Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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One of the many things that Izuku could remember clearly about that day was being told he had no quirk. It still burned bright in his memory, that fateful moment six years ago. He remembered the sobbing at twilight, how he cried himself to sleep that night and many others after it. He remembered his dream the night of the discovery, being sung to sleep by a boy with braided hair and a lyre while cradled in the warmth of the wind.

The dreams, slowly but surely, were conjured more frequently. The boy singing to Izuku; his voice carried on the breeze, and dandelions braided into his hair. They were always, with no exception, lucid. Izuku found himself far too exhausted from nights of tears to care, though, just lying in the grass field and listening to the voice, to how the wind seemed to carry the notes and hold Midoriya snug in its comfort.

Alongside these dreams, he found himself growing in tune with the wind. If he listened on a quiet day, he could swear up and down to whoever would listen that he heard the voice of that boy in his dreams. Sometimes he heard it speak, even if faintly. A whispered ‘hello‘ or ‘good morning’ that only he could hear.

It was like a quirk, in a way, or at least he thought so. He’d take what he could get, anything to say he wasn’t entirely powerless in a world full of the extraordinary. Really, only his mom listened, but it was enough for her (and only her) to believe in him.

The abilities grew, even when the doctors came up with the same results each and every time. He had the extra toe joint, a tell-tale sign that there was no possibility of a quirk. Reality seemed to dislike this conclusion, though, judging by the way that when he was alone, the wind seemed to bend to his very will. Sometimes it would act in his favor without any command, almost like it had a mind of its own. For a ten-year-old, this was something great. It would push open doors or windows when he reached out to do it himself or propel him forward when running. Small things, but things that had Izuku utterly giddy.

As he grew older, so did his dreams and powers. He began to be able to move and talk to the boy in his dreams, finding out his name was Venti, a bard of an ancient land. He found out he had no quirk, but instead a vision. It was a similar power, elemental control granted to those deemed worthy by the gods (archons, as Venti called them). He was given his due to yearning for freedom to forge his own path, separate from what society said a hero should be. Someone with a strong quirk, someone with a sense of justice, unwavering and powerful.

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A year had passed since he had begun to talk with Venti, and he found himself not having to dream anymore to chat with the boy. It wasn’t anything big or grand, no possession like in the movies, but just little shared thoughts and talking through the mind. They rarely argued over anything outside of petty opinion differences that were resolved in minutes, so Izuku found Venti to be a nice companion. He didn’t make fun of him for not having a quirk; he saw him as an equal. As far as Izuku was concerned, Venti himself lacked one as well, if he was even real. He liked the thought that he was, that the vision-blessed bard in his mind was more than a figment of his imagination, trying to cure his crippling loneliness.

With the addition of Venti into his life, he began to grow a bit more confident. Not by much, but he was slowly branching out. He began to explore music with the help of the bard, growing relatively proficient at the lyre himself and beginning to learn the flute. He began to distance himself from Katuski and his little gang, even deciding to tell his mom about the bullying he endured when he was around his “best friend.”

Because of this, he ended up moving schools by the time junior high had begun, transferring to Nabu Middle School and cutting contact with Katuski. He made a friend there, someone outside of his dreams and mind. Hitoshi Shinso, a boy with a brainwashing quirk, someone deemed villainous by his classmates. The two grew a close kinship within days, a “quirkless” and a “villainous” boy bonding over being discriminated against by society.

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“Shinso-kun!” Izuku calls out, running over to the boy sitting alone under a tree. Venti always expressed confusion over Japanese honorifics, the bard himself being from an ancient nation known as Mondstadt. It was similar to Germany in culture, according to Venti.

Hitoshi looks up, a small smile gracing his face as he gestures vaguely for Izuku to sit next to him. “Midoriya. You wanted to show me something?” he prompts blankly, never one to waste time with small talk, even with close friends like Izuku.

Anemo propelling him forward, Izuku takes a seat next to Hitoshi under a sakura tree by the back of the school. It wasn’t noticeable to anyone unaware of his vision, meaning only his mom and Venti could see the wind curl up behind his legs and boost him towards his purple-haired friend. Truth be told, Izuku had forgotten about his decision to tell Hitoshi about his vision.

Sitting down next to him, Izuku starts for words to describe what he was going to tell Hitoshi. How could he just say ‘I actually have a power other than a quirk' without sounding insane? Sure, it was easy to tell his mom; she would believe anything he said, but Venti was no help right now! He was tipsy, playing a foreign song on his flute, and ignoring the panicked thoughts of Izuku.

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“You… have a quirk? I thought you said you didn’t?” Hitoshi asked, an eyebrow raised skeptically between the chewing of chicken and rice.

“No, I have a power. It’s different.” Izuku insists, opening up his own packed lunch while he and Hitoshi sat alone. From where they were, no one would be able to see if Izuku just…

Without warning, Izuku shut his eyes and clutched the charm attached to his belt, a teal crystal sphere that held his power. His eyes began to glow ever so slightly, a blue-green instead of their usual pure emerald. Suddenly, ‘feathers’ (although slightly transparent and intangible) appeared around the boy, lifting him off the ground and a foot into the air, before dropping him back onto the ground with a small “oof!”

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Chapter Text

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“So you do have a quirk?” Hitoshi asked again, eyeing the charm (vision) on Izuku’s belt as his eating slowed down in awe. The effects of the so-called “quirk” were stunning in his eyes, just as they were in Izuku’s and Venti’s. His usual stoic voice lifted slightly, revealing more emotion — a mixture of confusion and surprise.

“It’s not a quirk,” Izuku repeats, fidgeting with the chain of his eye at his side. “It’s called a vision.” He elaborates, holding up his pointer finger to gesture for ‘give me a second’ as he reaches into his bag and pulls out his notebook. The pages are covered in drawings, quirk analysis, and, most relevant, the information Venti had given him on visions and their properties.

Handing it over to Hitoshi, Izuku watched the boy’s expression as he examined the page. The information was written in messy kanji and carried small doodles in the margins, containing stated facts and inferences Izuku had made over the years. As he watched Hitoshi read, a pit of nervousness grew in Izuku’s stomach over how his friend might react. Cutting the green-haired boy out of his rambling thoughts, Hitoshi spoke up again.

“So your… ‘vision’ is ‘archon’ given? How does that even work?” He asked skeptically, his bento box now set down to his side and forgotten. The good news, Izuku thought, was that Hitoshi didn’t seem to be judging.

“Yeah, exactly! Visions are given by the archons to people who fit their criteria — it’s basically element control,” Izuku utters, growing from confident into a slightly hushed ramble as he takes back the notebook from Hitoshi’s hands. “Archons are like the old gods in a way. They rule over another planet and watch over some humans they deem worthy.”

Hitoshi looks even more confused at that, but sighs and looks up to Izuku’s eyes yet again instead of the – now named – anemo vision. “That’s pretty cool.” He says simply, taking in the slight blue glow to Izuku’s usually green eyes. It was an indicator that Venti was listening in, not that Hitoshi knew that yet. “What’s with your eyes?” he asked, eyeing the blessed boy to his side.

“My… eyes?” Izuku repeated, reaching up to feel around them with a finger. Nothing felt wrong! It seemed to click in his head after a second, though, courtesy of Venti’s little giggle and quick apology. “Is it better now?” Izuku asked once he no longer felt the archon’s presence lurking over him. It was a constant; Venti was always watching over his chosen Earthen human. Sometimes through his thoughts, other times through the wind itself.

“Yeah, better. Is that part of your ‘vision’ too?” Hitoshi asks, a slight bit of humor in his voice at the idea of Izuku’s eye color randomly changing like that.

Izuku chuckles, smiling and nodding. “It means the anemo archon is watching over me.” He explains. His eyes went from green to teal when being watched over by his guardian archon, something only really noticeable when you knew what was happening due to how slight the color change was.

“Makes sense. Good to know you have a god on your side, I guess.” Hitoshi jokes dryly, picking back up his bento and resuming his lunch.

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It’s been a few days since he told Hitoshi the truth about his vision. Izuku is sitting on his bed on a cool afternoon, tuning his lyre and chatting to Venti. Not out loud, of course, given his mom didn’t know about the person living in Izuku’s head, but thought communication seemed to work just fine. It was more or less the most convenient way to go about meeting with the archon, having to fall asleep every time or listen to the wind vaguely whisper wasn’t the best option for him. While idly chatting about not being able to get the lower chords to sound right, Venti suddenly pipes up, an idea (genius, might he add) popped into his head.

“Izuku, would you ever want to visit Teyvat? I could take you if you want to go someday! You could hear me play in person, ehe~!” He chimes, the wind from the open window brushing Izuku’s features gently, a calm invitation.

“Maybe one day… I’m not really sure I’m ready. I mean – uhm – thanks for the offer?” He thinks awkwardly, even a bit mumbled in his mind. Venti gave a little hum in response before leaving the boy to go back to his tuning.

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The strings gave a faint ‘twang’ as Izuku carefully twisted the tuning peg, lips pursed as he finally found the troublesome string sounding right. The wind had died down a bit, but it was still breezy, like Venti’s giggles and music still lingered in the room. He sighs, gently lowering the lyre into his lap and leaning back against his headboard.

“A day in Teyvat, huh..?” Izuku thought the idea was slightly overwhelming. From what Venti had told him over the years of knowing each other, it was a world of adventure, of mystical creatures. Sure, it was home to a person like Venti, but would Izuku fit in there, even with his vision? Training with his vision was already a chore, even if he loved having something akin to a quirk; how would it be to use it alongside Venti, the very embodiment of anemo? Before he had the chance to dwell, though, a knock on the door rang through his room, causing him to jolt upright and look to the entrance.

“Izuku? Can I come in, sweetie?” His mom’s voice was warm and kind, just as it always was. She was always too accepting for her own good, even when Izuku had told her about his non-quirk-related powers.

“Uh — Y-yeah! Just a second!” he called out, whispering to Venti (if he was even listening) to stop the blowing of the wind and to close the window. Much to Izuku’s relief, he heard, and the window seemingly shut itself, leaving the room smelling of fresh breeze.

Peeking her head in, Inko approached, carrying a small plate of cut-up fruits in her hands. “You’ve been in here all afternoon, thought you might want a snack.” She offered, placing the food down on the desk by Izuku’s bed.

Heart still beating a bit fast from the idea of going to Teyvat, a smile forced on his face as he glanced from his mom to the fruit. “Thanks, mom! I was – uhm – just playing my lyre, trying to get the tuning right…” He said awkwardly. It wasn’t an excuse, so to speak, just a white lie. He had been tuning it, but also talking to an ancient deity in his head.

Inko lingered by the desk for a moment after setting down the plate, her eyes softening a bit as she gazed at the lyre on Izuku’s lap. “You’ve been playing that a lot, haven’t you? I mean, not that I don’t love hearing you play! I’m glad you found something that feels yours, but…” Her smile dims a bit, but she still seems as loving as ever as she eases herself down onto the edge of his bed. “You’ve been looking… tired. Don’t you think that trying to be a hero and playing an instrument at the same time is a bit much for you?”

Her words settled into his chest, heavy and hard to hear. Was it really too much to handle? Ever since Venti had appeared in his life, he had taken a liking to music, maybe even rivaling his desire to train to be a hero. He clenched his blanket between his fingers, lowering his gaze to his lap. “I-I’m not overdoing it, you don’t have to worry about that. It’s just a hobby, I still want to be a hero.” He begins, trailing off for a second as he thinks about what to say. “Everyone else’s quirks are so natural, mine… mine takes more work. It’s controlling a whole element, you know?” He says, he word quirk sitting uncomfortably on his tongue. He disliked lying to his mother about what it really was, but would she understand?

Inko reached a hand out, brushing his green bangs back from his forehead like she always did when he was little. “Take it slow, okay? Heroes are more than just quirks, you know that. They’re strong because of their heart, and you’ve always had a big one.” She comments, sighing and smiling at her son reassuringly.

His throat tightened ever so slightly. He wanted to tell her everything — about the way his eyes glowed teal when in nature, about the wind that carried a god’s laughter behind its every breeze, about how maybe he wasn’t meant for this world at all. But seeing her smile, so kind and true, he knew he couldn’t do that to her.

Instead, he leaned into her hand, taking a shaky breath and smiling back. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll keep it in mind.”

Inko gave his shoulder a small squeeze, then stood and walked to the door to leave. “I’m glad. Now eat your fruit, alright? I love you, sweetie,” she spoke before the door closed and the room went still. Of course, it only lasted a second before the wind picked back up and Venti’s voice brushed through Izuku’s thoughts.

“She’s wise. You get that from her, you know~!”

Izuku let out a small laugh, pressing his palms against his eyes and sighing. “If only that made things easier…”

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Chapter Text

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The afternoon sun filtered lazily through the windows of Nobu Junior High, Class 3-B, catching dust that drifted through the air. Students were scribbling on worksheets, some whispering to each other, while the teacher graded at his desk. Izuku hunched over his paper, pen tapping nervously against the page.

Beside him, Hitoshi leaned back in his chair, giving him a glance. “You’re fidgeting again,” he muttered.

Izuku flushed at that, immediately stilling. “S-sorry! Just — uh, just thinking about the assignment.” It wasn’t a total lie, just an excuse. The real reason was the faint tug at his belt. His vision, warm against his hip, was humming with an almost impatient energy.

A small gust swept through the classroom, rustling papers and neatly done hair. A few students grumbled, trying to hold their work down. Izuku’s eyes widened — he hadn’t meant to do that! He pressed his hands flat against the notebook and tried to will the wind to stop, but to no avail.

The teacher looked up in confusion, brows furrowed. “Windows closed. Where did that wind come from?” He asked, surveying the classroom for anyone using a quirk.

Hitoshi’s eyes flicked to Izuku, sharp with recognition. He leaned over just enough to whisper to the other boy, “That was you, wasn’t it?”

“I-it wasn’t on purpose!” Izuku hissed back, face burning. No one seemed suspicious except for one girl a few desks up, staring his way curiously.

Another flutter of breeze swept through, gentler this time, like a little laugh. Izuku’s stomach dropped. ”Venti! Not now, we’re in public!” he pleaded silently, however, to no avail. His pen nearly rolled off his desk, but he snatched it up just in time, heart hammering.

The girl tilted her head. “Midoriya-san, was that your quirk?” she asked suddenly, her voice carrying more than he had wished. A few heads turned their way, causing Izuku’s throat to tighten. He didn’t want attention — least of all here, in his new school, where he could be free of Katsuki’s looming shadow. He scrambled for words.

“U-uh — it’s… well, yeah, kind of? Just a draft, nothing special!” he forced out a weak laugh.

Hitoshi cut in smoothly, his voice calm and blank as ever. “It’s like an airflow thing, right? Helps him focus. Don’t make a big deal of it.” His eyes dared anyone to argue, and the class understood the assignment, turning away in boredom.

Izuku let out a shaky breath of relief, shooting Hitoshi a grateful look. “Th-thanks…” he said, blushing slightly in embarrassment.

Hitoshi smirked faintly, tapping his pen against his desk. “You owe me. And maybe try keeping your little god on mute during math next time.”

Izuku nearly choked. “S-Shinso-kun! Not so loud!”

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The next day, Class 3-B was herded out in the courtyard for their weekly physical education block. The air was brisk, clouds scattered across the pale afternoon sky, and the chatter of the students could be heard across the field. A stack of hurdles had been set up along one side of the track, while cones marked out a sprinting course for the students.

Izuku fell into place beside Hitoshi, fidgeting with the strap of his vision at his hip. He tried not to think about yesterday’s slip in class. The whispers had already died down, but his stomach still did flips at the memory.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Hitoshi muttered, snapping Izuku out of his thoughts.

“Wh-what thing?”

“Fidgeting like your belt’s gonna explode. Relax, nobody’s looking at you.”

Izuku nodded quickly, though he couldn’t shake the warm pulse against his side. It wasn’t painful, no, just insistent. Like his vision wanted to breathe, to play with the wind.

The first half of the drills passed without issue — jogging laps, stretching, squats. Izuku was out of breath but kept going, determined to prove his strength. It wasn’t until the hurdles that things began to go wrong.

He crouched, eyes fixed on the low wooden bar in front of him. He just had to jump; he’s done this before! He pushed off hard, but as his foot hit the ground, a sudden rush of wind burst beneath him, carrying him higher than intended.

The gust flipped the hurdle clean over with a clatter, Izuku landing awkwardly with his limbs tangled and his face down. A couple of kids nearby gasped, one pointing at him. The teacher’s whistle shrilled.

“Midoriya-kun! Watch your quirk!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Izuku stammered, rushing to set the hurdle upright. His cheeks flushed, and he could feel eyes drilling into his back.

Hitoshi sprinted over to the boy, expression unreadable. He leaned in as Izuku bent to grab the bar. “That was an accident, right? Your god’s playing tricks on you again.”

Izuku froze, throat dry. The whisper of laughs rippled through his thoughts, carried on the breeze that tugged ever so lightly at his hair. “Just helping you soar a little higher, no need to thank me~!” Venti communicated, his giggles drawing Izuku into his thoughts for a second before the teacher called out again.

“Midoriya-kun! If you can’t control your quirk, you’ll be sitting out.”

Izuku nodded frantically, bowing his head. “Y-yes, sir!”

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Chapter Text

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Izuku trudged off the track, shoulders slumped and cheeks still burning from the teacher’s scolding. Hitoshi fell into step beside him, silent for a few beats as he let Izuku catch his breath. The courtyard was quieting down, the wind picking up slightly as clouds shifted overhead. Izuku fidgeted with the strap of his vision again, half-expecting yet another slip in control with the way it kept pulsing, but nothing happened. He let out a shaky sigh.

Suddenly, a faint shimmer caught his eye. A single leaf, unnaturally glowing, floated down from nowhere, spinning lazily in the air. As if carried by its own invisible current, it floated in Izuku’s path, making him and Hitoshi stop in their tracks to examine it. It clearly wasn’t from the trees above them; it was different. The glow reminded him of Venti, a teal glint shimmering at its edges.

Hitoshi spoke after a bit of confused stares from the pair. “Uh… Midoriya? That leaf—”

“I know,” Izuku murmured, heart thudding. Almost instinctively, he reached his hand out, the leaf moving to hover above his palm, carried by the softest of breezes and the lightest of winds. It wasn’t his vision — not something he could control — it wasn’t his. It felt like Venti, teasing him, saying, “Notice me, little bard~.”

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but still curious. “That’s… new.”

Izuku swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat as the leaf soared up and landed in his hair. He brushed it off and onto the ground, sighing. “I… I think something’s… slipping through. From Teyvat, I mean. The vision is getting stronger.”

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The next day, the walk home from Nobu Junior High was uneventful as usual, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sidewalks. Today, though, Izuku’s nerves were tense, every small gust of wind making him flinch. He kept one hand on the chain of his vision as if holding it in place would keep Venti from intervening with the walk home.

Hitoshi walked beside him, on his way to study at Izuku’s house for the night. His expression was calm, hands in his pockets. “So,” he began, “you think the leaf was a one-time thing?”

Izuku shook his head, eyes darting from tree to tree as they lined the street. “No. I… I think it’s going to happen again. Venti hasn’t left me alone for years; he probably won’t start now.” Izuku admits.

A gentle breeze swept around them, blowing dandelion ray florets to the two. Without much thought, Izuku and Hitoshi knew that Venti was at fault. How could it be anything else?

“Speak of the devil…” Hitoshi mumbled, glancing at Izuku as he scrambled to wipe the seeds off his jacket.

“He’s… he’s just messing with me, it’ll go away. It always does,” he dismisses awkwardly, sighing as the flower petals blow his way, some landing in his hair and others in his hands.

Hitoshi rolls his eyes. “I know it does, but you need to learn to control it. If you keep letting it take over you… Something bad is bound to happen.” He reminds, a fact that was ever-present in Izuku’s mind. How was he supposed to control it, though, when Venti wouldn’t cooperate? It wasn’t like he could boss around an archon…

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Once they arrived at Izuku’s house, he practically collapsed onto his bed, dragging a hand through his hair lazily. The warm afternoon light spilled across the room, illuminating the stacks of notebooks and his lyre in the corner.

Sighing, Izuku raised his head, seeing Hitoshi sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. “I—” he started, trailing off as his chest tightened and he groaned into his pillow. “I don’t know how to control him. Every time… every time he acts, I can’t stop it. I can’t even tell what he’ll do, it’s just random!” The boy laments, lifting his head off the mattress yet again and sitting up to face Hitoshi.

Hitoshi perched on the edge of the bed, folding his arms. “I know, but you aren’t alone. You have me. You can’t just freak out every time he does something; it’s probably just making it worse. You need to figure out how to tell when he’ll act. Maybe you could learn to work together? Y’know, to become a hero.” He suggested, nudging Izuku lightly with his elbow.

Izuku let out a shaky exhale, staring at his lap with a grim expression on his face. “Work together, huh..? Easier said than done, he’s… he’s not a quirk, he’s an archon — a god. I can’t order him around.”

Hitoshi’s gaze softened, but his tone remained as practical as ever, unreadable and practically emotionless. “No, you can’t control him. But you can control yourself. How you react, how you use your vision, how you work with him… he doesn’t have to be in charge of your life.”

Izuku sighed, nodding slowly in understanding and looking up to Hitoshi. “I… I could try, I guess…”

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Chapter Text

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The backyard was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves in the early evening breeze. Izuku knelt on the grass, his vision clasped tightly in his hands, and took a slow, steadying breath. Today he was going to try controlling the wind on his own — just him, the air, and the faint spark of Venti’s presence in his mind.

He held his palms out, focusing on the faint pull at his belt, the whisper of movement teasing his fingers. A small current rose, lifting the fallen willow leaves scattered across the yard in a gentle spiral. His eyes widened as they hovered steadily, the first time he’d managed something resembling control of his powers.

“Okay… okay…” he muttered, heart hammering.

Suddenly, a stronger gust swirled around him, teasing his hair and tugging at his shirt. The leaves spun faster, lifting higher. Izuku froze. “N-not yet!” he whispered. The air failed to obey, a tell-tale sign that Venti was behind this.

”Ah, trying to practice alone, are we~?” A voice teased in his thoughts, reminding him of wind chimes on a distant breeze.

Izuku’s cheeks burned, huffing and eyeing the air as if trying to spot the deity watching over him. Of course, there was nothing, but he still tried in his fit of disappointment. ”V-Venti! I said stop! I’m trying to focus, I can’t do everything with you!” He thought, sighing at the way the wind seemed to pick up at the acknowledgement.

”Of course, of course… but a little help never hurt anyone~! And you definitely need some assistance here,” the archon spoke, scattering the leaves into a small spiral that shimmered with a teal light, faintly glowing at the edges as if the world itself was bending to the will of the anemo archon.

Izuku blinked in confusion. He had only seen that once, that day around a week ago on the track field with Hitoshi. It wasn’t just wind — it was as though a fragment of Teyvat itself was brushing through his backyard. The scent of salty air, the faint echo of distant lutes, and a shimmer of sunlight refracted into unnatural greens and blues. He took a careful step back. “W-what…? What is this?”

“A little inspiration from your humble bard~.” Venti chuckled, and a breeze carried the faint scent of blooming… was it sweet grass? Izuku had only ever read about that, given that it didn’t grow where he lived. The leaves fluttered higher, forming small, controlled orbs of wind that hovered near his hands.

He gritted his teeth and focused, willing the spirals to slow and to obey him. The orbs quivered, but they held, even if by what seemed to be just a metaphorical thread. He felt the faintest tug in his chest, like Venti was reminding him not to try to dominate the wind. After all, it would never happen, but dancing with it was another story. That was possible, to co-exist with the wind and let it guide him.

Seemingly sensing his thoughts, the voice of the bard hummed approvingly. ”Better.” Picking up the wind, Izuku forced himself not to try to control the wind, but to let it take over him. Taking a deep breath in, Izuku extended his hand, coaxing a larger fallen leaf into the swirl. He didn’t demand it or try to control it, just gently suggesting it and letting it make its way over there itself. The wind responded, lifting it smoothly and holding it steadily above his palm.

A small shiver ran down his spine as the grass seemed greener, the light a bit warmer, and a faint melody drifted with the breeze — notes that weren’t there moments ago. Teyvat had, just barely, slipped through. “Okay… I think I can do this.” Izuku whispered, his heart pounding as a smile formed on his face despite the nerves.

”That’s the spirit, little one~!” Venti laughed, and for a moment, the yard felt like an open plaza in Mondstadt. The wind carries the laughter of unseen crowds and the distant strings of bards. The glow faded, but Izuku’s hands still tingled with it, the sensation of Teyvat lingering like a promise.

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Winter break — a time Izuku had always used to connect with the wind as a child, unaware of just how difficult it would grow to be. There was a chill in the air, yet the wind followed him and blew warm gusts in his direction, keeping him from shivering too much while he sat in his yard to practice. It had been a month since that first whirlwind with Venti, and he had slowly but surely been improving over the days.

The wind had become a part of daily life, just like a real quirk, and he began to use it for things like how the rest of society used theirs. Shutting doors after him, warming him up or cooling him down, moving small things to him… sometimes, if he closed his eyes and pretended, he could almost picture it as a real quirk. ‘Whirlwind’ is what he called it in front of others, even as Venti playfully nagged him about the ‘inherent disrespect’ behind calling a god-given gift his quirk.

The snow crunched under Izuku’s boots as he steadied his breath, arms extended. His palms tingled with the familiar pull of air swirling into loose, lazy spirals around him. It picked up some snow, forming little orbs of snow and wind in his palms. His vision pulsed softly at his side, the tension that came from it having lessened now that he used his vision almost daily.

At first, it was normal. It was just his ‘quirk,’ the little bursts he’d been practicing all winter break and even some portions of fall. But then, a glow began to shimmer faintly in the gusts. For just a moment, the air carried the scent of dandelion wine and distant grass fields, something out of place for a cold winter day.

Izuku froze in his place, mumbling under his breath as he deactivated the vision, letting the snow fall to the ground bitterly. ”Venti. You know you can’t keep doing that!” He protested, always the stubborn one. Well, two could play at that game.

“Doing what?” The familiar sing-song voice drifted into his head, amused and teasing. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Don’t you like it when Mondstadt comes to visit you?”

Izuku clenched his fists, trying to ground himself. “That doesn’t change the fact that people can’t see this! If my mom — or the neighbors, for that matter — notice, they’ll know it’s not a quirk!”

The wind rustling, carrying with it the faint echo of a lute, strings plucked by unseen fingers. Venti’s laugh was soft, warm, and frustratingly carefree. “Normal is overrated, my little bard! You’ve been gifted with anemo by me, why hide it away like you’re ashamed?”

“Because this is my world!” Izuku whisper-shouted, not wanting his neighbors to hear. “I can’t just… pretend it’s fine! Everyone else has quirks; I have a vision! If people see this, they’ll know I’m different. You saw how Bakugo treated me when he found out I was quirkless!” He justifies.

The wind calmed, almost in sympathy, but Venti’s voice remained steady. “And yet, you can’t deny that it feels right. You weren’t chosen by me to mimic others; you were chosen to be free. To breathe with the world itself.”

Izuku’s throat tightened. The glow in the snow faded back to plain white, the music gone, leaving only the chill air and the quiet of his yard. Gripping his vision tightly, he spoke, “…I just wanted to be a hero. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t belong in Teyvat, I…” He trails off, sighing as the breeze begins to stir again.

“Heroes don’t always decide who they save. Maybe you aren’t meant to rescue Japan; maybe you’re meant to be with me in Teyvat. Have you ever considered that maybe the wind is trying to show you where you belong?”

Izuku looked up to the sky, cloudy and pale. He sighed, thinking on the words of the anemo archon for a few beats before speaking up again. “If that really is where I’m meant to be… then show me. Prove to me I belong in Teyvat.” He commands, before adding on a quieter ‘please.’

The air hummed faintly, warm against his skin. “Gladly~.”

Chapter Text

———————————————

The air shimmered. Snowflakes drifted upward instead of down, spiraling like tiny stars around Izuku’s boots. A faint teal glow spread across the ground, pulling back the winter like a veil. Beneath it, cobblestones stretched out in a narrow strip no wider than his yard, their edges glowing as if painted with sunlight caught in stained glass.

Izuku’s breath hitched. The smell hit him first — grass warmed by the summer and dampened by the rain, faint salt from the sea, and something sweet, like flowers he had never smelt before. A sparrow landed on the stones with a soft hop, feathers tipped in glowing teal, its head cocked as though it expected him to follow.

Izuku took one step closer, then another, until he was standing right at the edge. His fingers hovered in the air, trembling. “I… I just want to look,” he murmured, mainly to himself as a reminder.

“Then look,” Venti’s voice coaxed, softer now, more a breeze than a true command to the boy.

Izuku leaned forward, heart pounding in his ears. Through the shimmering veil, he glimpsed a plaza bathed in the golden light of summer. Towering trees swayed gently in a breeze that felt truly alive, far more than what the busy city of Musutafu could provide, no matter the day. Towering trees swayed gently in a breeze that felt alive, their leaves flashing emerald and jade. The faint sound of laughter — warm, unhurried — mingled with the distant strum of stringing instruments. It was beautiful. It was alive.

His throat tightened. For a heartbeat, he could imagine himself there: running across those stones, hearing the music in person, no longer the boy with a “weird quirk,” instead someone with an anemo vision, chosen by the archons and destined to belong.

Then the glow flickered. The cobblestones wavered, cracks of winter seeping back in. The sparrow gave a faint chirp before vanishing into a swirl of teal light. Izuku stumbled back as the vision folded in on itself, leaving only his snowy yard and the cold evening air.

He stared at the empty ground, hands tingling. “That was… real. It’s real,” he whispered in disbelief.

Venti’s laughter carried through the breeze, softer than before. “And it will be real again. Whenever you’re ready, of course.

Izuku clutched his vision tight against his chest, eyes burning. He wasn’t sure if the tears that welled up were from awe, fear, longing, or all three.

———————————————

Izuku sat cross-legged on his bed, the small desk lamp casting a pale circle of light over his notebook. His fingers shook as he flipped to a fresh page, pen tapped restlessly against the margin. He pressed it down, forcing himself to start.

———————————————

Entry 47: Vision Training — Teyvat?

He underlined the word Teyvat three times before trailing off into a furious scribble.

– Snow rose instead of falling, spiral pattern. Definitely Venti’s idea.

– Ground shifted, cobblestones (possibly sandstone?). Glowing edges, teal, not natural light.

– Warmer, summer-time(?). Smell = saltwater, flowers, wine.

– Plaza? Too far to confirm. Large tree line in the distance. Maybe sunset?

– Hypothesis → Actual Teyvat, not just Venti’s projections this time.

– Problem → No one can see it, suspicion. Must keep it a secret.

– Dream → Hero in Japan

– Destiny → Teyvat calling? Why?

———————————————

He stopped, pen hovering over the page, heart thudding hard. “…It was real.” The whisper left his lips before he realized he’d spoken. He almost instinctively read the page over and over until his eyes stung and the words blurred. He sniffed hard, closing the notebook abruptly and hugging it to his chest. He lay back on the back, vision warm against his hip, the phantom scent of summer flowers still teasing at his senses.

———————————————

The alarm blared far too early. Izuku groaned and slapped at it, rolling halfway out of bed with his notebook still at his side. His pen had slipped somewhere into the blankets during the night, and the faintest smear of ink streaked across his cheek. He stumbled to the mirror, dark circles framing his eyes as proof he’d spent half the night rereading his notes. He had cross-referenced scents and light patterns with everything he’d catalogued so far.

By the time he shuffled into class, shoulders hunched, his notebook was tucked safely in his bag like a secret too heavy to leave behind.

“Morning,” Hitoshi muttered from his desk, looking up briefly. His sharp eyes lingered on Izuku longer than usual, narrowing slightly. Something was off about the boy today; his eyes were darker and seemed to carry that same teal he had only seen once or twice.

Izuku froze mid-step. “M-morning! Did you… uh, sleep well?”

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow at that, smirking. “I did. Can’t say the same for you, though.”

Izuku laughed a little too loudly, fumbling his way into his seat next to Hitoshi’s. “Wh-what makes you say that?”

“You look like you fought your alarm clock.” He deadpanned. “And lost, for that matter.” He added, examining his friend next to him.

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning. He hadn’t told Hitoshi anything about the training or how Venti had shown him Teyvat; he just knew that Izuku had some kind of god-given power called a vision and that said god resided in Izuku’s mind. That look in his classmate’s eyes, though, made him feel like Hitoshi could read straight through him.

“R-right, just… notes. You know how I get.” Izuku said quietly and quickly, pulling out his notebook and waving it to prove his point, before quickly shoving it back into his bag, so that the contents couldn’t be seen.

Hitoshi leaned back in his chair, arm crossed. “Notes, huh? The kind that keeps you up until three a.m.? Or the kind where your vision starts glowing through your window?”

Izuku’s head snapped up, panic sparking in his chest. Had Hitoshi noticed? They lived pretty close, after all… “W-what?! You saw?”

“Relax.” Hitoshi’s voice stayed calm, but his eyes sharpened. “I didn’t see anything, but the way you’re reacting?” He smirked faintly. “Pretty much confirmed it for me.”

Izuku peeked at him, torn and irritated. The lack of sleep, combined with Hitoshi finding out, had already set him on a bad track for the day. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. The words he wanted to say tangled in his throat — about Teyvat, about how the air felt alive, about Venti’s music in the wind.

Hitoshi hummed in acknowledgement, eyes drifting to Izuku’s bag where the notebook bulged against the zipper. “Just don’t burn yourself out. Heroes need sleep too, you know.”

The wind outside rattled faintly against the windows, as if agreeing with him.

———————————————

Chapter Text

———————————————

The bell rang after a talk that seemed to go by in a blur, dragging both boys out of their quiet exchange. Izuku slumped towards and into his seat, staring at his desk as if willing it to swallow him whole. The classroom buzzed around him. Pens scratching, chairs scratching, chairs scraping, papers rustling — yet all he could hear, even if just in the back of his occupied mind, was the faint memory of Teyvat. The scent of sun-warmed grass lingered in his mind like a half-remembered dream, making him sigh and lean to rest his chin in his palm.

Hitoshi nudged Izuku with his elbow lightly. “You’re distracted. Again.”

Izuku flinched, rubbing his temple with a sigh. “…I’m fine,” he murmured, although his thoughts were rushing far too quickly for it to be a convincing lie.

I need to focus. He told himself, but the memory tugged at him relentlessly. The glowing cobblestone, the plaza bathed in golden light, the sparrow with feathers tipped in teal… it all called to him much more than the dull city life of Japan did.

Hitoshi leaned closer again, whispering, “If you want, you can tell me. I’m not gonna freak out, you should know that by now.”

Izuku froze, chewing on his pencil anxiously. He knew Hitoshi could handle the truth, at least more so than anyone else he knew, but saying it aloud would do nothing but make it feel… real. Like he really had to choose between two worlds, like it wasn’t just a game he could play in secret. “It’s… complicated.”

The purple-haired boy in front of him softened a bit at that. “Okay then. Just… don’t let your god get out of control in class again, you still owe me one for covering you so often,” he reminded smugly.

Izuku groaned softly, letting his forehead drop against the desk. “I’ll pay you back somehow,” he mumbled, voice muffled against the small wooden table he was sitting at.

The teacher called the class back to order, and soon the rhythm of the lesson took over the room. Izuku’s focus drifted almost immediately, however. His pencil scratched against the margins of his notebook, but not with the teacher’s words like usual. He found himself sketching out how we remembered the brief glimpse of Mondstadt he had seen. Large oak trees that could engulf his classroom, grass fields seemingly so peaceful they could rival that of a city with no crime.

———————————————

When the bell rang yet again for lunch, he tore the page out quickly, crumpling it in his hands before anyone could notice. He shoved it to the bottom of his bag, and much to his relief, Hitoshi just stretched and stood, not acknowledging or even noticing the page.

“Come on. Let’s go before the cafeteria sells out of anything actually edible.”

Izuku hesitated, but nodded hastily and fidgeted with his vision at his hip. As they wove through crowded hallways, laughter and chatter all around, Izuku couldn’t help but feel the tug again. Here, in Musutafu, he was just another tired middle schooler. But in truth, there was another place calling to him, a place where even the sparrows shone with teal light. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure which world he belonged to, let alone wanted to belong to.

———————————————

Chapter Text

———————————————

The school day dragged on in a haze, and by the time Izuku trudged through the front door of his home, his bag weighed twice as much as it should’ve. Not from books, but from the notebook inside containing his secrets. He slipped off his shoes, calling out a tired, “I’m home,” before heading straight to his room, preferably to get some rest.

“In the kitchen, sweetie!” Inko’s voice called gently.

Izuku froze mid-step, guilt flickering in his chest. He’d hoped to disappear into his room, reread his journal, and take a nice, long nap. Instead, though, he forced himself towards the kitchen.

His mom stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up and apron on as she diced vegetables for dinner. When she turned, her smile was warm, but her eyes softened with mild concern. “You look exhausted, Izuku. Are you studying too hard again?”

“N-no, I just… didn’t sleep well.” He sat down at the table, tugging at his sleeves as an anxious habit. Thankfully, his mom didn’t seem to notice or know what it meant.

Inko hummed, wiping her hands on a towel before sitting across from him. “That’s been happening a lot lately.” Her tone wasn’t accusing, just concerned. The weight of it made Izuku squirm. “I know you push yourself, and sometimes that’s good, but… but you can’t keep doing this. You’ll burn out.”

Izuku ducked his head, throat tight. The words he wanted to say — his ‘quirk’ being a vision, Venti, Teyvat — tangled in his chest. Instead, he forced a smile. “I’ll be okay, really! I just couldn’t sleep last night, promise.”

Her hand reached out across the dining room table, resting over his. “I just want you to be happy, Izuku. If something’s bothering you… you can tell me.”

His vision pulsed faintly at his side, like Venti giving his sympathy through the crystal on his belt. His words caught, so he just squeezed her hand back, forcing a response.

“I… I know, Mom. Thanks, it means a lot.

Inko studied him for another beat before smiling softly, the worry lessening in her eyes. She let go of his hand and stood to return to dinner prep.

Izuku sat there for a bit longer, his chest aching with the weight of his secret. Heavier than his bag, heavier than anything he’d ever carried. When he finally rose to head to his room, the breeze from the air conditioning swirled around him, trying to give him some solace in the uncomfortable time.

———————————————

It had been a full day since the incident with his mom in the kitchen, but the guilt still tugged at his heart at the fact that he was hiding such a large secret from her. Of course, it didn’t make it any better that she was currently knocking on his bedroom door, soft and kind. He was lying on his bed, notebook in his lap, as he wrote on and on about his thoughts on Teyvat.

“Sweetie? Can I come in for a second?”

The sound causes him to jolt up slightly, even if he had been expecting it. He closed his notebook promptly, not wanting her to even glimpse the contents. “…Y-yeah, sure.”

After a second, Inko stepped inside, a small tray of cut-up apples in her hands. She set it on his desk, her eyes flicking to the notebook in her son’s lap. “You’ve been writing a lot lately. Journaling?” she asked carefully.

Izuku’s heart skipped. “Y-yeah. That and some schoolwork… notes and stuff.” His voice came out too quickly, too defensive for his liking.

She smiled gently, but the worry never left her eyes. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, she smoothed the blanket down with one hand, resting it on Izuku’s knee after the small fix was done. “When you were little, you used to write everything down about heroes. Every fact, every move, every dream you had. It was like you knew all of them by heart. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still did,” she teased, although still as kind as always, more joking than anything, as her voice softened with nostalgia. “Now it feels like you’re filling book after book, but I don’t know what’s inside anymore.”

Izuku froze; his throat tightened as words jammed up behind his teeth.

Inko gently rubbed his knee, a comforting gesture from mother to son that, truth be told, did little to calm the nerves in the room. “I don’t need to read it, Izuku. It’s okay for kids to have diaries, you know. I’m just… scared that you’re hurting and I can’t see it because it’s locked away in some journal.”

His vision pulsed at his side, a subtle warmth pressing against him, as though Venti was listening in himself. The breeze shifted through the room even though the window was shut, a faint flutter against the curtains.

Inko frowned, glancing at the movement. “There it is again… your quirk.” She hesitated. “It feels… different. It’s nothing like your dad and mine.” She commented, before resuming. “It feels almost… alive? Like one of the ones that’s sentient.”

Izuku’s chest tightened with panic, scrambling for words. “I-it’s fine! I’ve just been practicing, that’s all. Getting used to it more. I promise that’s all, Mom.”

She studied him quietly and then leaned forward to kiss his temple like she always did when he was little. “Okay. I’ll trust you. But remember, sweetie, there’s no need to hide from me, okay? Not ever.”

When she finally left, closing the door behind her, Izuku collapsed in emotional exhaustion, his vision burning at his side to be paid attention to.

The wind stirred once more, faint as a sigh. “She’s kinder than most mortals I’ve met in this realm.” Venti mused internally. “If you gave her the truth… maybe she’d understand?”

Izuku pressed his palms over his face, muffling a groan as he set his notebook aside and buried his face into his pillows.

———————————————

Inko didn’t bring it up again until later that evening, but the way her eyes lingered on him at dinner told Izuku she was still thinking about the topic long after it had passed. He pushed his rice around with his chopsticks, his heart fluttering with nerves each time the curtains fluttered against the closed window.

Soon after the dishes were done, she surprised him with a quiet request. “Izuku… can you show me your quirk? Just a bit? You don’t have to do anything big; I just want to see how it’s growing. It’s like you never use it in front of others…”

His hands went clammy. “R-right now?”

She nodded, her smile soft. “If you’re comfortable.”

Izuku swallowed hard, pulse racing. He couldn’t say no without looking suspicious. And besides… part of him wanted her to see, to understand that what he had was real, that he really wasn’t quirkless. “F-fine. Just… just something small.”

They moved to the living room after that, Inko sitting down on the couch with her hands folded in her lap. Izuku stood a few feet away, his vision warm and ready at his hip. He exhaled, focusing hard on the familiar sensation of air surrounding him and gently coaxing it to follow his command. He had learned earlier on that trying to command the wind ended up backfiring and going against him, after all. He could instead dance alongside it, giving it gentle nudges and letting it do most of the work in a way he liked.

The breeze came — soft, not quite controlled — circling his hand and ruffling the hem of his shirt. The curtains swayed, and Inko’s eyes widened. “Oh, Izuku…” she whispered, marveling at how alive it seemed to appear.

Relief flickered in his chest, but before he could stop it, the wind shimmered in ways it shouldn’t have. A faint teal glow traced delicate spirals along the currents, the air carrying a scent of flowers, summer grass, and a hint of wine — utterly out of place in their small, winter-bound city home.

“Not now!” Izuku thought desperately, clenching his fists to coax the breeze back. The teal glow snapped away, leaving only a gentle flutter of curtains. He swallowed hard, heart hammering.

Inko blinked slowly in a mix of awe and quiet suspicion. “It… it really does feel alive, doesn’t it?” She tilted her head, the smallest crease of concern forming on her forehead. “And… the smell? You’re sure that’s just part of your quirk, right, Izuku?”

He nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Y-yeah. Just how it works, I guess,” he said as he stepped forward and stood in front of his mom.

She didn’t press further, only reached out to squeeze his hand. “I’m proud of you, sweetie. Just… promise me to be careful, alright?”

———————————————

As soon as Izuku was left alone in his room, he slumped onto his bed, pressing his palms to his face. His vision pulsed warmly at his side, and a faint breeze teased the curtains despite the window being shut.

“Ehehe~ That was fun! Almost got you caught, little one,” Venti’s teasing voice floated through Izuku’s mind, light and mischievous. “I must say, your mother has excellent intuition! She would’ve noticed if I were a bit bolder.”

Izuku groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow. “V-Venti! Not helping right now!”

“Ah, but think of the possibilities~!” Venti continued, the wind swirling gently around Izuku, carrying the faint, lingering scent of Teyvat’s summer air. “Next time, you should show her more!”

Izuku clenched his fists, balling them into the covers as he tried not to imagine what that could mean. The line between home life and Teyvat had never felt thinner.

———————————————

Chapter Text

———————————————

Saturday morning, Izuku padded through the home, still wrapped in the sleepy haze from having barely slept hours. The air was crisp, a faint glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains. For a brief moment, he felt at ease. That peace lasted briefly, though, until a small stack of papers fluttered at the edge of the counter.

He froze mid-step. The breeze wasn’t strong enough to move them on its own, he knew it well. His vision pulsed faintly at his side like it always did when the wind was high, causing him to sigh and tug at it gently to steady the playful wind in the kitchen.

From the living room, Inko’s voice called out. “Izuku? Did you leave the window open?”

“No! I… uh, closed it last night,” he said quickly, glancing at the papers now resting neatly on the counter as if nothing had happened.

Inko’s footsteps echoed softly as she entered the kitchen, her expression thoughtful. She didn’t seem angry, just… curious. “Huh. It looked like the papers moved by themselves. Are you… feeling okay? Was it your quirk?”

Izuku’s throat tightened, and he nodded quickly. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m… I’m fine, just a little tired, that’s all.” He kept his voice light, but his hands were clammy at his sides.

Inko tilted her head, her gaze soft but sharp, the kind she always seemed to have when she knew more than she let on. “You know, sweetie… sometimes things like that happen when people practice their quirks. Are you sure you have it under control?” She asked, skeptical yet kind and gentle.

“I promise I do. Just… little slips when I’m tired, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile, though the tug of guilt didn’t loosen in his chest at the thought of lying to his mother.

Inko studied him for another long moment, then finally smiled. “Alright, then. Just don’t push yourself too hard training, okay? Eat something before you bury yourself in your notebook again.”

She left the kitchen with that, humming faintly as she returned to tidying up. Izuku waited until her footsteps faded before slumping into the nearest chair, his hands trembling against his knees.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Izuku flinched, then whispered harshly under his breath. “Venti — please. Not right now.”

The bard’s laughter echoed in his mind, airy and light as a birdsong. “Oh, but isn’t now exactly when you need me~? You think I can’t tell how guilty you feel whenever you feel her lies? It’s eating you alive, little one.”

Izuku pressed his palms against his eyes, groaning quietly. “She can’t know. I can’t have her looking at me like… like Bakugo did. Being quirkless is one thing; having otherworldly powers is another.”

The wind swirled faintly around him, a gentle brush at his cheek, like a comforting hand. Venti’s tone softened. “But she isn’t Bakugo, she’s your mother. The wind was glowing in the kitchen, but she only asked if you were tired. That’s not fear or anger — that’s love.”

Izuku’s throat ached. He whispered back, barely audible, “Then why does it feel like I’m betraying her by keeping it secret?”

Izuku’s chest and throat ached. He whispered back, barely audible, “Then why does it hurt so bad? Why do I feel like I’m betraying her?”

———————————————

By the time Izuku made it to the park to meet Hitoshi, his heart weighed heavily in his chest from guilt and longing. He dropped down onto the bench beside Hitoshi, who was waiting for him, with earbuds dangling from his phone, unused.

“You look like hell,” Hitoshi said casually, popping a piece of gum into his mouth.

Izuku groaned, letting his head fall back against the bench. “Wow, thanks.”

“Just telling the truth.” Hitoshi’s tone was flat, but not unkind. It never seemed to be rude, no matter what Izuku did. His sharp eyes scanned Izuku’s tired face. “So… what kept you up this time? The wind?”

Izuku flinched at how easily the words cut through him, like a knife to butter. “It’s not—” He stopped himself, before burying his hands in his sleeves. “…Yeah,” he admitted in a whisper.

Hitoshi didn’t say anything for a bit, just chewed his gum silently while his gaze fixed on the barren trees swaying in the winter winds. Finally, he exhaled, speaking. “You know, I don’t get it. You’ve been blessed by your god with something powerful. All you let it do is eat you alive, though.

Izuku clenched his jaw, fists tightening in his sleeves. “You don’t understand. It’s not just… power. It’s not a quirk, it’s — it’s a vision.” His voice cracked, and he looked away. “If my mom knew the truth, she’d worry herself sick. If anyone else knew, they’d think I was a freak.”

“Or,” Hitoshi cut in smoothly, turning to fix Izuku with that stare of his that always carried a sense of unwavering determination. “They’d see that you’re still the same Midoriya.” He smirked faintly. “The same who never sleeps, but when he does, he snores like a dying engine.”

Izuku’s face heated at that. “I-I don’t snore!”

“You do.” Hitoshi leaned back against the bench, arms crossed. “Point is, you’re you. And if your mom doesn’t see that, it wouldn’t be because of your vision, it would be because you kept building walls she couldn’t see over.”

The words hit Izuku harder than expected. He stared down at his lap, throat tight. “…You really think she’d get it?”

“I think you want her to.” Hitoshi said, softer now, “And that appeals to you more than her not knowing.”

The breeze stirred faintly around him, teasing at Izuku’s hair yet leaving Hitoshi untouched. They knew Venti was listening, even if the archon stayed silent this time around. Izuku swallowed, forcing himself to nod. “Yeah… maybe.”

“Good,” Hitoshi smirked, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Now eat something before you collapse. I know you skipped breakfast, you always do.”

———————————————

Chapter Text

———————————————

The quiet of the home doubled down once Izuku had left, his hurried footsteps fading down the hall. Inko stood in the kitchen for a bit, staring at the counter where the papers had fluttered earlier. She smoothed them down, but the sight of them shifting clung to her thoughts like a shadow.

She told herself it wasn’t unusual. The thought was probably right, after all. Quirks could act up, especially in the teen years, like Izuku was heading towards steadily. He was only twelve; who was to say he was supposed to have perfect control of his powers?

But the way the air had moved… the way it had felt alive, as though the room itself was breathing — she couldn’t shake it.

Inko sat at the table, resting her chin in her hand and sighing. She remembered when Izuku was little, before the doctor’s words had crushed his bright-eyed dreams. He’d chatter endlessly about quirks, heroes, and how one day he would save people with a smile. That was, of course, until he was told he would never develop a quirk, knowledge the very existence of his wind control seemed to defy.

She thought about those notebooks he guarded so carefully now, about how he used to show them to her with a grin on his face, pages and pages of information on heroes. She had to think back to her own words, that it was okay for a child to keep a diary. But…

A mother shouldn’t be locked out of her child’s heart. Not now, not ever.

Her eyes burned, but she blinked back tears. She had promised him that she would trust him. And she did — but that didn’t ease the gnawing ache of distance in her heart.

Her gaze flickered to the window. For just a second, she thought she saw the curtain shift, though the glass was firmly closed. The tiniest whisper of a draft touched her cheek, gentle, almost tender.

She froze, hand half-raised. “…Izuku?” she murmured, though she knew he was gone with his friend.

The silence answered her, the curtain swaying again — although softer — as if an unseen hand had brushed against it. Inko pulled her cardigan tighter around herself and forced out a shaky laugh.

“I’m being silly,” she whispered, though her heart and gut told her otherwise. Deep inside, a seed of suspicion had been planted and had begun to sprout — a thought she hadn’t dared voice to herself until now — what if Izuku’s quirk wasn’t a quirk at all?

———————————————

The rest of the day moved in little fragments for Inko. She cleaned, folded laundry, and even prepared dinner well ahead of time, but her mind refused to quiet down. Each time she passed by Izuku’s room, she glanced at the closed door, wondering what secrets lay in those carefully guarded notebooks.

Later, when Izuku and Hitoshi were still out, she returned to the kitchen and paused by the table. A thought crossed her mind — an experiment of sorts. She set a clean sheet of paper down on the counter, deliberately, where there was no way a draft could catch it, though she knew all the windows were sealed. She then stepped back and busied herself with the dishes, keeping watch from the corner of her eye.

Minutes ticked by in silence. Then, faintly, the curtain stirred. The paper shivered once, Inko’s breath hitching as she watched, her hands clamping down on the dish towel. The room was still again a moment later, innocent and unassuming.

Her heart pounded at the sight of it. This wasn’t a quirk acting up — she knew it deep down. This was something else.

She sank into the chair at the dining room table, her cardigan pulled tight around her as she stared at the paper. Her thoughts circled like storm clouds, rapid and gloomy. She could do what she was longing to do: walk into Izuku’s room tonight and sit on the edge of his bed, asking him for the truth. He would probably deny it, he might even cry, but at least the deafening silence between them would end.

Yet, what if pressing him only pushed him further away? He was twelve, on the edge of adolescence, a time when secrets from parents felt sacred. If she cornered him, would he ever forgive her?

Inko folded her arms on the table and pressed her forehead against them, tears pricking at her eyes for the second time that day. She remembered his bright grin as a toddler, clutching All Might figures in his little hands like he himself was saved by the man depicted. That little boy had trusted her with every thought, every dream. Now, though, he hid his heart behind notebooks and nervous lies.

The curtain calmly swayed again, soft as a breath. Inko closed her eyes, listening to the faint stir of air in a room where there should have been none, and she wondered if she could bear waiting for him to come to her.

———————————————

Dinner passed the same as it always did. Izuku filled the air with stories about things he and Hitoshi had done at the park, his hands moving animatedly, though he never quite looked Inko in the eyes for long. She laughed when she was supposed to, smiled when it felt natural, but her mind weighed every detail: the way his sleeve shifted with the wind, the faintest ripple of air that brushed against her cheek when he grew excited.

When the dishes were done, she found her chance. Izuku had retreated to the living room with one of his notebooks, curling up on the couch to write about his day. Inko dried her hands on a towel, steadied her breath, and walked in, her tone light.

“Sweetie,” she began, “can you do me a little favor?”

Izuku shut his journal and blinked up at her, wary but trying to hide it. “A favor? What?”

She smiled softly and pointed to the folded dish towel in the kitchen. “Could you bring that over here with your quirk?”

His shoulders stiffened. “…Mom?”

“I just mean… if your quirk could help with little things like that, I’d love to see it in action,” she added quickly, her voice warm and reassuring. “Just something small. You’ve grown so much, dear. I just want to see how far you’ve come. That’s all.”

The notebook in his lap might as well have been a shield with how hard he was gripping it. He wanted to keep her trust and his secret. He wanted both, and the two desires crashed violently together in his chest. He silently prayed to Venti to do something, but to no avail; he didn’t answer.

The silence stretched on for a bit, awkward and tense. The curtain by the window fluttered, causing Inko’s gaze to flick toward it for the briefest moment before returning to her son.

Izuku shut his eyes. “If I refuse, that'd only be suspicious… but I can’t show her too much without her worrying.”

———————————————

Izuku exhaled slowly, lowering his hands toward the floor. “O-okay… just a little,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. He kept his eyes on the folded dish towel, trying to coax the wind to lift it without letting too much of his power slip out.

A faint current of air swirled around his fingers, teasing the edges of the towel. It quivered slightly before sliding gently across the counter toward him, as though obeying him under restraint. Inko’s eyes widened in quiet awe.

“That’s… incredible, Izuku,” she whispered, leaning forward slightly. Her voice was soft, full of wonder, but careful not to alarm him. “It’s so… alive. You really have been practicing.”

Izuku forced a small smile, relief washing over him. “Y-yeah, a little.” He quickly pulled his hands back once the towel was in his mom’s hands, letting the air settle around it like nothing had happened.

Inko watched him a bit, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know how it works, don’t get me wrong, but… I can tell you’re putting effort into it. I’m proud of you, sweetie.”

Her words softened the tension coiling in his chest, though a small knot of worry remained. She didn’t know the full extent of his ‘quirk,’ nor the strange, otherworldly things Venti sometimes let slip into their world — but she had seen enough to know this wasn't ordinary.

Izuku nodded, clutching his notebook close to his chest. “T-thanks, mom… I’ll be careful.”

The wind in the room shifted once more, brushing lightly across the curtains as if Venti himself were satisfied.

———————————————

Chapter Text

———————————————

The next morning, the house buzzed with a quiet, domestic energy. Inko hummed softly to herself as she gathered a shopping list, tucking it into her pants pocket. Izuku sat at the kitchen table, notebook closed for once, absently tapping her pen against the edge while trying not to draw attention to the faint glow of his vision at his side. Hitoshi leaned against the doorway, sneakers scuffing lightly against the floor as he looked between the two Midoriyas with a blank expression.

“So, shopping trip, huh?” he asked, voice casual, though a hint of amusement lingered.

Inko smiled, glancing from her son to Hitoshi. “Yeah, we need a few things for the week, and I figured it’d be nice to take you two along. It’s been a while since we’ve all gone out together.”

Izuku felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach. Stores meant crowds, crowds meant unpredictability, and unpredictability meant more chances for his vision to slip. He forced a smile despite his thoughts, though, and spoke, “Y-yeah… sounds good.”

Hitoshi nudged him lightly. “Relax, you’ll be fine. Your mom’s right, it’s just a trip to the market.”

———————————————

The three of them stepped out into the crisp morning air. Izuku kept his hands tucked in his pockets, letting the wind blow against him without coaxing it intentionally, Venti’s little way of saying hello to the group. Inko carried a reusable bag over her shoulder, while Hitoshi and Izuku bounded forward, chatting away.

As they walked, Izuku’s eyes darted over the familiar streets of their neighborhood, cataloging the ordinary — street vendors arranging produce, the chatter of neighbors greeting each other. Each sight and sound passed against the memory of Teyvat, ever lingering in his clouded mind.

“Hey, Midoriya,” Hitoshi called, waving a hand in front of his face. “You okay? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

“I’m fine,” Izuku said quietly, glancing at his mom behind them for reassurance. Inko’s soft nod gave him a small wave of courage.

As they entered the market, the smell of fresh bread and fruits mingled with the distant scent of flowers from the stalls. Izuku’s heartbeat quickened — not from fear, but from the familiar tug of longing he tried so desperately to bury.

Instead of dwelling, though, he focused on helping his mother carry the heavier items, careful to let his vision remain dormant. A subtle gust nudged a loose receipt from one stall, but he just allowed it to drift harmlessly into Hitoshi’s hands, pretending it was nothing but the natural air.

Inko noticed but didn’t comment, simply smiling at the exchange. Her trust was a silent tether, one that kept Izuku grounded even as the longing for Teyvat held him down and whispered in the back of his mind.

Hitoshi elbowed him lightly. “See? Nothing weird, just… wind tricks.” He teased, though his eyes twinkled with the faintest hint of knowing.

Izuku swallowed, nodding quickly. “Yeah… just wind tricks,” he agreed, heart thudding, although the corners of his lips were tugged upward into a small, cautious smile.

The three of them moved through the stalls together, laughter and casual conversation blending into the rhythm of the market. For a moment, Izuku allowed himself to breathe, the ordinary life anchoring him even as the pull of Teyvat waited patiently in the corners of his mind.

———————————————

Inko paused at a flower stand, bending down to inspect a bundle of lilies. Hitoshi immediately leaned in and muttered, “Bet she buys them, then complains they wilt too fast.”

Izuku stifled a laugh, covering it with a cough, but Inko turned back with a knowing smile. “I heard that, you know.” She still bought the flowers, though, tucking them carefully into her bag before ushering the boys onward.

They stopped for melon bread next, Inko insisting on treating them. Hitoshi tore into his as they walked, crumbs dotting his jacket, while Izuku nibbled a bit more carefully. For a brief, shining moment, it was exactly what he had always wanted out of life: the ease of a normal day, surrounded by warmth and laughter.

But then the wind shifted.

It wasn’t the bustling air of the market or the soft winter breeze. It carried a different note — a faint hum, almost like a song half-remembered. Izuku froze mid-step, the bread forgotten in his hands. The melody brushed against him like a memory, tugging at something deep in his chest.

His vision pulsed faintly at his side, hidden under his jacket, and he held his breath until the glow dulled again and he no longer felt the pull.

“Midoriya?” Hitoshi asked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “You okay?”

Izuku blinked hard, forcing himself to nod. “Y-yeah… just… spacing out.”

Inko studied him for a moment longer than necessary, but her smile remained as warm as ever. She reached out, adjusting the collar of his jacket as if to shield him from the cold breeze. “Stay close, sweetie.”

Izuku managed a soft smile in return, heart aching. The market noise rushed back around him, grounding him in laughter and chatter and ordinary life, even as that faint hum of another world refused to fully let go.

———————————————

Izuku tucked the melon bread partially back into its wrapper, forcing himself to take another bite. The sweetness grounded him, though the echo of that strange melody still tugged faintly at the back of his mind.

He tried his best to focus on the bustle of the market — the laughter of children darting between the stalls, the haggling voices of the vendors, the earthy smell of fresh vegetables.

Beside him, Hitoshi nudged his shoulder, holding up a crooked carrot from a stand with a smirk on his face. “Think this one’s cursed?”

Izuku let out a nervous laugh, but it loosened the knot in his chest just enough. “N-no, just… different.”

Inko chuckled softly at the exchange, slipping the carrot into her basket. “Everything has its place, boys. Even the ones that grow a bit differently.”

They moved on, weaving through the crowd. Izuku’s eyes caught on a display of trinkets at a small stall — wooden charms, little wind chimes carved to look like birds mid-flight. The faintest breeze brushed across them, setting off a delicate chorus of tinkling notes. For a split second, he thought it sounded almost like the melody he’d imagined earlier.

His breath caught, but he forced himself to look away, huddling in closer to his mother’s side.

Inko slipped an arm gently around his shoulders as they turned down another row of stalls. The warmth of her touch steadied him, and for now, that was enough to drown out the faint, persistent whisper of the other world.

———————————————

They stopped at a stall draped in bright fabrics, bolts of cloth stacked high and fluttering in the breeze. Inko lingered, running her fingers over a pale green fabric with a smile. “This would make a nice curtain, don’t you two think?”

Izuku froze, memories of the grass in Mondstadt’s sunlit fields that were of a similar shade. His vision pulsed at his side, but he ignored it in favor of smiling. “It’s pretty, Mom,” he added in, voice slightly fast.

“Looks like every other curtain to me,” Hitoshi said dryly, but his eyes flicked toward Izuku with silent awareness. He didn’t know what he was thinking about exactly, but he knew he was thinking nonetheless.

———————————————

They moved on to a produce stand, the vendor cheerfully piling apples into Inko’s bag. Izuku reached out to help, wind instinctively shifting around the load to lighten it a bit in his hands. Hitoshi’s eyes flicked down, catching the faint stir, though no one else seemed to notice.

Despite him noticing, he didn’t press, just walking beside Izuku with a steady silence that seemed to calm his nerves a bit.

Ahead, Inko had paused at a flower stall, her hand brushing over the petals of yellow dandelions. A draft swirled around them approvingly, carrying their scent to Izuku. For a heartbeat, he heard Venti’s chime in his mind, a reminder that this was similar to the bard’s homeland. Izuku couldn’t help but agree. The air was alive with music and blossoms. His throat tightened with a bit of longing.

Before he could dwell, though, Inko’s voice cut gently through the haze. “Izuku, dear, could you pick a few you want? I’d love to have them to go along with the lilies.”

The request was simple, grounding in a way. Izuku blinked, nodded, and carefully pointed out a bouquet after a second of lingering. Inko’s eyes lingered on him as she paid, but when she smiled at him, it was warm, patient, unspoken trust written in the curve of her lips.

For a little while, at least, the market was just a market — but the breeze that followed them whispered otherwise.

———————————————

The bags began to weigh heavily on Inko’s arms, and even with the boys helping, she could tell they were all carrying much more than they’d planned to buy that night. She shifted her grip with a soft laugh. “I think we got a little carried away today.”

“You don’t say,” Hitoshi muttered, adjusting a sack of vegetables on his shoulder.

Izuku tried to smile, though he was quietly grateful for the fact that he hadn’t needed to use his vision again to balance the weight in his arms.

Inko glanced between the two boys, then toward the nearby street. “How about this? Shinso-kun, could you walk with me back to drop off all this? Izuku, you could pick up the last few things. I think you know the stalls well enough!” Inko suggested, but before Izuku could speak, she added quickly, “It’s just bread and miso paste, you should be able to get those, right?”

Izuku blinked once, caught off guard by the request. “O-oh, yeah… yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Inko touched his shoulder lightly, the warmth of her hand lingering before she and Hitoshi started toward their street, arms full of grocery bags.

Izuku watched them go, the crowd folding around him as their figures faded into the morning hustle. Alone now, the hum of the market seemed louder — unable to drown it out with the distractions of his friend and family.

And beneath it all, that same faint, elusive melody stirred again.

———————————————

The afternoon air was sharpened with the winter chill, the kind that bit through the sleeves of Izuku’s jacket while he hurried home to meet back up with Inko and Hitoshi. His bag thumped against his side, thankfully not too heavy. He was only a few blocks from his apartment when the sound reached him — a guttural, inhuman roar that rattled the usually quiet structures and streets.

He froze. That wasn’t a person, and presumably not a villain with a mutation quirk.

Another roar followed, accompanied by the crash of metal and the screech of tires. Izuku’s heart dropped into his stomach as he ran toward the sound, lungs burning. When he turned the corner, his blood went cold.

There, looming over a smashed car and scattering civilians like ants, was a monster. Something that looked straight out of a village in Teyvat.

“A hilichurl…” Venti mumbled in his mind, making Izuku even more confused and panicked. Was it actually something from Teyvat? Swinging around a wooden stick, almost like a club, it looked like something Izuku could envision in the fields of Teyvat, not in Musutafu!

But the terrified scream that followed snapped his hesitation in two. Looking over to it, he saw no heroes, only desperate civilians trying to pull each other out of the rubble. Hitoshi was the one who grabbed his attention at first, across the street, pulling a helpless child from under a fallen city beam.

Further down the block — Izuku’s stomach lurched — Inko stood frozen, clutching her grocery bags to her chest as the hilichurl’s shadow loomed.

“Mom—!”

Izuku didn’t think. He couldn’t, not at that moment. His feet moved, his hands already tightening around the surge of wind that answered his desperate call.

If the heroes weren’t going to do it, he would.

———————————————

Chapter Text

———————————————

His vision flared to life, a teal glow blooming at his hip. Air rushed around him in a cyclone, catching the hilichurl’s next swing before it could connect. The monstrous club crashed into an invisible wall of wind, the shockwave scattering glass and dust.

Civilians gasped, some even screaming. Hitoshi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide in disbelief as he caught sight of the glow at Izuku’s hip.

“Move!” Izuku shouted, thrusting his palm forward. The wind obeyed gracefully, sweeping people off their feet, gently cushioning their fall as it carried them out of harm’s reach. His mother was lifted clear, hair whipping in the air as she stumbled to safety.

He wasn’t done, though, and he wasn’t planning on stopping until the monster was defeated.

The air sang as spirals of teal carved themselves into the ground, glowing like constellations. A warm, sweet scent rushed through the street — dandelion wine, summer grass, and the faint salt of the sea. And through it all, faint and impossible, the sound of a lyre’s playful notes.

The hilichurl bellowed in confusion, the world itself seeming to ripple around it. Cracks of green-blue light webbed through the pavement, each one that formed causing the monster to stumble back and roar in pain.

The teal spirals dimmed, the scent faded, and the cracks sealed with a whisper like closing doors. The hilichurl fell, dazed, before dissolving into light — fading back into whatever rift had birthed it here.

Silence followed.

Izuku stood shaking, chest heaving, and the vision burning hot at his hip. Around him, the civilians slowly rose to their feet, murmuring in disbelief. Most were too dazed to notice the details, already fleeing down the street to the safety of their homes.

But two pairs of eyes had seen every little detail.

Hitoshi, frozen in place, his expression in shock as if he was still processing what had happened.

And Inko, clutching her grocery bags to her chest, tears trembling in her wide, fearful eyes.

Izuku swallowed hard, forcing a trembling smile that felt more like a grimace than anything. “I-it’s… It’s fine! Everyone’s safe, so —”

But his voice cracked, the words dying in his throat. The weight of their stares pressed heavier than any bag he could carry, heavier than the whole of Teyvat itself.

Izuku could only groan under his breath, palms digging into his eyes with a barely audible whine.

———————————————

The silence of the street felt harsher than the roar that had filled it moments before. Dust still hung in the air, catching the sunlight in uneasy swirls.

“Izuku!” Inko’s voice broke first. She stumbled forward, grocery bags still clutched tight against her chest as if they were the only thing keeping her hands from shaking. She stopped short when she reached him, staring at the faint glow still pulsing at his hip. “Your… your quirk—”

Her voice faltered, the word catching like a stone in her throat. She reached out, cupping his face with trembling hands. “You — are you hurt? Izuku, look at me—”

“I-I’m fine, Mom!” he rushed out, though his voice cracked and his breathing was ragged. He tried to face a reassuring smile, but it came out lopsided and thin. “See? Everyone’s safe, it’s okay—”

“It didn’t look okay,” she whispered, her eyes flicking again to his vision, still glowing ever so slightly under the hem of his jacket. “That much power… it looked like it was going to tear you apart.”

Izuku swallowed hard, guilt clamping around his throat. His mother’s fear stung worse than the fight had, truth be told.

Hitoshi finally moved, stepping closer with his usual slouched yet calm demeanor, though his eyes were sharper than ever. “It wasn’t tearing him apart.” His tone carried a certainty that made Izuku’s chest tighten. He glanced at him, almost pitifully, before continuing. “He had it under control.”

Inko looked at Hitoshi, searching his face for any semblance of the truth. She then turned back to Izuku. “Control? That… that didn’t look like any quirk I’ve ever seen.”

Izuku’s fingers dug into his palms, nails biting skin as he scrambled for words. “It’s… It’s fine, Mom. It’s still mine. I can handle it, I promise.:

Her eyes watered, torn between wanting to believe him and the memory of that monster looming over he only minutes ago. She pulled him into her arms, clutching him so tightly his breath hitched. “I don’t care what it is. Just — don’t scare me like that again.”

Izuku’s vision dimmed before he closed his eyes fully and buried his face into her shoulder, whispering, “I’ll try.”

Over her shoulder, Hitoshi watched him quietly, the weight of what he’d seen settling like an anchor into the ocean. Izuku hadn’t nudged papers or guided a breeze this time. He’d stopped a monster. Hitoshi’s hands slipped into his pockets, and for the first time, he wondered if even Izuku knew just how far this “vision” could go.

———————————————

The walk home was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that rang in Izuku’s ears even louder than the chaos from before. Every step crunched against bits of glass on the sidewalk, every gust of wind felt like it was watching him — curious, whispering, waiting. He kept his hands jammed into his pockets, eyes fixed on the pavement. The world still smelled faintly of dandelions, a haunting reminder of what he’d just done.

Inko walked just ahead of him, the grocery bags replaced with a paper sack from a kind stranger that held the food instead. Hitosi trailed slightly behind, his hands buried in his hoodie pocket, expression unreadable.

None of them spoke until they turned the final corner toward the Midoriya home.

“Mom—” Izuku began softly, but Inko’s voice overlapped his.

“Inside first.”

He swallowed and nodded, not arguing.

When they reached home, the door clicked shut behind them with a finality that made Izuku’s chest feel heavy. Inko set the groceries down, her movements careful, as if she was keeping herself busy to avoid breaking down.

Izuku stood near the entryway, his hands twisting in his sleeves. “I… I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words small. “I didn’t mean to scare anyone, I just wanted to help.”

Inko turned to him. Her eyes were red around the edges, but her voice was steady. “You didn’t scare me, sweetie. What scared me was thinking you could’ve been hurt. That… it wasn’t like what you showed me before.”

Hitoshi lingered by the doorway to the kitchen, gaze flicking between them. “He didn’t have much of a choice,” he said finally, tone quiet but resolute. “If he hadn’t done something, that thing would’ve flattened us all. Heroes clearly weren’t coming.“

Inko’s shoulders softened, the edges of her fear dulling into something more fragile — worry. “I know, Shinso-kun, but…” She looked back at her son, taking in the faint tremor in his fingers, as well as the dim flicker of teal that still glowed faintly under his jacket. “That didn’t feel like the same quirk I’ve seen you practice with, Izuku.”

Izuku froze. His throat went dry.

“I… I don’t really understand it all either,” he admitted, voice trembling a bit. “Sometimes it listens, sometimes it doesn’t. But it’s… it’s never hurt anyone before, and I didn’t mean it—”

Inko crossed the space between them in two steps, pulling him into a tight hug before he could start spiralling. “You don’t have to explain right now,” she murmured in his hair. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

Izuku’s hands hovered in the air awkwardly before slowly clutching the back of her cardigan, nodding weakly.

For a long moment, none of them spoke. The only sound was the wind outside brushing against the window — soft, patient, almost apologetic.

Hitoshi broke the silence after what felt like forever, his voice low. “You should get some rest, Midoriya. Both of you.” His gaze lingered on the window, the faintest frown tugging at his lips when the wind blew the curtains.

———————————————

Izuku exhaled shakily, the ghost of that melody from when he had defeated the monster earlier that day still drifting faintly in the back of his mind. The breeze stirred yet again — gentle, teasing, familiar. But when he blinked, there was nothing there — only the quiet of home and the sound of his mother setting dinner on the table as if nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

As he stayed seated at the dining room table, the news droned on in the background. There seemed to be nothing relevant, just information on the newest villains defeated and the scandals among pro heroes.

Hitoshi had gone home to check up on his parents down the street, making sure they were unharmed from the attack. Izuku had gotten a short text to confirm everyone was safe, and that was that.

Well, until the news tuned into the weekly Villain Watch.

The living room was dim except for the flicker of the television, blue light spilling across the floor. Inko moved quietly in the kitchen, the soft clatter of dishes a steady rhythm against the low murmur of the newcaster’s voice.

Izuku sat hunched on the couch, a blanket draped over his shoulders, while his mother prepared to cook dinner. The warmth didn’t quite reach him. He kept his eyes fixed on the muted glow of the screen, not really seeing it — at least not until the next headline made his breath catch.

“Breaking news: Authorities are investigating a strange incident earlier today in Musutafu’s east district…”

The plate in Inko’s hands stilled midair. Izuku froze. The air in the room seemed to hold its breath with them.

“Eyewitnesses report that an unidentified individual with a powerful wind-based quirk appeared at the scene of a mutant-type villain attack, intervening with unlicensed quirk usage before authorities had the chance to arrive. Sources say the child vanished before statements could be taken.”

The reporter shuffled papers, the professional calm in her voice contrasting the tension that crept up Izuku’s spine.

“While many credit the mysterious rescuer for saving lives, experts warn that unlicensed use of quirk abilities in combat situations remains illegal under the Hero Regulation Act. The individual’s identity remains unknown, though some witnesses describe them as a young man with green hair and eyes, as well as teal energy emissions coming from a pendant.”

Izuku’s stomach dropped. His hands went clammy.

He could feel Inko’s gaze before he saw it. Slowly, she stepped closer to the living room, her voice careful, quiet — too quiet. “Izuku… that was—”

“I… I didn’t mean to break the law!” he stammered, clutching the blanket tighter. “I just… wanted to help.”

Inko’s lips parted, but no words came. The faint wind that had been whispering through the open window seemed to hesitate too, as if even it didn’t dare to interrupt.

On-screen, the broadcast continued.

“Authorities are still looking for the individual involved. Public opinion remains divided, with some calling them a reckless vigilante, others, a hero.”

Izuku sank back against the couch, his throat dry. Vigilante. The word echoed like a curse.

Somewhere, faint and amused, Venti’s voice brushed the back of his mind like a gust of wind. “Reckless? Maybe so~! But that’s how most heroes begin, isn’t it?“

———————————————

The faint echo of Venti’s laughter dissolved into the hum of the television. Izuku pressed his palms together to stop them from shaking, his pulse drumming all too fast in his ears. The air in the room shifted — restless, heavy — like even it didn’t know where to settle.

Inko finally tore her eyes from the screen. “Izuku, you—”

Her voice faltered, uncertain whether to sound proud or afraid.

But before she could find the words, Izuku’s phone buzzed on the couch beside him, lighting up.

The screen lit up with Hitoshi’s contact.

[hypno]: turn on the news. they’re talking about you.
[hypno]: your vision thing too. you need to hide it.

Izuku’s breath hitched. His gaze flickered toward his side, where the faint teal glow pulsed once under the blanket before dimming again. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Inko noticed the motion, the way her son’s eyes darted — not with guilt, but fear. “Izuku—”

“I—It’s nothing,” he blurted, voice cracking as panic bled into his tone.

The phone buzzed again.

[hypno]: i’m serious. the heroes might track your vision down. get somewhere safe.

Izuku shot to his feet so quickly that the blanket hit the floor, and he got lightheaded. “I’ll be in my room!”

“In your — Izuku, wait—!”

But he was already running, heart pounding as his feet hit the ground. The air whipped around him, responding to his panic even as he tried desperately to contain it. Papers on the console table fluttered, the curtain billowed inward, and the faint sound of the television was swallowed by the rush of his own breath.

He slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, pressing his back against it. The vision at his hip pulsed again, brighter this time, and a whisper of wind brushed his cheek like it was trying to calm him.

“Not now,” he muttered, pressing his palm to the pendant to quiet it." “Please, not now.”

The air stilled, obedient for the moment, before his phone buzzed once more in his pocket.

[hypno]: don’t leave the house. the police are patrolling outside.

Izuku froze. The wind outside the glass rattled faintly, like a breath against the pane.

———————————————

Chapter Text

———————————————

The television in the living room flickered one last time before Inko switched it off. The quiet hum faded into the stillness of their home, the kind that made every heartbeat sound too loud.

Outside, the city breathed, unaware that somewhere in its maze of streets, a new kind of wind had begun to stir.

And miles away, in a room lined with glowing monitors and paper-thick reports, that same wind had already reached U.A. High.

———————————————

The next morning, the hum of a projector filled the faculty conference room. Dozens of paused video clips, painted on the walls in hues of teal and gray, depicted security footage from the east district incident. On every screen, a few specific frames repeated: a young figure standing amid a swirl of wind, his outline blurring with energy.

Nezu, the principal, sat at the center of a long table, paws neatly folded over a stack of papers. His expression was unreadable, but his tail flicked once — the only sign of restrained excitement.

“So,” he began cheerfully, “it seems Musutafu has gained itself a rather… unconventional Samartian.”

Shota Aizawa, one of the school’s hero course teachers, pinched the bridge of his nose, already looking tired. “Unlicensed quirk usage during a villain attack isn’t exactly what I’d call good.”

“Perhaps not,” Nezu said lightly, “but effective, wouldn’t you agree?” He tapped a paw against the tablet beside him, and the footage rolled. A teal cyclone erupted on-screen, deflecting debris and shielding injured civilians. “The response time, the control, the situational awareness… this isn’t something most untrained students can replicate.”

Hizashi Yamada, the English teacher, whistled low. “Kid’s got flair. But—” he leaned forward, squinting, “you’re saying kid, right? You think he’s that young?”

“I don’t think,” Nezu corrected, eyes glinting. “I know.”

He flicked to another frame — a still of a hand, half-hidden in the wind, small and still too soft for an adult. Then, to a frame of a shoe print near the edge of a destroyed car, compared with one of a typical school uniform shoe.

“Based on shoe length, height ratios, and stride rhythm, I estimate the individual is between twelve and fourteen years old.”

A soft murmur passed through the room.

Nemuri Kayama, the history teacher, folded her arms with newly furrowed brows. “So, what, we’re talking about a middle schooler with enough quirk power to level a street?

“Possible,” Nezu replied, tone thoughtful. “Though I suspect the destruction was… accidental. The control displayed suggests intent to protect, not to harm.” He turned another page in his report. “There’s empathy in the movement, hesitation before impact, care in the redirection of debris. That’s not a villain.”

Shota’s frown deepened. “Or it’s a vigilante who hasn’t gotten anyone killed yet.”

“Either way,” Nezu countered, “he’s a vigilante because no one has given him the chance to be anything else.”

Silence. Then, Snipe, the third-year teacher, spoke up from the corner, voice low and pragmatic. “So what’s your play? You plannin’ to send heroes to track him down?”

Nezu’s smile sharpened. “No. That would only drive him further into hiding.”

He hopped lightly onto the table, looking at each staff member in turn. “Instead, I propose an invitation to our new Hero Development Camp for middle-school students,” Nezu stated, eyes glinting. “We’ve been discussing early recruitment programs, haven’t we? This would be the perfect test case. If my analysis is correct, the boy is local, perhaps even within Musutafu’s school districts.”

Shota crossed his arms. “You want to lure him out.”

Nezu’s tail flickered again. “I prefer to say ‘offer him guidance.’”

“Guidance?” Hizashi asked, leaning forward with a half-smirk. “You mean keep him from going full vigilante before he hits fifteen?”

Nezu’s smile didn’t falter. “Exactly.”

The projector screen flicked to a still image — the faint teal glow of the vision at Izuku’s side.

“What that device is,” Nezu began softly, “it’s not something the public or even our science department recognizes. If we can help him control it here, under supervision, we may prevent a far greater problem down the line.”

The staff exchanged wary glances.

Finally, Shota exhaled slowly, rubbing at the corner of his eye in annoyance. “…If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to move carefully. If the police catch wind—”

“Then we’ll simply act before they do,” Nezu said, hopping down from the table. “I’ll start narrowing our search through the school district’s security data. By this time next week, I expect we’ll have a name.”

He turned back toward the glowing screen — the image of a small figure wreathed in teal light, wind swirling like a halo.

Nezu’s smile softened. “And when we do… let’s make sure we give him a reason to say yes.”

———————————————

The sound of pencils scratching against paper filled the air. Izuku stared at his worksheet, eyes unfocused, his handwriting growing messier and smaller with every kanji he forced out.

It was supposed to be a normal day. A calm day. The kind of day where he could pretend the news hadn’t called him a vigilante less than twenty-four hours ago.

But even now, he could still hear it — the way the anchor had said ‘unidentified individual’ with too much care, too much weight. And worse, how the people around him had echoed it that morning.

“Did you see that footage?” one classmate whispered a few rows over. “The guy with the wind quirk? looked like some kind of storm god or something.”

“Yeah, they said he was a kid! Like, our age, maybe a bit older,” another added. “Maybe he goes here—”

Izuku’s grip on his pencil tightened until the wood creaked.

“Hey,” came Hitoshi’s voice from beside him, low and even. “You’re doing that thing again. The panic grip,” he muttered, gesturing to Izuku’s poor pencil. “You’re gonna snap it in half.”

“Oh.” Izuku loosened his hand quickly, offering a nervous laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Hitoshi leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking around the room in the direction of the chatter. “They’re all guessing; no one knows anything.

Izuku swallowed. “Yeah, but—”

“No buts,” Hitoshi cut in, his tone softening a little. “You kept people alive yesterday. Let them talk, it’s all good stuff anyway.”

Izuku looked down at his paper again, trying to breathe past the tightness in his chest. The faint breeze coming in from the cracked window brushed his bangs aside — a light, familiar touch that made his stomach twist in both comfort and dread.

He pressed a hand discreetly against his side, feeling the faint warmth of the vision beneath his uniform.

The bell rang, startling him. Chairs scraped back, students shuffled out, and the classroom filled with the low murmur of lunchtime chatter.

Hitoshi stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder before glancing back to Izuku. “C’mon, let’s eat on the roof. Less gossip up there.

Izuku hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded, following him out of the classroom and into the hum of the hallways.

As they walked, the world outside felt calm again — at least on the surface. But somewhere far above, in the tower of U.A. High, Nezu was already narrowing down the search, his keen eyes flicking between school databases.

And Nabu Middle School’s student list had just landed on his screen.

———————————————

The cursor blinked patiently at the top of Nezu’s screen, the only movement in the otherwise silent control room. Rows of monitors glowed in the dim light, displaying frames from the east district incident beside a spreadsheet of student data he had gotten permission to retrieve from Musutafu’s middle schools.

He typed in the last of his parameters with the same precision as a surgeon’s cut:

Height: 155-165 cm
Weight: 45-55 kg
Dominant hand: left
Stride pattern: mid-length, low hesitation
Location proximity: East District, Musutafu

A soft ping broke the silence.

One file matched, a stark contrast to the zero of the other schools he had checked.

Nezu’s whiskers twitched, eyes glinting with interest. “Well now… let’s see who you are.”

He clicked the name.

Name: Izuku Midoriya
Age: 13
Height: 160 cm
Weight: 49 kg
School: Nabu Middle School
Quirk: Aerokinesis (minor)
Notes: Late manifestation at age 12. Weak output. Limited control. Low-risk classification.
Physical evaluation summary: Excellent reflexes, strong stamina, anxious disposition.

Nezu’s tail swayed once, slow and deliberate. “A wind-baed quirk, registered as minor…” he murmured. “And yet, this—”

He turned toward the central screen. The paused footage showed a storm of teal light twisting through the air, the figure at its center moving with startling control — fluid, purposeful, experienced. Nezu zoomed in, overlaying the body proportions, gait pattern, and stride rhythm. The alignment was near-perfect.

“…this doesn’t look minor to me.”

A soft voice came from the doorway. “You found him,” Shota said flatly, stepping into the dim light.

Nezu smiled without looking up. “Midoriya Izuku. A middle-schooler with a quirk officially labeled as weak and unstable.” His tone held a hint of amusement. “Curious, isn’t it, how often the paperwork underestimates potential?”

Aizawa crossed his arms. “So, what’s your read? Late bloomer?”

“Something else,” Nezu replied. “If he truly awakened this quirk at twelve, then the rapid refinement we’re seeing is unnatural. This level of control should take years, not months.”

He flicked to another camera angle — Izuku shielding civilians behind a barrier of spinning air, precise down to the centimeter. “There’s instinct in his movement. Training, perhaps, though definitely not formal. And look, hesitation before release, deliberate redirection away from bystanders.”

Aizawa studied the footage, his frown deepening. “You think he’s self-taught?”'

“Or guided,” Nezu mused, tapping a claw to his chin. “But whoever taught him, it wasn’t a licensed hero.”

A long pause settled between them, filled only by the quiet whir of the computers.

Finally, Shota spoke. “You’re going to recruit him.”

Nezu’s eyes sparkled. “I intend to invite him.”

He turned back to the screen displaying Izuku’s school profile — the modest headshot of a boy with messy green hair and an uncertain smile, filed neatly under “Low Threat Classification.”

“If we reach him before the authorities do,” Nezu continued softly, “we can teach him to use that power properly. If we wait too long…” He tilted his head toward the footage, where the teal cyclone devoured the frame. “…someone else will teach him what the world looks like when it’s afraid of him.”

Shota exhaled slowly, the faintest note of unease crossing his face. “And if he says no?”

“Then,” Nezu said, hopping down from his chair, “we make sure he wants to say yes. The next generation of heroes,” Nezu murmured, eyes narrowing, “may already be learning to fly.”

———————————————

The hum of the computers faded into the low rumble of city life outside U.A.’s walls. Nezu closed the file with a small, satisfied click, his reflection gleaming in the dark glass of the monitor.

“Track his daily route,” he said quietly to the AI interface beside him. “And deploy one observational drone near Nabu Middle’s perimeter. Keep it subtle; the boy shouldn’t feel like he's being watched.

The system beeped in acknowledgement. On a nearby screen, a small icon blinked to life — a hovering dot that drifted lazily toward Musutafu’s east district.

———————————————

The day carried on as usual at Nabu Middle School. Lunch period bled into lazy chatter and the clatter of bento boxes.

On the roof, the wind moved freely, carrying the hum of city sounds from far below. Izuku leaned against the chain-link fence, his untouched lunch beside him, while Hitoshi lounged near the doorway with his hands in his pockets. The breeze seemed to linger near the two, brushing at their hair more than the others below.

“Still thinking about it?” Hitoshi asked, watching the way Izuku’s gaze seemed miles away.

Izuku blinked, dragging himself back to the present moment. “I just… can’t stop hearing the news anchor in my head,” he admitted. “Every time I close my eyes, I see that clip again. The wind, the—”

“The part where you save people,” Hitoshi cut in. “That’s the bit you should be focusing on.”

Izuku gave a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but that’s not how everyone sees it.”

For a while, the two sat in quiet. The air stirred lazily, tugging at their hair and clothes — just enough to be felt. Izuku looked out over the schoolyard below, letting the wind play against his fingers, his vision glowing peacefully at his side.

And then he froze.

A glint of metal flickered in the sunlight, hovering just above the main building across from them. Too steady for a bird, too small for a drone meant for public use.

“…Shinso-kun,” he said slowly, “does that look… weird to you?”

Hitoshi followed his gaze, squinting. His easy posture straightened immediately. “That’s not one of the school’s security drones. That one’s smaller.”

They watched as the little device pivoted once — almost as if it was looking right at them — before floating slightly higher, its lens catching the light again.

“Think it’s the police?” Izuku asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Maybe,” Hitoshi said, though his tone was wary.

Izuku swallowed hard, his vision pulsing faintly under his uniform as if it sensed his unease.

The hovered one moment longer, then drifted upward, disappearing into the bright blue sky as if it had never been there.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke. The wind tugged softly at Izuku’s hair, playful and light again, but the feeling in his chest never eased.

Finally, Hitoshi muttered, “Yeah. Someone’s watching us.”

Izuku exhaled shakily, eyes still fixed on the patch of sky where the drone had vanished.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think they already found me.”

———————————————