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Time travel is a bitch.
No, seriously. It wasn’t plan B nor plan C; hell, it was the lowest of the low on his list of alternative options. Even Izuku knows not to mess with time, because who knows what could happen with the whole “rip in space time continuum” ordeal? Certainly not him, who admittedly doesn’t have a degree in quantum mechanics.
Although, as someone who was between grieving his father-mentor figure while trying his best to carry the torch given to him and watching the literal apocalypse consume the world, one really can’t blame Izuku for not having enough time to unravel the sophistications of time travel.
“Oh no,” Izuku gasps, internally cringing when his voice comes out all high-pitched and squeaky, like some horrible imitation of Mickey Mouse. Going through puberty again was one thing, but at least he was mentally prepared for that hurdle. He expected to go through multiple hurdles, but this…
“No, no, no, no, no…” Izuku starts to panic.
Time travel wasn’t even Izuku’s first choice of method! Sure, of course, it would be nice to prevent any casualties that All For One had caused in his lifespan of two hundred years (and counting), but there was a reason why he was against any attempt to use Hatsume’s time machine. It wasn’t even because he expected the machine to fail, because God knows he had enough doubts about this whole plan in the first place, but… it did fail. It failed horribly.
Murphy’s Law—anything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Things can’t get worse, right?
A looming shadow engulfs Izuku, and there’s no warning before he hears, “Oh dear,” being called out by a sickening familiar voice. Izuku freezes, shock and denial running through his veins turning his blood ice cold, even as a gentle hand reaches out to stroke his excessively messy hair.
“What a little surprise we have here,” All for One sings with a coo, his face coming into Izuku’s view. Was the man always so big? Or was that just because Izuku had quite literally shrunk?
Izuku, expression remaining unchanged on his face, reaches up to feel the hand petting his hair with tiny little stubs for fingers wriggling around.
At some point, it clicks in his head. “Fucking time travel,” Izuku cries.
There’s a third plate on the dinner table.
Now, Yoichi has seen his brother make questionable choices in life, but at least most of them made some semblance of sense. Now, he’s wondering if he should be asking a doctor for advice on what seems to be the earliest age that a man can go senile. Or insane. Well, his brother has always been a degree of insane. Rather, “eccentric” is the more politically correct term to use here.
The third plate is accompanied by a highchair.
Alright, maybe Yoichi will give the asylum a call after dinner.
Of course, in a fashion that Yoichi knows to expect by now, his brother doesn’t explain a damn thing. The man acts as if this is all natural, as if there’s not a third empty seat at their dinner table, that the seat is not a highchair, and that the plate of food left untouched will not go to waste ultimately.
“Brother,” Yoichi calmly says, “Were… we expecting anyone tonight?”
“Ah, yes,” Hisashi replies, graciously wiping his mouth with a napkin. As casually as anyone like his brother can possibly be at a time like this, he adds, “It seems my son won’t be making an appearance as planned. He must’ve run off by now already.”
Yoichi chokes. “Son?”
It takes a moment for the white-haired man to process. He thinks over it once, twice, before laughing nervously. “Oh, I see, this is another one of your pranks! Good job, Hisashi, you had me there for a second!”
Hisashi raises an eyebrow. “Do I seem like the type of person to joke about such a thing?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m sure I would’ve already known if my brother had shacked up with a girl and gotten her pregnant and was harboring a secret lovechild this entire time. It’s just too unfeasible of a scenario to even consider. No need to keep the charade going—I’ll admire your commitment—”
“I have a son,” Hisashi repeats adamantly. “And he hates me. That is the primary reason why you haven’t been able to meet him yet. He utterly despises my presence…” he trails off with a thoughtful mumble. Which is rare for Hisashi, because the man rarely mumbles unless it involves a puzzle that he cannot figure out.
“You’re serious,” Yoichi cautiously tests.
Hisashi opens his mouth to speak when a loud knock on the door interrupts him. Hisashi smiles, a sight that never leaves Yoichi without a shiver down his back, and the older man excitedly claps his hand in an almost giddy manner. Yoichi doesn’t think he’s ever seen his brother act so uncharacteristically gleeful in his entire lifespan.
“They must’ve found him. I’ve sent both the police and my personal underlings after him,” Hisashi explains hurriedly as he rushes to the door, “I hardly believe in the force’s competence, but one can never be too cautious. I have confidence that even dogs could be useful for once; it would be telling if they could not locate a mere four-year old within the span of a couple hours.”
“Four? Your son is four years old? Brother, wait—wait!”
“Put me down!” Izuku wriggles in the bastard’s grip, legs and arms flailing uselessly in the air. Stupid toddler legs! What merciless torture is he being subjected to like this? If he didn’t have his memories, at least he could tolerate the embarrassment of not knowing the context to any of this! “Tyrant! Despot! I don’t want anything to do with you!”
“You’ve arrived just in time for dinner,” All for One declares. “Now, sit down.”
The moment Izuku is let down, he tries to make a grab for the highchair’s legs. Unfortunately, he finds out fast enough that his tiny body doesn’t hold enough strength to even be able to lift the thing off the ground, so he instead kicks it violently as hard as he can. The highchair knocks over, skidding across the wooden floor.
“I’m fucking four years old, not four months old! But I guess what else should I expect from the last person I would ever come to for parenting advice? I feel sorry for whoever has to play the role of your son,” Izuku intentionally pauses, angrily pointing to himself with his thumb, “Oh wait, that’s me! I can’t believe you sent your fucking lackey after me! He basically tried to strangle me—”
All for One’s face darkens at the exclamation, “I will see fit to punish whoever dared to even harm my son—”
“Did I say strangle? I meant nicely escorted me all the way to this house,” Izuku corrects himself. “Which in it by itself is a punishment far greater than any physical torture you could ever inflict on me. First, you kill All Might—”
“I did not,” All for One says, flabbergasted. “That fool caused his own end.”
Izuku chuckles, his innocent high-pitched tone contrasting what he says next. “And guess who’s going to cause your end next if you keep saying shit like that to my face?”
“All Might was a better dad than you ever were,” Izuku quickly adds, “and I may or may not be saying that just because I know how much it gets under your skin, because you are that much of a loser. It doesn’t matter, we both know it’s true, anyways. I bet Mom would’ve even li—”
“I apologize, brother,” All for One sighs sharply, “my son has… severe obedience issues. I’ve been trying to work on it to no avail, evidently.”
He scoops up Izuku up in his arms again, much to the violent protest of the four-year old boy if the small fists pounding on All for One’s chest is any evidence to go by. All for One merely pats the boy gently on the back, not at all perturbed by the repeated motion. Yoichi stares at him blankly, gears still turning in his head.
“I think it is for the best that my son retires for the night, without dinner. He’s clearly not well enough to be eating. I think a ‘grounding’ is appropriate for right now.”
“You can’t ground me! You’re not even my da—” Izuku’s voice is muffled when All for One shoves the boy’s face into his chest.
“There, there,” All for One calmly says. “I’ll even read you a bedtime story if you so wish. All you had to do was ask.”
Yoichi watches the two leave. The gears are still turning, and they don’t stop even after the two have long left the room.
Eventually, Yoichi breaks out of the spell, saying, “Oh my god,” in a hushed tone, “My brother’s taken custody of a psychopath.”
There must be a limit to Izuku’s stubbornness, Hisashi keeps telling himself. At some point, Izuku will begrudgingly break and realize that he has no other choice but to accept Hisashi’s proposal (however ludicrous it may seem), and only then they can start mending their broken father-son relationship.
Alas, Izuku has inherited his own stubbornness. The plates of food stacked atop of each other in front of his son’s door are an indication if nothing else is. Also, the little habit Izuku has of hiding whenever he barges into the room (without warning, mind you). At first, Hisashi bothered to knock, but he stopped as soon as he leaned it only served as a warning sign for the boy to duck under the bed so they couldn’t even see each other.
“Just let me go,” Izuku angrily grumbles, out of sight by hiding under the bed. “You can’t make things better between us. You are the last person I would ever want to be stuck in the past with, anyways. The worst part is that you’re not even looking for a way to get back.”
“Isn’t this the goal you had in mind when travelling back? Stopping me from performing my so-called ‘tyranny’ from an early stage before it escalated to the point it had?”
“Yeah, by like, killing you! Not by playing house!” Hisashi can hear Izuku rolling on the floor having a fit. “This is, by far, the stupidest situation I’ve ever gotten myself into! The worst part is I have no idea how to get back because… time travel…”
“Time travel! Why did it have to be time travel! And why did it have to be me who got sent back! They should’ve just sent Ochako or Aizawa-sensei or, or even Kacchan. I bet everyone wanted to see Kacchan relive a high school life where he wasn’t constantly screaming at everyone 24/7!”
“But no, of course, it was me. Now, I’m trapped two centuries in the past with my archnemesis not-father who keeps trying to make something out of nothing. Which is… not going to happen.”
“Forgive and forget?”
Izuku’s head peeks out from under the bed, glaring at Hisashi. “You are the prime example for why I don’t believe in that shit.”
Hisashi crosses his arms. “Language, young man.”
“Go to hell, old man,” Izuku spats, sliding back underneath the bed. “Don’t treat me like I’m a child, bastard.”
“Old… man…” Well played, indeed, son. Hisashi isn’t a quitter, though, and he’s not going to let his son die from his own determination to starve himself.
He decides enough is enough, and uses a quirk to break down the bed that’s separating him from his own son into particles, money is not any issue in any case, and just as Hisashi is about to gain a clear view of his son…
“Ah,” Hisashi calmly says when Izuku jumps up and stabs him in the shoulder with a knife.
“Brother, I’m worried for you,” Yoichi gently says, concerned. There’s a mop in his hand having just finished cleaning the blood trail off the floor. “I think there might be something wrong with your son.”
“Hmm? I’ve already put Izuku in timeout,” Hisashi casually points out.
“No, I mean… he—the boy stabbed you!” Yoichi presses on. “With a knife! And you’ve just put him in timeout? Don’t you think he deserves to be punished greater? Be taken to a child psychologist, perhaps?”
“There’s no need to go to such extreme measures. This is all normal, I reassure you. You’ll understand once you become a father.”
Anyone can tell that none of this is normal, brother! Yoichi screams inside his head. He understands that his brother may not be the most typical man in the world, but he will absolutely terrorize any person who shows him even the slightest degree of disrespect. Yet, right now, he acts like a simple stabbing incident from his own son is as trivial as if the boy had only lied about taking a cookie from the cookie jar!
“Are… you questioning my parenting techniques?” Hisashi asks with distaste at the look of his brother’s face.
He… stabbed… you! Yoichi adds but outwardly grits out with a feign smile, “No, of course not, brother.”
Hisashi doesn’t believe that smile for a second. He sighs. “Well, I may have been a little easy on him.”
“Just a little,” Yoichi emphasizes with sarcasm.
“I don’t know how to mend my relationship with him,” Hisashi confesses. “None of the parenting techniques taught in the books I’ve referenced are helping.”
“Nephew is a troubled child,” Yoichi says. “He’s a special case. You might want to get a professional’s advice to help you deal with him.”
Something inside Hisashi rumbles, startling Yoichi. “Are you implying that a ‘professional’ would know how to be a better father than me?”
Yoichi squeaks at the hostile reaction. Expression growing more nervous and anxious at upsetting his brother, he weakly says, “N—No, brother, that’s not what I was implying at all… I was just making a suggestion since you seem to be having trouble yet I don’t have any experience in dealing with children myself… Therefore, logically, you would want to seek out someone who… does have experience?”
“I would ask his mother for advice, but…” Hisashi’s expression darkens, “I can’t do that anymore.”
“Oh,” Yoichi awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, “I’m sorry to hear that. Is that how you suddenly gained custody of him?”
“Yes,” Hisashi surmises, “And he hates me. Hates me enough that he would rather die of hunger than have a simple dinner with me.”
Yoichi begins to feel bad for his brother, who is often misguided, for sure, but the man seems genuinely broken up at the moment. “You’re sure it’s because of you? Not because of the food itself?”
“I’m sure,” Hisashi says. “It has already been three days now since he’s started his little ‘diet’. We must deploy last resort measures…” He turns to Yoichi with that planning look Yoichi never liked.
A knock on the door. Izuku makes a grab for the knife, already knowing it’s useless. His father will be more prepared this time and probably confiscate his knife.
“Nephew?” A gentle voice calls out, muffled.
Oh. It’s the First One for All user. He sets the knife back down besides him, wiping off the dried blood on his pajama pants. “Come in.”
The door slightly opens to the sound of metal clanking. A metal helm peeks into Izuku’s bedroom, the helmet obscuring the face of the white-haired man. Izuku blinks. Oh.
“D—don’t be alarmed!” Yoichi quickly reassures the boy, despite Izuku being sure that any normal four-year-old would be alarmed by the getup his so-called uncle is wearing, “It’s just me, your uncle! If y—you happen to remember me from… that night but it’s alright if you don’t! I’m not here to punish you or anything so please don’t try to do anything rash.”
“It’s fine,” Izuku says. “I don’t have any reason to hurt you, anyways.”
The door creaks open all the way to reveal a full suit of armor. In the metal glove’s hand is a bowl of noodles. Izuku cannot believe that this is his life now. If fourteen-year-old Midoriya Izuku could peek into the future now, surely, he wouldn’t believe that training under All Might would lead to their predecessor cowering in fear of a de-aged version of him.
“I have food,” the man apprehensively says. “Don’t come towards me! I’m setting it gently on the floor, no sudden movements.”
“Who prepared it?” Izuku asks, suspicious.
“Me,” Yoichi answers. “I’m actually the one who cooks all the food in this house.”
“You better not be lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay. Is that all?”
“That depends. Will you truly eat or are you just telling me that in order to make me leave?”
Yoichi flinches when Izuku makes eye contact with him. It hasn’t dawned on Izuku until now how his behavior might make him seem… out of ordinary to any outsider with no context.
“Take a bite first,” Izuku says, “Then I’ll eat the rest.”
What is wrong with this kid? Yoichi thinks defeatedly. It feels like I’m being lured into a trap…
Still, Yoichi steps forward warily to do as the boy commands. Izuku stares adamantly at him, to the point that makes Yoichi break out in a cold sweat. “Is there something wrong?”
“Just making sure.”
“If I ask, would you tell me?”
Izuku smiles humorlessly. “You wouldn’t believe me, anyways.”
“Is someone hurting you? Were you hurt in the past?” Yoichi asks. “Do you think my brother will hurt you? Has he been hurting you?”
“None of those questions have straightforward answers.”
“It’s a simple yes-or-no.”
“It’s both,” Izuku says, “So not really that simple.”
“Could you at least try explaining?”
Izuku puts on a thoughtful expression, pondering on it. Yoichi feels safe enough that he lifts the facepiece of the helm slightly so his face can be seen and moves closer to his nephew. After some consideration, Izuku claps his hands together.
“Okay, so, how familiar are you with Star Wars?”
“I’ve placed an order for your new bed to arrive later today,” Hisashi hums. “Try not to break it this time, little one.”
“Now we’re gaslighting,” Izuku snorts. “I’m not the one who disintegrated it in the first place.”
“You made me lose my temper.”
“Again, not my problem. You’re not my dad, despite whatever you think,” Izuku hisses and tries to put on a grim expression, though combined with his baby face, it’s not very effective in what he wants to get across. “I believe that everyone has the right to disown their parents under specific circumstances. I’m sure I meet all those qualifications.”
“Then you’d be all alone.”
“You say that as if it’s worse than sticking around here, around you. I’m only here against my free will.”
“And you complain as if I torture you in this house every day. I’ve done nothing as of lately to earn your ire.”
Izuku darkly chuckles. “Should I make a list?”
“If anything, I’m the one with grievances,” Hisashi mutters. “The gash you’ve inflicted on my shoulder will leave a permanent scar.”
“Good. If I was living inside a movie right now, its genre would be psychological horror,” Izuku says. “If your plan was to strip me of my dignity little by little, then congratulations! You’ve succeeded. I don’t think any amount of therapy is ever going to make me forget about this.”
“Child psychologist,” Hisashi scoffs with disdain at the memory of his brother’s suggestion.
“I am not going to a child psychologist!” Izuku hisses.
“That was brother’s suggestion,” Hisashi adds.
“Well, yeah, he probably thinks I’m crazy after everything that went down,” Izuku says. “Have you even explained anything to him?”
“Why would I?” Hisashi asks, unconcerned with his brother’s ignorance. “He doesn’t need to know.”
“No wonder your brother hated you in your past life,” Izuku murmurs under his breath.
“Now you’re just trying my patience.”
“We’re all just one argument away from getting locked away in a vault for the rest of our lives. Unbelievable,” Izuku groans, “and the worst part is your brother doesn’t even realize it!”
Hisashi shrugs. “It won’t be a life lived in discomfort.”
“I’m aiming for the heart next time,” Izuku says. “Not that it’ll work. You’ll still be alive, the blade’ll get duller, and we’ll all be back on square one.”
“It is a terrible waste of time to spend all of it antagonizing me.”
“Antagonizing you is the only way I can currently cope.”
“All Might has clearly not taught you any manners.”
Izuku whips his head towards him, mouth gaping open and a fire in his eyes. “Don’t bring All Might into this.”
“The man was not a saint,” Hisashi says. “When will you learn to accept such a fact?”
“When you die.”
“It’s not good for your health to be so focused on revenge.”
“It’s not just for revenge,” Izuku clarifies. “It’s also because I hate you.”
Thankfully, Yoichi has been able to get Izuku eat. They have a daily routine now—Yoichi will go up to Izuku’s room by himself, have the first taste to relieve any of Izuku’s paranoia, and Yoichi will have his own personal “mealtime” with Izuku. It’s frustrating to Hisashi that the boy won’t come down by himself nor is willing to spend time with his own father, but at least this is better than the boy starving himself to death.
“He’s… actually pretty normal,” Yoichi says, stunned. “Unless he’s tricking me and is about to stab me any day now. You did confiscate his knife, right?”
“He’s potentially harboring multiple,” Hisashi hums as if it’s a futile gesture. Yoichi shivers at the comment.
“And you’re just… letting him keep them?”
“It fills him with a sense of security,” Hisashi reasons. “I’d rather him keep his weapons then have him running away at every opportunity possible.”
“What will you do about his education?”
“Hmm?” The thought hasn’t even occurred to Hisashi. Education? Surely his son would not be happy to be put back in a classroom full of kids his “age”, considering all of them would be barely intelligible enough to even hold a full conversation. Izuku is a prodigy now with his intellectual level. “I’ll hire a tutor for him.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bad idea to isolate the boy even further? He already spends all his time in his room alone!”
“It’s too risky to let him out on his own,” Hisashi says. “He’ll ‘go to school’ one day, and then won’t come back in the evening. He’ll be on a bus several hours away from us by the time we suspect foul play.”
“Do you expect to solve these behavioral problems by keeping him captive here? Brother, that’s no way to parent at all!”
“Fine, fine,” Hisashi waves off. “I’ll bring him with me to work.”
“That’s an even worse idea!” Yoichi shouts. “How can you have no self-awareness at all?! You’re a criminal in the eyes of the law—”
“Foolish label, really,” Hisashi dismisses.
“—and now you want to bring your son into that kind of environment! Have you no shame?”
“I’ll keep him safe,” Hisashi insists. “Nobody will mess with him while I’m there. You’re overreacting.”
“That’s—not the point! It’s about being a good influence! I mean—don’t you want him to be a good person?”
“No, I want him to like me,” Hisashi says, affronted. “If that means corrupting that silly little head of his, I’ll take it. Not that he would ever become corrupted—his silly little head is already filled with those ludicrous ideas of herohood and I doubt those will be going away any time soon.”
“Shouldn’t you have your son’s best interests at heart…”
“I am having his best interests at heart. They just so happen to align with mine.”
Yoichi gives up trying to change his brother’s mind, resorting to praying to whatever God that exists out there that the kid will somehow turn out alright in the end anyways. Oh, Izuku…
It has been six days since he’s even seen a glimpse of the bastard’s face, and it’s honestly been the best six days Izuku’s had since arriving in the past. Yoichi’s the one who has to deliver the news that their shared relative passed on.
“Tutor?” Izuku takes a bite of the sandwich, mildly curious. “Is it possible for me to request a specific tutor?”
“Brother did not mention anything like that. He calls you a prodigy and says you don’t need to go to school like the other children—”
“Well, at least we can agree on something,” Izuku darkly mutters.
“So, you are alright with these arrangements?”
“I need a tutor who can teach me quantum physics.”
“…Quantum physics,” Yoichi’s voice is lain with disbelief. He lets out a short nervous chuckle, hoping it’s another one of those “pranks” that children often like to pull. Unfortunately, Izuku is his brother’s child. Izuku’s expression does not change during this exchange. “Quantum physics,” Yoichi reiterates with even more disbelief.
“I need to build a time machine.”
Oh. Yoichi’s expression turns into one of understanding, and Izuku hates it, he absolutely fucking hates it. “Ah… I see… little nephew has big ambitions, indeed. What a spectacular imagination!”
“I wish it were my imagination,” Izuku shakes his head forlornly, “Oh, I really really wish it was.”
“There, there, little nephew. I’m sure my brother would be willing to entertain your request.”
I need a hero, Izuku wants to sob.
Sano Daichi is neither competent in quantum physics nor competent in anything, really, even though he supposedly has numerous (obviously fake) degrees under his belt. Izuku is not impressed, but he doubts his father took his desperate plea for quantum physics seriously. Either that, or the man’s background was not thoroughly checked. Eh. Izuku’s already over it.
The children’s book is thin enough for him to rip in half with his bare hands, even with the strength of his four-year-old body, and he dumps the tattered remains straight in the trash. He approaches the “tutor” with a stone-cold face, stating, “Could you at least bring me a book about quantum physics tomorrow if you’re going to be this useless?”
Daichi fumbles around with his phone, furiously texting (not suspicious at all, definitely no alarm bells going off in Izuku’s head) before agreeing. They don’t really do anything; the tutor continues to go on his phone while Izuku uses the man’s laptop to look up the basics of quantum physics. Not that he gets far. Pain. Pain is all he can use to describe his situation.
“Motherfucker,” Izuku furiously curses, slamming his fingers on the keys. He knew he should have paid close attention when Hatsume was explaining how it worked! But it wouldn’t have mattered anyways because it all sounded like fucking mumbo-jumbo gibberish at the time! It was like a whole another language that Hatsume spoke, who the hell can interpret all the mumbo-jumbo talk?!
“Careful kid, that laptop is worth more than this house,” the “tutor” warns.
“My father has enough money to buy the country if he wanted to,” Izuku groans. “By any chance, do you know anyone who specializes in quantum physics?”
“You’ve got some weird obsession going on here. Aren’t ya supposed to be into Legos or something?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be teaching me something? Or are you just going to keep making it increasingly apparent that you’ve never been in the same room with a child for more than five minutes?”
“I can teach you fraction multiplication,” Daichi mutters.
“Useless,” Izuku emphasizes.
A knock on the door makes the both of them exchange glances. Izuku, at this exact moment, humbly prays that whoever is behind that door will be anybody except his father. Thankfully, his prayers are answered.
“Little nephew? Can I come in? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
Izuku doesn’t blink when he says, “We’re not doing anything.” The tutor breaks into a slight cold sweat, fiddling with his glasses nervously. Glasses which are obviously fake. Not suspicious in the slightest…
“Oh, good,” the door opens to Yoichi, smiling gently at Izuku. “I have a little present for you.”
“Oh good god,” Izuku mumbles under his breath, forcing a smile on his face. Only Daichi is close enough to hear, but the man has enough grace not to comment.
Yoichi hands Izuku a thin hardcover book with the title, “Quantum Physics for Babies”. Izuku tries not to let his mortification show on his face, although his hands feel weak and he wants absolutely nothing more than to scream in both rage and agony.
“T—Thank you,” Izuku forces out. “Uncle. It’s such a thoughtful gift.” There’s some bitterness that leaks into his voice, but Yoichi is none the wiser.
When Yoichi leaves, Izuku gives a light laugh. The tutor watches him, bewildered, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with this kid, but Izuku couldn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything except about going home, being in his very adult body again, and living life to its fullest simplicity. Also known as, none of this shit he has to deal with.
“I think,” Izuku nods his head while saying, “I’m going to fucking die.”
Hisashi storms in the house, tired from having to deal with insignificant dullards all day. Although these circumstances have proven to be considerably beneficial in his favor, he does miss having allies with an IQ of higher than 100. Other than the doctor, of course, but their alliance is in its infancy stages at this current point in time.
“Good news, brother!” Yoichi exclaims with excitement. “Izuku says he would be joining us for dinner tomorrow!”
Hisashi’s mood immediately lights up. It’s been around two weeks ever since he initially hired that tutor, which also means it’s been around a month since he’s held a civil conversation with Izuku. “Truly?”
Yoichi is teeming with genuine enthusiasm at the prospect. “Yes!”
A sense of pride and vindication swells in Hisashi. He knew it was only a matter of time before Izuku would surrender and accept being his son. And now, that time has come.
“We must prepare for tomorrow then,” Hisashi states.
“Should we order out from somewhere?”
“No need, I’ll call a catering service to come by tomorrow.”
“C—Catering?”
“You don’t expect me to not spoil my son? I’ve been wanting to do so ever since he arrived, even if he absolutely detests it.”
“I think he would hate it if you treated the occasion as something grander than it is.”
“It is a grand occasion.”
“It’s just one dinner. It’s not even his birthday!”
“It’s the start of many dinners,” Hisashi smiles, already imagining his son acting placated and civil at the dinner table despite… everything that made Izuku… well, Izuku. Yoichi can tell his brother is going a little too far with the fantasizing—although Izuku can be a very sweet boy, there’s always just a little something… unhinged about the boy.
“We’ll see,” Yoichi says nervously.
Izuku does not show up to dinner the next day. In fact, when Yoichi checks the boy’s room, it’s empty. He inspects the window, but the safety latch is still there. Somehow, he’s escaped.
Oh no.
“Time travel is impossible without parallel universes. It’s a fact,” Izuku argues. “Theoretically, parallel universes could exist without time travel, but it wouldn’t work vice versa.”
Daichi wants to pull his hair out because he’s decided he absolutely fucking hates time travel after two weeks full of long-winded discussions and heated arguments about the logistics of quantum physics. Daichi doesn’t have any degree in quantum physics nor does he have any qualifications to teach Izuku anything on the topic, so the man compensated by showing the little boy his favorite time travel movies as if it’s enough to replace a college degree in quantum physics, and did Daichi mention how much he hates the fact that he’s learned more about quantum physics than he’s ever wanted to learn in the last two weeks?
“No, no, no. We would just stop existing if time travel were real,” Daichi’s colleague in black, Hanako, argues. They’re in a van right now, windows sealed off, and Izuku’s hands are bound by handcuffs, but somehow miraculously, they let the kid bring his fucking quantum physics notes. Daichi cringes when he’s reminded of the fact that he thought this prodigy freak was going to be satisfied by fucking legos when Daichi can’t even comprehend half the shit that comes out of the boy’s mouth anymore.
“Okay, yeah, that’s why parallel universes exist. I mean, if time travel were real, and our universe was so distinct and if it were to collapse because of some time paradox, then existence itself wouldn’t exist anymore. That’s why parallel universes have to exist, as a cushion,” Izuku explains calmly. He’s not even vaguely scared of the strangers (except Daichi, of course) which… is in-line for what Daichi has learned about Izuku, honestly.
“But there’s no evidence of that,” Hanako insists.
“Do we need evidence to know they exist? Gathering hard, concrete evidence is basically impossible; but, theoretically speaking, if one had time travelled backwards in time and the universe was still standing, it would pretty much confirm parallel universes exist.”
“Not entirely. No paradox would be made unless you changed something that directly affects anything about you in the future. You could just pop back for a visit and come back to the present and nothing would’ve changed.” Hanako pauses to think for a moment. “Unless you subscribe to the belief of the butterfly effect.”
“Butterfly effect or not,” Izuku darkly mutters, “I’m definitely affecting whatever timeline’s future I’m stuck in right now.”
“Can you two please just shut up?” The driver, also wearing a black mask over his head, groans, “Daichi, duct tape this kid’s mouth shut already! I think I’m gonna go fucking crazy if I have to listen to ten more minutes of this mumbo-jumbo sci-fi shit.”
“Oh, you’re gonna go crazy now? Join the club buddy, I’ve already gone insane from living in my worst nightmare for weeks. Let me tell yo—” Izuku’s voice goes muffled when Daichi pulls the duct tape over his mouth, legs trying to kick around in protest.
“Yooo ahhh gnn… ffffff dddd….”
“Oh my—thank god,” the driver sighs in relief.
These people are going to fucking die, and it won’t be Izuku’s fault because he tried to warn them.
“Sorry kid, no hard feelings,” Daichi tells him when he’s hoisted into a room—a cell, if you will. It’s dark, dingy, and everything one would associate with typical low-brow trashy villains—except Shigaraki Tomura. That guy just has issues, period.
Izuku says something back, voice still muffled behind the tape. He looks up at Daichi pleadingly—with the biggest puppy eyes he can muster—fuck dignity and sanity altogether. He’d given up those a long while ago.
Daichi looks at him with a wary look, shaking his head. “I’m not taking it off, if that’s what you’re asking for.”
“Iiiii haaafffff ssssomnf taaaah saaahn,” Izuku tries again.
Izuku bangs on the wall with his fist relentlessly. The skin on his fist begins to turn an angry red, causing Daichi to grimace. Izuku doesn’t stop, however, all the fury’s that’s been building up for the past few weeks only egging him further on to continue, until the skin on his hand begins to break—
“Alright, alright, I’ll take the tape off, just stop—stop doing that to yourself!” Daichi grumbles, fumbling to hold Izuku still.
At this point, Izuku doesn’t really give a single fuck anymore. He’s no stranger to pain. He’s been through hell more than thrice already and he’ll go through hell again to get what he wants.
Daichi rips the flimsy piece of tape off, and the first thing Izuku says is, “You are all going to fucking die at this rate.”
Before Daichi can say anything, Izuku elaborates, “But not by my hand. You and your team haven’t even done your research properly if you haven’t realized exactly who the fuck you guys are messing with.”
“We’ve dealt with the police before. Thanks for the concern, kid, but we’ve been doing this for years now.”
Izuku laughs, a maniacal cackle that embodies the overwhelming amounts of pity for this guy’s total blissful ignorance. He’s still out in the fields frolicking about without even an ounce of understanding of the storm this man has just summoned.
“The police?!” Izuku wheezes. “No, no, you’re lucky if the police shows up for my ass. It’s the family you’re about to deal with—the moment the ransom notice gets sent out, let me tell you, hell will rain upon this facility, and that monster only wants blood in payment.”
“…That man is a one-man army.” Izuku cracks a bittersweet smile, distant memories playing in his head. “He’ll fucking take everyone you love and slaughter them in front of you. He’s the boogeyman hiding under your bed who doesn’t give a fuck about human lives, treats them as nothing but his playthings, and when he gets bored, he’ll move onto the next thing. He’s the type of man who’ll dominate the world, kill off eighty percent of the population, and still treat tomorrow like it’s another casual Wednesday.”
“And as much as I hate to admit it, I am that monster’s son and you’ve all fucked yourselves by taking me as hostage,” Izuku says. “Not that I’m really in any danger, I could leave anytime I want, but that thing won’t be satisfied until there’s red on the walls.”
“Surely, you’ve heard about the boogeyman of Japan,” Izuku tells Daichi in a faux innocent tone. “Why, every criminal working in the underworld knows about him.”
“No, that man—” Daichi’s eyebrows furrow, the memory of Hisashi coming to mind: white-haired, always wearing a suit and tie, polite smile, a knowing perhaps even over-confident businessman grin on the man’s face, unassuming, will talk over your head about his son in every degree possible… It can’t be. It couldn’t be him. This is just one of the boy’s tricks. He’s a smart boy, he knows what to say to get on Daichi’s nerves.
Wait.
The strange brothers and the boy who live in an unassuming house… despite its close proximity to the bad neighborhoods of the city. That’s normal, right?
The way the father never talked about his job… but that’s because all the man is willing to talk about is his son. Every thing that the man has said is related to his son, so, there’s no reason to reveal his job as the everyday salary man.
…The fact that despite the man having a “job” that he’s always home, no matter the time of day. Flexible schedule? Work at home dad? Stay at home dad? Rich fathers have more privileges to do… whatever they want. Alright, not an everyday salaryman (duh), they have a big income. Stay at home dad. Definitely.
They chose this family because they live in an area where… the police… intentionally avoids the area… but that’s because of the close proximity to the bad neighborhoods, it’s just a coincidence? It’s not as if the police would avoid that specific area because the big boss happens to live there, right? Right?!
“Stay here,” Daichi hisses to Izuku. “Not that anyone would believe your insane, completely nonsensical story but… I… have to go to the bathroom. Don’t think about doing anything funny.”
I won’t, but only because everyone here would die if I left now, Izuku thinks. Seriously, he’s going out of his way to save these people he doesn’t know, but even one less victim for that monster to kill would be a win.
“The bathroom. Right…” Izuku trails off with rolled eyes as Daichi flees the room.
“Hey, Hanako?”
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be guarding the hostage!” Hanako asks sharply. “We’re getting ready for the trade-off.”
Daichi pales, trying not to think about what the boy had told him. The boy had to be lying. Surely. Surely. “So, you’ve already…” he clears his throat, his voice lower, “sent the ransom?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“And the trade-off is being done… here. In this warehouse.”
“What is this, twenty questions? It’s the same routine we’ve done over and over,” Hanako snaps. “You know the drill. Part of that drill is you watching the captive and making sure he doesn’t run off.”
“I’m just… something about this feels wrong. Don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t even know what the fuck you’re trying to imply. Just… go back and guard the boy. We’re handling the rest.”
Daichi comes back with a roll of bandages, to which Izuku is pleasantly surprised. The man wraps his hand in gauze, gingerly touching Izuku’s arm like he’s an actual hurt four-year-old in need of patching up.
“Thanks,” Izuku says, because he’s learned to be grateful if nothing else.
“Theoretically,” Daichi says in a tiny voice. Ironic considering that Izuku has only been talking in theoretical for the past few weeks, ever since Daichi became his “tutor”. Fake tutor. Whatever, Izuku had low hopes from the start that he’d ever get anywhere with his so-called time machine.
“—Theoretically, if what you said was true, and we really did piss off the Demon King of Japan’s underworld…” Daichi breathes in a sharp wince, “And if we had just, oh, you know, sent the ransom notice to said Demon King—”
“I give it five minutes,” Izuku deadpans. “Maybe even less.”
A boom resonates in the distance, ominous as ever. Izuku’s sure it’s not a coincidence, and he looks Daichi straight in the eyes. “Definitely less. What’s your plan, wise guy? Do you even have one?”
“I… uhh…” Daichi reaches for the gun at his holster, to which Izuku rolls his eyes.
“That’s not going to help,” Izuku supplies unhelpfully. His eye twitches. Of course, he should’ve known that a team of low-brow criminals weren’t going to remotely compare to his old team of friends who’ve become experts at dealing with All for One and associated shenanigans, but this team had supposedly been doing this for years—this is just plain unprofessional.
Granted, they must’ve never had to deal with a threat such as All for One before. Izuku supposes that All for One as a concept doesn’t even fully exist as of yet—had All for One not jumped back in time with him. It would’ve just been plain ol’ Hisashi terrorizing everyone instead.
“I have to do everything around here,” Izuku says with his eyes rolled back. “Just untie me so I can get to work before you get your ass killed. If you’re worried about your friends—well, there’s always the option of dying with them. Your choice. It’s either ride or die when dealing with that fucking thing.”
Daichi, even in his state of shock, has enough piece of mind to undo Izuku’s restraints. Mentally in his head, Izuku counts down the seconds, mentally cursing in his head.
Izuku sucks in a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain, before biting down on his uninjured hand. Hard. Daichi cries out, eyes alert to the red that gushes out from the boy’s hand.
“What the hell are you doing!” Daichi cries out.
“Shut up and let me do the work,” Izuku musters, wiping the blood in a specific way on one of Daichi’s cheek. “You still have those fake glasses, right?”
Daichi wordlessly hands them over without as much of a complaint, and Izuku crushes it beneath the soles of his feat, skewing the novelty item and placing it on Daichi’s face. He also ruffles the man’s clothes—still in his tutor-ly attire different from his colleagues—thank god for this man because that fact is about to save his fucking life. For good measure, he also pops off one of the man’s shoes and flings it across the floor.
“Okay, I’m also going to need to punch you to make it believable. It’s going to leave a bruise,” Izuku announces. “Three, two—” He doesn’t even wait for one before throwing a fist straight for the cheek that’s not marred in Izuku’s blood. He aims for right below the eye, the sound of impact harsh in even his own ears. Too much, Izuku notes, but it is a small price to pay for the disguise to work well.
“Sorry,” Izuku says, not sounding the slightest apologetic in any way, shaking his right hand. “No hard feelings, like you said.” He frantically takes the roll of the gauze and wraps it around the other hand he had bit on earlier, pain mostly subsided by now anyways.
The both of them are alerted to the screams outside the cell door, Izuku wincing. “Also, sorry about your friends.”
“I am so screwed,” Daichi groans.
“Part of the job,” Izuku says. “You get used to it.”
Daichi rubs at the spot that Izuku had assaulted—it fucking stings.
The seconds inside Izuku’s head are growing lower. Izuku takes the rope used to tie his hands and feet together to wrap them around Daichi’s own wrists, not too tightly, but enough of a job to at least look competent. He also takes Daichi’s holster and throws it on the ground. He takes the gun and counts the seconds in his head again, listening for his moment.
The screams don’t die down so much as they abruptly end, one by one… Izuku pulls the trigger when the counting in his head reaches zero, not flinching when the bullets ricochet off the door frame.
“I hope you’re ready to act for your life. Literally,” Izuku tells Daichi.
Hisashi is glad that Yoichi is staying put at home, having insisted on calling the police to handle such matters. The police are useless in this situation, and even more of a bother considering the carnage Hisashi will leave behind, but it’s better than letting his precious younger brother onto the scene and developing that damn hero complex even sooner than expected.
He walks in, calling the nearest clean-up crew from his connections to do a spontaneous appointment within… as soon as possible. He’s not going to leave any evidence for the police, in the case his brother gets a little curious about what may or may go down soon.
(His nosy little sibling will undoubtedly cast suspicion on him nonetheless, but at least the lack of concrete evidence will throw the man off.)
He arrives at the drop-off site with an unimpressed glance. Surely, the criminals who kidnapped his son would’ve at least had the better funds to afford more… lavish hideouts than this dump of a warehouse. Strangely enough, he’s reminded of a certain failure of an old former protégé.
A woman in black attire comes out of a door with the loud squeak that accompanies its opening, her suspicious eyes focused on Hisashi. Hisashi resists the urge to yawn—he’s polite, if nothing else, even if this whole ordeal is boring him with its slow and predictable developments.
“Where’s my son?” Hisashi demands lazily.
The woman darts her eyes around. Beady eyes looking for her prize. “The ransom?”
Hisashi both understands and doesn’t understand other humans. His son is… an exception of sorts, which is a whole another discussion that is to be had, but these everyday criminals are so… simple in their desires, it kills Hisashi to even entertain their silly little follies.
To kidnap a child for the sake of money… it truly shows Hisashi that these people don’t live for anything but material possessions, and in a way, he envies these simple-minded folks who could be satisfied by such a mind-numbing concept. It’s not as money itself has any real value past what society has given it—and society is one thing Hisashi is capable of crumbling under his fist in a matter of days. Especially now that One for All isn’t here to stop him.
(Except his son, but his son is powerless in his current form.)
“I’d like to see my son in person first.”
Hanako rolls her eyes. “We’ll bring him out when you show us the money first.”
Hisashi smiles. It’s his usual smile that can both play off as threatening and non-threatening, though, his colleagues over the decades have learned to fear this specific smile, a smile rumored to have been built off the backs of nightmares and sacrifice innocents.
“So, he’s here, then,” Hisashi hums in a harmless tone.
That’s the last thing Hanako hears before her eyes widen, and a scream is ripped out from her throat involuntarily at the pain that succumbs her.
“Ugh, I just got this horrible chill…” Izuku says, rubbing his arms while still holding the gun in his hand. A quite comical sight for a four-year-old boy. “Can’t believe you all got me mixed up in this mess. It was your funeral you all signed up for.”
“…We didn’t know,” Daichi says softly. “How could’ve we have known we were… messing with someone we shouldn’t have been.”
“Oh, don’t go all existential crisis on me,” Izuku quips. “The less you think about it, the better. You guys were just… unfortunate. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to have your entire life uprooted beyond your control.”
“You sound so experience for someone who looks like they barely just graduated from diapers.”
“You really haven’t been paying attention, have you? There’s a fucking reason I’m building a time machine.”
“Wait, you—” Daichi is interrupted by a loud clang, startled out of his mind when the metal door is broken off its hinges by its handle. Izuku looks at the approaching figure with nothing but scorn deep in his eyes, while all Daichi can do is tremble in fear.
The whole team is probably dead… Daichi shakes his head, remembering Izuku’s advice. Don’t think about it. Not now. Not when it’s showtime.
“Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” Hisashi says with a stern frown. The man’s eyes are laser-focused on the gauze around Izuku’s hands—and the speck of red that seeps through the material. He barely notices the quivering Daichi—which is good. “You’re hurt.”
“Thanks, captain obvious,” Izuku snarks. He leans his back against the wall, pressing the gun between himself and the wall through sheer force. He knows All for One would find it suspicious if he hadn’t shown both hands in the man’s eyesight.
All for One and him make eye contact for a full minute, complete silence other than the bustling happened outside the cell door. Izuku can see the man’s eyes analyzing him, the situation at hand, and what would logically be the next best move. Meanwhile, Hisashi can see the boy’s eyes, the lack of gratitude, the suspicion, and most of all, the attentive distrust. It seems it’ll be harder to break the boy than originally thought.
“U—Uh—Uh,” a small voice stammers besides them. Daichi cowers beneath All for One, almost speechless at the bloodstains that splatter over the man’s once-pristine suit. The bloodstains of his former allies.
“I think you’ve broken him,” Izuku sighs. He tries to play it off casually, ignoring the creeping sensation of unease on his nerves. He’s learnt to suppress it over the years in situations like these. “No amount of compensation is going to be able to pay the therapy you owe this guy.”
“…Memory-erasing quirk,” Hisashi says. “A much quicker and simpler solution.”
Izuku snorts. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”
“It’s been on the mind lately,” Hisashi admits, and Izuku’s eyes dangerously flash.
That’s all the warning the young boy gives before he quickly reaches behind his back with his right hand and aims it straight at Hisashi’s chest, pulling the trigger multiple times before he even positions the weapon properly in front of him.
Daichi jumps in his own skin, mouth agape at Izuku with an expression that screams, What the hell are you doing, not unlike the other expressions the man frequently makes.
The bullets clatter to the floor.
Hisashi looks down at his suit with disapproval, brushing at the holes as if it would make them go away. He yawns.
Izuku drops the now-empty gun to the floor, guarded expression remaining emotionless. “I think I’d rather die than let you have your way with me.”
“I know,” Hisashi says with pure disinterest in his voice. “It’d be too easy, and that spirit of yours is too stubborn to hold down anyways. It wouldn’t work. I’m not so much of a fool to even try.”
“Oh, I’d like to see you fucking try.”
“Language,” Hisashi says, a warning edge to his voice.
What… just what in the world is this messed up family… Daichi thinks with horror alight in his eyes. (If Izuku were listening in on the man’s thoughts, he’d probably commentate something along the lines of… “So, you’ve only just now noticed after all that time spent in our house”.)
“Nephew!”
Izuku is surprised when Yoichi swoops in to give the small boy a big hug, squeezing the air out of his now-tiny lungs. He wheezes with the amount of force that Yoichi puts into the show of affection, slightly surprised at the contrast of the pathetic cowardly man he had gotten used to in such little time.
“U—Uncle Yoichi, I need air…” Izuku groans, and the man backs away with a nervous yet relieved smile plain as day on his face.
“You had me worried about you,” Yoichi says, eyes blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay. “I always knew that one day, brother’s notoriety was going to catch up to him… you’re completely in the right to place all the blame on him—”
Hisashi’s glare makes the white-haired brother shut up at once.
“It,” Hisashi says with a clenched jaw, “This,” he corrects, “Was not my doing. The ones who had kidnapped Izuku did not even know whose son they were kidnapping.”
“You turned them over to the police, right?” Yoichi asks.
Oh you sweet, sweet summer child, Izuku grimaces. He remembers the Yoichi vestigial spewing out tales from the good ol’ days, but that vestigial really downplayed the naivety he once held. When OFA!Yoichi had spoken about the trust in his brother being misplaced… he really just ignored all the blaring warning signs, didn’t he?
Hisashi hoists Izuku up with no warning, crushing the small body against his shoulder, much to the murderous complaint of the deceivingly young boy.
“Put me down, you f—” Hisashi muffles the boy’s mouth with his hand.
“Of course,” Hisashi says. “It’s the right thing to do, after all.” Cue fake innocent smile.
You utter bastard, you wouldn’t know what the right thing is even if it stabbed you through your non-existent heart—!
…Regardless of the events that have taken place over the past couple… chaotic days, Izuku is still looking for a way to time travel back to his future.
Daichi, wearing a clean new outfit from the money given to him through a spontaneous (or not so spontaneous) pay raise, is astounded of how one four-year-old boy’s mind can be so one-track minded. After all they’ve been through together. It’s strange going back to such a familiar routine.
Granted, it’s always been a confusing routine.
“You don’t even know what I’d give up to have an up-and-working time machine. I think I’d sell my soul to Satan if it gets me what I want.”
“You never change,” Daichi sighs.
“Uh, duh. I want to get away from this hell as soon as possible. That man wants to play domestic house, and I’m out here letting the world burn with every second that passes while I’m here. What’s even the point if I don’t get the satisfaction of killing him?”
“Either you’re a really good actor for your age or you really are some time-traveler stuck in a kid’s body,” Daichi grumbles.
“That man got shot point-blank in the chest and didn’t even acknowledge it. He’s a literal hydra—but instead of heads, he grows more weird-father-complex-y towards me. It’s so creepy,” Izuku looks disgusted at the end. “I can’t tell if he’s purposely trying to inflict the worst type of psychological torture on me, or if it’s his twisted way of showing affection after all the shit he’s pulled.”
“…Can I quit?” Daichi asks to nobody in particular.
Hisashi examines himself in the mirror.
Though at the time, he pretended as if the bullets hadn’t fazed him at all, truth be told, they left scars on his body, even if they only made brief impact with his body. He… had some longevity quirks under his belt at the time, yes, but nothing as accumulated as what he was used to. He certainly doesn’t have the quirk that dulls pain yet—he felt every one of those bullets pass through him, but he was naturally resilient to letting any emotions show in his body language.
Still, it’s not the physical pain that hurts the most.
Hisashi doesn’t understand what he’s been doing wrong. RAISING YOUR CHALLENGING CHILDREN: THE ULTIMATE GUIDE FOR STRUGGLING FATHERS has given him the tips and tools needed—he’s been patient, he’s been understanding, he’s been waiting for the right moments to show his son that he truly cares. He saved that little wrench from that team of amateur kidnappers.
(Well, deep down, he knows that Izuku was never in any real danger, and his son was surely capable of dealing with the situation on his own, but it’s the thought that should prove sentimental to Izuku.)
Instead of a tearful reunion, his son punched a couple of tiny holes in him. The savior.
Maybe brother is right—he should take Izuku to a child psychologist, seeing how RAISING YOUR CHALLENGING CHILDREN: THE ULTIMATE GUIDE FOR STRUGGLING FATHERS mentioned looking out for early signs of sociopathy and narcissism.
Hmm…
Yoichi, Izuku, Hisashi all sit on one couch, and the child psychologist calmly sits on the other side of the coffee table, eyes darting from man to child to man.
“In all my years, I’ve never seen a more dysfunctional family case than this,” the psychologist warily states. “I mean, I just… I don’t know if I or anyone alive could help repair the damage in this family.”
“It’s that bad?” Yoichi asks, concerned.
The psychologist brings out a manilla folder, opening it to reveal three innocuous sheets of paper. He holds up the first sheet—
A crude drawing of a tiny stick figure smiling by a box filled with water, and another stick figure man in the box of water having his upper half and face shown sticking out of a shark’s mouth. On the floor was two sticks, supposedly representing legs, and lots of red crayon scribbled around the white space. A distance from the violent drawing is a drawing of a little stick figure in a box that is full of wires sticking out.
“This is what Izuku drew for the prompt of family,” the psychologist says.
“Is that me?” Yoichi asks pointing to the smiling stick figure on the side.
“Yes,” Hisashi hums. He points to the stick-figure in the process of getting eaten, “And that’s me.”
“I’m over here, time-travelling away,” Izuku explains with his own finger pointing at his stick-figure equivalent.
“…I’m afraid at this rate, Izuku might be showing budding signs of a troubled child,” the psychologist tells them.
I knew it! Yoichi clutches his head with both hands. Brother helped give birth to a psychopath!
“That’s not all.” The psychologist takes the second sheet of paper, holding the contents up for the whole group to see. Izuku in particular leans in to get a good look of what to make out.
Three stick figures holding hands together, flowers drawn around them, a sun with a smiley face on it…
“Let me guess, uncle drew this one,” Izuku snorts.
“No, I drew it,” Hisashi says.
(Yes, Izuku does want to die, he must re-emphasize as much as possible.)
“I believe this uncovers some of the… delusion happening in this family,” the psychologist carefully explains, voice walking on eggshells.
“Well, now you gotta reveal uncle’s drawing,” Izuku says.
The last drawing: a little boy sitting on the floor smiling, blood on the floor, a stick-figure man with one arm missing also smiling with the little speech bubble attached saying, “are you winning, son”. The speech bubble, “ur not my dad” is attached to the little boy. On the side is another adult stick-figure with a shock expression and a little speech bubble saying, “dear god what is happening”.
“You know, all things considered, this is pretty accurate,” Izuku compliments with a shrug.
“It’s working!” Fourteen-year-old Mei Hatsume exclaims with excitement, enthusiasm, and joy when the machine she built starts to glow. Power Loader realizes that this machine might actually work and a sense of dread snakes up his spine. Why did he even let this U.A. candidate turn it on in the first place?
The machine whirls to life, lights and all glowing, and sparks start to form as the shadow of a figure appears in the portal.
Students now gathering around the machine watch in awe and anticipation as the shadow grows less and less obscure until a very visible green-haired four-year-old pops out, eyes glancing around the classroom. Izuku stares at Power Loader, who stares back at him, and he takes a look down at his body and horrible realization dawns upon him.
“What year is it?” Izuku asks.
“Time travel,” Power Loader curses.
“Fucking time travel,” Izuku agrees with a groan. He quickly turns to teenage Mei Hatsume, frantically adding, “Let me take a look at the calibration. I can try to fix it myself.”
But, of course, the portal lights up once again, and Izuku already knows exactly what is to happen, because the universe was never one to give him any breaks. “Ah, it’s over,” he says.
Two men appear this time, both with white hair, and the machine fizzles out with their arrival. Reunited at last, much to Izuku’s horror. “Never mind,” Izuku tells Hatsume, shoving his face into his heads at the absolute despair he feels at the moment. “It’s just all over, isn’t it?”
New plan: go back in time to kill whoever came up with the term Murphy’s Law.