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The air in Classroom 1-A was often thick with a specific kind of tension, one that had less to do with the rigors of Heroics and more to do with the boy sitting in the third row. Midoriya Izuku was, by all outward appearances, a waste of potential. To his classmates, who were a collection of the most driven, high-octane teenagers in Japan, Izuku was an enigma wrapped in a layer of profound, irritating lethargy.
He spent most of his lectures slumped over his desk, chin resting on his palm, his heavy-lidded eyes staring blankly at the chalkboard. While Iida Tenya’s hand shot up like a piston and Bakugo Katsuki radiated a simmering aura of competitive violence, Izuku just… existed. He moved with a slow, deliberate slothfulness that drove Iida to the brink of a lectured-induced aneurysm.
“Midoriya-kun! This is the fundamental theory of rescue operations! Please, sit upright and show some respect for the curriculum!” Iida’s arms chopped the air in a perfect ninety-degree arc.
Izuku didn’t even blink. He slowly turned his head, a lock of messy green hair falling over his eyes. “I’m listening, Iida-kun,” he said, his voice a low, melodic drawl that sounded like he was halfway to a nap. “Rescue is about the preservation of life through the path of least resistance. I’ve got it.”
“He’s just lazy,” Bakugo spat from the front, not even turning around. “A powerhouse quirk like telekinesis and it’s wasted on a damn nerd who can’t even be bothered to tie his own shoes half the time.”
It was true that Izuku’s quirk was formidable, in theory. On the rare occasions he used it during training, it was always with the bare minimum of effort. He would lift a robot just high enough to disable it, or move a piece of debris just far enough to clear a path. There was no flair, no passion, and certainly no "plus ultra."
Only one person in the room didn’t seem to mind the silence or the perceived laziness. From across the aisle, Yuga Aoyama watched Izuku with a gaze that was far more perceptive than his sparkling exterior suggested. Aoyama, with his cape and his cheese and his constant need to be the center of attention, was the polar opposite of the "slothful" Midoriya. And yet, he felt a strange, magnetic pull toward the boy who seemed to find the world too exhausting to engage with.
Aoyama knew a thing or two about masks. He knew that his own sparkle was a shield, and he suspected that Izuku’s lethargy was something similar, not a lack of power, but a containment of it.
---
The bus ride to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint (USJ) was filled with the usual chatter. Asui Tsuyu, always blunt, turned her attention to the boy sitting near the back, leaning his head against the vibrating glass of the window.
“Midoriya-chan, your quirk is very powerful, but you always seem so bored,” she noted. “It makes me wonder if you’ll be able to keep up in a real fight.”
Izuku didn’t open his eyes. “Fighting is just… a lot of input, Tsu-chan. Too many variables. It’s noisy.”
The class groaned collectively. It was the same old excuse. They didn’t see the constant battle Izuku fought against under-stimulation. They didn't understand that his telekinesis wasn't just a "muscle" he flexed; it was a sensory organ that never turned off. He could feel the vibrations of the bus, the weight of the air, the microscopic shifts in the ground beneath them. To move, to focus, was to invite a deluge of data that his brain struggled to categorize. The "laziness" was a survival mechanism, a way to keep the world at a dull roar so he didn't lose his mind.
Aoyama, sitting nearby, caught Izuku’s eye when the boy finally looked up. Aoyama gave a small, private smile, one without the blinding theatricality he usually employed. To his surprise, Izuku didn't look away. Instead, a faint, genuine light flickered in those dull emerald eyes.
Izuku found Aoyama… peaceful. It was a strange thought, considering the Frenchman was literally designed to shine. But Aoyama’s energy was consistent. He was a beacon, and in the chaotic noise of the world, a beacon was easy to track. Izuku didn't have to work hard to understand Aoyama. He was just there, sparkling and steadfast. It was a quiet, mutual crush that had been brewing in the margins of their school days, Aoyama admiring the hidden depth, and Izuku finding a strange sort of rest in Aoyama’s presence.
---
Then, they arrived at the USJ.
The transition from a training exercise to a massacre happened in the blink of an eye. The black void in the center of the plaza, the horde of villains stepping through, it was the nightmare every hero student was told to prepare for but never truly expected.
Thirteen and Eraserhead moved into action, but the class was quickly separated. In the chaos of the Warp Gate’s expansion, Izuku felt the world suddenly sharpen. The "fog" he lived in didn't lift; it was burned away by a sudden, violent need for clarity.
He was warped to the Landslide Zone. As he hit the ground, he didn't stumble. The "slothful" Midoriya was gone. He stood in the center of a group of villains, his posture no longer slumped, but terrifyingly still.
Aoyama was there too, having been warped to the same location. He was shaking, his hand hovering over his belt. “Midoriya-kun! There are so many of them! We must, we must shine, even in the darkness, but-”
“Aoyama-kun,” Izuku said. His voice wasn't a drawl anymore. It was cold, precise, and carried a weight that made the surrounding villains pause. “Stay behind me. Don't move.”
“Hah? Look at this kid,” a villain with jagged stone skin laughed, lunging forward. “He looks like he’s ready for a nap!”
Izuku didn't even look at him. He simply flicked his fingers.
The air itself seemed to groan. The villain wasn't just pushed; he was deleted from his trajectory. With a sickening crack, the earth beneath the villain’s feet rose up like a predatory maw and slammed him into a nearby rock face with enough force to crater the stone.
The other villains froze.
This wasn't the "lazy" boy they had seen in the brief files they’d been given. This was something else. Izuku’s eyes were wide now, the pupils blown out, glowing with a faint, telekinetic hum. For the first time, he was focusing. He was no longer battling under-stimulation; he had found a task that required every ounce of the processing power he had been hoarding.
“You’re… loud,” Izuku whispered, though his voice reached every corner of the zone.
He didn't move his body much. He didn't need to. He stood like a conductor in the center of a symphony of violence. A villain tried to fire a quirk-enhanced projectile; Izuku caught it in mid-air with a thought, stripped the kinetic energy from it, and sent it back at three times the speed. He didn't use flashy moves. He used the most efficient path to neutralization.
Aoyama watched, breathless. He saw the way Izuku’s shirt began to strain against his shoulders, the way the ground within a ten-foot radius of him began to levitate in a perfect, terrifying circle of dust and pebbles. Izuku wasn't just using telekinesis; he was micro-managing the physics of the entire zone.
“Sparkling,” Aoyama breathed, though this time it wasn't a catchphrase. It was an observation of the raw, unfiltered brilliance Izuku was finally allowing to show.
The villains in the Landslide Zone were dealt with in less than two minutes. It wasn't a fight; it was a systematic dismantling. Izuku turned to Aoyama, his face pale, a small bead of blood beginning to run from his nose. The sheer mental load of that level of focus was immense.
“Are you hurt?” Izuku asked.
Aoyama shook his head, stepping closer. “No. But Midoriya-kun… you are… mon dieu, you are incredible.”
Izuku’s expression softened for a fraction of a second, the intense focus wavering just enough to let the "lazy" boy back in. “It’s just… easier when I know exactly what needs to be broken.”
But the USJ was far from safe. The central plaza was a war zone, and they could hear the bone-chilling screams of the Nomu and the frantic sounds of Eraserhead fighting for his life.
“We have to go,” Izuku said, reaching out. He didn't grab Aoyama’s hand; he simply wrapped a thin, invisible layer of telekinetic force around the other boy, a protective cocoon that Aoyama could feel like a warm hum against his skin. “Hold on.”
They didn't run. Izuku simply stepped off the ledge, and they drifted through the air, Izuku manipulating the air pressure around them to glide toward the center.
When they arrived, the scene was grizzly. Shigaraki Tomura was reaching for Asui, his hand mere inches from her face. All Might hadn't arrived yet. The class was paralyzed with fear.
Izuku didn't shout. He didn't announce his arrival. He simply focused.
The air in the USJ seemed to drop ten degrees. Shigaraki’s hand stopped. Not because he chose to, but because the very atoms around his wrist had been locked into a telekinetic vice.
“What… is this?” Shigaraki hissed, struggling against the invisible grip.
Izuku landed softly between the villains and his classmates. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot, but the aura he radiated was so dense it felt like a physical weight on everyone present.
Class 1-A stared in shock. This was the boy they had called slothful? This was the "lazy" Midoriya? He looked like a god of the harvest, deciding which souls to reap.
“Midoriya! Get back!” Bakugo yelled, though even his voice lacked its usual bite. He could feel the pressure coming off Izuku. It was suffocating.
Izuku didn't listen. He looked at the Nomu, the bio-engineered monster that had been dismantling Eraserhead. He saw the raw power, the multiple quirks, the sheer noise of its existence. It was the ultimate over-stimulation.
“You,” Izuku said, pointing a trembling hand at the beast. “You’re too much.”
The Nomu lunged. It was faster than the eye could follow. But Izuku’s mind was faster.
He didn't try to punch it. He didn't try to match its strength. He simply applied pressure to the Nomu’s center of gravity and pulled in four different directions at once. The beast screeched, its purple flesh stretching and tearing as Izuku attempted to literally unmake it with his mind.
The ground beneath the Nomu shattered into a fine powder. The wind began to howl within the dome, drawn into a vacuum created by Izuku’s sheer output.
“Stop it!” Shigaraki screamed, sensing his ‘anti-Symbol of Peace’ was in genuine danger of being torn apart. He ordered the Nomu to attack Izuku directly.
The Nomu broke through the telekinetic hold with raw, unadulterated strength, its fist cocked back. Aoyama, watching from the sidelines, saw the moment Izuku’s focus flickered. The nosebleed was worse now, and Izuku was swaying. He had pushed too hard, too fast.
“Non!” Aoyama cried out. He didn't think. He didn't pose. He stepped forward and fired a Navel Laser, not at the Nomu, but at the ground in front of it. The bright, concentrated light created a momentary flash of heat and debris that distracted the beast for a split second.
That second was all Izuku needed. He didn't waste it on the Nomu. He used it to grab Aoyama and pull him back, then he pivoted.
The doors to the USJ blew open. All Might had arrived.
***
The aftermath was a blur of police sirens, paramedics, and the stunned silence of Class 1-A. All Might had finished the job, but the conversation among the students was focused entirely on one person.
Izuku was sitting on the back of an ambulance, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He looked more "lazy" than ever—his eyes were closed, his head was lolling back, and he looked like he might fall off the bumper at any moment. But nobody was complaining now. Nobody was calling him slothful. They looked at him with a mixture of awe and genuine terror. They realized that his "laziness" was a mercy. If Midoriya Izuku ever truly focused on them, they wouldn't stand a chance.
Aoyama approached him slowly, his cape slightly charred, his usual sparkle dimmed by the day’s trauma. He sat down on the bumper next to Izuku.
“You’re doing it again,” Aoyama said softly.
Izuku opened one eye. “Doing what?”
“Hiding,” Aoyama replied. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over Izuku’s. “The world is very loud for you, isn't it?”
Izuku froze. He looked at Aoyama, really looked at him. The Frenchman’s eyes were kind, and for once, they weren't seeking a reflection of his own glory. They were seeking him.
“Yes,” Izuku admitted, his voice a weary rasp. “It’s… deafening.”
“I suspected as much,” Aoyama murmured. He squeezed Izuku’s hand. “It must be lonely, keeping it all inside so you don't break the world.”
Izuku felt a lump form in his throat. All the years of being misunderstood, of being called lazy and useless, seemed to melt away under the simple, perceptive gaze of the class’s most flamboyant student. “Aoyama-kun… why aren't you afraid of me? The others… they’re looking at me like I’m a monster.”
Aoyama laughed, a small, crystalline sound. “Because, mon cher, I know what it is like to have a power that doesn't fit your body. And because…” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Even when you were unmaking that creature, you were still making sure I didn't trip over a rock. Your focus is terrifying, yes. But it is also very, very sweet.”
Izuku’s face flushed a deep crimson, a stark contrast to his previous pallor. He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, he leaned his head onto Aoyama’s shoulder, letting the "lazy" persona take over again, not as a shield, but as a rest.
“You’re very bright, Aoyama-kun,” Izuku murmured.
“I know,” Aoyama preened slightly, though he kept his shoulder steady for the other boy.
“No,” Izuku corrected, closing his eyes. “I mean… you’re easy to find. I like that. I don't have to look for you. You just… shine.”
Aoyama felt his own heart skip a beat. The mutual crush that had been a series of glances and unspoken thoughts had suddenly solidified into something real in the wake of the USJ’s violence.
The rest of Class 1-A watched from a distance. Iida was mid-sentence, likely about to apologize for his previous scoldings, but Uraraka stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Let them be,” she said softly.
They all knew now. Midoriya Izuku wasn't lazy. He was a storm held in a bottle, a boy who walked through life in a daze because the reality of his power was too much for the mundane world to handle. And it seemed, amidst the ruin of the USJ, he had finally found someone who wasn't afraid to stand in the eye of that storm with him.
Izuku drifted off to sleep on Aoyama’s shoulder, the overwhelming noise of the world finally fading into the background, replaced by the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of the boy who chose to sparkle just for him. He had shown them what he was like when he focused, and he had made them glad he usually didn't. But for Aoyama, he thought he might just try to stay awake a little longer next time.
After all, some things were worth the effort of looking at.