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Izuku missed it, sometimes.
Sure, it’d been a year and a half since All for One had been defeated when he crashed Class 3-A’s Graduation Ceremony, but the memory still lingered.
Whenever he planted himself in front of the TV beside a dozing Toshinori, watching the heroes—his friends, his classmates—deliver blow after blow on some poor villain, he can’t help but be beside them in the moment.
He matched Red Riot’s feral grin as they wore out their opponent. A flying kick was deflected by a series of explosions, and they both looked up to see Dynamight’s equally wild snarl.
Behind a building, he carefully casted his senses out while Earphone Jack plugged into the collapsed wall. Footsteps, the scrape of a chair. Just above was the soft crying of a child. They both nodded at Fatgum and the scene erupted into noise and shattered glass.
The continuous flash of the cameras were as blinding as always. Still, he smiled awkwardly through it all, intent on keeping Shouto company. Todoroki’s expression was impassive, but the bead of sweat blooming on his forehead was unmistakable. He squeezed the Hero’s hand.
Momo’s smile was pleasant, neutral, even in the face of the hard-hitting questions from the press. Hero society had been torn down in the wake of the War, and his friends were quick to join the uproar for its change. Beside her, Izuku hid a smile. There was no other as poised and graceful as Momo to lead the charge.
Just as quick as he was to immerse himself in his friends’ successes, he was jolted out with a twinge of pain.
Izuku glanced down. Scars criss-crossed his right arm, reaching and stretching across the skin. The same would be said for his other arm, if he still had it. All that was left was a startling absence he’s yet to be used to, and a sleeve pinned in an elaborate design—the work of Toshinori, no doubt. He’s glad his father’s putting his newfound knot tying hobby to good use.
It took a while for him to recognize where exactly he’s hurting. In a body that spent a good majority of its life being thrown around and its bones being broken willy-nilly, it tended to accumulate a bunch of aches from where the cuts and bruises hadn’t quite healed. Which meant, as reckless and self-sacrificing he was when he still used to work on the field, it hurt all over.
Not that it bothered him anymore. With every slight movement, every heave of his breath, Izuku could feel the weight of his injuries close in on him. He got used to it. The pain was always there, in the back of his mind, taking up the space where One for All used to be.
Izuku winced. Now that wound was far too fresh.
The sudden, disquieting silence the moment the body beneath him breathed its last persisted in his memory. He hadn’t even been aware there was a growing choir in his head, crowding at the edges and growing sharper with every thrown punch, every direct kick.
Faintly, he could still remember the—not thoughts, really, nor a solid idea. Izuku scrabbled for a fitting association. Just like how his plans weren’t full on sentences, but rather just. . . entering into existence, the Vestiges were there while he battled All for One.
A smiling child, with dark hair and a beauty mark next to his lips, and the weightless feeling in his chest to protect him.
Wisps of grey and black curling into the air and wanting to escape, wanting to be hidden.
Lashing tendrils that demanded laughter and passion.
A heady determination, and the utter sense of loneliness and sacrifice while the trees and the birds and the insects mocked his weakness.
Red splattering the wall, the blood dripping from his hands. Desperation lining every move, every course of action.
And then there was the heavy, pressing burden below his skin, pulsating with the urge to take him down.
It was a symphony. Trumpets blaring behind every thought, the screaming of the violins fueling his adrenaline. The roar of cymbals heralded the incoming swipe at his back. Deafening claps in his ears were not just the thunder of the drums, but also the footsteps of his enemy.
And underneath it all were the tight voices of the Vestiges, barely a pause in between their chanting. They jumped from note to note, frantic, urging him on and pushing him to make one more step.
When Izuku finally, finally finished All for One off, the orchestra abruptly stopped.
They’d left nothing but ringing in their wake. His mind emptied, and a calmness trickled in, one that he hadn’t felt in—in so long . Maybe ever since that day on Dagobah beach.
Then he realized the bulging restlessness in his bones had faded, replaced by naked absence. Where static used to make his hair rise on end, they now lay flat. Lifeless.
The ground beneath him trembled and he fell to his knees. His feet had given out, the pain from millions of scars, lacerations, and dislocated joints suddenly coming rushing at him in an overwhelming flood.
Sweat dripped down Izuku’s face. The splattered concrete dug harshly into his scraped skin. Instinctively, he called on One for All.
Nothing.
He tried again. And again, and again, and again .
Even now, far both in distance and time from the desolate ruins where All for One’s blood sunk deep into the debris, Izuku continued to call on One for All.
Only the silence of an absent orchestra answered him.
“Still trying, my boy?”
Izuku turned around, meeting Toshinori’s sad gaze. He forced himself to relax his body. It was hard to untrain that habit of constantly tensing his muscles so he could use Full Cowling at any moment.
He inwardly chuckled at the irony. He’d spent months honing that skill, and now he was trying to unravel it. Every now and then, he’d have to consciously remind himself to release the weight in his jaw, the hunch in his shoulders.
Toshinori hummed and patted the spot beside him. Izuku instantly obliged, and proceeded to be held tightly and tucked under his father’s chin.
Izuku leaned in. It was their little song and dance, now.
“Take as much time as you need, Izuku.” The chest underneath him rumbled. “It’s not an easy process to get used to it.”
It really wasn’t. Not just physically, but, well, everywhere else too. Going back to being quirkless— quirkless Deku, quirkless, useless Deku! —was a bit of a shock.
Izuku smiled against Toshinori’s neck. “It’s funny, actually. I went from being quirkless, to having a ton of Quirks, then back to being quirkless again.” He ignored the sting in his eyes and pressed closer. “It’s really funny.”
Toshinori only raised his hand to card through dark, unruly hair in response. Then, as if he’d read his son’s thoughts— “Just because you’re quirkless again doesn’t mean you’re useless.” He pressed a kiss to his head. “If you still want to be a Hero, my dear boy, I will support you in every way I can.”
Izuku closed his eyes. His father could be really astute sometimes, managing to pick up on the underlying narrative in Izuku’s words. And he was thankful for it.
They stayed like that, the TV fading into a lulling buzz, until the light pouring in from the windows darkened into a vibrant orange.
The visits started off small. At first, it was just Tenya and Ochako, sheepishly smiling up at a bewildered, hazy-eyed Toshinori on his doorstep at five in the goddamn morning, what are you kids thinking?
Izuku, in the kitchen, nearly choked into his mug of coffee. Day by day, it seemed that Toshinori was channeling more of his inner Aizawa. He’d have to check in with Shinsou to make sure his mentor hadn’t somehow died on the job and was possessing Izuku’s father.
“Sorry, Mr. Yagi!” Ochako chirped. “We were in the area, so we decided to drop by and pay you and Izuku a visit!”
“We also brought gifts, sir!”
Izuku peeked behind Toshinori’s towering form just as Tenya lifted his hand to show a package of All Might-themed notebooks.
He quietly groaned to himself. It was already embarrassing enough that he’d inadvertently outed himself as an All Might fanatic when Toshinori first visited his mom’s apartment, but to be reminded of it when he was living with the man?
Toshinori, with the grace and experience of having to deal with the public for a better part of his years, thankfully said nothing, only turning to face Izuku with the barest twinkle in his eyes.
“Uh, thanks, guys,” Izuku’s lips said, while his eyes screamed, I am going to kill the both of you.
The joy that bloomed on his friends’ faces was worth the embarrassment. They both lunged at him, crying out different variations of are you okay, are you well , and you won’t believe what happened with so and so .
It was how Izuku found himself having lunch with his first two friends at UA, laughing over a meal made all the more delicious with delightful company.
With Tenya and Ochako came Tsuyu, then with Tsuyu came Momo, Tokoyami, and Jiro, then with Momo, Tokoyami and Jiro came Mina, Kirishma, Kaminari, and Sato, and before Izuku knew it, he was opening his door to the entirety of Class 3-A darkening his porch.
“You guys do realize I won’t be able to fit all of you in Dad’s house, right?” He asked, pointedly staring at each of them.
“We’ll just relocate, then!” Mina cheerfully replied. “Let’s stay at a nearby restaurant and request a private room for dinner tonight!”
Everyone chimed their agreement, including Kacchan—come on , he was Izuku’s last hope, the fucking traitor —and Izuku is left with the closed door against his back, head in his hand, and Toshinori almost laughing himself to death.
Somehow, dinner snowballed into reunion party , and Izuku wasn’t quite sure where and how that even happened, but the fact remained that he was going out to see his friends in a long, long time ever since he’d lost One for All, and oh, god , what if they treat me differently, they wouldn’t do that, would they, they’re my friends, right? But that doesn’t mean —
Izuku’s muttering is cut off by a sigh.
“My prince of nonsense,” Toshinori affectionately said from behind him.
Izuku turned around.
His father smiled, a tad more exasperated than amused as he entered his son’s room. “If you keep that up, you’ll be late.” He gestured at Izuku, who was still only in his underwear. “You haven’t even dressed yourself yet.”
“I’m sorry!” Izuku turned beet red. “I was just—I don’t have a Quirk anymore. And it’s been a long time since I went out, ever since our graduation, you know? And I’m—I’m just scared, I guess? Scared that they’ll treat me differently. Like I’m—Like I’m fragile, or something.”
The bed dipped as Toshinori sat beside him. He regarded him intently. “Do you really think they’ll do that to you?” The question was quiet. “Your friends, whom you’ve known for your entire three years at UA. . . Are you certain they’d really do that?”
Izuku didn’t have to consider; the answer came to him instantly. After all, spending three, grueling years with the same people tended to glue them together like a family. If their shared trauma over the USJ incident in their first year wasn’t enough, then the subsequent events with the League of Villains, the Paranormal Liberation Front, and the War over the course of their stay at UA certainly solidified their bond.
“No, they wouldn’t,” Izuku finally said. “But I just. . . I haven’t seen them in so long. And things can change.”
“They’ve been texting you ever since you all graduated, no? I don’t see how different things would be among you.”
Izuku groaned and fell backwards into his bed. He wished the mattress would swallow him up. “Yeah, but texting and seeing each other and interacting face to face are completely different things. And—” he broke off into a sigh, “—I guess I’m also worried that I’ll be different.”
Even if he couldn’t see him, he could tell Toshinori had a frown on his face. “Different how?”
“They’re all Pro Heroes, Dad!” Izuku loudly said, before wincing. He hadn’t meant to sound that aggressive. “Sorry. And, no, it isn’t just about being Quirkless. They all have experience in the field, they’re probably more, I don’t know, hardened up. They’re practically legends and I feel like. . . I feel like I don’t deserve to be in their presence.”
Toshinori didn't immediately respond.
He was probably chewing on his son’s words, trying to come up with a response. Izuku didn’t mind. All Might hadn’t needed to comfort anyone—his presence and voice alone was reassuring enough. Yagi Toshinori, on the other hand, was still clumsy with his words and fumbled to say what he really wanted to.
“I think, Izuku,” Toshinori said after a few beats, “that you’re just overthinking.”
Hah, isn’t that always the case?
Izuku sat up and was instantly hit full force with his father’s famously compelling blue eyes. It usually meant a passionate speech was inbound, when he was still All Might, but as Midoriya Izuku’s adopted father, it meant a bit of a well-meaning lecture.
“Of course, your feelings are completely valid. But from the way your classmates have always made the effort to keep in touch with you, I think you should at least give them some credit where its due.” He smiled at his boy, ruffling his curls. “Dwell all you want on the possible outcomes, but you must remember that you can’t know what happens unless you go through with it, my dear prince.”
A swell of admiration and love ached in Izuku’s throat. He threw himself into an embrace around Toshinori, making sure not to knock him back too much. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered as Toshinori hugged him back just as tightly.
“Of course. Now, do you think you can dress in, ah, a minute? Because you’re running quite late already.”
The reunion party was going quite well, actually. He might’ve slipped up here and there by clamming up at the initial welcome—god, he really missed hearing his friends’ voices—and when prodded about his. . . new condition, but the others never took it to heart, only laughing it off.
“Deku, I hope you know that we don’t think any differently of you,” Ochako said over her flute of champagne. She looked stunning in her pink dress. “None of us do. We understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”
Tsuyu nodded beside her, letting the dark green silk of her outfit shine under the chandelier above them. “We understand completely, ribbit. But if you ever do want to talk about it—”
“—we’re always here for you,” Tenya—sweet, earnest, Class Rep Tenya in his suit and tie, because of course he’d wear that to what was supposed to be a casual party—finished.
Izuku will not cry. He will not cry, goddammit!
“Thanks,” Izuku said through tears anyways. “It means a lot.” He laughed wetly, wiping his face. “I was worried, actually, about how you guys would react. But I’m—I’m glad I was proven wrong.”
They politely looked away from him while he tried to regain his composure. Then, since they were already aboard a similar train of thought, he blurted out, “Do you think Quirkless people could become Heroes?”
Can I still be a Hero?
To his surprise, Tenya didn’t miss a beat in answering, as if he’d been expecting the question all along.
He pushed up his glasses. “As you know, I work very closely with Hatsume Mei. She’s shown me lots of her work, alongside that of others. Support gear has advanced in leaps and bounds since the dawn of the Quirk era, and will only grow further from here on out.”
What a duo, Izuku mused. Somehow Tenya and Mei had managed to form an unlikely friendship, undoubtedly built up from the groundwork of the former’s unintentional advertising in their first Sports Festival. Since then, Tenya’s agency also served as ‘models’ for the new babies produced by Mei’s workshop.
“What he means to say is,” Ochako took over, rolling her eyes, “is that yes, you totally can. You’ll just need some good support gear. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s been a rise of Quirkless Heroes across the globe.”
Tsuyu perked up at Ochako's words. “I actually know some people from the rest of the contient that are Quirkless Heroes, ribbit. They went to my agency once, because they dealt with underwater rescues too.”
Before they could continue on, Kaminari suddenly piped up from the table next to theirs, lightheartedly admonishing them for talking about Heroes. “We’re here to celebrate, after all, not talk about our jobs!”
Izuku briefly mourned the discussion they’d been having, but he supposed Kaminari had a point. Besides, he’d gotten what he wanted out of the conversation. He felt considerably lighter since this morning.
After that, the topic shifted to all sorts of things, such as: the cheesecake Sato had baked just for this occasion, which Izuku would definitely need to take home to Toshinori; his missing left arm—”That’s so cool, Midobro!” shouted a starry-eyed Kirishma, while Izuku turned red, flustered—and finally, hobbies.
At this point, Shinsou had joined them, choosing the seat on Izuku’s left as his perch. He’d foregone his usual scarf and uniform for a cream turtleneck that complemented his hair.
He placed a hand against the back of his neck, smiling thoughtfully. “Aizawa says that it’s important to have a hobby outside of Hero work,” he said, “or else you run the risk of working yourself too hard to the bone.”
Izuku absently tugged at his collar. How many times had he heard Toshinori repeat the same thing? The man had seen many Heroes fall out of the limelight and resign over the course of his many decades in service. Toshinori himself had come close to it, but Japan needed its Symbol of Peace.
Being burned out in the line of duty was a very real hazard. Izuku would be damned if he let the sparks of his friends extinguish.
“I can introduce some hobbies to you guys if you’d like,” he shyly offered. “They’re super easy too. Recently, Dad’s taken up this one with knot-tying.”
To his surprise, Ochako pounced onto the topic like a predator, her eyes gleaming excitedly. “Hey, Todoroki!” She suddenly called out. “You might wanna hear this!”
Izuku blanched. Uh oh.
He hadn’t seen Shouto since he and the class collectively welcomed a panting Izuku when he came through the doors—welcome was an understatement, more like they used him as a human teddy bear—but now, he could see the familiar red-and-white hair suddenly snaking its way around the crowded tables.
Shouto plopped down right beside him and stared at him intensely. “You lied to me.”
“Hu—wha?”
Even though Shouto’s expression didn’t change at all, Izuku had the very distinct feeling he was being judged. Across the table, Ochako snickered.
“You are All Might’s child.”
“Well, technically, I wasn’t—when at the Sports Festival, when you first asked—not his lovechild,” Izuku sputtered defensively. “I mean! I am his son now , and, and maybe even way before that, though I’m not quite sure when I started thinking that way consciously , and even way before that—but still. . .”
Shouto calmly blinked as Izuku went through tangent after tangent until he had a whole polygon under his breath. If Izuku had been paying attention, he would’ve noticed the small smile on the other’s lips.
At some point, Ochako, Tenya, and Tsuyu had been swapped out for Kacchan. Izuku hadn’t noticed the change until he was lifted into the air, still rambling, and was suddenly slammed hard onto the floor.
Thud!
Green eyes met red. Shinsou uttered a quiet, “here we go”, while Todoroki simply sighed. None of them, however, bothered to stop the incoming chaos.
“Did you just supplex me?” Izuku asked, dangerously calm.
Kacchan grinned. “What are you gonna do about it, nerd?”
And so the reunion party ended with a good old-fashioned throw down between everyone. The restaurant allowed Quirks to be used, and the graduates of Class 3-A, Pro Heroes alike with great reputation and astonishing take downs under their belts, abused that immensely.
Even with their Quirks, Izuku still managed to beat each and everyone one of them into submission at least once.
After bidding Toshinori goodnight—and repeatedly prodding him to take his medication—Izuku finally found himself in bed.
His arm ached. So did his legs. If he’d known that trying to beat everyone up with one arm was part of the itenary for the party, he would’ve informed his father beforehand and did the proper stretches before leaving.
So, when he’d burst through the entrance of his home, sweat practically pouring off of him but a big grin on his face, a shaken Toshinori had all but yelled at him to take a bath and then lie down later while he assessed the younger’s body for signs of overexertion.
The curtains by his window swayed in the soft breeze. Moonlight tickled his nose.
Izuku chuckled quietly to himself. He’d taken a bit of a beating at the party, especially since they didn’t hold back with their Quirks, but it was good to let himself fall back on the skills he thought he’d forgotten. Sparring again with everyone reminded him of wandering into the kitchen after school while his mom prepared dinner. It reminded him of UA’s classrooms, of laughter that made his sides hurt.
It felt like coming home.
His arm twinged. He slowly stretched it out to the ceiling.
The soothing white coming from his window did nothing to hide the ravaged skin, nor the way the injuries had cut jaggedly. Others would call it ugly, sickening—god knows how many times he’d heard people whisper behind their hands when he went for a run—but he only regarded his scars as a fond reminder of something he’d had.
Izuku knew nothing would happen. Still, he squeezed his hand, calling out for that familiar rush of energy.
Nothing.
His arm limply fell back to his side.
There’d been a feeling that sat heavy in his gut since he came home. Right now, he could still feel it, solid as if there genuinely was something on his body. He didn’t know where it came from, but it’d been growing steadily since the first word uttered to him by his old friends.
Friends . . . Izuku had missed them. Very dearly, in fact. It was an ache in his bones, a swelling in his throat with the love he felt. But Class 3-A hadn’t been the only ones he’d been yearning to see.
Izuku tentatively tested the bond. Calling out for One for All was different than calling on its Vestiges. He reached out for the string between him and the others that stretched all the way into the darkness.
Nana, are you there? En? Banjo?
No response.
Shinomori? Third? Second?
Chairs missing their occupants came into his mind, the instruments abandoned. The stands were empty.
He swallowed, ignoring the hurt pang in his chest. Are you there, First?
Only a lonely silence was at the end.
The feeling in his gut worsened until it clawed at his throat. Tears rushed down Izuku’s cheeks, and he hurriedly shoved the heel of his palms into his eyes. He’d known all along, of course. There’d been plenty of nights just like this one where he hoped beyond all reason that the Vestiges would still be there.
Sometimes, he’d fall asleep for the sole purpose of maybe, just maybe, I’ll see them tonight, I miss you guys so, so much. But the answer was all the same whenever he found himself groping around in that darkness.
In that solitude of his time as a vigilante, Izuku had no one else but their companionship as he crossed wrecked buildings and shadowed alleyways. He had All Might trailing after him, sure, but even he was eventually pushed away.
When the wind howled through empty roads and flickering lampposts, he had Nana and Banjo keeping him sane. It was Shinomori who watched his back during fights. En covered his escapes and Second and Third pointed out opportunities. Through the dismal gray of it all, First’s gentle voice guided him through.
Maybe it’s time to move on, a voice murmured. He wished it was Nana’s motherly presence, or First’s kindness.
Izuku sat up, unable to stop the sobs suddenly racking through his body. He didn’t care if his crying was heard—all he wanted was be held, to be comforted by people who’d understand.
It wasn’t Shinomori’s hard chest he was suddenly being pressed against. Instead of Banjo’s calloused hands brushing his cheeks, Izuku blearily opened his eyes to Toshinori’s wiping his tears. The soft reassurances in his ear wasn’t First’s doing, but his father’s raspy voice.
“Dad.” He cried harder. “ Dad.”
“I’m here, my boy, I’m here.”
We’re here, Ninth, we’re here.
Izuku wished that he at least had time to say a proper farewell to them.
The next morning, Izuku and Toshinori visited the Garden. It was where Shimura Nana, En, Daigoro Banjo, and Shinomori Hikage were buried. First, Second, and Third didn’t have graves, so they made an altar of sorts for them instead.
White and green contrasted starkly against the cold gray of the stone. Izuku made sure the flowers they picked looked pretty, all carefully picked with meanings in mind. It’s what each of them deserved at the very least.
There was a tradition that the wielders of One for All carried on dutifully, much like the Quirk itself. Every time a predecessor died, their successor would bury them in this secluded haven. Here, trees hung their heavy heads, flowers bowed solemnly, and quiet sighs rustled the grass.
When Nana passed, All Might had bought this place as private property. Property that would, no doubt, be passed down to Izuku. If One for All had continued existing, then he would have passed it onto his successor, and so on and so forth.
Izuku tried not to think of the inevitable future where he’d be visiting alone, and when the spot beside Nana’s would no longer be empty.
“I think they’d be very proud of you, Izuku,” Toshinori said as he straightened up over his mentor’s grave. “Even if they didn’t get to say it.”
The cold wind nipped at the skin where Izuku’s clothes couldn’t cover. He suppressed a shiver. Fall was bidding its goodbye as the colder presence of Winter took its place.
“I know,” he finally said. He carefully snuck his hand into Toshinori’s, leaning heavily against him. He was grateful for the way his father’s arm wrapped around his side, the body warmth a comfort in the weather.
They decided to get some meat buns on the way home. The heavy atmosphere had been left behind among the flowers and the stones, and the feeling in Izuku’s gut from last night had chosen to remain there, too.
Izuku felt much happier. Toshinori’s hand affectionately squeezed his shoulder as they walked the length of Dagobah beach.
Toshinori waited for Izuku to finish muching on his bun when he spoke. “So, you wanna tell me what that phone call this morning was about?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“I don’t know, actually,” Izuku said. He really didn’t. Tenya had called him out of the blue, enquiring about the kind of gear his old Hero costume used. He told his father as much. “Then he just hung up. Maybe they’re thinking of licensing merchandise for Deku.”
Toshinori threw his head back in a laugh and just the slightest bit of blood spurted out.
“We’ll be even then.” His father grinned, wiping his mouth. “I’ll be sure to get each and every copy of your merch, my boy.”
“ Dad,” Izuku whined. “Come on, that’s embarrassing.”
“Not as embarrassing as having all the limited edition movie posters for the Symbol of Peace trilogy? Or the ultra-rare scarf that had only ten produced in the entire world hanging in your closet? What about your entire collection of McDonalds toys—”
Izuku playfully beat his fist against Toshinori’s chest, before burying his face into it with a smile. “I thought you didn’t want more toys in the house,” he said, voice muffled. “You kept complaining when I bought an Eraserhead themed teddy bear.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mind the teddy bear. I’m just deeply concerned over the twenty, soulless pairs of eyes staring down at me when I’m trying to watch TV or read the newspaper in the living room.” Toshinori paused, then shuddered. “If you do plan on licensing, make sure it’s not the same manufacturer for Dynamight’s first generation. I still have nightmares over that one.”
Izuku’s thoughts briefly wandered over to what he was talking about. They’d chosen to go with a realistic style for the figurines, which was. . . well. At best, it wasn’t the most flattering depiction of Kacchan. At worst, it was downright nightmare fuel.
After that incident, it was required that manufacturers showed the Heroes they were depicting what the toy looked like, lest they suffered a lawsuit. Izuku was just surprised it wasn’t a given in the first place.
“They still need need permission from me. I can turn it down if I want.”
“Promise me you will. And show me first.”
Izuku laughed at the desperation splashed across Toshinori’s face.
As the sun rode its way into the ocean, a Quirkless boy and his Quirkless father stood against the fading light, hand in hand, on the beach where it had all started.
The holes in his heart where seven figures previously filled would remain so, as well as the naked absence in his bones, but Izuku found that he could live with it.
“Izuku! There’s a package for you!”
His son rushed over, helping Toshinori with the lumpy duffel bag in the latter’s hands. Firmness shoved back from where Toshinori touched it, and there was a pain near his stomach where something inside was jabbing him.
When they hauled it over onto the table in the living room, the bag made an ominously heavy thud.
A frown tugged at Toshinori’s lips. “You’re certain it was your friends who sent this, right?” He prodded at where the lumps stuck out. Metal sung sharply under the scent that came from newly bought items. "Izuku?" When Izuku still hadn’t responded, he glanced over.
Izuku was crying. Eyes wide, with big, pearly tears silently running down his freckled cheeks. A slip of paper trembled in his hand.
Toshinori instantly wrapped a tight arm around his son, bending a little to see the words. Written in neat penmanship—he’d recognize Iida’s anywhere—was an address. It was a highly reputable agency in Tokyo, the one ran by the graduates of Class 3-A.
Then, below the address, was a simple sentence.
In an instant, Toshinori knew what was in the duffel bag. He reached over to unzip it.
Deku’s costume stared back at him, folded neatly. Carefully placed around it were all sorts of support gear in their complicated containers. If Toshinori squinted, he could make out the Hatsume logo in the corners. There was one gadget in particular that stood out, glass case missing the logo shared by its surrounding counterparts—it looked quite similar to the gauntlet Melissa Shield had designed back when he'd brought Izuku with him to I-Island. Some favors must’ve been pulled for that to happen.
A smile, one that can only be dredged up by sheer, utter pride in his students, dug painfully into his cheeks. He squeezed his son tighter. They were both truly lucky to have met such bright and wonderful people.
Toshinori pulled out a chair and gently guided Izuku down to sit. Wandering into the kitchen—no doubt this should call for a hearty breakfast as a celebration—he let Izuku continue reading and rereading the note again.
You’ll always be one of us, Izuku.