Chapter Text
The sun shone brightly over the U.A. campus, casting long shadows across the paths as Izuku Midoriya stood on the edge of the dormitory building. His oversized bag hung over his shoulder, and his heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He glanced back toward the car that had just pulled up, the trunk open and his parents beside it.
Izuku turned away from his parents, glancing over at the registration tent. His heart pounded, and though his feet felt heavy, a sense of determination steadied him. He walked toward the tent, surrounded by the buzz of students and staff as people moved in and out, each student carrying their own hopes, their own dreams.
It felt different—like he was finally a part of something bigger than himself. Something real. The noise and movement made the weight of the moment hit harder, but Izuku straightened his back, focusing on the task at hand.
As he approached the sign-in table, a staff member handed him a small slip of paper with his dorm assignment and a few other details. “Welcome to U.A., Midoriya Izuku. We’re glad to have you here,” the attendant said with a friendly smile, before handing him a map of the dormitory complex.
Izuku nodded, holding the papers tightly. He looked down at the map, tracing the path that would lead him to his new home for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t just a dorm; it was the start of his journey, a place where he’d train, learn, and grow into the hero he’d always dreamed of becoming.
With the papers in hand, Izuku took a slow breath and turned back to where his parents were standing. His eyes caught his mother’s worried expression first, then his father’s calm, watchful gaze. He felt the weight of their expectations but also their love and support.
He made his way back to them, his steps measured, like the calm before the storm. His parents, standing side by side, waited for him. They knew the moment was approaching—the moment when their son would step into the world on his own.
Izuku stopped in front of them, holding up the papers with a soft smile. “I’m all set. Looks like I’m in Building C,” he said, the words sounding more like a reassurance to himself than anything else.
His mother stepped forward, her hands shaking slightly as she took the papers from him, her eyes flicking over the details. "I’m so proud of you, Izuku," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I know you’ll do great things."
Izuku hugged her tightly, feeling the weight of her love. "I will, Mom. I promise."
Daiki, who had been quiet during the exchange, stepped forward. He placed a firm hand on Izuku’s shoulder, his voice low but carrying the weight of years of teaching and wisdom. "Remember, Izuku, heroes may walk under the spotlight, but the truly effective ones know how to work in the shadows. Use what you’ve been taught, trust yourself, and let your actions speak louder than words."
Izuku met his father's gaze, the quiet strength in Daiki’s eyes giving him a sense of grounding. "I won’t forget, Dad."
With one last, lingering glance at his parents, Izuku turned to walk toward the dormitory building. His chest felt tight, but there was a spark of excitement that made his steps lighter. The world ahead of him was vast and unknown, but he was ready for it.
As he walked into the building, he felt a strange mix of emotions—anticipation, fear, hope. But with his parents' words echoing in his mind, he knew he wouldn’t face it alone.
Izuku stood at the entrance of the dormitory, his heart heavy as he watched his parents prepare to leave. The realization hit him all at once—he was really doing this. He was stepping into the world on his own, without them by his side.
His mother, Inko, stood beside him, her face a mixture of pride and sorrow. She fidgeted with the sleeves of her coat, struggling to keep the tears at bay. "Izuku..." Her voice trembled as she reached out to him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "I'm so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard to get here."
Izuku looked down at her hand, feeling the weight of it, and a lump formed in his throat. "I know, Mom. I’m going to be okay."
But his voice faltered slightly, and he couldn’t help but feel the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. For the first time in his life, he was going to be away from home. Away from the familiar warmth of his family.
Inko smiled softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know you will. You’ve always been strong. But..." She hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "I just… I’m going to miss you so much. It’s hard to believe you’re all grown up now, ready to be on your own." Her voice cracked slightly, and she pulled him into one last tight hug. "Just promise me you’ll stay safe, okay?"
Izuku hugged her back, a rush of warmth filling him despite the weight of the moment. "I promise, Mom. I’ll be careful."
As they broke the hug, Inko stepped back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I’ll visit as often as I can, and I’ll always be here if you need me."
Izuku nodded, his smile shaky but genuine. "Thanks, Mom."
Daiki, standing a little farther away, had been quietly observing the exchange. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of something deep in his eyes—pride, and maybe a bit of uncertainty, hidden beneath his quiet demeanor. As Inko stepped back, Daiki approached Izuku, his movements deliberate, like always.
He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, his grip firm but full of affection. "Izuku," Daiki began, his voice low but steady, "this is just the beginning. You’ve got everything it takes to succeed. Don’t doubt yourself, even when it gets tough. And remember, no matter how far apart we are, you can always reach out if you need help. Don’t be afraid to ask for it."
Izuku looked up at his father, taking in his calm, supportive presence. Daiki’s words carried weight, and though Izuku had always known them, hearing them now—right before he stepped into the unknown—made them feel even more important.
"I will, Dad. I won’t forget," Izuku replied, feeling a surge of strength from the foundation his father had given him.
Daiki nodded, giving him a small, proud smile. "Good."
There was a long moment of silence, the three of them standing there together in the growing quiet of the dormitory courtyard. Finally, Inko sniffled and pulled Izuku in for one last hug. "Be strong, Izuku," she whispered, holding him close.
Izuku felt a mixture of sadness and something else—excitement, maybe, or hope—wash over him. This was what he’d always dreamed of. But the fear of being on his own for the first time, of stepping into the unknown without the safety net of his family, made his heart ache. Still, he knew he couldn’t stay in the comfort of home forever.
With one final squeeze, Inko released him and stepped back, wiping her eyes again. "Alright, I guess we have to go now."
Daiki placed a hand on Inko’s shoulder as they turned to leave. Before they walked away, he looked back at Izuku, his face softening for a brief moment. "You’re ready for this, Izuku. We’ll always be proud of you, no matter what. Just keep going forward."
Izuku nodded, his throat tight as he forced the words out. "I’ll make you proud."
Inko smiled through her tears and whispered one last time, "We love you, Izuku."
"I love you too," Izuku replied, his voice thick with emotion.
As they turned and walked away, Izuku watched them go, the growing emptiness around him a stark contrast to the warmth of his family. His parents’ figures gradually disappeared down the path, and the weight of his new life settled over him. The first step into his future was a lonely one, but it was his.
With a deep breath, Izuku wiped away a tear that had escaped down his cheek. He looked up at the dormitory doors ahead of him and stepped forward, taking one last look over his shoulder.
His parents were gone, but their words—and their love—would always be with him.
Walking back to his dorm felt strange, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see his mother as much as he would like. Not with his schedule packed from Monday to Friday. However, he did have the weekend free for homework or to hang with family and friends. He was excited but also scared to be on his own, surrounded by so many people. Izuku was happy, though, that they had moved in a full weekend before the first class. It gave him time to get settled, explore the campus, and unpack.
Izuku stepped into his dormitory room, his heart still heavy with the lingering emotions of the farewell. The door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet of the room settled in around him. It was small but cozy—a simple space to call his own, at least for now.
His eyes scanned the room. A mini-fridge sat in the corner next to a desk cluttered with things that hadn’t found their way into boxes. Last-minute school supplies in bags, papers, pencils, notebooks, and other office supplies Izuku would need to do his homework. A chair was positioned in front of the desk, facing the small bed with simple bedding. The walls were bare, waiting for the personal touches that would come with time. For now, everything felt sterile, just a shell of a room waiting for its occupant to fill it with life.
He dropped his oversized bag on the bed with a sigh, his body finally feeling the weight of the day’s emotions. The boxes of his things were stacked neatly along the wall, most of them still sealed, waiting to be unpacked. But as Izuku moved to set his things down, something on the desk caught his eye.
Pausing for a moment, Izuku could smell his mother's cooking. He looked at the desk, and a soft smile lifted the corner of his lips. There, on the desk, sat a plastic container of his favorite food—still hot, steam rising gently from the sides. A plastic fork and knife were placed neatly beside it, as if waiting for him to sit down and eat. Next to it was a foil-wrapped sandwich.
As Izuku sat down at his new desk, a faint, familiar scent filled the room—a warm, comforting aroma that made his stomach growl. He turned toward the desk, where a small plastic container sat neatly next to the note from his mom. The container was filled with Oyakodon, the tender chicken and egg nestled together in a sweet-savory sauce over a bed of rice. It was the kind of meal his mom would make for him when he had a long day ahead or when he was feeling down.
He carefully opened the lid, steam rising from the container, and the scent brought him right back to their kitchen at home. He could almost hear his mother’s voice calling out to him, telling him to eat up. He picked up the plastic fork she’d thoughtfully packed and dug in, savoring the first bite. It was perfect—just like the meals she used to make. Warm, filling, and comforting in a way only a mother’s cooking could be.
As he finished the Oyakodon, his eyes fell on another container beside it, tucked away beneath the note. This one was a Katsu Sandwich, wrapped neatly in foil. His stomach rumbled again at the sight. It was something he’d often find in his lunchbox back home, especially for mornings when he had to rush out the door. A breaded, crispy pork cutlet nestled between slices of soft, fluffy bread, with just the right amount of sauce.
The sandwich was the perfect thing for breakfast the next morning, or maybe for a quick snack when he needed something filling but didn’t have time to cook. Izuku couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his mother making sure he’d be taken care of, even though she was so far away.
He set the sandwich aside for later, his fingers brushing the note again. It wasn’t long, just a few lines, but it was all he needed to hear.
"Izuku,
I know this is a big change, but I believe in you more than anything. You’re strong, you’re smart, and you’ve got a heart full of kindness. Just remember, no matter where you are, I’m always here for you. Take care of yourself, and don’t forget to eat well. Love you, always—Mom."
Izuku wiped away the single tear that escaped his eye, a sense of warmth filling him despite the loneliness of the moment. His mom’s love and care were wrapped up in these small acts—making sure he had food, making sure he felt supported, even when she couldn’t be there physically.
With a full stomach and a heart a little lighter, Izuku leaned back in his chair and let the quiet settle around him. He wasn’t alone, not really. Not as long as he carried the love of his family with him. And with that thought, he let out a soft breath, ready to tackle whatever came next.