Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If anybody asks, Izuku Midoriya is ordinary.

Sure, he’s an average-looking thirteen year old child with more or less subpar features. The mess of his curly green hair and green eyes combo can arguably be his finest trait. He’s around the top of his class (damn you, Kacchan), and he’s got a pretty ordinary backstory that comes along with it too (his father died when he was young).

There’s nothing particularly special about him. Not on the surface, anyway. Not that it’s what he wanted—Izuku wanted to become a hero.

But right now?

His quirk was anything but ordinary.

It had to be his quirk. What else could it be?

Looking around wildly, Izuku realized nobody else seemed to notice the giant blue portal hovering in the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of him. People passed through it like it wasn’t even there.

And then, at the top right of his vision, a glowing message appeared:

[DUNGEON DISCOVERED]

[Congratulations! 

You have met the special requirements to activate abilities!  Ability ‘SIGHT’ has leveled up to LVL 2. You now have unlocked the ability to see and enter DUNGEONS. You now have the ability ‘GET INFO’. 

Create a keyword for ‘GET INFO’?]

[YES] | [NO]

Two boxes hovered by Izuku’s hands. His mouth went dry as his gaze flicked between the floating boxes. He had never seen anything like this before. His quirk had never worked like this—not with messages or choosing text. He was used to the simple rules of his power: seeing floating numbers.

He shook his head, unable to believe it. Could this be part of some new development? He was already getting too many questions to answer. But... there was no way he was saying ‘No’. The curiosity was driving him mad.

Waving his hand again, Izuku watched as the boxes floated in unison with the movement, like they were attuned to him.

Not wasting any more time, Izuku jabbed his finger at ‘Yes’—there was no turning back now.

A new message blinked into existence:

[Indicate keyword for ‘GET INFO’ by saying “Toggle GET INFO: Insert Keybind”]

Oh dear. His quirk really does adhere to video game mechanics. Izuku hasn’t played enough of those! Though realizing the command for what it is (thank the gods for IT class), he takes some time deciding what to bind the phrase into. 

All while ignoring the portal, not to mention the pointed looks he’s been getting for standing in the middle of a busy street.

“Has to be something easy to remember,” he mutters. “One word, obvious…”

He’s got it! Snapping his fingers, Izuku says, “Toggle GET INFO: Discover.”

[Command “Discover” saved to ‘GET INFO’.]

Izuku grins, welcoming the glee that bloomed across his chest. He even giggles, giggles! Which actually just gave him even more odd looks. 

Who cares! His quirk got an upgrade. 

He looks back at the portal (doesn’t he have somewhere to be? He has a fleeting feeling he’s supposed to be somewhere important) and says, clearly this time:

“Discover.”

The effect is immediate.

[DUNGEON
Type: Instanced – Solo Entry Only
Threat Level: 1
Estimated Completion Time: ???
Rewards: ???
Status: Undiscovered]

Izuku blinked. “That’s... not helpful.”

The glowing blue text hovered in the air just inches from the portal’s swirling surface. Despite the calm of the street around him, this new screen made his heart pound.

Solo entry only?
Threat level unknown?

This was sounding more and more like a boss fight from a game. And he hadn’t even done the tutorial yet.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the pull—the gnawing curiosity inside him that had only gotten louder since that first pop-up. This was part of his quirk now, right? If there was ever a time to test it…

He swallowed, glancing around again. No one looked at the portal. No one stopped. Just him.

Just me.

He took a step forward.

And just as he clicks [ENTER], the box shimmers and vanishes.

The world around him begins to dissolve at the edges—like watercolor bleeding into water. The noise of the city dulls. The sidewalk under his feet feels like it's slipping away.

His heart launches into his throat.

Oh crap. Oh no. OH NO—

He’s totally NOT panicking about the whole reality falling apart thing, definitely not—but somewhere in the chaos, a single horrifying thought surfaces:

Wait.

He’s supposed to be in class.

His eyes go wide. “Oh my god, Mom is going to kill me.”

The last thing he sees before everything fades completely is the flicker of the crosswalk signal changing from red to green.

And then—

[Congratulations!
You have met the special requirements to Level Up!

Reach Age 13
Discover and enter a Dungeon

You have unlocked DAILY QUEST]

And just as Izuku was processing the fact that turning thirteen apparently counted as some kind of milestone in his quirk's system—

The last fragment of light blinked out.

He was officially no longer on the sidewalk. No longer in Musutafu. Definitely no longer heading to class.

Now he was standing in the middle of a dim, glowing cavern with a blinking mini-map hovering in the corner of his vision and something that definitely did not sound friendly growling in the shadows.

Frantically grabbing his bag, Izuku fumbles for the compact mirror he always carries. It’s cracked at the corner—courtesy of one of Kacchan’s less friendly greetings—but it still works.

He angles it, breath catching.

There it is. Right above his reflection, glowing faintly in greenish-blue text like a heads-up display:

[Izuku Midoriya – LVL 4 

STR: 12 |  DEX: 14 |  CHR: 9 |  CONST: 11 |  INT: 16 |  WIS: 13 | LCK: 10

You have +1 Status Point!]

He only got one SP from all that?! 

Izuku swiftly turns around, his sneakers scuffing against the smooth stone floor.

The portal behind him—once bright, electric blue—has dulled into a foggy, lifeless gray. It floats in the air like a broken screen saver, pulsing faintly, but offering no warmth, no pull.

He inches closer.

“Maybe... maybe it’s just temporary,” he whispers, reaching a tentative hand out.

The moment his fingers graze the edge, static skitters up his arm—and the portal rejects him. A soft, mechanical ding chimes in his ears, and a new notification flickers into view:

[Exit Locked

Objective Required: Clear Dungeon or Acquire Escape Scroll. ]

“Escape scroll?!” Izuku yelps. “What is this, a fantasy campaign?!”

He whirls around, scanning the dim cavern again. It stretches outward like a massive underground dome—walls smooth and glowing faintly, almost like polished obsidian. No doors. No obvious paths. Just... shadows. 

Shadows that seem to be moving. His quirk is trying to kill him!

Izuku gulps. “Okay. Okay, think, Midoriya. Step one: Don’t die. Step two: Find that scroll. Step three: Really, really don’t die.”

His eyes flick back to the mirror.

That +1 Status Point is still there.

And suddenly, the decision feels very urgent.

Izuku dumps the point into STR. Just for safe measure. 

“Uh, hello?” he calls out. “Is anybody there?” 

He gets no response. He takes a step forward. 

[Congratulations! 

Achievement: Nuh-uh, I’m not a wimp! acquired. 

Perk acquired:
Gamer's Instinct (Passive)

Your reflexes and decision-making under pressure improve by 5%. Slight resistance to panic and fear status effects.

You have unlocked ‘ITEMS’. 

Create a keyword for ‘ITEMS’?]

[YES] | [NO]

He stares at it, foot still frozen mid-step. “Achievement... for not running away? And a perk?”

The glowing gray portal behind him pulses in quiet affirmation. Or maybe judgment.

Izuku sighs. “Okay, fine, even my quirk thinks I’m dramatic.”

He waves a hand. The two options float lazily beside him again.

Not unlocking this would be dumb, he thinks. Especially if I get stuck in here longer.

Without hesitation, he jabs at [YES] again.

[Indicate keyword for ‘ITEMS’ by saying: “Toggle ITEMS: Insert Keybind”]

At least he knows the drill now.

He chews his lip for a second. “Uh... Toggle ITEMS: Backpack.”

A soft chime echoes in the cavern. 

[Command “Backpack” saved to ‘ITEMS’.]

Frowning slightly, Izuku says the command. Another menu appears, a grid that scrolls down with empty boxes. All except for the first slot, where he sees the shadow of a sword and the words ‘Rusty Sword’ written at the bottom. Fingers hovering above it, he presses it.

[Rusty Sword

Damage: 4–6 | Durability: 15/30
A worn-out beginner’s weapon. Better than your fists. Barely.]

Izuku stares at the shadowy shape in the glowing grid for a beat. Then, almost instinctively, he reaches forward, hand passing through the light like water, and grabs the hilt.

The moment his fingers close around it, there's a flicker—a low hum of energy—as the sword materializes in his grip.

It’s heavier than he expected.

The blade is chipped and the handle is wrapped in worn leather that scratches against his palm, but it feels real. Solid. Like it belongs to him.

His breath catches slightly as he holds it up, watching the light from the hovering menu reflect faintly off the dull metal. This wasn’t some illusion, or a dream, or a hallucination brought on by stress. This was happening. The sword was real.

The sword was his.

He swings it experimentally, and though it’s clumsy and slow, the fact that it doesn’t vanish or glitch out makes him grin.

“I have a weapon,” he murmurs, half in disbelief. “This is so cool.”

Somewhere deep in the cavern, something clicks.

Then shifts.

Then growls.

The growl echoes again—louder, closer.

Izuku freezes.

Then, from the shadows, it comes.

Massive. Black-furred. Eyes like molten embers, glowing in the dark. Its paws strike the stone ground with heavy thuds, claws sparking against the earth. Saliva drips from a jaw lined with jagged, mismatched teeth.

And worst of all?

It's on fire.

Flames flicker off its shoulders and tail, heat radiating in waves as it stalks forward with a low, snarling rumble that shakes Izuku down to his bones.

A red pop-up flashes across his vision:

[HELL HOUND – LVL 1]
Status: AGGRESSIVE

Izuku’s breath hitches. “A what—?”

The Hell Hound charges.

“NOPE—!”

He dives to the side just in time, rolling across jagged rock as the flaming beast barrels past him. The sheer heat singes his sleeve. Izuku scrambles up, sword in hand, chest heaving.

He doesn’t have time to think—only react. 

“Okay, okay, okay—”

It charges towards him again, and briefly Izuku considers what if he doesn’t do anything? There’s no way his quirk will actually hurt him. But ultimately he ends up slashing the sword down across the Hell Hound’s face. It yowls in pain, golden blood dripping out of its face. Snarling, it charges towards Izuku in renowned anger. 

Its claws rake out, and this time, they connect.

Pain sears across his side, along with scorching heat. He’s thrown backward, skidding hard along the cavern floor. His sword clatters out of reach, and he chokes out a gasp, fingers trembling.

A new alert pulses in red, one albeit more familiar:

[HP: 45/70]
You have taken damage!
Applied Status: Bleeding – Minor | -1 HP per 10s

He presses a hand to his side—there’s blood. Real blood. 

“This is definitely not just a projection,” he wheezes. The blade's rough leather grip burns against his palm, but Izuku holds on tight.

He stumbles upright, sneakers skidding on the floor as he scrambles toward the fallen sword. His fingers close around the hilt just in time. He swings his body away instinctively—and not a moment too soon.

WHOOSH.

The Hell Hound’s flaming jaws snap shut where his head had just been.

Too close. Way too close.

Izuku stumbles back, panting. His side aches from the hit—it’s not just pain; it’s the kind that blooms into full-body panic if he thinks about it too long. He glances to the corner of his vision where the HP Alert still pulses faintly:

[HP: 43/70]

Heart racing, Izuku plants his feet firmly onto the ground, eyeing the wild animal intently. It leaps out towards him again to exactly where he anticipates it. Izuku drives his sword upward and straight to its chest. Despite this, it still tries to get a good chomp of Izuku’s head, causing him to push it away by driving his sword out on accident. 

The moment the Hell Hound’s body hits the ground, it twitches once—then twice—before dissolving into a storm of floating pixels. Gold shards and faint wisps of data shimmer upward, like digital ashes. The sword clatters to the ground with a dull clang, and a little brown bag appears right beside it.  

A loot drop. 

Izuku staggers backward, panting hard. His arms shake from the effort, his knees threatening to buckle. He actually did it. He beat the monster. Taking deep breaths, he walks towards his sword and grabs both it and the loot bag. 

[ITEM Received: x1 Minor Health Potion]

Inside the bag was a little bottle with red liquid in it. Clenching his jaw, he looks at the cavern ahead and the portal. It hadn’t changed colors, the portal remained closed. 

“Discover,” he mutters. 

[LVL 1. Dungeon Gate Exit (CLOSED)]

The system was clear. He wasn’t done here—not yet. The dungeon wouldn’t let him leave until he cleared all its challenges.

He clenched the potion tighter in one hand, sword gripped in the other. The portal—gray and unmoving—loomed behind him like a silent guardian, a locked door without a key.

"Figures it wouldn’t be that easy," he muttered to himself, voice hoarse but steady.

Somewhere deeper in the cavern, a sound echoed—distant, low, and guttural. Like something breathing. Waiting. Probably another hellhound. 

He couldn’t leave. So he would keep going.

A new message blinked across Izuku’s vision:

[Remaining Dungeon Enemies: 2] 

[Warning: Multiple Hostiles Approaching]

As if on cue, a low growl rumbled from the cavern depths. Izuku snapped his head toward the sound—then another echoed from the left. One hellhound padded into the torchlight, snarling, its mangled black fur slick with shadow. The second emerged soon after, circling around to flank him.

Two. At once.

Izuku gritted his teeth, brandishing his sword with both hands. His heart thundered in his chest. His arms still ached from the last fight. He was tired. But he wasn’t backing down.

One of the hellhounds lunged first—fangs wide, golden eyes ablaze. Izuku ducked, rolling to the side. The second pounced, forcing him to bring up his sword in a desperate block. The impact rattled through his bones, but he held firm, sliding back against the stone.

[HP: 30/70]

Another growl. Another charge. This time, Izuku slashed sideways in a wide arc. The blade caught the first hellhound along the flank—golden blood sprayed in the air. The second leapt again, and Izuku pivoted mid-swing, letting its momentum carry it past him.

He didn’t have time to think. He moved on instinct.

The first hellhound, wounded but enraged, rushed again. Izuku shouted and drove his blade forward, catching the beast in its shoulder. The hellhound howled—but didn’t fall.

Then the second one tackled him from behind.

The two tumbled to the ground. Izuku grunted as his back hit the stone—his fingers scrambling for the hilt of his dropped sword. The hellhound’s jaws snapped just inches from his neck, biting him down his shoulder instead.

Red filled his vision, both from blood and the warning signs of his system. An alert buzzed through his head.

[HP: 19/70

WARNING! HIT POINTS REACHED CRITICAL LEVELS]

With a cry, Izuku twisted his body and kicked it off. He lunged for his blade, fingers closing around the hilt.

The two beasts circled him again. He waited, panting.

What would happen if his HP hit 0?

One charged.

Izuku feinted, stepped aside—and swung upward, cleaving through its neck. The hellhound gurgled, then burst into pixels.

[Enemy Defeated – 2/3]

The moment the final hellhound launched itself at him, Izuku’s vision blurred.

His limbs were sluggish. His breaths came in ragged gasps. His grip on the sword faltered just enough. He swung—

But not fast enough.

The hellhound slammed into him full-force. Its fangs sank into his side. There was a sharp jolt of pain—then nothing but the overwhelming heat of the hellhounds flames. The last thing he sees is the system flashing wildly across his eyes, a bunch of alerts filling across his senses, and his HP at 1.

When Izuku opened his eyes, the world had changed.

He was no longer in the dungeon. No stone walls, no monsters, no flickering torches. Instead, he was lying on his back on the same busy sidewalk he'd stood on earlier—before everything had started. People walked past him again, glancing curiously but largely uninterested, as if he'd just tripped or taken a nap.

Izuku sat up slowly. His body ached all over, every muscle heavy with exhaustion. His clothes were torn at the shoulder, and his side throbbed with phantom pain. The portal remained at its spot, almost mocking him in its swirling blue. 

A quiet chime echoed in his ears:

[Outerworld Respawn Complete. 

Penalty Applied: -50% HP, -50% Health Regen.

HP: 35/70]

He blinked.

Then another message appeared:

[Time Elapsed Since Dungeon Entry: 1 hour, 4 minutes]

His stomach dropped.

“Crap,” he whispered. “School.”

He scrambled to his feet, wobbling slightly as the weight of his body reminded him of how close he’d come to dying. Not just losing a game. Actually dying. The memory of the hellhound’s fangs sinking into his side made his stomach twist.

He looked down at his hands—still trembling. His schoolbag was a few feet away, miraculously untouched. He grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder with a wince. Even that small motion made pain ripple through his torso.

The portal swirled quietly behind him, unbothered by his near-death. The blue light shimmered like water, pulsing slightly, as if waiting. Like it knew he’d be back.

It isn’t wrong.  

Izuku ended up being an hour and a half late to school, to which they reported to his mom. Normally, he’d be panicking—heart racing, tears in his eyes, already crafting apologies before the words could even leave the teacher’s mouth. But today?

Izuku sat in his chair, slumped slightly forward, eyes dull with exhaustion. His shirt was still rumpled beneath the emergency school sweater he borrowed from lost and found. His side ached like it had been cracked open, and even just turning his neck sent a jolt of pain down his shoulder.

The teacher’s scolding was a distant buzz. His classmates barely looked at him—Midoriya was always a little weird anyway, wasn’t he?

The weight of the day hung heavy on Izuku’s back—not just the soreness from the hellhound’s bite, or the penalty dragging down his healing, but the guilt. The silence. The creeping dread of home.

Every step closer made his feet drag. He didn’t know what he was going to say to his mom. He didn’t even know what had happened, exactly. How did he explain a video game-style dungeon, golden blood, and a rusty sword to someone who just wanted to know why he skipped class?

When he finally reached the door to their apartment, he stood there for a full minute, hand hovering over the handle.

It opened before he touched it.

Inko Midoriya stood on the other side, her eyes wide, her face tight with worry and just a hint of frustration. She had her phone in one hand—he could see the call history still open. She didn’t say anything at first, just stared at him like she wasn’t sure he was real.

“Izuku,” she said sternly, before seeing the state of him. “Izuku? What happened?”

Izuku’s mouth opened, but no sound came out at first.

He looked down at himself—at the torn cuff of his pants, the faint but unmistakable smear of dried blood on the collar of the emergency school sweater, the limp way he was holding one arm close to his side.

“I—” he tried, then stopped. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I tripped.”

Inko took a step forward, slowly, her eyes scanning every inch of him. “Tripped?” she echoed, disbelieving. “Izuku, you look like you were in a fight. Your shirt is torn, your shoulder is swollen—your neck is bruised.”

Her voice was rising, not in anger, but panic. Tears were welling in her eyes now, and her grip on the phone tightened until it clicked beneath her fingers.

“I’m fine,” Izuku said, the words slipping out too fast, too rehearsed. His voice was hoarse, thin. “It’s… not as bad as it looks. I just… fell. In a rough spot.”

Inko’s expression hardened, her worry deepening into disbelief. “Fell?” she echoed. “Where could you possibly fall to end up like this, Izuku?”

He hesitated. His eyes dropped, his hand brushing the sore spot on his side. “It was because of my quirk,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “Kind of.”

And that pause—too long, too telling—only made it worse.

“Were you bullied again?” she asked softly, brokenly. “Did someone do this to you?”

“No!” Izuku said, fast. “No. It wasn’t anyone. It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like, Izuku?”

He looked up at her then, and for a moment, he almost told her. About the portal. The dungeon. The sword. The pixelated monsters that bled gold and screamed like animals. About how it felt to kill something and watch it burst into data. About the screen that said "Outerworld Respawn Complete."

His mom sighed, swinging the door open. That was his signal to come in. 

Inko didn’t say anything as he stepped inside, brushing past her into the small apartment. She shut the door quietly behind him, the click of the lock sounding louder than it should have. The silence hung there for a moment—heavy, fragile.

Izuku sank into the couch like his bones had given out. His fingers clutched the hem of the school-issued sweater. Inko sat down beside him, patient but tense, like a kettle just before it boiled.

He didn’t look at her when he spoke. His voice was low, careful—almost detached as he walked her through what happened. The strange portal in the alley. The system messages. The monsters. The fight. He recounted every step, every choice, every command he uttered.

But he skipped the part where he died. Glossed over it like a glitch in the story. She didn’t need to know that part.

When he finished, there was only silence.

Inko sat across from him, her face unreadable. There was disbelief, yes—but also fear. Worry. Her fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap, as if she wasn’t sure what to say, or what to believe.

Izuku took a steadying breath.

“Backpack,” he muttered.

The familiar hum of the system answered. A faint shimmer rippled in the air before him, and the menu opened—grid layout, first slot glowing softly. The words Rusty Sword hovered below a shadowed icon.

He reached into it.

The sword appeared in his hand as though it had always been there. Cold. Solid. Real.

Inko gasped.

Izuku held it out in silence. The dull blade caught the ceiling light, flickering like old metal.

Inko didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on the blade, wide and wary.

“That’s a sword,” she said plainly. The words sounded foreign coming out of her mouth—like she didn’t quite believe them even as she said them.

Izuku let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders sagged slightly, some of the tension draining out of him.

“So you can see it,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question. It was relief.

Proof that he wasn’t losing his mind. That he hadn’t imagined it all.

Inko’s face softened, though the concern still lingered in her eyes. She stepped forward slowly, her gaze never leaving the sword as if it might suddenly spring to life and strike out at her.

She reached out with a hesitant hand, "Izuku..." Her voice wavered, softer now. 

“I want to try for the hero course at UA instead of support,” Izuku said decidedly. “I think the portals are a great way for me to train.” 

Inko stopped mid-motion, her hand hovering just above the sword, her eyes flicking between the blade and her son. The weight of his words hung in the air, thick and heavy. She wasn’t sure if he was ready for what that dream entailed, especially with everything that's happening now, but she could see the determination in his eyes.

“Izuku...” She began softly, the words caught in her throat. “I know you’ve always wanted to be a hero, but this—” She gestured to the sword, then back to his bruised side. “—this is different. This isn’t the kind of quirk you can just train for in a classroom. It’s dangerous, and I don’t want you to rush into something, into these portals, you might not be prepared for.”

Izuku met her gaze, his voice low but firm. “I’m not rushing into it. I’ve been training my whole life.”

Inko takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says. 

“Okay?” Izuku echoes. 

“I want to know exactly where and when you enter these portals,” she continued quickly. “But before that, we’re going to enroll you in a martial arts group.”

Izuku blinked, caught off guard by her response. "A martial arts group? Mom, I—"

Inko cut him off gently, her expression resolute. "Yes, Izuku. If you're going to do this, you need more than just raw determination. You need discipline, control. That sword you’re holding... it's not something to take lightly. I know you’re strong, but you need to learn how to fight, how to protect yourself properly. You need a solid foundation."

Izuku swallowed, nodding slowly. He hadn't expected this kind of response, but he understood where she was coming from. "You're right," he said quietly, his grip tightening on the sword. "I guess... I guess I could use some extra training."

Inko softened, stepping closer to him, her hand still hovering above the blade as though she wanted to touch it but wasn't sure if it was safe. "I don't want you to end up in a situation you can't control. I want you to be prepared, both mentally and physically." She paused, her gaze drifting down to the sword in his hand. "We’ll find you the best instructor, someone who understands the seriousness of what you're getting into."

Izuku nodded again, his mind already spinning with the possibilities. The martial arts training, the portals... It was all a lot to take in, but he couldn't stop now. He had a goal, and he was going to chase it no matter what.

"Thanks, Mom," he said quietly, his voice laced with gratitude. "I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Chapter Text

[Quest Unlocked!]

["Get Back Up."
Even heroes need rest. But rest is not the end—only the next starting point.
Objectives:
☐ Attend all your classes
☐ Avoid raising suspicion
☐ Heal to at least 50 HP
☐ Reflect on your first dungeon run

☐ Optional: Return to the dungeon (lvl. 1)

Reward: +50 EXP | +1 Health Potion | +5 Mental Resilience ]

The notification popped up the moment Izuku’s alarm buzzed. He groaned, arm flopping out from under the covers to slap blindly at the phone on his nightstand. Everything hurt. His muscles throbbed like he’d been in a car crash. He stared blearily at the floating quest text that shimmered at the edge of his vision, then let his head thump back against the pillow.

“Yeah,” he muttered hoarsely, “figures that would be the name.”

The quest pulsed gently, unrelenting. 

[Get Back Up.]

Izuku dragged himself upright with a pained hiss. His shoulder was still bandaged—thanks to Inko practically going into Nurse Mode the second he’d collapsed on their apartment floor the night before. Also, that dungeon was a level 1? Izuku huffed, standing up. 

[Daily Quest

☐ 25 Push Ups
☐ 25 Sit Ups
☐ 25 Squats
☐ 2km Jog

Reward: +10 EXP]

Izuku stared at the new list with the flat, silent contempt of a man betrayed by his own video game UI.

“Right,” he muttered, eye twitching. “Let me just… do push-ups. On a body that got chewed on by a flaming hellhound.”

[Passive Skill Acquired: Discipline Lv. 1
Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.

• Slight resistance to fatigue
• +2% daily stat gain efficiency]

Gritting his teeth, Izuku asked out loud, “Is this an incentive?”

The UI pulsed once. Cheerfully. Like a gold star sticker being slapped on a bruise.

Izuku groaned again, but forced himself upright. With all the energy of a man crawling to his own execution, he rolled off the bed and onto the floor. Gravity was a harsh mistress. So was concrete flooring. His arms shook from the first push-up, trembled more on the second, and by the third he was fairly confident his bones were holding a protest.

But he kept going. Surprisingly, he even manages to do 25 squats and 25 sit ups before his body felt like it was completely done. Yet, he didn’t have time to wallow—he had school. And according to the main quest, he had to “Avoid Raising Suspicion.”

Which was hilarious, considering he currently walked like someone who’d fought a lawnmower and lost.

He limped through his morning routine. Shower. Bandage check. School uniform. A protein bar he couldn’t quite taste. And finally—his bag, hastily packed with half-scribbled notebooks and the ever-important monster journal he’d started after surviving the dungeon.

He hesitated at the door, then looked at the optional quest objective:

[ ☐ Return to the dungeon (lvl. 1) ]

He snorted.

“Not today, Satan.”

And then he was out the door.

“Discover,” Izuku mutters, blinking away the information box that immediately popped up afterwards. It was a relief. His quirk mechanics hadn’t changed. He could still “blink” away the box, just like before, no voice commands, no timers. Still under his control. Mostly.

“Discover,” Izuku mutters again. 

[Pencil

Just regular graphite on wood. Nothing special ]

“Discover.”

“Discover.”

“Discover.”

[GET INFO has leveled up!]

Passive Skill Rank has increased.

Huh. So some of his abilities had the capability to level up. Did that mean all of them do? Izuku’s eyes lit up. He could feel his heart beating faster. Progress! Quantifiable, real, undeniable.

“Deku!” 

Izuku flinched like he’d been hit.

Kacchan turned, fist slamming onto the desk with a bang that drew half the class’s attention.

[Katsuki “Kacchan” Bakugou – LVL 5

STR: 19 |  DEX: 17 |  CHR: 6 |  CONST: 9 |  INT: 16 |  WIS: 9 | LCK: 10]

“Shut the fuck up! You sound like a glitchy-ass NPC!”

Izuku shouldn’t. 

Izuku realllyy shouldn’t.

But— 

“Discover.”

[Katsuki “Kacchan” Bakugou - LVL 5

HP: 80/80

Quirk: Explosion! LVL. 8

Relationship: -43 (BULLY)

Current Status: HOSTILE ]

The temperature in the room spiked, tiny explosions fizzled in the air around Kacchan's hands like angry firecrackers.

Izuku realized, belatedly, that he may have made a tactical error as Kacchan let out a gutteral scream. He was too busy to pay attention as the blonde continued to berate him, however, when another pop up appeared. Izuku’s newly favorite one, actually. 

[Congratulations!

You have unlocked ‘TITLES’. 

Personal TITLES can be toggled in STATUS. TITLES on others reflect current accomplishments, affiliations, or notable status.

You have met the special requirements to Level Up!

Unlock GET INFO

Unlock TITLES

You now have the ability to open ‘MENU’. You have unlocked a status bar for MP.

Create a keyword for ‘MENU’?]

[YES] | [NO]

…He was level 5 now?

The same as Kacchan? As the rest of his peers?

After years of being stuck at Level 3?

Izuku could cry. 

Not from the yelling. Not from Kacchan’s impending murder-by-explosion. But because, for the first time in his life, he was actually progressing.

Level 5.

The same level as the rest of the class.

His hand trembled as he stared at the floating box. His heart pounded in his chest. Quickly, he jabs a finger towards [YES]. 

Quite litereally infront of him, there was a loud bang at the desk in front of him. Kacchan had ignited a corner with his palm.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT, I WILL END YOU,” Kacchan barked, teeth bared like some kind of angry boss mob.

☐ Avoid raising suspicion (FAILED)

Oh shit. 

Izuku blinked rapidly to exit out the pop ups floating across his eyes. “W-Wait, Kacchan! It’s not what it looks like!” Izuku squeaked, hands raised in defense.

Kacchan advanced like a triggered enemy. The explosive crackle of his palms only got louder.

Izuku let out a startled, definitely nervous laugh. “I-I was just practicing my quirk, y’know? Like training! Mental training! Mental... discovery?”

Kacchan froze. Only for half a second. But Izuku saw the twitch.

“WELL YOU SOUND MENTALLY ILL! You’ve been muttering that dumbass word like fifty times in a row—” His eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you really doing, Deku?”

“I’ll shut up!” Izuku nodded to himself, if only to placate Kacchan. The blonde’s eyes narrowed even more before he lets out a tch and faces back forward. Luckily for Izuku, that was the exact moment their next teacher arrives.  

Kacchan continued to mutter angrily about some  “dumbasses wasting air.” His chair gave an angry creak beneath him.

Izuku sighed. 

[Indicate keyword for ‘MENU’ by saying “Toggle MENU: Insert Keybind”]

Shaking his head, Izuku blinked the prompt away. Kacchan looked seconds away from blowing him into the Pacific Ocean. 

Izuku doesn’t get to use his quirk until during break. He’d lock himself in the bathroom stalls (wasn’t the first time). He had a finger right by his lips as he muttered over what his System had just revealed to him.

After binding ‘MENU’ with, well, “menu,” an entire interface had unfolded in front of his eyes. It was translucent, layered like a holographic RPG screen—panels, tabs, and blinking icons that practically begged to be explored. It felt like cheating. Like opening a dev console in real life. Izuku was vibrating with glee. He sat on a toilet seat, food tray balanced precariously on his knees—rice ball half-eaten and miso soup going cold—while his eyes scanned the air in front of him like a man possessed.

[Izuku Midoriya – LVL 5

STR: 13 |  DEX: 14 |  CHR: 9 |  CONST: 11 |  INT: 16 |  WIS: 13 | LCK: 10

Title: N/A

HP: 50/100

MP: 100/100

Exhaustion: 200/200 ]

[Status] [Relationships] [Quests] [Achievements] [Inventory] [Skill Tree] 

Izuku had a skill tree!?

Yes. Yes, he did.

Izuku nearly dropped his miso soup. His eyes briefly glazing over his exhaustion stats. Well, that explained why he felt like shit. 

"A skill tree," he said, reverent. His breath hitched, fingers hovering mid-air like they were about to touch sacred ground. He tapped it with the kind of hesitation normally reserved for forbidden buttons labeled “DO NOT PRESS.”

[Izuku Midoriya – LVL 5

Passive: Phoenix Spark

Once per day, if HP drops to 0, restore 1 HP and become immune to damage for 3 seconds.

Leaves user exhausted.

• WARNING: User does not get heat by own fire.

INFERNO - Magic Skill Tree 

Ignis  (lvl.1) 

Ball of Flame 

Create a small fire. Basic elemental magic.
– Cost: 5 MP
– Cooldown: Null
– Scales with INT and emotional state

or

Exhaust (lvl.1) 

Ember Veil

Create a heat shimmer field that distorts vision.
- Cost: 6 MP
– Duration: 30s ]

Izuku’s fingers twitched. The implications. The potential. Except..

[BRANCHING PATH UNLOCKED: IGNIS or EXHAUST

Note: You can only advance ONE path at a time. Special quests or events may allow dual-branching or restarting later.

Do you want to proceed with a specialization? ]

[IGNIS] | [EXHAUST] | [CANCEL]

Izuku stared, stunned. “A build,” he muttered to himself. “I’d have to create a build.. But I don’t want to choose too early! Isn’t there any way I could figure out what the rest of the branches are before choosing?”

Blinking, Izuku goes back to the menu, searching through each of the options before realizing that it was all for naught. He’d need to choose between the two, and there was no way of knowing what the rest of the skills would entail. 

Well, it did say he could dual branch or restart, right?

Taking a deep breath, Izuku chose IGNIS. 

[INFERNO - Magic Skill Tree

KINESIS (lvl.3 UNLOCK)

Flame Manipulation
Control existing fire sources within 5 meter radius
– [Cost: 2 MP/sec active use]

– Radius may expand upon level up

Overheat (Passive) (lvl.5 UNLOCK)
- Boosts fire damage by 15% when HP is under 30%.
- May cause system strain.

??? – Hidden Skill Tree | Requirements not met

Note: Hidden trees are usually connected to one’s life path, hidden potential, or buried trauma.

Progress: 2% unlocked.]

Buried trauma?

He blinked, and the screen politely dimmed the description, like it had realized it overshared.

“Cool, cool cool cool,” he muttered to no one. “Not ominous at all.”

He sat back, heartbeat still thudding behind his ribs. There was a system now. There were skills, trees, quests, even hidden paths—Izuku wasn’t just catching up anymore.

[UNLOCKED: Ball of Flame

Indicate activation for ‘Ball of Flame’ by focusing on INTENT (MP) and saying “Toggle Ignis: Insert Keybind”

Note: keybind for SPELLS can be words, phrases, or movements until further levelling. ]

Breath shaking, Izuku glanced down towards his left hand, his right still balancing his food tray. After years of his quirk being deemed useless, of being called Deku…

His finger snapped just as he says, “Toggle: Ignis”

The air shimmered.

Just above his snapped fingers, a flame sparked to life—small, flickering, barely the size of a candle. But it was there. Warm. Real.

[Congratulations!

You have casted your first SPELL.
Ball of Flame (Lv.1)
Stability: 83%
Output: Minor
Emotional Sync: 67%
Emotional resonance influences magic volatility. ]

Izuku stared at the flame like it was a miracle.  No tricks. No lighter. No friction. Just will.

Just him.

Though he does notice that he doesn’t feel any heat coming out from himself at all. Another menu bloomed without his asking:

[AFFINITY: Fire (Rank D – Potential: ???)

New Trait Discovered: Emotional Conduit
Your emotions are tied to your magic output. Unstable emotions may cause spells to fizzle… or explode.

WARNING: Affinity system is in early stages of development. Please proceed with caution.]

‘Deactivating’ the spell came as easy as a thought, though a quick glance at his status shows him that he has depleted his INTENT by 5. 

Focusing on something else (completely bypassing the sound of the bell ringing), Izuku goes back to his menu. He needed to go through his TITLES, if he has any. 

[ Available Titles:

Late Bloomer | +1 INT, +1 WIS

Reach LVL 5 after being stuck for years ]

Noticing that it was ‘clickable’, Izuku tags the title to his STATUS. Checking back to his menu, his status now reads; 

[Izuku Midoriya – LVL 5

STR: 13 |  DEX: 14 |  CHR: 9 |  CONST: 11 |  INT: 16(+1) |  WIS: 13(+1) | LCK: 10

Title: Late Bloomer

HP: 50/100

MP: 95/100

Exhaustion: 200/200 ]

[Status] [Relationships] [Quests] [Achievements] [Inventory] [Skill Tree] 

Hmm. He feels like he’s missing something…

“Izuku, I understand your quirk just got an upgrade, but that’s the second time your advisor called me this week for tardiness.”

Izuku offered her a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck as they walked side by side toward the martial arts center — aikido, according to the flyer she'd found the night before. “Sorry, I just got caught up with another system update. It’s... been a lot lately.”

Inko blinked in surprise, “oh? What is it this time?”

Not shying away from using his quirk, Izuku snapped his fingers. A small flicker of flame—Ignis—came to life in his palm, hovering just above his skin like a candle made of willpower.

“It’s responding to intent,” he said, watching the flames dance. “Like… if I’m calm, it burns clean. If I’m mad or panicked, it spikes.”

Inko watched the flame quietly, her steps slowing. “That’s... new.”

“Yeah.” He flicked his wrist and the fire disappeared. “A few days ago, I leveled up and got a new ability tree. It’s not just about adding points to my STR anymore. It’s about control.”

Inko gave him a look. Warm, but worried. “And does this new control come with time management?”

He groaned. “Okay, fair.” He had also failed the rest of his quest that day, aside from his daily. He missed one class (he was late! but his system didn’t count that), apparently he was being suspicious, and he didn’t get to fill his HP back to 50. 

She chuckled. “Just don’t let it take over everything, Izuku. I know this system is amazing, but school, training, even sleep — they still matter.”

“I know, I know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly thoughtful.
“But it feels like the system's evolving with me. Like it’s... watching. Preparing me for something.”

Inko reached over and gently squeezed his arm. “Then let’s make sure you’re ready for whatever it is. Step one — don’t be late to aikido.”

Izuku grinned, reassured by her steady presence. “Step one. Got it.”

[QUEST UNLOCKED]

[“Foundation”

Objective: Complete your first martial arts session.
Bonus Objective: Impress the Sensei.
Reward: +20 EXP | Unlock: Ki Pathway Detection] 

The dojo smelled of cedar and focus. Tatami mats lined the floor, and soft chanting music played faintly from a corner speaker. Inko nudges him forward with a smile, briefly telling him that she’ll get him signed up. 

“Go meet your new sensei,” she advised, nodding towards a tall man in white gi. The man was teaching another student, someone with a mutation quirk that gave him a tail. Izuku watched as they nodded at each other before getting in position. 

Izuku hesitated for a second, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The boy with the tail moved fluidly, grounded with every step — like the tail wasn’t a burden but an extension of his balance. His stance was strong, relaxed, confident. And the way the sensei mirrored the motion with calm precision? It was almost like watching a dance.

“Midoriya-kun?”

“Right—!” 

The sensei looked up as Izuku approached, nodding in acknowledgment. “You must be the new student.”

“Yes! I’m—uh—Izuku Midoriya,” he said, bowing quickly, then flinching at how awkward it looked.

The sensei gave a small smile. “Welcome, Midoriya. I’m Master Daiki. This is Mashirao Ojiro.”

The tail boy straightened and offered a polite bow. “Nice to meet you.”

Izuku returned the gesture. “You too.”

Master Daiki met his mother’s eyes for a moment, before gesturing to Mashirao. “Why won’t you show Midoriya-kun where the uniforms are so he can get changed while I speak with his mother.” He phrased it as a question, but it was an obvious command to the younger student. 

Mashirao nodded. “Come on,” he said with a smile, showing Izuku forward. 

Mashirao led him down a quiet corridor past the main mats, into a small changing room with neatly folded white uniforms stacked on open shelves. The walls were plain but clean, and everything smelled like freshly washed cotton and incense.

“You nervous?” Mashirao asked casually as he handed Izuku a gi in his size.

Izuku blinked, caught off guard. “Is it that obvious?”

Mashirao shrugged, tail swaying behind him. “A little. You’ve got the vibe of someone who overthinks a lot. No offense.”

“None taken,” Izuku said, managing a small laugh. “I kinda… live in my head.”

“Yeah, I used to be the same. Still do, sometimes. But aikido helps. Makes you focus on your body more than your brain. It’s weirdly freeing.”

Izuku nodded, absorbing that. As he changed into the gi, he glanced at the quest still pinned in the corner of his HUD.

He could feel the little pulse of his energy bar below it — hovering now at around 72/100 HP. A reminder that he'd been running on a depleted tank since the day before. He really needed to rest.

But not yet. Not when something in him said this training mattered.

“I’ve never trained formally before,” Izuku admitted as they stepped back toward the dojo. “I mean… I know how to move, I do work out. But aikido’s… different.”

“Good,” Mashirao said, grinning. “Means you don’t have any bad habits to unlearn.”

They stepped back onto the mat just as Master Daiki finished speaking with Inko and returned to center. His presence was calm but intense — like a boulder in a stream, immovable no matter how much water rushed past him.

“We’ll start with the basics,” Daiki said, gesturing for them to bow in. “Midoriya-kun, watch Ojiro’s movements closely. You’re not learning how to fight. You’re learning how not to fight.”

Izuku furrowed his brow. “Sir?”

“Aikido isn’t about domination. It’s about redirection. Energy flows. Intention. Control. That’s what you’re here to study.”

Ojiro stepped forward and demonstrated a simple wrist lock, fluid and without resistance. Daiki nodded at Izuku.

“Today, we begin with kamae — your basic stance. Ojiro.”

Mashirao stepped forward and lowered himself into a natural, stable posture. One foot forward, knees slightly bent, shoulders loose. His tail gently swept behind him, maintaining balance with unconscious grace.

“You’re not preparing to strike,” Daiki said. “You’re preparing to receive. Aikido begins with awareness — of yourself, and of your partner.”

Izuku mimicked the stance, a little too stiff at first. His knees bent, arms up, unsure whether to treat them like shields or antennae. Mashirao adjusted his foot placement gently with a tap.

“Less tension in the shoulders,” Master Daiki said. “If your muscles are locked, energy has nowhere to go.”

“Now — the first movement we study: tenkan. The pivot.”

Master Daiki rose slowly, demonstrating. His leading foot stepped slightly forward, then he pivoted on it, turning his whole body smoothly in a half-circle motion. His back foot drew around like the brushstroke of a calligraphy pen.

“Tenkan allows you to absorb an attack and redirect it,” he explained. “It’s the foundation of circular motion.”

Mashirao mirrored the step without hesitation. Izuku followed, carefully copying the turn.

“Again. And again.”

They repeated the motion across the mat — Izuku stumbling once or twice, catching himself each time with a frustrated grunt.

“You’re forcing the turn,” Master Daiki said gently, stopping him mid-motion. “You’re thinking of it as an escape. Don’t. Think of it as a conversation.”

Izuku blinked. “A conversation?”

Master Daiki placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. “When someone pushes, you don’t always push back. You listen. You step aside. You answer.”

He stepped away, and Izuku tried again. This time, he didn’t rush. He just turned — slower, smoother.

“Better,” Master Daiki said.

They moved on to basic grips. Mashirao stepped in and grabbed Izuku’s wrist lightly. “Shōmen-uchi. Overhead strike defense,” Master Daiki said. “First, irimi — direct entry. Then ikkyo — the first control.”

He guided Izuku through the motion: stepping forward into the grip, then bringing Mashirao’s arm down and across, gently twisting his center off balance.

Izuku’s hands trembled slightly — not from fear, but from sheer effort. Every step required attention: his stance, his hands, the feeling of resistance, the angle of his turn.

Mashirao grunted as Izuku completed the technique with clumsy sincerity, ending with him off-balance and halfway toward the mat.

“Hey,” Mashirao said, laughing, “not bad for a first time.”

Izuku grinned. “That felt... kind of awesome.”

[QUEST UPDATE: Foundation — 70% Complete]
Bonus Objective Progress: 40% — "Sensei is Watching."

Master Daiki watched the two of them for a moment, arms folded, eyes narrowing slightly — as if reading something beyond Izuku’s physical movements. Finally, he spoke.

“Midoriya. Do that again. But this time, don’t do the move. Feel it.”

Izuku hesitated, then nodded. He let Mashirao step in again. He didn’t rush. He didn’t overthink.

He listened — not with his ears, but with the feedback in the grip, the pressure of balance, the weight of motion.

He turned, stepped in, redirected.

Mashirao moved with the flow.

Master Daiki gave a small nod.

[QUEST and BONUS OBJECTIVE COMPLETE
+20 EXP | New Skill Tree Unlocked: Ki Pathway Detection (Passive) lvl.1

Ki Pathway Detection (Passive) lvl.1: Allows brief perception of muscular and energy tension in targets. Duration: 3 seconds | Cooldown: 60s ]

Izuku felt a tingle in his fingertips — something subtle humming beneath the surface of Mashirao’s wrist. Like a pulse, but not physical.

For a moment, it felt like time slowed — just enough for him to sense where Ojiro would step next.

Then it was gone.

He looked up, breath caught in his throat.

Master Daiki looked at him for a beat longer. Then he nodded. “Good.”

He glanced toward the edge of the mat where Inko stood watching quietly. “I accept him as my student. He may return tomorrow.”

Izuku turned, eyes wide with something between awe and gratitude.

Inko wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve, smiling. “We’ll be here.”

“Good work out there, Midoriya,” said Mashirao as they both changed back to their regular clothes. “Daiki-sensei doesn’t usually take on students, so you must’ve impressed him.”

Izuku paused mid-buttoning his shirt, blinking. “Wait, really? I thought this was… normal.”

Mashirao laughed lightly, tail flicking once behind him. “Hardly. Most people drop out before they even finish the first week. He says he’s not a teacher — just a guide.” He glanced at Izuku. “But if he accepted you after one session… that means something.”

Izuku looked down at his hands. They still tingled faintly, like the echo of that pulse hadn’t fully faded. “I… felt something. When we moved. Like I knew where you’d go before you did.”

Mashirao nodded slowly. “That’s ki. Or, well, maybe the start of it. You get better at reading people the more you practice — intent, rhythm, energy. Sounds like your quirk’s syncing with it.”

“Yeah,” Izuku said quietly, half to himself. “It unlocked something. A passive detection skill.” He caught himself. “Er — that probably sounds weird.”

Mashirao blinked, a curious look on his face. “What is your quirk, anyway?” he asked. 

That was… a good question. 

What was Izuku’s quirk?

For the longest time, he had thought that he had some sort of low-level analysis quirk, with the ability to people status’ in real time. 

But that had changed.

“I thought it was just analysis,” Izuku said slowly, almost tasting the words as he spoke them. “Like… being able to see people’s vitals, health bars, emotional states. Stuff like that.”

Mashirao tilted his head. “Like a HUD?”

“Exactly. But lately…” Izuku paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been evolving. Now there are quests. Skill trees. Stat points. Titles. Like a game system, almost.”

Mashirao raised an eyebrow. “That… doesn’t sound like any quirk I’ve heard of.”

“I know.” Izuku looked down at his hand, still faintly remembering the sensation of ki running through it. “And it’s not just passive anymore. I can level up, unlock abilities. It reacts to my choices. My emotions. My training. Even my relationships, apparently.”

“Relationships?” Ojiro asked, amused.

“Yeah,” Izuku muttered, eyes flicking up. “I literally just got a notification that we started a Social Link. Rank One.”

Mashirao blinked, then snorted. “Okay, that’s definitely new.”

Izuku laughed softly, embarrassed but oddly reassured. “I don’t know what to call it. It doesn’t feel like just a quirk anymore. It feels… alive.”

“Some kind of long-form evolution,” Mashirao muttered, thoughtful now. “Maybe it’s an emergent quirk type. Like, an adaptive one.”

“Maybe,” Izuku said, fully wearing his clothes now. “It was nice meeting you, Mashirao-san. I hope I get to see you in my next session.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Midoriya,” he said thoughtfully. “Here,” Mashirao took out his phone. “Since your quirk’s telling you that we’re ‘Socially Linked’ now, here’s my phone number. I’m assuming you’re trying to get in UA, right?” 

“Yeah!” Izuku answered excitedly, taking his phone out. “I am. Are you, too?” 

Mashirao nodded. “I am,” he says. “Send me a text, and we can meet up to train some more, yeah?” 

Izuku beamed, quickly typing Mashirao’s number into his phone. “Definitely! I’d really like that.”

Mashirao gave a casual thumbs-up as he slung his gym bag over one shoulder. “Cool. I usually train at this community center or down by Dagobah Beach. Depends on the day.”

“Wait, Dagobah Beach?” Izuku blinked. “That place with all the junk?”

Mashirao grinned. “Yup. Great for balance drills and endurance. Plus, dodging scrap is kind of its own training.”

Izuku laughed. “Okay, that’s… actually genius.”

Mashirao started for the exit, then paused. “And Midoriya?”

Izuku looked up.

“That thing your quirk does — don’t ignore it. Even if it’s weird or different. Some quirks evolve to match the person, not the other way around.”

Izuku’s breath caught at that — a quiet affirmation he didn’t know he needed.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Mashirao nodded. “See you around.”

He left with the relaxed ease of someone already on his path.

Izuku stood there for a moment, then glanced down as his system pinged:

[Social Link: Mashirao Ojiro - LVL 5

A steady presence. Someone you can learn from — and who may learn from you in return. ]

Izuku smiled.

“Yeah,” he whispered to himself. “Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

For the next two months, Izuku trained his quirk and body relentlessly.

His mornings were devoted to schoolwork. If UA really did prioritize top-tier candidates, he wasn’t going to give them a reason to dismiss him over something silly like grades. Midday was when he focused on aikido and strength conditioning under Master Daiki’s watchful eye and Mashirao-san’s careful movements—tenkan drills, reaction tests, wrist locks until his forearms ached.

Evenings? Those were for optimization.

He spent hours muttering ‘Observe’, trying to see what else it could do. He’d mutter commands into thin air, scribbling stats and theories into three full notebooks. Each page catalogued his growth—new abilities such as Kinesis and Overheat already unlocked. He’d even started color-coding by quest type. 

Frustratingly, though, he hadn’t been able to level up again since reaching Level 5. He figured it was part of the system’s design—a difficulty curve, maybe a hidden requirement. But even without an extra stat point, he was stronger than he’d ever been. Though, he’d even hit a wall with his quests, as they seem to go by fewer and fewer each day.

But despite the training, despite the structure, one thing had loomed quietly over him every night:

The portal.

The Lvl. 1 dungeon still hovered in the same alley he’d first stumbled into—unchanged, uncaring, and untouched since his last escape.

Until today.

Mom: Be careful, Izuku! [read.]

[delivered. ] I will. 

Izuku stood at the mouth of the alley, breath fogging slightly in the cool afternoon air.

The portal was still there.

It hovered above cracked pavement like a scar in space—same swirling blue light, same quiet hum beneath the noise of passing cars and chattering pedestrians. No one else noticed it, just like before. They moved around it without thought, unaware of the thin barrier between reality and something much stranger.

Izuku stepped forward, heart pounding. But this time, he’s ready. Inside his inventory lies a first aid his mom got him, his rusty sword, an extra knife (his mom doesn’t know about that one), and the health potion he got as loot from his previous run. 

He snapped his fingers on his right hand, watching as a small flame hovered over his palm. 

“Discover,” he muttered.

[DUNGEON
Type: Instanced – Solo Entry Only
Threat Level: 1
Estimated Completion Time: ???
Rewards: ???
Status: Discovered]

Steeling his resolve, he enters. The world folded in on itself.

And then—

Darkness.

[Exit Locked
Objective Required: Clear Dungeon or Acquire Escape Scroll.]

“Right,” Izuku muttered, already pulling his sword from his backpack. The leather grip creaked under his tightening fingers. “Just like last time.”

He took a few cautious steps forward.

A low, growling rumble vibrated through the stone under his boots.

[WARNING: Hostile Detected]

From the far shadows ahead, a hulking figure padded into the glow of the cavern—molten eyes, black-furred body, shoulders trailing embers like smoke.

[HELL HOUND – LVL 1]
Status: AGGRESSIVE

Izuku didn’t wait this time.

The moment it lunged, he moved. He rolled left—cleaner than last time, smoother—and came up with his sword slashing upward. The blade bit into its shoulder, gold blood arcing through the air in a faint spray.

The hound snarled in pain, twisting to snap its flaming jaws.

Izuku dropped low and drove his foot forward in a messy—but effective—kick to the side of its ribs, forcing distance between them.

Letting out a guttural yell, he stabbed the hellhound straight in the gut—his blade sliding through burning fur and muscle with a satisfying crack of resistance.

The beast howled.

Its body thrashed against him, flames licking at his jacket as it bucked wildly. But Izuku held firm, wrenching the sword free and letting the golden blood splash across the stone.

The hellhound staggered then collapsed, its body crumbling into shimmering pixels before disappearing entirely, leaving behind nothing but its loot.

[Enemy Defeated – 1/3]

“Better,” he hissed, bringing his sword back up. He can’t stop himself from grinning. “Much better.” Izuku took one step back, breathing hard but steady.

Then he heard it.

A second growl. Then a third.

One to his left.

One behind him.

His eyes widened.

The second hellhound struck first, lunging from the side in a flash of fur and flame. Izuku barely twisted out of the way, heat scraping past his cheek.

The third came in fast from behind.

Izuku rolled, but not fast enough, its claws raked across his back, tearing through the edge of his shirt and searing his skin.

[HP: 94/100]
Status: Minor Burn | +1 HP loss per 10s | Active for 30s

He stumbled to his feet, sword gripped tight.

Still bad.

But this time... he wasn’t scared.

“Alright,” Izuku growled, wiping sweat from his brow. The hellhounds circled him, eyes burning with hunger.

“Round two.”

The hellhound to his right lunged.

Izuku sidestepped, pivoting on the ball of his foot just like Daiki-sensei had taught him. His blade came up in a clean arc, catching the beast across the flank. Golden blood hissed as it hit the stone, and the hellhound yowled, twisting midair to recover.

The second one was already on him.

It came in low and fast—smarter this time, aiming to pin.

Izuku dropped to one knee and thrust his sword upward with both hands. The blade met its chest in a hard, clean stab—but the momentum still sent him crashing onto his back beneath the weight of its burning mass.

“Ghh—!”

He grit his teeth, legs kicking out to push the creature off. The hellhound snapped at him, flames licking across his jacket as he barely twisted away. The sword was still lodged in its side—he yanked it free with a grunt and rolled just in time to avoid another crushing bite.

He came up wheezing, hair singed at the edges. But a quick glance to his health told him he was fine. 

[HP: 89/100]
Status: Heavy Impact | Winded

The two hellhounds circled again, pacing in tandem now. They were learning. Adjusting.

Izuku narrowed his eyes. “Not this time.”

The first hellhound leapt.

Izuku didn’t dodge. He advanced.

He stepped into the leap, spinning his body and slamming the hilt of his sword into the creature’s jaw with all the force he could muster. The beast yelped, staggering back midair—off balance.

The second lunged—too fast for a clean counter.

But Izuku had already moved. His foot planted behind him, stance solid. He pivoted with the attack, using its own momentum to drag the beast past him in a wide tenkan spin.

His sword caught it in the stomach on the pass-through.

Golden blood sprayed the stone.

Another one down.

[Enemy Defeated – 2/3]

Izuku raised his sword, eyes blazing to meet the final hellhound’s.

“You’ve got one more shot,” he muttered, voice ragged. “Come on, then.”

The hellhound snarled.

And charged.

Izuku braced himself—but his grip faltered just slightly. His arms were shaking, breaths coming fast. His body was running on fumes and training, and whatever scraps of instinct he had left.

Too fast.

The beast was on him in seconds.

Its weight slammed into his chest like a sledgehammer, knocking him clean off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the sword clattering from his grip, skidding just out of reach.

The hellhound reared up, claws flashing.

Izuku didn’t think.

He threw himself forwadrd, jamming his elbow into the beast’s throat. It choked, staggering—but not enough. Flames burst from its shoulders, searing across his side as it snarled inches from his face.

[HP: 83/100]
Status: Burned – Minor | +1 HP loss per 10s | Active for 30s

He reached blindly, fingers scraping stone— found the sword. No time to aim. No time to breathe. He drove it upward—once, twice, a third time—straight into the creature’s chest. Golden blood sprayed across his hand, hot and metallic-smelling.

The hellhound shrieked, its body convulsing.

Then—

Pixels.

It burst apart mid-snarl, dissolving into a flicker of light and data, leaving only a scorched scent and an eerie silence.

Izuku collapsed backward, panting hard.

Sweat clung to his skin. His burns ached. His fingers still trembled around the sword handle. His eyes flickered back to his health, [HP: 78/100].

Izuku laughed.

He stared up at the cavern ceiling, his breath echoing back at him.

[Enemy Defeated – 3/3]

[Dungeon Phase Cleared]
Remaining Hostiles: 0

[New Item Acquired: 

x1 Minor Health Potion
x1 Basic Leather Bracer (DEF +1)

Congratulations! 

Ability ‘SIGHT’ has leveled up to LVL 3. Ability ‘SIGHT’ and ‘GET INFO’ will now level up via Talent Points (TP). Talent Points are received after converting EXP. You now have unlocked the ability to see and enter higher level DUNGEONS.

Total TP: 6 ]

Katsuki wasn’t the kind of guy to watch people. People watched him. But lately, he’d been watching Deku.

Not because he wanted to—hell no—but because something wasn’t right. Something was wrong.

It started small. Little things. The way Deku moved during PE drills—smoother, tighter. The kid who used to trip over his own shoes was now dodgingballs from reflex. The way he stared into space sometimes, muttering under his breath, eyes flicking like he was reading something no one else could see.

And today?

Today, he blocked a shove from Bakugou. 

Not ducked.

Not flinched.

Blocked it, before stammering some lame-ass reply. 

Deku’s been training for UA with that useless quirk of his. His quirk was analysis-related. If you could even call that a quirk. Numbers, observations, stats. Like some dumb RPG.

But that kind of quirk didn’t make you move like that.

Didn’t let you predict a fight before it started. Didn’t give you eyes like you were watching ten things at once. Didn’t let you create a ball of fire—

Katsuki watched, so he followed Deku after school, walking far back as Deku took an unfamiliar path back to his house. That was until he stopped, snapped his fingers and materialized a ball of fire. Then just… disappear. 

The kicker?

Nobody else noticed. 

Not a single person on the street. Not a head turned. Not a whisper.

Katsuki stood frozen behind a vending machine, heart pounding in his ears, eyes locked on the empty space Deku had just stood in.

What the hell was that?

And more importantly:

Where the hell is Deku?

The tide was low, the wind mild, and the sky smeared orange with the kind of sunset that made everything feel like it was on pause. Izuku sat on a rusted piece of rebar, elbows resting on his knees, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead.

Next to him, Mashirao-san sat the same way, looking just as exhausted. Though it was Izuku’s idea to clear up the beach first, the other boy was quick to help— no question’s asked. They’d already carved out a small clearing near the water—a strip of sand free from bottle shards and broken crates. Nothing dramatic, but for the first time in a while, Izuku felt like he’d left something better than he found it.

He couldn’t help the way his chest swelled with a small flicker of pride.

It had started slowly. A single rusted shopping cart, half-buried in the sand, took both of them to haul up the slope. Mashirao used his tail like a fifth limb, curling it around the cart’s base for balance while Izuku dug around the wheels with a rusted piece of driftwood. The metal groaned in protest but eventually gave way with a wet squelch. Together, they rolled it to the edge of the path, adding it to a growing pile of collected junk.

Then came the scattered bottles—glass and plastic alike—wedged under rocks and partially buried under layers of seaweed. Mashirao kept finding strange items: a broken umbrella, a deflated volleyball, even an old CRT television crusted with barnacles. He held each one up with a mix of curiosity and disgust before tossing them into the makeshift scrap pile with a grin. Izuku couldn’t help but laugh.

Time bled into itself. They didn’t talk much, but they didn’t need to. One would see a tire, the other would fetch the rope. When Izuku’s gloves tore while trying to yank a wooden pallet out of the sand, Mashirao handed over his own without hesitation. When Mashirao got stung by a bramble of rusted wire, Izuku produced antiseptic wipes from his backpack like it was second nature.

Their hands grew filthy, their shoes soaked. Sand clung to their ankles, and bits of sea glass glittered in their hair. But by the time the sun began its slow descent behind the waterline, they had carved out a small clearing near the shore—a strip of sand finally free from broken crates and shattered bottles. Even the waves seemed to lap against it more gently, as if grateful for the gesture.

It wasn’t dramatic. The place was still rough, still scarred. But for the first time in a while, Izuku felt like he’d left something better than he found it

“…Think we’ll be able to clean the whole thing?” Izuku asked, eyes still on the waves.

Mashirao tilted his head, then shrugged. “Eventually.”

The breeze shifted, cool and salt-sweet. They sat in companionable silence, muscles sore but minds strangely clear.

Izuku leaned back on his hands. “Thanks for helping, by the way.”

Mashirao gave a half-grin. “You looked like you were going to break your spine lifting that refrigerator alone. Figured I should intervene.”

Izuku laughed—quiet, real. He’s never had this before, a friend. It seems like his quirk not only brought forth new powers, but also new acquaintances. New chances. Maybe even a new version of himself.

Mashirao leaned back on his elbows, watching the tide roll in.

“You’re different, y’know,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

Izuku stiffened slightly. “Is… that bad?”

Mashirao shrugged. “No. Just noticeable.”

He glanced over, eyes sharp but kind. “You fight like someone with something to prove. But also like someone who doesn’t want to get anyone else hurt. That’s rare.”

“I want to be the kind of hero that saves people with a smile,” Izuku said wistfully. “Someone people can rely on, a symbol of peace.”

“You want to be the Symbol of Peace? All Might’s spiritual successor?” Mashirao-san repeats, surprised. 

Izuku shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“A symbol of peace,” he corrected. “I don’t want to stand above everyone else. I want to stand with them. With the next line of heroes—as we help each other protect everyone.”

He looked up at the sky, voice almost wistful now. “Heroes that I can call my friends.”

Mashirao didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

Then he leaned back on his elbows again, expression thoughtful.

“…Well,” he said eventually, “you’re off to a good start.”

Izuku blinked at him, caught off guard.

Mashirao smirked. “You’ve got one friend already.”

That stuck with him longer than it should have.

The sun had dipped lower by the time Izuku left the train station. He stifled a yawn as he walked the familiar route home, sandals crunching against the uneven sidewalk. His shoulders ached. His ribs still throbbed where he'd slammed into a half-buried cupboard during the cleanup patrol on Dagobah Beach. He couldn’t wait to collapse into bed and disappear for twelve hours.

But Mashirao’s words lingered.

"One friend already."

He hadn't thought of it that way before. He didn’t know what to call Mashirao yet. But the weight of those words made his steps feel a little lighter.

That is—until he spotted her.

Up ahead, near the pedestrian crosswalk, a little girl stood alone on the curb.

She couldn’t have been older than seven. A red backpack shaped like a bunny sagged from her shoulders, too big for her frame. She clutched a paper note in one hand—crumpled and sweat-stained. Her brow furrowed, lips pressed into a determined frown as she stared at the map posted to the bus stop glass.

Izuku slowed.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Glanced around. Hugged the backpack closer. Nobody else seemed to notice.

[Quest Unlocked!]
[“Lost Bunny.”
A young girl is lost on the way to her grandmother’s apartment. She's too stubborn to ask for help.

Objectives:
☐ Escort her safely to her destination before sunset.
☐ Optional: Make her smile

Time Limit: 01:00:00
Rewards: +50 EXP, +1 SP, ???]

Izuku froze mid-step, jaw slack.

The girl shifted her bag, clearly nervous—but trying not to cry. He saw her turn the paper around, eyes scanning the address again. Slowly, Izuku stepped closer. She looked up at him warily.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you okay? Need help getting somewhere?”

She hesitated. “...I'm not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Izuku nodded. “That’s smart. I’m Midoriya Izuku. I go to Aldera. You don’t have to trust me, but… maybe I can just help you find a police officer?”

Her fingers tightened around the paper, but her expression cracked. “I think I’m... lost.”

The quest window flickered again:

[QUEST ACCEPTED: LOST BUNNY]

And in the corner of his vision, a new compass appeared—glowing faintly toward the north-east.

Izuku offered her a smile. “Let’s get you home.”

The little girl’s name was Mai. She walked with a determined little stomp in her step, holding the paper with both hands like a compass even though it kept fluttering in the breeze. Her red bunny backpack bounced behind her with every stride.

Izuku stayed a respectful distance at first—he didn’t want to scare her—but made sure to keep her in sight.

"So…" he asked, "your grandma’s name is Yakuri Kyoko? And she lives in, uh—” He squinted at the paper. “Kujibashi Apartments?”

Mai nodded. “She’s on the top floor. Her buzzer is broken, so I have to yell really loud.”

Izuku smiled despite himself. “That sounds like something you’re good at.”

“I am,” she declared, chest puffing. “I once scared a dog with my yell.”

“Wow. Must’ve been a big yell.”

“It was a small dog,” she admitted, a little more quietly.

[Timer: 00:47:12]

They turned a corner and came to a blocked sidewalk—scaffolding and cones surrounded a construction site.

“Guess we’ll have to go around.”

“But that way’s scary,” Mai muttered, clinging to her backpack. “There’s an alley with loud people.”

Izuku’s heart tightened. He glanced down the alternate path. Sure enough, a group of older kids loitered by a store’s back entrance—laughing, smoking, tossing bottle caps.

[Optional Objective Added: Avoid confrontation – Find alternate route]
Reward: ???

Izuku studied the layout, spotting a narrow pedestrian overpass a block south. “Hey, Emi. Want to take the scenic route? There’s a better view up ahead.”

She glanced up at him skeptically. “Will there be birds?”

“…Probably.”

She followed.

[Objective Progress: Detour Taken Safely (100%)]

They reached the overpass. Mai ran ahead a little, climbing up the stairs and peering through the chain-link fencing to the cars below. Izuku watched her carefully, letting himself breathe a little easier.

She turned to him with a frown. “Why are you being nice?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“My teacher says strangers are dangerous unless they’re in a uniform,” she said. “You’re just wearing a school backpack.”

Izuku hesitated. He could lie. He could laugh it off.

“…Because you looked like you needed someone,” he said simply.

She tilted her head.

“I don’t need people,” she said after a beat.

“I used to say that too.”

They walked in silence for a bit after that. The sun dipped further. Shadows stretched across the pavement, and cicadas buzzed from somewhere up high. When they finally reached the Kujibashi apartment building, Mai stopped at the base of the stairs.

“…I don’t like going up by myself,” she admitted.

Izuku gave a mock-serious nod. “Want me to stand watch until you get in?”

She nodded, then suddenly sprinted up the stairs—two at a time. Halfway up, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted: “GRANDMAAAA!”

A moment later, an older woman leaned out from the top railing. “Mai?”

“I brought a stranger but he’s nice!!”

“…Excuse me?”

Izuku winced. “Sorry! I just helped her find the building, that’s all!”

There was a pause. Then a warm chuckle. “Thank you, young man. Do you want some candy?”

Izuku smiled and shook his head. “No need, ma’am. Just glad she’s safe.”

Mai reached the top step, then paused. “Hey.”

He looked up.

“You’re weird. But good weird.”

She reached into her bunny backpack and pulled something out—wrapped in floral paper.

She tossed it down, and he caught it instinctively.

[Item Acquired: x1 Salted Plum Candy – “A treat that tastes like old summer memories.”]

Then the quest log blinked in front of him one final time.

[SIDE QUEST COMPLETE – Lost Bunny]

Rewards: +50 EXP | +1 SP | +Salted Plum Candy (Consumable – Heals 5 HP over 10s, clears minor debuffs)

Bonus Objective Achieved: Make Her Smile
Reward Unlocked: [New TITLE: Kind Stranger] – 

You radiate a quiet trust. Slight increase to Charisma when interacting with children, animals, and civilians in distress.

Izuku stared at the flickering screen in disbelief.

A title?

And the weirdest part? His chest felt warm, not because of the reward, but because Mai had smiled. Really smiled.

It made him happy.

[ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED DUNGEON CLEARED]

[SIGNATURE: UNREGISTERED | CLASS: UNKNOWN | ENTITY: ???]

.

.

.

[INVESTIGATION INITIATED: SUPERVISING ADMIN CONTACTED.

AWAITING RESPONSE.]

Chapter Text

Maybe when they were around four or five, Izuku followed Katsuki like he held all the answers in the world. 

Everywhere Katsuki went, Deku was two steps behind, tripping over his shoelaces, dragging his ratty All Might toy, eyes wide like Katsuki hung the damn stars.

“Wait up, Kacchan!”

God, he’d say that like it meant something. Like Katsuki was some kind of hero already. Like he was more than just a loud kid with sparks in his palms.

And back then?

Katsuki liked it.

He liked being the one who knew how to climb the jungle gym fastest. The one who dared to jump across the drainage canal first. The one who shouted “Plus Ultra!” with his chest while the others hesitated. Deku would cheer like it was the bravest thing in the world, like Katsuki had just saved a whole city.

No questions. No doubts. Just that dumb, relentless faith.

But then he’d fallen in that damn river.

Slipped on the edge of the pipe trying to show off, and the world tilted and crashed and the cold hit his lungs like fire. And when he surfaced, sputtering and furious and soaked to the bone—

Deku’s hand was already there. Reaching. Steady. Like he’d been waiting.

And that was it, wasn’t it? Deku was always waiting. He had been there waiting for his failure to come. That’s when Katsuki realized that Deku wasn’t just there to have fun— he was there to show everyone else that he was better. That you didn’t need a flashy quirk to be worth something. That he could stand beside Katsuki Bakugou without ever catching up. The worst part?

He didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Izuku didn’t need his quirk to tell him that he was being watched.

But of course, their sensei just had to single him out, announcing to the whole class that he was also applying to the heroics course at UA. Now, with their last period over, Izuku finds himself on edge as he gathered his things. Painfully aware of the scorching red eyes that flickered towards him when sensei made his announcement. 

He kept his head down.

He stood, reaching for his notebook—Hero Analysis for the Future #13—when it was yanked out of his hands.

Izuku froze.

Izuku reached for it. “Give it back—”

Kacchan yanked it out of reach.

“You think you’re clever, huh? Think just ‘cause you can scribble down a few notes, you know how to be a hero?”

“No, I—” Izuku shook his head. “It’s just for learning, it’s not—”

Kacchan slammed the notebook shut and stepped closer. 

“You really think U.A. would ever let someone like your quirk in? You’re practically quirkless.”

Izuku didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the tight coil in his chest, not with the heat rising behind his eyes. It had always been like this with Kacchan.

Kacchan eyes narrowed, voice low, venomous. “Unless something’s changed.”

[WARNING: Hostile Detected]

[Katsuki “Kacchan” Bakugou – LVL 5

STR: 18 |  DEX: 15 |  CHR: 6 |  CONST: 12 |  INT: 16 |  WIS: 9 | LCK: 10]
Status: AGGRESSIVE

“No-nothing’s changed,” Izuku responded. 

Kacchan says nothing, watching him squirm for a beat before his lip’s curled. “Tch. That’s what I thought.”

BOOM!

Izuku flinched as the blonde throws his notebook out of the window after the blonde uses his quirk on it. 

For a moment, everything stopped.

The world outside the window caught the notebook mid-flight—pages fluttering like broken wings before it disappeared in a blur of smoke and sunlight.

Casually, Kacchan walks away. “You know, if you wanna be a hero so bad, maybe you can take a swan dive off the roof of the building and wish for a better quirk in your next life.”

He stood there, shaking—not from anger, not entirely from fear. But from the sharp edge of humiliation slicing through his ribs, carving out the same space that had always been empty.

And yet—

He turned.

Not to confront Kacchan. Not to say anything.

Just to walk. Quietly. Carefully. Past his desk, through the door, down the stairs. Out the side entrance.

The sun was starting to dip, casting long shadows across the cracked sidewalk and chain-link fence. Somewhere in the dirt below, broken pages stirred weakly in the breeze. 

Idiot, Izuku thought. He can’t just go around telling people to kill themselves. It’s not very heroic of him. 

He crouched by the fence, carefully gathering the scattered remnants of his notebook. The explosion had left burns along the spine and edges, pages torn loose like feathers from a bird mid-fall. Some were illegible. Some smelled like smoke. But not all of them.

His fingers hovered over a half-charred sketch of Mt. Lady mid-kick. The caption read:

Wide stance. Uses momentum to mask slow windup. Still effective.

A corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

He tucked the page into his backpack like it was treasure.

[Item Recovered: Hero Analysis – #13 out of ???
Modifier Added: Damage – 28%]

He sat by the fountain for a moment longer, knees pressed to the cracked pavement, hands still dusty with soot. A few kids from other classes passed by the gate and glanced at him. No one said anything.

They never did.

Words could hurt, yeah.

But they didn’t define him. Not unless he let them.

He stood slowly, brushing the dirt from his knees. His hands still trembled, but he was upright. Still breathing.

Still here.

[Quest Unlocked!]

[“Become a Hero”

It takes more than a quirk to become a hero.

Objectives:

☐ Complete daily quests (1/304)
☐ Consistently train with Mashirao
☐ Find more dungeons
☐ Apply and get in UA
☐ Don’t give up  

☐ Optional: Prove to Kacchan that you, too, could become a hero

Reward: +2,500 EXP]

Much like the past few weeks, Izuku chooses a new route home. One unknown, where he can potentially find another portal.

His legs moved on instinct, cutting through side streets and narrow alleys where the buildings leaned a little too close and the air smelled faintly of damp concrete and vending machine sugar. It was quieter here. No classmates. No teachers. No Kacchan.

Just Izuku.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, notebook tucked tight inside, like maybe if he kept it close, the parts of him Katsuki hadn’t burned would survive. The sun was setting behind the buildings now—casting everything in long, amber shadows.

His fingers brushed against the straps of his bag, tapping once. Twice. A grounding rhythm.

Until it wasn’t.

A low slosh echoed down the alley behind him. Then again. Closer.

Izuku paused mid-step. Another sound. Wet. Like something viscous dragging across brick. He turned—slow, careful—and his breath hitched.

A sewer grate had been forced open. Oozing up from the dark like a nightmare, something moved.

[WARNING: Hostile Detected]

[UNKNOWN ENTITY – LVL ???
STR: 36 |  DEX: 62 |  CHR: 23 |  CONST: 43 |  INT: 24 |  WIS: 28 | LCK: 16]
Status: HUNTING

Its eyes blinked out of sync. A warped, melting grin stretched across a face made of sludge. 

It was a villain.

“There you are,” it gurgled. “You’ll make a perfect skin suit—small, flexible. Not too strong. Just right to hide in.”

Izuku stumbled back.

“W-wait! I—I’m just trying to go home!”

“Quiet down, kid. It'll be over soon... for you.”

The sludge surged forward.

Izuku ran.

His feet hit pavement in frantic bursts. He darted through a side path, barely dodging a lunging tendril of muck that slapped into the wall beside him, cracking tile.

[Quest Unlocked!]

[“ESCAPE”

Don’t die.

Objectives:

☐ Find cover
☐ Avoid capture

Reward: +100 EXP]

He dove behind a dumpster, gasping. His brain was racing. His hands moved without thinking, grabbing a rusted pipe from beside the wall.

He waited. Held his breath.

But sludge doesn’t need to see.

It smells.

A tendril shot toward him—too fast. It wrapped around his ankle and yanked him into the open with a slick, wet pop.

Izuku snapped his fingers.

The sound was small. But what followed was not.

Flames licked across his fingertips— almost spectral, flickering like will-o'-wisps caught in wind. He didn’t have time to marvel.

“What—?” the sludge creature recoiled.

Izuku thrust his hand forward. The fire threaded, dancing in a line like a ribbon of life itself. Controlled. Alive. His INTENT made manifest.

The flame curled toward the sludge, searing a groove into the pavement as it moved. The monster screamed—no, hissed—as the fire met its outer edges. A burst of steam rose as the slime recoiled, sizzling where it had been struck. A quick glance at his status says he’s still above the 90s for his health, but his INTENT is quickly depleting. 

[Sludge Villain – LVL 28

HP: 168/250]

[Status: Burning (Minor), Enraged]

The monster reeled, parts of its body steaming and evaporating. That’s when Izuku noticed that the only part of the monster’s body that wasn’t covered in sludge were it’s eyes. 

He raised his palm, aimed for the eyes—

“CALIFORNIA SMASH!”

Wind slammed into the alley like a freight train. The sludge monster exploded outward in all directions, splattering against brick and cement like burst paint.

Izuku shielded his face instinctively. A shadow loomed behind him.

The flames in his palms had faded, but his fingers still trembled.

Izuku stared at the spot where the sludge villain had been—now just a streak of steaming green sludge sliding slowly down the alley wall. The metal of the dumpster was scorched black in an arc where his fire had hit. His sleeves were torn. His forearm ached.

[Reward acquired! You have 2489 EXP in waiting.]

Izuku had done something. Fought back. Not just survived, but fought.

The whisper of flame had stopped dancing around his hands, but it still pulsed behind his ribs—like a second heartbeat.

“You handled yourself well, young man,” came a familiar voice. Low. Resonant. Proud.

Izuku’s heart stuttered.

He turned around slowly, still panting. Not trusting his eyes, Izuku let himself look at the man’s status.

[Toshinori Yagi – LVL 99

TITLE: “All Might”

STR: 99 |  DEX: 99 |  CHR: 76 |  CONST: 43 |  INT: 86 |  WIS: 72 | LCK: 43]
Status: IMPRESSED

Impressed?

Izuku blinked. Once. Twice. The system overlay didn’t change.

Status: IMPRESSED

That couldn’t be right.

All Might—All Might—was standing in front of him, cape billowing faintly behind him even though there was no wind, arms crossed like something out of a manga panel, and his status said impressed?

That had to be a bug. A glitch. A lie his brain made up to stop him from panicking.

Izuku's hands were still trembling. The pipe he’d grabbed was lying forgotten at his feet. He could smell smoke on his uniform, his shoes were soaked from the alley runoff, and something wet was streaked across his cheek—muck or tears or sweat, he couldn’t tell.

“You…” he rasped, throat dry, “you saw that?”

All Might’s smile didn’t falter. “I did.”

Izuku’s heart flipped. His brain screamed in three different directions. One of them was: Run. One was: Cry. Another was just a long, high-pitched whine of disbelief.

He settled for: “I didn’t mean to. I just—I had to do something.”

“You did,” All Might said. “And you did it well.”

Another blink. Then, 

“Ithinkyoureamazingandeverythingaheroshouldbe.Ireallywannabeaherotoojustlikeyou,pleaseAllmightsirsignmynotebook.” Izuku took a deep breath, bowing deeply as he offered his notebook. “CAN I GET YOUR AUTOGRAPH!?”

All Might laughed, loud and booming as he signed Izuku’s notebook. Quickly, the hero contained the villain into two bottles before ruffling Izuku’s hair. 

“Take care of yourself, young hero!”

With another BOOM, All Might jumps away.

There was no way Mashirao-kun was going to believe him. Hell, Izuku couldn’t even believe it himself.

Not only had All Might saved his life—
Not only had he signed his notebook—
He had called him a hero.

Izuku sat on the edge of his bed that night, still in his soot-streaked uniform, backpack open beside him like it might vanish if he stopped watching it. The scorched remains of Hero Analysis for the Future #13 lay in his lap, now adorned with a bold, sweeping autograph on the cover. The flame-damaged corner gave it character. Like a scar.

[Item Modifier Added: SIGNED – “Go Beyond!” – All Might]

He couldn’t stop staring at it.

Had it really happened?

His hands still smelled faintly of smoke. His sleeves were still torn. And somewhere beneath the ache in his chest was that flicker of something that’s been growing long before he even got home.

“You did it well.”
“Take care of yourself, young hero.”

The words looped in his head like a prayer, each repetition more surreal than the last.

Mashirao was going to say he’d hit his head. That he was sleep-deprived. That he imagined the whole thing. And honestly? That wasn’t off the table. Not entirely.

But the empty villain bottle tucked deep inside his backpack was real. The singed page of Mt. Lady mid-kick was real. And so was the feeling. The one that hadn’t left since the moment he acted.

Not ran. Not froze.
Fought.

Hope that he’ll become a hero.

Naturally, Izuku tells Mashirao-kun all about it the next day. Hell, he even tells it to Master Daiki. Well—he tries to.

He stumbles over his words halfway through, flinging his hands in the air and frantically flipping through his scorched notebook to show the signature, the sketch, the new page he’d started drafting at 2:14 a.m. with the heading “Sludge Villain: Weaknesses + Fire-Based Response Strategies.” 

Both Mashirao-kun and Master Daiki take it wholeheartedly (he even saw a glimmer of pride in Master Daiki’s eyes that he was sure the old man would never admit). Izuku had already previously confided in them about the new aspects of his quirk, and Mashirao-kun especially had helped him train ignis and kinesis during their sessions at Dagobah Beach.

And yet, Izuku still hasn’t found another portal ever since the first one. In fact, much like the first time he saw one, the second portal Izuku comes across to was by pure accident.

He’d searched. Desperately, at times—wandering side streets after school, rerouting his jogs, even doubling back through alleys that “felt weird” just in case. Dagobah Beach hadn’t produced anything either, not even a flicker. The more he tried to find it, the more elusive it seemed.

Until it happened again—by pure accident.

It was late.

The sun had already dipped below the rooftops, leaving the city bathed in gold and dusky violet. He’d taken a detour after aikido, legs sore, backpack heavy, sleeves still faintly soot-scented from an earlier test with kinesis. He wasn’t even thinking about the portals at that point—just trying to walk the stiffness out of his joints.

That was when the air shimmered.

At first, he thought it was a heat mirage from the pavement—but then the light bent. Just slightly. Like it passed through something that shouldn’t have been there.

He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Slowly, he took a step back. A small portal slowly swirled into existance, swirling in that same blue color as the last time. It shimmered like oil on water, catching the city’s streetlights in strange, dissonant hues.

He stared at it.

A couple walked right through it, the portal flickering slightly as they did. Still, they remained oblivious. 

“Discover.”

[DUNGEON
Type: Instanced – Party Entry Available
Threat Level: 1
Estimated Completion Time: 1:45:00
Rewards: + 100 EXP | +1 SP | +1 Minor Health Potion
Status: Undiscovered]

His fingers twitched by his side. The system overlay hovered silently at the corner of his vision, its presence cold and matter-of-fact. Unlike before, this one wasn’t camouflaged by emotion or adrenaline. It wasn’t reacting to a moment of danger. It was an invitation.

Or a test.

Threat Level: 1. Low. Manageable. At least, by the system’s standards.

Instanced. What did that mean again? And Party Entry Available? Could it be that Izuku could… invite people in? Did that make the dungeon inside harder?

Still… Threat Level 1. He could handle that. Right?

His fingers found the strap of his backpack. Hero Analysis #13 was safely tucked inside. The scorched cover warmed under his touch, like it remembered what he’d done. Just as Izuku’s hand hovered over the [ENTER] icon, his thumb barely brushing the translucent projection, a different kind of pressure weighed down on his chest—familiar, quieter, more human.

His mom’s voice echoed in his head.

“Promise me, Izuku. You tell me next time. Before you go through one of those things. Please.”

He exhaled slowly, the breath fogging slightly against the portal’s surface. It didn’t seem to notice. The system didn’t rush him. No countdown. No penalties. Just that quiet, glowing prompt.

[DUNGEON – STATUS: Undiscovered]

He stepped back.

The flickering edge of the portal shimmered again, still patient, still there—like it knew he’d return.

And he would. Just… not yet.

Besides, he was really interested in what ‘Party Entry’ meant.

Izuku tugged his jacket closed around him and turned away from the alley. The hum of distant traffic whispered through the empty street as he walked home, each footstep echoing with the memory of the portal’s glow. His mind kept replaying those words—Party Entry Available—over and over, like a stubborn refrain he couldn’t shake.

Could he… invite a friend?

When he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the apartment wrapped around him. The hallway light flickered on as he dropped his bag by the door, and he heard the soft, rhythmic click of Inko’s rice cooker coming from the kitchen. The scent of steaming rice and something sweet on the stove floated toward him, steadying the churn in his chest.

Izuku hesitated at the threshold. The kitchen light was low, and Inko’s silhouette moved gently behind the counter. He walked the few steps over to the table, sliding into the chair as he watched the steam curl up from his untouched cup of tea. His elbow rested on the wood, cheek in his palm, fingers tracing lazy circles around the cup’s rim.

He hadn’t drunk any of it—just let the warmth soak into his fingers while he tried to find the right words.

Inko stirred the rice pot one more time, then wiped her hands and turned around, offering him that soft, steady smile that always felt like a lifeline. 

Izuku sat at the table, elbow resting on the wood, cheek in his palm, watching the steam curl up from his tea. He hadn’t touched it. Not really. Just let the warmth soak into his fingers while he tried to think of the right words.

Inko glanced over her shoulder as she stirred something gently on the stove. “You’re quiet tonight,” she said. “Tired?”

Izuku hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really. Just… thinking.”

She turned the stove down and walked over, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. Her smile was soft, but not worried—not yet.

“I found another one.”

“A dungeon?”

“Yeah.” He looked down at his tea, tracing a circle around the rim with his finger. “I was just out and it materialized right in front of me.”

Her brow creased slightly. “Did you go in?”

“No.” He lifted his hand. “I promised. I didn’t even touch it.”

Inko sat across from him, the kitchen light turning her eyes a gentle brown. She didn’t speak right away. Just listened, like she always did.

“I found out something,” he said after a moment. “There’s an option now. It said ‘Party Entry Available.’ Like… I could bring someone with me. If I wanted.”

Her expression shifted—just slightly. Not alarm. Not fear. But that quiet, subtle draw inward that Izuku had learned to recognize from years of watching her steel herself.

“You mean… someone else could go in with you?”

He nodded. “I think the dungeon changes depending on who's with me. I don't know for sure yet, but… it didn’t say it was locked. It looked like it wanted me to try.”

Inko looked down at her hands for a long moment. Her voice was very quiet when she finally spoke. “Izuku… I know you want to understand this quirk. I know how much this means to you. But if those places are dangerous—if you can get hurt in there—inviting someone else inside…” She trailed off.

“I know,” he said, quickly. “I wouldn’t just pull someone in. I wouldn’t do it unless they wanted to go. And even then, only if I thought it was safe.”

She reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. Her fingers were warm.

“If it were me,” she said gently, “I’d rather you didn’t bring anyone. Not yet. Especially not someone your age. You’re all still so young, and quirks are so different. What happens in there… it’s not something everyone might be ready for.”

Izuku looked down, throat tight.

“But,” she added, and he glanced back up— “if it’s someone you trust… and they understand what they’re agreeing to… then I won’t stop you.” She offered him a small smile. “You said Mashirao’s helped you with your training before, right?”

He nodded. “He’s been helping me with ignis since winter break.”

“Then if you explain everything, and he still agrees, I trust your judgment.” Her smile wavered just slightly. “Even if it does scare me a little.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he whispered, and squeezed her hand back.

She stood and went to check the rice again, and Izuku sat in the soft clatter of the kitchen, a little more grounded than before.

After dinner, once the dishes were washed and the TV buzzed quietly in the living room, he slipped into his room and sat on the edge of his bed. The blue glow of his phone screen reflected faintly in his eyes as he tapped open the message thread.

[read.] Hey, can I ask you something kind of weird? Do you have time after school this week? It’s… quirk-related.

The reply didn’t come immediately. Mashirao was probably still at the dojo or getting home himself. Izuku set the phone aside and grabbed his journal instead, flipping past the singed pages until he reached the most recent one:

DUNGEON – Party Entry
– Unknown limit on number of entrants
– Possibly changes based on who enters
– No visible timers, cooldowns, or external consequences (???)
– Instanced. Meaning… private? Hidden from the real world?

His phone buzzed.

Mashirao Ojiro: Whoa, yeah, I’m down! What day?
Wait, wait, what kind of weird? Like dangerous weird or quirk weird? [read.]

Izuku smiled faintly.

[read.] Honestly… kind of both.
Nothing urgent. Just checking if you’d be up for something new.

A few dots appeared.

Mashirao Ojiro: Ugh, I have prep for the open spar this week. And Daiki-sensei’s running us hard. I might not be free until next weekend.
Is it okay if we push it? [read.]

Izuku stared at the screen for a long moment. 

[read] Yeah. No worries. Good luck with sparring 🙇‍♂️

He turned the screen off and leaned back on his bed, notebook still open on his chest.

Mashirao had said yes.

Of course he had. No hesitation, no weird comments—just that same steady, dependable answer Izuku had come to count on. But then the week caught up to them. The dojo was prepping for matches, and Daiki-sensei didn’t believe in easing up, not even a little. They hadn’t trained since Wednesday. Now it was Monday. The weekend they had talked about had come and gone.

Mashirao Ojiro: Sorry, Midoriya-kun. I really thought Daiki-sensei would ease up. Are you okay to push it to next weekend? [read.]

[read.] Yeah, that’s okay. 

Izuku stared at the message a moment longer than he needed to before putting his phone away. He was already back at where the second portal had appeared. Still waiting.

“It’s just one. Just Threat Level 1.”

His phone buzzed again. He didn’t check it. It’s probably Mashirao-kun letting Izuku know he’ll send a message him once his schedule cleared. He’d probably be actually free Saturday.

But what if the portal was gone by then?

What if it never came back?

He swallowed hard, the air shimmering in front of him. He opened his inventory, half out of habit, half in search of reassurance—and there it was.

The return scroll from the last dungeon. Still unused.

His hand tightened around the strap again.

“I’ll just scout it,” he said softly, to no one. “Just a little. No one else at risk.”

Propping his hand up, Izuku presses [ENTER].

Someone grabs him by the shoulder —“Oi.”

Izuku’s stomach dropped. He didn’t have time to turn before the world swirled away and the portal dragged him forward.

Chapter Text

Everything warped.

The moment snapped sideways, pulled like string through a needle, and then slammed back into focus.

Izuku hit the ground hard. Dust scattered beneath his knees, the pavement beneath him cracked and uneven. The sky above flickered a strange, bruised gold, like it couldn’t decide if it was night or dusk. Something buzzed in his ears.

He looked up.

Kacchan was standing a few feet away, glaring at him like he’d just dragged them both into hell.

“The fuck, Deku?”

[PARTY MEMBER DETECTED:

BAKUGOU KATSUKI — LVL 5 (UNAUTHORIZED BY PARTY LEADER)]

[WARNING: Non-Player Entity Lacks System Interface. 

Adjusting Parameters… Granting limited access…

Adding Vitals

Adding ’SIGHT - LVL 3’ to Bakugou Katsuki [TEMPORARY BUFF]

ERROR. ERROR. ERROR. 

PERMISSION FORCED. .

See Party Member STATUS to toggle TEMPORARY EFFECTS.

Dungeon Scaling Complete.
Cooperative Trial: Initiated.]

“No, no no no—” Izuku’s breath caught as the prompts flickered in the corner of his vision. “You weren’t supposed to follow me!”

Not you. Not like this.

Kacchan stepped forward, fists clenched, boots grinding dust into the fractured stone.

“You disappeared. In the middle of the goddamn sidewalk. You think I’m just gonna let that happen and not grab you?”

“I didn’t mean to drag you in!” Izuku’s voice pitched high. “You—You touched me mid-transfer! The system must’ve registered it as a party link!”

“What system, nerd?! Where the hell even are we?!”

Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He didn’t have a real answer. Not one that made sense. Not one Kacchan would believe.

All around them, the environment shimmered. Cracked concrete and half-buried caution tape. Twisted light poles, bent at impossible angles. It felt like… Dagobah. But not the one they knew. Like a memory twisted into something hostile.

Izuku felt the weight of it pressing down on his lungs.

“This is… part of my quirk. I think.” He swallowed. “I don’t fully understand it yet. It’s like… it shows me things. Quests. Like a simulation, but real. And it’s grading me.”

“Grading you,” Kacchan echoed flatly.

“Sort of.”

Another line blinked into the overlay:

[CHALLENGE PROMPT: 

Proximity Sync Enabled – Shared HP Threshold Active.]

Izuku paled. “Oh no.”

“What now.”

“If either of us takes too much damage… we both lose.”

Kacchan’s eyes flared.

“You dragged me into a fucking deathtrap?!”

“I didn’t mean to! YOU grabbed onto ME! You’re not even supposed to be here!”

Before Kacchan could yell again, the ground behind them ruptured.

A humanoid figure clawed its way up from the pavement, skin a molten grey, face warping rapidly between shapes—sludge villain, civilians, even a flickering, grotesque version of All Might’s smile.

Izuku’s breath caught.

[WARNING: Hostile Detected]

[MIMIC - LVL 1]
Status: CURIOUS 

Kacchan’s explosions lit instantly.

“Forget talking. You’re sticking to me, Deku. You hear me?! You don’t move unless I say so.”

Izuku nodded before his brain caught up, so used to Kacchan’s orders. “No- no- wait! We’re leaving, we could leave! Backpack.”

[x1 Escape Scroll

WARNING: Only one player can use an escape scroll at a time]

His heart dropped.

“Shit.”

Jaw tightening, Izuku practically shoves the scroll to Kacchan’s hands. “Here, this should let you get out.”

“The hell? I’m not some kind of wimp. I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t have a system interface!” Izuku hissed. “You don’t even know how damage works in here!”

“I know how to win a fight.”

“That thing is a mimic. It’s reading us. It could copy your explosions next!”

“Then I’ll blow it up twice as hard,” Kacchan snapped. His palm sparked, the scroll crumpling slightly in his grip. “You think I’m just gonna bail while you play dungeon crawler solo?”

[x1 Escape Scroll (DAMAGED) (UNUSABLE)]

Izuku opened his mouth, closed it. The mimic was watching. Still not attacking. Its shifting face flickered again—briefly forming his own expression back at him.

His stomach twisted… He wished Mashirao-san was here. “This isn’t like a normal villain. It’s testing us.”

Kacchan’s smirk turned sharp. “Good. Let’s make it fail.”

The mimic cocked its head.

Then it grinned, too wide, too unhuman, teeth sketching into existence like someone was still remembering how they worked.

Kacchan didn’t wait. His hand snapped forward, already mid-detonation.

“DIE!”

The explosion hit point-blank—a roaring, concussive blast that lit the fractured street in orange and white.

For a split second, Izuku shielded his face from the heat and debris. When he looked up—there were two explosions.

One from Kacchan’s palm.
And one from the mimic.

Kacchan was blasted backwards like a missile, skidding hard across the ground in a tumble of sparks and grit.

“Kacchan!”

When the smoke cleared—

It stood there, in the crater, grinning with Kacchan’s face. Hair like firecrackers. Eyes burning. And those hands—sparking with copied rage.

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.

[MIMIC - LVL 1
New Ability Acquired: BLAST TYPE - LINEAR TRAJECTORY]
Status: EXCITED

“Shit—” He stumbled back, fumbling for a strategy. Kacchan was already staggering upright, smoke trailing from his jacket.

“It copied me?!”

“I told you!” Izuku shouted.

The mimic launched forward—no warning, just detonation—and the next blast lit the space between them like a bullet train. 

Izuku snapped his fingers, letting his flame fill up his palm. But then the mimic twisted again, morphing, this time into him. He watched, helplessly, as the mimic copy his movements, a similar flame twisting into existance. 

[MIMIC - LVL 1
New Ability Acquired: SUMMON TYPE - LIMITED]

The air bent with heat.

Izuku's flame crackled in his hand—but the Mimic mirrored it. Same posture. Same flick of the wrist. Same nervous tension in the shoulders, like it was playing him like a puppet.

Its eyes even flicked with the same panic. The same analysis. It’s tracking patterns. Not just power. Emotion. Thought. Like it’s syncing to how we think. Predicting before we move…

“It’s a fucking learning AI,” he muttered. “With our faces.”

The Mimic opened its mouth.

“You weren’t supposed to follow me!” it cried—in his voice. The pitch was wrong. Off by a breath. But it was him. A line pulled straight from minutes ago.

Kacchan’s teeth bared in a snarl. “It’s fucking acting like you.”

The Mimic pivoted suddenly—mid-spin detonation—launching another Bakugou-style blast from one hand while its flame coiled like Izuku’s in the other. Dual-wielding quirks. No cooldown.

“Like I haven’t figured that out!” Izuku shouted at the system window, then ducked under the next incoming burst. He doesn’t dare use kinesis.

A piece of rebar screamed past his head.

They weren’t just fighting a villain. They were fighting a corrupted mirror.

“We need a plan!” Izuku shouted, ducking a searing blast that carved a trench through the shattered pavement.

“Yeah, my plan is kill it first,” Kacchan snapped back, leaping toward the mimic with a roar. “That thing wants to act like me? Then I’ll show it how I end a fight!”

“Kacchan, wait—!”

But he was already midair, palm flaring as an explosion launched him forward like a missile. His detonation hit squarely, slamming into the mimic’s chest. It staggered—but didn’t fall. It absorbed the blast and answered with a mirrored one.

Boom.

Kacchan hit the ground hard, smoke curling off his shoulder.

[HP DROP: -23%]
[WARNING: SYNCED PARTY HEALTH: 41%]

Izuku gasped—not from pain, but from panic. A red flash blinked in the corner of his vision. Their shared health bar had taken the hit.

It didn’t matter who got hurt, both of them paid the price.

“You’re just giving it more to copy!” Izuku cried, voice cracking. “We’re down forty percent!”

“Then quit yelling and keep up!” Kacchan barked, already charging again.

Izuku ducked behind a fractured slab of concrete, heart pounding. He needed time to think—to process. But Kacchan was fighting on instinct, treating the mimic like a street brawl instead of a system-driven threat.

He’s not listening. I can’t run this like a team fight. I need to adapt. Support. Cover his blind spots.

Another blast shook the ground as mimic-Kacchan met real-Kacchan mid-leap. Sparks rained like shrapnel.

[HP DROP: -9%]
[SYNCED PARTY HEALTH: 32%]
[WARNING: CRITICAL THRESHOLD APPROACHING]

Izuku scrambled through his inventory, pulling free a faintly glowing vial. He bit the cork off and drank it in a single breath.

[+30% HP Restored]
[SYNCED PARTY HEALTH: 62%]

A cool wave settled into his chest, but the relief was temporary. The mimic had changed again—its body flickering with overlapping quirks. Kacchan’s explosive gait in one leg, Izuku’s flickering flame in the other. Its arms moved with split timing, mimicking both of them at once.

“This thing’s not just stealing powers,” Izuku muttered, watching it move. “It’s learning how we think.”

He saw it now. The mimic didn’t just replicate—it studied. It was piecing them together like a puzzle, move by move.

That gave him an idea.

What if I give it the wrong piece?

Izuku reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a small, homemade, flare capsule—FLASHPOINT, labeled in blocky letters. A last-ditch tool. Blinding if triggered close. 

He looked up. The mimic was watching. Studying. He lit his palm with a snap and deliberately exposed the capsule to the mimic's gaze. Then he made a show of charging it.

Let it track his movements.

At the last second—he dropped it at his feet— making sure his eyes remained closed as he did it.

Flash.

A blinding, searing white burst swallowed the field. The mimic, halfway through copying him, did the same. It triggered the flare in its own hand.

The creature screeched—high and warped and too human—and staggered back, limbs spasming, faces stuttering between mismatched eyes and teeth.

“Kacchan—NOW!” Izuku bellowed, vision still spotting white.

Bakugou didn't wait. He vaulted into the fray, both palms igniting as he roared forward like a cannonball, explosions lining his path. “HOWITZER IMPACT!!”

But the mimic wasn’t done.

Still blind, it reacted.

Its palm fired off a copied linear blast blind but aimed by instinct. The flame-lash cracked through the air, slamming into Bakugou mid-charge and hurling him off his arc.

“Kacchan!” Izuku gasped.

Kacchan landed in a vicious roll, gravel grinding into his elbow as he caught himself. “Fucker—” he hissed.

The mimic stood trembling, twitching—one eye still flared white with burn, the other starting to reform. It was broken, yes—but not beaten. Not yet. It twitched—then vanished in a flicker of dust.

“Shit, where is it!” Izuku pivoted wildly.

BOOM.

The mimic exploded from the ground behind him, using Kacchan’s blast-type momentum trick, a copied detonation launching it upward into a brutal flying kick—just like Izuku’s flame-enhanced jump attack.

He barely raised his arm in time.

The mimic crashed into him and sent him flying into a twisted streetlight.

Pain exploded through his back.

[HP DROP: -15%]
[Shared HP: 17%]

“Dammit—!” Izuku coughed. His shoulder throbbed, vision red at the edges. “Kacchan, we’re almost out—!”

“Then move!” Kacchan roared, sparks erupting around him like a thunderstorm.

The mimic landed between them, body still smoking, one leg dragging slightly wrong—but it grinned anyway.

It raised both hands. Kacchan’s detonation on the right. Izuku’s flame twist on the left.

BANG—!

Izuku threw himself to the side as the blasts tore through the concrete.

The mimic advanced, one limb sparking violently with feedback.

Its grin twitched.

Kacchan saw the gap.

The mimic had overloaded itself—two quirks, no cooldown.

Kacchan’s eyes lit up. “Try copying this.”

He blasted forward—right through the mimic’s copied flame, fire licking up his jacket as he punched through the wall of heat.

The mimic turned to react—too slow.

Twin explosions detonated point-blank into the mimic’s chest. One to break its guard. One to shatter it. The mimic flew backward, limbs flailing, before slamming through the broken facade of a half-submerged building.

Silence.

A soft ping.

[ENEMY DEFEATED.]
[Cooperative Trial Complete]
[Trial Rank: Pending Evaluation]
[Remaining Party HP: 17%]

Izuku slumped against the twisted pole, breathing hard, body bruised but alive. His fingers were still curled around his empty potion vial.

Kacchan stood over the wreckage, hair plastered to his face with sweat, chest heaving.

“…Hah,” Kacchan panted, hands on his knees, smoke curling from his palms. “Told you. We win.”

Izuku stood slowly, one hand pressed to his ribs, the other still clenched from where he’d flung the flare. His mouth was dry. His pulse hadn’t slowed. The mimic’s crater still smoked.

Their shared HP bar blinked a warning-red 17% in the corner of his vision.

And it wasn’t victory he felt in his chest—it was rage.

“You think that was a win?” he said, voice quiet.

Kacchan straightened, giving him a sideways look. “What, we’re not dead. That counts.”

Izuku shook his head, the exhaustion catching up to him now in waves. “That’s not the point.”

“Oh, here we go—”

“We weren’t supposed to even be here together!” Izuku snapped. “I didn’t want to do this trial with you!”

Kacchan blinked. “What?”

“I was supposed to do this with Mashirao! He’s been training with me for weeks. He knows the system, he listens. I had a plan.” Izuku’s voice cracked, loud now, too loud. “And instead, you just—just grabbed me and jumped in blind and—!” He stopped short, chest heaving.

Kacchan’s jaw tensed. “You’re mad I saved your dumb ass?”

“I’m mad you never listen!” Izuku shouted. “You never have! You saw me struggling and assumed you know better. You think charging forward is the same as helping, but it’s not! This wasn’t supposed to be your fight! You think I wanted to risk you getting hurt?” he said, quieter now. “You think I wanted you to see this part of me?”

A beat.

“You think I wanted you to be part of this?”

Kacchan’s face twisted—scowl deepening, shoulders bristling like he was about to bite.

“The hell kind of question is that? You think I chose to get dragged into your freak-show quirk dungeon?!”

His voice was sharp, biting—but something in it wavered. 

“I didn’t ask to get pulled in! You vanished in the middle of the street! What was I supposed to do—let you disappear?”

Izuku flinched, but didn’t look away.

Kacchan shoved a hand through his hair, fingers trembling with leftover adrenaline. “I saw you glitch out like some NPC. I didn’t think—I just—” He broke off with a sharp scoff, grinding the heel of his palm against his eye.

“Tch. Whatever. You always act like I’m the problem. Like you wouldn’t already be dead if I hadn’t been there.”

He said it like a weapon, but it didn’t hit like one. Because his voice cracked—just slightly—on dead. Izuku’s breath hitched. He stared.

Kacchan didn’t meet his eyes.

“…I didn’t know what was happening,” he muttered, quieter now. “You disappeared. And I—I thought it was like before. I saw you, a couple months back. Like maybe this time you weren’t coming back.”

The words fell flat between them.

“…So yeah. I grabbed you. Big mistake, right?” His voice rose again, lashing out with heat. “You had your little plan with your little martial arts buddy and I ruined it. Sorry I didn’t feel like watching you glitch out and die in the middle of nowhere, nerd!”

But Izuku wasn’t flinching anymore.

Not from the yelling. Because beneath the yelling—he heard it.

The fear. The guilt.

Kacchan wasn’t just pissed that the plan had gone wrong.

He was terrified that Izuku could have just… disappear?

Kacchan turned away sharply, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. “Next time, maybe tell someone before you go off and nearly get yourself killed,” he muttered. “Not that you’d listen.”

Izuku’s breath caught, the fight draining from him all at once. For a moment, they stood in the broken quiet, system prompts flickering gently above their heads.

“…Kacchan,” he said softly.

But the other boy didn’t look back. There was no sound, nothing but the whirl of the entry portal asking them to go back to reality. 

Kacchan didn’t answer. His chest rose and fell sharply, shoulders trembling from more than just exertion. The glowing arch shimmered in front of them now—no longer a threat, just a waiting door. Pixel-light framed its edges like a breath held too long.

“That’s the exit,” Izuku said, quieter now. “We can go home.”

Still, Kacchan didn’t move.

Not for a long moment.

Then, wordless, he stepped forward. His back was still to Izuku, but his pace wasn’t the usual defiant stomp—it was slower. He passed through the light and vanished.

Izuku followed a few steps behind. As he crossed the threshold, the world peeled away.

The ocean murmured in the background, waves dragging themselves back and forth across the sand in slow rhythm. Just sea birds circling and a pair of half-buried tires catching the last of the sun.

Izuku sat hunched forward on a rusted beam, scuffed sneakers buried in the sand, a potion vial dangling from one hand, half-forgotten.

He heard the footsteps before he saw the tail. Mashirao-kun came into view, hands in his hoodie pocket, tail sweeping a lazy arc behind him. He paused just a few paces away.

“Hey,” he said.

Izuku didn’t look up at first. “…Hey.”

“You didn’t show up for cooldown drills.”

“Sorry,” Izuku muttered.

Ojiro gave a small shrug and sat in the sand nearby, arms resting on his knees. “You don’t have to apologize. I figured something happened.”

Izuku exhaled. “Yeah. Something.”

He was quiet for a long moment before he said it.

“I didn’t do the trial with you.”

Ojiro didn’t react, didn’t even shift. “I figured.”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Izuku added quickly, almost defensively. “He—Kacchan—he just… pulled me in. I didn’t get to party-lock or prep or check gear. One second I was getting in, the next—he was there.”

Ojiro blinked, thoughtful. “This Kacchan… You’ve mentioned him before. You two go way back?”

Izuku hesitated. “Kind of. Not… in a good way.”

Ojiro nodded slowly. “And he jumped into your trial without permission?”

“Yeah.” Izuku’s voice cracked a bit. “He saw me glitch out when the system triggered and just… grabbed me. Like I was a runaway file. He didn’t even know what was going on. He just acted.”

Ojiro tilted his head slightly. “And you made it out?”

“…Barely.”

They sat in the quiet for a moment. The sea breeze tugged at Izuku’s sleeves.

“I’m not upset,” Ojiro said simply.

Izuku looked at him, eyes wide. “You’re not?”

Ojiro gave a small, wry smile. “I mean, yeah, I wanted to see what was going on. I trained for it. We both did. But if someone jumped in to help and got you through it alive, I can’t exactly hold a grudge.”

Izuku’s hands tightened around the vial. “It wasn’t supposed to be him.”

“No,” Ojiro agreed. “But it was.”

Izuku’s throat worked. “He wasn’t ready. He doesn’t even know anything about my quirk since it’s changed. And I didn’t want him to see what the dungeon does to me.”

“Why?” Ojiro asked, gently.

Izuku hesitated.  “I… I don’t know.”

Ojiro was quiet. But not distant.

“I don’t know him,” he said at last. “But it sounds like he didn’t leave you there. Even without understanding it, he jumped in.”

Izuku blinked. “You think that’s good?”

“I think it says something,” Ojiro said, “that he didn’t hesitate. Might not be smart, might not be clean, but it means he cares. That counts.”

Izuku stared at the water. “It still felt like everything was spiraling. Like I wasn’t in control.”

“Maybe that’s part of the point,” Ojiro said quietly. “If this system is going to throw real threats at you, then you need people who won’t run—even if they don’t fully get it.”

Izuku swallowed hard.

Ojiro stood up and dusted off his pants. “We’ll train again. There’ll be more of these ‘portals’. But you don’t owe me anything, Midoriya-kun. I'm just glad you’re back in one piece.”

He turned to go, then paused. His tail flicked once.

“…Next time, though,” he added over his shoulder, “make sure I get to punch something too.”

Izuku laughed—soft, unexpected.

A soft cough broke the quiet.

Izuku turned.

An unfamiliar man stood at the edge of the concrete ramp, wiry and hunched, with deep shadows under his eyes and hair like an unruly explosion of straw. He looked... tired. Bones and skin, wrapped in a hoodie several sizes too big. But his smile was warm and strangely radiant.

“Impressive work, young men,” the stranger said, voice raspy but kind. “This place has been a wreck for years—and now look at it.”

Izuku blinked. “Uh… thanks?”

The man looked over the beach, nodding to himself. “Back in my day, this kind of training was rare. You built strength and heart at the same time. Not many people do that anymore.”

Ojiro had made his way back and offered a small bow. “We’re trying to prep early. Before the entrance exams.”

“Ah, aiming for U.A., are you?” The man’s grin widened, and for a moment, something powerful flickered behind his sunken eyes—like a shadow of someone else. “Good. That school needs students with grit.”

Izuku eyed him warily. 

[Toshinori Yagi – LVL 99

TITLE: “Deflated Self”

STR: 28 |  DEX: 34 |  CHR: 76 |  CONST: 43 |  INT: 86 |  WIS: 72 | LCK: 43]
Status: IMPRESSED

Holy shit. This guy was a LVL 99? 

“…Weird tag,” Izuku muttered under his breath, eyeing the “Deflated” part. It blinked faintly beside the man’s name like a rare drop status.

Ojiro nodded politely. “Thank you again.”

“Keep training,” Yagi said, pointing a spindly finger toward Izuku. “Especially you. You’ve got the look of someone standing at a crossroads. Don’t waste it.”

Izuku stared. Something about the man’s phrasing lodged in his chest. Crossroads. Had someone said that before?

“Uh… Sorry, what was your name again?” Izuku asked slowly.

The man paused.

“…Toshinori. Just Toshinori’s fine.”

Izuku frowned faintly. That name—it sounded familiar, didn’t it?

But before he could place it, Toshinori gave them both a two-fingered salute and turned toward the street. His steps were light, almost awkward, but carried a strange grace that didn’t match the frame.

Izuku squinted at the retreating figure.

“Do you know him?” Ojiro asked him.

Izuku shook his head. “Nope. But…” He shrugged. “Nice guy. He had a weird title, saying he’s deflated’,” Izuku repeated, still watching. He didn’t know why, but something in his chest stirred. A question he didn’t yet know how to ask.

The waves rolled in, slow and steady.

And in the distance, Yagi Toshinori disappeared into the twilight.

Chapter Text

Izuku had a tough decision to make. 

He stared at the interface, hand on his lip as he contemplated. He could either drop his talent points to Kinesis to level it up to lvl.3, adding his range from 7 to 10, or he could throw it in the next branch of the tree. It cost 4 TP to unlock and another 4 to lvl up Kinesis to lvl.3— and he only had a total of 13 TP accumulated, that was without spending is EXP. 

Each TP cost about 200 EXP, and while Izuku now had about 2800, he wanted to wait until he knew all the places he could spend it on before he used it.

Deciding to chance it, Izuku unlocks the next part of his skill tree.

[INFERNO (lvl.8)- Magic Skill Tree

—————— UNLOCKED! ———————

HEAT (lvl.5 UNLOCK)

Extra Heat Protection

Reduces heat damage by 15%. Scales per level up.

Applies heat damage by 15%. Scales per level up.

FLARE PULSE (lvl.6 UNLOCK)

Fire attack

Fire hits from you deals an extra pulse of karma 15% of damage done

Damage transfer: 50% possibility of original damage to secondary target if synergized with Combustion

COMBUSTION (lvl.8 UNLOCK)

Fire attacks chain to a second target within 4 meters.

Trigger: On direct hit with fire based abilities, TOGGLE keybind

Damage transfer: 50% of original damage to secondary target

PHOENIX EMBER (Passive) (lvl. 10 UNLOCK)

Phoenix Spark upgrade Grants immunity for 5 seconds after surviving a fatal blow

Minor regeneration when near fire/heat source

Leaves user exhausted 

??? – Hidden Skill Tree | Requirements not met

Note: Hidden trees are usually connected to one’s life path, hidden potential, or buried trauma.

Progress: 2% unlocked.]

“…Huh.”

They weren’t anything flashy, but damage mitigation—especially elemental mitigation—wasn’t nothing. 

Most of his new upgrades were automatic unlock, all except for Phoenix Ember. he wasn’t even close to unlocking it yet, but just seeing it there felt like a promise. Survive a fatal hit. Heal near heat. Trade exhaustion for a second chance. It gave him chills—in a good way.

“Combustion plus Flare Pulse… if timed right, that could be huge damage output across two or more targets. Especially if Heat’s offensive boost is also scaling. Wait—does Flare Pulse karma apply to both targets if Combustion procs? I’ll have to test that. Okay,” he murmured, nodding to himself. “Not bad.” 

Izuku throws in the rest of his TP to Kinesis after some debating, before going through the rest of his interface. There was nothing new with his affinity or titles, his status’ remained the same since he leveled up to Level 5. However, he was wondering how he could get more INTENT, did he have to level up again for that? For now, it seemed like the only thing he can put his TP into was his skill tree. 

“…Does that mean I should just convert my EXP into TP and max everything out?” he muttered. But the thought gave him pause. What if leveling up needed EXP? If he dumped it all now, he might get stuck later. That was the usual case with games, anyway.

He groaned and flopped forward, face-first into his bed. “Why didn’t this quirk come with a manual?” 

With each day passing closer to the day of the entrance exam, Izuku grew more and more frenzied. He’d seen and entered a few more portals—some solo, some with Mashirao-kun, or Ojiro, as he now calls him. Never with Kacchan. They hadn’t spoken since that day with the mimic, and Izuku wasn’t exactly rushing to break the silence. 

Most of the dungeons were level ones. Manageable. Predictable. He’d started to build a rhythm with them—burn, dodge, strike, loot, repeat. There were patterns to them, and patterns he could handle. But then came the Level Two portal.

[DUNGEON
Type: Instanced – Party Entry Available
Threat Level: 2
Estimated Completion Time: 2:00:00
Rewards: + 275 EXP |  +1 Major Health Potion | +2 SP |
Status: Undiscovered

WARNING: Threat Level signifies inability for respawn for any who enters.]

The message was clear: no respawn. No waking up in the middle of the sidewalk all confused like last time. If Izuku gets one really bad hit, bad enough that even Phoenix Spark won’t be able to help him, then Izuku could die. 

Potentially.

Izuku sometimes thought his quirk didn’t make any sense. Weren’t quirks supposed to be safe?  

He checked the system menu again. Still no change. No additional updates. Just that same line sitting in the Inferno tree like it was watching him:

[Hidden Tree – ??? – Progress: 2% Unlocked]
Requirements not met.
Note: Hidden trees are usually connected to one’s life path, hidden potential, or buried trauma.

He didn’t like how it always used the word "usually."

It meant even the system didn’t know everything. Then again, it made sense that his quirk only knew what he knew. 

Still, the system's gaps didn’t scare him as much as the real-world unknowns. Like the letter.

The mail for UA entrance exam arrived exactly two weeks before the exam itself, setting Izuku’s nerves on fire. He’d submitted everything, passed the background check, attached every medical note that vaguely justified the unknown nature of his quirk. Still, when the mail arrived to their apartment—plain, official, unassuming—his heart had practically stopped.

If the days leading up to the exam was nerve-wracking, the exam day itself was downright terrifying. 

He didn’t sleep much the night before. Even after a hot shower, stretching, and running through combat flows in his head, he kept getting pulled back to the same cycle of thoughts: What if I’m not fast enough? What if my system bugs out? What if I don’t get in?

UA is his Plan A, it’s always been, even before his quirk changed.

There is no Plan B.

When his alarm buzzed at 5:30AM, he was already awake.

He dressed in silence. Black compression gear under a dark green hoodie, reinforced sneakers, elbow guards. His backpack was packed and re-checked twice—water, two protein bars, a minor healing potion from the dungeon and his tablet with every preloaded map of the U.A. campus he could find.

The train ride was a blur. Ojiro met up with him halfway, nodding in quiet solidarity.

Neither of them spoke much.

U.A. came into view like something out of a dream—impossibly tall, polished, clean. Heroes walked its halls. Heroes like All Might and Endeavor. 

Izuku’s fingers twitched.

Ohdeargodhewasntpayingattentionnowhesgonnahitthepavement—

—his foot caught the edge of the curb.

He stumbled forward, heart lurching, a sharp breath snagging in his throat—but Ojiro’s tail snapped out, steadying him just in time.

“Careful,” Ojiro said, voice calm, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like Izuku’s brain hadn’t just blue-screened.

“R-Right, yeah—thanks,” Izuku muttered, trying to force his pulse back down.

The gates of U.A. loomed ahead.

Massive. Matte silver and gold. Gleaming in the early morning sun like something half-mechanical, half-mythical. Dozens of other examinees were already gathered, stretching, murmuring, or just staring up in awe.

Izuku followed the crowd inside, clutching his exam ticket and his ID.

Before the combat began, there was the written test. It wasn’t nearly as flashy, but somehow felt just as important—and just as terrifying.

Izuku sat in one of the many long, sterile classrooms deep within U.A.’s main campus building. The walls were glass, the chairs ergonomic, and the lights were a soft white that hummed like they were judging him. Around him, students of every size, shape, and quirk type tapped pens, cracked knuckles, or stared down at their blank answer sheets with the kind of intensity usually reserved for defusing bombs.

Izuku's pencil hovered.

The first section was multiple choice. Ethics and civic policy—basic stuff, but worded in a way that felt like they were trying to trip him up. The questions weren’t straightforward; they required not just knowledge but a clear understanding of nuance and context. It was less about what was right and more about what was best for the situation.

Next came short-answer sections focused on physics and tactics. They tested his understanding of quirk mechanics, combat logistics, and environmental awareness. It wasn’t just theoretical—he had to apply principles to hypothetical scenarios, thinking critically about how quirks might interact with different variables.

Quirk theory questions demanded biological insight and strategic thinking. He had to analyze hypothetical quirks’ strengths, weaknesses, and potential dangers, reasoning through how a hero should respond or adapt.

The last part was situational response—brief case studies requiring quick, ethical decision-making under pressure. They wanted to see if he could balance empathy, efficiency, and hero responsibility in scenarios where every choice had consequences.

It was harder than Izuku expected—not just because of the content, but because every question challenged his instinct to be a perfect hero. They wanted someone who could think clearly when things got messy.

Then came the last question. He glanced around. Everyone else looked tense, some biting nails, others furrowing brows. He wasn’t alone in feeling the weight of this test.

Izuku bit his lip and kept writing. There was no room for doubt—not today.

"Throughout history, certain families have been rumored to possess unique abilities passed down through generations, often linked to their status or lineage. How might such legacies impact modern society’s view on quirks and heroism? Discuss the ethical considerations involved in handling quirks with potential historical or political significance."

Izuku’s mind flickered. It was vague enough to be harmless on the surface, but the wording gnawed at him. Like a whisper of something deeper—something connected to bloodlines, power, and responsibility.

He tapped his pencil against the desk, thinking carefully. This wasn’t just about writing an answer. It was about understanding how quirks weren’t just abilities—they were stories. Stories tied to history, family, and sometimes shadows that stretched into the present.

His mind drifted, despite himself, to his parents. His mom, with her gentle quirk of attraction — subtle but powerful in its own way. And his dad, whose fiery breath was as fierce and unpredictable as a flame dancing in the wind. Neither of them had anything remotely close to his own quirk.

How did he get his quirk? While it was possible that Izuku just got a complete random mutation, it didn’t explain the obvious connection between his ability to manipulate and create fire, an obvious mix between his parents’ quirks. 

The exam question about families and legacies lingered in his mind, vague yet persistent, as if nudging at something just beyond reach.

He paused, pencil trembling slightly as he wrote.

“… quirks weren’t isolated traits—they were inherited legacies, shaped by time and blood.”

The moment the words settled in his mind, something deep in his chest flickered. 

[ALERT!
??? - Hidden Skill Tree | Progress: 5% unlocked]

His handwriting was a little tighter than before, but his thoughts steadied with each line. If quirks were inherited legacies, then what were the responsibilities that came with them? Who got to define them—the user, or society?

He wrote about power and perception. How some families were romanticized, others vilified. He mentioned how inherited quirks could turn expectations into chains, how a young hero might feel forced to live up to a legacy they never chose.

His chest still buzzed faintly with that lingering pressure, like something in him had shifted position and was now quietly watching. But he kept writing.

Paragraph after paragraph.

He pulled in examples. Quirks with political consequences. Public distrust of villain bloodlines. Cases where a powerful legacy had led to a child being scrutinized before they ever had the chance to define themselves.

His breath evened out. The desk under his arms became steady again.

By the time he reached his final sentence, Izuku felt like he'd poured more than just knowledge onto the page. It felt… personal. Like he’d cracked open some corner of himself and let it bleed into the test.

He glanced up at the clock. Ten minutes left.

The tension hadn’t left him—but it had changed shape. It wasn’t panic anymore. It was anticipation.

He flipped the page, double-checked his answers, and let his pencil rest beside his hand. He didn’t get up yet. Just breathed.

The alert had passed.

But it had marked something.

And somewhere deep in the interface only he could see, progress had begun.

Artificial sunlight hit the pavement. Wind stirred the dust. Ahead, the fake city loomed—half collapsed, half on fire, and entirely too real for comfort.

Ah yes, Izuku thought as he tightened the straps on his gloves, nothing like simulated urban warfare at 9 a.m. to really wake you up.

Before anyone could ask where the starting line was, Present Mic’s voice thundered from the loudspeakers: “THERE ARE NO STARTING SIGNALS IN REAL BATTLES—GO, GO, GO!!”

Chaos.

Students burst forward like missiles. Some flew. Some phased. Some exploded. Izuku blinked as a girl in front of him just… turned into light.

Cool. Totally normal. I'm not panicking. You're panicking.

He took off running, feet slamming the pavement.

[Combat Scenario Initiated – U.A. Entrance Trial]
Time Remaining: 10:0
Score: 0 | Rank: ???
Active Targets: 1pt | 2pt | 3pt (Drones) | 0pt (Obstacle Units)
Special Objective: ??? – Hidden Skill Tree | Progress: 6%]

Great. Secret progress bars. Because what he really wanted during a high-stakes exam was a side quest with some trauma or otherwise attached. 

A two-pointer bot rounded the corner like it owed him money.

Izuku lunged sideways, momentum snapping his focus into place. His fingers closed around a pipe half-buried in debris. One twist, one sharp yank—it came loose.

Thank you, convenient post-apocalyptic urban decay.

He jammed the pipe under the bot’s knee joint and kicked it upward with all the subtlety of a kid who’d watched way too many All Might reruns. The leg buckled. Its balance slipped.

“Nighty night.”

He snapped his fingers, and flames sparked into his palm—raw, focused, ready.Flame flickered into a wire-thin arc and laced up the hollow pipe like a fuse, threading into the bot’s inner core. One beat. Two.

BOOM.

The chest cavity burst outward in a small controlled detonation, smoke hissing from the seams like a pressure cooker.

+2 Points
[Target Neutralized – Kinetic to Thermal Conversion Successful]
[Efficiency Bonus: 3% Increase to Quirk Mastery]

Izuku blew out a breath, flipping the pipe in his grip like some kind of discount vigilante.

"Good news," he muttered, already moving. "I’m officially more competent than I was three seconds ago."

Another bot clattered toward him—faster, meaner-looking, and somehow even less impressed by his monologue.

He darted forward, faster now, adjusting his grip. Fire curled behind his back like a cape, wild and barely leashed. It danced over his shoulders in flickering bursts, just enough to look impressive without incinerating his gym clothes.

The next bot barreled toward him on thick treads, arms outstretched like it thought it could hug him to death. Cute.

“Okay, buddy,” Izuku muttered, gripping the pipe tight. “Let’s talk about boundaries.”

He ducked low, letting its arm swipe overhead. Sparks skidded off his shoulder as the bot turned to track him—but he was already moving. One hand braced against the pavement, the other flared.

[Flare Pulse – Triggered]

A jet of fire blasted point-blank into the robot’s side. The bot reeled—then suddenly jerked backward.

[Combustion Chain: Success]
[Secondary Target Not Found – Isolated Hit]

So no splash damage this time. Fine. Izuku vaulted upward, swung the pipe into its sensor array like he was knocking the world’s worst piñata, then landed in a crouch as the bot’s head caved in with a crunch and sparked out.

+2 Points
[Stability Rating: 81% | MP: 54/100 ]

His legs ached. Sweat beaded at his temple. But a grin tugged at his mouth.

“I’m starting to get the hang of this,” he muttered, then winced as something exploded three blocks down.

“Okay, they are also getting the hang of this.”

The battlefield was chaos—smoke, shouting, bots in pieces. Somewhere, he heard someone scream. Not in pain—surprise, maybe. He didn’t have time to find out.

He jogged forward, stepping over wreckage and ducking behind a toppled streetlamp for cover. Every few seconds, a bot screeched past or crashed through a wall. Izuku was just thinking maybe—maybe—he could find a quieter route when the ground shook.

And not in the normal giant-robot-stompy kind of way. A deep mechanical roar vibrated through the pavement, rattling in his chest like an unpaid debt.

No. This was different. Bigger.

A shadow fell over the street. A deep mechanical roar vibrated through the pavement. Izuku turned—slowly. There it was.

Zero Pointer.

Tall as a building, gleaming like a corporate tax evasion, and headed straight for the center of the testing zone.

“Nope,” Izuku said instantly, already spinning on his heel. “No thank you. Hard pass. That’s not in the brochure.”

And then he heard it. A voice—faint, cracked, but unmistakable—rose from the smoke-choked street just ahead.

“Help!”

He froze. Breath caught. Time slowed.

It was a girl’s voice—raw, panicked. Not pain exactly, but something close. Fear. Helplessness. His stomach turned.

“Nope. No, no, no. Don’t you dare.” His brain screamed logic. Strategy. Self-preservation. But his legs didn’t listen.

Because logic didn’t matter when someone was in trouble.

Because that was the whole damn point. And he didn’t need a quest update for him to turn, sprinting towards the sound.

Dust clouded the air, thick and clinging. The pavement had split down the center like a scar. Smoke billowed from a ruptured hydrant where something big had hit hard. He jumped over rubble, pipe still in hand, ducked under sparking wires.

There—beneath a collapsed support beam, a few meters away—was a girl in a torn  tracksuit, arm pinned awkwardly under twisted concrete.

Her face was streaked with soot, hair floating slightly from the faint glow around her. Her body was half-lifted, but not enough.

He didn’t know her name yet, but that didn’t matter.

What mattered was the shadow falling over her.

The Zero Pointer roared.

It was right above them.

She struggled, one hand raised weakly as if to push it back with sheer will.

[Warning: Catastrophic Threat Approaching – Time to Impact: 00:08]

Izuku didn’t think. 

He converts all his EXP to TP and dumps it in heat.

[Time to Impact: 00:07]

Flame burst from his chest in a pulse that cracked the air. It twisted around his arms, coiled along his spine, and carved a glowing arc into the pavement beneath him.

[Time to Impact: 00:06]

The fire was a force, not a feeling—movement without sensation, brightness without burn. He lifted his hand, twisting the fire into the zero-pointer, much like he had with the first robot, and lets the fire settle inside its components.

[Time to Impact: 00:05]

The fire slithered through the robot’s chassis, threading between joints and panels like it belonged there. A ghost in the machine. Izuku’s palm trembled—not from pain, but from effort. Like trying to push water uphill with bare hands.

[Time to Impact: 00:04]

He clenched his fingers.

Inside the Zero Pointer, the flame spiked—igniting wires, flash-melting support struts. A groan ripped through the air as the metal began to buckle from within.

Too slow. It wasn’t enough.

[Time to Impact: 00:03]
He reached deeper.

The fire obeyed. It answered, not like a weapon, but like a part of him he’d been holding back.

A second pulse of flame burst from his shoulders, splitting the street around his feet. The blaze coiled upward in a helix, drawing heat from the air and light from the dust.

[MP 34/100 

WARNING! INTENT REACHED CRITICAL LEVELS]

[Time to Impact: 00:02]
He flung his arm upward—and the fire snapped, drilling into the bot’s exposed head casing in a spiraled arc of orange-gold plasma.

The machine paused.

Shuddered.

[Time to Impact: 00:01]
Izuku whispered, “Fall.”

[Impact Interrupted – Critical Internal Breach]
The Zero Pointer exploded.

Fire burst from its chest and vents and eye sockets in every direction—controlled, clean, surgical in its devastation. It toppled backwards with a groan that shook the buildings, slamming into the street with a deep, final crash.

Silence, broken only by the hiss of cooling metal.

[Special Objective Complete – “Life Before Glory”

Congratulations! 

You have earned the TITLE ‘PYROMANIAC’. You have demonstrated reckless brilliance in the face of overwhelming odds. Fire bends to your will… whether it should or not.

Your flames are hungrier now. Extended use increases Burnout Risk: prolonged INFERNO activation may lead to exhaustion, impaired judgment, or temporary loss of control.

Passive Bonus: +5% Fire Damage INTENT Scaling, +2 CONST

WARNING: This title cannot be unequipped.

+62 Points | FIRE KINESIS Proficiency Increased

Status: TP Exhausted |  Recovery Urged]

Izuku fell to one knee. The fire ebbed away from his limbs like tide pulling back to sea.

Still no heat. Not even now. Just that hollow, pulsing hum beneath his skin.

The girl stared at him like he was made of miracles and madness.

“You… you okay?”

He coughed, eyes fluttering. Gave her a wobbly thumbs-up.

“Definitely,” he rasped, and crumpled sideways as the HUD blinked out.

The ceiling was too white.

Izuku blinked slowly, brain fogged and limbs leaden. Everything ached in the abstract, like the pain had gotten bored of being specific. The sterile scent of antiseptic and something vaguely lemony told him exactly where he was before he even turned his head.

The youthful heroin: Recovery Girl’s, office. 

A soft chime pinged from somewhere to his left. He tilted his head and winced as the world swayed like a listing ship. The HUD flickered briefly across his vision—

[Status: Stabilized – Recovery Complete: 72%]
[Condition: Mana Drain – Burnout Symptoms Detected]
[Recommended Action: Rest | Sugar Intake | INTENT Potion]

“Your vitals stabilized about twenty minutes ago. Your quirk’s still quiet—for now—but don’t expect miracles. The adrenal surge that let you do whatever it is you did has a cost.”

Izuku tried to sit up.

“Nope,” she said, pressing a hand gently but firmly against his shoulder. “Rest. You’ll need at least another two hours before you’re cleared to leave.”

“I feel—” He swayed. “—like my bones are soup.”

“Good,” she said. “Then it’s working.”

He slumped back against the pillow, brain catching up with the implications.

“The girl,” he murmured. “The one under the beam. Did she—”

“She’s fine,” Recovery Girl said, softer now. “Suffered a mild dislocation and some bruised ribs. She asked about you, actually.”

That hit him harder than expected.

[Memory Log Updated – Unidentified Student: Status: Safe]
[Special Objective: “Life Before Glory” – COMPLETE]

“You did good, Midoriya,” she added, voice more clinical again. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

“Habit of…?”

“Running headfirst into a skyscraper-sized death machine to save a stranger,” she said, already turning back to her tablet. “U.A. is full of idiots. Try not to be one of the ones I see regularly.”

“Can’t make promises,” he mumbled, eyelids sagging again.

Recovery Girl snorted. “No, you can’t. But for now—sleep.”

He barely heard her.

The HUD dimmed. The lights softened. His heartbeat slowed, syncing with the quiet rhythm of the vitals monitor at his bedside. And somewhere deep in his HUD, nestled between the damage readouts and debuff timers, a new notification blinked softly:

[RESULTS: PENDING]
[Ranking Hidden]

Days following up after the entrance exam, the Midoriya household held its breath for its results.

The apartment, normally filled with the sound of boiling kettles or news reports from the kitchen TV, had gone strangely quiet. Even All Might’s posters on the wall seemed to lean in, watching.

Izuku sat at the dining table, hunched over a familiar, dog-eared notebook—Hero Analysis for the Future, Volume 13. His pencil tapped the page, erasing more than it wrote. He’d gone through the entire exam a dozen times in his head, breaking down every move, every misstep, every desperate breath.  

Izuku had used up all his EXP and put it into heat. And while he gained a flashy, new, permanent, TITLE, the consequences for his actions remained to be seen.

And yet, despite his new issues with min-maxing his build, not to mention the probrable issues he’ll encounter once he overuses his quirk again, Izuku is unable to convince himself that he wouldn’t do it again. 

Because he would— do it all over again. 

And again. 

Leaning back to his seat, Izuku is broken out of his thoughts with a knock at his door. 

“Izuku,” Inko called, “it’s here.”

“I-” Izuku paused, mouth suddenly dry. “I want to be alone.”

“I’ll be right here,” Inko said softly. She tried to smile, but her eyes were already misting.

He nodded, and turned, going back in his room. Shaking slightly, Izuku stared down at the envelope like it might bite him.

His fingers trembled as he broke the seal. A soft click sounded. A metal disk slid out. He blinked. Then—light flared.

A golden projection expanded before him with a shhhk! of shifting panels. The image sparked and solidified—and there, larger than life, stood the Symbol of Peace himself.

“All Might—?!”

“I am here… as a projection!”

Izuku nearly fell off his chair.

A clip played of the massive zero-point robot being destroyed—metal torn asunder by one boy leaping forward like a shooting star.

“I watched you rush in to save that girl without a moment’s hesitation,” All Might said. “That action—pure and heroic—was exactly the kind of moment we at U.A. treasure most.”

The projection gave a wink. The screen shifted. A scoreboard flickered into place.

IZUKU MIDORIYA
Villain Points: 62
Rescue Points: 60
Total Score: 122

“You earned sixty-two villain points—an exceptional combat score!” All Might’s voice rang with pride. “And even beyond that… Sixty rescue points. More than anyone else. You came out on top, young man.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. His breath hitched.

“Top…?”

“That’s right!” All Might said, grinning. “You are the top scorer of this year’s entrance exam!” Then, he threw his arms wide, voice booming with dramatic flair. “In fact—your total score broke my own record from when I took the exam! That’s right! You’re not just this year’s top scorer—you’re the highest scorer in U.A. entrance exam history!”

The light from the hologram reflected off Izuku’s glassy eyes.

“That act of self-sacrifice, of charging into danger without expecting reward… That’s what makes a real hero. The world needs people like you.”

Izuku felt something swell in his chest—too big to be held in. The months of training. The pain. The fear. The doubt.

Then—

“Welcome, Izuku Midoriya! You’ve made it into the Hero Course at U.A. High!”

The words landed like a thunderclap. Izuku’s knees gave out as he sank to the floor, mouth covered by shaking hands.

[Quest “Become a hero” Completed!

Reward: +2,500 EXP

Optional Reward Bonus: 

Social Link: Bakugou Katsuki - LVL 5

The world sees an explosion. You remember the boy under the anger. Maybe he remembers you too. But do you want to remember?

BONUS — Reach for the Sky

You have placed first in the practical portion of the entrance exam, breaking UA History! 

Reward: + 500 EXP ]

His chest heaved. His hands were still over his mouth, trying—and failing—to hold in the sob that ripped its way out of him. The hologram’s golden light flickered above, casting strange, warm shadows across the walls.

You’ve made it into the Hero Course at U.A. High.
You’re the top scorer in U.A. entrance exam history.

He had to repeat it in his head, over and over. It didn’t feel real.

He’d done it.

He actually—

The door creaked open.

“Izuku?!”

His name, spoken so sharply, grounded him more than the floor beneath him. He looked up, barely able to see through the blur in his eyes.

“Mom,” he said. His voice broke completely. “I got in.”

She didn’t say anything at first—just dropped to her knees beside him, wrapping him in a hug that folded around all the jagged, exhausted pieces inside him.

And like a dam bursting, the tears came in full force.

“I got in,” he whispered again, like saying it out loud might anchor it in reality. “I really got in. I—I thought I blew it, I thought I messed everything up again, and even with my quirk—what if it wasn’t enough, what if I wasn’t—”

“You’ve always been enough,” his mom said, her voice thick with emotion. Her hands found his cheeks, thumbs brushing at the tears he couldn’t stop. “You didn’t need a quirk for that. Not for me.”

Her words hit harder than any system reward.

And all the weight—the years of feeling behind, of watching others race ahead, of being told to give up—collapsed in on itself.

He choked on a laugh, equal parts relief and disbelief. “I’m in. Mom, I’m actually in. U.A.”

“I know,” she whispered, pressing her forehead gently to his. “I saw. I heard him. You did it, Izuku. You really did it.”

The last of the hologram faded, leaving the room quiet again. But this time, it was a good kind of quiet. Full. Safe.

Izuku curled into her arms and let himself feel it.

Chapter Text

[Izuku Midoriya – LVL 5

STR: 14 |  DEX: 14 |  CHR: 10 (+2) |  CONST: 11(+2) |  INT: 16 |  WIS: 13 | LCK: 10

Passive: Phoenix Spark

• Once per day, if HP drops to 0, restore 1 HP and become immune to damage for 3 seconds.
• 
  Leaves user exhausted.
• WARNING: User does not get heat by own fire.

Active Titles:

Kind Stranger | +2 CHR

PYROMANIAC | +2 CONST | +5% Fire Damage INTENT Scaling | Burnout Risk

Non-Active Titles: 

Late Bloomer | +1 INT | +1 WIS

HP: 100/100

MP: 400/400

Exhaustion: 28/200 ]

[Status] [Relationships] [Quests] [Achievements] [Inventory] [Skill Tree] 

[INFERNO (lvl.8) - Magic Skill Tree 

IGNIS (lvl.1) MAX LEVEL

Ball of Flame 

Create a small fire. Basic elemental magic.
– Cost: 5 MP
– Cooldown: Null
– Scales with INT and emotional state

KINESIS (lvl.3 UNLOCK) Level 3

Flame Manipulation
Control existing fire sources within 10 meter radius
– [Cost: 2 MP/sec active use]

– Radius may expand upon level up

OVERHEAT (Passive) (lvl.5 UNLOCK) MAX LEVEL

- Boosts fire damage by 15% when HP is under 30%.
- May cause system strain.

HEAT (lvl.5 UNLOCK) Level 6

Extra Heat Protection

Reduces heat damage to self by 65%. Scales per level up.

Applies heat damage by 65%. Scales per level up.

FLARE PULSE (lvl.6 UNLOCK) MAX LEVEL

Fire attack

Fire hits from you deals an extra pulse of karma 15% of damage done

Damage transfer: 50% possibility of original damage to secondary target if synergized with Combustion

COMBUSTION (lvl.8 UNLOCK) MAX LEVEL

Fire attacks chain to a second target within 4 meters.

Trigger: On direct hit with fire based abilities, TOGGLE keybind

Damage transfer: 50% of original damage to secondary target

PHOENIX EMBER (Passive) (lvl. 10 UNLOCK) LOCKED

Phoenix Spark upgrade Grants immunity for 5 seconds after surviving a fatal blow

Minor regeneration when near fire/heat source

Leaves user exhausted 

??? – Hidden Skill Tree | Requirements not met

Note: Hidden trees are usually connected to one’s life path, hidden potential, or buried trauma.

Progress: 6% unlocked.]

[Status] [Relationships] [Quests] [Achievements] [Inventory] [Skill Tree] 

[SOCIAL LINK

Midoriya Inko | RANK 10 | see more…

Mashirao Ojiro | RANK 4 | see more… 

Bakugou Katsuki | RANK 2 | see more… 

Daiki Lee | RANK 2 | see more… ]

[Status] [Relationships] [Quests] [Achievements] [Inventory] [Skill Tree]  

Chapter Text

[CONFIDENTIAL]

The Singularity Phenomenon as Interdimensional Gateways: A Study on Quirk Energy Accumulation and Extra-Spatial Constructs

Dr. Hoshino Kenta, Quirk Energy Institute of Neo-Tokyo  

Abstract

Building on prior documentation of localized quirk energy collapses since first documented sixteen years ago, recent studies confirm that Singularities function not only as anomalies of space-time but as interdimensional portals. Within each portal lies a sub-reality biome, a closed ecosystem sustained entirely by quirk energy accumulation. These environments contain hostile entities classified as Energetic Residual Constructs (ERCs), which exhibit monster-like morphology. This paper introduces the Quirk Sub-World Hypothesis (QSH): that the saturation of quirk energy has not only destabilized our dimension but spontaneously generated parallel zones of condensed energy, functioning as pocket worlds.

—

The doors to the classrooms at U.A. were abnormally large. Too large, really. Like someone in the design department had overestimated how tall or dramatic teenagers were going to be. Maybe they were made that way for effect, to make you feel small before stepping into something bigger than yourself.

It was working.

Izuku stood frozen in front of the Class 1-A door, gripping the strap of his backpack like it might anchor him in place. He wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. A sign? A jolt of courage? The ground to open up and quietly swallow him?

He glanced down at his shoes. He’d double-knotted them. Triple-checked his schedule. Gotten here early. And still, his palms were sweaty and his stomach churned like it had been trying to digest butterflies since sunrise.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and reached for the door.

It slid open with an unnecessarily dramatic whoosh.

Inside, the classroom buzzed with the low hum of voices — conversations mid-spark, seats half-filled, bags slung on chairs like people already knew where they belonged. A few heads turned. Someone laughed. A girl with pink hair was standing on her desk.

Izuku hovered for a second in the doorway, every instinct screaming at him to not be a disruption.

Then someone stood up — formally, like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life.

“You must be Midoriya!” he said, striding over with impeccable posture. “Tenya Iida, from Somei Private Academy. I saw you during the entrance exam — that final sprint toward the zero-pointer was incredible!”

“O-oh,” Izuku said, blinking. “T-thank you. I just—uh—acted on instinct—”

“You showed excellent judgment,” Iida said, nodding with conviction. “I look forward to learning beside you.”

And just like that, the door didn’t feel so big anymore.

Izuku stepped inside, blinking away the series of statuses that popped into his peripheral. He wanted to meet his new classmates organically, without the automatic chime of his quirk. He didn’t want to prime on his classmates personal stats just yet, not when there’s no reason to. He shoved the HUD to the side with a quick mental command.

He found his assigned seat by the side opposite of the door, slipped into the chair, and did his best to look like he belonged there. Don’t fidget. Don’t mutter. Don’t open your notebook and start overanalyzing everyone in a five-foot radius.

He’d just unclenched his hands when a soft voice spoke up beside him.

“Hey.”

Izuku looked up — and froze.

It was her.

The girl from the exam. The one he’d rushed in to save without thinking. The one who smiled at him like he’d done something truly heroic.

Up close, she was even more disarming — round eyes bright with recognition, hair floating just slightly at the ends like it wasn’t sure what gravity wanted.

“You’re the guy who saved me, right?” she asked, tilting her head. “With the giant robot?”

“I—uh—yeah,” Izuku stammered, already feeling heat flood his face. “that was me.”

Her smile widened. “I’m Ochako Uraraka. I never got to say thank you.”

“You don’t have to,” Izuku said quickly, waving his hands. “I mean—y-you’re welcome!”

“Still,” she said warmly. “Thanks.”

[NEW SOCIAL LINK ESTABLISHED: 

URARAKA OCHAKO | RANK 1]
[Perk Unlocked: Shared Momentum – Slight stamina boost when fighting near Uraraka.]

Before Izuku could respond — or combust from the sheer awkward warmth in his chest — a dry, gravelly voice cut through the classroom like a blade.

“If you’re here to socialize, do it on your own time.”

He stood in the doorway like a sleep-deprived wraith. His hair was messy, his eyes half-lidded, and he was wrapped in a capture weapon scarf like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a dungeon. Which, knowing U.A., might not be far from the truth.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the classroom. Several students straightened immediately. One person dropped their phone.

The man stepped further into the room, raising a can of energy drink to his mouth mid-yawn.

“It took eight seconds,” he muttered, glancing at a stopwatch. “That’s the time it took you all to quiet down after I walked in. That’s not gonna cut it.”

He reached into his sleeping bag — where had that come from? — and pulled out a tablet.

“I’m Shōta Aizawa. Your homeroom teacher. We’re wasting daylight, so let’s get to the point. Put on your gym uniforms and head outside. We’re doing a quirk apprehension test.”

Izuku blinked. “Wait, what happened to orientation?”

Aizawa didn’t even look at him. “We're not doing orientation.”

[QUEST UNLOCKED}

[“Trial by Combat”
Objective: Place top ten]

A ripple of panic passed through the classroom.

“But what about the opening ceremony?” Uraraka asked, her hand half-raised.

Aizawa gave her a flat look. “If you want symbolic gestures and feel-good speeches, go join the general course. This is the hero course. Show me you belong.”

Then he turned and left, scarf trailing behind him like a sentence with no punctuation.

Izuku stared at the doorway, heart thudding again for entirely different reasons.

So much for easing into the day.

There was no time to awe at his PE uniform.

Izuku barely registered the U.A. logo on his chest before they were herded out to the field, a dozen nervous murmurs trailing behind them like shadows. The training field was wide, sun-drenched, and almost too open — like it was daring them to mess up in public.

Aizawa stood waiting with a tablet in hand and a dead-eyed star as they trailed onto a single-filed line.

“Midoriya,” he said flatly. “You scored first in the entrance exam. What’s your farthest softball throw in middle school?”

Izuku startled at the sudden attention. “U-uh, I think it was around... forty-five meters?”

Aizawa nodded like that number was already locked in a file somewhere, then tossed him the softball. “Use your quirk this time. Anything goes.”

Izuku caught the ball reflexively, eyes widening. “Wait, seriously? Just… throw it?”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re here to become a pro, aren’t you? Show us what you can do.”

He swallowed hard and stepped into the ring. His HUD flickered in the corner of his vision, waiting for his input. 

He took a breath and opened the INFERNO Skill tree.

[Skill Activated: Kinesis | Lv. 3]
MP Drain: 2/sec
Range: 10m
Current MP: 400/400

If Izuku fired up the ball throw using ignis and used kinesis to guide the fire, therefore guiding the ball, it wouldn’t go farther than his regular throw. 

However.

If he sustained the fire in bursts — treating the ball like a miniature rocket — and used Kinesis to shape the thrust mid-flight, keeping it burning in the right direction, maybe aim the ball to go as fast as it can by the time the ball reaches kinesis’ maximum stretch…

“Anytime now,” Aizawa drawled, brows raised from Izuku’s muttering.

Izuku adjusted his stance, the weight of the ball balanced in his palm, but his thoughts were already a kilometer ahead. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slow. Then—snap—his fingers ignited.

A ring of controlled flame wrapped around the ball, burning hot and focused. Stable. Contained.

He extended his hand forward, visualizing the trajectory like a launch path. His other hand moved subtly, fingers twitching as Kinesis wrapped around the ball—tactile, invisible, ready to steer.

[IGNIS and KINESIS – Vector Assist Sustained Burn Mode: ACTIVE]
Combustion Temperature: 1400°C
Controlled Burn Range: 10.0m

He reared back and hurled the ball—not for power, but for placement. A smooth, deliberate pitch at a rising 45° angle.

As the ball left his hand, Ignis surged to full power. A jetstream of fire trailed behind, boosting its acceleration with every meter. The ball screamed through the air, and Izuku’s mind synced with every pulse of Kinesis, adjusting micro-angles to maintain the arc. Guiding. Shaping. Pushing.

Ten meters in, his control cut off. But by then, the job was done.

[LAUNCH COMPLETE]

The ball blazed skyward, a fire-tipped missile streaking toward the stratosphere. It punched higher and higher, until it became nothing more than a gleaming speck against the blue.

And then—

BEEP.

Aizawa’s tablet lit up.

Distance: 1,018.3 meters

The class went still.

“…He rocket-launched it,” Iida said faintly, shielding his eyes from the sun.

Izuku didn’t move. He stood with one hand still raised, the faint warmth of the throw tingling through his fingertips. His eyes followed the vanishing trail of smoke and sky.

Then came the chime.

New TITLE Unlocked: “Ballistic Thinker”

+ 2 INT
Increased effectiveness when combining multiple skills through real-time calculations

A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, instantly equipping the title and switching away ‘Kind Stranger’. That should help him rank higher.  

“Slowly, the rest of the students began to step forward and do their throws. One used engine-powered legs to launch his throw with incredible speed, sending the ball flying with precision, though not as far as Kacchan’s explosive distance (after screaming “DIE”). 

Another girl’s turn was met with quiet awe—Uraraka’s quirk, which either made anything weightless or negate gravity, sent the softball floating endlessly into the sky after simply letting it go, effectively giving out another infinite score

The next set of tests weren’t any less difficult. Quick dash, grip strength, standing long jump, side steps, and seated toe-touch. Each challenge pulled different pieces of Izuku's build. He didn’t ace them all, especially not grip strength, but he adapted. Used what could be used and held back where he couldn’t afford the drain of his INTENT.

Even his stumbles became calculations. The second his foot slipped in the standing long jump, he flared a low burst of flame from the sole of his shoe — enough to push. 

[Quest Complete: “Trial by Combat”]

Result: Cleared | 

Reward: +50 EXP | +1 DEX 

Students held their breath as Aizawa-sensei tablet synced with the scoreboard, results flickering into view. A low murmur rolled across the field like a wave of static. People were already glancing at each other, trying to estimate who ranked above or below them — who might be at risk. Aizawa-sensei didn’t drag it out.

He tapped a few times on his screen. A display projected behind him, casting the leaderboard into the air with clean, clinical precision:

QUIRK APPREHENSION TEST – RESULTS

——

3 Izuku Midoriya

——

“No expulsion today,” Aizawa said, tone flat, but not unkind. “That was a logical ruse. If I'd said it was just a basic assessment, most of you would’ve coasted. I needed to see how you responded under threat — how you made decisions when it mattered.”

Someone exhaled loudly. Another actually sat down in relief.

“But don’t get comfortable,” Aizawa continued. “Hero work is all threat. I’m here to teach you how to survive it.”

Izuku’s HUD pinged quietly as the crowd around him shifted again. Some were whispering to each other. A few looked shell-shocked.

He didn’t miss the way Kacchan was glaring at the leaderboard like it had personally insulted his entire bloodline. His name was right below Izuku’s.

Aizawa powered down the display and tucked the tablet under his arm.

“Training’s over. Hit the lockers, clean up, and get used to this pace. We move fast here. If you don’t keep up—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Just gave them a look like a guillotine waiting to fall.

Then he walked off the field, drinking the last of his energy drink like it was his final ounce of patience.

—

“Renzō-san,” a young girl called out, curiosity etched into her voice. “Have we found out more about that singularity located in Mustafu?”

“Not yet, Kiyo-tono.”

The name sounded like a whisper from another time, formal, reverent, almost ceremonial. Renzō didn’t look up from the sprawling interface of arcane code and terminal logs, but his shoulders had stiffened. His fingers paused over the console.

Kiyo stepped forward, silent as snowfall. Despite the sterile overhead lights and chrome-lined research bay, she carried an air of incense and winter shrines — wrong, somehow, for a setting this modern. Her eyes, soft brown, framed by long lashes,  flickered with something far older.

“The signature didn’t match any current registry?” she asked.

Renzō exhaled through his nose.

“Not even close.”

He tapped the command.

A display bloomed to life in the air, flickering like a lantern’s flame.

[ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED DUNGEON CLEARED]

[SIGNATURE: UNREGISTERED | CLASS: UNKNOWN | ENTITY: ???]

.

.

.

[INVESTIGATION INITIATED: SUPERVISING ADMIN CONTACTED]

[STATUS: PENDING | AWAITING RESPONSE]

“It didn’t just spawn outside registry,” Renzō murmured, reading over the glyphs again. “It was bypassed.”

Kiyo’s eyes darkened.

“Does the commission know?” she asked. 

Renzō shook his head. “No.”

Kiyo’s head tilted slightly, and for just a second — just long enough for the lights to flicker — her eyes flared silver. And like that, she vanished from the room not in smoke, not in fire, but like a memory slipping back into the world that had forgotten her. 

Renzō takes out his phone. It’s time to make a phone call.

—

“You know the deal. Don’t forget why you’re here.”

The beaked mask hid the man’s expression, but his words cut sharp. Chisaki glanced back once, eyeing the light blue haired girl. Wine-red eyes narrowed slightly behind her sunglasses, but Rin dipped her head in silence. “I thought we were laying low?” 

Chisaki’s steps slowed, the air around him heavy with the threat of his quirk. He didn’t turn, but the tilt of his head was warning enough. “Laying low doesn’t mean standing still.”

The place they stood in couldn’t have been more different from Grandfather’s manor. No warmth, no history in the walls — just scaffolding and concrete dust, the hollow skeleton of a construction site. It sat in the heart of Osaka, close enough for heroes to patrol by without ever suspecting what lay beneath their feet.

Knowing better than to let her curiosity get ahead of her, Rin stayed silent, carefully watching Chisaki walk infront of her instead. The metal beams overhead creaked softly as they passed — nothing unusual, but her quirk always made spaces feel just a little too still, as though waiting for something to happen. The air changed as they went further — the sharp tang of metal giving way to something stranger. Old. Like ozone and stone dust.

At the base of the stairwell, the corridor opened into an open space. A man stood at the center of it, back half-turned as his fingers slid across an array of projected glyphs. The man’s quirk, perhaps? But it couldn’t be. The color of the man’s quirk, his energy, was different from the aura released by the projected glyphs.

Rin watched, pockets heavy with Trigger, as the glyphs swirled across the empty corridor. Symbols shifted and broke apart before coalescing into a steady glow, a deep cerulean that bled across the walls like veins of light.

“Are you sure about this?” the man asked Chisaki. “Singularities aren’t exactly the place for kids.”

“She’ll be fine.” 

The man gave Rin a once-over. “Follow the lights,” he said at last. “They’ll take you straight to Kamakura. Don’t wander off.”

He reached into the folds of his coat and produced a slip of paper, handing it to her with precise, deliberate movements. She let her quirk ease for just a moment, dropping the invisible buffer she kept around herself, and grabbed the slip of paper from him. They were coordinates, typed in a neat font, nothing handwritten.

“Be here later today at 2100,” he continued. “Don’t be late. That’s your ticket back.”

Rin’s eyes flicked down to the paper, then up to him again, searching for something — intent, motive, anything she could read in his face. There was nothing.

She turned slightly, glancing toward Chisaki. The mask gave her no answer, only silence. Still, the thought pressed sharp in her chest: A third party? With a teleportation quirk? Since when did we work with outsiders?

Chisaki’s right eyebrow lifted, just enough to catch her eye beneath the beaked mask. A silent command — Go.

Rin knew an order when she saw it. Her body moved before her mind caught up, steps light as she crossed the threshold of humming light. The coordinates crinkled in her hand, paper suddenly heavier than it should have been.

Trusting she wasn’t about to die, Rin entered the swirl of light. Her vision flared white, searing for an instant, before everything drained away into black.

Rin squinted as her vision slowly returned, taking in her surroundings. The white glare thinned into shadow, shapes sharpening out of the blur. Cold air clung to her skin, damp and metallic, carrying the faint tang of salt.

This wasn’t Kamakura.

Stone stretched around her, slick and uneven, the cavern walls veined with a faint cerulean glow that pulsed like veins under skin. Each beat of light hummed low in her chest, resonating against her in a way that set her teeth on edge.

A dungeon.

Multiple passageways spread out from the main corridor. Follow the light, the man said. She eyes the luminiscent stones paved into the rocks of the dungeon. She can’t help but wonder, do the other paths lead to a different location? 

Her breath left her in a controlled exhale, misting faintly in the chill. Curiosity pressed at her ribs, sharp and insistent, but the weight of Chisaki’s order was heavier.

So she followed the light.

Each step echoed against the cavern walls, the glow of the stones guiding her deeper, their rhythm steady and unyielding. The air grew heavier the farther she walked, carrying with it a pressure that pressed against her chest like unseen hands. Shadows stretched long around her, warping with the pulse of the cerulean veins.

Soon, Rin spotted another portal — a singularity, the man had called it. The light bled across the stone, swirling in on itself like water circling a drain.

Her brows furrowed. She slowed, one hand brushing against the cavern wall as if to anchor herself in something solid. The stone was cold, damp beneath her fingertips.

Rin let her hand drift toward the vortex. The surface yielded under her touch, parting with a ripple of pale blue, like the skin of a pond disturbed by a stone. For a breath, her reflection shimmered back at her — warped, fragmented, staring out from a ripple of light.

Her fingers lingered there.

Taking a deep breath, Rin steps through. 

Upon gaining her sight back, nobody around her seemed to notice that she was spat out of a portal.

Chapter Text

“I AM HERE! Entering your class like a hero!”

Izuku gasped, staring at his idol in awe. He wasn’t the only one, several of his classmates eyes’ shimmered with delight, some even erupting in cheers.

All Might’s grin seemed to grow even wider (if that was possible). “Good! Good! You should be excited!” He strode into the room, each step radiating the same confidence that made him the Symbol of Peace.

[Toshinori Yagi – LVL 99

TITLE: “All Might”

STR: 99 |  DEX: 99 |  CHR: 76 |  CONST: 43 |  INT: 86 |  WIS: 72 | LCK: 43]
Status: EXCITED

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat. Those stats are ridiculous! His Strength is maxed out! His Charisma is higher than anyone I’ve ever seen. No wonder everyone loves him, and his Dexterity… 99? That’s inhuman.

Toshinori Yagi. So that was All Might’s real name… A thrill shot through him. This is what the peak of hero training looks like.

All Might, oblivious to the numbers flashing in Izuku’s vision, planted his hands on his hips and let out a booming laugh.

“Welcome to the most important class in Yueei High! Think of it as Heroing 101, where you learn the basics of being a Pro and what it means to fight in the name of good.Today’s lesson will pull no punches!”

“Today’s lesson,” All Might continued, his voice booming like a drumbeat, “is combat training! Real, practical experience!”

The room practically buzzed with excitement. Uraraka clutched her desk, grinning. Iida adjusted his glasses so fast the lenses nearly flashed. Even Bakugou’s scowl sharpened into something dangerously eager.

“This exercise,” All Might declared, striking a dramatic pose, “will put you in a situation every pro has faced at least once — Heroes versus Villains!”

Gasps and murmurs broke out across the room.

His pulse kicked up, dread and excitement coiling tight in his stomach. This is it. My first real test at Yueei.

“You’ll be split into teams of two,” All Might continued, unfurling a massive blueprint of the training building. “The Villains will hide a ‘nuclear weapon.’ The Heroes will attempt to secure it before time runs out. If the Heroes capture the weapon, they win. If the Villains keep it safe—or capture all the Heroes—they win!”

He turned to the wall at the back of the room, and with a hiss of hydraulics, panels slid open to reveal numbered metal cases.

“Of course,” All Might added, his grin flashing bright, “a hero is only as strong as the image they project! Go suit up — and meet me at Ground Beta!”

The class erupted into chatter as everyone rushed to grab their cases.

The locker room was a flurry of excitement and rustling fabric. Students laughed, swapped quick comments about their gear, and hurried to change.

Izuku’s hands shook as he opened his case.

[ITEM ACQUIRED: Hero Costume – Prototype Mk. I]
[Effect: +5 DEF | +5 Style | Fire Resistance Lvl. 1]
[Set Bonus (All Might-Themed Accessory Equipped): +2 All Stats]

Inside was everything he had scribbled in his notebooks a hundred times over — the green jumpsuit, reinforced gloves, mask with its pointed ears, and bright red boots. It was simple, a little rough around the edges compared to some of the others he could glimpse, but it was his.

Minutes later, they stood in the massive training facility, the open-air mock city stretching out under the bright sky. Izuku’s heart thudded as All Might strode to the front, looking every bit the Symbol of Peace even here.

“Excellent!” he said, giving them a thumbs-up. “You all look fantastic! Truly, you are shaping up to be splendid heroes already!”

“Today’s exercise will put you into two-person teams — heroes versus villains — in an indoor battle scenario. Your mission: the heroes must secure a bomb hidden somewhere in the building. The villains must guard it until time runs out, or capture the heroes.”

He paused, letting the weight of the rules settle. “This will test your judgment, teamwork, and above all — your ability to think under pressure!”

[NEW QUEST: Battle Trial]
[Objective: Win your match | Bonus Objective: Sustain <20% HP loss]
[Reward: +250 EXP | + 1 Status Point]

“Now! To decide the match-ups…” All Might held up a small drawstring bag, shaking it with such force that the contents rattled like maracas. “We’ll draw lots!”

One by one, students stepped forward. Names were drawn, teams formed. Izuku’s turn came faster than he was ready for.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a card.

Jirō Kyōka

Several matches followed — Asui and Hagakure’s stealth-heavy win over Kaminari and Ojiro, and an intense bout where Sato and Shoji barely overpowered Mineta and Koda. Each fight offered its own lessons, from creative quirk use to pure stubborn grit. Izuku found himself scribbling notes nonstop, his mind racing with strategies.

Finally, All Might reached into the match-up bag again. “Heroes: Midoriya Izuku and Jirō Kyōka! Villains: Todoroki Shōto and Sero Hanta!”

The air inside the building was too still. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, throwing pale shadows down empty corridors lined with locked office doors. Izuku adjusted his gloves, the sound loud in the silence. His HUD traced out a shaky map, each corner a potential trap.

Beside him, Jirō pressed an earjack to the floor, her eyes narrowing. “Footsteps. Two levels up. They’re moving fast.”

Izuku exhaled, steadying himself. “That’ll be Todoroki and Sero. If they’re already above us, then…”

He bit his lip. He knew only scraps. From the quirk assessment: Todoroki’s ice—massive, fast, overwhelming. Sero, on the other hand, had tape—long-range mobility, binding, maybe even a way to restrict vision.

Ice walls to control space. Tape to restrict movement. Together, they could pin down anyone in seconds. Todoroki freezes the battlefield, Sero locks down the survivors.

He glanced at Jirō. “We can’t let them set the field. If they dictate the ground, we’re done. What’s your quirk do?”

She blinked at him, then tugged one of the earphone jacks hanging from her earlobes. “I can plug these into surfaces, pick up vibrations—heartbeats, footsteps, anything that travels through sound. I can also blast sound back through them, pretty much like a speaker. Not subtle, but it hits hard.”

Izuku’s HUD flickered as he processed. Scouting and suppression… if she can map enemy positions, then my fire can push them into her range. Or…

Jirō tilted her head, eyeing him. “And yours? Besides the fire show I saw during the test.”

He hesitated a beat before answering. “Ignis. Fire creation. But it’s not wild. I can shape and control it. Barriers, projectiles, sustained blasts, all within a 10 meter radius.”

Her brows rose slightly. “So… controlled firepower. Not bad.” Then a smirk. “Sounds like I’m the ears and you’re the boom. We keep them guessing, funnel them into bad positions, and strike when they’re off-balance.”

Izuku’s lips twitched into something between a smile and a grimace. “Right. But Todoroki won’t give us time. If he gets even one clear line of sight, we’ll be buried.”

“Then we don’t give him that line.” Jirō straightened, slipping her earjacks back. “I’ll scout their movement, feed you positions. You build cover and cut them off.”

“Cover,” Izuku repeated, more to himself than her. Fire as walls, not just weapons. Not to win in a single blow, but to buy space, shape angles—force them where he wanted. 

[ALERT!
??? - Hidden Skill Tree | Progress: 9% unlocked]

The notification pulsed faintly at the edge of his HUD, symbols he didn’t recognize fracturing across the bar. Izuku’s chest tightened—he hadn’t triggered anything. Not now. Not here.

Focus. Later. He shoved the thought aside, burning the words out of his mind with a flare of heat in his gloves.

Jirō’s smirk sharpened. “We make them play our rhythm.”

Izuku drew in a steadying breath. “Then let’s start the song.”

The air inside the building was heavy, muffled like the walls themselves were holding their breath. The exercise timer ticked in the corner of Izuku’s HUD, a countdown that seemed to press tighter on his chest with every passing second.

“All Might said the weapon’s on the top floor,” Jirō whispered beside him, one earjack pressed against the wall. “They’ve set up above us. But they’re not sitting still.”

Izuku’s eyes flicked across the HUD’s wireframe map of the building—only partial data, unreliable. Every corner was blind, every door a possible trap. His fists flexed inside his gloves, heat pulsing faintly at his palms.

“They’ll try to block us off,” he muttered. “Todoroki doesn’t need much space to lock down a whole hallway. And Sero—”

“—can lock us in place while he does it.” Jirō finished for him, her expression tight. She pressed her earjack deeper, brows furrowing. “He’s moving a lot. Circling. Todoroki’s slower. Deliberate.”

A predator and his net. Izuku swallowed. “That means Todoroki’s anchoring their defense. We’ll never reach the weapon unless we deal with Sero first.”

They crept forward. The corridor bent in sharp angles, the fluorescents flickering above. Izuku conjured a faint wisp of fire in his palm, not to attack, but to keep the shadows at bay.

Then Jirō froze. “Stop.”

Izuku halted instantly.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Ceiling.”

A hairline crack traced across the plaster above them. Frost seeped through, crawling downward in jagged tendrils.

Izuku’s stomach lurched. Already?

Thwip.

Tape lashed down from the ceiling, anchoring against the wall beside his head. Another snapped across the hallway, cutting off their retreat.

“Move!” Izuku barked.

Jirō slammed an earjack into the floor and pulsed raw sound upward. The ceiling shuddered with a low, concussive crack. Sero lost his footing in the shadows above, his silhouette flickering into view.

A heartbeat later, Todoroki dropped into sight behind him, palm outstretched.

Cold roared down the corridor, a tidal wave of ice blooming toward them.

Izuku’s gloves blazed, fire surging into a wall of heat. Steam exploded outward, swallowing the hallway in mist.

The corridor erupted in white mist, ice and fire colliding in a violent hiss. Visibility collapsed to nothing, every outline smudged into fog.

“Stay close!” Izuku hissed, tugging Jirō by the sleeve as he flared his gloves again. The heat carved out a pocket of clarity, barely enough to see three steps ahead.

“Footsteps—left flank!” Jirō snapped, one earjack stabbing into the wall. “Fast—Sero!”

The warning came just in time. Tape whipped out of the fog, snaring for Izuku’s wrist. He ignited a burst of flame, severing it mid-air, but another line lashed across the floor. Jirō stomped, blasting sound downward; the vibration snapped the tape loose before it could lock their ankles.

“Go!” Izuku shouted.

They sprinted, boots hammering against the tiles. Behind them, Todoroki’s ice poured into the corridor like a glacier, creeping up walls and ceilings with relentless speed. The whole floor was becoming a cage.

“Second stairwell ahead,” Jirō called, already angling toward it.

But the stairs were waiting for them—encased in a frozen barricade, glistening like glass. Todoroki had anticipated the route.

Izuku skidded to a halt, chest heaving. His HUD pulsed danger warnings across the map. They were being funneled.

“Options?” he rasped.

Jirō smirked despite the tension. “I make noise. You make holes.”

She jammed both jacks into the nearest wall and unleashed a piercing wail. The vibrations cracked plaster, buckling the frame of the hallway. Izuku followed, thrusting his hands forward—Ignis surged, a cone of flame tearing the weakened wall apart.

They burst through into an office, the desks scorched and overturned by the blast.

“Nice detour,” Jirō muttered.

“Not yet,” Izuku warned. “He’ll—”

A sudden frost crept across the broken window, jagged spikes sealing the gap they’d just created. Todoroki’s ice punched through the breach from the outside, stabbing inward like spears.

Izuku shoved Jirō aside and countered with fire, their clash erupting into another storm of steam.

“North wall!” Jirō shouted over the roar. “He’s pushing us toward the center stairwell—”

Izuku’s blood ran cold. Of course. Todoroki wasn’t just attacking—he was herding. And Sero’s tape was waiting at every choke point.

They weren’t just defending, they were guiding them to go and reshaping the battlefield into their favor. Izuku’s mind raced. If they kept reacting, they’d be boxed in. They needed to flip the script—force Todoroki and Sero into their rhythm.

“Jirō,” he said quickly, fire flickering in his gloves. “Can you mask our movement?”

Her lips curved into a sharp grin. “With pleasure.”

She slammed her jacks into the office floor and pulsed a rolling wave of noise— phantom heartbeats. A dozen false signals scattering across the building.

Above them, Sero’s tape lashed blindly, striking at shadows. Todoroki’s ice shifted the wrong direction, sealing off empty space.

Izuku felt a flicker of hope. “Then we climb.”

Jirō blinked. “Climb?”

He pointed upward. His fire licked across the ceiling, carving handholds in the warped plaster.

Jirō’s grin widened. “Guess we take the high road.”

Jirō jammed her jacks into her belt, craning up at the handholds Izuku carved. “You’d better not burn my fingers off.”

“Just climb fast,” Izuku muttered, shaping the fire tighter, controlled cones of heat gouging out more grips. His gloves buzzed with overheat warnings—red flashing across the HUD—but he shoved the alerts aside.

They scrambled upward, plaster cracking under their boots. The mist-choked office below was still alive with ice growth and snapping tape, Sero’s silhouette weaving between shadows. Izuku risked a glance down—frost had already devoured the floor. Another second, and they would’ve been trapped in solid crystal.

“Left wall, three meters!” Jirō hissed suddenly, ear pressed to the ceiling. Her jacks pulsed faint signals into the structure, and she flinched at the vibrations bouncing back. “Sero’s circling! He knows!”

A strip of tape lashed out of the fog, arrowing for Izuku’s ankle. Instinct took over—he flared Ignis along the wall, fire eating through the line mid-air. The recoil jerked Sero backward, but another tape shot snapped toward Jirō.

She twisted, hooking an earjack into the ceiling itself and blasting a sharp concussive thump. The soundwave rattled the beams, dislodging plaster and breaking the tape’s aim.

“Thanks,” she panted.

“Keep moving!” Izuku barked.

They hauled themselves into the crawlspace above the ceiling—narrow, dark, filled with wires and dust. Izuku’s fire painted the cramped space in flickering orange. His HUD strained to draw a map, glitching with static where Todoroki’s ice warped the structure.

Jirō pressed her jack into the steel support beam. Her eyes widened. “He’s… waiting.”

Izuku froze. “What do you mean—”

The ceiling groaned beneath them.

A thundercrack of cold surged upward as jagged ice spears punched through, skewering the crawlspace like a hunting harpoon. Splinters of wood exploded, frost snaking across the beams.

“Todoroki’s already here!” Jirō shouted.

Izuku’s pulse spiked. He flung fire downward, trying to melt a gap before the whole crawlspace collapsed. Steam hissed upward, choking the narrow space, burning his throat raw.

The crawlspace shuddered around them, beams groaning as ice webbed higher. Shards punched through inches from Jirō’s leg, spraying splinters.

“We can’t stay up here!” she coughed, voice ragged in the steam. “He’ll bury us alive!”

Izuku’s gloves howled with warning tones, heat bleeding into his arms as he forced Ignis to hold the gap below. His vision blurred—half from sweat, half from the HUD flickering under static.

He looked at Jirō, her earjacks trembled against the steel, vibrating with Todoroki’s steady, merciless advance. Sero’s movements echoed too, circling like a hawk. They weren’t just attacking, they were closing the trap.

“We drop,” Izuku rasped.

Jirō blinked through the haze. “Into Sero’s net?”

“Not if we break it first.” He gritted his teeth. “On my mark—you amplify sound loud enough to shake the building.”

Her smirk cut sharp through the steam. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Ice spears cracked closer, one slicing through Izuku’s sleeve. He hissed at the sting, then thrust both palms down. Ignis roared, not in a wide blast but a focused cone that carved a molten circle in the plaster floor.

“Now!”

Jirō slammed both jacks into the beam and unleashed a rolling shockwave. The sound tore through the crawlspace like thunder, rattling the wires, splintering wood, and blasting the steam into a chaotic gale.

Together, they dropped.

The floor gave way beneath them, and they plunged back into the office below—wreathed in firelight and soundwaves. Tape lashed out from the fog, Sero striking instantly. But the vibrations had thrown his aim wide, his lines snapping against desks and shattered walls instead of their throats.

Izuku landed hard, rolling, his gloves flaring to cut the last snare that whipped for his leg. Jirō hit beside him, knees bending with practiced ease, already plugging a jack into the floor.

“Two o’clock! Fast—he’s closing!” she barked.

Todoroki stepped into view through the mist, ice creeping in a jagged line at his feet, eyes narrowed, patient and cold. A giant wall of ice raced towards them in quick succession. Izuku snapped his fingers, pouring as much heat into ignis as he could. 

The ice surged forward like a tidal wave, swallowing broken desks and scattering embers into sparks. The temperature plummeted; Izuku’s teeth ached from the sudden chill. His flames hissed and guttered, steam rising where fire met frozen spires.

Jirō braced, sound pulsing from her jack into the floor, a shockwave cracking the ice’s advance just enough to keep them from being crushed.

“He’s cutting off the exits!” she shouted, her breath visible in the cold fog.

Izuku’s mind raced. The jagged wall behind them iced over with a snap, glittering sharp as crystal teeth.

“Left!” Jirō moved first, but a second ridge of ice slammed up, blocking the path.

Todoroki finally advanced through the haze, every step precise, his eyes locked on Izuku as if nothing else in the room existed. His hand brushed the ground, and another vein of ice shot forward, weaving itself into a cage.

Izuku grit his teeth, heat roiling around his gloves. He could melt a path—but not fast enough, not before Todoroki sealed them in. Not before his MP ran out.

“Midoriya.” Todoroki’s voice cut through the fog, calm and sharp as the ice itself. “You can’t outburn me. Surrender.”

Izuku shook his head, heart hammering. “Guess we’ll have to test that!” He slammed both palms down, ignis flaring, fire bursting in a concentrated column that roared against the encroaching wall.

The room filled with blinding steam, shrieks of ice cracking and hissing water running down. For the first time, Todoroki’s advance slowed.

Izuku’s lungs burned, every breath dragging in hot mist. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to focus—not on blasting heat everywhere, but on where it mattered most. Todoroki’s ice sprawled across the floor, jagged ridges climbing higher with every step forward.

Izuku crouched, pressed both hands flat to the ground, and poured fire downward, not outward. The stone hissed, water pooling instantly into a slick sheen. Steam swallowed the room whole. Then—he shifted his palms, heating the ground in sharp pulses, turning the already-melted water into a rolling fogbank and slick surface beneath Todoroki’s boots.

The ice-user staggered, just slightly, his footing betraying him. That was all the opening Izuku needed. With a roar, he sent a tight, controlled burst of fire upward through the mist like a geyser, aiming not at Todoroki’s body but at the ceiling above him. The stone glowed red-hot, shards cracking and breaking loose.

Todoroki had to step back, shielding with a fresh wall of ice to stop the falling debris—his advance halted for the first time.

Izuku’s chest heaved, flames flickering unsteadily across his arms. His control was ragged, but he’d forced Todoroki to yield ground. His eyes briefly looked at his MP gauge, worried. He’s gone through half.

The mist curled and boiled, swallowing the room in a white shroud. Both boys’ outlines blurred, flickering silhouettes in the haze.

Izuku’s eyes locked on the gleam of the weapon lying just beyond Todoroki’s reach—closer to Izuku now that the ice wall had slowed him. His legs coiled, ready to spring.

But Todoroki wasn’t idle. Through the steam came the sharp crack of freezing, ice crawling over the wet stone in jagged veins, spreading like a spider’s web toward the weapon. The fog thinned as the cold ate at it, clarity returning in harsh streaks of blue light.

Izuku lunged. Fire burst from his soles, propelling him forward in a skidding dash. The ground steamed under his boots, but the sudden burst gave him speed, momentum.

Todoroki thrust out a hand, ice racing across the floor to intercept. The weapon was seconds from being sealed in solid frost.

“No you don’t!” Izuku snarled, slamming one palm down mid-slide. A low arc of fire swept outward, melting the creeping ice just before it reached the target. He spun with the motion, body scraping across the slick surface, fingertips stretching—

—while Todoroki raised another wall of ice to block him off.

Izuku didn’t hesitate. The moment Todoroki’s ice wall came up, he lunged through the steam, palms blazing. Todoroki caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and whipped his arm sideways—jagged spears of ice shot across the floor, forming a barricade. Izuku’s fire burned a gap through the wall, but it slowed him just enough for Todoroki to launch another volley, this one aiming straight at Izuku’s legs.

Izuku vaulted, twisting midair, and blasted fire downward to propel himself. It wasn’t graceful, but it was enough to clear the ice. He landed hard, sliding across the wet stone, and shot another burst forward to close the distance.

Todoroki braced himself, raising a platform of ice under his feet to gain height. From above, he slammed his palm down—ice spread in a freezing wave across the ground, racing toward Izuku like a tidal surge.

Izuku roared, both hands forward, blasting fire in a sweeping arc. Steam exploded upward in a deafening hiss as fire met ice, filling the room with blinding white fog. Neither boy stopped—Todoroki kept pushing with ice, Izuku pouring fire to counter.

Through the haze, Izuku caught a glimpse of the weapon glinting on the ground, just past Todoroki’s platform. He feinted left, blasting fire low to force Todoroki’s attention, then broke right, sprinting through the mist.

But Todoroki wasn’t fooled. Ice lanced out, catching Izuku across the thigh, knocking him off-balance. Izuku grit his teeth and blasted a burst behind him, spinning with the momentum. His flaming fist met Todoroki’s ice-coated forearm with a crash, the heat and cold clashing violently.

Both boys staggered from the impact, breath ragged, eyes burning with determination.

Jirō’s jacks snapped toward the mist, sparking faintly with soundwaves, but she never got the chance to unleash them.

“Sorry, Jirō!”

Sero’s voice cut through, and then tape whipped around her arms and torso in one clean spiral. She let out a sharp curse as her limbs cinched to her sides, struggling to break free. The mist shifted around them, outlines becoming clearer as Sero planted his feet beside Todoroki, tape launcher angled forward.

“I’ve got your back, Todoroki!” he called, keeping Jirō restrained as leverage. His eyes flicked toward Izuku through the steam. “That’s two-on-one now.”

Todoroki didn’t waste the opportunity. He slammed a palm down, ice racing outward in jagged, towering spikes. The mist hissed and froze, steam crystallizing midair, visibility clearing just enough to reveal Izuku’s silhouette.

Izuku ducked under one spike, fire still guttering in his hands, and grit his teeth. He could take on Todoroki, but with Sero locking down Jirō, the scales were tilting fast.

The two forces converged: Todoroki’s jagged ice forcing him back step by step, while Sero’s tape lashed out to try and bind him too.

Izuku flared fire in his palm, batting away a strip of tape before it could coil around his wrist.

“Jirō—hang on! I’ll get you free!”

Izuku lunged forward through the mist, chest still burning from the strain.

But a sharp snap cut through the fog. Sero’s tape lashed out like a whip, snagging Izuku’s ankle mid-stride. His body jerked sideways, balance collapsing. He hit the slick stone hard, sliding in the direction of Todoroki’s ice.

“Got him!” Sero’s voice rang out, taut with adrenaline.

Before Izuku could wrench himself free, another wall of frost surged up from Todoroki’s hand, cutting off his path to the weapon entirely. The ice crawled across the floor like living veins, locking around his legs, pinning him in place.

Izuku gritted his teeth, blasting fire against the restraints. The tape burned away in a flash, but before he could breathe, a jagged wall of ice snapped down, forcing him to duck. His flames sputtered as frost crept closer, stealing the heat from the air.

“Not yet!” he snarled, forcing fire from his fists. The blaze flared bright, breaking through the ice and buying him a heartbeat—only for another strip of tape to snap around his chest, yanking him backward.

Sero grunted with the effort. “Got him, Todoroki!”

Izuku twisted, heat surging, but Todoroki was already moving. A second layer of ice shot across the ground, climbing up Izuku’s legs, locking him in place. He roared, fire blasting outward in a desperate burst. Steam hissed, cracks forming in the ice, but Sero braced himself and pulled tighter, the tape digging into Izuku’s ribs.

Each breath came harsher, each flame weaker. His arms trembled as he tried to summon more, but his fire faltered against the cold pressing in. Sweat stung his eyes, steam curling off his skin. Still, he fought—thrashing against both directions, pulling so hard the tape groaned, burning so fiercely the air quaked with heat.

But for every inch he clawed back, Todoroki and Sero forced him down two more. The ice thickened, crawling higher up his torso. The tape cinched tighter, unrelenting.

“Midoriya—stop.” Todoroki’s voice carried over the clash, calm but cutting. “You’ve already lost.”

“Never!” Izuku bellowed, flames sparking one last furious time—only to sputter, then collapse in on themselves. His body shook, but the heat was gone. The ice sealed him in, and Sero’s tape pinned him fast, crushing the last of his resistance.

Steam hung heavy in the air as Todoroki stepped into view, frost glittering along his uniform. Sero’s chest rose and fell with effort, but he kept the line taut.

Izuku strained one final time, teeth bared, before his head dropped, shoulders sagging under the weight.

All Might’s voice thundered across the arena:

“Villain Team Wins!”

[Quest Objective: FAILED]  

Izuku slumped against the frozen floor, chest heaving, tape cutting into his jacket where it still clung tight. His hands twitched, the lingering heat in his palms already cooling. For a second, he thought about struggling again—one last burst—but Todoroki’s steady gaze made the thought evaporate. Sero loosened his hold carefully, glancing between them like he wasn’t sure if the fight was really over until All Might’s voice made it official.

The bindings peeled away, and Izuku sat up slowly, blinking through the haze of steam and frost. His throat burned when he tried to speak, so he settled for a nod at both of them. It wasn’t gratitude, not yet, but acknowledgment.

They walked together back through the rubble-strewn hallway, the echo of their footsteps strangely heavy after the chaos. Todoroki kept a measured distance, hands tucked in his pockets, while Sero offered Izuku an awkward smile—half apology, half respect for how hard he’d fought.

When they pushed through the door into the observation room, the chatter hit immediately.

“Man, that was intense!” Kaminari whistled. “I thought Midoriya was gonna turn the whole building into a furnace!”

“Yeah, and then Todoroki just—” Mina mimed slamming an ice wall down. “That was brutal.”

Ojiro’s tail swished as he looked between the four of them. “You all held out longer than I thought possible.”

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning under the attention. 

All Might’s booming laugh filled the space as he strode up front. “Excellent! Truly splendid, you four! Now, who do you all think was the MVP?”

Ojiro’s tail swished again as he spoke up. “It was Todoroki’s ice that sealed everything. He controlled the entire field.”

“I agree,” said Yaoyaorozu. “Midoriya demonstrated adaptability, and Sero’s tape was essential support, along with Jirō’s heartbeats. But Todoroki dictated the pace from start to finish. His ice kept Midoriya under constant pressure, restricting every possible counter. In an actual battle scenario, maintaining that level of control is what ensures victory.”

The room quieted at her precise analysis. Even Kaminari, who looked ready to argue, closed his mouth and nodded reluctantly.

All Might’s smile widened as he pointed toward her. “Splendidly reasoned, young Yaoyorozu! Indeed, every one of you showed admirable qualities, but the MVP this round is Todoroki! His command of the battlefield demonstrates exceptional tactical awareness!”

Applause scattered through the room—some enthusiastic, some half-hearted. Sero gave a modest shrug, Jirō blinked in mild surprise at the mention of her contribution, and Ashido groaned like she’d just lost a bet.

Izuku sat back, chest still heavy with exhaustion, the word MVP ringing in his ears. When his eyes flicked toward Todoroki, the other boy wasn’t basking in the recognition. His hands remained tucked in his pockets, face unreadable, as though this outcome had never been in doubt.

Chapter Text

…Around ¥ 400,000 worth of [REDACTED] were reported stolen from a local black-market dealer late Tuesday night. Surveillance showed no forced entry, and the culprits remain unidentified… 

Detective Naomasa tapped a finger against his desk, eyes narrowing as he read the report again. The words hadn’t changed, but the logic didn’t add up. It didn’t help that he didn’t know what exactly was stolen. 

No forced entry. No suspects.

Naomasa leaned back in his chair, lips pressing into a thin line. He flipped to the attached photos. Two crates, missing. No fingerprints worth chasing, no camera angles to catch a face. The alley itself looked too clean, too deliberate, like someone wanted it found.

Not a thief. Not a dealer.

Naomasa drummed his fingers again, slow, deliberate. He reached for his phone.

[read.] Do you know anything about this?  attachment.png

Void: Whatever it was, it wasn’t me. [read.]

Void: Word is someone’s been making things disappear and reappear. Quietly. [read.]

—

Cool air clung to his skin, heavy with the scent of wet stone and rust. Somewhere in the dark, water dripped in a steady, deliberate rhythm — like a clock ticking toward something he couldn’t see yet.

But it was something Izuku could feel. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, a static charge settling into his chest. Izuku swallowed hard, firelight sparking to life in his palm. The faint glow pushed back the shadows just enough to reveal moss-slick stone archways and rivulets of water trickling along cracked tiles. Unlike the past few times he was in a dungeon, this place felt… alive.

Despite feeling the heebies, Izuku knew he needed this. He needed to get stronger. 

The drip of water quickened. No — not just water. A ripple, faint but deliberate, ran across a shallow pool that stretched beneath the archway ahead.

Izuku froze. His palm-fire hissed as its light caught the surface. The water was too still, too perfect, like glass waiting to shatter.

Then it did.

A surge erupted from the pool, water climbing upward like it had been waiting for him. At first, it had no shape — just a pillar of liquid flailing under some unnatural will. Then the form solidified: a serpentine head, hollow eyes glowing faintly blue, fangs formed of hardened ice.

[Dungeon Spawn: Aquserpent — Lv. 6]
Weakness: Fire (reduced in damp environments).

Izuku grit his teeth. “Of course…”

The serpent lunged, water crashing in its wake, and Izuku rolled back just as its fangs slammed into stone where he’d been standing. The floor hissed, the impact leaving the tiles slick with frost.

His fire sputtered in the damp, and he felt his MP gauge drain faster than usual. “Eugh—reduced efficiency…?” The dungeon was punishing him for relying on fire here.

The serpent struck again, faster this time. Izuku forced more MP into Kinesis, his flames lashing out like a whip, hissing against the creature’s watery hide. Steam filled the chamber, obscuring his sight — but also blinding the serpent.

That gave him an idea.

He darted sideways, circling the monster, gathering the steam into a thick veil with the wave of his fire. Every crackling step made the air hotter, forcing the serpent to writhe in frustration as its body began to destabilize.

“Come on… just a little more—”

Izuku thrust both hands forward, pouring his dwindling mana into a single burst. Flames erupted in a spiraling blast, colliding with the serpent’s chest. The creature convulsed, its body boiling from the inside out before collapsing into a torrent of steaming water that rushed harmlessly across the floor.

[Enemy Defeated – 1/1]

[Dungeon Phase Cleared]
Remaining Hostiles: 0

[Congratulations!

You have met the EXP to Level Up!

+ 2 Status Points!]

Izuku grinned as his Status flickered—Level Six. Pride surged in his chest. For once, he wasn’t behind. He was ahead. 

Two new prompts slid across his vision, stark against the fading steam:

[Blessed Loot Box] | [Cursed Loot Box]

His grin faltered. Wait… cursed?

He blinked, scrolling through the display again. No timer. No instructions. Just those two options, hanging in the air like a dare.

The Blessed icon shimmered in soft gold, the text perfectly clear. Izuku focused on it, and a small tooltip bloomed in his HUD:

[Blessed Loot Box]
Contents: Healing items, consumables, common gear (low rarity). 

That tracked. Straightforward reward, no surprises. A dungeon “thank you” package. Then he turned to the second one. The crimson text flickered with faint static, edges of the words bleeding like corrupted code.

[Cursed Loot Box]
Contents: ??? (potential high rarity / unique).

Izuku’s brows pinched together. “So… higher ceiling, but also higher risk. Almost like… a gamble system? The dungeon is literally incentivizing dangerous behavior.” His mind raced, muttering half-thoughts under his breath. “But why offer it now? Does it trigger only when I level up? Or… is it testing my decision-making?”

He chewed his lip. Blessed meant consistency. Safe progression. Cursed meant information. Unknown mechanics. Possibly rare loot no one’s documented before.

His heart thudded. It wasn’t just about the reward—it was about what the system wanted from him. 

High Rarity, it said. 

Izuku’s eyes lingered on the jagged crimson text, heart hammering harder the longer he stared. High rarity meant unique gear. Unique gear meant advantages no one else had.

He exhaled slowly, steadying his hand. “Alright… let’s see what you’re hiding.”

His finger tapped the crimson option. His vision glittered for amoment, before a red key hovered between his eyes.

[Key to the Land of Vestiges 

Forged of forgotten echoes, it opens doors that were never meant to be seen.

Requirements not met. Player cannot use item until LVL 50.]

The key dissolved into his inventory with a faint chime, leaving only the warning burned into his HUD. Requirements not met.

Izuku’s fire guttered low as he exhaled. Level Fifty. Fifty. That felt impossibly far off. 

The silence pressed in. No more dripping. No faint trickle of water running through the cracks. The dungeon had gone utterly still.

Izuku swallowed. “…Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He turned back the way he came, retracing each step past the moss-slick archways and thin rivulets of water. The glowstones dimmed behind him as he walked, until only the soft shimmer of the exit portal pulsed in the dark.

He shivered and stepped through.

The shift was immediate — dungeon air replaced by the familiar scent of city smog and damp pavement. Night had fallen over Musutafu, and the street outside his apartment was quiet save for the buzz of a flickering lamp.

Izuku exhaled hard, shoulders sagging. His body ached from the fight, MP drained low enough that even sparking a flame made his vision blur. 

Izuku dragged a hand over his face as he walked home, the adrenaline of battle long gone, leaving only the heavy ache of overused muscles and the sting of mana-burn behind his eyes. It had taken a while to find this next dungeon, he’s gone over a month without finding one before starting at Yueei, and for a moment he had felt like he would never see one again. 

He collapsed onto his bed without changing, HUD flickering faintly in the dark as his eyes traced over the letters on his menu before he fully went under.

—

The second day of class was met with resistance. Literally. Hoards of people blocked the entrance to Yueei, lights flashing brightly as photographers tried to catch a glimpse of what’s inside.

“What is going on here?” Ojiro muttered as they got closer.

“LOOK! Those students are in the heroics course!”

Almost as if on cue, the crowd turned as one, every camera snapping toward them at once.

Izuku blinked against the bursts of light, still half-tired from the dungeon run the night before. His head throbbed faintly with every flash. 

“How is it having All Might as your teacher?!”

“Tell us! What's the Symbol of Peace like in person?”

The questions came one after another, overlapping until they were nothing but noise. Izuku felt his pulse climb, every camera flash catching him mid-step like he was a bug pinned under glass.

“What do you think about All Might’s split responsibilities as the top hero and as an instructor?!”

“Enough.”  

The word was quiet, but it sliced through the clamor like a blade. The crowd turned again — this time to where Aizawa stood, scarf loose around his neck, expression as flat as ever.  

“All Might is not here,” he said, voice rough with boredom. “And even if he was, none of you are getting past this gate.”  

The cameras wavered, a few reporters glancing at each other. Aizawa didn’t wait for a response.  

“Inside.”  

His eyes flicked toward Izuku and Ojiro, who both snapped out of their daze and hurried through the gate, grateful for the excuse to escape the flashing lights.  

“Thanks, sensei.” They chorused. Aizawa grunted, already turning back toward the gate as if he hadn’t just dispersed an entire crowd with a single word.

They slipped into the classroom just as the bell rang. Izuku sank into his seat, waving tiredly to Ojiro before resting his head against his desk with a quiet exhale. 

His HUD flickered across his vision, unprompted:

[Izuku Midoriya – LVL 6
STR: 16 | DEX: 14 | CHR: 10 (+2) | CONST: 11(+2) | INT: 16 | WIS: 13 | LCK: 10
HP: 100/100
MP: 400/400
Exhaustion: 78/200 ]

He shut his eyes, but the numbers didn’t fade. He’d spent half the night combing through every stat, every skill tree, every theory he could find. Anything that might get him closer to Level 50 — closer to whatever that red key was meant to unlock. Hours wasted, and not a single step closer. He’ll have to go do it the normal way, grinding EXP. Which only meant one thing: he needed to find more dungeons or do more quests, and that was on top of his newly busy schedule with classes at Yueei.

“Right,” Aizawa said as he entered the room. “Let’s get down to business, our first task will decide your future.”

Izuku straightened up, blearily blinking sleep away.

(“— is this another qurik test?”) 

“You all need to pick a class representative,” Aizawa continued. 

The room exploded.

“I nominate myself!” Kaminari shouted.

“You can’t just nominate yourself!” Jirō argued.

“Sure I can! Who else is gonna—”

“I NOMINATE ME!” Iida cut in, standing so sharply his chair almost fell over. “A class representative must be intelligent, decisive, and possess a strong sense of—”

Chaos took over in an instant, half the class shouting their own names while the other half bickered about what made a good leader. Izuku shrank into his seat, heart still racing, until Yaoyorozu suggested a vote and everyone calmed down enough to agree.

Votes were tallied quickly — a flurry of scribbled slips passed forward to Yaoyorozu, who volunteered to count them.

“Four votes for Midoriya,” she announced.

Izuku blinked. Before he could spiral, Yaoyorozu finished reading the results. “Two votes for me. That means Midoriya is class representative.”

For a moment, Izuku just sat there, stunned. A familiar ding popped across his vision:

[HIDDEN QUEST Complete: “Earn the Trust of Your Classmates”
Reward: +150 EXP, +2 CHR]

He nearly choked. (A quest?!)

“And I will be your vice representative,” Yaoyorozu added.

“Congratulations, Midoriya!” Uraraka cheered. “I voted for you!”

“O-Oh! Th-thank you!” 

Done with orientations in his other classes, Izuku was thrust into regular classes for the first half of the day. They had English first with none other than Present Mic, who was just as loud and energetic as he was during the entrance exam. Izuku stumbled through his pronunciation every time he was called on, earning an encouraging thumbs-up from the hero.

Then came Ectoplasm for math where they dove straight into limits and continuity. Izuku straightened in his seat, heart thudding with nervous excitement. Finally, a chance to test his INT stat for real.

He worked through the problems almost mechanically, numbers and symbols aligning in his head like puzzle pieces. When Ectoplasm asked the class to solve a tricky problem on the board, Izuku hesitantly raised his hand — and got it right.

A tiny rush of pride bloomed in his chest. His stats really were working.

By the time the lunch bell rang, he was mentally exhausted but feeling accomplished. Notebook crammed with new formulas, he and Ojiro went to the cafeteria. 

The place was bustling, chatter loud enough to drown out even his HUD. Uraraka waved them down towards where she and Iida were sitting once they got their food.  Izuku shuffled closer, balancing his tray carefully. Uraraka beamed as they sat, and Iida gave a crisp nod, adjusting his glasses so they caught the cafeteria light.

“Congratulations again on becoming class representative!” Iida declared, hands chopping the air for emphasis. “It is a great responsibility. I expect you will carry it with the utmost dedication!”

Izuku nearly fumbled his chopsticks. “I—I’ll try! I mean—I want to make sure everyone feels included. That’s important, right?”

“Exactly!” Iida said, satisfied.

“That’s why I voted for you,” Uraraka said with a grin. “You’re always thinking about everyone else first.”

“So what did you guys think of the math lesson?” Ojiro asked between bites.

Izuku perked up despite himself. “I liked it! I think I… actually understood everything today.” The words tumbled out faster than he meant them to. “It’s just, limits make sense when you think of them as approaching infinity in discrete steps, and infinity as a concept has always been interesting. You just keep going closer and closer but never quite there—”

“You sound excited,” Uraraka giggled.

Izuku’s ears turned red. “I-I just didn’t think my INT stat would actually make a difference in real classwork…”

Ojiro nodded like that was perfectly normal conversation, while Iida hummed in interest. “Your INT stat?” he questioned.

“Oh!” Izuku exclaimed, “that’s part of my quirk. I, um… get stat numbers for things like strength or intelligence. And they go up when I train or study hard enough.”

Iida’s head tilted to the side. “I thought you had a pyrokinetic quirk.”

Izuku’s breath caught. “Ah—! W-well, yes!” He scratched the back of his neck, heat creeping up his ears. “My quirk is pretty odd, I see the world like it’s some sort of video game. I just happen to have different things to put my EXP or points into like skill trees.”

“Ahh,” Iida nodded. “I assume you have some sort of elemental skill tree.”

Izuku beamed. “Exactly!”

“I’ve never heard of a quirk like that,” Uraraka said wistfully. 

“It is remarkable!” Iida exclaimed, “a multifaceted quirk like that is great for heroics!”

Izuku ducked his head, smiling into his tray. Compliments still made his stomach twist, but… this felt nice.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, fiddling with his chopsticks. “I, um, still have a lot to learn. I haven’t unlocked everything yet.”

His mind drifted for a second, to the hidden skill tree still greyed-out on his HUD, its branching paths unreadable no matter how many hours he poured into training. Months of effort, and still no progress.

BREEEEEEH!

Izuku flinched so hard he nearly dropped his spoon.

“Security Level Three has been broken,” the mechanical voice announced, cold and unhurried. “All students must evacuate immediately.”

The cafeteria froze for one long, breathless moment. Then it erupted.

[WARNING! DANGER LEVEL: HIGH

Security Level Three Breech — LOCATION: U.A High

According to U.A High “The Ultimate Hero Guide” a Level Three Breech means someone (or something) has forcefully entered the school premises, compromising the school’s and student body safety.

Countermeasures actived, the Pro Heroes within the school will do an immediate sweep to see likely cause of event, neutralizing threats if necessary.]

[QUEST TRIGGERED: SURVIVE THE INCIDENT

REWARD: +3,500 EXP]

Izuku’s HUD blared across his vision in urgent red, but he barely had time to read before the crush of students surged toward the exits. Chairs screeched, trays clattered to the floor, voices overlapping in panic.

Three thousand five hundred EXP? Just what was in the school?

“W-what’s going on?!” Uraraka yelped, already half out of her seat.

“Level Three breach means something’s on school grounds!” Iida said, standing tall against the tide of bodies shoving past. “Stay calm, everyone! Evacuation protocol requires an orderly line!”

No one was listening.

Mouth suddenly dry, Izuku’s heart thundered. He quickly scanned through his surroundings, checking anything to see what would warrant such a high reward. 

There was nothing there. 

“Uraraka!” Iida called out, “Use your quirk on me! It’s just the press!”

Iida shot upward as Uraraka activated her quirk, kicking off the ceiling with a burst of Recipro, then landed by the windows overlooking the front gate. His head snapped toward the crowd outside — and the tension in his posture shifted.

“It’s just the press!” he shouted, voice booming over the cafeteria din.

Students froze mid-panic.

“The front gate has been breached, but there are no villains!” Iida continued, already moving toward the exit. “Everyone, calm yourselves! Form lines and exit in an orderly fashion before someone gets hurt!”

His words had weight. Slowly, the rush slowed to a crawl, students falling into proper lines as they filed out of the cafeteria.

“Wow,” she whispered, glancing toward Iida. “He really knows how to handle a crowd, huh?”

Izuku nodded, tension draining from his shoulders. His HUD was still flashing [QUEST IN PROGRESS], but the urgent red had dimmed. “Y-yeah. He’s amazing…”

Soon, teachers began to arrive—Snipe and Cementoss among them—herding students out into the hallways with calm efficiency.

“Good work, Iida,” Cementoss said as they passed, voice even but approving. “You helped avoid a dangerous stampede.”

Iida flushed slightly but gave a sharp nod. “It was simply the most logical course of action.”

The evacuation drill didn’t last much longer. Once the front gates had been secured and the press pushed back beyond the perimeter, Present Mic’s voice boomed over the intercom.

“YOOOO STUDENTS! Crisis averted! You can all head back to class!”

Groans and chatter filled the air as everyone slowly made their way back toward their respective classrooms. The tension had ebbed into an aftershock of nervous laughter and complaints.

“Man, my heart was about to jump out of my chest…” Ojiro muttered.

“It was kind of scary,” Uraraka admitted, falling into step beside Izuku.

Izuku barely heard her. His thoughts were stuck on the HUD still flickering faintly at the edge of his vision, the crisis has been averted but his HUD’s telling him otherwise? Was this a glitch? His stomach twisted. 

When they re-entered the classroom, Aizawa was waiting at the front, arms crossed and expression as blank as ever. Izuku hesitated. He had been voted Class Rep earlier that day—but his eyes drifted toward Iida, sitting perfectly straight, calm and collected despite the earlier chaos.

Iida had been the one who took charge. The one who made sure no one got hurt.

Slowly, Izuku raised his hand. “Sensei,” he said, voice soft but carrying.

Aizawa’s gaze shifted lazily toward him. “Midoriya?”

“I… I’d like to give my position as Class Representative to Iida,” Izuku said, turning toward him with a small smile. “He kept everyone safe today. He deserves it.”

Iida blinked, startled. “Midoriya—are you sure?”

Izuku nodded firmly. “Yeah. You’re the one who acted like a real leader.”

Murmurs of agreement filled the room—some loud, some begrudging—but no one objected.

Aizawa barely blinked. “Fine. Iida, you’re Class Rep now. Yaoyorozu stays as Vice Rep. Everyone else, keep quiet and pay attention.”

Iida stood and bowed deeply, his expression solemn. “I will not take this responsibility lightly.”

—

Rin blinked herself awake, stretching on the motel’s bed. This was the fourth day in a row that she’s been designated as a stasher for trigger, getting in mysterious portals called singularities to travel to different locations throughout Japan just to make drop offs. She wondered just how Chisaki was able to pin someone down for that intel. 

Though she guessed it didn’t really concern her. 

She yawned and glanced at the small duffel bag at the foot of the bed. Inside, tucked beneath the spare clothes and ration bars, was today’s package. Her skin crawled upon seeing the waves of energy flowing out of the package, her vision taking in everything there was to see in the room before she grimaced at the amount of info rummaging into her brain. Grabbing her sunglasses, she reluctantly put them on. The tinted glass dulled the world to something livable.

Her quirk, Event Horizon, wasn’t always the blessing Chisaki thought it was. 

Rin showered, getting ready for the day. She had a total of five drop offs to do before she was ‘allowed’ to go back to Grandfather’s manor,

Allowed to see Eri again.

Her chest tightened at the thought. She wondered if her little sister missed her half as much as she did.

She slung the duffel over her shoulder and stepped outside. The morning air was damp, carrying the sour tang of asphalt that hadn’t fully dried from last night’s rain.

“Five stops,” she muttered under her breath, as if saying it aloud would make the number shrink. Rin dropped the first little bag in an unsuspecting toilet, taking the cover out before dumping it in the water. Each of the stops required her to get in a singularity. The first few times required a middle man that allowed her to see the odd portals, but by her sixth one, her sight was able to adapt— two times faster than someone without her quirk.

Rin still had no idea what they were, other than a distinct feeling that the energy were quirk-related. It must be, for her quirk to see it.

The day dragged on in fragments of disjointed space and time.

Second drop-off: a warehouse near the docks in Yokohama, the reek of salt and oil mixing with the metallic tang of the package. Third: a narrow tenement stairwell in Osaka. Fourth: an abandoned subway platform in Nagoya, her boots echoing against rusted track as she drops it beneath the second lane.

Each jump gnawed at her. The singularities energy pressed tighter against her mind the more she used them, their pull scraping her nerves raw, as if she had her quirk on for hours. By the fourth return, her hands trembled. The sunglasses only dulled the pain so much.

Still—just one more.

The last singularity opened in the middle of a forest clearing outside Sendai. Pines stood like watchmen around her, the air cold and still, muffled by a hush too complete. Rin exhaled and stepped forward, scanning the treeline.

She spotted the broken stone steps ahead, overgrown with moss, and adjusted the duffel strap on her shoulder.

The air shifted.

Her eyes caught it immediately—an ugly distortion of energy bleeding from the shadows between the trees. Behind the singularity.

The shape unfurled, crawling out of the dark on too many limbs. Its body shimmered like broken glass suspended in smoke, edges warping as though it didn’t belong in this world at all. Rin sees its energy swirl, almost negative in nature. Like a quirk gone wrong. It began to take form, mist snapping together in haggard movements. A construct forming shape into a person, a knight clad in armor. 

“Hello?” Rin said cautiously. 

Its head jerked toward her voice. No eyes, no mouth—just the impression of a helmet, faceless and hollow. Yet somehow, she felt its attention spear through her like a blade.

The knight twitched. A sword shimmered into its grip, more mist than metal, its edges jagged and unfinished. It dragged the blade against the ground, each step toward her warping the earth in sickly waves.

“Damn it,” Rin whispered. Her pulse raced. No one had told her this was part of the job. Chisaki’s men had laughed off the rumors, dismissed the warnings. But here it was—something torn loose from the singularities, hungry for whatever she was carrying.

Her heart lurched. She’d heard rumors—things slipping through the cracks when singularities were forced open too often. Chisaki had dismissed it. Fairy tales.

But it was real.

The duffel pulsed in her grip, quirk energy leaking stronger, almost as if the package itself was calling to the creature. Rin cursed under her breath and slid the strap off her shoulder, her muscles coiling.

The knight lurched forward, dragging that jagged sword like nails across glass.

Rin forced her breathing steady. The air bent around her as she turned her quirk on, the world narrowing into a funnel of space she alone controlled. When the knight swung, the blade halted inches from her face—stuck in the endless gap Event Horizon wove between them.

It didn’t understand, didn’t even hesitate. It raised the sword again, trying to force its way through, but to Rin, the motion looked sluggish, as though it were moving through molasses.

“Stay back,” she hissed.

The energy pressed harder on her skull. She let a fraction slip. The space between her and the knight collapsed with a sudden crack, air detonating outward in a shockwave that sent the creature sprawling across the mossy stones.

It reformed almost instantly, smoke and metal knitting together. Its hollow helm tilted, almost curious.

“Of course you’d get back up,” Rin muttered

The knight charged. Rin braced, her hand outstretched. Event Horizon shimmered again, its steps slowing to a crawl as it neared her, but she pushed further, harder. Space itself seemed to fold, dragging the monster sideways, pinning it against a tree.

It shrieked soundlessly as its form wavered, parts of its body slipping out of sync with reality.

Rin grit her teeth, pressing down until the distortion reached a breaking point.

The knight shattered—bursting apart into shards of smoke and fractured light, sucked back into the cracks of the singularity that had birthed it.

Silence rushed in behind it.

Rin staggered, sunglasses sliding down her nose, sweat cooling on her skin. Her head throbbed painfully, her vision doubling for a second before she shut her eyes tight due to the information assaulting her eyes. It helped, but only a little. Part of her quirk never really turned off, forcing her to see everything that was. Event Horizon clawed at her perception even when she tried to suppress it.

She dragged in a breath, forcing her body upright. The shrine’s shadow loomed at the edge of the clearing, its stone steps broken and moss-eaten. The duffel’s weight pressed heavily against her shoulder, like it had doubled after the fight.

Rin clenched her jaw and started forward, every footfall echoing louder than it should in the unnatural silence the shattered knight had left behind.

—

Mustafu woke as it always did—clattering trains rattling through the ward, the hiss of oil on flat griddles as vendors flipped their morning skewers, the chatter of schoolkids chasing each other toward classrooms. Screens on building faces blared about celebrity endorsements and the latest hero rankings. Nothing unusual.

Renzo leaned against the railing of a pedestrian overpass, coffee cooling in his hand. To anyone else, he looked like just another salaryman in a rumpled suit, killing time before his commute. To him, the city was loud in different ways. Quirkfields shimmered faintly along the concrete seams below, like heat ripples only he could see. Residual distortions. Places where space had bent wrong, just for an instant, then snapped back like overstrained glass.

The public had no idea. They laughed, they bought their taiyaki, they checked their phones. Yesterday’s “training accident” at U.A. hadn’t even made the feeds—scrubbed before it could leak. The Commission was good at that. Efficient. Ruthless.

A pulse rattled his comms device, tucked in his coat pocket. He slipped a hand in without looking, thumb brushing the haptic display.

[Priority Notice: Unauthorized Dungeon Clearance]  

Subject: GREEN  

Location: Mustafu Ward  

Action: Monitor. Do not engage.  

Renzo sipped his coffee, eyes tracing the skyline. Somewhere out there, someone who shouldn’t exist is making a habit of jumping into Singularities to defeat Cursed Quirks. 

He pocketed the comms and started walking. The morning crowd swallowed him easily — uniforms and blazers, briefcases and backpacks, a tide of normality that had no idea what it floated above. He let himself drift with it, one hand brushing the rail as he moved off the overpass.

The city hummed at the edges of his perception. Each step tuned him deeper into it — the faint resonance of a quirkfield here, a distortion seam there. Most were shallow, harmless fractures, the kind that healed themselves before anyone noticed, and before they became Singularities. But one thread pulled sharper than the rest, like a note out of key.

He followed it. Past a convenience store propped open with crates of bottled tea. Past a side street where a hero in bright colors posed for children snapping photos. The distortion didn’t care about commerce or celebrity. It cut across wards like a scar under the pavement, quiet but insistent.

Renzo slowed when the hum deepened, pooling around a narrow residential block. Apartment balconies stacked overhead, laundry drifting in the cool breeze. Ordinary lives — stacked like shoeboxes, tucked into the shadow of the skyline.

But the air here pressed differently. He felt it in the soles of his shoes, the pulse crawling faintly up his spine. A node. Not a sign of an upcoming Singularity, but an obvious residual leak of someone who frequently comes across Cursed Quirks.

His eyes lifted, scanning the rows of balconies, until they stopped on one unit — curtains drawn, lights low, nothing unusual. He sipped his coffee to mask the pause. A woman with dark green hair, perhaps in her early to late thirties, came out of the unit. There was nothing particular about her, and the residual energy didn’t follow her. But it was odd. 

Renzo’s gaze lingered on her only a moment. Civilian. No trace of distortion clinging to her. The pulse in the air remained steady, anchored to the walls and floorboards behind her, not to the woman herself.

He looked away, finishing the last of his coffee in a slow sip. He had learned long ago not to stare, not to linger too obviously. The strongest anomalies often hid behind the plainest doors.

The hum pressed again, faint but insistent. Whoever lived here had brushed against power strong enough to leave a scar on the air.

Renzo dropped the empty cup in a bin and kept walking, letting the current of pedestrians carry him back into the flow. But his thoughts snagged like burrs on cloth.

He was told him to monitor, not engage. So he would.

But he would also remember this place.

Because distortions didn’t anchor themselves without a reason.

Chapter Text

TOP SECRET – HPSC EYES ONLY

Document Code: HPSC-Δ/2701-RED
Title: Singularity Containment and Response Protocol (SCRP)
Classification Level: Omega-Black
Distribution: Commission Chair, Regional Directors, Authorized Hero Operatives Only

Executive Summary

The Singularity Phenomenon presents a catastrophic threat to national and global security. Singularities are not isolated anomalies, but interdimensional rifts leading to hostile quirk-energy biomes. These rifts contain entities (Energetic Residual Constructs, ERCs) and unstable quirk energy resources (Q-Cores). If left unchecked, Singularities will expand, destabilize population centers, and ultimately catalyze a Global Collapse Event.  

This directive establishes operational protocols for the containment, classification, and neutralization of Singularities. Emphasis on locating instances of Singularities.

I. Singularity Classification Index (SCI)

Singularities are ranked based on dimensional stability, ERC density, and QFE output:

• Rank F: Micro-rifts; limited ERC emergence; can be closed remotely.
• Rank E: Stable portals (<1 km²); Drone-Class ERCs only.
• Rank D: Small dungeons (1–5 km²); Sentinel-Class ERC presence.
• Rank C: Mid-tier dungeons (5–20 km²); Sovereign-Class threat potential.
• Rank B: Large-scale zones (20–100 km²); catastrophic ERC density; collapse event radius ≥ 2 km.
• Rank A: Major dungeons (>100 km²); Sovereign-Class confirmed; collapse event capable of citywide destruction.
• Rank S: Country-level threat. Uncontained. Projection: Country-Wide Collapse Event.
• Rank SS: World-level threat. Uncontained. Projection: World-Wide Collapse Event.

—

[Status Effect: Exhaustion — CRITICAL

Recovery in Progress… 

Estimated Time: 48 hours]

—

Nezu poured the tea with his usual careful precision, porcelain clinking lightly against the saucer. His office smelled faintly of bergamot and ink, the curtains drawn tight against the bright Mustafu morning.

Across from him, Yagi Toshinori sat stiff-backed, hands clasped too tightly on his knees. His gaunt form cast longer shadows in this shape, the Symbol of Peace shrunken to something human.

“We were lucky,” Nezu said at last, steam curling above his cup. His voice carried no triumph, only gravity. “Too lucky. The students survived because you were there, Toshinori. Even then…” He let the words trail off.

All Might’s jaw worked, but he didn’t answer. He had been seconds away from losing more than just a battle.

Nezu set the teapot down and folded his paws atop the desk. His eyes, bright and beady, fixed on the man in front of him. “The Commission has already moved to classify the incident. Officially, there was no attack. It will not reach the public.”

A heavy silence stretched between them.

All Might finally spoke, voice low. “And Midoriya?”

He had not been able to visit the child since he got sent to Mustafu General’s Hospital. He will not forget the chorus of flames that engulfed the monster— the noumu, as the villain had called it. It had been enough keep it at bay before he appeared. It had been enough to save lives. 

Nezu’s whiskers twitched, his smile faint but without warmth. “Alive. Resting. Exhausted, of course — but the doctors are impressed with his resilience and quick recovery. They’ve deemed it part of his quirk, multifaceted as it is. ”

All Might exhaled, shoulders loosening only a fraction. Relief, but also guilt. He hadn’t been there when the boy woke. He hadn’t been at his bedside. Toshinori Yagi, the man, had been caged by circumstance, when All Might, the symbol, should have stood vigil.

“Two in a class?” All Might can’t help but question. There was already one, Endeavor’s son, who showed both remarkable talent and power. He wasn’t aware that another student had something close to a double quirk. 

“Yes. While Midoriya-kun’s quirk is registered as Appraisal, an inherently analytic ability given its game-quality,” Nezu continued, his claws steepled beneath his chin, “what has manifested throughout the past year suggests a breadth far beyond what the papers say. His energy manipulation—the flames he wields—cannot be explained as simple observation.”

All Might’s brows furrowed. “You mean to say…”

Nezu’s whiskers twitched, the faintest ripple of amusement passing through his otherwise clinical tone. “That our young Midoriya either has a quirk that’s undergoing rapid evolution. Either an awakening, or further demonstration of what they call ‘quirk singularity’.”

All Might’s breath caught, and he leaned forward. “An awakening… already? He’s fifteen, Nezu. That kind of development shouldn’t be possible.”

“Quite right,” Nezu agreed pleasantly, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper. “And yet, here we are. A boy whose quirk is officially labeled as a system of observation and analysis—wielding fire as though it were an extension of his will. As though the framework of his quirk is expanding to compensate for threats most adults could never endure.”

Toshinori’s brows furrowed. “Then what you’re saying is… Midoriya’s quirk isn’t what we think it is.”

“Not entirely,” Nezu replied smoothly, paws folding atop each other. “Either it was misclassified from the beginning, or it is evolving beyond its registration. A breadth of function closer to what one would expect from a composite quirk—or the kind of mutation that hints at singularity.”

The word sat heavy in the room.

“It’s no surprise, after all, from what began roughly sixteen years ago.”

Toshinori nodded grimly. “The portals.” He’s been in some raids, more so back when it first began and each assault ended in a bloodbath. Despite it being a decade long  since they first started popping up, the world still covered away its existence. Those monsters— Cursed Quirks, quirks without vessels, are ruthless.

Nezu’s ears flicked. “Localized distortions. First dismissed as rare quirk accidents, then quietly recategorized by the Commission once patterns emerged. Energy accumulating, folding in on itself, tearing small seams in space. Sixteen years of data, and still no definitive countermeasure. Only patches, temporary closures, and containment squads that vanish more often than they succeed.”

All Might’s jaw clenched. “What does this have to do with Young Midoriya?”

Nezu’s smile thinned, sharp and secretive. “Nothing,” he said. “Or perhaps something. One thing is certain: in the past year, eleven Rank D’s and E’s have closed without explanation, roughly 50 to 75 miles from Yueei, despite the Commission’s warnings to steer clear. And Class 1-A’s ‘Problem Child,’ as Aizawa-kun calls it, happens to live right at the epicenter.”

—

[Status Effect: Exhaustion — MODERATE

Recovery in Progress… 

Estimated Time: 17 hours]

—

“I got you something,” Rin whispered, a rare smile gracing her lips. Eri glanced up at her expectantly. Her small hands hovered uncertainly as Rin extended a tiny crochet figure of All Might. The little hero’s yarned smile and bright colors seemed almost impossibly cheerful against the muted shadows of Eri’s room. It had taken Rin a while to gather all the materials—she even unraveled old shirts from thrift stores to get the colors just right—crafting each stitch with care so that the little hero would feel as vibrant as the real thing.

“Who is this?” Eri asked innocently. 

“That’s All Might,” Rin said conspiratorially, a playful glint in her eyes. “He’s a hero! The number one hero, actually.”

Chisaki was going to hate it, but he can also just suck Rin’s metaphorical dick. 

Eri’s eyes widened, and she reached out cautiously, brushing her tiny fingers against the yarn. “He’s… happy,” she whispered.

Rin chuckled softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, he’s supposed to be. Even when everything around him is scary, he still tries to smile.”  Rin carefully set the little All Might figure into Eri’s hands. “Here,” she said gently, “he can watch over you while you’re here and I’m not. And if you ever feel scared, you can tell him, okay?”

Eri clutched the figure to her chest, a warmth spreading across her small frame.Rin sat down beside her, letting silence fill the room—quiet, comforting, like a small bubble of safety amid the cold stone walls.

“Can I… talk to him?” Eri asked after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You can talk to him as much as you want,” Rin said, smiling softly. “He listens, and he won’t tell anyone your secrets.”

Eri’s gaze lingered on the tiny hero, and Rin could see the tension in her shoulders ease just slightly. 

The door for Eri’s prison opened. Chisaki sends her a look upon seeing what laid upon Eri’s little hands. Rin leveled him with a glare of her own, staring him down through the gaps of her sunglasses.

“No,” he said. 

“It’s her birthday.” Rin argued back, her sister turned five today. Already, Eri curled upon herself, looking away from the two.

“Don’t you think it’s cruel to give her something like that.”

Rin’s gaze didn’t waver. “No, I don’t, actually.” she said, her voice low but firm. Her fingers tightened slightly on Eri’s shoulder, a protective weight.

Chisaki’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. “You’re spoiling her,” he muttered, voice sharp..

Eri, sensing the tension, hugged the little All Might closer, burying her face in the soft yarn. “I like him,” she whispered, barely audible, her small hands clutching the figure tightly.

Rin leaned closer to Eri, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Then that’s all that matters,” she said softly. “He’s here for you, not for anyone else.”

Chisaki’s jaw tightened, and he let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn’t touch the figure. Rin didn’t give him a chance; she kept her stance firm, her eyes locked on him through the gaps of her sunglasses After a long, heavy moment, he finally turned, “your time’s up,” he said sharply. “Come on,” 

Rin gave Eri a soft smile. “I love you,” she said simply.

Eri’s wide eyes made Rin’s heart churn with shame. “I love you.”

Rin gave a small, reassuring nod, letting her gaze linger on Eri a moment longer. Then, slowly, she rose fully, allowing Chisaki to lead the way. The door behind them closed shut. 

Chisaki paused, turning to look at her. Rin tensed, Event Horizon flickering on. As much as he wanted to chew her out, she’s untouchable. At least, for as long as she could hold it. 

And Rin will hold it. No matter how long it took, if it meant keeping Eri safe. Today marked the third year since they were taken, since Eri’s quirk had awakened. While Rin could manipulate the space around herself and others, Eri could manipulate time—a dangerous, precious gift that had changed everything. 

A gift that killed their parents. Chisaki’s curse.

“I’m surprised you even gave her anything,” Chisaki commented. 

“It’s her birthday,” she said calmly, each word deliberate. “She deserves it. No matter who thinks otherwise.”

Chisaki’s eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “You think a toy can fix what she’s seen? What she’s lived through?”

Rin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but her voice didn’t waver. “No. But she deserves some normalcy.”

He stepped closer, his shadow stretching over her. She didn’t back down. Event Horizon shimmered stronger, a subtle pressure in the air as if reality itself leaned toward her will. Chisaki froze, his anger momentarily swallowed by the impossible barrier he couldn’t touch.

Rin’s head tilted. “Speaking of normalcy, she needs to start going outside. She’s too pale. Also, what the hell have you been feeding her? She’s too thin.”

“She refuses to eat when you’re not around,” Chisaki snaps, irritated with his inability to get through infinity. “Perhaps she’d eat more if you were a better sister.”

Rin gritted her teeth. “I can’t be here when you keep sending me off.”

Chisaki shrugged. “That’s part of your job,” he said. “Everyone has a part to play here. You know what will happen if you refuse to do yours.”

In other words: if I can’t hurt you, I will hurt her. 

Eri still has the wraps of cloth around her arms from when he first destroyed them. Noting that Rin doesn’t have anything to say about that, Chisaki turned back, leading the way to whatever he wants her to do next.

—

[Status Effect: Exhaustion — LOW

Recovery in Progress… 

Estimated Time: 4 hours]

—

The world came back to him in fragments.

First, the sharp tang of disinfectant. Then, the steady beep-beep-beep of a heart monitor keeping rhythm with his chest. His eyelids felt heavy, but not unbearable—like he had been pulled out of the depths of a very long, very strange dream.

When Izuku finally blinked awake, a sterile white ceiling greeted him.

…He wasn’t dead.

He let out a shaky breath, chest aching as the memory of fire curled in his stomach. The Noumu. The villains. Aizawa-sensei bleeding in the dirt. 

“Izuku?” came his mom’s voice. “Izuku, are you awake?”

Izuku turned his head, slow and stiff.

His mother sat at his bedside, hands twisted together in her lap. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale from worry, but when she saw him looking back at her, relief broke through like sunlight.

“Mom…” His voice cracked, weak from disuse, but she was already leaning forward, brushing trembling fingers through his hair.

“Oh, thank god,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. “I—I thought I was going to lose you.”

Guilt pressed against his chest harder than the pain in his ribs. He’d trained, fought, and risked everything because he wanted to protect everyone. But the reality of her fear was right here, raw in front of him.

“I’m okay,” he tried, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded. His chest still burned, his body still ached. He wasn’t okay. But he was alive. That had to be enough.

Her hand tightened around his. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“I’ll…try not to,” he managed, giving her a weak smile. “How long was I out?”

“You’ve been asleep for more than two days,” Inko murmured, her hand still stroking through his hair as if to reassure herself he was really there. Then, after a hesitant pause, she asked softly, “Your stats…?”

Izuku blinked at her. It had been years since she’d asked him that—back when his clumsiness had left him constantly scraped and bruised, and he’d babble numbers at her as though they explained everything.

He shifted gingerly, ignoring the protest of sore muscles, and willed the HUD into view. Ghostly digits shimmered into place above his vision, faint but steady.

[Izuku Midoriya – LVL 6
 STR: 16 | DEX: 14 | CHR: 12 (+2) | CON: 13 (+2) | INT: 16 | WIS: 13 | LCK: 10
 HP: 274 / 300
 MP: 400 / 400
 Exhaustion: 32 / 200]

His breath caught. “My stats… they’ve actually gone up,” he murmured under his breath, eyes tracing the numbers. “Constitution leveled on its own—my max HP’s three hundred now. I’m sitting at two-seventy-four, more than double what it was.”

The thought left him blinking. He’d expected worse—bones shattered, body barely clinging together. Instead, despite the lingering ache in his ribs, he felt… better. Stronger, even, like he had just gone through a dungeon.

He frowned at the glowing numbers, a thought tugging at the edge of his mind. Was the HUD simply monitoring his condition, measuring how much he’d healed on his own? Or… did it replenish like it did with INTENT?

“That’s good,” Inko sighed, the tension in her shoulders loosening at last. She didn’t understand everything he saw in those strange numbers, but she didn’t need to. As long as they meant he was safe, that was enough. 

“Your friends came by yesterday,” she said, her tone softening. “Mashirao-kun and two others… and Katsuki, by himself.”

Izuku blinked, surprise flickering across his tired face. “Kacchan… came?”

Inko nodded. “He didn’t stay long. Hardly said a word, just… stood there for a while, looking at you. Then he left.”

Izuku barely had time to sit with what that meant before the soft click of the door latch broke the quiet.

Both he and his mother turned as a tall man stepped inside, trench coat draped over his shoulders, his expression calm but unreadable.

“Midoriya Izuku?” the stranger asked, though his eyes flicked first to Inko, offering her a courteous nod before returning to Izuku.

Inko stiffened. “Who are you?”

The man produced a small leather badge, flipping it open with practiced ease. “Naomasa Tsukauchi. Detective, National Police Agency. I’ve been assigned to the aftermath of the USJ incident.”

Izuku’s mouth went dry. 

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Naomasa said gently, as if sensing the tension. His voice carried a steady warmth, but his gaze was sharp, assessing. “I just want to ask your son a few questions about what happened that day.”

Inko immediately straightened in her chair, her hand tightening around Izuku’s. “He just woke up. He needs rest.”

Naomasa inclined his head respectfully. “Of course. I’ll keep it brief.” He took out something from his pocket, “this is a recorder.” He set the small device on the bedside table with deliberate care. Its little red light blinked to life, faint but steady.

“This will help me keep track of the details accurately,” he explained, his tone even, reassuring. “You’re not in trouble, Midoriya-kun. But what you saw—and what you did—may be critical to preventing another attack.”

The detective shifted, leaning just slightly forward, his presence quiet but steady, like a man who was used to cutting through walls of excuses. 

“Alright,” he said softly, switching on the recorder. “Today is April 14th, XXXX. I am Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, here with witness Midoriya Izuku regarding the USJ Incident at U.A. High School. Also present: Midoriya Inko. Midoriya-kun, do I have your consent to record this conversation?”

“Yes,” Izuku answered, his voice still rough from disuse.

“Good.” Naomasa’s tone remained even. “My quirk, Polygraph, allows me to know when someone is telling the truth or lying. I want you to understand that before we continue—so there’s no confusion, and no pressure to say anything other than what you believe to be true.”

His gaze flicked between mother and son, steady but not unkind. “With that in mind, let’s proceed. Let’s start simple. Midoriya-kun, can you tell me, in your own words, what happened at the USJ?”

Izuku closed his eyes briefly, pulling the fragments back together. He began with the arrival of the portal-man—Kurogiri—and then Shigaraki Tomura’s bitter spiel against All Might. That part, he knew, had to be important.

“And how do you know their names?” Naomasa asked, his tone calm but unmistakably probing.

“My quirk,” Izuku began carefully, “it’s called Appraisal.” He wet his lips, glancing between his mother and the detective. “Certain information shows up whenever I look at someone. Their name, other details like statuses in video games. That’s how I knew.”

“I was told you had a fire quirk,” Naomasa intervened. 

Izuku nodded. “My quirk’s multifaceted. I have a kind of level-up system. The fire—” he hesitated, his fingers tightening against the bedsheets, “—came later, after I leveled up.”

Naomasa nodded again. “What happened after the villains appeared?”

“Kurogiri,” Izuku began, voice low but steady, “he… he teleported us into different zones of the USJ. Each group was scattered into disaster areas—mountains, flood zones, landslides. It was like they’d planned it to split us up so we couldn’t regroup.”

Izuku continued on how he was sent to the Collapse Zone with Jirō, Yaoyorozu, and Sato, managing to escape the villains and collapsing building. He continued on how his quirk warned him about Aizawa-sensei’s condition, and how he moved without thinking. And then— 

[OVERRDING… Restricted Protocol Unlocked]
[HIDDEN SKILL TREE UNLOCKED:

Choose Your Evolutionary Path]

His quirk got an upgrade. 

Naomasa’s pen stilled against his notepad. His eyes lifted, sharp. “Your quirk… leveled up again?” he asked carefully.

Izuku hesitated, staring down at his hands. “Y-Yes,” he admitted softly. “It… it wasn’t something I chose. It just happened. When I pushed past my limit, when I—when I needed more. It unlocked something I didn’t even know was there. The noumu, I think—” Izuku paused, pulling up his new skill tree. 

[Hidden Skill Tree: 

VESTIGE ASCENDANCE: MONARCH (lvl.1)
The throne built on borrowed wills. You are no longer just a vessel of power — you are the sovereign of what lingers.

Root Passive (Always Active):

Eternal Witness (lvl.1) MAX LEVEL

All vestiges and quirk-echoes acknowledge your presence. Increases perception of quirk residues. Perceive the “ghosts” of quirks that were once wielded nearby. 

Ember Crown (lvl.0 UNLOCK) Level 0
Manifest a burning aura of dominance. Weaker-minded or unstable enemies hesitate or recoil. MP cost is based on enemy.]

“I used a skill on him,” Izuku confirmed, voice barely above a murmur. “Ember Crown. It’s like a debuff, I suppose.”

“I’m a little behind on video games nowadays,” Naomasa remarked dryly, “but I assume this ‘debuff’ is what made the Noumu stop?”

Izuku blinked, thinking it through. “Uh… yes. I think so. It froze up—just for a second. That gave me enough time to hold it back with the fire. But it didn’t last. The Noumu broke free, and I couldn’t keep up. That’s when I passed out.”

He sank back against the pillows, his voice dropping. “I don’t remember much after that.”

Naomasa’s pen scratched across the page, his expression calm but intent. When he finally looked up, his gaze lingered on Izuku, steady but searching.

“You did well,” he said softly, though the words carried weight. “Making the Noumu freeze— that changed everything. That small moment gave you, your peers, and Aizawa enough time before All Might appeared.”

Izuku swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the tiny red light still blinking on the recorder. “How is Aizawa-sensei?”

“He’s doing okay,” Naomasa said, and something in his tone softened, but only slightly. “Now, if there’s anything else — anything at all you haven’t told me — now is the safest time to say it.”

Izuku hesitated, his breath shallow, but after a moment he shook his head. “That’s… everything.”

Naomasa held his gaze a beat longer, as though weighing the truth for himself, then nodded. He reached forward and switched off the recorder; the soft click seemed to release some of the tension in the room.

“Thank you, Midoriya-kun. And you as well, Midoriya-sama.” He stood, tucking the recorder into his pocket. “Your cooperation is going to be a great help to this investigation. For now, focus on recovering.”

He inclined his head politely and left, the door clicking shut behind him.