he thought so lowly of himself and it obviously showed because he winced.

“—I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I promise to tell you everything later. I’m not sure how long that may take but I promise it’ll be before I attend UA." He shuffled his feet, scratching and pinching his fingers for some reason. "So um… sorry, mom?”

...Inko

...Inko was stunned. So much information came hurtling towards her at once, she needed a moment to process. So many things were wrong. Wrong? No, maybe that was too strong of a word. Things were just too different. First and foremost, her thirteen-year-old son just talked to her like the way Hisashi speaks with her. Her thirteen-year-old son talked to her like a mature, grown man. Her thirteen-year-old just talked to her with a vocabulary too advanced for his age!

Izuku was smart, granted, but he was still a child. That level of emotional maturity was something even grown men lacked much less a boy—especially Izuku. It wasn’t just what he said that concerned her, it was how he said it. He was composed and forlorn—a look that was more fitting of a war veteran than a teenager. He spoke with her, apologized, and considered her feelings all at once.

This wasn't like him. Izuku was a sympathizer, not an empathizer. It wasn't necessarily bad but Izuku never had a good social life and couldn't relate to most people. He was just nice in general. She supposed he got it from her. Like mother, like son, Inko was also quite self-deprecating when it came to how she thought of herself. She wasn’t confident and beautiful like Mitsuki, her quirk was average at best, and worst of all, not only did she give birth to a defenceless, quirkless child, but she also had to discourage her son from achieving his dreams. She had to put down her son for his own safety; she had to shatter her son’s heart so he couldn’t get hurt. She felt like a failure.

The problems were only exacerbated when she started to notice her baby boy mimicking some of her self-deprecating mannerisms. It was the small things such as calling himself “Deku” or joking about how he was a walking mess. It wasn’t drastic. It never reached a point where they needed an intervention, but it was still heartbreaking nonetheless. She tried to discourage such acts but it was hard for a child to learn something when their parent said one thing and acted the opposite. She was a failure.

The bullying didn’t help either. He never lost his compassion and drive to help others, but it became repressed—like he was ashamed of showing care and love. She talked to the teachers once but only got the reply “boys will be boys.” Now, Midoriya Inko wasn’t a confrontational or violent person by any means. But in that split second she wanted to tear those “educators” a new one.

Inko was furious. She wanted to yell and cry out for justice, rallying the other parents about the prejudice against her son, but she couldn't. She was just one woman versus a system that singled out the quirkless for years. Oh, how she wished to pull him out of school. But what good would have that done? There was no guarantee he wouldn’t get bullied again and finding another school to enrol in was unnecessarily difficult. Though, that didn’t mean she wasn’t willing to go through the legal process for her boy. It was only due to him convincing her not to do that, that he stayed.

Mom, it's okay you don't need to go through the trouble.

She remembered that day. It broke her heart. He was little, hurt, and emotionally drained. When she brought that topic up, he could only deflect any attempts she made.

Can't you just believe me for once?

She knew he didn't mean it but it hurt nonetheless.

Just please leave me alone.

She knew she should've taken authority. What long-term decision could a child make? But she didn't. She didn't because those words hit too close to home.

That was just last year. That was just a few months ago. Now, look at him. He was nervous but he wasn't avoiding her. He didn't flinch or wince at her gaze, shame washing over his face. These gestures were never in the forefront of their conversations; they were subtle and silent. It hurt more that way.

But the Izuku in front of her now lacked those characteristics. It was as if their confrontation never happened—like it was just a distant memory in the past.

And UA? The UA? Not high school? Nevermind the curious timeframe he provided her, why UA? She knew Izuku loved heroes—worshipped them even. UA was Japan’s most prestigious hero academies for future heroes in the making and one of the top-ranked hero schools internationally. It was also the school All Might graduated from. So she knew why he wanted to attend UA. But what she didn’t understand is why he brought it up. After the fateful diagnosis, Izuku’s dream was something that was left untouched and avoided in their conversations. Whenever the topic was brought up, the room would get awkward and the two would dance around each other as if the other could break at any moment. She wanted to support Izuku in anything he did, she would gladly give him her own if she could, but becoming a hero was just so unrealistic! Even people with quirks died on the job, so could you imagine what would happen to a person with none?

But that didn’t stop Izuku. No, even in his meek and self-deprecating voice, his aspirations were something he desperately clung onto.

...Mom? Can I be a hero like All Might?

...Mom? I wish I can go to UA.

...Mom? Becoming a hero… No one can stop me from just trying, right? I can at least do that much, r-right?

It was always posed as a question, never assertive, just desperation hiding behind an unrealistic fantasy. It would’ve been cute if not for his quirklessness. But now he sounded so assertive like he knew he would attend UA. As if getting into one of the top ranking schools in the world was just a stepping stone for something bigger.

What was it? What happened to trigger such a change?

“Mom?” Izuku fidgeted in his seat, chewing on his chopsticks.

She took a deep breath. “Izuku… Are you thinking of doing something?” She knew her boy was good, he was the most passionate person she’s ever met. But combined with his quirklessness, bullying, and this sudden shift in his personality, her mind couldn't help but linger on the article she read earlier that morning about how teenagers often turned to quirk abuse or gateway drugs for catharsis. “Something… you might regret later?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s more like if I don’t do this, I’ll regret it.”

Regret? “That isn’t very reassuring Izuku.” What can a boy his age possibly regret?

“I-I know it’s not very reassuring”—she hated that anxious look on him—“and I promise I won’t do anything illegal. I don’t expect you to believe me, I know you don’t.”

She grimaced, his words stabbing her heart. “Izuku… I do—”

“You don’t,” he cut her off. “You don’t have to lie to me, mom. And I don’t blame you for it. From your end, I’m your quirkless son in a world that thrives on quirks. It’s dangerous. It’s unknown. I know it doesn’t seem realistic now so I going to make it realistic—"

There it was again. That show of empathy. That show of maturity...

"—I’m going to start small. A change in diet, self-defence lessons, training, exercise—I’ll find something for all of it.”

...and practicality.

“Izuku...” please tell me what's happening.

“I don’t expect you to believe me now”—his eyes burned with determination—"but I’m going to be a hero.”

Inko felt the pearls of tears prickling her eyes. She knew her son was passionate. He held a spark like no one else she had ever known. But that was just it. A spark. A flicker. But the person in front of her now wasn’t a small ember trying to ignite—no, right now it was a roaring fire.

She didn't know who this Izuku was. She didn't recognize the person behind that smile. It was like a stranger's.

But...

But he was still Izuku.

He was still her baby boy.

He was still her beloved son just with his own special little quirks.

And he was right. She didn't believe his words—she couldn't even if she tried. His passion spoke volumes in ways she's never heard before, but he was still a child. He was still a quirkless child and nothing could change that fact.

But—God, she knew she shouldn't!—that didn't mean she couldn't indulge him, right?

Chapter Text

Izuku took a deep breath and stretched, letting out a content sigh. He tugged on his backpack, the straps already digging into his skin from the weight of his books. Wearing his earbud on one side, he scrolled through his phone: skimming through the news, searching for a podcast to listen to, and checking out the hero popularity rankings (which sadly became obsolete in his timeline). He hummed, unknowingly looping his other earbud on his ear, the heroic tendency deeply rooted into skin alert for any cries for help.

Scratching the ring around his eyes, his thoughts wandered off to his talk with Inko. He honestly expected a lot more yelling and crying—from her or him he didn’t know. After a series of tears, Inko agreed on his plans for a physical regiment under two conditions. First, she had the final say on any plans he made which was fair considering it was her money he was investing in. Although, that didn’t make the situation any less embarrassing. He was past his thirties with a successful career! He should be the one providing for his mother!

“Child’s body, can’t work yet...” Izuku groaned, mumbling under his breath.

The second condition was his safety, or, the condition that he couldn’t get hurt besides some minor injuries like small cuts and bruises. It was obvious that Inko set this condition like any other worried parent would say but the accuracy of her words made him wince. Of course, at the time, he just nodded and promised he wouldn’t push past his limit.

Yeahhh, he was sure she didn’t buy it either.

He could just imagine his friends or anyone who knew him actually, howling in laughter at the irony. Izuku chuckled nervously, remembering the time he was actually voted number one student most likely to ‘literally break a leg’ during his second year at UA. Apparently, that little joke went around the school because for Halloween, someone gave him and All Might matching skeleton costumes.

On that note, he wondered if it was actually possible to get back to his timeline. Spending time with his mother was amazing. She was the anchor for his sanity, a point of clarity in this absurd situation he found himself in. But he still felt a profound sadness aching in his heart. He missed his friends, he missed his juniors, he missed the fellow heroes that fought alongside him. He missed his house, his independence, his status.

He missed his life. His identity.

He appreciated the hell out of just being a kid again—one of the few luxuries he missed out on and now understood the significance of—but he was never one to stay still, was he? If he wasn’t doing his hero work, he was analyzing heroes and villains. If he wasn’t researching, he was working out. If he wasn’t working out, he was sleeping. He may have not had it bad as Shinso or Aizawa but anyone under the sun who heard the name of “Deku” knew that he never took a day off.

To be fair, it was necessary and he couldn’t exactly shut his brain off.

Izuku grinned in triumph, finding the show by digging around rabbit hole links from private forums very legally. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure if the passwords would work this far back because of the privacy circulation. Looks like lady luck was on his side. Unfortunately, it only had three episodes as opposed to the eighty in his original timeline.

It would do for now.

The podcast, Quirknalysis, was an independent talk show with a niche following in younger underground heroes during his early pro years. Because of its unexpurgated view on the superhuman society, the show was a hot topic between him and Hitoshi during the times they met at the belltower. The host, who simply referred to herself as “Hostess,” often spoke out loud about politics, economy, and as the name suggests, quirks. But unlike most quirk analysis programs which often looked at high ranking heroes or rising stars, Hostess discussed the social ramifications, drawbacks, economic viability, and other mature topics of overshadowed heroes and villains. It wasn’t surprising that with such controversial topics, and what most would consider "boring," it lacked the mainstream appeal.

Hitoshi had some ideas on the identity behind this mysterious host but never shared it with him. He blamed it on the underground’s omertà but realistically, Izuku suspected him just omitting the truth like the coy little bastard he was. He didn’t press on the matter though, being an underground hero herself, anonymity was vital. And in being an underground hero, every other episode was an encrypted message to the underground hero community: black market news, villain tip-offs, brokers, and other shady dealings. It was almost regrettable he learned about it too late when everything spiralled into chaos and anarchy.

Izuku scratched the back of his hand, wincing when one of his untrimmed nails cut his skin. It was nothing serious, just a thin red line from his knuckles to his wrist. He made a mental note to cut his nails once he got home.

He shifted between satisfaction and an unsettling sense of anxiety that made his insides feel as if someone was trying to wring the blood out of him like a sponge. So far, everything in this new timeline he found himself in mirrored his original one. Though, that didn’t say much considering the only person he came in contact with was his mother and some of the finer details were left forgotten in Izuku’s near thirty-year-old mind. No, he needed a more solid framework to base his knowledge off of. The bigger events in the news seemed to line up with the scraps of news he remembered back when he was actually thirteen. But then again, mass media wasn’t the best place to look for viable information. Following the advent of heroics as a career, most news sites were more financially viable as tabloids.

Quirknalysis talked about the more unspoken parts of society, yes, but Hostess always used the topic to explain something about the current state of the world. The current state of the underground world. And within society’s underbelly, information was as precious any jewel and her tongue was pink diamond. 

That wasn't to say the show was flawless. It was encrypted, yes, but it was still held outside of the Underground Network's, or UGN's, protection. It was similar to the Hero Network but more lucid and private about which hero could access their information. For example, the HN only required a hero licence to access its resources while the UGN needed a hero licence, a series of passwords that changed sporadically, and a recommendation from a current member. Not to mention that the UGN's information tended to lean towards more... disturbing cases. Though that was only the bare bones of what Izuku knew. It didn't matter how close he was with Hitoshi, the omertà was absolute.

A short catchy tune played as he pocketed his phone, a cheery voice announcing the title call.

“Hello and welcome to Quirkanalysis where we discuss underrated quirks, villains, and heroes! I’m Hostess and in today’s episode we’ll be discussing the 'Hairdresser Villain!' As some of you may know, the villain was apprehended by the up-and-coming newbie, Winged Hero: Hawks, two days ago at Tokyo Station for armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon the day prior.

His real name is Otoko Nui, age twenty-seven, has a minor criminal record in vandalization, robbery, and quirk abuse. His quirk, Grasp Metal, allows him to telepathically control about fifty grams of steel within five metres. Although that may seem underwhelming, a good hero knows that limitations on one’s abilities make a person more creative, unpredictable. Still, it’s too bad! If he were able to control more weight, he could’ve become a great rescue hero! If not, perhaps even get rid of those old east side buildings from the Tatoun City site. It may be small but two years and still the mayor hasn’t issued to clear the area. Ruining a perfectly good residential area, I’ll say! I heard the sunset there is quite a view! Imagine the market value of that property!”

Izuku rifled through his memories, comparing what he heard to what he remembered. He remembered the quirk talked about in this episode, unfortunately, he couldn’t recall the name of the user. He deduced that this man was spotlighted to notify the heroes about government corruption in the eastern residential area at Tatoun City. Age was usually used for the number of people involved. ‘Young’ for any case involving less than twelve people, ‘adult’ for fifty or more, ‘elderly’ for a hundred or more, and ‘aged’ for at least two hundred. Thirteen through forty-nine were easy to specify since the crime rate between those ages were the highest. Two years… he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what that meant but it was probably related to how long a case was—an identifier for the hero this message was directed towards.

He and Hitoshi would often decode these messages together, competing with each other on how many statements they got correct after a successful story on the news. It was certainly a fun pass time. Hitoshi being an underground hero open for information and Izuku being a quirk enthusiast, there couldn’t be a better investigation duo. Who said you couldn’t have some fun on the job?

Izuku let out an "ah!", chiding himself for instinctually playing detective.

“According to the police report, he was armed with a pair of steel scissors and several steel pinballs. The former as a concealed weapon and the latter for a decoy or a well-placed escape—”

Izuku skipped over the analysis, as much as he loved to discuss quirks, he was more anxious to find the main points in the episode.

“—Instead, needles would’ve been a more viable option for both stealth and lethality: lightweight, plentiful, and inconspicuous. As for the villain himself, it seems that he started this trend of armed robbery at a young age. Though it states that in the beginning his weapons were limited to pinballs.

Most forms of quirk abuse from children are written off as simple accidents unless they cause harm to others or their property. However, that changes with the quirk and age of the child. Section fifty-two of the Infancy Quirk Law protects children up to the ages of ten but that number can be reduced if said child has a dangerous quirk. But those cases are, thankfully, exceedingly rare—”

“Eri...” Izuku furiously dug into his skin, his untrimmed nails drawing lines of blood, trying to suppress his urge to raid the yakuza buildings. Smashing Overhaul would be cathartic right about now.

He desperately wanted to save her, desperately wanted to get her out before Overhaul traumatized her. But the fact of the matter was that he couldn’t for multiple reasons. First, his body would be dismantled by Overhaul even before he stepped a foot into their hideout. Second, he didn’t know when exactly Overhaul took Eri, and therefore where Eri was. Third, was simply the fact that he didn’t know enough about the yakuza and their history to gamble with low probability. He could make things worse for Eri, the police, pros, and himself in the long run.

The best he could do was probably tip off the underground hero community. Even then, underground heroes weren’t known to move without solid evidence. He couldn’t fault them since some members already borderline vigilantism, much to Aizawa’s ire. Acting without a warrant or evidence of some sort would be breaking the law completely.

Hitoshi always said, “the underground network was as complicated as hero society itself.”

“—Teenagers are a different story. In the case of proven self-defence or an emergency, they are exempt from punitive justice as long as there is little to no damage to any persons or property. Even small thefts such as stealing a candy bar, for example, is largely undocumented as the punishment depends on if the harmed wants to press charges. This was the case in his youth, however obviously any mistreatment he may have faced back then was not handled properly. This is his statement from after his arrest.”

The sound cuts out for a second before Izuku’s ears are filled with the familiar sound of camera shutters and mutters from the press. He can hear the sounds of struggle, and although he never watched the interview, he remembered Hitoshi mentioning that the interview started off normal but ended with the criminal pinned to the floor by security.

“Get off me!” A man screams, yelling profanities blindly, wild footsteps stampeding in the background. “Your society abandons us, blames us for the situation you forced us into and what do we get when we do something about it? Sic the fucking heroes on us! Don’t make me laugh, you aren’t heroes, you’re all just the government’s bitch!” His voice cracked, a pained sob layered by an infuriated rage. “I asked for help! I-I asked to be fixed! You brought this on yourself!” There was a screech in the background, someone calling for security. “I SAID GET OFF-!”

The audio abruptly cut off, leaving Izuku with his thoughts. Damn it. He couldn’t help but think back to Shoto and the young, misguided villains he fought. It was so frustrating since this would’ve been all avoidable if people weren’t complete assholes. And if All for One, you know, just stayed fucking buried in the ground like a regular human being after, what? One, two fucking centuries?

Izuku couldn’t even report him since he, like every other problem, had no evidence of their crimes. The League of Villains didn’t exist yet, and even if it did, they made no incriminating moves he was aware of. He couldn’t even give out the Nomu locations because if he knew All for One, and he unfortunately did, he knew that losing a couple of factories meant nothing to an ancient villain with the world sprawled out in front of him like a board game.

Not even in his original timeline could he stop the Nomu creations, so there was no way the police and pro heroes, that have yet to feel the magnitude of the future, dismantle the system. If he tipped off the authority, not only does he run the risk of giving out free information about his knowledge to potential traitors, All for One was like a hydra—if you didn’t completely obliterate the source, it would only grow back stronger. And there was no chance on this earth he would allow for more innocent casualties for the mere possibility of his defeat. If "possibility" could even be applied in this situation with the odds so stacked against him.

If there was one thing Izuku would never regret is smashing All for One’s ugly mug so far deep into the ground, he created the bastard’s own grave.

Hostess clears her voice before continuing, “mental health has been a prevalent issue for centuries but rarely anything is done about it. Not many ask ‘what compelled them to this?’ and engage the problem from its roots: the idealization of heroes which subsequently spawns the ‘other’—”

Izuku paused the video. He heard enough to know that the episode was a near replica as his original timeline’s. On any other day, he would be more than willing to listen and reminisce about the ins and outs of quirks but now, hearing this was like pulling teeth.

He didn’t hate it, mind you. He just hated being unable to act. So many things he could change, so many lives that can be saved. But that was the anchor: can. He can do those things but not yet. There were so little he could do now, under the weight of the things he should.

“Things would be fine,” he tried to reassure himself, “everything was fine then, everything will be fine now.”

But in the back of his mind, there was a small whisper, a voice cold and familiar. Both mockingly gentle and sharp as a blade. “But ‘fine’ isn’t enough, is it, hero?”

It may have been some time, in a different timeline, in a different world, but Izuku’s mind was still fresh from battle. It only felt like yesterday where he fought his final war. The muscles in his leg straining as he leapt off the cliff, rolling his arm back, calling upon the generations of One for All, the intensity of his power shredding his skin, his heart drumming against his chest, slicing through the wind like a blade, the world quickly fading into a blur, eardrums blown out, the cold sweat numbing his body before his knuckles was painted in the blood of All for One.

His mind was still partially stuck in the battle with a body planted in the present. The dissonance between the need to act clashed with the futility of his present. He needed to act. ‘Fine’ wasn’t enough. He had to do more. Because he could do more. He had so many things to fix, so many people to save. The League, Shigaraki, All for One, UA, the representation of heroes, the media, One for All, Gran Torino, Aizawa, Kota, Eri, Overhaul, Sir Nighteye, Mirio, Shoto, Tenya, Stain, Ibara, Fumikage, Yuga, Tsu, his comrades, his juniors, his family, the Nomus, Trigger, everything, oh my god he didn’t have even have enough time to list everything—!

Izuku balled his fists and took in a deep breath, counting with each exhale. His chest puffed out, eyes shut, letting the air flow through his entire body. His breath was shaky at first, trying to ground himself to the present.

“My name is Izuku Midoriya,” he stuttered, “I am currently a m-middle school student. I woke up today and my mom made me katsudon. I am walking to Aldera Junior High for my class. I walked down the street and then turned right at the pedestrian sign. Then I went through the underpass and walked down the street. I am going to turn left at the park and walk straight until I arrive at Aldera Junior High.”

He felt the clothes on his body, the fabric hanging loosely over his skin, the breeze lapping at his neck. He felt the weight of his backpack on his shoulders, finding a familiar sense of comfort in his red shoes.

He repeated this process, slowly but surely grounding himself back into the present.

Overthinking was one of his greatest weaknesses and he couldn’t afford to waste time focusing on the things he couldn’t do. He couldn’t help but dwell on the negatives but the least he could do was acknowledge it and ground himself as quickly as possible.

He took one more deep breath, wiping his tears on his sleeves, fingers hovering over his phone, listening to his grounding song. He continued to breathe in even rhythms, the familiar melody easing the hammering of his chest and his throbbing throat. The cold didn’t leave him but he certainly didn’t feel so lost in time anymore.

Izuku quickly distracted himself with his phone, looking for a specific dojo for his training. One that allowed quirkless students. Despite the anti-discrimination laws for quirkless individuals, certain establishments usually didn’t take in quirkless people out of worry for their “fragility.” Many in the quirkless community thought this as prejudice or unwanted pity. Izuku of all people understood it the best, being a part of both sides at one point. It’s true that the quirkless minority was at a disadvantage, but that didn’t mean they were to be pitied.

Izuku scrolled through the list of advertisements, eventually settling on a promising dojo for teenagers in the outskirts of Tokyo. It wasn’t too far from his mom’s house, and the price range wasn’t heavy. Izuku hummed contently, looking through the lesson plans.

“Various martial arts practices from a variety of other cultures… Taekwondo, muay thai, wushu, aikido, boxing… Individual lessons and group lessons available,” he mumbled as he passed the park, “sounds good. Better sign up for the earliest available class… Wait, no. I almost forgot mom’s deal.” He groaned. Curse financial dependency. “I’ll just send her the link.”

Izuku pocketed his phone, working out his schedule in his head. “It’s forty-six minutes on the Musutafu line so it’ll take me about an hour maximum, including buffer time for delays, from school to the dojo after classes end. Considering the lessons are about three hours on average, I should be back home by no later than ten—”

“Excuse me! Young man!”

Izuku stilled, a sense of deja vu wash over him, before reminding himself that there was no way his mentor would be here at this time. Quickly composing himself, he looked up to see a man with metallic arms waving at him. He was foreign, probably American, looks to be about in his mid-thirties, wore a casual suit and, by the sweat dripping from his brow, seemed slightly panicked.

Izuku unconsciously gave the disarming smile he used when talking with civilians. “Yes? How can I help you, sir?” he asked softly.

The man rubbed the back of his neck, bowing slightly. “Sorry to disturb you but do you happen to know the way to the Musutafu Convocation Hall?” he asked with a slight accent, “there’s a hero costume designer’s convention held there and at this point, I’ll sell my soul to the devil if he gets me to this damned location.”

Izuku rose a brow. Although he wasn’t too well-versed in the workings of the hero costume industry, he knew enough to know that foreigners weren’t called to Japan of all places for a simple convention (Yuga had tried to get him into it at one point and Katsuki was a born diva). Japan’s designers were great but they weren’t known to throw international meetings just for the heck of it. He, unfortunately, didn’t know if this was a universe alteration or his own ignorance on the matter.

“Well, it’s not too far from here.” Izuku pointed to a large building with slanted windows in the distance. “Do you see that building over there? Slanted windows? The Convocation Hall should be only about two blocks north from there. It’s a huge dome, often hosts events, so there should be banners hanging all over the place—can’t miss it. It should take you about twenty minutes by foot, and seven-ish by taking the Musutafu line.”

“Thank you so, so much!” The man looked as if he was about to cry. “I’ll go there by foot, I’m not battling with the beast that is the East Asian transit system.” He looked at Izuku, pausing for second before shuffling around in his breast pocket. “Here, take my card. I owe you big time, kid.”

Izuku read the card and pocketed it, watching as the man fumbled his way to his location. Odd, considering that he only helped him with directions. He shrugged, pulling the straps of his backpack closer to him. “Must be really important,” he said to himself.

Chapter Text

When Izuku was actually a middle schooler, many thought his near-obsessive notetaking was borderline mental. It could be because he was some kid with a hero obsession. Or it could be because he burned through trees faster than Ochaco mowing down old ladies at the annual supermarket sale. Or it could've been the muttering. Probably the muttering. But regardless, Izuku has never been more glad he built up those habits from a young age because rereading his notes was going to save him from hunting for his class and student number.

He honestly didn’t want to worry Inko more than he already was.

It was one thing to imagine going back to his junior high school, but it was another seeing the gates of Aldera Junior High with his own eyes. As he grew older, more assertive, he realized just how fallacious his middle school was. Guidance was nearly non-existent, educators were apathetic (though he honestly blamed the lack of educational funding for that), and quirk abuse was fine as long as no one got admitted into a hospital and sued the school. It was a shame, really. How little the world valued those with non-flashy, offensive quirks like Katsuki’s or his.

Call it idealistic but he firmly believed in the notion that there wasn’t a single quirk that wasn’t useful. Don’t get him wrong, he wouldn’t pit some poor general education kid against a death row villain. That’s stupid and negligent. Some quirks have more or fewer uses than others but it was a matter of how it was used that was of true importance. Like Hitoshi’s quirk for example. Of course in hand-to-hand combat against a mute person, his quirk is "useless." But for one weakness, he had a thousand more strengths. He'd seen the man defeat villains with a couple of well-placed words, calmly guide distressed people out of high-stakes situations, and well, Aizawa wasn't the only reason why he was so close to the police.

Hell, even quirks that seemed odd at first glance could be useful. He recalled a hero team back in his original timeline that Eijiro talked of fondly of. One of their members had a transformative quirk that would liquify his internal body called, "Putty". It may not be much at first glance, maybe even a detriment if not handled properly, but Kirishima was quick to praise his quirk—talking animatedly about how his body could absorb an incredible amount of blunt force, recalling the moment where he saved a little boy from a misdirected attack.

Perhaps he reminded him of Fatgum?

Even outside of hero work, he’s seen a man who could elongate their nose, acting silly, telling stories to children in libraries and clinics; a woman who could emit bubbles out of her fingers to help pacify and distract distressed animals at a rescue shelter; and heard of a civilian girl who emitted a soft light from her body which helped rescuers find the missing caved-in people.

Despite his own quirk, his early life had been a gripping reminder of how a quirk did not define a person’s worth. If it were, only people like Recovery Girl, who had a rare healing quirk, would be doctors. Pitting a more passive quirk against an unfavourable situation was like telling a child to write an equation for the Earth’s gravitational pull. It just wasn’t unfair, it was downright cruel and idiotic.

There was so much potential for the students here. But of course, not all men were born equal. Some had better quirks than others, but no one was ever useless. You just had to be smart enough to apply the correct quirk to the situation. But unfortunately, most students here were stifled by a poor schooling system and an even poorer support system. Seriously, even the school nurse himself was unqualified beyond reason! There was a reason why young Izuku treated his wounds at home!

He sighed and took a step forward. Not even as an adult did he have to step a single foot on this soil, and now he had to repeat three years here. But there was really no point in picking at its flaws, it would just make him more frustrated. He couldn’t exactly say he was excited about his class but it was a necessary evil.

“Hey Deku!”

And speak of the devil. Look, a necessary evil.

Izuku stared at the two boys coming towards him. One had short dark hair, a row of sharp teeth peeking behind a sly smirk. The other had small deer-like horns protruding out of his tousled hair, trailing behind the former, an impassive look in his eyes. He tried hard, but couldn’t remember who they were.

“Hey, Deku,” the boy with the fangs said, casually draping an arm around his shoulders, “man, I was so busy yesterday! And I kinda forgot to do the homework and wondered if I can copy yours?”

“Ah...” Izuku thought with melancholic nostalgia, “so this was what my past self was dealing with.”

“I don’t think there’ll be enough time for you to rewrite my scribbles,” Izuku muttered an excuse, forcing out a laugh.

The boy paused for a second before gathering his bearings. “Well, that’s too bad! I don’t want Mr. Nedzu to get on my case again…” He pretended to hum thoughtfully, before snapping his fingers. “So, listen. Why don’t I borrow your notebook for today? C’mon, please? You’re smart so you won’t have trouble answering his questions.”

Manipulation? Really? “I can’t do that. He’ll go around checking for completion.” Besides, his notebooks were kind of, sort of, like his lifeline right now.

The arm around his shoulders flinched, a confused look on his face. Izuku could see him trying to process something before smiling unnaturally. “Well, you’re a good student and all. But I’m always in his radar! He’ll probably just pass by you. But me? He’ll be checking, dude!” His lips quirked upwards, the arm squeezing him tighter. “We’re classmates, friends. You can't just leave me hanging!”

Izuku took a deep breath. He was used to people asking him for favours and his request wasn’t even that big of a deal. But the way he went about it resurfaced memories he’d forgotten about. Katsuki may have been the centre of the majority of the bullying, but he never resorted to using underhanded tactics like this. The reason why Izuku respected Katsuki at all, even during his worst times, was because of his pride—the fact that victory was won only by his own terms (a double-edged sword, but nevertheless respect).

Katsuki was a large blow to his mental health but his blunt, straightforward mentality never gave room for Izuku to doubt himself. Quite the opposite actually. It made him want to beat him. To face him eye-to-eye on the pedestal where Katsuki was standing and climb even higher. It made him want to prove himself. If Katsuki won the genetic lottery and was born lucky, Izuku wanted to even those odds by making his own luck.

This, however, affected him in more ways than one. Being an adult Izuku could see just how manipulative these children were, trying to use pity and mock familiarity with him. Back in middle school, these “friendly” acts made him doubt himself, delude himself into thinking he had friends just because they didn’t outright make fun of him. He wasn’t ignorant to the situation but coupled with his crippling loneliness and non-existing self-esteem, the bar had been set so low an ant could jump over it.

“Listen,” Izuku said, lifting the boy’s arm off him, “It’s not my responsibility to do your homework. I can’t give you my work just because you’re pitying yourself. I’m sorry if you have life events troubling you—” He honestly doubted it. “—from doing it, but I’m not giving you my answers.”

The boy was taken aback, shock replaced by frustration. He crossed his arms and scoffed, teeth gnawing in agitation. “And here I thought you wanted to be a hero. Bakugo was right—”

“A hero wouldn’t cheat academic integrity.” Izuku firmly planted his foot on the ground, his voice authoritative yet understanding. Aizawa would be proud. “I understand that you’re nervous about disappointing others, and by extension yourself. You can’t seem to find the motivation to try but you also don’t want to face the consequences. And you’d be right in some aspects. Adults put too much pressure on young students, not as healthy expectation but as scrutiny. Trust me, you won’t learn by passing other’s work as your own.”

The boy took a step back, shoving his hands down his pockets. “What the hell are you talking about, man? All I’m asking for is—”

“A way out. An easy way out. But these little things build up. If you want, I’ll help you. During lunch, maybe?”

“What? Are you crazy? I’m not spending my lunch doing math.”

“But you do want to prove Mr. Nedzu wrong, right?” Izuku leaned in and smiled. “I’ll tell you a secret. My ultimate motivation is to save people, but sometimes? Spite is the greatest motivation of all. His class is after lunch-” If he read the schedule correctly. “—and I guarantee you that you’ll get the concept by the beginning of the period. So, do we have a deal?”

He looked at Izuku’s outstretched hand for a moment. What the hell was going on with him? Deku was supposed to be some spineless loser who would bend over backwards as long as it wasn’t as bad as what Bakugo did. But then again, Bakugo was a ticking time bomb ready to go off at any moment.

What he did wasn’t new. They did the same thing every day: catch him early, sprinkle in some flattery, copy the homework, give thanks, and leave. He could tell Izuku was wary of him, but the boy was weak against pushy people. Hell, just yesterday he just handed him his notebook without a word to get away from the situation as quickly as possible!

Something… something was different about him.

His face scrunched up before turning away, clicking his tongue as he called out to his friend. “C’mon let’s go. Deku’s being creepy as hell right now.”

“Ah...” Izuku sighed watching them leave, standing with his hand in the same awkward position. He scratched his head, pulling on his backpack straps before walking towards his homeroom. “I’m still not good with teenagers.”

When Izuku slid open the door to his homeroom, four things became glaringly obvious.

One, he didn’t remember a single person in his class. Maybe a few spotty faces at most. Like that one kid who was the class clown and that one girl he once had a small crush on throughout middle school. Even then it was mostly a feeling of memory rather than the memory itself.

Two, he had no idea where he sat. He had his student number but his middle school would switch seats sometimes to discourage chatter (which just made the students sneakier in how they communicated). So there goes that “no awkward interactions” thing.

Three, his childhood rival looked so young. Perhaps it was because he grew up with the man that he didn’t notice but by God, Bakugo Katsuki was young. He just fit the chair he was sitting on! His little hands! His little uniform! A boy! He was a boy!

Izuku didn’t think Katsuki changed much growing up, besides the obvious increasing athletic build and scars, but now it was like looking at a little child. Scratch that, he was looking at a child. A little cub. Granted, his build was still stronger than most kids their age but just look!

“Oh. My. God. He still has some baby fat left!” Izuku squealed in his head. God he wished he had a camera. It would make great blackmail!

(...Hitoshi was probably not the best influence on him.)

And last but not least, four, Izuku probably shouldn’t have snorted while looking directly at Bakugo Katsuki, the embodiment of wrath.

"Well, looks like Tenya was right," he thought to himself. He wasn’t subtle.

Before he could even think to apologize, Bakugo shot up, his chair clattering to the floor, his eyes burning, hand cackling in a show of intimidation. His twitchy grin and eyes came right up to Izuku’s face, the latter of which mentally kicked himself for poking a very volatile bear.

“What’s so fucking funny, Deku?” Bakugo said threateningly, four explosions going off in succession. “Answer me, you loser!”

“So brazen!” Izuku thought.

Izuku stood there frozen, failing to push anything past his tongue. He was used to aggressive reporters, and he was no stranger to an aggressive Katsuki. But it has been a while since he saw such raw contempt in Katsuki.

From the corner of his eyes, the crowd of students either fled to the walls and avoided eye contact or stared at what was the daily “Bakugo blow-up". A few of what he assumed to be Bakugo’s lackeys and his other childhood bullies crept closer, taking his silence as meek acceptance.

“Can’t even stand up to him like a man?” “Wow, you’re so pathetic!” Jeez, kids were so mean.

Bakugo smirked, lighting a few warning explosions on his shoulder. Damn it the smell of burnt fabric was going to be a pain to get out. “Silent, huh? You just say whatever you want and act like it never happened, you fuck—?”

“Didn’t mean to,” Izuku said softly but assertively, “I just thought of something funny and you just happened to be in my line of sight.”

It was technically true. He was thinking back to his original Katsuki and the look on his face if he ever managed to capture some of their middle school years. Grade A teasing material.

So it was technically not laughing at current Bakugo, right?

Okay, he was reaching, but better that than tell an unstable teenager with bombs for hands that he was teasing him.

By all means, Bakugo Katsuki was intimidating even as a child. But Izuku didn’t live through half his life defeating villains with fearful passivity. To be honest, he was torn between giving Bakugo a piece of his mind for all the bullying (something he often fantasized about during middle school), trying to calm a misguided teen because of his echoing heroic instincts, and bursting out into laughter because Bakugo looked no more frightening than an angry Pomeranian.

No, no, no. He suppressed the last thought down. He was an adult and it was his duty as a grown hero to guide the golden eggs of the next generation.

…

Okay…

But…

But like ... how pissed would he get if he gave him a little pat on his head and then... 'woof'-ed ?

Bakugo paused, his smirk melting into a scowl. His explosions turning from a show of power to something sharper. A tell-tale sign of a confused Bakugo Katsuki.

“Huh?” He said teetering between anger, annoyance, and confusion. “Since when did you—?”

“Kacchan, you want to be a hero, right?” Izuku asked, examining the teen.

Bakugo shot Izuku one of the dirtiest and most confounded looks he’s ever seen. “What the fuck kind of question—? Of course, you idiot! I’ll be number one—!”

“Well then!” Izuku interrupted, trying to channel his brightest heroic smile—which came off more as unsettling and creepy to the class. “I’m sure you can! You’re one of the strongest and most driven people I know. You were blessed with an amazing quirk, and a clear drive and passion to turn your dreams into a reality.”

His smile dropped, a serious look replacing his face. Izuku was torn between keeping his head down or making Bakugo a better person. He had no right to “fix” Bakugo’s attitude, nor did want to. It wasn’t his responsibility. All of this was a part of his growth into a decent human being and hero.

At least that’s what Izuku thought at first. But it was becoming obvious with the haughty attitude and threats (both physical and verbal) that this was a toxic environment for everyone, including Bakugo himself. Working with heroes whose secondary job was introspection and psychology, it was clear that Bakugo’s bullying not only affected him but others as well.

To be blunt, how did Denki put it? That his personality was “crap steeped in garbage?”

Izuku may have had wounds that healed and scarred from battle, but the bullying he endured in his early years was crippling. If he didn’t have such a strong support system from his mother and his admiration for heroes, well… He really didn’t want to think of that timeline.

Katsuki, his Kacchan, never lost that foul mouth or… personality. But his anger was tempered, he knew from right from wrong, and while he never outright stated it, he knew Katsuki regretted his actions as a child. He wasn’t exactly what Izuku would describe as “nice” but more so “humbled.” He became someone who Izuku feared to someone who could understand his fears the best.

He never stopped redeeming himself. He wasn't a friend, but he was a hero.

It took years but Shigaraki was gone. Instead of joy, Izuku felt something else. It wasn’t relief. It wasn’t exactly emptiness or apathy either. It held the same depth, that same pit. It felt like throwing a pebble in the far trenches of the ocean. He didn’t know what it was but he felt a lot of it. Consumed him. It was frustrating that he couldn’t pinpoint it, couldn’t name it. He could list a thousand emotions he should feel, but nothing seemed to fit.

Only one thing was certain and that was Shigaraki’s dying words mocking him, each word clawing at his brain. Mauling over his thoughts, in a tepid cycle of monotony, he was a viper that couldn’t stop talking, whispering. Even in death, he moved.

What should’ve been a triumphant day became worrying for those who knew Midoriya Izuku. They tried to approach the man but couldn’t find him. It was only after nearly a day of searching where they found him in a near catatonic state, muttering incoherently. It wasn’t like his usual mutterings. This—this was more unsettling, creepy, like a beeping countdown without a clear timer.

And the worst part? No one knew how bad the bomb was going to be.

Katsuki coughed, launching a piece of a broken wall out of his way, dust and small pieces of debris taking its place near Izuku’s huddled body. He was never one to sugar-coat things but even he had to admit, this was a horrible sight. Izuku, a grown man, a hero, covered in soot and dirt, surrounded by the aftermath of his battle. Hunched over near a wall, his suit was stained. Blood was most obvious to pick out but what concerned him the most was the open gashes turning his skin purple and green from infection.

“They’re too small to be from battle,” Katsuki thought apprehensively. That disturbed him the most.

Of all the years he spent with the Symbol of Hope, Katuski never saw Izuku like this. This wasn’t like him. He was supposed to be that idiot with that stupid smile of his, picking up people’s spirits like Pokemon. But now? His eyes were glossed over, tears falling over the black and red rings over his eyes, spine arched uncomfortably, mask partially disintegrated, digging his nails into his skin with a vengeance.

“Oi, idiot,” Katsuki said, quickly radioing the rescue team, “get off the floor. The rat bastard’s gone and the press needs their poster boy.”

Izuku didn’t respond, he barely even acknowledged him. It wasn’t a panic attack, he’d seen those before. This was different. He wasn’t smiling. And as Katsuki approached closer, Izuku wasn’t crying either. At least not anymore. He was just scratching. Scratching ferociously as if maggots crawled under his skin, picking at the mangled tissue and fat stained red. His gloves were haphazardly tossed away, tattered behind him with blood taking their place.

It wasn’t Shigaraki’s.

“Fuck,” he said aloud.

Izuku didn’t seem to hear him, inevitably scraping up dirt and sweat into his abrasions as he gouged. Katsuki bit his lips, his fingers twitching to do something, anything.

He thought he could handle distressed victims now. A crying child? Show off a few flashy explosions to distract them. An injured person? Take them to the medics. Aggressive, uncooperative civilian? Call for back-up or keep them safe until help arrives and the threat has been neutralized.

But this was the Symbol of Hope, the number one hero, the only person he would ever begrudgingly accept as the world’s number one. He was the strongest, the person he wanted to beat more than anyone else in the world.

This was Midoriya- fucking- Izuku.

He swallowed his nerves. Fuck! What was he so anxious about? “Oi. Deku—”

“Kacchan…?” Katsuki shut his mouth, just barely managing to hear the whimper escaping from his lips. “I’m… I just…? I did it. But why am I? I—”

As he continued to mutter, Katsuki quickly analyzed the situation. He wasn’t a rescue hero, far from it. He was a limelight hero specializing in pursue and capture. But he still had enough basic first aid knowledge to know that approaching him was a bad idea.

“His breathing is erratic. Not enough to be a panic attack. Stay a few paces back. Don’t approach yet,” he observed quietly.

“—I'm just…” Izuku’s voice got louder, desperation edging his cries. “He said… I don't care!” His voice cracked. “I don’t. But I can't stop thinking about…”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes as he went silent. But before he could say anything, Izuku looked up at him with a hopeless smile as if he was the only thing keeping him alive right now. “Kacchan?” he said softly. “What’s wrong with me?”

Katsuki took a deep breath. What the hell was he supposed to say about that?

“Stop—” He paused, trying to phrase it as “nicely” as possible. “—stop overthinking Deku. Your stu— fucking big brain of yours always lands you in more trouble than its worth. I swear you’re your worst enemy.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, Katsuki wincing when the former curled his fingers, nails raking up his mangled flesh. “He… also said that… K-Kacchan… I… I’m not… I swear I’m not—!”

Fucking hell. This was not his day.

He had to think quickly. The rescue team had better training with distressed victims but they wouldn’t arrive in another ten minutes or so. Meanwhile, Izuku went from despondent to anxious. He couldn’t afford to turn that into panic.

“‘He’ must be referring to that rat bastard,” Katsuki deducted quickly, “he likes to run his fucking mouth off and Ochaco mentioned something about Deku being fucked in the head in their last fight. Knowing him he’d rather die monologuing than anything else—shit. He said something—that bastard said something!”

Izuku helplessly stared at him, like a child looking towards their parental figure. He wanted—needed to know how to act, respond.

Katsuki made his way to the distressed man, crouching beside him, slow and obvious, making no sudden movements. There was still significant space between them, but close enough that if Izuku wanted to, he could reach out and touch him.

“K-Kacchan…?”

Katsuki leaned back on the broken wall, staring at the cracks rooting the area. It was a long shot, but judging from the weird habits Deku built up over the past few years, he had a good guess on what Shigaraki said.

“‘Heroes—” He took a deep breath. “—Heroes and villains are cut from the same cloth. It only takes a thread for either to become the other.’” Katsuki wasn’t a sentimental man and he’d fight anyone who’d claim otherwise. “That’s why you feel this shitty. He used you against yourself. He knew if he showed you humanity, you’ll miss a stitch. That’s making you feel… uneasy, uncertain.”

“...Best Jeanist?” His voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. But Katsuki caught a faint hint of a smile.

“Shut up and let me finish my speech, you damn nerd. You know you did good, you know you saved a lot of people. You’re a fucking hero. But you care too much. You know he’s bad and you know you don’t regret doing him in. But he’s wormed his way in like the fucking parasite he is and now you're stuck with him. But that's all he is. A parasite. He's not you—he's a fucking leech. And we're going to get any traces of that rat bastard out of you.”

Izuku didn't look at him, his head buried in his knees. “You’ve gotten sweeter Kacchan... Like Auntie.”

“Fuck off.”

Izuku finally smiled. A small one. It didn’t even reach his eyes. But it was real.

Katsuki kicked a small peddle by his foot. “What did she say to me once? ‘Physical wounds heal but the heart will always bleed?’ I don’t know, that kind of crap—Look, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since... then. I’m not telling you to get over it. Take your fucking time or whatever but right now, the world needs a symbol. Our job doesn't stop at just the villain, Mr. Symbol of Hope.”

Izuku let out a tired chuckle. “You are one of the least encouraging people I’ve ever met.”

He snorted. “My job is to kick ass, not kiss it.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, the man no longer scratching himself to death. With the temporary tranquillity, Katsuki could see pieces of Izuku's flesh under his fingernails, deep gauges painting his arms and hands.

“It really has gotten this bad,” he quietly observed.

Katsuki quickly took out his medical supplies, tossing some disinfectant wipes to Izuku as he prepared to dress his wounds.

“What about you…?”

When Katsuki looked up, he saw Izuku digging the cloth into his wound. He clicked his tongue. Either he really didn’t feel anything or he was more of a masochist than he thought.

“I didn’t give you Isopropyl to replace your fingers. Wipe, idiot. What about me?”

Izuku mindlessly did as he was told. “I meant… From me… What do—What do you need from me, Kacchan?”

He blinked. “Me…?”

Need? What did he need? A friend? No, he wouldn’t consider himself a friend. It made him sound like he and Izuku were buddies or something. Colleague sounded too uppity and professional. Comrade? Closer but still too categorized.

Need... He needed him to be, and this was cliche as hell but, he needed him to be himself. No weird bullshit labels. He needed the person who promised he could do it against all odds. Not a symbol, not a hero. The hero: Midoriya Izuku. He was the person he was going to surpass, the person who earned his respect. The person he was going to kill himself with his own two hands if he ever dare to die by some fucking crusty ass villain.

(His relationship with the man was complex, to say the least.)

But there was the million dollar question: what did he need from him?

Katsuki let out a huff. “Don’t be arrogant just cause you’re in the lead. I’ll fucking roast you and take back my number one spot.” His com sparked, a small blue light blinking on the screen. The rescue team was going to be here any second now. “I don’t need anything from you, idiot.” He quickly wrapped Izuku’s arms in gauze, slinging the other’s arm over his shoulders, carrying the weeping man. “Just be that fucking Deku who does whatever the annoying fucking shit he wants.”

Izuku chuckled lightly through his tears. “Singing teenage angst during happy hour with friends isn't annoying."

"Arguable."

"Kacchan, I—I owe you one.”

Katsuki side-eyed the man before scoffing. “You owe me three, you damn nerd. But I’ll be generous and spend one now.”

“...What is it?”

"Stop crying."

He sniffed. "What...?"

“For fuck’s sake—stop crying, you grown ass baby!”

He blinked. “S-Seriously?”

“Your leaking all over me and your tears feel weird on my skin. I swear to fuck if you don’t stop, I’ll drop you.”

Izuku bursted out into laughter.

In contrast, Bakugo, this Kacchan, didn’t know right from wrong. He blew up like a petulant child if something didn’t go his way and was excused from consequences and sometimes even praised for his actions solely because of his quirk. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the parenting difficulties Mitsuki and Masaru faced trying to reprimand him. How can a child learn humility when their parents say one thing, but all of hero society seem to contradict everything they say?

That’s why this was so frustrating. Bakugo could be better. Bakugo was better! Will be better? Ugh. Time travel aside, the point still stands. Bakugo was born with a powerful quirk but he wasn’t born with his personality. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and already he could see through all of Bakugo’s bullshit. But Izuku couldn't just outright help him or he'd see that as pity or weakness!

His pride was definitely a double-edged sword.

“But you know Kacchan,” Izuku started, “being number one isn’t solely based on raw power or quirks alone. You want to surpass All Might, right?” He took an unflinching step forward. “How can you hope to defeat the number one when you can’t even match up to his shadow?

“You’re smart, try to think of how your actions affect others. I know you see it, I know you register it. But your tunnel vision pushes it aside because it’s not an immediate concern. Let me tell you this: you won’t bring hope, much less keep society’s peace by threatening a person’s agency—

“You can build up your quirk to destroy the tallest of buildings and biggest of mountains but what will you do when your words burn a hole through someone’s chest? What good will your quirk do then? You can’t just heal those wounds with some bandages and gauze—Intangible pain hurts a lot worse because others can’t see it—It morphs, becomes a version of you made from the impositions of others—It seeps into your skin, buries its roots in you until you can’t even tell who is who anymore!

“Can you really handle being responsible for breaking someone to the point where they are now defined by their pain? A person who has lost their sense of self and drive? What will you do? What will you do when that happens? Hm—? How will you save that person, hero?"

The room went still, not a single word was uttered. Every person in the room looked at Midoriya Izuku like a stranger. Everyone knew Midoriya was the quiet, scrawny kid who kept his head down. Everyone knew Midoriya was the loser. Everyone knew Midoriya was just a crying doormat.

But at that moment, everyone knew one thing: Midoriya Izuku wasn’t the person they thought he was.

Bakugo was shellshocked, never in a million years did he expect Deku of all people to talk back him, let alone fucking lecture him. If this were anyone else, their ass would’ve been blown to the moon and back.

But this was fucking Deku. His confusion overrode his anger, trying to process what the hell just happened.

Izuku shot his hands up to his mouth, eyes wide, stunned at his words. He didn’t mean to say that, to say it like that. Like him.

For what seemed like an eternity no one dared to move. Even Bakugo’s lackeys seemed hesitant, unsure of if this was the day the quiet psycho snapped and started murdering everyone.

A minute passed before a BANG—!

Bakugo slammed Izuku into the wall, his arms pinning him by his collar. The large clock above his head juddering from the impact.

Izuku coughed, pain shooting up his spine, his stomach threatening to give out. He glared at Bakugo, levelling his scowl with his own, his nails digging into Bakugo’s wrists. He looked positively murderous. Izuku was against hurting children. He couldn’t even if he wanted to in this state.

But this was Bakugo Katsuki—

Izuku tightened his grip, the scowl on the other’s face deepening, both unwilling to be the one who breaks first.

—and he’ll fight tooth and nail before he loses to him.

“Beak it up, you two!” the homeroom teacher yelled, sliding open the door just in the nick of time, “Bakugo, Midoriya! Didn’t we tell you not to bother your classmates?” He scanned the room, students scattered by the walls. “All of you get to your seats!”

Izuku saw the hate burning brighter and brighter, the intensity of his eyes threatening to rip out his throat. But after a beat, his bottom it the floor in a loud thud, the latter of which begrudgingly stomped back to his seat.

With the fight seemingly over—for now—the students went to find their desks, Izuku rubbing his back before walking to the only empty seat left.

He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders, securing it on the metal hook attached to his desk. This was not the day he woke up for.

The air in the classroom felt awkward for everyone except for the teacher who just impassively called for attendance and continued on with the day's lesson. Izuku, meanwhile, pulled out his notebook continuing to jot down his memories, occasionally glancing up at the board.

It wouldn't be until later that he would finally feel the heated glare burning into his back.

Chapter Text

Bakugo was pissed. No, that would be an understatement. He was furious. How dare Deku of all people humiliate him in front of these losers?!

"Damn it all..."

He could feel his irritation through his palms, taking all his self-control not to explode right then and there. That quirkless bastard was always looking down on him. He was—is—nothing yet he always tried to be something. Society had an order: the strong were heroes and always won, the weak were to be protected and out of the hero’s way. And when people try to disrupt that order, they would ruin everything for everyone.

That weakass idiot just had to be some hero-wannabe, didn’t he? Spewing off about how he wanted to save people, help them. What a fucking liar. He was nothing but a liability. A joke.

Everyone saw Deku and saw some helpless loser and they were correct. But that wasn’t the entire truth. He wasn’t a loser because he couldn’t do anything; he was a loser because he shouldn’t be able to do anything yet he tried. The nerd was a loser but he was a cunning loser. Bakugo would never admit it but Midoriya Izuku was smart, analytical—not as much as him, of course. If it weren’t for that annoying stutter and the infuriating way he acted so meekly, then maybe—just maybe Bakugo would’ve considered him a sidekick or one of those nerdy intel guys in those old spy movies they used to watch as kids.

But that was the thing. That’s all he did: act. Acted like a somebody. Acted like he could do something. Acted like a hero. But Bakugo could see through his facade. The bastard was always planning something; something to undermine him. Look no further than all those times Deku tried to publically humiliate him and ruin his chances of being the number one hero. Oh, he's heard it all before: "Bakugo, you're a bully!" "Bakugo, you're a horrible boy." "Bakugo, that boy, has issues. I bet it's his parents." Fuck that last one especially. It was always his fault, wasn't it? It was never Deku's fault for getting in the way, everything fucking ever was because of "Bakugo". It was just like weaklings to blame their betters. Jealous idiots, it wasn't his fault that they were born weak and useless.

And yet, there was a part of him, albeit small part of him—a part so small it could just barely be seen with the naked eye—the part of him he punched in the throat and buried seven feet under—that was furious at himself. Don't get him wrong, he was still festering from Deku's little speech. The bastard had the gall to lecture him. But when Deku blithered, spouting some weird bullshit—sounding like a damn PSA—Bakugo couldn’t do anything. He froze. He listened to Deku.

"You want to be a hero, right? But you know Kacchan, being number one isn’t solely based on raw power or quirks alone. How can you hope to defeat the number one when you can’t even match up to his shadow?"

Deku was like a weasel, scurrying off, hiding in corners until the opportune time. So when Bakugo confronted him and he fought back for the first time in ages, he was thrown off. He fixed Deku's meddling attitude back when they were kids in the fourth grade. Now that attitude was back full-force like one of those training dummies with the circular bases that sprung back up after you knocked it over. Punch it or kick it, it'll come back the way it started. He knew a trick though. One simple trick to win every time. The trick was to punch it so hard that it completely flips over and dies.

At least that's what he thought. Just when he dusted off the soot on his sleeves, patting himself on the back for a job well done, the smoke blew away to reveal the dummy. Standing upright, staring back with its unblinking eyes. Its mocking eyes. Mocking him. Taunting him, looking down on him like a toddler fumbling around with half-closed fists. When he tried the same thing again, the dummy refused to fall.

Deku was back, throwing the order of society into chaos again. He was a stain that just wouldn't go away.

Bakugo didn't know why but he knew this time—this time, Deku wouldn't fall so easily. Something… something was wrong. Deku wasn’t supposed to be like this. Logically, the more you hit something, the weaker it gets. It was basic shit. Widdle down the health bar and you win.

But that didn't happen. Physically, Deku wasn't any different. But his instincts told him differently. Something was wrong with Deku, something was just slightly off. Hell, if it weren’t for his annoying little tells, Bakugo would’ve bet his quirk that Deku was some imposter using the loser’s body.

No. Something changed and he was going find out what and why.

Bakugo stormed out of class as soon as the final bell rang, barely noticing the way his “friends” trailed behind him, gossiping about how weird Deku acted as soon as they crossed the frame of the door. Normally, the school would turn into an excited frenzy around this time fueled by the prospect of going home. But not today. Not after Deku. There was a stifling awkwardness in the air that lingered over everyone. Even those outside of their class were infected. They were whispering, gossiping like he was hot shit, skittering around like pathetic little ants that lost their trail.

“Deku was acting really weird."

“Did you hear? Deku stood up to Bakugo from 1-C!"

“No way. Stood up to Mr. Bombs-for-hands?”

“High-key think he had it coming.”

“The dude finally snapped. Think he’s going to murder the school or something?”

"Hope he does it by next Tuesday, I didn't study."

“I saw Sosuke bitching about his homework this morning. Deku was just all like, ‘do the work yourself! Fuck off!'"

“He’s on drugs for sure."

“He even stood up to the Mrs. Fede! Called her favouritism out in front of the whole class! Think I should upload it?”

“Okay, low-key. Who thought he was kinda cool when he stared Bakugo down?”

The corners of Bakugo’s lips twitched, a murderous grin on his face, sharp dotted explosions festering on his palms. Oh, he was going roast that fucking nerd.

Izuku scrolled through his phone, his body hunched over his backpack as he managed to snatch a seat in the busy Mususafu line. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just bits of information here and there to paint a bigger picture. His mind was mostly occupied by the events, or the lack thereof, that happened in the last eight hours.

Not that Izuku wasn’t relieved that nothing happened—he learned the value of that lesson in his early twenties—but he wanted to get along with the kids. Perhaps it was because he couldn't remember them, but Izuku couldn't see them anything more than misguided, ignorant, or rubbernecking kids. Besides, he was going to spend three years with them so might as well try and make peace.

Except for Bakugo. That felt fucking good.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a sharp pain shot up his spine in protest, angrily reminding him that, no, this does not feel fucking good.

Okay, maybe "good" wasn’t the right word but even that little act of defiance was like reliving all his middle school fantasies of standing up for himself.

Yes, it was an incredibly childish thought but he couldn’t help it when it came to Bakugo. Their relationship wasn’t something he could easily categorize and look from a mature, logical lens. Of course, he wasn’t going to pick unnecessary fights with the boy but if Bakugo was going to become the man he knew, that ignorance has to go. Katsuki was arrogant, prideful, and selfish but he wasn’t ignorant.

Besides almost throwing hands with the thirteen-year-old, the one thing he truly regretted from that encounter was what he said at the end.

"Damn it all..."

God, how can he be so stupid? So immature? So insensitive? It was an idiotic, impulsive move. The words tumbling out of his mouth, singeing his tongue as he spat them out. You’d think he’d learn from his last burn not throw words out so carelessly. He got caught up in the moment, seeing his rival so young and ignorant.

Izuku wasn’t trying to make excuses, he could’ve— no, should’ve swallowed the coal no matter how tempting it was to spit them out. His mouth still felt dry and gross, as if ashes coated his teeth and stuck to his gums, his saliva congealed with soot and dust on his tongue.

What will you do? What will you do when that happens? Hm—?  How will you save that person, hero?

Hero.

He called him a hero. Not a hero as in a title, or a career. A hero. Condescending. Mocking. Just like him.

(He called Katsuki that once and if he didn’t punch him, Izuku would’ve done it himself.)

Izuku grumbled, stuffing his face into his backpack, squeezing it in a vice grip as a hot wash of shame flushed his skin. “I can’t believe I said it like that...” Izuku mumbled pathetically, “I thought I was already over this.” He grit his teeth, the bumps of the train forcing his jaws to clench harder.

...he really wished his friends were with him right now.

“Next stop, St. Anlee Station. Doors will be opening on the right. Please allow passengers to exit first.”

Izuku blinked some stray tears away, quickly rubbing his eyes on his uniform. He already had a problem keeping his eyes dry, the teenage hormones did not help.

A soft bell rang as a small light blinked above the opening doors. He waited patiently until the elderly couple in front of him exited the car before slipping the straps of his bag over his shoulders and leaving.

"Now to find this place... It shouldn't take to long," Izuku mumbled to himself.

Izuku clutched his wobbling knees, letting out heavy puffs of air, the strain of the walk burning his throat and lungs.

If there was something he had ironically forgotten reverting to his teenage self, it was his stamina. Oh, he knew he had twigs for limbs, but what he didn’t factor in his training schedule was just how much a strain it was to get to the outskirts of Tokyo. It had completely escaped his mind that normal people, much less a quirkless boy like himself, could not, in fact, scale a small foothill to arrive at their destination. This wasn’t even factoring One for All either, climbing mountains were just things he did as leisure, to clear his mind. His physique was more than enough for that.

But still… “Why is this place,” Izuku wheezed out coarsely, “in the middle of a damn hill?!”

Izuku looked up at the dojo before him, reading the words “Oumagadoki Hall” in large tacky font of various saturated colours. Unlike most dojos or training halls in the city, the front wasn’t a concrete wall decorated with glass panes—no, it was made of wooden and brick walls. The building itself was fairly large, with tall trees surrounding the lot. It wasn’t bad, per se, it definitely had a more rustic vibe to it. But wouldn’t a dojo training children want to be loud in their presentation and location? It seemed like a place only known by the locals—if at all—if the vines crawling up the signpost were any indication. It honestly looked more like a sketchy amusement park or a zoo than a dojo.

Izuku’s eyes twitched, muttering under his breath, “I swear I better not die a second time today.”

Izuku placed a firm hand around the groove of the door, sliding open and— CRASH!

At the sound of glass breaking, Izuku immediately jumped back, eyes wide, legs crouched and spread, ready to counter whatever the hell that black blur, that just zipped past him, was.

“Shishido, you good?”

Izuku turned to see a young woman in her early twenties, sporting a black tank top over loose yoga pants and white gloves, looking more concerned at the door rather than the man that flew past him (and was now lying face-down in a crater). The person, who he assumed to be Shishido, lifted a thumbs up, body still buried in broken pieces of wood from the door and surrounding trees.

The woman sighed, before noticing the little boy observing their exchange with a heavy, calculating gaze.

“Ah! Sorry about that! Must’ve scared you, huh?” she said with a disarming smile. “My name is Aoi Hana, did you get lost?” She crouched down a little to meet Izuku's eyes, her openness loosening his tense muscles. “Do you need to call someone?”

That was fairly casual. Was this a regular thing that happened?

“No, actually—” Izuku gave a brief glance at the man pulling himself out of the crater. "—I’m here to inquire about the training application? I— My mother sent in an application this morning. But if it’s not too much trouble, I wanted to look around first.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

Why was she staring at him so intensely?

He squirmed under her gaze, never getting used to such attention even after all his years as a pro. “Um… if it’s not too much trouble. If it is, I can—”

“DIRECTOR!!!”

“—and… there she goes.”

“So you want to train here, huh?” Izuku turned around to see the man that was previously launched, behind him, dusting off his vest and small pieces of bark caught in his fur. “You’re real scrawny for someone who wants to learn how to fight.”

How blunt. “I know. That’s why I want to train my body. My young— I haven’t been taking care of myself for a while now. But I want to change.”

“How much do you even weigh? You look like a twig.” The man hummed, tapping his claws on his cheek in contemplation. “Actually, take that up with Hana.”

Before he could even mutter an answer, the man with the lion quirk jumped over what remained of the door, screaming something about “killing a rabbit.”

Izuku blinked owlishly and shrugged to himself, stepping over the remnants of the door and entering the building.

Thankfully, the inside wasn’t as odd as the front. There were two main training rooms from what Izuku could gather: a large swimming pool in the room furthest away from him and padded flooring in the room in front of him—both separated by a wide transparent door. Contrary to his expectations, the dojo wasn’t empty or run-down despite the haphazard fixes along the walls, dents and rips scattering the floor, and the large gaping hole punched through the ceiling. To anyone else that was worrying but Izuku of all people knew how easily "workplace accidents" can occur.

His eyes wandered to the middle of the room where a few children were running around the padding. Some were climbing over Shishido, pulling at his mane, as the man wrestled them off.

“Ow! Get off me, you gremlins!” he yelled, plucking a little girl with a porcupine quirk off his leg. “Don’t rub your hair on me, your quills hurt! Go bother the kid!”

Off to the side were a few people with various mutant-type animal quirks, chuckling fondly at the display while sparring with each other. They seemed familiar.

“There seem to be many people with similar quirk types,” Izuku thought, observing their behaviour, “this place seems legitimate but I’ll have to stay on guard.”

Quirk profiling was a horrible thing but Izuku had personal experience when knowing that when large groups of similar quirk types gathered, they were either support groups or villains. Mutant quirks were the most common quirk factor in people but it was good to have a healthy dose of skepticism in his line of work. Not that he would interrogate them, of course! It was merely an observation. His gut told him that these people were dependable. It's just that... his mind couldn’t help but jump to the worst possible scenario. It could be because he was naturally a negative overthinker, but Izuku knew the real reason why his mind whispered “cult” in his ears.

Izuku clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms, welcoming the physical pain to escape the memories. “Tsu...”

No, no, no. Stop that negative thinking. They won’t get away with it again. He was given a second chance, albeit involuntarily. He’ll save her for sure—everyone. He’ll save everyone.

Izuku stuck to the walls, easily dodging the stray projectiles from the sparring people. He came to a door off to the side with a glass pane in the middle. Below it was a plate reading, “Director's Office.” As he entered, he saw Aoi scrolling through a laptop, happily humming to a song he couldn't quite place his finger on. He closed the door, waiting until he was noticed. It wasn't long until she noticed him, picking up the freshly printed copy of his application. As she turned around, his brain suddenly sparked in realization at the appearance of the woman.

“It can’t be…” White hair, white eyes, and the age difference—it all matched up. “Oh, crap.”

Panic flushed his skin, willing his erratic heart to beat slower, desperately hiding his panic behind a smile.

Aoi waved, her face animated, excitement rolling off her in waves. “Hey! Midoriya…?” He nodded. “Midoriya! I hope you didn’t wait long!”

She approached Izuku with a hop in her step as he tensed, observing her carefully. Was this a trap? Was this just how it was before she became a villain? He had heard of the rumours. Or was this an effect of time travel? Damn it all! He's been through hell and back. He's done things he would never have dreamed of—both good and bad. He's destroyed the most dangerous villains. But he had now idea what to do now. How the hell was he supposed to react to her? To the person who was complicit in the murder of his friend?

“I didn’t,” he replied tempering his malice, “although I must wonder why you ran off like that.”

“Oh!” She laughed nervously, fiddling with her gloves. “Sorry about that. I just got so excited I had to talk with the director. Not that I found him…” She sighed. “We don’t get that many students around here besides some of the locals. And well… some of the younger kids think it’s funny sending in fake applications just to see our disappointment.”

Izuku nodded in understanding. Kota was also quite mischievous, pulling relatively harmless pranks. Sometimes he dragged Eri with him in his shenanigans (which was highly encouraged by Mina).

“Director?” he asked, feigning surprise. He really hoped it wasn't who he thought he was. He really didn't want the rash assumptions of his mind beating his instincts. “You’re not in charge here?”

She laughed. It sounded genuine. “I actually work at the animal sanctuary next town over. I’m here every other week for research and company. A majority of this town possess animal mutant type quirks and I happen to be quite the animal-enthusiast.” She winked, an innocent smile on her face.

His brows shot up, his analytical side briefly winning over his skeptical one. “Most animal-based quirks are reflective of their animal counterparts so accumulating a wide knowledge of their characteristics would prove extremely beneficial in discovery, training, and honing. Most people stop at just the basics so even some trained heroes overlook their full potential. Or on the other side, uninformed villains lack clarity and decisive planning while the informed ones prove to be large threats. But knowing your weaknesses also provides a chance to remedy those problems with training or equipment. Being that our society has a majority of animal-based quirks, having extensive knowledge in Zoology provides not only information for capture and rescue, but also support—”

Izuku stilled, heat flushing his face, mortified that he just mumbled in front of a potential villain.

Aoi beamed, her hands shaking in excitement. If she had any malicious intent, she didn't show it. “I know, right?! So many people underestimate non-hero related careers! That’s why I come here—besides the company, of course. Can you believe Shishido—the man with the lion quirk over there—didn’t know about his heightened night vision until I mentioned it? You should’ve seen him screaming at the mirror when he activated it!” She pointed to the man pinning the scream-laughing children on the mat.

“He has a mix of mutant and transformative quirks?”

He read a scientific journal about how most mutant type quirks held a secondary transformative quirk in theory. It explored how most people lacked the conscious awareness of their transformative quirk factor to activate it. For example, someone whose mutant-type quirk was having their hair constantly on fire could've had a secondary quirk to transform into fire itself. The theory was largely a part of the debate around the difficulty of classifying quirks types and the conditions one has to meet to activate their quirk factor. Each quirk was unique, like a fingerprint. Even if two people had the same elemental quirks, they could be used or activated differently. Of course, this wasn't even factoring secondary quirk traits, heritage, epigenetics, and the like. It was neither disproven or proven, but an interesting read nevertheless.

“I guess?” She hummed, tapping her index finger on her cheek. “But it’s less of a dual quirk than, let’s say, a cat with retractable claws. It’s just… kinda tucked away? He always had excellent night vision, but when he activates his eyes he can see even better. They glowed too—”

“I can’t believe you found someone to geek out with you, Hana.”

Izuku’s heart leapt out of his chest, quickly swerving to see a tall man—with a rabbit’s face, polka dot scarf, and a bellflower hat?—crouching on a filing cabinet. From his exposed wrist and ankles, his arms and legs were human, Izuku observed, it reminded him of Fumikage.

"I didn’t even hear him open the door," Izuku muttered to himself.

Aoi rolled her eyes, unamused. “I swear you can be an underground hero with how good you are at hiding and popping out of nowhere.”

“Nah.” He walked around the both of them, plopping down on the plush office chair before crossing his legs on the table like he owned the place. “That’d be too boring.”

“Judging from your face, I gather that you led Shishido on a wild goose chase again?”

He just grinned in response, twirling a… carrot in his hands? Was that a part of his quirk or just a preference like the Rabbit Hero: Miruko? “So this is the new kid, huh? Didn’t think he was real.”

Izuku gave a polite bow. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Shiina, the director of this facility,” Aoi added helpfully, “he owns the place and he’ll take every chance to show it. So if he does anything weird, come to me.” She looked at Shiina, a reprimanding glare on her face. “Director, it’s rude to activate your quirk! Introduce yourself properly or else I’ll do it for you.”

He groaned, childishly mumbling, “don’t tell me what to do.”

With a huff of his breath, his fur and ears disappeared replaced by fair skin and shaggy white hair. Izuku’s breath hitched, a flurry of emotions crashing against him like tidal waves. Goosebumps crawled up his skin like maggots, a chilling fury blazing his spine. He felt like he was an observer in his body, shivering as cold sweat webbed his back and neck. His heart hammered his throat, threatening to burst. He dug his nails as hard as possible into his flesh, trying to bury his fury and murderous intent deep inside the pit where he shoved all his disgusting feelings.

Good news? He wasn’t the Curator, the merciless villain from his timeline like he was suspecting. Which, in turn, meant two things. One, he didn’t accidentally wander into a villain's den again. Two, Aoi Hana was not the Zookeeper, the stoic villain under Curator’s orders; or according to the rumours he’d heard from Koda, she wasn’t a villain yet.

Bad news? The man in front of him, Shiina, looked almost identical to the one person he least wanted to see again: Shigaraki Tomura.

“Hey, you okay?”

Izuku snapped back into reality as Aoi sent him a concerned look.

“Y-Yeah,” he replied, swallowing, “I— Just spooked is all. I didn’t think he had a transformative quirk.”

Hana sent Shiina a concerned look and received one in return, obviously knowing that something more was going on.

“He’s not Shigaraki Tomura, he’s not Shigaraki Tomura, he’s not Shigarki Tomura—” Izuku obsessively chanted in his head.

But what if he is? He’s tricked you before. You don’t know for certain. Remember the last time you made a mistake? So many lives lost, hero.

“—Shut up, brain. Stop thinking hypotheticals, look at the physical.”

As Izuku carefully observed the man, his heart rate began to slow, the rational part of him coaxing his tense muscles and anxieties. First, the appearance. He looked similar to Shigaraki but lacked the flaky, dead, wrinkly, crusty pale skin and horrible clefts that split his face. His hair was a shaggy white instead of a sickly blue, which tangled near the ends. The red of his eyes held a mischievous glint but in less of a sociopathic childish way, and more of a wild childlike way. His actions were also more animated and open, and judging from Aoi’s reaction, he didn’t seem to be a person who held himself back and acted on impulse disregarding consequences, unlike Shigaraki who was more cunning and reserved.

There was also the matter of age. Unless this timeline derailed so much that Shigaraki was a white-haired, carrot-eating, polka-dot scarf-wearing, animated man in his mid-twenties with a transformative rabbit quirk—this was just a coincidence.

“Hey, kid. You from a hero family or something?” Shiina asked, trying to change the topic.

“I’m not. I’m— I’ll be the first one. Why?” he asked, trying not to sound too cautious.

“Guessed as much. Legacies usually like keeping a tight leash on their kids.” He bit down on his carrot, red eyes unblinking, trying to pick him apart. “Still, I’ve got to say your reflexes are pretty good for your age.”

Izuku blinked twice. “How do you—?”

“Saw you dodging stray projectiles back there. The kids can get overexcited and we aren’t always there to protect passersby. But you...” His lips split his face, an almost childlike manic look on his face. “I like you!”

“Er… Thank you?” Was that a requirement? He wouldn't put it past the man, he's worked with people who tended to pick favourites before.

Shiina held Izuku's papers in his hands, nodding to Aoi in thanks, eyes scrolling through the information. “So I’ll see you every day around this time, right?”

“I suppose but I actually haven’t seen the facility yet—”

“Great! Your lessons start tomorrow.”

He was taken aback. “Wait just a moment.”

“What? Didn’t you come here to be stronger?” He looked mockingly scandalized.

“Yes, of course, I did but—”

“I mean, I can spar with you now but—” He pointed his chin out, fingered drumming his lips, humming in thought as he scrutinized his body. “—with your gangly arms I doubt you’d get very far.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.” Christ, this level of communication was like talking to a mix of Shoto’s limited social awareness and Katsuki’s stubbornness.

“Director, you need to stop dragging people, much less little kids, into fights,” Aoi interjected like an angel. “You’re always scaring all the students away. We’re lucky we at least have the locals to keep this place running.”

He leaned into his hand, a pout forming on his face. “you kids are too tense,” he whined, "are all city kids so serious?"

She sighed, turning to look at Izuku. “You do need to build up some muscle and fat on your bones before you start training, though—”

“Don’t ignore me!”

“—I saw your form earlier but I’d like to ask again just in case: do you have any allergies or medical problems we should know about? A boy your age and with your body type should be bigger,” she mumbled at the end.

“No, I don’t.”

She nodded, gently clapping his back. “Alright, then! Follow me. I’ll show you around and introduce you some of the staff and members.”

Izuku trailed behind Aoi, fiddling with the straps of his backpack, listening to her describe the different areas of the dojo as well as the accessories and equipment he could use (under staff supervision, of course). It came as a surprise to him when she mentioned that the forest surrounding the area also belonged to Shiina, essentially making the entire hill his private property.

“So you might see some wild fights here and there,” she said as she scratched her cheek from second-hand embarrassment, “our staff tend to get heated during fights and with free reign to use their quirks...”

“Ahh… I understand perfectly.”

“Don’t worry, we know our limits. We have a strict ‘no-kill’ policy here—” Izuku let out a small chuckle. “—Oh! About a month ago, a boy your age joined. He should be meditating now so you’ll probably meet him tomorrow.”

The rest of the tour went similarly with Aoi introducing him to the staff and the local children who trained here. Or, as Shishido would describe it, "babysitting." Izuku left as the sun was slowly setting behind the horizon, the excitement bubbling inside him distracting him from the strain of his legs. He met most of the staff, a small portion being heroes he recognized from his time which made his fanboy heart explode in both joy and melancholy. Though most were heroes he's only ever heard the names of, he recognized some as who went either MIA or had their names engraved in the pillars.

But despite the painful memories, it also inspired him. Despite being a hero himself, one thing that never changed—maybe intensified with age—was seeing heroes-in-training. It was like watching a behind the scenes of a movie, he admired the process of their hard work and dedication even more than the end result.

Seeing such resolve only made his heart race in excitement (despite his body groaning in protest).

Aoi finally swept up the broken door, sliding the final piece into a large pile of wood and dust. She wasn't too concerned about repairs. The door would be fixed by tomorrow considering they had an abundant supply of spare material lying in the storage room. But that didn’t make cleaning-up any less annoying or taxing.

“Hi, Miss Aoi. You look happy—more than usual.”

Hana turned around, leaning her broom on the frame of the door. “What gave it away?”

“Your dopey smile.”

She chuckled, patting his back before ruffling his hair. “You missed the new student today!”

“A new student?” He paused before his tail swayed in excitement. “I heard the Director talking about it this morning. I thought it was another prank.”

“I know isn’t it exciting?! He’s about your age and he’ll be at a beginner’s level.” She bent her knees, her eyes levelled with his, a soft look on her face. “Take care of him, okay? I think he’s in a difficult time of his life and wants support. It’s none of our business if he doesn’t want to tell us but look out for him, okay? Can you do that for him?”

He nodded as Aoi thanked him. Just thirteen and he was so mature and kind. She didn’t expect him to solve what troubled Izuku’s mind—whatever it may be—but she hoped a friend would allow him to open up a bit. The boy was an expert at hiding his emotions but there were small tells: the tense shoulders, shifting eyes, and measured breathing. Working around animals and people gave her an excellent eye for subtle behaviour, and his actions were odd at best and disconcerting at worst. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she couldn’t help but feel like he had a lot of fears and anxieties—more than just the average teenage angst. 

Not to mention the way he spoke. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable here for reasons that escaped her. It wasn't nervousness, it was unease. Fear. He was genuinely scared. Not at the situation, but of them. And yet the way he spoke was measured, calm, eloquent. Too much for it to be natural. I mean, the boy in front of her was also very well-mannered for his age but while he still held his childlike innocence befitting his age, Izuku lacked anything remotely resembling a typical middle school boy sans his small stature and babyface.

Aoi was never one to jump to conclusions but with the red crusted all over his hands, baggy eyes, knotted hair, unkempt nails, and excessive wariness, she couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenario. Bullying? Manipulation? Villains? She didn't know but she made a mental note to keep an eye out on his progress.

"Alright!" Aoi clapped her hands, moving out of the way. "Good work today!"

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Aoi.” He gave a little bow, slinging his drawstring bag over his shoulders before descending the hill.

“Wait! Did you remember your gi?” He nodded before she waved goodbye. “Get home safely Ojiro. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“Shit!"

Yagi slammed straight into a wall, smearing blood on the rusty bricks.

He groaned as he pushed himself off the wall, lamenting at the eviscerated remains of soles. Damn shoes couldn't take the impact of the landing.

"God, I miss my costume..."

At least the alley was empty. Not many people wandered in between buildings around this time of day.

He took a deep breath and pressed onward, ignoring the heat blooming in his muscles, dragging his emaciated body against the wall. But before he could take a step further, he hacked—trying to bite down the bile bubbling in his esophagus—the taste of iron and acid strangling his throat. He cradled his injury like an infant, in hopes of lessening its cry, each wail threatening his weakening heart. Red-tinted saliva trickled down his chin, each cough flooding his mouth with a sickly yellow acid. Sweat dribbled down his skin, a white-hot fire flushing his spine. Messily wiping his forehead with his sleeves, he pushed the strands of hair glued to his skin away.

“I only have about two hours left today.” A frown tugged at the corners of his bloody lips, clicking his tongue.

He took out a handkerchief and some disinfectants, wiping his skin free of his various bodily fluids.

"Only a drop of blood on my clothes. Must be a new record."

He didn't need another incident where a good but misunderstood citizen tried to rush him to a hospital.

Ever since the fight with All for One and subsequent surgeries, his body had been failing him. Looking at himself was like watching the trees wither away in the winter; except no amount of sunlight would save him from deteriorating. Recovery Girl and the numerous other hero doctors advised him to retire—to lessen his patrols or stop altogether. Although technically speaking, All Might didn’t go on patrols he just saved people whenever he could. To him, saving people wasn’t a job where he clocked in and out but it was more of a… walk. Yes, a walk! A nice stroll through the city (or cities) and if he happened to save a few people along the way, well, that’s just what a hero is right?

Granted, that little comment graced him a cane to the ankles by Recovery Girl.

It had been about three years since the fateful day—three years of trying to recycle what was left of One for All in his wasted body. But he wouldn’t give that victory up for anything. All for One was a villain amongst villains. His injury was a small price to pay for that monster's defeat.

Ordinarily, that would've been enough for any hero. But All Might wasn’t just any hero, was he?

All for One had left a deep scar running through society for decades, maybe even longer, carving intricate little lines until it culminated into his brand. He couldn’t stop just because he finally pulled out the knife, he had to do whatever he could to stop the wound from bleeding.

Yes, he could’ve—should've retired as Nighteye suggested. Yes, he could’ve taken a break as everyone who knew him advised him to do. And yes, if he took that rest, he could’ve possibly prolonged his life. But what good is a hero who prolongs the inevitable? He didn’t have many personal connections to begin with; his parents were nearly non-existent from young, he had lost touch with many comrades and friends as time passed—Nighteye and Gran Torino were at the forefront of his mind, and Nana, the person he looked up to, the person who gave him the power to become what he wanted was murdered at the hands of that monstrous villain.

At most, some of the few people Yagi Toshinori had personal relationships with were his old college buddy, David Shield, who he hadn’t seen in years now and Tsukauchi Naomasa who he had entrusted his secret with. But they could live and heal even after his death. He had already created a legacy, something that would outlive him. All Might would live on in memory and as a symbol long after Yagi Toshinori's passing.

Speaking of symbols, Yagi scrolled through his phone, eyes scanning over the email he received a few weeks ago. Usually, he didn’t bother with such things. He had a PR team a reason. But this event affected him more than he bargained for.

[Sender: Heroppon Stitch Summer Festa]

[Receiver: All Might Agency Public Relations Dept. JP]

[CC: Yagi Toshinori]

Hello All Might,

Due to popular demand, we welcome you to Heroppon Stitch Summer Festa! We are honoured to host this event in your name and image, and hope you the warmest regards this season! We are hosting over a hundred talented indie designers and groups from all over the globe, with panels ranging from interactive installations to a support hero designer’s competition.

We have attached a file of your responsibilities and any other information regarding the event for the designer’s competition, as per your assistant's request. Please note that as our featured guest, your word will weigh in the most during the finals. We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for spending your precious time for a wonderful cause! As a reminder, all proceeds go to the Quirky Quirkless Charity Foundation and its partner charity, Heros in Arms!

Best,

Heroppon Stitch Summer Festa

[4 File(s) attached — Protected View]

Yagi was grateful for publicity—enjoyed it even. But now? After his injury? He finally knew how underground heroes felt when they were hounded by the media. Judging a costume competition wasn’t the problem, he enjoyed seeing the new and innovative creations many young support heroes produced. But now with his injury, it made it increasingly difficult to maintain his muscle form for hours straight all the while answering or dodging media questions, interacting with his fans, and now judging the winners of this event. Not to mention that the convention would be held during mid-summer! Who knew how much his body will have deteriorated by then? He wasn’t exactly listening to the doctor’s orders for a less self-destructive routine after all.

"Please help!"

"Where the hell are the heroes?"

"Somebody! A villain!”

"Damn it, I'm going to be late for my shift, jackass!"

No point in thinking about that now. There was a person in need of a hero.

Yagi felt the surge of power from One for All running through his veins, rushing through his muscles, power enveloping his body. But—

Crap. This did not feel as good as it used to. Gritting his teeth—smothering the searing pain pulsing through his organs with a smile plastered on his face—All Might leapt into action, his booming voice announcing:

“Have no fear citizens! Why? Because I am here!”

“We’ve checked the back entrances, sir!”

“Good job Team A,” Tensei said as he checked the information off the roster. “Looks like everyone is here and accounted for.”

The young members’ eyes glistened, leaning forward with their hands clasped together in barely tempered excitement. “Does that mean…?”

Tensei muffled a snort, seeing such eager faces directed towards him. Behind him were the rest of his agency, the senior members shaking their head at the unprofessional behaviour of their young interns. Though they supposed they couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t often that new heroes, much less interns, were allowed to roam around large events like this. The event's security details were tight and the coordinators didn't hire just one hero agency to check it all. There were agencies from all over the city, both high and low on the board rankings. A “crossover” as the benefactor called it in the briefing. And in being a joint effort with such powerful heroes, the host allowed them to get first screenings at the panels. Which distracted some of the younger members to become a tad overexcited.

That statement couldn't be better said for the group of fledgling heroes in front of him. His partnered support company was competing in the costume contest under the name, “Team Idaten x Trebuchet” and he could feel their anticipation radiating off their twinkling, hopeful eyes.

Tensei took his helmet off, handing the roster to his secretary. “Yep! You're all on track!”

He glanced at everyone, wearing a tired but proud smile. The coordinators had them patrolling every nook and cranny of the venue while also sifting through each piece of equipment for safety. It was understandable considering that this was an international event featuring hero costume designers and their equipment—most of which could or would kill if used improperly. He’d say the protocols were similar to the safety protocols he saw during last year’s I-Expo, sans the Tartarus-level security and technology. Nevertheless, there was still an impressive amount of effort and money spent on one event.

“We’ll reconvene in—” He squinted, reading the clock mounted on the wall. ”—an hour in front of our booth. Make sure you don’t interfere with the other heroes on their patrols—before you ask, yes, that does mean you can’t go into the other sectors. But otherwise, have—!”

Before he could even dismiss them, the interns ran off animatedly talking about the new technology. And, of course, how cool All Might looked when he took down that villain in the morning news.

Tensei chuckled, turning to see his sidekicks showing varying degrees of exasperation. “You guys as well. Please go enjoy yourselves.”

“See ya later, boss.”

“Can’t wait t’see them new tech!”

“Enjoy yourself as well Ingenium.”

“Be back in an hour!”

As her co-workers scattered through the convocation hall, Enigma followed Tensei to a secluded area. Working with the man for a few years now, she knew how to read his subtle gestures.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sitting down on one of the empty cardboard boxes stacked against the wall. “Considering your demeanour, I doubt it’s something that needs immediate attention. Hmmm…  I'm going out on a limb here and say that you have suspicions. Is this event is a front?”

Tensei nodded grimly, making sure they didn’t attract too much attention on the way. The staff-only break rooms were empty seeing as people would rather spend their breaks sightseeing. Besides, he’d already cleared the room of any wiretaps and hidden cameras beforehand in the brief window of time that passed during the last change of shifts.

“I haven’t found anything solid for the past few days and honestly? I think I might be just imagining it at this point.” He scratched his head, sighing before he leaned against the wall. “And considering my track record with large public events, perhaps I'm just being paranoid.”

Enigma gave an unblinking stare, crossing her arms. “You have a hunch. And your hunches are never wrong. You wouldn’t have tossed me that look otherwise.”

He groaned, weaving his finger together, pressing his hands to the thin line on his face. “Yeah… Call it bad luck but whenever I’m at a large convention, some shady villain activity is always lurking in the background. Usually, my sources and I would find the villains right away but I can’t find anything or anyone suspicious here.”

She sat in silence, before patting his arm comfortingly.

“I’ll use my quirk and survey the area in private just in case," she consoled, "as you said, you should also enjoy your time here. This a joint operation. We have multiple hero agencies helping us as security, staff, and attendee. Don’t stress yourself over it. No villain would be stupid enough to plan something in the background with so many high-ranking heroes scouring the area.”

“You… You’re right,” Tensei’s body relaxed a bit but still held a bit of apprehension, “Thank you Enigma.”

“No worries. But, and tell me to stop if I'm crossing any boundaries, but I feel like this anxiety of yours isn't solely stemming from past operations.” She traced the edges of the box with her index finger, staring directly at Tensei. “Something is going on with your little brother, isn’t it?”

He chuckled nervously. “Your level of perception is scary.”

“Nat twenty, thank you.”

“Okay—” Tensei took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. "—so Tenya just started school, right? Soumei Junior High.”

If she was surprised at how fast he confessed she didn't show it. "He must've been wanting to talk to someone," she thought.

“The private school? Doesn’t surprise me. Prestigious like the Iida family.”

“Hey, that makes us sound pretentious!” He chortled good-naturedly before his lips melted into a frown again. “I’m worried for him, my robot of a brother."

It was an insult but a playful one full of fondness.

"His academics are good—too good maybe. He doesn’t know how to socialize and I think that scares the other kids off. It’s nearing the end of their first term and he doesn’t exactly have... friends. He’s got his head stuck in his books and training—which is great! God knows he's a better student than I was. But I know he’s lonely especially since I’m usually occupied with hero work.”

“He sees you as his idol and role model—" She nodded in understanding. "—you should really talk about your feelings with him.”

“It’s kind of hard to talk about these things with siblings. Tenya has a tendency to be narrow-minded and honestly? It’s really awkward to talk about this stuff with siblings. I tried but Tenya saw me more as a hero guiding his apprentice rather than a concerned older brother looking after his well-being. Besides forcing some poor kid on my brother is cruel. I don't even think he’ll see it as friendship. Anyone I bring, he thinks of it as some sort of test or business relation,” he said humorously. 

“My, how practical. Adorable.”

Tensei let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll pass along the message! Anyways, we should get back before it gets too suspicious. I want to scan Sector C again just in case.”

“I’ll get my clones ready.” Enigma walked towards the door before pausing. “Take it easy Engenium; don’t overwork yourself. Oh, and instead of trying to change your brother's thinking, try embracing them. Work with them, not around them.”

“I—” Tensei opened his mouth before closing it, shutting his eyes, deep in thought. “—I may have a plan. Thank you for listening to me.”

“I had the same experience with my cousin. Now let’s go see some newbie designers freak out about The Ingenium trying their merch.”

“If it isn’t the rising star!”

“Heh. Hello, Ingenium.”

Tensei waved his hand in a nonchalant manner. “No need to be formal, I may be your senior but you’ve shown more than enough experience in the field.”

He raised a brow but leaned back into a smile. “‘Kay then. To be honest, I didn’t peg you as the type to care for needless formalities anyway.”

“A fair assumption.” Tensei shot him a large grin, his helmet tucked securely under his arm. “I didn’t know you were invited here as well. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. You really shot up in the rankings, Hawks.”

He let out an amused laugh. “Thanks. But I can’t say the rankings matter all that much considering you’re not in the top ten, top twenty at least. I may not look it but I read the news, you know?” He paused before looking around him. “Are you part of security or…?”

Tensei nodded. “Some members of my partner agency wanted to compete but we’re here for security and you know... make sure we don’t have another Bubble Foam Incident.”

“Bubble Foam...?" He snapped his fingers, his wings puffing up for a brief moment. "Oh, I heard about that! It was when those rouge kids mixed a bunch of stolen gadgets together and foamed the entirety of Sector A and C, right?”

“Oh, we can laugh about it now but it was absolute hell to clean it up back then. We didn't know exactly what they used so we needed the biochemical team to come in. Can you believe one of the ingredients they used was poison—?" Tensei pinched the bridge of his nose. "—It's a miracle there were no casualties. Oh, and apparently, the foam can expand with water. Found a tiny piece of foam on the floor and want to scrub it off? Nope! Say goodbye to at least four booths. We had to call in specialists to clean every nook and cranny of this place. Good news was that the kids somehow created an effective and portable tool for urban rescue heroes.”

Hawk’s wings puffed up, fluttering mischievously. “You think I can still find some foam in this place if I tried really hard?”

“Please don’t but yes. Last year one of the back rooms were flooded by foam.” Tensei rubbed his temples at the memory.

“Oh, you tempt me!”

“Hawks.” Tensei shot him a reprimanding look, placing his free hand on his hips.

“Wow, they really weren’t kidding. He does have that ‘older brother’ voice,” Hawks thought amusedly.

“Okay, okay, got it. I promise not to look for some misplaced foam,” he whined childishly before smirking. “I’ll catch you at the meeting tomorrow, I’m going back on patrol.”

“Still?” He shot him a worried look. “I don’t think I’ve seen you rest since I got here.”

“Well I can’t have my seniors and fellow juniors do all the work, right? Besides I’ve been wandering around with some of the panellists, talking, going at my own pace.” He shrugged, nonchalantly hooking his fingers on the lining of his pockets. “A little more time walking around won’t hurt me any. Besides it's nice to watch everyone just having fun y'know?”

“But surely you have people in your own agency to take your shift?”

“Like I said, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, Ingenium! Just enjoy yourself. In fact, I haven’t seen you take all that many breaks either.”

“Ah! Well… I suppose I am being hypocritical.”

Tensei didn’t mean to go into his “brother-mode” as his team affectionately called it. It was simply the fact that Hawks was a fairly young hero especially considering that he wasn’t an UA alumnus. Most heroes who start independently, or outside of UA and Shiketsu, didn’t start debuting until their late twenties at the earliest. Not to mention he was one of the youngest heroes in Japan to start his own hero agency and shoot up in both the community and official board rankings—the former being more apparent.

“I guess we both need a break, huh?" He took out his business card and handed it over to Hawks. "So as your senior I’ll buy you a drink!”

“Seriously?" he said as he pocketed the card. "You don’t need to.”

Tensei shook his head, a gentle boy-ish smile on his face. “Come on, Hawks. Let me buy you a drink. Heroes need to look out for each other too.”

He blinked owlishly before melting into a smile of his own. “Alright, but it’s on me next time.”

“It’s no I-Island, but it's quite the turn-up, isn’t it?” a man said, grinning at the monitors.

The Musutafu Convocation Hall was alive, packed to the brim with both heroes and support heroes alike, designers from all over the world in preparation—trading business cards and exchanging contacts. Large banners and booths scrolled through the screen: some using lights, music, and flashy quirks to draw in the attention of potential sponsors and clients. But the biggest banners crawled across the walls, the smiling face of All Might posed in his signature stance looking over everyone.

“Yes. I must thank you for such quick thinking.” The man sitting across him replied, relaxing on his plush office chair. “Using All Might’s name was ingenious. How you managed to figure out his schedule is beyond me. The man is a wonder in all aspects.”

“I don’t rat out my sources, sir.” He chuckled, giving his host a coy look. “I merely noticed a certain... pattern with All Might in the recent years.”

He leaned forward, intrigued. “Pattern…?”

The man smiled coyly in response, watching a scene of a little girl with pink hair running away from security. The feed flickered, the monitor blinking to another scene.

“Well, anyways—” The host weaved his hands together, leaning back on his chair. “—I’m just glad avoiding lawsuits with his agency is easy considering the man is considered a public icon. We didn’t have his consent to use his image before the announcement after all.”

“People like All Might cave in easily not when one is strong, but when one is many. As long we have enough people supporting the idea and we aren’t using his name to cause overt harm, he doesn’t care. The man is intelligent, but everyone within the underground who’s worth their salt knows that he doesn’t look at the finer details.”

He picked up a small ornate dagger resting on the coffee table in front of him, observing the generous gift from his host. It resembled a blade from a cartoon, almost jester-like in appearance, something that can be both fun and deadly. The blade was sharp and slightly curved at the end like a clown’s smile, almost taunting him in a roundabout way. It was rumoured to have been once used by the Peerless Thief, Harima Oji, himself—the likes of which was often compared to Destro and All for One in terms of infamy. Supposedly for cutting fish.

He gently tossed it into the air, the blade making three full rotations before landing neatly on his fingertip by the hilt. “It’s easy covering events like this over the real deal.”

“It also helps that we have legitimate companies mixed in here as well. Once we grab a few media outlets and large companies, indie designers will flock to us. Better to mix the poison in food than coating it on a knife, I say.”

He barked out into a fit of laughter. “I will admit: your approach to a ‘public’ black market is intriguing. Quite different from your father’s methods.”

“My father only thought in bursts, 'short-term invests' as one would say. A fool he was. Always going on and on about how long-term invests were ‘bound to fail in this day and age.’”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you—” He smirked. “—inherited the company recently. Congratulations by the way.”

The host drew small circles on the golden grip of his cane, his thumb gliding over the grooves and intricate embroideries. “There will always be customers with high money but unfortunately with All Might present, business hasn’t been what it used to be since my grandfather's time. As you know, our company used to work privately with only the trusted members of the upper echelons. My father was a fool who only wanted to survive. To thrive, I need to change the market itself.”

He rose a brow, placing the blade back down on the table. “Oh?”

“All Might is the Symbol of Peace, a pillar in which society thrives upon. But what of the villains? Who can we look up to but the failures of our forefathers and foremothers?"

"Failures...?" The man hummed impassively, monotonously tapping the side of the blade with his nail. “What of All for One?”

“With all due respect, All for One isn’t the type to announce his presence even if he holds unfathomable power. I doubt he even cares who the poster boy is. He is less of a pillar than the God who has the world in his palms, invisible yet puissant. He isn’t someone to look up to, he is someone to be respected and equally feared.

“There hasn’t been a presence of villainy loud enough to rattle society with All Might as its shield—" He lips formed a greedy smirk. "—Not until now. I intend to be that catalyst and the ‘public’ black market will be my stepping stone to infamy. That's what it is after all, accessibility to resources for those who aren’t fed with a silver spoon. Can you imagine? All those villains with support items? I may lose some profits now but the long-term benefits will be absolutely glorious. Ah, how sweet the song of anarchy will be.”

He stayed silent, listening to his host with an indescribable face; something between annoyance and amusement, like a parent humouring their child. “I see. An interesting approach; to become the symbol of discord.”

“Indeed. Now, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here just to observe the preparations. What is he looking for?”

He stretched his back, a few pops escaping from his body. “Don't have anyone or anything in particular, but he is interested in looking at some 'spices.'”

“You’ll be pleased to find that we've got a large selection then. A nice shipment of Trigger as well. Most are connected through the Villain’s Association but we have a few outliers coming. They shouldn’t be any less legitimate—”

“Ha.”

“—but since they aren’t connected with the union, please do keep an eye out. You never know what a few misplaced snake venom will do to the pros with a keen sense of smell.”

“And I doubt the location is still the same as last time?”

He nodded. “Originally we were planning to have the market below the convention with All Might as the decoy but we ultimately chose to have the entire convention as one enormous beacon.”

“The black market operates somewhere else but within the radius of the hero agencies you hired so the heavy hitters are distracted and you don’t encroach on another agency's territory,” he deduced.

“Precisely. It’s no wonder why you are under hire for the Kingpin of the underworld, dear sir!”

Ignoring his attempt at flattery, he replied, “Kingpin? My master will be amused that he has such an impact in the American mafia.”

“I can’t say any person who states otherwise has much of a desire to live. Anyways, the whereabouts should be sent to you by a pigeon in the coming days. You’ll find the place unconventional but with so much media attention on the elites, they leave gaping holes in the less affluent venues.”

He whistled, a brow pointed up. “Going old school, are we?” Suddenly he felt a soft buzz in his pocket, knowing that his time was up. He picked up his things, tipping his cap in respect. “Well, then I must get going, sir. My master is pretty busy right now so contact Giran if you ever have need of my services.”

“I figured as much. I don’t expect a man like All For One to have much time for leisure or a simple business call. I’ll be in contact in the coming week. Have a good afternoon.”

The man kicked a rock in his path, subtly taking out his frustrations. His hands were shoved into his pocket, the abandoned alleyway shielding the world from his blood lust.

"Che. A man like that become the symbol of villains? Don't make me laugh."

It would've been funny if it didn't come from such a pathetic man. He almost slit his throat with his dagger right then and there; perhaps he would've even used his own gift as the weapon for added irony. It would be so easy too with his quirk. He wouldn't even leave a mess.

"'I intend to be that catalyst,' he says."

Such a remark was equivalent to insulting All for One and his brilliance.

He was an ant. Ants could be ignored. He, however, was that one stray pest that tried invading your home. If it weren't for All for One's desires, he would've squashed his body and left his remains as a nice present for his remaining family.

"I need to calm down... for the master..." He moaned, tracing the curves of his blades. "I have to remember his plans..."

The thought of All for One both excited and calmed him. The man was of true brilliance, and if there was one thing he could agree with that miserable pest, it was the fact that his master was like a God. His heart thumped, with his master he was seeing the new era boom in front of him. He was blessed with an opportunity to contribute to that change.

He slapped his cheeks, chiding himself for even fantasizing. He was unworthy of such things. Acting upon his desires meant that he'd be betraying the meticulous planning of his master. That would be betraying All for One, period. 

Oh well. He'll get his chance after the black market ends. He was sure if he asked his master, he would say yes. After all, he had no need to fantasize when All for One was here.

"I hope he has an heir ready by the summer."

He chuckled, fiddling with the crescent edge of his knife before vomiting out a vile sludge that consumed him.

Chapter Text

Inko nervously fiddled with her phone, cycling through the same three apps, distracting herself from her own thoughts. Dinner had long since been packed into containers and stored in the fridge—with all her daily chores finished, the night left her with nothing but her own anxieties whispering worrisome scenarios into her ear.

“Izuku…” Her fingers hovered over an article about a minor villain attack delaying the nearby train stations before popping back to the home shopping channel. “Where are you, sweetie?”

She knew Izuku was a resourceful, responsible boy; able to quickly think on the spot. Perhaps it developed from his quirklessness but Izuku had an uncanny ability to think outside of the box.

She remembered when he was just four years old and acted on his impulsive curiosity to reach and grab whatever he could fit into his little hands. He often played with her jewelry, fascinated by shiny things (sometimes she would even put on a little show using her quirk). In one such occasion, he accidentally dropped one of her rings lying on the dresser, the band tumbling far back underneath it. Now, with her quirk such were just minor inconveniences. She was more worried over the fact that Izuku managed to climb up the dresser in the first place (a reason why they didn’t have a vanity stool in the house for the longest time). With glossy eyes, he walked towards the front door, grabbed a shoe horn hanging off the side, and used it to get her ring out; presenting it to her with little pearls of tears dotting his freckled cheeks. Her heart swelled with pride and she spun him around calling him her “little hero”.

He was no boy genius but even when he was a child he knew how to get through life’s challenges. Some of it was hilarious and unconventional, and others, well, let’s just say she had her fair share of heart attacks from Izuku’s knee-jerk reactions.

So she knew. She knew Izuku would be alright. She knew Izuku.

Izuku wasn’t the type to go looking for trouble. Like mother like son, he preferred to plan everything in advance. He wasn’t the type to make changes in his life on the whim or in a day. He wasn’t the type to travel, to sightsee, or even go out much. She wasn’t disturbed at the prospect, she encouraged it even, seeing him going outside instead of staying locked up in his room was everything she could ask for. But this newness in Izuku—his confidence, maturity, and decisiveness—just intensified the beating on her chest, her feet refusing to calm as she walked in circles.

But now, she supposed, after this morning she didn’t know nearly as much about her son than she had assumed.

As she was turning on her phone off and on again to check the time, Inko perked up to the sound of the door opening.

“Izuku!” she cried, her feet moving before her words. “Welcome home, sweetie! I saw the news, are you okay? Was the villain close to where you were?”

Izuku gave her a sheepish grin, taking his shoes off. “I’m fine, mom. Sorry about coming back so late.”

He gave her a hug, letting out a little squeak when he squeezed a little too tightly. Not that he noticed, too preoccupied in holding back the tears welling up in his eyes.

God, he missed this. His mother welcoming him back, her hugs, her care. He mentally sighed when he had to break the embrace, wanting nothing more than to just hug his mother, to reassure her that he’d always come back to her at the end. Alas, a long hug was not only odd considering his physical state, but he also didn’t want her to misunderstand the situation and think he was traumatized by the “villain attack”.

“The person had an electric emitter-type quirk that jammed the communications for a few minutes,” he explained as he tidied himself, “I was still at one of the stations and there was a blackout for a few minutes—two minutes tops. I overheard the train conductor and the staff talking about it. Apparently, the disturbance wasn’t intentional. Just a teen who made a mistake, minor offence in quirk abuse, but considering his age they'll probably let him off with a warning. He was probably charging his phone but let out more than he should’ve.”

He chuckled, remembering when Denki accidentally short-circuited everyone’s phone during their second-year trip to The Labyrinth. It was rare after the villain attacks that the school made time for class trips. However, some of the teachers argued that, although it was true that time was of the essence, the students needed a break to have fun and be kids for a change. So a trip to The Labyrinth, an escape room specially made for heroes and fledgling heroes, was scheduled. Fun but educational, as Vlad King said to the two second-year classes.

Aizawa, however, ever the pragmatist, did not condone this. If his red eyes and strict “no” was any indication. Izuku was sure that if he didn’t have such a strong conviction for hero work he would’ve noped the fuck out of the school entirely long ago. Unfortunately for him, he was in charge of these gaggle of insane superpowered kids with little to no self-preservation.

With a disgruntled Aizawa and nearly twenty over-excited teenagers on a bus, something was bound to go wrong. More so when they realized their teacher didn’t have the energy to keep his consciousness during the ride.

And it did.

It all started when Hanta was grilling Denki about how weak his “aim game” was and Denki, in his infinite wisdom, bet he could charge everyone’s phones without electrocuting a single person.

Now, everyone knew not to challenge Eraserhead’s rules—especially when it concerned the safety of others. But considering the class’s track record, it wasn’t surprising when Denki stood up from his seat—ignoring the shouts of Tenya—and quoting an intelligent man, declared, “if the heroes aren’t looking, everything is legal!”

Tsu, Tenya, Mashirao, Momo, Mezo, and Izuku heavily advised against it, not wanting to poke a sleeping bear.

Eijiro, Koji, Rikido, Kyoka, and Fumikage thought the bet was either stupid or going to get someone hurt.

Ochako, Yuuga, and Tooru were worried but also very interested in the outcome.

Mina and Hanta egged him on, adding fuel to the flame.

Katsuki rolled his eyes and warned him, “if you break my phone, I’ll break your bones faster than Deku with a zero-pointer.”

Hitoshi was just too tired to care.

Shoto was asleep.

At least no one got hurt… by electrocution. Thinking back on it now, he did not nearly appreciate his teacher enough for dealing with their insanity.

“Otherwise, nothing big happened.” Izuku stopped halfway through his shrug, a frown forming on his face. “Sorry, I worried you.”

“Oh!” Inko flinched, snapping out of her thoughts, her lips twitching into what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I was just worried when you didn’t pick up.” She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “I’m glad you weren’t near the acci— Your arm!? What happened to your arm!?”

Izuku shot his arm behind him, avoiding eye contact. “It’s worse than it looks, I swear! Nothing a little ointment won’t fix. During the blackout, I heard a kid cry and well, now I know why his mother wears clothes woven with aramids. Really! It’s not that bad! Mom—!”

She ignored her son’s ramblings, rushing him to the bathroom by what remained of the sleeve of his uniform, plunging his forearm under the cold running water.

“Mom—”

“Don’t move,” she said sternly.

Izuku shut his mouth and nodded. He wouldn’t dare argue with a mother concerned with their child’s safety. He learned that the hard way during his rescue missions.

He flexed his toes trying to will out the numbing sensation pulsing through his skin, arm twisted in a weird angle so the water wouldn’t crawl up his arms. He heard his mother open the freezer and shuffle some of the contents around, rummaging through the cabinets as she chided herself for misplacing the ointment.

“It really isn’t that bad...” Izuku mumbled to himself.

His skin was red but the boy’s quirk wasn’t hot enough that it left him blisters. Honestly, he would describe the pain comparable to touching a kettle to check the temperature (he really had no impulse control). Besides he wasn’t irresponsible! He’d already doused his arm with cold water at the station immediately after reuniting the boy with his mother. There were some light blotches around the ventral side of his arm but the brunt of the impact was taken by his uniform. Which now that he thought about it, was surprisingly resilient. It wasn’t hero-grade but it was still enough that the heat didn’t eat through the entire sleeve. He had so much worse done on him that this was, well, literally child’s play. Besides, he was in a young body! Healing would be much faster and he didn’t need to worry about those random aches in his bones and muscles that came with age.

His mother was really overreacting but he supposed if her shut-in, hero-obsessed, noodle-for-limbs son suddenly went outside alone and came home hurt, it was understandable why she would react this way.

A soft, nostalgic smile charmed his lips. It had been so long since he heard his mother fussing over him for the most minute of things. He remembered the little kisses she gave him when he came back home during his childhood after playing with Katsuki before he got his quirk. He remembered the apple slices shaped like tiny bunnies she left next to his hospital bed during his UA days. He remembered her stern reprimands laced with genuine concern when he came back home and she saw him being too reckless on the news. He felt his heart twinge in guilt for making her worry (the first of many in this timeline), but he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful being doted upon.

Izuku shuddered, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to hide his tears as his mother walked back into the room.

“Thankfully I still had some burn cream from when your father accidentally blew fire on the birthday candles instead of blowing them out— What’s wrong!? Are you in pain?”

“N-No.” He took a deep breath, trying to get gravity to reel those tears back in before blinking a few times as a test. He swore it was his hormonal body’s fault for making him cry so easily. “It’s not that. I swear it doesn’t hurt I just remembered something... nice.”

Inko opened and closed her mouth, swallowing her words. Instead, she motioned him to hold out his arm, a small frown on her face.

“It looks like the burn isn’t too bad but I don’t want to risk infection or a scar to form on a boy your age.” Oof.

She started to apply the ointment, her touches feather-light and careful not to agitate the wound. Izuku curled and uncurled his toes, staring at the cream smoothing out on his skin. He swallowed, unsure of what to say or do besides sticking his arm out. He could feel his intestines contort, punishing him for making the greatest woman in his life upset.

After a long period of silence, Inko spoke.

“Can you tell me what it was about?”

“Umm...” Izuku pressed his nails into his palm, fidgeting, his eyes not meeting her’s. “It’s, uh, well...”

She looked at her son, the boy clearly uncomfortable in his own skin. She felt horrible. Why was that the only emotion she had been giving him recently?

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Izuku,” she reassured him with a gentle pat on the head. “I’m just asking, you can say no.”

Izuku considered himself born unlucky: plain looks, plain features, and no quirk. But with a mother like her, it seems that his luck was just in other places.

“I was... thinking of you, mom. And all the things you’ve done for me… Helping me, guiding me, and just being here with me.” His face felt warm, fiddling with his fingers as Inko gasped in surprise. “I know today’s been really weird and I know I told you to just trust me. And, really, I honestly cannot thank you enough for being here for me.”

“I’m just doing my job as a mother.”

He shook his head. “You do so much more, you provide so much for me.”

“Izuku,” she replied with a frown, “you’re only thirteen.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m thirteen or thirty, I know you’ll always be here supporting me. And I don't mean my goal of becoming a hero. You care for me. My health, my happiness. You’ve been doing that since I was born. And just— I’m sorry I can’t say what I really want to. I don't want to mess anything up because I was being selfish. I can't afford to fail—” He shook his head. “—Please don't, I know you'll say, but I can't afford to fail even at this age.”

He needed to build a base, a foundation so it doesn't seem like he was insane, insane for trying.

He licked his lips, debating whether or not he should burden her with his thoughts and feelings.

“I— I… I have a responsibility to make things better... To do that, I need to make sure I’m stable. I just want to make sure, to have my brain register what’s actually going on instead of just winging it. I'm sorry, I keep repeating myself, I know. I really, really want to tell you—”

“...but you can’t.”

He nodded, digging his nails in further.

“God, what am I doing?” He raked his fingers through his hair, shame heavy in his heart. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I'm so-”

“Enough of that.”

Inko firmly grasped his hands, gaze strong and kind.

“Look at me Izuku, look at your mother. I want you to know that no matter what, your mother will always love you. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, I’ll listen for as long as you need me to.

“All I want is for you to grow up strong, healthy, and happy. If that means I have to wait, well, that’s nothing compared to the happiness of my son, right? You don’t owe me anything, sweetie. Of course, I want to know what goes through that big brain of yours. Of course, I want to relate to you. Of course, I want you to just say whatever is troubling you. But you don't need me like that—”

“Yet,” he quickly added.

“—yet,” she repeated. “No one is forcing you to do anything. You've grown and I don't know how or why so suddenly, but you did. I won't pry into your business, but promise me you won't grow up so fast that you leave your mother behind?”

“I promise,” he whimpered, vision becoming blurry. “Everything I do is because I want this life to be better. I want things to change so people become happier. I swear I'll tell, I swear. I hate that I keep things from you.” It makes me doubt if what I'm gambling on is even worth it. “But I can't change my resolve, I need to do this. I'm sorry.”

Inko held him in her arms, rocking him back and forth like when she did when he was a child. “Izuku, I told you already: you don't need to apologize for wanting space for yourself. No more apologizing, okay? I’ll listen whenever you're ready.”

He let out a shaky breath, balling her shirt in his fists. “I love you, mom.” I love you so, so much.

“I love you too, sweetie.”

Chapter Text

PREFACE

To my mom, mentors, friends, comrades, loved ones, and myself: this book will be dedicated to recording my observations in this new timeline I found myself in. It’s regrettable that all the observations I’ve accumulated from my pro years are gone  not created yet?  are inaccessible. I do plan to replicate some from memory but the little details may be lost forever to me. At the point of this preface, I have finished writing the major events dealing with The League of Villains, Shigaraki Tomura, The Underground, All for One, and my first-year experiences at UA in separate logs.

I am writing this with the mentality of a thirty-one-year-old in my thirteen-year-old body. To begin, I don’t know or can’t remember why I travelled back in time. My clearest memory in my original timeline is the fight between us and All for One. I remember fighting, winning. I can’t call myself a pacifist or a merciful person—I killed him. Did I want to? No. If at all possible I would never want to hurt someone, but heroes aren’t the ones who make that decision. Though, I would be lying if I said I didn’t take some pleasure in knowing I ended that monster from ever hurting another person.

  The vilest of beasts are those who wear the skin of man; those who are charming and cun      

I had to make sure he couldn’t destroy another person’s life ever again.

My post fight memories are mostly a blur of shapeless faces and familiar voices. As I am writing this, in my mind, it only feels like a week at most since the fight. I’m sure it’s been longer than that. It's a feeling of a memory rather than the memory itself. I remember feeling my mom’s tears and the distress of my friends. I only wish I could’ve heard them just one more time before I got sent here but I’ve got no time to mourn or complain. I’ve been given a chance to make the future better. To prevent the deaths of good people, to save my friends.

To those disappointed in me, the hero you looked up to, I’m sorry. Despite the amazing quirk given to me, I am a human. I am selfish.

Any completed series will be located at 35.0183° N, 137.2924° E near the tomb of the First. If The Liberation Army is still active, consult The Bookman.

— Midoriya Izuku, "The Symbol of Hope: Deku"

*NOTE TO SELF* Detail knowledge of All for One and correspondences in separate series by summer break

DAY 1 — JULY 15TH

Disregarding the year, from the fight with AFO to July 15th, it has been 57 days. I don’t know how relevant that number is since I can’t recall when my consciousness travelled to this world. Unless proven otherwise, I think only my mind travelled back in time because there are no discrepancies between the bits I remember when I was really thirteen and now. Though this has yet to be confirmed with solely my memory. Nothing feels off to say the least. Though I don’t know enough about time travel outside of science fiction stories to say otherwise.

My body feels odd. Like I’m permanently set to “slowed.” There’s such a clear difference in how my younger self operates to mine. I feel like a limp pillow. I feel like hot garbage (more than the usual). A hormonal, reclusive teenage body isn't exactly what one would refer to as pique performance. Though it’s not all bad, at least I time to build a solid foundation for training instead of a 10-month rush job. No offence, All Might!

After the initial panic and anxiety that comes with involuntary time travel, I woke to my mom celebrating my birthday with me. The katsudon was like eating a piece of heaven! Mom, you are an absolute godsend.

I haven’t told her about the situation yet. I will though! I just need to prepare first. I hate seeing her so confused and worried. But I’ve created this train wreck and I have to see it through. If I don’t, then the unintentional pain I caused her would be for nothing. I have to make it worth it. It’s my duty as a hero. I know I’m making excuses for myself. I may compromise everyone's lives for a chance.

But the opposite is also true: I am given a chance.

Mom, I’m so sorry. I can only ask that you bear this pain a little while longer. I’m so sorry. Please know that I’m doing this so I can protect you, to take better care of you, and give you a life without you constantly crying for me.

Going back to school was… weird and embarrassing to say the least. It simultaneously feels better and worse than my boyhood memories. The kids really weren’t as bad as I remember, or felt at the time in my depressed early teens, but that being said, being an adult makes me realize just how detrimental this school environment really is to these kids.

I also basically told a thirteen-year-old to reevaluate his life so… sorry about that Kacchan. If it makes you feel better, I’ll still be screaming into my pillow at 2am twenty years from now.

Later I visited the dojo I would start training at. The building itself is secluded, obviously used mainly by the locals (See: Locations Series No. 2 for reference). From what I’ve observed, the dojo is populated by a majority of animal-based mutant-type quirks. Most seem to be kind people, I even saw some will-be heroes! Time travel is fascinating that way—to see heroes I’ve seen save hundreds of lives failing something simple as a high kick. Not that I laughed! It’s just amazing to see the difference! Seeing them, from where they started to where they’ll be, makes me proud to be sharing the title of a hero with them.

There are a few concerns I have though. The lower threat is the director of the dojo, Shiina. He possesses a rabbit transformative-type quirk. White hair, red eyes, an uncanny physical resemblance to Shigaraki Tomura. However, he lacks the crusty, decaying features of the villain and seems more childlike in nature. Low-threat. Needs more time for conclusion.

The next person seems to be a close confidant of Shiina and a part-time caretaker of the dojo, Aoi Hana. She seems bubbly and encouraging, like Ochaco in that aspect—responsible too. She works at an animal sanctuary which unfortunately fits with the traits of The Zookeeper (See: Villian Series: Ushimitsudoki No. 1 for reference). However, instead of the cold, apathetic villain I expected, Aoi Hana is anything but.

This is where I rule out the butterfly effect theory. I’ve heard from Koji that The Zookeeper was once a beloved animal conservationist and a nurse of some kind. Her quirk, which “cleans” (read: weakens or erases) other quirks depending on the situation (See: Villian Quirk Series No. 4 for clarity), led her to be a niche, unofficial support hero for people who couldn’t control their quirks.

If the smallest of decisions change the future, then their stories wouldn’t have matched ul, right? Though this is on the assumption that me coming back in time isn’t the starting point of where the timeline diverges.

*NOTE TO SELF* Research Chaos Theory and other time travel paradoxes

While I was heading back home, a minor “villain” accidentally shut down the transit system with their electric quirk. Everything I’ve heard is from the hushed whispers of the employees but it seems like a simple mistake than a villain attack. It looks like even through space-time, the media is quick to pull the trigger—especially accidents done by a kid. Otherwise, the trip back home wasn’t anything notable.

Though it’ll be a gruelling first few weeks, the changes I’m making will prepare me for villains in the coming future. And perhaps, if I’m lucky, I can see All Might again. To become the bearer of One for All again.

Even if I can’t, I’ll do everything in my power to help him and stop the villains (See: Contingency Plan). Theoretically speaking, All Might should be able to hold his muscle form for more than three hours. I’ll do whatever it takes so he doesn’t exert himself. Many front-line limelight heroes retire around their thirties due to the stress and dangers that come with the profession. Some even earlier if they’re underground heroes or unfortunate like Tenya’s brother. In this aspect, All Might is considered very “old” in the field. I know he wants to continue and save people—his resolve is the strongest I’ve ever seen! He’s amazing not just in combat but he also embodies the essence of what a hero truly is. That being said, I, of all people, know just how stressful keeping a title really is. So I’ll protect him, have him live out his life not by the pains of his battles, but by the support of loved ones.

I’m still unsure which space-time concept this timeline goes by. I don’t think it’s the butterfly effect since nothing’s changed all that much but I can’t rule it out completely just yet. My highest hope is that I’ll just create a “new” timeline with every action I take. This will mean a few things:

• My past-future life isn’t gone, I just jumped back in time (5-10% possibility of returning?)
• My new actions won’t erase my previous ones, either being a separate timeline or overriding it
• New actions = Death of original timeline?
• New actions = New timeline // Original timeline?
• The actions I take will matter, changes will happen
• The actions I take won’t indirectly change anything too drastically (for the worse)
• I will still inherit OFA and have more time to explore the quirk and its history

My biggest hope is that this isn’t an ontological paradox, specifically, the theory of compossibility or the self-consistency principle. If it is then the actions I take won’t matter. Everything I do to prevent or create an event will become null and irrelevant.

I don’t like  It’s the safest way  I have my duty as a hero so  I don’t know how to feel about that.

Current Goals/Notes:

• Gain body mass through training
• Try to help Kacchan  Leave Kacchan alone  Try to guide Kacchan
• UGN→ Password circulation (limited) find connections
• Mr. Ai  Eraserhead?
• Low-risk gangs in Naruhata Ward?
• Buy training weights
• Drink some tea or water why was I so dehydrated all the time???
• Earn money → Search for jobs (let’s try not to be illegal Deku)
• Consideration: UGN Informant
• All Might, responsibility/obligation to inform or keep secrecy? UA and the principle?
• Attempt contact with Melissa Shield

Chapter Text

“Midoriya!”

Izuku jolted back into reality, his pencil shooting out of his hand and hitting the floor. “I— Yes?”

The class snickered, not missing the shit-eating grin Bakugo gave him. Unimpressed by his lack of focus and distracting the class, his teacher sighed and shook his head. Izuku apologized sheepishly as he reached for his pencil, the man giving him a short “pay attention” speech before moving on.

“The answer I was looking for was frequency.” Mr. Nedzu looked over at Izuku, knocking on the chalkboard with his knuckles. “Are you listening, Midoriya?”

Izuku nodded, avoiding his eyes. It wasn’t exactly the fact that he was caught that embarrassed him, but rather the negative attention from his classmates. Being a pro hero, negative reception wasn’t anything new but it still disheartened his much too sensitive soul—especially when it was children judging him.

“Histograms are most commonly used to observe the frequency between continuous data sets divided into bins.” He closed the textbook and wiped the chalkboard, writing down, “Summer Assignments” in a barely legible font. “As a reminder, your summer break homework is to gather local data on a topic of your own choosing and create a histogram—” The class groaned. “—Make sure your topic is approved by me first. And your sample can’t come from anyone in your own classes.”

A boy sitting behind Bakugo raised his hand. “But that’s so unfair! I don’t know anyone else outside of school!”

“Then I hope your neighbours like you, Bibitaru.” The class chuckled as he sank in his seat.

“He really doesn’t know how to speak to children,” Izuku thought. “Well, I’m not exactly one to talk.” His gaze wandered to Bakugo.

“That’s not all. To lessen your workload, this assignment will go towards both your summer mathematics and language assignments. After you’ve created your histogram, write an essay on why you chose the topic, what the data tells you, and describe it using the terminology we learned in class.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the class erupted.

“That’s so unfair!”

“That’s not less! That’s just more homework smushed together!”

“Do we have to write an essay?”

“How long do we need to write?”

“I haven’t even thought of a topic yet!”

“Settle down! You would’ve had to write a conclusion anyway so this is a lessened workload. You only have to write two to three pages maximum in proper essay format and if you can’t choose a topic use the internet. As long as your samples aren’t exactly the same, similar topics are fine,” he explained, quelling a majority of the class’s frustrations.

The remaining twenty minutes were given to brainstorm ideas, students quickly bunching together with their friends to find topics, and in some cases to find loopholes to make the assignment easier. Though within five minutes most of the conversation derailed into idle chatter.

Izuku closed his journal and tucked it into his bag, replacing it with a math notebook, knowing that he should focus on his academics first (it didn’t look good on his record if he failed his classes after all). He scrolled through his younger self’s notes noting how poor his handwriting was and cringing at the crudely drawn All Might doodles littering every corner of the paper.

He came to a page titled with the assignment and skimmed some of the potential topics his younger self wrote down. Some were manageable but he knew it would’ve gotten disapproved for some technicality such as “the growth of city population in the past ten years” or “frequency of quirk use in public between ages” and “heroes popularity ranking through the years”.

Then came the ones he dreaded the most: “Which age group knows All Might the best?” and “frequency of All Might as a person’s favourite hero between ages?”. Oh, and he couldn’t forget “which age group knows All Might trivia the best?”.

If the class thought Izuku seemed calm and collected right now, they were dead wrong. Inside, he squealed in second-hand embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to chuck the notebook into a very deep hole and burn it.

"Kacchan was right," Izuku mumbled. "I was some hero obsessed creep. I'm so sorry All Might!"

He took a deep breath to collect himself and wrote down a few ideas before walking towards the teacher’s desk for approval.

“This is so hard!” one of the boys sitting near Bakugo complained. “I’m just going to look it up.”

“Same.” the other boy said. “Hey, Bakugo did you think of a topic yet?”

Bakugo didn’t even bother to look up, more focused on what he was writing. “I’m on my essay.”

Both boys jumped in their seats, mouths agape.

“You’re already done!? How!? That’s awesome!”

“You’re so fast, Bakugo!”

“Of course I am!” He smirked with a haughty snort. “You think this basic ass assignment is hard? Get on my level, dweebs.”

“Man, it’s not fair, dude!”

He rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t have fooled around then, idiot.”

The boy slumped in his seat, head resting on a corner of Bakugo’s desk. “But Mr. Nedzu is so mean! I bet no one’s even gotten their topics approved beside you.”

“No shit." He clicked his tongue, tightening his grip on his pencil as he saw the boy rubbing his head closer and closer to his books. "Get your head off my—!”

“Except Deku.”

“What?” Both boys said at the same time, one with noticeably more contempt.

“I just saw Mr. Nedzu do that chin thing and nod.”

He pointed towards Izuku confidently sitting back down in his seat. He rested his head against his arms, staring at the boy as if they discovered he was some alien in disguise.

“Man, it’s so weird seeing Deku of all people acting like this.”

“Ya! I thought he finally snapped! Remember yesterday when—” THUD!

“Shut. Up.”

Bakugo clutched the edge of his desk hard enough to see his bulging veins, fingertips burning red with a stream of smoke seeping out in between. His mild annoyance at his classmates turned into a manic smile just begging for an excuse to explode.

"Hey, man calm down—"

"What did I just say!?"

The two boys slapped their hands over their mouths and nodded. The only thing protecting them from a full “Bakugo blow-up” was the authority figure sitting in the same room as them; he had always restrained himself in front of faculty members. There was a limit to how much the teachers would ignore until things got out of hand especially during class. They swore they could hear the beeping of the countdown with each huff of breath.

Feeling the weight of everyone’s stares, Bakugo's eyes snapped towards the class. “And what the hell are you losers looking at!?”

Everyone avoided eye contact, suddenly finding their topics very interesting. Except for Izuku. He just sighed and shook his head like a disappointed mother seeing their child making a simple mistake. He stared at him, but it didn’t feel like it. He didn’t have that look. Those pitying eyes. Bakugo didn’t know why but that pissed him off even more.

But before he could say anything, Mr. Nedzu looked up from his computer clicking his tongue. “Bakugo! Sit back down now!”

He gritted his teeth, growling like a dog, but sat back down on his chair. Arms crossed and nails digging into his arms, he glowered just waiting until the bell rang so he could go let off some steam.

Izuku made sure leave as early as possible knowing that the hike to the dojo would take some time. Thankfully, he wasn’t on cleaning duty today so he had time to stretch and get his muscles loose. He made sure to take some water with him this time (yesterday was a nightmare). Not that he felt any better today with the burning in his lungs and throat, but water and better time management definitely helped to convince that it did. Izuku was pushing himself but the first two weeks were always the hardest. And although this might have discouraged many people to stop, the pain only pushed Izuku further.

He sighed in relief when he saw the tacky font peaking through the trees in the distance, taking a moment to catch his breath before reaching the dojo where Aoi waved at him.

“Hi Midori— Woah! Are you okay?”

Izuku took her offered hand, on the verge of heaving. Thank goodness he had a light lunch. He tried to even out his breathing, taking a few sips of water before wiping off the sweat with his sleeve.

“I’m fine… Just really tired.” He stretched his muscles to make sure they didn’t bunch up later, giving her a smile. “I’m ready to start when you are.”

Thankfully, his training wasn’t starting today. No, today was more of an assessment of his current skills and the like. Since quirks were unique to each individual, most places (even outside of these settings) had an assessment period so they could accommodate for proper equipment and space. That didn’t really apply to the current Izuku, but safety first. Aoi also mentioned that he could watch the others train or try out the equipment after the tests.

“Ya, no,” she said unimpressed. “We’re getting you to rest for a bit.”

She led him into the building, sitting him down on the cool mats. Oh, those blessed mats were like heaven on his skin even if they smelled like sweat and dirt.

“Thank you,” Izuku said as he pulled out a towel from his bag. “I’ll only need a minute, I swear.”

Failing to see her worried face, Aoi shook her head.

“I’ll give you five minimum. It’s okay Midoriya. You’re not in trouble. Really, our dojo is really flexible with time.”

Oh, she thought— “No, no. I didn’t mean to sound like that!” His eyes were wide, hoping that he didn’t come off as rude. “I honestly can’t wait to train.”

She hummed. “Okay… But really try to relax and take a breather, okay? Here—” She took his bag and hung it on a wall hook. “—I’ll get you some water.”

“Oh, I have my own—”

“It’s been in the fridge.”

“Well, I very well can’t turn that down.”

Feeling the heat leaving his skin, Izuku crossed his legs and closed his eyes, practicing some breathing exercises before Aoi came back. Guessing from how far her footsteps were, he really had underestimated how large the dojo was.

“It’s been a long time since I could meditate like this,” Izuku muttered to himself, a habit he had yet to completely break.

Assuming my assessment is going to finish early, I’ll probably have some time for a nighttime jog. Mom is presumably not going to let me out too far but the immediate area is probably fine. The beach might be pushing it considering how I’m already straining. Ah, wait I can’t even jog there. It’s full of junk.

…

“Huh…”

He tapped his index finger on his pursed lips. “I wonder if I can purchase the rights for the land? It should be fairly affordable considering the decreasing property values from all the litter building up for years. Actually, if I’m going to be cleaning it and some rich opportunist is going to purchase it anyway… Thoughts for later. When I actually have the money for that.

“Estimating the time from now to the end of summer, I can probably start cleaning up then. If I remember correctly, some of the litter there can be recycled into something useful. I might not be as good as Mei but…”

Izuku shuddered, the cacophony of swears from Katsuki filling his ears as the cold stare of Momo raking down his back.

It worked just fine before you fucked with it, Deku! How the hell are you worse at this than fucking Pikachu over there!? How many times is this!? Fuck! Give me your shitty hands you just lost your finger privileges.

Midoriya, I know you are quite the curious person and usually, I would commend anyone who tries out a new… hobby, but if you touch another perfectly functioning part I may have to, how did Ochaco put it? “Steal your knee caps,” okay?

“...they’ll come to kill me themselves if I make another invention explode. No, actually, Mei will reach me faster by inventing time travel or something.”

He let out a dry laugh, balling his hands. Although he credited most of Katsuki’s threats to his foul mouth, he really wasn’t kidding about the finger thing. No matter how far Izuku ran, Katsuki wasn’t one to give up the chase. He even resorted to hiding in the belltower for a day (Hitoshi never let him live it down). If he didn’t, Katsuki would've found him within the hour. There were two reasons for this. First, although Izuku was insanely fast, Katsuki plus new support gear and pure, unfiltered, unadulterated rage meant that even the number one hero couldn’t run away from his problems. Second, was the muttering. As Izuku grew up, his muttering had gotten much less noticeable and creepy but Katsuki had the ears of a german shepherd when it came to Izuku.

No horror movie he’d ever seen surpassed the fear he felt when he hid in an abandoned building and Katsuki was waiting for him with a manic grin splitting his face, saying:

“Why are you muttering?”

Izuku jumped a foot into the air, tripping forwards on his tangled legs, letting out a very manly squeak.

“Ah!” The person behind him quickly helped him up to his feet, hands slightly fumbling on what to do. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I— It’s fine,” Izuku replied. He was not fine. His heart was now lodged into his throat.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded before turning to him. "I—" His vision doubled for a second, wondering why— how— this small hope of his was granted.

He should’ve expected this. He really should have. He knew it was a possibility. He knew even in this remote area, there was a sliver of a chance. He was always disciplined, talking about how he used to train in different dojos to learn about various types of martial arts. He had his hopes. A small one. One of those hopes that you knew wouldn’t come true but held onto anyway because what’s the harm in it?

“Umm… Is there something on my face?” Ojiro asked nervously. “You’re staring at— Are you crying!?”

“I was caught off guard.” Izuku wiped his eyes on his shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Jeez, I know I’m not much to look at but I never had someone cry from just looking at me before.” He held out his hand, a friendly but confused look on his face.

Izuku snorted, shaking his nerves off.

“Welcome to the club.” He took his hand. “Thanks Mashirao.”

Both boys paused, Izuku feeling both hot and cold from embarrassment at his slip-up. I'm a complete moron— he thought. Ojiro came back faster than Izuku did, thankfully saving the latter from his mistake.

“Did Miss Aoi tell you about me?” His tail curled up a bit.

“Y— Yes! I got a tour of the dojo yesterday and she shared some stories about the people here. She told me that there was someone around the same age as me and uh… I had a friend—” All Might. “—who lived in America and there you use your given names instead of family names even if you’re strangers and I kinda got it mixed up, yeah!”

If Ojiro noticed Izuku’s obviously weird floundering, he politely didn’t comment on it.

“That’s... cool, I guess?”

Why wasn’t he as good as lying as his fighting? Oh, wait…

“Sorry I was so informal.” He pulled on his towel, his hands going anywhere to distract himself from this more than awkward “first” encounter.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“...”

“...”

The two went into an uncomfortable silence, both cursing themselves for messing up. On one hand, Izuku was simultaneously overjoyed with seeing his friend again and mortified by his loose lips. He potentially fucked up a relationship, hooray! On the other hand, Ojiro felt that Izuku was a weird but well-meaning person. Unfortunately for him, although he wasn’t asocial, it was the first time he had people around his age to train with. He really didn’t want to fuck it for him and the dojo.

Thankfully, the awkward silence didn’t last long as Aoi came back into the room with a cold bottle of water.

"What an angel!" they both thought.

“Hey, Ojiro. You came in a little late today, huh?” she said as she tossed the bottle to Izuku. “Was there a villain attack?”

“Apparently,” he said, relieved from the awkwardness. “Thankfully it was the usual ten-minute delay with the trains.”

“Oh, that’s not that bad then—”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Izuku said seriously. “I heard one of the lines had to be closed because of it.”

“Really?” He shrugged, slinging his tail over his shoulder. “I mean, it’s just ten minutes. I’m not impatient.”

Oh, he knew. He knew that even as a young UA student Ojiro was one of the more patient students in his class. But he forgot that normal people didn’t really care about a ten-minute delay. Maybe mild annoyance at most. But to a hero, every second counted. Each second was a person was crying for help, each grain of sand in the hourglass was another person who fell.

Within ten minutes you could either save a person or see a friend killed.

Izuku shook his head and slapped his cheeks. No, no, no. Stop. Don’t linger too long.

He took a deep breath, bringing the towel draped over his head around his neck. “Miss Aoi, I’m ready for my assessment.”

She shot him an uncertain look. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a little longer?”

“I’m sure.” I need a distraction.

Ojiro looked over at Aoi and then to Izuku. “Can I see?”

She tapped her chin, humming for a moment. “If Midoriya doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t.” He stood to his feet, stretching out his muscles before what he hoped was an enthusiastic smile. “Maybe you can give me some pointers if I’m doing something wrong.”

He nodded.

“Alright!” Aoi clapped her hands, leading the boys to the outdoor training rooms. “But I’m going to have to lay down some ground rules. One, you cannot overexert yourself. This isn’t some academic exam. There are no ‘high’ or ‘low’ grades. This test isn’t for us, but for you.”

Easy enough. He nodded.

“Second, you have to tell me when you start feeling anything past a dull, surface-level pain lasting no more than a minute. Basically, if the pain doesn’t fade. Nobody here wants you to fight through your injuries. If you need a rest, or to stop, you say so.”

Okay, slightly harder for someone like Izuku but still very basic, very basic.

“Third, be respectful to the equipment and mentors who’ll be supervising at each station. Bow before and after we start. That’s not a hard rule but it's a tradition. Try to get into the habit.”

Izuku wondered if this was how Vlad King’s quirk apprehension tests went. You know, nice, safe, and not completely anxiety-inducing.

“Fourth, and this rule will still hold past the assessment just so you know. But you seem like a responsible kid so I’m not worried about this. I mean, it’s a given. We don’t want to see injured kids on the news after all.” Aoi chuckled. “Fourth, you will not use your training to go off and fight villains.”

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

“Hyaa!”

In front of Ojiro and Shishido, his spotter for the day, the arm of the wooden dummy tore off its body, sending the piece of wood hurling towards the wall. Crash! Ojiro cringed at the gaping hole in the wall, his tail stiff.

"Oops?” His tail curled around himself, bowing to his mentor. "I'm so sorry!"

“Kid! It even tore through the cushions!” Shishido said laughing. Wiping his eyes, he patted the guilty boy’s shoulders. “Chin up, kid. We can have that fixed no time. Anyways, I think that’s good enough for today. You’ve improved a lot. Good job.”

Ojiro took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled as he returned to his idle stance before bowing respectfully.

“Thank you for today.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

As Ojiro wiped his sweat and started to pack his things, his mind wandered off to Izuku. To put it simply, he was amazing. There was a reason why his swings were more aggressive today. Seeing Izuku’s assessment shocked him. He fully expected the boy to be one of those shut-in kids who could barely throw a punch. No offence, but he was pretty unassuming after all with his small stature and looks. But what he lacked in muscle and well, body mass, in general, was compensated by his amazing form and reflexes.

Ojiro wasn't the most observing person but he could confidently say that martial arts was the one thing he put all his mind to. He may not have had eyes like Aoi but even he could see a clear difference in Izuku's stance and the other kids. I mean, everything that he did looked like something out of one of those hero training videos! He may have some troubles now like stamina and raw power but the results spoke for themselves.

And what did Izuku say that helped him? Training videos! Hero blogs! Just observing people through his eyes!

"Man, there are some amazing people out there..." He sighed, curling his tail around his waist.

Ojiro thought he could be the “older classmen” or “older brother” for the rookie and start a friendship from there. But now that plan was ruined before it even started.

“Well… That just means I’ll have to try a bit harder!” Suddenly he perked up, taking out his phone. “Maybe I can ask him for some recommendations?”

“Thanks for helping out Hana,” Shishido said as he dumped new planks of wood on the floor.

Aoi shrugged, hammering in a nail. “Shiina’s giving me a bonus anyways.”

He clicked his tongue, angrily grabbing tools. “That rabbit bastard’s always scurrying off to God knows where!” Thump! Thump! Thump!

“Don’t make another hole in the wall or else we’ll never get this finished.”

His arm paused mid-swing, bringing his hammer down. “Right, sorry.”

As the two continued to repair the damages to the dojo, Aoi’s mind wandered off to Izuku’s assessment earlier today. To put it simply, he was abnormal. She already suspected the boy of some past trauma but today’s demonstration only worsened those thoughts. Initially, she thought of the boy as a victim trying to gain some experience in self-defence. His body didn’t betray those thoughts. But his form, his skill, and dexterity was something only the experienced could achieve.

She didn’t believe him for a second when he said his skills were developed from just watching professional heroes. After all, there was a difference in being told what to do and actually doing it. For example, one of the offensive technique assessments: jabs. Now, usually, assessments didn’t hold a specific standard of form. Since most kids only knew punching as “hitting something really hard,” they only held this portion of the test to give everyone a basic overview of where the kids were and to show them how much they improved later on. It was a good method of teaching by failing.

But Izuku… Izuku had an astounding form. Not just a stance, form. That wasn't something you could just copy by seeing and do for the first time. He had full extension and never overextended his arm, using practiced footwork to add to his power, range, and defence. He avoided telegraphing, retracting his chin and not looping his arms after a hit. The latter move was the most eye-opening to Aoi. Telegraphing was done not only by amateurs but also by professional heroes. The more experienced heroes were seen telegraphing only after long fights as their muscles weighed them down and energies depleted. Beginners “looped back” into their stance instead of having an “A to B” movement. But he did none of that.

His concentration was also amazing to observe. Usually, beginners, even trained professionals, would get distracted if there was an audience. But he had focus, strong eyes and attention. It was like a lioness hunting its prey, laser-focused and calculating. Most people would be embarrassed or uneased by observers; it was natural to. But, for him, it was as if he did this a thousand times already.

Then came the reason as to why he chose to jab instead of wilding swinging as other kids or adults would. Again, for most kids, this was natural. It looked cooler and because of All Might, large grandiose punches were in style.

When it became clear to Izuku that Aoi wasn't buying his "saw and learn" excuse, he whispered his real reasons after his tests. He didn’t choose to jab just because he saw some hero do it. He chose it because it exerted less energy. He chose it because even with weak punches, jabbing could still injure or stun someone. He chose it because jabbing was a good technique to access your opponent’s movements.

"Will they freeze? Dodge? Which way and how? Will they retaliate right away? How long will they take to register it?" he told her. "Will their instincts use their quirk as self-defence? Is their quirk reactionary? Is the quirk— Ack! Sorry I didn't mean to ramble!"

Everything was carefully planned to accommodate his own body and an imaginary opponent.

Aoi was just so confused! There was only so much observing could do! Either Izuku had some sort of observation quirk he didn’t know about or he was some natural-born genius. But then that begs the question: how was he so psychologically disciplined and dexterous but physically weak? He had told her he’d just started trying to improve himself but these weren’t moves a beginner would be able to execute so flawlessly! So did he have a hidden quirk? Was he just a genius? Was he sick? Did he have some sort of illness that prevented him from physically growing properly? Was he pushing himself??

“AUGHHH!!!” Aoi screamed in frustration, putting too much force in her hammer, accidentally smashing a new hole into the wall.

Both of them paused, the situation registering in their heads.

...

Shishido turned his head slowly towards Aoi, gently taking the hammer away from her.

“Well… Say goodbye to that bonus.”

Chapter Text

When Izuku returned to Musutafu, the blue of the sky was just starting to dim. He slouched in his seat, the city blurring past him through the windows of the train. He had already messaged his mother saying that he would be returning home late and that he would inform her when he changed locations. If others thought his mother's behaviour as odd, he'd understand. But considering the context, he'd disagree.

The first two years of middle school were the hardest points in his life. In elementary school, the staff were more vigilant in preventing bullying. In the later years of his middle school, he'd become used to his class's teasing and toxicity—not that it made him feel any better. He just built up an immunity to it. And the days at UA high were difficult but rewarding. But in between all that? That period of time where he was vulnerable and spiralled into frequent depression? That was what his current-past self was going through.

So he understood why his mother was so protective of him. In her perspective, he was her shut-in, anxiety-riddled son who suddenly wanted to go outside and returned home with aching muscles and whatever injuries he happened to make along the way. He was sure he never exhibited any suicidal tendencies—and his sense of justice was not suicidal, he refuted to his friends' voices echoing in his head—but he wasn't sure. This period of his life was very muddled in his memory. Thank goodness it was summer because he knew that she would never allow him to walk alone in the dark.

Still, it was a little exasperating; he was a grown man—a pro hero!

Izuku let out a heavy sigh, mindlessly fiddling with his unused earbud. His initial assessment at the dojo went exactly as he expected. His power and stamina were gravely lacking, and his brain pulled more weight than his body did. His reflexes were good but he couldn’t rely on his years of muscle memory for any real battles.

“Don’t be negative, me. What’s done is done. That’s why I’m doing this,” Izuku muttered to himself, head in his hands and leg bouncing in irritation.

Trying to distract his thoughts, he took out his phone, browsing through the listing prices of training equipment, eventually setting his sights on a three thousand seven hundred yen dumbbell set. He would’ve gone for a higher quality one but he didn’t want to be a financial burden on his mother—especially since his caloric intake would slowly increase by the month. Though his spending was never a real issue in his original timeline since... he took care of any budgetary problems in his family. Nevertheless, Izuku didn't want to spend any more money than absolutely necessary. Besides, buying the training set wasn't a priority—he had the dojo after all. He would slowly accumulate some funds then buy it when he had enough money. He was sure his mother would be more than happy to accommodate him but having training equipment readily available was too much of a temptation.

Even back in his original timeline, his friends often had to drag him away from overworking in the training halls until sunlight broke through the curtains. Usually, that role was delegated to Tenya or Yuga. Other times Katsuki, Shoto, or Hitoshi were sent to get him to bed at a reasonable hour—those hypocrites. Except for Katsuki as Hanta once called him, “a good boy who never missed his bedtime”. But that still didn’t make him any less of a hypocrite when he was the one hogging up the good spaces and equipment during the day.

Besides, anytime the latter group (sans Hitoshi) came to retrieve him, the sun had already risen on the two stubborn, sleep-deprived heroes refusing to yield. Two-thirds of the time it was Shoto because of his odd line of thinking, “I’ll tire you out so you can go to bed.” Which always backfired on him, leading to a genuinely confused Shoto wondering as to why that method didn't work. The last third was Katsuki and that was only because the fighting would get so loud that the other heroes would have to intervene within the first hour if they wanted any rest.

What could one say? His resolve and conviction to his interests were a double-edged sword. Though doing that now would most certainly break him.

“They should be impressed I’m holding myself back so much,” Izuku said to the faces of his friends’ disapproval leering down at him in his mind.

He nodded proudly to himself on his arbitrary, self-appointed restrictions to not overwork his body.

Anyways, getting to that goal still required money and Izuku knew the perfect job for minors like him who legally couldn’t be part of the workforce yet. Community service was voluntary and free but he knew some areas where you could get paid for being a "junior hero" as they marketed it as. Decades ago—no he supposed only a few years back in this timeline—some agencies opened up recycling centres aimed towards preteens and adolescents where they brought in a certain number or types of trash in for a few yen. It was to promote a "healthier, cleaner community!" but truthfully, it was more so to bring in traffic to their agency. The success of the program varied from place to place but he knew one agency that stood strong even through the events of the future.

He did feel slightly guilty for trying to use the system like this since he wasn’t actually a child.

Izuku squeezed his bag, a soft red dusting his ears. “If anyone saw me now..." They’d probably skip right over embarrassment and head straight towards disappointment.

Hearing the train bell ding, he slung his backpack back on—making sure to grab the bag full of empty bottles and cans he picked up along the way—heading towards what would later be Kamui Wood’s and Mount Lady's joint hero agency.

The route Izuku took to get there hit highly populated areas such as playgrounds and the market streets so that he didn’t need to go out of his way to find some more recyclables. Musutafu was a relatively clean place considering that community service was one of the mandatory responsibilities of some hero agencies. But with different people came different lifestyles and manners (or lack thereof).

Entering a fairly barren park, Izuku took the scenic route through the wooded area, enjoying the atmosphere. There were still people lingering in the park but they were mostly kids running around near the playground. He could hear their laughter and yell in the distance. It was one of those parks that were better when visited in the morning for the shade and sunlight. And though he appreciated that, Izuku found more comfort in the evening sun and dusk—it concealed him in a way where he could better take advantage of his surroundings. He had been training in the dark for the latter part of his life after he saw how useless he was during the 21-Eclipse Terror.

Passing by an evergreen with broken branches, Izuku suddenly stopped and wrinkled his brows, observing what was underneath it. It was fairly inconspicuous—even he nearly walked past the shattered glass pieces hidden between the blades of grass. As he kneeled to inspect the shards, a pungent odour of spoiled alcohol stung his nose.

“Beer? Don’t people know kids play around here?” Izuku muttered, clicking his tongue.

Usually, around this time, the caretakers would’ve done a quick sweep of the park but it seemed that they missed it through the dense evergreen woodland. As he was about to find a park keeper, he heard a distant— Crack!

It took less than a second for Izuku to leap into action, swiftly hiding in between the trees far away but still within eyesight of where he once stood. He flinched at the clang of the bottles in his bag, hoping that it didn't sound nearly as loud as it did to him. He took measured breaths—oddly feeling in his element instead of nervous—gently placing his bag down as not to accidentally jostle the glass bottles and give away his location. He didn’t know if it was a stroke of luck or his horrible fashion choices but the clothes he wore made him blend in enough to stay undetected.

Crack!

He narrowed his eyes. Through the messy branches and leaves, about a hundred and twenty metres west, he saw a man with large babirusa tusks wearing a gaudy suit, frantically swerving his head left and right, stiffly walking towards the damaged tree with the broken shards. His shoulders were hunched, arms tightly embracing something to his chest. It was as big as his forearm and whatever it was, it was solid. He couldn't tell from the outline but Izuku suspected that it was some sort of weapon or support gear.

“I thought it was suspicious,” Izuku whispered to himself, back hunched and ready to flee if needed. “The branches looked like it was broken on purpose since none of the main ones were too damaged—probably to increase the chances of the park keepers overlooking it. The other trees are too well maintained to think otherwise. And a broken beer bottle is too out of place in a children's park. A dead giveaway to a hero or villain. It’s a rendezvous point.

“They must be amateurs; not part of the villain alliance or liberation army—the main branches at least. They wouldn’t be so sloppy with their distributions. Can't be an underground hero either since they have specific locations for secure drop-offs. But if they thought it through enough to this, they aren’t just some experimental kids either. He's too nervous and the marker is too obvious for anyone with professional experience in subterfuge. Probably implying a lack of trust between the client and the provider too.”

As the man approached the evergreen, he kneeled with his back turned towards Izuku, his shoulders shuffling around a bit before he shot up and darted off to where he came from, leaving behind something covered in a brown paper bag. Whatever he was trying to do, the man was clearly new to this considering the fact that Izuku could feel his anxiety from where he was. Not to mention his obvious movements and lack of awareness. Swerving your head like that only makes your senses duller and spiked up your paranoia.

Izuku waited a few minutes, ears perked, looking around for any signs of another person. Confirming that the man wasn’t coming back and whoever the client was missed the exact timing of the drop-off, he quickly made his way towards the mysterious package. He kept a fair amount of distance just in case it was some sort of hazardous material but eventually came to the conclusion that not even an amateur would be stupid enough to haphazardly wrap something that highly dangerous in thin sheets of paper.

He took out the towel in his bag, wrapping it around his dominant hand and using a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth. Yes, it was probably stupid to open up sketchy packages in the middle of a near-empty park but if his hunch was right, there could be something potentially useful in there. The underground market for villains (and some wayward heroes) wasn’t as developed yet but one would be surprised at what the human mind can think of under tight restrictions and resources. Not to mention that he would be stopping some villain by… inspecting it.

The voice in his head laughed at his hypocrisy.

He slowly peeled off the paper, careful not to rip anything just in case he needed to flee. Unwrapping about two layers he saw a bit of metal peeking out through the paper. He could just hear Melissa's anguish at something wrapped so carelessly. No padding, no foam, not even bubble wrap! Yep. This was definitely an amateur's work—no that would be generous. This was an idiot's work. But the contents—

“Are… gauntlets?”

So his hunch was right about it being some sort of support gear but for who and for what purpose?

“These are definitely custom made"—he turned it over, sliding his index finger on the cool metal—"I could probably fit both my hands in one of them.”

Clicked his tongue, taking the other half of the pair and inspecting it. “I wish Melissa or Miss Tsukauchi were here right now.”

They knew more about the history of the underground market than he ever would. Or maybe Mei. She and Melissa could safely dissect this thing in a heartbeat.

The gauntlets were made of lightweight metal but due to its size and his lack of strength, it felt quite weighty in his arms. The exterior had sharp shutter-like slits panelling the palm and wrist area, allowing room for either something to come out of the hands or to absorb something in. The interior had a velvet lining over a layer of what felt like rubber. There were pinholes near the slits and on the fingertips that connected to whatever circuits were hidden inside the contraption, suggesting that the gauntlet itself could shoot something out. Maybe enhance something as well? He wasn’t as technologically gifted as Mei but he hypothesized that whatever its function was, it might have something to do with electricity. Whether that be enhancing one’s own electricity quirk or adding electricity to it, he didn’t know.

“There’s no indication of any defensive features; it’s all offensive”—he tilted the gear over trying to see if there were any emblems or signatures on it—“It can’t be for an underground hero considering how most of them operate on the former. And it’s too flashy for their tastes. But there’s no way these are simply for low threat villains—it looks way too expensive. Who had the resources and brains to make this but wrap it like kindergartener? What a waste of talent. It couldn’t be easy to find—”

Izuku's breath hitched, his hold tightening for just a second. “No, no, no. That’s…!Crap—not impossible"—he bit the inside of his cheeks, his thumb unconsciously pressing into his palm—"considering how I-Island’s Tartarus level security really only applies to outsiders and how easy those with coding experience on the inside can bypass the security...”

The chilling memory of his first experience at I-Island—seeing All Might pushing his time limit, Melissa running towards the control room with bleeding feet, Professor David bleeding out, and how if he’d just been a little faster!—flashed by him.

Izuku swallowed, his other thumb digging into the sides of his index finger. It was certainly not the most traumatic thing he experienced nor was it the last. But even if they did triumph in the end, the pain and strain of its stakes bombarding him at such a young age weren’t easy to shake off. Professor David was nearly paralyzed, only to completely lose his legs a couple of years later due to a riot with vengeful family members of those who lost their lives that night. Melissa was strong but she was faced with so much backlash not only due to her quirklessness but also because of the perceived fraudulence of her father. All Might nearly lost his life right in front of him. Looking back on it, to think that he was scared of Wolfram hurting All Might almost felt ridiculous considering the battle with All For One that followed it. Still, the pit digging into his gut and the blood boiling in his veins wasn’t easy to just forget. It was trivial compared to some of the later battles in his life but the fear and frustration at his powerlessness were a venom pumped into his veins that had yet to kill him.

Another reminder of your failure, hero— his mind supplied him.

After debating for a short while, Izuku rewrapped the gear in the paper and stuffed it into his backpack, careful not to wrinkle his notebooks. Legally, as a citizen, he should be handing this over to the police. [Il]legally, as a hero, Izuku knew that an investigation this late would be meaningless and would only alert the underground market. Besides, the worst-case scenario is that the client wouldn’t get this weapon and terrorize innocent civilians. Anything from I-Island was dangerous. The only thing that made it "safe to use" or "to be terminated" was the wielder. 

“At least this will prove for sure if the butterfly effect is real or not,” he convinced himself as he walked towards his hiding spot, picking up his bag.

Collecting a few branches, he marked the area around the glass in the hopes that a park keeper would see it later. Walking over to another tree, he did the same thing just as a precautionary measure to throw off whoever the client was. He scattered a few leaves in a random trail just to pepper in some more confusion.

Izuku dusted his hands and clothes heading towards the hero agency, the pit burrowing in his stomach sitting heavier than the gauntlets on his back.

Upon arriving at the rather large building, the first few things Izuku noticed were the roots and vines aesthetically weaving along walls and around the main door. Some leaves were yellowed and dried but overall, the plants looked healthy. Small bushes lined the entrance and if he were honest, it looked very out of place in a high traffic metropolitan city.

“The agency really changed that much, huh,” he observed.

Perhaps you could've lived to see that change if you weren't so— God, that voice was relentless today wasn't he?

Entering the building, he was greeted by the front desk. Spotting the bag in his arms, the lady knowingly gestured towards the recycling centre, giving him a button with the agency's current hero on it. He thanked her and headed towards the recycling area. Depositing the trash, each piece yielded around ten yen. Placing the money in his wallet he went over to the sink to wash his hands, only to be surprised by the scabs on his palms—the skin already thin from his frantic scratching from yesterday. He stared at the wound, in a trance, almost as if his brain couldn't recognize what it was. It wasn't until he heard the bathroom door slam open he snapped out of it.

He clicked his tongue, reminding himself to work on his habit. He was going to have plenty of scars during his training, he didn't need these types of scars—again.

In total, he got two hundred yen from his route. Izuku didn’t know if that was indicative of how many litterers there were in the city or if accidentally cutting through alleyways were the best way to make a profit. It was honestly too bad not many people outside of the locals or elderly knew about the program. He couldn’t blame them, even with the facade of goodwill, not many children would accept cleaning up trash as something “heroic”. 

Izuku cracked his neck, stretching his back and rolling his sore wrists. Checking the time, he surprised at how quickly he finished his work.

“It’s only seven-thirty so if I keep my pace, I’ll be home by... eight? That should still be enough time to take a short run without worrying mom.”

Izuku nodded to himself, calling his mother as he left the building.

“Mom?” Izuku said as the call connected. “I’ll be home in about thirty minutes but I’m going out for a short run after. Is that okay?”

He heard the faint sound of the kettle whistling with loud cracks of something fried sizzling in the background. He sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He could just smell the heavenly home-cooked food from the sound alone. He wiped the drool off his chin.

“What about dinner?” Inko asked, concerned. “I don’t want you to skip your meals like last time.”

Izuku tried to think about a time he skipped a meal and had any large consequences in his youth. Nothing came into mind. It was either too far back in his memories or it was just his mother being overly concerned again. Looks like that habit of skipping meals didn’t stem from his heroism after all.

“I’ll take care of it, promise. I won’t be back too late so you should get some rest, mom.”

He could hear her sigh over the phone.

“Just... come home before ten and stay in places where there’s a lot of people! I’ll have dinner waiting for you in the fridge.”

He would have to treat her one day, soon.

“Thanks, mom you’re the best. Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie.”

Dropping off his school bag (and tucking the confiscated gauntlets very deep under all the All Might memorabilia in his closet), he took out a lightweight bag and packed it full of emergency supplies and a bottle of water. Adjusting the straps of his shoes, he waved to his mother reassuring her that he'd be back before it got too dark. He took out his phone and turned on a hero news channel, stepping towards the walls as not to disturb other passersby. Making sure there was enough space, he started stretching, allowing his muscles to become loose. As he bent down to touch his toes (or more like his ankles if his creaky, unused spine had anything to say about it) he felt a wave of nostalgia overcome him.

“God, when's the last time I went for a peaceful run like this?” he questioned as he rolled his ankles, “I think the last time was with Tenya. Huh. Wonder if that was before or after the turbo juice incident?”

Poor Tenya. That was probably the last time he trusted Momo and her mother with his diet.

With his muscles loosened up, Izuku took deep breaths and started jogging, making sure to keep control of his breathing. Ugh, he—and his body—dreaded working out. Not that Izuku himself hated it. In fact, he quite enjoyed working his body down to the bone (despite the numerous protests from his friends and mentors). But that was after years of sticking to a regimen, after years of working as a pro hero. He could distinctly remember how hard the first few weeks of training were as his body was forced to accommodate to his new lifestyle.

No! He could do this. He just had to remind himself not to give in to his desire to just run. Running only wasted his energy and no matter how fast he tried to be, he would never reach the point he wanted with these noodle legs.

Oh, but it was such a tempting thought: his heart pumping with adrenaline as his quirk circulated throughout his entire body—almost breathless at the pure speed and air he got—the wind gliding over his skin as he shot past buildings with each step, the familiar thud on his foot greeting him as his shoes met with the ground below. He could see the city under him when he jumped, suspended in midair, the city lights danced in the moonlight, each person and hero waving at him from below. It felt liberating.

Power walk, power walk—he chanted to himself.

He wasn't that hero. He wasn't "Deku" just yet. He couldn't just think where he wanted to go and get there in a few hops. Right now, he was quirkless. Right now, he was sent back to the starting point. Right now, he felt like his lungs were on fire and his sides wailed. He shook his head, trying to block out the cramps. Working out was as much of a mental battle as it was physical. So he set small checkpoints to reward himself: first the lamppost, then the intersection, next the stop sign, and so on.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have appropriate running shoes—opting for his iconic red ones instead—and within ten minutes of the run, his ankles felt the brunt of that weight, the heavy shoes shackled to his feet dragging him across the concrete. He could feel the slight burning on his soles with each step, his thin socks useless against the chaffing. Within fifteen minutes he was already huffing and coughing from his shrivelled lungs, the lactic acid scorching his joints, sharp pain digging sporadically into his ribs. Feeling light-headed from his uneven breathing, he slowed to a walk, willing his aching body to adapt.

“Haa… Ha…” He swallowed his saliva, his rib cage expanding to accommodate the air before contracting painfully. “Oh, God…”

The first two weeks were always the hardest but Izuku was nothing if not determined. He unzipped his backpack and took out his bottle, drinking slow gulps of water. It felt cool, washing away some of the sharp pins poking at his esophagus. He coughed, a dribble of water falling down his chin and onto his damp shirt. He wiped his mouth and pushed through the pain and fatigue, suppressing the desire to run. This body wasn’t prepared for running but his head sure didn’t agree with that. Each thud of his feet that met with the ground sent vibrations up his entire body as if he was nothing but a lump of flesh being dragged by a small string of desire. He could hear his heart beat through his ears, each pulse punching his throat.

It didn’t help that his eyes were much faster than his legs, tired of the monotony of the same brick walls steadily crawling by him. In his mind, covering such a small street was as easy as taking a step. In his mind, he’d already passed the stop sign at the end of the street three minutes ago. In his mind, he was soaring across the cityscape with his quirk, discarding such a burdensome body.

His breathing quickly lost its tempo, shaky and desperate breaths frantically keeping up with his eyes.

What do you hope to achieve? C'mon hero, w hy play with fate?

The idea of a nice shower and a warm meal added tons to his legs, his skin and mouth becoming more sensitive to the humid and tepid summer air clinging to his skin. Every time he opened his mouth it felt like lukewarm cotton balls were stuffed down his throat. A large part of him told him to give up, to try again tomorrow, saying that he still had years until the public perception of heroes crashed and burned. Years until Tartarus fell. Years until All Might fell. The thought wrapped its arms around his neck and limbs, cooing temptations of rest, dragged him back towards his haven, his home, his mom.

With each checkpoint he reached, what he once thought of as small accomplishments, the fruits of his labour, soured—bitterness biting his tongue. He reached his incredibly low bar checkpoints, yes, and how long did that take? If a person were in need of aid right in front of him, even if he had enough power, he still couldn’t have saved them in time.

“I’m not even jogging at half my regular speed!” he panted, vision doubling for just a second.

He didn’t feel this way when he climbed the mountain, scaling the uneven terrain, successfully avoiding blisters and days-long aches. Hell, he didn’t even feel this way during the evaluation! So why? Why did he feel so tired from this little thing??

Izuku felt his pent-up frustration well up inside of him, seeing his goals, knowing that he could—should be able to do it, but being unable to. He often felt like that these days; holding in the pain and letting out in increments like a faucet. But when he wasn’t able to, like now, when the valve had been plugged up for too long, it burst.

Izuku, nearly tripping over his own sloppy footwork, had no choice but to halt. Greedily drinking the air, he grabbed onto the wall with his hand, massaging his screaming sides with the other. He sled onto the cool bricks, the rough texture sanding his sweaty, sticky skin. It ran small white cuts on his arm, the pain feeling almost liberating compared to the tired monotony of seeing the same three signs. Almost immediately he doubled over, using his arm to support his weight, dry heaving.

He took baby steps forward. He couldn’t afford to stop. His hands curled into fists, burning red indents of his nails branded onto his palms. He wiped his wet cheeks as fast as the tears came, gritting his teeth until his jaws became sore.

“FUCK!”

Maybe it was the familiarity of it all that frustrated Izuku the most. In the dojo, he wasn’t happy about his body but in a new environment came less time to process things, less time to let his thoughts fester. But these streets? The familiar streets of his home? The familiar streets of his home he should’ve easily passed by now? It was taunting him. It was like dangling food in front of a starved animal. But without energy, the animal couldn't reach it. It was right under its nose. Just a little more. It. Was. Right. There.

But to it, it was miles away.

So what good was he? So what good was he if he couldn’t even jog down a street or two without feeling like the world had collapsed on him?

He knew it was irrational to think like this. He knew that, logically, of course, his much younger self would have trouble in any physical activities. Right now, his past self was probably in his room all day scrolling through hero forums, rerunning that video of All Might saving over a hundred people over and over again. Hopelessly wishing that if he’d watched it enough times, he would suddenly become a hero just like All Might.

So it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t logical.

Fundamentally, scaling the mountain was harder than jogging but that mostly relied on strength, not long term endurance. Strength was easy enough to excuse in his mind. Endurance wasn't; the longer he thought, the harder excusing himself became. The mountain didn’t remind him of the progress and hard work he’d lost nearly as much as this did. Each passing tree, each passing sign was just another prompt for that voice to cackle at him—that all that pain, all that time, all that fruitful labour was stolen away from him.

Izuku’s voice cracked, bitterness coating his tongue. “F—Fuck...”

To be fair to Izuku’s actual thirteen-year-old self, the “short-run” or “light jogs” his older self did were quite brutal for beginners. He may have justified it with a slower speed and a shorter runtime, or by comparing this to his original regiment with All Might, but honestly? This was still unfair to his past self.

He felt like giving up. Gravity was weighing down on him, the voice purring in his head, gripping his legs in a four-fingered vice—

Give up now and you better be ready to give up those legs, Deku.

But an even bigger part of him, the one who knew the outcome of being too lax—too slow, placed a stern hand on his back and pushed him forward.

Izuku stopped fighting against the forces gripping his body and leaned against the cool bricks. He allowed the tears to flow freely, needing the release. He never quite lost his crybaby trait; it just came out during high-stress situations. His eyes felt warm and puffy, the cool breeze cooing and kissing his cheeks. He tilted his head back, taking a deep breath in and out. He stared at the few visible stars in the sky, his brain finally registering the broadcast he was listening to.

It wasn't like he didn’t expect to have a mental break down sooner or later. At least it happened when he was alone and not in front of someone he cared about.

Izuku stood up straight, stretching his sore limbs. He was definitely going to need some ice when he got back. The air felt a little cooler now, the breeze passing by him taking his anger with it. He unclenched his fists and relaxed his jaw, closing his eyes until he saw clearly. He placed his hand over his chest, breathing in deeply, feeling his heartbeat slowing down under his palms.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“I’m slower than I expected but I’m still moving,” Izuku whispered to himself.

He may have started back at stage one but one step forward was still progress.

Taking a minute break, he resumed jogging—his speed considerably slower—distracting his thoughts with some news about a large All Might sponsored event happening soon.

Chapter Text

Thank you for the +1k kudos!!! Coming from a small fandom where getting 100 kudos was a high milestone, I'm incredibly happy right now!

A long time ago, I promised myself that if I finished the pre-UA arc or managed to reach 1k kudos I would finish the Scew the Reset Button if oneshot I've been writing. I honestly didn't think that I would reach 1k? So I've been putting it off till after my school term but uhhhhh thank you for blowing my expectations?

So Question!

Because I'm a busy student, I can only handle a few things on my plate for leisure. Would you rather see the next chapter go up or the "STRB if" oneshot?

The oneshot will be about what "if" Izuku's actual thirteen-year-old self went into his future self's timeline?

Aka if it was time travel+with young Midoriya in the future.

Preview:

Midoriya wiped the tears leaking from his eyes. He was pathetic. It's been two hours since he turned thirteen, a teenager! Yet he still cried like a child.

Many of the kids in his class bragged about being a teenager. Closer to adulthood, they claimed. More freedoms and opportunity, they said.

He remembered when Kacchan turned thirteen. Everybody congratulated him, and his childhood friend boasted about how mature he was. How, now, he was practically an adult—one step closer to becoming a hero. Ironically, seeing his signature grin made Midoriya hopeful. So distracted by his own celebration, he barely noticed him! Maybe a scowl when he wished him a happy birthday but by Kacchan's standards that was basically a friendly greeting!

So he thought, perhaps when he also reaches that age, he could also become like that. Happy, distracted, and content.

He didn't. He felt numb. He didn't feel any different from yesterday or the day before that.

But really, he should've expected this. I mean, what did he hope would happen? That when the clock hit midnight he was going to be magically cured of his anxiety and quirklessness like some modern Cinderella? No. If at all, that type of luck only applied to people like Kacchan. Not him. Never someone like him. He was the most average, plain person out there and people like him were delegated to the background.

He couldn't help but feel even more isolated at the thought.

Midoriya felt his eyes starting to droop, blinking once. Twice. And finally—

“Happy birthday to me…”

“To your left—!”

“Pay attention, sparky!”

“Watch out! This way!”

“Eat shit and die—!”

Midoriya’s head pounded; the sharp shrieks of sirens, explosions, and screaming cutting through his drowsiness. Slowly as his consciousness returned to him, he felt horrible—more than just the usual “slept in a weird angle and now my spine hurts”.

He winced, his sore muscles groaning in pain.

“Did I fall off the bed again?” he mumbled, rubbing the sore spot. “Why is the floor so hard and rough?" He froze. "… rough? ”

When he opened his eyes, he froze at the chaos around him. He wasn’t in his room, let alone his bed. He was outside in a forest. On fire . Light and explosions filled his vision, an enormous ice barricade cradling the area. Just how big was that ice to triumph in height over an entire forest?! He yelped as fire erupted in the distance, the smell of ash burning his nostrils. Explosions rang past the mob of trees as well as guttural screams that shook Midoriya to his very core.

"T—That doesn't sound human!"  he thought frantically, his mind trying to piece the information together.

Dust clouds detonated in waves like a heavy metal bass, each boom, sending Midoriya screaming as he flew back into a bent tree—splinters and sharp pieces of bark piercing his skin. He quickly shot forwards, doubling over at the searing heat burning on his exposed skin as if he was doused in acid.

"AHHH!!!"

He screamed until his throat burned but he couldn’t look away. It was like staring into an abyss on the edge of a cliff—sublime. He was trembling in pure, unadulterated fear; his heart beating against his throat, hammering his chest. But as tears blurred his vision and his organs contradicted, mouth dry and lung shrivelling, a strange sensation overtook him. Like as if the tiny shadows of people he could barely identify were All Might; the same sense of power radiating from them. He could feel it pumping through his blood.

He gasped.  He knew who those shadows were.

They were heroes!

Midoriya, despite his quivering lips, reached out as if hoping to grasp even an inkling of that power. Who were they? There were multiple people. What were their quirks? He saw fire and ice. Wind? Explosions? Thunder? They were so powerful. Maybe like All Might? Was All Might there? There was so much wind that it made breathing, let alone watching, intense and painful.

He wanted to meet them, to reach out to them, ask them who they were, how their quirks worked, how—

You’re nothing but a liability!

—he was standing in the way.