Chapter Text
It’s a warm Saturday morning. Izuku just barely clambered out of bed earlier, at an astounding 8 AM. Which, for all intents and purposes, is a shocker—Saturdays are rest days, when Izuku often sleeps in until the early afternoon. No matter how much he rolled in bed, however, he couldn’t get back to sleep, so he went through his morning routine and changed into lounge wear.
That should have been the first hint that something was awry.
There’s minimal commotion in the common room, with a few of his classmates resting on the couch and watching something on the TV, the volume turned low so as not to disturb anyone still sleeping. Izuku shuffles past in his worn All Might slippers, heading toward the kitchen while scratching at his stomach.
Yesterday had been tough, as it was an intensive Heroics Training to start their third year off. His body, though well acclimated to the rigorous exercise, still aches gratifyingly. His hands ache less pleasantly—turns out, breaking them nonstop after getting One for All causes long-term nerve issues. Who’d’ve thunk.
It’s all easy enough to ignore, as he’s dead set on getting a fresh cup of coffee in him. Or, as Ochako lovingly coined, his “sugar with caffeine”.
It’s quiet, in the way that soft noises fill the silence. The low murmur of the television and the slight shuffling of clothes as his classmates move around outside of the kitchen lull Izuku further into that cozy, half-awake daze that only happens when one rouses midway through a deep sleep.
As soon as his coffee starts to pour, Izuku leans his hip against the counter, eyelids drooping as he glances at his classmates.
Shoto’s standing up next to the couch, his mismatched eyes trained on the TV, his arms crossed. It’s a live-action drama of some kind, something the class often watches that hasn’t caught Izuku’s interest. A typical romance story, where the main character’s quirk lets them read anyone’s mind after physical contact…it’s a little boring.
Ashido’s dead asleep on the main couch, spread out along the length of it, and Izuku has an inkling that she’s been there since the wee hours of the morning…it’s likely she never actually left the couch, in favor of binge-watching the show overnight, and has only recently passed out.
Kirishima is sitting upright on one of the smaller love seats, staring at the screen with such fervor that Izuku isn’t sure anything would disrupt his attention.
Izuku notes that Kacchan is nowhere to be found, likely sulking at the fact that his arm’s broken…It happened right before their third year started, during Kacchan’s summer work study. Seeing as Recovery Girl retired, and UA is still searching for someone with a comparable quirk, he wasn’t able to be healed up right away…and as a result, had to sit out of yesterday’s training, which pissed him off. A lot.
Huffing a breath, Izuku finishes making his coffee, his only-slightly-cracked Limited Edition All Might mug warm in his hands. With copious amounts of sugar and creamer, he moves to settle down on one of the tables.
Which is when everything goes to shit.
There’s a flash of light, so jarring and sudden that Izuku can do nothing more than wince away from its source—right in front of him. Embarrassingly, he yelps as he drops his mug. An odd sound accompanies a sharp gust of air, rustling his clothes and hair. One for All activates as a reflex, the sharp scent of ozone cutting through the wind.
The eruption of light settles abruptly.
Blinking his eyes open, he sees a massive figure ahead of him. That’s all he can register before his friends start to voice their alarm.
As Izuku readies himself in a fighting stance, he takes stock of the intruder. They’re huge, broad shoulders accentuated by—is that fur? Thick fur attached to a vibrantly red, silky cape, his arms donning cloth that cuts off at his huge biceps, his chest is bare, and—holy shit, this guy is ripped as fuck! Izuku’s eyes flicker to the man’s face, and his reality tilts.
Kacchan is a couple of feet in front of him. Towering over him, practically.
Well, not Kacchan-Kacchan, but—it’s Kacchan’s face, with different scars and piercings. Gauges on both ears, red and ornate, shaped to resemble a sharp canine. Clearly older as well, if his height and how sharp his jaw is are any indication, and his crimson eyes are trained directly on Izuku, shock keeping them wide.
“Izuku!” The doppelgänger barks out, snapping Izuku out of his stupor. The man’s voice is rough, deep, and scratchy. Like Kacchan’s, but…matured. “Why are you so young?! Where are your horns?! What kind of magic—”
“Who is that?!” Ashido demands from the couch, capturing the man’s attention, and Izuku sees the moment the doppelgänger’s shock shifts into something darker. Dangerous. The same look a villain gets right before they try to do away with whoever they believe is a nuisance—
“Don’t move!” Shoto demands, and Not-Kacchan snarls.
Izuku’s frozen, watching the scene unfold, One for All fizzling out.
Not-Kacchan turns, facing the couch, and—
He pulls out a sword.
“No one commands me!” Not-Kacchan roars. “I am King of the Aclar Empire!”
The statement hangs in the air as if it’s supposed to hold weight. Tensions thick enough to cut, no one moves, and Izuku’s only slightly mollified by the fact that his friends seem to be shocked, too.
“Bakugo?” Kirishima questions incredulously.
“Kirishima?” Not-Kacchan’s sword lowers slightly. Izuku takes the doppelgänger’s hesitation to start walking around Not-Kacchan, aiming to be closer to his classmates. “What of your scales, Voujin? Your appearance is that of a human!”
“I think we, um…should calm down,” Izuku tries to placate them all, but that catches Not-Kacchan’s attention, and the man bares his teeth at him. His canines are impossibly sharp—like some sort of dog!
“You stay by my side,” the man commands, his sword rising once more, pointed toward his classmates. Izuku freezes, technically by Not-Kacchan’s side, but still far enough that he could fend for himself if the man decides to grapple him or swing the sword his way. “This is a trick, no doubt done by Rakshasa.”
“What the fuck is happening?!” Ashido cries. “Am I still dreaming?! I shouldn’t have stayed up all night!”
“Let’s calm down,” Izuku repeats, firmer this time. He has no idea who this guy actually is, but if there’s a chance he does have Kacchan’s quirk, then they have to tread carefully, lest the whole building gets demolished.
“And what of that man?” Not-Kacchan growls, his sword swaying toward Shoto. “You look similar to the son of King Enji, but are without knife ears. And Kirishima, my highest Advisor, is a laughable excuse of a Voujin. No scales on his flesh!” The man gnashes his teeth, irate and—
Confused and scared, too. He’s got the same expression of fear that Kacchan has worn in the past, hidden underneath false anger.
“Look, you seem to know me—” Izuku attempts the angle, if only to at least soothe the man.
“Do not make jokes, Izuku!” Not-Kacchan seethes in earnest, eyes snapping toward him. “You are my betrothed! The War-King of our Empire! Descendant of the damned Demon Lord!”
Izuku’s mind screeches to a halt at hearing the word betrothed. He flushes, but this is no time for him to be locked up. “Okay, okay—then if I’m your, um, partner—then, please trust me! No one wants to hurt you right now, but that’s only if you calm down!”
Not-Kacchan eyes him skeptically, not yet relenting on his threatening stance. His eyes flit back toward the rest, before finally huffing. He sheaths his sword, but keeps a hand on its hilt. Shoto visibly relaxes somewhat, but his eyes remain locked on Not-Kacchan, and Ashido finally stands from the couch, though she has the sense to not appear hostile. Kirishima slowly gets up as well. Izuku itches to go by their side, but keeps himself still for the sake of not setting off the strange man any further.
“Kirishima,” Not-Kacchan starts, “Where am I?”
“Uh…”
“With haste.”
“Musutafu?” Kirishima informs warily.
“Musutafu,” Not-Kacchan echoes, as if testing the words on his tongue. “I am unfamiliar with the name. Are we West of Aclar? I have heard Moueiveih’s architecture is vastly different.”
Before Izuku can even try to make heads or tails of what Not-Kaccahn is saying, several footsteps are thudding down the stairs. Of course, the rest of the class would’ve woken up from the yelling. Izuku braces for whatever the hell is going to happen.
It’s not that much of a surprise to see Kacchan leading the charge. The real Kacchan, arm in a sling and all. As Izuku opens his mouth, Not-Kacchan closes the distance between them quickly, dragging Izuku into his body, Izuku’s back facing the man. All he can do is squawk like a bird (sorry, Tokoyami), his hands finding purchase on the thick arm wrapped around his torso. The man’s other arm wraps snugly around Izuku’s shoulders and throat, caging him in protectively.
The rest of Class 3-A reach the bottom just as Kacchan makes eye contact with a very frazzled Izuku.
Kacchan snarls, “Who the fuck are you?!” The hand that isn’t in a cast starts to crackle and smoke.
“Shape shifter!” Not-Kacchan bites back, equally as combative. Izuku can feel Not-Kacchan’s words rumbling in the man’s chest. He’s so warm… “Release your deceitful magic, or I will tear you apart with my hands!”
“Wait!” Izuku cuts in before Kacchan can erupt further, pushing slightly against the arm around his neck in vain. It doesn’t budge. “Look, okay—okay, this has to be some kind of Quirk, right?”
“Yeah, and whoever this dumbass thinks he is impersonating me is stupid as fuck! He can’t even get the scars right!”
“Insolent child, I will cut your tongue out with my dullest blade!”
“Stop!” Izuku begs. He’s only just woken up, what, thirty minutes ago? And now he’s dealing with this insanity! His brain can’t keep up. The last thing he wants is to let Kacchan and Not-Kacchan go at it! That’s like setting off every single nuke in the world at once!
Thankfully, both Kacchans listen. Everyone else stares at Izuku with intense worry.
“I could subdue this guy if I really wanted to,” Izuku assures, which causes Not-Kacchan to click his tongue, though he offers no protest. “So please, let’s just all relax and try to figure this out! Someone get Aizawa Sensei!”
“I’ll alert Sensei!” Tenya volunteers immediately, then rushes out the door. Izuku breathes out slightly.
“Holy shit, Bakubro looks like a beast!” Kaminari pipes up.
“You will die first for assigning such a ridiculous name to me,” Not-Kacchan growls lowly. Izuku realizes that this version of Kacchan might mean it.
“Damn! How is that Bakugo more feral than ours?!”
“That’s not me!” Kacchan snaps. “He barely looks like me!”
“Yeah, he’s older!” Ochako chimes in, though she has…quite the expression on her face. Stars in her eyes!
“He’s so tall!” Hagakure adds.
“Sheesh, he’s like my height!” Sero says as he slings an arm around Kaminari’s shoulders. “Or taller.”
“Let go of Deku,” Kacchan growls, and Izuku can tell just how thinly veiled his restraint currently is. If it weren’t for the cast on his arm, Kacchan probably would’ve attacked first and asked questions later.
In response, Not-Kacchan drags Izuku closer, still. His face heats up because he’s pressed against a powerful body. A body not wearing a shirt. A very muscular body. And it’s technically Kacchan…at least, in appearance. The scarlet hue on his cheeks darkens.
“See to it that you do not command me again,” Not-Kacchan retorts. “I am the King of the Aclar Empire, Shape Shifter. As you know, seeing as you have deemed it fit to bear my resemblance.”
“He’s not a shape shifter,” Izuku corrects, shifting his head to try to look at Not-Kacchan. “That’s my Kacchan.”