Chapter Text
All in, All Out, Tokyo Dynamos, Shout
Amidst the unusually warm mid-October air, Izuku stood frozen, awe-struck by the imposing grandeur of Tokyo's Sports Hall. The building loomed before him, its sleek, modern design a testament to the city's cutting-edge architecture. The sheer size of it was enough to make anyone feel small, but to Izuku, it was a symbol of everything he had worked for. He tilted his head back, letting his gaze travel up the sleek, modern facade. The glass exterior caught the sunlight, refracting it into a kaleidoscope of colors that shimmered against the building, making it seem almost alive.
The vibrant red and black flags flanking the entrance caught his eye next. They bore the emblem of the Tokyo Dynamos, a regal phoenix captured mid-flight, its wings spread wide as if it were about to take off. The flags fluttered gently in the breeze, almost as if they were greeting him, welcoming him to this new chapter of his life. His stomach churned with a mix of anticipation and nerves, the kind of feeling that made his fingertips buzz with electricity.
This was it — the place where the best of the best honed their craft, the hallowed grounds where legends were made. And now, after years of relentless hard work, it was where he would begin his own new chapter.
Izuku adjusted the strap of his sports bag, the weight of it a comforting reminder of everything he had brought with him — all the lessons, all the sleepless nights. He stole a glance at his wristwatch. Twenty minutes early. "Of course, I'm too early," he thought, as he bit down on his lower lip — a nervous habit he could never quite shake.
Despite the extra time, Izuku’s nerves were far from calm. Being early just gave him more time to dwell on the enormity of the opportunity — and the responsibility — before him. He had been here before, standing on the precipice of something great, only to have it all come crashing down.
As that familiar pang of anxiety tugged at his chest, Izuku shook his head slightly, as if to physically dislodge the doubts that threatened to take root. Today wasn’t about old regrets, it was about new beginnings.
With a hint of nervousness, he fidgeted before mustering the courage to step into the revered halls. This day had been a long time coming, filled with eager anticipation. Now, as it finally arrived, he felt a surge of excitement knowing that he was about to embark on the journey towards the life he had always dreamed of — just in a different form than he once imagined.
Stepping into the entrance lobby, Izuku was greeted by an expanse of light and space that seemed to breathe life into him. The natural light streamed through large windows, bathing everything in a soft, welcoming glow. The walls were adorned with posters of athletes mid-action, their faces etched with determination. They seemed to silently urge him forward, reminding him that he was among those who understood the passion that drove him. The sounds of sneakers squeaking on polished floors, the distant echo of basketballs bouncing, filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop that made him feel at ease. It was like coming home.
This place was more than just a building to him. It was the culmination of every dream he had ever had, every bit of encouragement his mother had given him.
His green eyes roamed across the lobby, taking in every detail. To his left, rows of plush chairs invited visitors to sit and stay awhile, to lose themselves in the latest basketball news playing on the large screens mounted on the walls. To his right, a vending machine hummed quietly, its bright lights and assortment of snacks a small but significant part of the building’s pulse. Everything was in motion, alive with the energy of the day.
In the center of the lobby stood the information reception desk, manned by a friendly woman who welcomed visitors with a warm smile. Behind her, a colorful banner displayed the hall's upcoming events, adding a splash of vibrancy to the otherwise neutral color scheme.
Making his way through the bustling lobby, Izuku approached the reception desk, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. His fingers nervously toyed with the strap of his shoulder bag until, finally, a smile broke across his face as he approached the friendly receptionist.
“I’m Izuku Midoriya,” he managed to say, pushing down the lump that had formed in his throat. “The team’s new physical therapist. It’s my first day.”
The woman’s smile widened just a bit, and she nodded, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard. “Just a moment,” she replied, her voice calm and reassuring. Izuku watched her, the seconds stretching out as he tried not to let the nerves get the best of him. This was real. He was really here. And he needed to get a grip.
“Here we have you,” she said, her tone as matter-of-fact as her movements. She reached for the phone beside her, and dialed a number, waiting patiently before addressing the person on the other end. “Mr. Aizawa, Mr. Midoriya is here,” she announced, her tone respectful yet casual, as if she had made this call a hundred times before. There was a brief pause, and then she responded softly, “Of course.” The phone clicked back into place, and she turned her attention back to Izuku, her smile returning with a touch of warmth.
“Mr. Aizawa is already expecting you,” she informed him, her tone friendly but efficient. With a practiced motion, she retrieved a folded piece of paper from the drawer beside her and spread it out on the counter. As she marked a route on the map with a blue pen, Izuku couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer size of the building. Even with the guide in front of him, it was hard to grasp just how sprawling this place was.
“Mr. Aizawa’s office is on the fourth floor,” she explained, her pen tracing the path on the map with precision. “The elevators are located back here,” she pointed out, “and when you exit the elevator, turn left. His office is at the very end of the hallway.”
Izuku accepted the folded map with a grateful nod. “Thank you very much,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. He knew how important first impressions were, and he wanted to make sure he started off on the right foot.
“Have a pleasant stay,” the receptionist replied, her tone polite but somewhat mechanical, as if it were a phrase she uttered countless times each day.
With the map securely in hand, Izuku turned away from the desk and began making his way towards the elevators. The lobby was a hive of activity, with people moving in every direction, but Izuku navigated through the crowd with surprising ease. His heart swelled with pride and determination, thoughts of his mother and friends bolstering his resolve. He could almost hear his mom’s voice in his head, her words of encouragement echoing in his mind, and he knew she would be proud of him.
As Izuku approached the row of elevators, his attention was caught by a group of athletes standing nearby, clad in the familiar red and black jerseys of the Tokyo Dynamos. Their lively banter filled the air, accompanied by bursts of laughter and the occasional cheer. Izuku watched them for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. This was the world he was stepping into — the world he had worked so hard to be a part of. The culmination of years of relentless effort, of countless nights spent studying and preparing for this very moment.
With a glint of resolve in his eye, he reached out and pressed the glowy button indicating an upward journey.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Izuku stepped inside, his heart pounding. As the doors closed behind him, he was enveloped in the familiar hum of the lift, the gentle vibrations a reminder that he was ascending, both literally and metaphorically. Leaning back against the cool metal wall, he allowed himself a moment to simply feel — every floor that passed beneath his feet brought him closer. It felt like the anticipation was building inside him, a wave of emotion gaining strength, ready to crash as soon as the doors opened.
Finally, the melodic ping signaled his arrival.
He stepped out into the hallway, following the directions the receptionist had given him. The soft, dark red carpet beneath his feet muffled his footsteps, adding to the almost sacred atmosphere that filled the corridor. The black-painted walls, adorned with framed pictures of past players and jerseys of legends, seemed to whisper stories of triumph and dedication with every step he took. Izuku knew these athletes all too well, he had admired some of them since his childhood.
When he reached the end of the corridor, he found himself standing before a large door with a nameplate that read, "Aizawa Shota, Manager Tokyo Dynamos." The bold lettering seemed to stare back at him, daring him to take the next step. With a sharp exhale, he raised his hand and knocked.
The sound reverberated down the corridor, shattering the silence and announcing his presence. Seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity as he waited for a response. Then, he heard a familiar male voice call out, "Come in."
Izuku reached for the imposing doorknob, his hand trembling slightly. With a soft push, he open the solid wooden door, and stepped into the office.
The space that greeted him was both grand and inviting, a perfect blend of authority and warmth. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows lined one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of Tokyo’s skyline. Sunlight poured in, flooding the room with a golden glow that seemed to breathe life into the otherwise formal setting. Glass cases against the walls showcased an impressive array of trophies and awards, each one glinting proudly in the light, a testament to the team’s legacy of excellence. Izuku’s gaze lingered on them, a familiar ache in his chest. He knew what it was like to chase that kind of glory, to dream of holding up a trophy of his own. But that was a different lifetime—one that he had left behind. In addition to the trophies, the office was adorned with touches of greenery, with potted plants strategically placed throughout the space. The vibrant foliage added a refreshing burst of color and life to the otherwise classical red and black interior, softening the sleek lines and sharp angles.
Izuku took it all in, but his attention quickly shifted to the man seated behind the massive mahogany desk at the center of the room.
“You must be Mr. Midoriya,” came the deep, composed voice of Aizawa Shota. He looked every bit the part of a manager—sharp features, strong jawline, and eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His black hair, worn slightly longer, added a rugged charm to his otherwise formal appearance. Despite the stern exterior, there was a certain air of approachability that put Izuku surprisingly at ease.
"Yes, sir," Izuku said formally, bowing slightly, a gesture that elicited a soft smile from the man.
With a casual wave of his hand, he gestured towards the chair on the opposite side of his table. "Please, sit down," he invited, his tone welcoming and reassuring.
Placing his bag next to him, Izuku took a seat, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he waited for Mr. Aizawa's next words. Across the table, the man typed furiously on his laptop, his movements efficient and purposeful. With a practiced hand, he pulled a file from the organized pile beside him, his attention focused on the task at hand.
Finally, Aizawa turned his attention back to him, his gaze steady and assessing. “Mr. Midoriya,” he began, his voice calm, “I’m pleased to have you join our team. Your qualifications and experience speak for themselves,” he continued, flipping through the documents in front of him. “They are truly impressive. I have no doubt that you’ll be a valuable asset to the Tokyo Dynamos.”
Once, words like these would have been directed at him for his skills on the court. Now, they were for his knowledge of how to heal the bodies that carried those skills. It wasn’t the path he had imagined for himself, but it was one he had come to embrace - yeah even love.
“Thank you very much,” Izuku replied, his voice filled with gratitude. The tension that had been coiled inside him seemed to ease further at Aizawa’s words. This was real — he had made it.
Aizawa nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “The pleasure is ours, Mr. Midoriya,” he said genuinely. “I have every confidence that you’ll excel in your role.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. “I think we can skip over the details of your duties for now — you’ll figure them out soon enough.”
With that, he pressed a button on his speakerphone. “Mrs. Kayama, Mr. Midoriya, the team’s new physical therapist, is here. Could you please pick him up, show him around, and go through the rest of the onboarding process with him?”
A bright voice on the other end replied promptly, “Of course,” before the line went silent again.
“Mrs. Kayama will show you the building and introduce you to the rest of the team,” Aizawa explained, his tone now slightly more relaxed. “You’ll get fitted for new uniforms — Dynamos colors, of course — and then you can watch the rest of today’s practice and meet the team.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing with a hint of amusement. “I think that’s enough for your first day.”
As if on cue, the office door swung open, and a woman with long, dark hair stepped inside. She was dressed in a color-coordinated outfit that matched the team's colors, exuding an air of professionalism and confidence. A warm smile graced her red-painted lips as she entered, clutching a tablet to her chest.
“Mr. Midoriya, I presume?” she said, her voice friendly and inviting. “I’m Mrs. Kayama, Mr. Aizawa’s assistant. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She nodded briefly to Aizawa before turning her full attention to Izuku. With a graceful wave of her hand, she gestured for him to follow her. “I’ll show you around now.”
Izuku stood up, bowing slightly to Aizawa in gratitude before picking up his bag. “Thank you, Mr. Aizawa,” he said sincerely, his voice filled with appreciation.
Aizawa gave him a nod. “Welcome aboard, Midoriya.”
____
“This is the team’s own fitness room,” Ms. Kayama explained as she flicked on the light, illuminating the modern, windowless space. The soft hum of the lights filled the room, casting a warm glow over the sleek, well-organized equipment. Izuku followed her inside, his eyes scanning every detail, absorbing the atmosphere of the space that would soon be so familiar to him.
The wooden paneling on the walls added an unexpected touch of sophistication, contrasting nicely with the dark grey vinyl floor that gleamed under the light. It was clear that everything here was designed with purpose, from the arrangement of the treadmills and stationary bikes along the walls to the careful placement of weightlifting machines. The room felt spacious and airy, despite the lack of windows, a testament to the thoughtful layout. Everything was meticulously organized, each piece of equipment arranged to maximize both space and functionality.
Izuku’s gaze was drawn to the floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one wall. They reflected the entire room, creating an illusion of even more space, but more importantly, they served a practical purpose. He could imagine the players using them to check their form during workouts, making sure every movement was perfect. Shelves nearby were stocked with free weights, exercise balls, and resistance bands—everything a team could need for strength and conditioning training. It was all here, right at their fingertips. Right at his fingertips.
Mrs. Kayama gestured toward two doors. “You’ll find the showers and changing rooms at the back,” she added, her tone as professional as ever.
“If you’re ready, I’d like to show you to your office now,” she said, her voice still calm and measured, never breaking from her role. Izuku could tell how seriously she took her responsibilities, ensuring that everything about his onboarding process was smooth and efficient.
Adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, Izuku nodded in acknowledgment and followed her out of the gym. The soft click of her heels echoed on the wooden floor as they walked past the team coach’s office and the locker rooms, finally stopping in front of a plain white door.
“A name tag will be made and attached later,” Mrs. Kayama explained, producing a key from her pocket and unlocking the door with a smooth motion.
Izuku stepped into his new office, taking in the cozy yet functional space designed specifically for a team physiotherapist. The absence of windows gave the room a sense of seclusion, almost like a safe haven where he could focus entirely on his work.
Against one wall stood a sturdy physician’s bench, fully equipped with everything he would need for examinations and treatments. Izuku imagined himself there, assessing injuries, applying treatments, and offering guidance. The desk in the center of the room was spacious, providing plenty of room for paperwork and documentation, and the cabinets lining the walls were neatly stocked with supplies — bandages, braces, therapeutic equipment. In one corner, a small refrigerator hummed quietly, filled with cold packs and other therapeutic aids.
Despite its clinical purpose, the office didn’t feel sterile. There were personal touches that made the space feel more inviting. Lush green plants added a touch of nature, softening the sharp lines of the room, while framed motivational quotes on the walls offered a bit of inspiration. A comfortable armchair sat nearby, providing a cozy spot for athletes to wait or for Izuku to take a moment for himself during a hectic day.
As he stood there, taking in the space that was now his, Izuku felt a surge of accomplishment. This office, this job — it was a testament to everything he had worked for. It wasn’t the path he had envisioned for himself when he was younger, but standing here now, he knew it was exactly where he needed to be. He could still make a difference, still help others achieve their dreams. With a deep breath, Izuku set his bag down on the desk, letting the reality of his new role sink in. This was his space now, his place to make an impact.
The soft knock on the doorframe reminded him of Mrs. Kayama’s presence. She stood on the threshold with a patient smile on her lips. “Mr. Midoriya, if you’re ready, it’s time to meet the team.”
Izuku ran a hand through his wavy hair, a small gesture of self-reassurance, as he nodded and squared his shoulders. With a determined breath, he followed Mrs. Kayama out of his new office and into the hallway. They walked through the maze of corridors until they reached a large double door at the end. Izuku could hear the faint sounds of basketballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking against the polished floor. The rhythm was familiar, comforting even, and it reminded him of the countless hours he had spent on the court himself. The scent of sweat and fresh rubber drifted through the air, bringing with it a wave of nostalgia that crept up his nose and settled in his chest.
Mrs. Kayama pushed open the doors, and they stepped into the practice gym. The space was expansive, with high ceilings and walls lined with banners celebrating the team’s victories over the years. The hardwood floor gleamed under the bright lights, and the air was thick with the focused energy of athletes pushing themselves to the limit.
Izuku’s gaze was instantly drawn to the group of players assembled on the court. Every one of them was familiar to him, not just as faces or names, but as intricate profiles he had studied in detail. He knew their stats, their strengths, their vulnerabilities — the kind of knowledge that could seem obsessive, even borderline intrusive, to an outsider. But to Izuku, these details were essential, the very foundation of his role. Understanding the physical nuances of each player was not just a responsibility, it was a necessity. His job was to keep their bodies finely tuned, to ensure that every muscle, every joint, operated at its peak.
As he watched, the players moved in a blur of calculated energy. Katsuki Bakugou was in the thick of it - the star of the team and media problem case with all the airs and graces that come with the life of a famous athlete - his explosive power on full display as he drove towards the basket. His movements were sharp, almost aggressive, yet perfectly controlled. Shouto Todoroki hovered near the three-point line, his eyes calm and focused as he watched the play unfold, ready to strike with his signature precision at a moment’s notice.
Izuku found himself unconsciously mimicking the movements on the court, his lips moving slightly as he went through the plays in his mind. He couldn’t help but be completely mesmerized, his fingers tingling at the thought of feeling the hard rubber of the ball beneath them again. The rhythm of the game was intoxicating, drawing him in deeper with every pass and shot.
Suddenly, the ball was passed to Shouto. With flawless precision, he pivoted on his heel and launched a shot from beyond the arc. The ball seemed to defy gravity for a moment, hanging in the air as if suspended by sheer will before it descended in a perfect arc, swishing cleanly through the net. The sound reverberated through the gym, crisp and satisfying, like music to Izuku’s ears.
A sharp whistle followed almost immediately, slicing through the moment. “Good! Keep moving, keep pushing!” Toshinori Yagi’s voice boomed across the court. Even from the sidelines, his presence was undeniable. Known to everyone as All Might - once a basketball legend himself - his towering figure and commanding voice carried an authority that demanded attention. “Bakugou, watch your spacing! Todoroki, keep that tempo!”
“Don’t tell me what to fucking do,” Bakugou shouted back, his tone as fiery as his reputation. But despite his harsh words, it was clear he had already acknowledged the critique. He adjusted his stance, a steely focus settling over him. The ball was inbounded to him, and in a blur of motion, Bakugou snatched it up with a speed that was almost startling. His body moved with raw power, every muscle coiled like a spring as he barreled past two defenders with a series of quick, aggressive dribbles.
Izuku’s eyes were glued to Bakugou, analyzing every detail of his movement. The way the muscles in Bakugou’s legs tensed and released, the precision in how he planted his feet, and the explosive energy that radiated from his 6’4” frame as he leaped into the air — all of it was a masterclass in athleticism. But it was also reckless. Bakugou’s style was all about pushing the limits, and Izuku knew that kind of intensity came with a cost.
Bakugou slammed the ball through the hoop with a fierce dunk, the force of it echoing through the gym. As his feet touched the ground again, he let out a triumphant shout. “That’s what I’m fucking talking about!”
But barely had the words left his mouth when Kaminari, standing off to the side, called out in challenge, “Yo, Bakugou, I was wide open, you idiot!”
Bakugou’s head whipped toward Kaminari, his red eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. The tension in the gym thickened, like dark clouds gathering before a storm. “What did you just say?” Bakugou’s voice was low, simmering with the kind of anger that hinted at an impending eruption. He took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides, muscles tensed and ready to strike.
Kaminari, realizing too late that he had crossed a line, raised his hands defensively. “Calm down, bro. I just meant—”
But Bakugou was already charging forward, his expression fierce and unyielding. “You wanna run your mouth, dumbass? Then try keeping up next time instead of whining about being left open!” His voice escalated with every word, his temper flaring like a wildfire as he closed the distance between them.
Before the situation could spiral out of control, Toshinori’s commanding voice cut through the rising chaos. “Bakugou, bench! Now!”
The word struck like a hammer, and Bakugou halted, though his fists remained clenched, his entire body vibrating with barely suppressed rage. His glare stayed locked on Kaminari, who now looked like he wished he were anywhere but under Bakugou’s seething gaze.
“Bakugou!” This time, it was Tenya Iida, the team captain, who stepped forward, his voice slicing through the tension with firm authority. “That’s enough!”
Bakugou’s eyes snapped to Iida, defiance flashing in his gaze, his jaw clenched tightly and his nostrils flaring with barely suppressed anger. For a tense moment, it looked as though he might also challenge his captain’s authority. But after a heartbeat of hesitation, he let out a sharp scoff, the sound heavy with frustration. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bench, his steps heavy with irritation. He dropped onto the seat, yanking a towel from the side and roughly wiping the sweat from his face and neck. His body language was unmistakable — he wasn’t pleased with the command, but for now, he would comply.
Izuku observed the entire exchange from the sidelines, the intensity of the moment still hanging in the air. What a way to start his first day.
Beside him, Mrs. Kayama shifted uneasily, clearly aware of the less-than-ideal introduction to the team dynamic. She nibbled on her lip, a nervous chuckle escaping her as she tried to lighten the mood. “Athletes… always so passionate, right?”
Passionate. Yeah, that was one way to put it.
“Well, let’s introduce you to the team,” she said, her grip tightening on the tablet. They began walking along the edge of the court together, the practice match winding down as they approached. Just as they neared the players, Toshinori blew his whistle, the sharp sound cutting through the air.
“Break time, boys!” he called, signaling the end of the session.
As soon as Toshinori’s whistle sounded, the players began to wind down, some bending over to catch their breath, others tossing the ball to the side with casual ease. The gym, which had been filled with the sharp sounds of sneakers squeaking and the thud of the ball, now hummed with the low buzz of conversation and the shuffle of feet.
Mrs. Kayama led Izuku toward the group, her back straightening as they neared the cluster of athletes. The players’ attention gradually shifted toward them, curiosity flickering in their eyes. Izuku could feel the weight of their scrutiny, trying hard not to melt under their collective gazes. The sheer number of eyes on him — sharp, assessing — had always made him a little nervous, and now was no different.
“Everyone,” Mrs. Kayama began, her voice steady and infused with the kind of practiced cheer that came from introducing countless newcomers, “I’d like you to meet Izuku Midoriya, your new physical therapist.”
The players exchanged glances, and Izuku offered a tentative smile, trying to project confidence despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach. “Nice to meet you.”
Kirishima was the first to break the silence, stepping forward with his red hair held back by a headband, a bright grin plastered across his face. “Welcome aboard, Midoriya! We could definitely use someone to keep us from falling apart. Right, guys?”
A few chuckles rippled through the group at his words. Kirishima’s tall frame towered over Izuku as he extended a hand, the gesture full of warmth and sincerity. Izuku shook it, feeling the tension ease just a bit. “Thanks, I’m looking forward to working with all of you,” he replied, his voice steadier than he expected.
Shouto, standing nearby, gave a polite nod, his expression calm and composed but difficult to read. “Good to have you here,” he said simply.
Izuku returned the nod, grateful for the quiet acknowledgment.
Before the silence could stretch too long, Iida, the responsible captain, stepped forward to address the group. “Everyone, let’s make sure Midoriya feels welcome.”
The other players moved in closer, forming a loose circle around Izuku. One by one, they patted him on the shoulder or exchanged a few friendly words. It was a brief but genuine gesture, enough to show their willingness to accept him into their ranks.
But as the group offered their welcomes, Bakugou remained conspicuously apart. He sat on the bench, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto Izuku with an intensity that was hard to ignore. There was no smile on his face, no easy greeting — just a piercing stare that seemed to cut right through him. It was as if Bakugou was sizing him up, deciding whether or not Izuku was worth his time.
The weight of Bakugou’s scrutiny lingered, but before Izuku could dwell on it, Coach Toshinori’s booming voice broke through the tension. “Welcome to the team, boy,” he said, his tone warm and encouraging as he patted Izuku on the back with a firm hand.
“T-Thank you very much, sir,” Izuku stammered, feeling both the pressure and the honor of the moment. “I’m a big fan, so I’m really honored to work with you.”
Toshinori let out a deep, hearty laugh that filled the gym, his large hand running through the hair he had pulled back into a ponytail. “I’m glad to hear that, Midoriya. But let me give you a bit of advice — you’d better steel those nerves. You’re going to need them around here.”