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That day, under the rain, Izuku held the lifeless, cold body of the one he once loved, the one who was once his friend, his companion.
And years after his loss, his mind has been unable to recover or come to terms with the loss of someone he loved so deeply.
Not even now, as a teacher to the next generation, does he find respite from his mental and psychological torment. He hasn’t slept in years, afraid to recall that agonizing moment again, afraid to feel that stab of pain once more, afraid to feel useless and powerless as he watches him die before his eyes.
Guilt. There is no other way to describe what he feels—a guilt that weighs on his shoulders, that mocks him in every moment of weakness.
However, after all these years, he wanted to try for the first time today to get some sleep, even if only for a few minutes, even if it hurt.
That night, lying in his unmade bed, he closed his eyes, hoping that some miracle would carry him into a deep sleep.
He spent minutes—if not hours—trying to get his weary mind to deign to shut down for the first time. And when he finally managed it, what he “dreamed” was not what he expected.
His mind wasn’t blank; nor did he wake up from a dream. Everything felt real—it was real. He could feel his arms, he could feel his legs, he could feel every damn inch of his body.
His eyes scanned the room; this was familiar, too familiar for his liking. He paused on something—a small golden glimmer illuminating a secluded spot.
He knew he shouldn’t go near it; he didn’t even know where he was, but that glimmer was so familiar, so warm. As if he’d known it before, as if it were wrapping his tormented heart in a warm embrace.
Without realizing it, he had taken a shaky step. He didn’t even know he could move; that was new.
His eyes narrowed. Could he do that? Focusing his pupils on the glimmer that was growing larger and larger. So large that it began to overwhelm him, and without realizing it, it exploded—literally.
His body fell backward; his eyes closed in a blink. Had he died?
He felt no burning, no pain—just… warmth? Not the kind of warmth that hurt, no, a loving, familiar warmth. It had to be a joke; it had been so long since he’d felt something like this, he didn’t even know how to react to it.
Despite this, he refused to open his eyes; he feared what he might find there. Perhaps hell itself, and what he felt was a trick, or perhaps heaven.
Was he even dead?
He had to be; that would explain why he was in that place. It couldn’t be a simple dream.
“Deku?” He opened his eyes immediately—that voice…
His head turned in an almost impossible way; his eyes scanned the room. He wasn’t in an empty space anymore; now everything was bathed in light, and there in the distance, he could see a room with a throne—something he could only recall from One For All.
He had to be dead, definitely. He’d lost the OFA years ago; it was illogical for them to be there.
“Deku…”
He opened his eyes wide; that voice…
He turned, looked around, searched, but couldn’t find him.
His eyes began to burn; this had to be a cruel trick. Someone or something was being cruel to him, playing with his feelings.
“Deku—”
This time he heard him close by, right in his ear; he could swear he even felt his warm breath on the back of his neck. Without hesitation, he spun around, his bones creaking.
What he saw was unexpected: Kacchan.
He didn’t look gaunt, he wasn’t covered in blood, he wasn’t pale. He looked so happy; he radiated a peace he’d never felt in anyone before.
He looked so gentle; he didn’t even have the frown he’d had in life anymore.
He hadn’t even gotten up yet from whatever he was standing on, but he fell to his knees.
His hands rose trembling, heavy with years of pain and despair, and touched Katsuki’s ethereal face. He was afraid of breaking him, afraid he’d disappear if he touched him too hard.
He was so small… he had that same teenage appearance he’d had when he’d once died in his arms. “Kacchan?”
Katsuki let out a mocking laugh, without looking away.
“It’s been a while, huh? You’re all grown up now”
The freckled boy’s tears didn’t hesitate to roll down his face, burning along the way like living fire.
His words choked in his throat, coming out with difficulty. “I-Is that you?”
Katsuki in front of him raised his hands—scar-free, flawless—and placed them on Izuku’s calloused ones.
“The one and only, irreplaceable God of the Great Killing Explosion—”
“W-What?”
“One For All, young Midoriya”
He didn’t turn around; he knew who was speaking to him. That woman’s voice, which he hadn’t heard in years, echoed in his mind.
Traces? Kacchan in the traces of OFA? How?
Could it be that time they had to defeat that villain together…? There was no other explanation, and he wasn’t going to ask for one.
“I thought… the traces had disappeared—”
He replied, hesitantly.
“Not yet; you’ve had them inside you for years—”
Izuku clenched his teeth, yanking his hands down and curling up on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Until tonight, your mind had a proper rest; you finally found peace.”
Izuku, lying on the floor, didn’t respond; he just sobbed even harder than before and, between gasps, lifted his face just a little.
“Forgive me, Kacchan,” his voice choked out. “If I’d gotten here sooner, you wouldn’t have died, and…” A loud sob escaped him, leaving him mid-sentence.
Katsuki let out a sarcastic laugh, but he didn’t get angry.
“Hey, Deku! Heroes don’t cry, especially the savior of Japan.”
The freckled boy cried even harder.
“But here I am, in the flesh… well, relatively speaking. I’m alive!”
Katsuki tried to smooth things over, even though he knew he was lying; seeing someone he’d once loved so much—even if he wouldn’t admit it—broke his heart, theoretically.
Izuku didn’t stop crying despite this; he just curled up even tighter, as if he wanted to disappear.
“You feel guilty, Midoriya. Even though you saved all of Japan from the clutches of my cursed brother, you carry the guilt of letting someone so dear to you die on your shoulders.”
Yoichi, the first bearer of the OFA, spoke to him now.
“We can’t promise you things that won’t come true; we’re just telling you to make the most of your time with Bakugou because there’s not much left.”
He couldn’t answer; he woke up.
He was back in that room, with the sun streaming through the windows like blades. His pillow was wet; he didn’t know if it was from tears, maybe sweat, or even saliva.
Had he slept all night? Had that been a dream? No… It was the OFA; they’d made that very clear to him, but… it could also be his mind playing tricks on him.
Since that night, Izuku was never the same again. The first to notice were the other teachers; although he had already looked gaunt before, now he looked worse, and he carried a heavy, strange aura. It didn’t seem to be guilt; it was something else, something they couldn’t describe in words.
The next to notice were his students; there was something strange about him every time he taught class, every time he stood up to call on one of them. But when questioned—when asked even what was going on—he would simply give such a warm, pure smile and respond as if nothing were wrong.
“Nothing, I’m very happy”
No one believed him.
On the second night, after returning from a grueling day of work at UA, he sank back into that worn-out bed, hoping his sleep would return—and that this time, he wouldn’t dream of his death.
He woke up no longer in the same place as before, nor in that rainy moment where he had died. Instead, he was on a grassy hill with a large cherry tree, its leaves rustling in a gentle breeze.
He looked down at his body; it was whole, and he could feel everything again. Even the fabric of the uniform he was now wearing—that UA uniform he hadn’t worn in years, with the red tie replaced by a white one.
It was incredibly clean, without a single wrinkle, exuding a warm, cherry-like scent.
“Deku, you’re back” he heard behind him, Kacchan.
He turned slowly, his eyes filling with tears again. He was there again; it was real.
Their eyes met; Izuku looked him up and down. He was wearing the same uniform as him, with all his buttons fastened for the first time, his pants sitting properly above his waist. He was even wearing a tie, as white as his own.
The blond took a step closer, reaching out his hand toward Izuku’s scar.
“They’ve erased your freckles.”
Izuku let out a little laugh, sniffing his nose.
“I still have plenty left.”
“But it’s not the same.”
Izuku lowered his gaze.
“I know… but I don’t care.” He looked up to meet his eyes directly. “What matters here is you.”
Katsuki laughed and pinched Izuku’s cheek, making him yelp. A gesture his mother had done to him many times while he was alive, a gesture he was now repeating on Izuku.
“I’m going to miss those damn freckles.”
“Kacchan, that hurts!” he complained, pausing briefly for a moment… He could feel pain?
It didn’t matter; this—this brought him happiness.
Izuku was having the time of his life. Some might think what was happening was cruel, but not him. He wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of his tormented mind or if OFA was really there and he wasn’t just getting his hopes up. But it didn’t matter! He had seen Kacchan again, felt his skin, interacted with him.
Many had asked him if he was okay, but he was great. He didn’t know why they asked him that; he was radiating happiness from every pore. (Deep down, he knew it was a lie.)
Now he slept every night, the whole damn night. Sometimes he was even late for work; sometimes he didn’t even go on patrol. He wasn’t lazy; he was just excited.
Every night was something new—a chat with Kacchan about his life, about how he’d been, and… about what they might once have been.
He didn’t have the slightest idea how long he’d been repeating this routine; after the second time, he’d completely lost track of time. Years could have passed, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
It was what kept him afloat.
The atmosphere wasn’t the same as it had been in the days before; there was no hill, no cherry tree, no formal clothes, no elegant attire—just the two of them side by side.
“This is the last time we’ll see each other, Deku.”
Izuku’s world shattered, completely shattered. These weren’t dreams; he wasn’t going crazy. His Kacchan was right there, in front of him, and now he was going to disappear, leaving him in a harsh, sad world, full of black and white.
“Wh… what do you mean?”
He had to be joking; this was a joke—a very bad joke.
“The remnants of the OFA… there’s not much left.”
Katsuki looked away, not daring to face him. He was visibly red, his eyes watery.
Izuku fell to his knees, pounding his fists hard against the empty space. His desperate hands reached up to Katsuki’s, clutching them.
“A-are you leaving?” His voice broke, choking in his throat.
The blond replied with thick tears streaming down his pale face; his lower lip trembled, but he didn’t push Izuku away.
“You’ve told me so much, Deku.” He paused for a moment, letting out a sob. “You’ve become someone amazing—everyone’s hero and an excellent teacher.”
His gaze returned to Izuku, revealing a face creased with sadness.
“I want you to move on, Deku. You’re amazing.”
Izuku sank to the ground, lowering his gaze, still not letting go of Katsuki’s hands.
“Kacchan… Why…?”
A pair of hands rested gently on his back. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react; he just let his thick tears fall into the abyss of nothingness.
“Midoriya, let him go,”
a female voice whispered in his ear, leaving a warm trail of breath.
“Ninth, you have to move on without us, without him. You have a future ahead of you, free from the danger of the OFA and my brother.”
Izuku lifted his head, fixing his gaze on Yoichi behind him.
“N-No…”
He was interrupted by someone else.
“All good things must come to an end, Ninth.”
The freckled boy turned his head toward the voice; it was the Second Bearer.
“We have to be realistic; it’s time to let him go.”
He tilted his head, clasping his hands against Katsuki’s, not calming down even a little.
“Deku—”
He turned again, gazing through his blurred vision at Katsuki’s ruby-red eyes.
“This will be the last night we see each other, but I hope…” His voice broke, and he offered a smile. “To catch up with you in another life.”
His eyes widened.
“Become the number one hero, Izuku.”
The warm, full body that Katsuki once had faded away like dust before Izuku’s eyes, without giving him a moment to think, a moment to react.
He woke up, back in that shabby room with the sun’s rays burning his face. This time he didn’t feel happy; he just felt sad. He felt a heavy emptiness in his chest.
That wouldn’t let him move on.
Because he wasn’t going to move on.
“Kacchan!”
A boy shouted, running towards another boy with orange hair, notebook in hand.
The boy with orange hair clicked his tongue, without breaking the other boy’s embrace.
“Don't keep calling me ‘Kacchan,’ Itsuki.”
The boy holding the notebook, Itsuki, pouted.
“It’s a nice nickname. I don’t know why, but… I feel like I’ve always called you that, like we knew each other in another life.”
“Nonsense!” replied the orange-haired boy. “There’s no such thing as reincarnation.”