Marked by Change

by hoister_saoy

Summary:

Midoriya Izuku’s been hearing it her whole life—her mutation quirk is “useless,” and she’ll never make it as a hero. It’s enough to make anyone want to give up, and Izuku’s starting to think maybe they’re right. But then, on her way home, she’s attacked by a sludge villain, and everything spirals out of control. Afraid and desperate, something inside her snaps, and her quirk evolves into something way more dangerous than anyone could’ve guessed. Now, with a real shot at her dream, Izuku’s ready to prove them all wrong. Can she rise to the challenge and show the world what she’s really made of?

 

or
The best form of rebellion is doing exactly what the world tells you not to.

Chapter 1: Torn Asunder

Summary:

A foreign touch, it seeps, it claws,
Through skin and soul, without a pause.
A hollowed breath, a shattered wall,
A body marked, yet none to call.

Notes:

TW/CW's:
Graphic Violence, Anxiety, Body Dysphoria, Tension, Sensory Sensitivity, Sensory Overload, Bullying/Mockery, Body Image, Body Transformation, Metamorphosis, Sexual Assualt, Violation, Violence, Body Horror, Fear, Unconsciousness.

 

This chapter’s a bit all over the place, but I think it’s about as good as it’s gonna get. I had a vision for it, but not sure if it fully came through. Hopefully, it makes sense, and you can still follow what’s going on. Thanks for reading!

Izuku’s quirk didn’t show itself the way most children’s did. While her peers were already manifesting their abilities by the time they were toddlers, it wasn’t until she turned six that things started to change—gradually at first, then all at once. Her mother would later describe it as both terrifying and extraordinary, a shift so dramatic it felt more like an evolution than a simple quirk manifestation.

At first, Izuku noticed an odd fatigue, an overwhelming drowsiness that seemed to drain her energy completely. It was subtle at first, just a lingering tiredness that would leave her sluggish and listless as the day went on. But by evening, it was clear something wasn’t right. She felt as though all the energy in her body had been drained, leaving her barely able to keep her eyes open.

That night, Izuku went to bed just like any other night, but when she woke up, everything had changed.

Her body had undergone a remarkable transformation, though it wasn’t until her mother saw it that the real gravity of the situation hit. Izuku had entered a chrysalis state, her small body wrapped in a translucent, shimmering cocoon that pulsed faintly with an almost rhythmic life of its own. The surface glowed with a subtle mix of green and gold, like the surface of a bubble that caught the light in the most mesmerizing way. It was beautiful, but also deeply alarming. Her mother’s first instinct was panic. She had no idea what to do or who to turn to, so she immediately rushed to get medical help.

Even the doctors were stunned. There was no precedent for something like this. They couldn’t offer any explanation or solution, only confusion and uncertainty.

For two long weeks, Izuku remained in that strange, cocooned state. The pulse of the cocoon was gentle, almost comforting, as though it was assuring her mother that her daughter was still there, still alive, still changing. And then, one day, it happened—the pupa cracked open, revealing what had once been a little girl, now something entirely different.

Izuku emerged, her body fully transformed. She had two additional arms, delicate at first and unsteady, like newborn limbs that had yet to gain full control. But the most striking change were the moth-like wings that now folded neatly against her back. They were small, still fragile, not fully developed, but even in their unrefined state, they glimmered faintly in the sunlight as they caught the light.

The toll of the transformation was immediate. Izuku was weak, her body drained from the physical strain of the change. She spent days recovering in bed, her strength gradually returning as her body adapted to the new form. During this time, her mother stayed by her side, never leaving, watching over her with a mix of awe and concern. She marveled at the changes, but she also worried—this was not a simple quirk. It was something far more extraordinary, something she didn’t fully understand.

As the years passed, Izuku’s wings grew stronger. Their span widened, becoming more graceful and powerful with each passing year. The extra arms, once awkward and hard to control, became natural extensions of her body. They moved with the same precision and fluidity as her original arms, and soon, she was able to use them without even thinking.

Though Izuku’s memory of the transformation was fuzzy—blurred by the years and the strangeness of that time—her mother often retold the story. Every time, it was with the same mixture of awe and lingering unease, as if she was still unsure how to reconcile the extraordinary with the unknown.

---

Now at fourteen, Midoriya Izuku let out a quiet sigh as the noise of her classmates filled the room. The sound of chairs scraping, people talking, and occasional bursts of laughter mixed together into a constant hum that made her feel like she was sinking into it. Her fingers tapped absentmindedly against the edge of her desk as her thoughts wandered back to the morning.

Inko had kissed her on the forehead before she left for school, like she always did. “Good luck,” she whispered, her voice soft and warm, a comforting presence that helped chase away some of the anxiety twisting in Izuku’s chest. It didn’t make the dread go away completely, but it helped—just a little. Her mom’s affection was always a source of comfort, but no matter how hard she tried to push it down, that constant unease never quite left.

Izuku glanced out the window, but the streets outside felt strangely unfamiliar today. The usual sights seemed distant, like she was looking at them through a fog, everything just a little bit off.

A soft tap on her desk pulled her out of her thoughts. Izuku blinked, turning her attention back to the front of the room. Her black sclera and green eyes locked onto the teacher, who was waiting for her to focus. He raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting something. Izuku tilted her head slightly, her antennae twitching with the movement, and her straight hair shifted too. Without thinking, her four arms unfurled, smooth and fluid, her moth wings fluttering as they lifted a little in response.

“Can you do me a favor and pass these out, Midoriya?” he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of authority. Izuku nodded, the flutter of her wings quieting as she took the stack of papers from him. The teacher, a man with black hair and a stern demeanor, gave her a small smile before turning back to the podium. She started passing out the papers, her movements automatic, her arms working with practiced ease.

As she went down the row, her mind drifted again, the unease still hanging around like a shadow. The teacher’s voice pulled her back to reality. “The papers Midoriya is passing out are your grades. Make sure your parents sign them before the end of the week.”

The room filled with the sounds of paper shuffling and murmured voices. Some students groaned, others whispered, but Izuku wasn’t really paying attention. When she reached Kacchan’s desk, she paused. His usual posture was there—stubborn and turned away, like he didn’t care to face anyone. Izuku tapped her fourth hand on his desk, the sound louder than she’d meant it to be. He glanced over at her, his usual scowl in place, before snatching the paper from her hand and flipping it over with a dramatic huff. Then, without a word, his attention was already elsewhere.

A small flicker of irritation pricked at Izuku, but she kept it to herself, finishing up the rest of the task. Once the papers were handed out, she made her way back to her desk and slid into her seat quietly.

The room settled back into its usual rhythm, but the feeling of dread was still there, sitting just under her skin. It was like cold air creeping in through cracks in a wall, something she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.

The hours seemed to slip by in a blur, though the day still came with its usual brand of chaos. The most exciting thing that happened was when a third-year got into a petty argument with a second-year over some offhand comment about his muscles—Izuku hadn’t caught the full details, but she’d definitely heard the smack that followed. She shook her head, letting it go. High schoolers. Their problems always seemed so unnecessarily complicated, at least from her point of view. And, of course, the noise was as constant as ever. It was like everyone was competing to see who could be the loudest.

As the final bell of the day drew nearer, Izuku felt that familiar knot of dread twist tighter in her stomach. One more class. She let out a sigh, pushing the door open a little harder than she meant to. The weight of the day hung on her like a heavy blanket, suffocating her just a little. She slid into her desk, folding her arms across her body and sinking into her seat, bracing herself for the noise that was sure to follow in Home Room.

The door clicked shut behind the teacher, whose smile always seemed to clash with the dull routine of the class. He paused at the podium, scanning over the students, who were finally quiet. As the bell rang, the room fell into silence, and Izuku felt that familiar, sinking feeling deepen in her chest.

“Alright, alright, listen up!” The teacher’s voice boomed, his usual enthusiasm filling the room as he rubbed his hands together like he was about to start something important. But to Izuku, it felt like he was dragging it out, as he always did.

He launched into the usual speech about preparing for the future and the importance of staying positive—Izuku let the words wash over her, barely paying attention. Home Room was always a waste of time. Half of it was spent listening to the teacher ramble on about his day, and the other half was him trying too hard to convince them that this was important. To her, it always felt like the same thing.

Then, suddenly, he raised his voice, snapping her attention back to the front.

“You have to fill out your high school application forms!!” he announced dramatically, his hands flying up in the air as if the moment needed extra emphasis.

A collective groan rippled through the room, followed by a few grumbles. Izuku rolled her eyes. Great. Just what she needed—more paperwork.

But then the teacher grinned, tossing the stack of papers into the air like confetti, his voice shifting instantly.

“I’m just kidding! I know you all want to be heroes!” he said, laughing as the papers floated down around them like confetti.

And then it happened. The room erupted. Quirks went off left and right—sparks of electricity, gusts of wind, flashes of light—all blending into a chaotic mess of sound and movement that filled the room. Izuku flinched, her antennae twitching instinctively at the sudden wave of noise. It felt like the world was closing in on her, the noise pressing against her from all sides, and her antennae curled reflexively, desperate to block out the sensory overload.

It was a constant buzz—voices, powers, footsteps—each one mixing into a discordant symphony that seemed to echo in her mind. Her antennae, usually fine-tuned to detect even the slightest shifts in the air, now twitched uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the noise and chaos. She pulled her arms closer to her body, her wings folding tighter as she stared at the pandemonium around her. She hated how easily the class slipped into this wild, unrestrained state, like they couldn’t stay calm for even a minute.

“OI, TEACH!” The shout sliced through the classroom like a hot knife through butter, commanding instant attention. Izuku's gaze flicked over to Katsuki, who was slouched in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk as if he were in his own private world. His posture screamed "I couldn’t care less," but the sharpness in his voice made it clear that he still expected everyone to listen. “Don’t lump us all in the same group! I’m gonna be better than all these rejects, ya know?”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap, and Izuku could practically hear the arrogance dripping from his tone.

The class reacted immediately, a mix of gasps and murmurs filling the air as everyone processed the outburst. “That was uncalled for!” came a voice from the back, followed by a second, “Yeah! Totally!” but it was half-hearted, the words lacking any real bite. Everyone was used to Katsuki's ego by now.

The teacher, clearly unbothered, simply hummed thoughtfully, glancing over the class with a knowing smile. “Oh yeah, you’re trying for U.A. High, right, Bakugou?”

The room went dead silent. The rustling of papers and shuffle of feet suddenly felt amplified, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Whispers began to spiral.

“Wait, what?”

“U.A.!?” someone gasped. “That’s the national hero school!”

“Yeah, I heard it’s the best of the best!”

“Still, only 0.2% of applicants made it in last year!”

Katsuki’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the attention now that everyone was hanging on his every word. “Exactly,” he shot back, a touch of smugness in his voice. “That’s why you guys are all extras!” Without a moment’s hesitation, he sprang from his chair in one smooth motion, landing on top of his desk with a confident thud. He struck a pose, chest puffed out like he was already standing at the top of U.A.’s podium. “I aced the mock test! No one else even comes close. I’m gonna surpass All Might and become number one!”

The class was a mixture of awe and disbelief. Before anyone could respond, the teacher raised a hand, and the noise fell away instantly, the silence broken only by the sharpness of his voice.

“Oh, Midoriya,” the teacher continued, his tone casual, though there was an underlying edge that made Izuku’s stomach twist. “You’re trying for U.A., too, right?”

The words hit like a cold splash of water. A deep silence blanketed the room. The usual hum of activity disappeared, replaced by a stillness that almost felt suffocating. All eyes shifted toward Izuku, and she felt the weight of their gaze like a tangible force. Her wings fluttered instinctively, the motion so subtle that only someone paying close attention might have noticed. Her antennae twitched, picking up the ripple of tension in the air as the whispers started.

“Wait, what?”

“Midoriya? She’s trying for U.A.?”

“Seriously? What’s she gonna do? She’s… well, not exactly hero material…”

Izuku’s muscles tensed. It felt like every pair of eyes in the room was pressing down on her, making it harder to breathe. The atmosphere thickened, a heavy, oppressive weight building in her chest. Her fists clenched beneath the desk, and her wings fluttered again, this time with more force. Her antennae twitched in response to the undercurrent of disbelief and judgment buzzing through the room. For a brief moment, everything seemed to close in on her, as if she were suffocating in the pressure of it all.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Katsuki’s mocking grin, but she refused to meet his gaze. There was no need. He wasn’t worth it.

“Okay, class, settle down!” the teacher called, clapping his hands together to grab their attention. Izuku barely registered the sound as the room slowly quieted down. She exhaled softly, trying to release the knot in her chest as the tension began to ease, but it didn’t fully go away. Not yet.

The minutes ticked away, and soon the bell rang, its shrill chime cutting through the classroom and signaling the end of the day. The room erupted into chaos as students pushed back their chairs, the scraping of wood against tile mingling with the buzz of excited chatter. In an instant, the hallways flooded with students, their voices merging into a loud, indistinct hum as they spilled out of the classroom.

Izuku remained seated, her movements calm and methodical as she packed her bag. She carefully placed each item inside, checking and rechecking to make sure everything was in place. Satisfied, she zipped it up, the sound of the fabric closing breaking through the noise around her. Standing up, she turned to leave—only to stop short when she found herself face-to-face with Katsuki.

“Kacchan?” Her voice was laced with confusion as her brows furrowed.

Katsuki stood there, arms crossed, his usual scowl deepening into something sharper. The air between them seemed to thicken with tension. “Don’t even think about going to U.A. Got it?” His voice was low, cutting, the words dripping with a dangerous edge.

Izuku blinked, taken aback by the venom in his tone. She didn’t flinch, though. Instead, her gaze sharpened, and she answered with quiet defiance. “Why?”

His sneer was quick, almost predatory, as he leaned in, closing the space between them. “Because you’re useless, that’s why!” he spat, each word like a jab. “Your quirk’s a joke. You can’t even fly, for crying out loud! You’re nothing. So don’t bother. You won’t get in anyway.”

The sting of his words hit hard, each one feeling like a slap against her chest. But Izuku didn’t break. Her expression remained impassive, her emerald eyes locked onto his, unwavering, even as the air between them crackled with tension. She could feel the weight of his words, but she didn’t let them show.

Katsuki didn’t wait for her to respond. With a sharp exhale, he shoved past her, his lackeys trailing behind him like a pack of vultures. Their laughter echoed down the hall, loud and mocking, clashing with the hum of students rushing to leave.

For a long moment, Izuku stood frozen, her chest tight as his words reverberated in her mind. Then, with a quiet exhale, she let her shoulders slump slightly, letting the tension ebb. Her straight green hair fell around her face, the soft strands catching the light and revealing hints of black hidden beneath. She stood like that for a moment, staring at the floor, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag as she tried to shake off the sting.

Her wings fluttered, almost reflexively, the movement small but noticeable, a soft beat against the stillness. It was as if her emotions had triggered the shift. The delicate movement was enough to remind her—she couldn’t afford to let his words sink in. She wasn’t going to let him drag her down.

With a slow, steady breath, Izuku straightened up, her posture firming as she gathered her resolve. She turned and walked out of the classroom, stepping into the hallway, where the noise and bustle of students filled the air. She blended into the crowd, her wings tucked neatly against her back, and for the first time in a while, she felt a little lighter. The sting of his words still lingered, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from moving forward.

---

Izuku veered off her usual path home, her steps dragging as though the weight of her thoughts had anchored her to the ground. She needed a break, even if it was just a brief moment to herself before walking through the door to face her mother’s never-ending questions. The thought of lying—of pretending everything had gone as expected—felt impossible, like trying to breathe underwater.

Her pace slowed as she neared an underpass, the dim, flickering lights casting weak shadows on the graffiti-covered walls. The air was thick, almost oppressive, carrying the faint, sour stench of decay. It made her stomach turn, the kind of smell that clung to your skin and lingered in your lungs. Her wings shifted nervously against her back, as though they could sense the tension building in her chest.

Then her antennae twitched violently, a warning that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Something was wrong.

The underpass loomed ahead like the gaping mouth of a dark, hungry creature, its cold embrace swallowing all the light. Izuku froze mid-step, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as an unnatural sound sliced through the thick silence—a wet, grotesque squelch that echoed ominously through the narrow tunnel.

Her eyes snapped to the source, wide with fear, just in time to see the mass of writhing, slick sludge slither out from the shadows. Her stomach lurched violently, and a cold shiver crawled up her spine, spreading through her limbs like ice.

“A villain…” she whispered hoarsely, the words tasting bitter and hollow in her mouth.

Her instincts screamed at her to run—to get out of there before it was too late—and she didn’t hesitate. She spun on her heel, her legs propelling her forward in a panic. But the sludge was faster.

In one grotesque surge, it lunged at her with a speed that left her no chance to escape, its slimy tendrils wrapping around her like a tightening vice. It pressed in, a suffocating weight that made it impossible to breathe.

“Perfect,” the villain sneered, its voice thick and slimy, sending a chill down her spine. “A medium-sized invisibility cloak!”

Izuku screamed, the sound muffled and distorted as the sludge forced its way into her mouth. Her body went into a frantic struggle, limbs flailing in every direction, but the grip of the sludge was unrelenting. Her four arms clawed at the viscous mass, but it oozed into her clothes, clinging to her skin, slipping beneath the fabric and creeping over every inch of her body. The sensation was revolting—cold, suffocating, and invasive.

It was everywhere.

She gasped, choking on the foul taste of the sludge as it pushed deeper into her, sliding over her chest and prying its way beneath her skirt. It forced its way into places she hadn’t even known to guard, every inch of it a violation she couldn’t escape from. The cold, clammy feeling left her skin crawling, her body aching with a mix of fear and disgust.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” the villain crooned, its voice dripping with twisted amusement.

Izuku wanted to scream, wanted to claw her way free, but the sludge’s grip was all-encompassing, and her strength was fading fast. Her wings beat frantically against the tight hold, but it was useless—she could feel them trembling under the weight of it all. Her antennae twitched uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the barrage of sensations as the world around her spun out of focus.

Her vision blurred, the edges of her sight fraying like the corners of a torn page. Her lungs burned, the sludge tightening around her chest, squeezing the air out of her. Panic gripped her heart as everything started to fade, her body trembling, her mind losing its grasp on the present.

Then came the fire.

A blistering heat erupted within her, starting in her chest and radiating outward—spreading through her limbs, her back, her stomach, everywhere the sludge had touched. It was as though her blood itself had caught fire, each heartbeat a wave of excruciating heat coursing through her veins.

And then the marks appeared.

Black butterflies began to surface on her skin, their jagged edges stark against her pale complexion. They glowed an eerie green, pulsating with an unnatural light, as if they were alive—dancing across her skin like a deadly brand. The villain recoiled, its form shuddering violently as a thick, toxic substance began to seep from Izuku’s pores.

“What the hell—?!” the villain snarled, its voice shaking with confusion and an unexpected fear.

The paralysis spread like wildfire, the venom in her blood quickly locking the villain’s slimy form in place. The butterflies grew brighter, their eerie green glow filling the underpass with a spectral light that cast strange, elongated shadows against the walls.

Izuku’s limbs quivered uncontrollably, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as the burning sensation threatened to overwhelm her completely. It took her a moment to realize the sludge had stopped moving, its grip loosening as her body instinctively fought back against the invasion.

Her vision began to narrow, the edges of her sight blurring into darkness as she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. The strain was too much—her body had reached its limit, and everything around her felt like it was slipping away.

And then, through the suffocating silence, a voice shattered the air—booming, powerful, and unyielding.

“I. AM. HERE!”

A blinding flash of gold and white erupted in the underpass, so brilliant it nearly blinded her. She barely had time to register the shape of the hero before everything went black, her body finally giving in to the relentless pressure, succumbing to the darkness that had been closing in on her.

Notes:

I’m not sure if I gave enough detail to really bring Izuku’s appearance to life, but I hope it was clear enough for you to picture!

Thanks sm for reading, and I’ll catch you in the next chapter!
-auth

Chapter 2: In the Wake

Summary:

Through storms of grief, a soul takes flight,
In shadows deep, they find their light.
No crown, no fame, but strength untold,
A hero forged from love, not gold.

Notes:

TW/CWs
Graphic Violence, Vomit, Trauma, Fear, Body Horror, Emotional Breakdown, Mild Panic, Mild Disorientation, Slight Flashbacks.

 

The poem for this chapter took me a bit longer to write because I really wanted to get the emotions right. I’m not sure if I nailed it, so I’d love to hear your thoughts (just keep it constructive, please!). This chapter is mostly about diving into the emotional and mental aftermath of the Sludge Villain attack, and I kinda made it more intense this time. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

Izuku stirred awake, a soft sensation brushing her face pulling her from the depths of unconsciousness. Her wings fluttered instinctively, the movement making her jolt upright. Her breath caught in her throat, and before she could fully process what was happening, the sudden adrenaline rush made her stomach churn violently. Without warning, her carefully prepared bento—the one her mom had packed with so much love—surged up her throat and splashed violently onto the ground as she vomited.

The sensation was wretched. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably, and she coughed harshly, the remnants of her meal still lingering in the air. It took a moment for her to gather her bearings, and when the tremors finally faded, she became aware of a warm hand gently holding her hair back. Blinking, still dazed, her vision swam with confusion until her eyes locked onto the figure kneeling beside her.

All Might?

Izuku froze, her mind struggling to catch up with what she was seeing. Her wide eyes stared in disbelief as she saw the towering, iconic hero standing in front of her. His massive, imposing figure filled the space, his warm, reassuring smile only amplifying the shock coursing through her veins. It was really him—the symbol of peace and hope—the All Might.

"Hello, Young Woman! Are you alright?" His voice boomed, but there was an unmistakable gentleness and concern in his tone, making her heart race even more.

Izuku’s heart pounded, her mouth going dry as she struggled to process what was happening. She blinked rapidly, trying to form a coherent thought. "Y-You... you saved me?"

All Might chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. "Yes, I did." His voice softened as he gave her an almost fatherly pat on the shoulder. "But you’ve got a bit of the credit yourself."

Confused, Izuku followed his gaze as he patted his pocket. Her eyes widened as his words finally sank in. "Thanks to you paralyzing him, I was able to catch him in this bottle. He shouldn’t be causing trouble anymore."

Izuku’s breath caught in her throat. The realization that she had played a role in this—she had helped take down a villain with her own strength—was almost too much to process. The fact that All Might, the Number One Hero, was praising her felt like something out of a dream. A deep flush spread across her cheeks, her heart fluttering in her chest as she tried to make sense of the moment.

"Th-thank you..." she stammered, her voice barely more than a breath, her heart pounding as the weight of his words settled on her.

With a final, reassuring smile, All Might nodded, his energy as bright and uplifting as ever. "You're very welcome, Young Lady."

In a sudden blur of motion, All Might propelled himself into the sky, a gust of wind swirling around him. Izuku’s eyes widened as she watched his massive figure rise effortlessly into the air, his silhouette growing smaller and smaller against the expanse of blue. Even as he began to vanish, his booming voice reached her, clear and full of cheer.

"Well then, I must be off! I hope we meet again someday!"

Izuku stood frozen, her eyes locked on the spot where he had just been, still trying to process what had just happened. His figure quickly became a mere dot in the sky, disappearing into the distance as if he had never been there at all. She blinked a few times, unable to tear her gaze away.

She had just spoken to All Might. The All Might. The very hero she had admired from afar. The weight of that realization hit her like a ton of bricks, leaving her speechless and overwhelmed. Her heart pounded in her chest, but it was the memory of what had happened before All Might had arrived that made her stomach churn.

The sludge. The way it had slithered and wrapped around her, its grotesque mass creeping into places it shouldn’t have been. She could still feel the chilling sensation of it crawling across her skin, the sickening, cold touch of it invading her body. Her body tensed involuntarily, and she instinctively looked down at her hands, as if expecting to see remnants of the villain's slimy grip still clinging to her.

Her breath hitched at the thought, the memory too vivid to ignore. The overwhelming dread that had clawed at her chest as the villain's twisted voice echoed in her ears. The disgusting squelch of the sludge forcing its way inside her mouth, the helplessness, the terror—everything felt so fresh as if it had happened mere seconds ago.

Izuku blinked rapidly, trying to push the memories back, but they refused to stay buried. Her wings fluttered behind her, the sharp motion a stark contrast to the quiet dread still coiling in her gut. She could almost feel the heat of the fire spreading through her veins, the black butterflies appearing on her skin again in her mind's eye. The paralysis, the way the venom had spread—how she had just barely managed to hold on until All Might had arrived.

The encounter with the hero had been a blur, but the horror of the villain’s attack? That was still too real.

The world around her slowly began to settle, but her mind raced, endlessly replaying every single moment. Her heart ached, a mix of fear and overwhelming relief. She was alive. She had been saved. But the feeling of the sludge, the weight of it still lingered, like a stain that wouldn’t wash away.

It was just her now, standing alone in the silence that followed, the weight of everything pressing down on her. The world around her seemed to stretch out, and time felt off as she tried to pull herself together, her breath still shaky. Her body felt numb, and the aftermath of the fight—the adrenaline crash and confusion—left her dizzy, trying to regain control.

Then something caught her eye. Her arms… they weren’t the same. The pale skin that used to be smooth was now covered in strange, delicate patterns. They looked like butterflies, their black lines swirling across her skin. She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. Were they tattoos? But they weren’t just tattoos. They moved. They twitched like something alive under her skin.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was this what had burned?

The pain from earlier flashed in her mind—the heat, the foreign sensation creeping into her body, changing something inside her. It had hurt, more than a regular injury. And now, these butterflies... they were proof of that change. Proof that something had shifted in her.

She shivered, a wave of nausea rising in her chest. The sludge still stuck to her body and clothes made her stomach twist, but she focused on the marks instead, trying to push the discomfort away. The butterflies were the only thing she could think about now.

Her hand moved instinctively, reaching out to touch one of the marks. As her fingers brushed the delicate lines, she felt a faint pulse underneath, like a soft heartbeat. She pulled her hand away, startled by the feeling. The marks seemed to respond, shifting slightly as if they were aware of her touch.

Her heart raced, and she quickly turned her gaze to the horizon. She had to get home. She needed to get away from here. The weight of everything—the fight, the strange transformation—was too much for her to handle. She just needed to be somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar.

With a shaky breath, she pushed herself to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her. Her mind was spinning with confusion and fear, but there was only one clear thought: get home. Everything else could wait.

---

Izuku pushed open the door to her house, the hinges creaking softly as the warm light from inside spilled over her. She stepped in hesitantly, her body heavy with exhaustion. The sight that greeted her made her pause—her mom, pacing back and forth in their small living room, her hands wringing together and her face etched with worry.

The sound of the door closing made Inko freeze mid-step. Her head snapped toward the entrance, her wide, fearful eyes locking onto Izuku.

“Izuku?” she called, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.

Izuku’s throat tightened as she tried to find her voice. “M-Ma...?” she managed weakly, her words barely audible.

Inko’s eyes widened as she took in her daughter’s disheveled appearance. Within seconds, she was rushing over, her hands hovering uncertainly as she scanned Izuku from head to toe. Her gaze darted over the sludge clinging to her clothes, the dirt smudged on her face, and the strange, haunted look in her eyes. “Izuku! Oh my goodness, are you okay, sweetie?” she asked, her voice climbing with alarm. Her fingers brushed against the grime on Izuku’s shirt, and she flinched back with a grimace. “What happened? What is this?”

But as her frantic gaze moved lower, it stopped. Her eyes caught on the intricate black patterns now etched across Izuku’s arms—the delicate butterfly-like designs twisting and curling over her skin. Inko’s expression shifted, her worry deepening as her brow furrowed.

“What... what are those?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with confusion and fear.

Izuku froze, her heart hammering against her ribs as her hands instinctively moved to cover the markings. She felt her chest tighten, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down all at once. Tears welled in her eyes as her lip trembled. “Ma... Mom, I—I don’t know,” she choked out, her voice breaking. Her hands shook at her sides as she struggled to keep it together, but the floodgates opened, and tears spilled freely down her cheeks. “I... I can’t—”

Before she could finish, Inko stepped closer, her expression softening in an instant. The fear and confusion in her eyes were replaced by something stronger—pure, unwavering love. She reached out, gently cupping Izuku’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears streaking her cheeks.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice warm and soothing. “You’re safe now, sweetie. We’ll figure it out. Right now, let’s just focus on getting you cleaned up, okay?”

Izuku nodded shakily, unable to speak as her mom wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the comforting warmth of a hug. She let herself sink into it, the familiar scent of home—fresh laundry and a faint trace of their favorite tea—grounding her, even as her mind swirled with chaos.

With Inko’s steady arm guiding her, Izuku allowed herself to take one small step forward, then another. For now, she let herself lean into her mother’s presence, clinging to the one constant that could still make her feel safe.


The bathroom door creaked open, the soft sound filling the quiet space, and Inko’s voice followed, warm and coaxing. “Sweetheart, let’s get you out of these clothes, okay? You can take a nice shower, and it’ll help you feel better.”

Izuku let out a shaky breath, her small frame sinking even further into her mother’s embrace. The day’s weight seemed to press down on her, like a fog she couldn’t shake. She clung to Inko, drawing comfort from the steady rhythm of her mom’s hand moving in slow, soothing circles on her back.

“Come on, my little butterfly,” Inko murmured gently, her voice thick with love and patience. “You can do that for me, can’t you? Just one little step.”

For a moment, Izuku didn’t respond, her head still pressed against her mom’s shoulder. Her damp hair, messy and tangled, fell forward, brushing against her face as she tried to hide, seeking refuge in the warmth and security of Inko’s arms. Her voice came out soft and muffled against the fabric of Inko’s sweater. “Yeah… okay.”

Inko’s smile was soft but full of relief, and something warmer sparkled in her eyes—love, unspoken but clear. She bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Izuku’s head. “That’s my girl,” she whispered, her tone light, as if trying to lift the weight off her daughter’s shoulders. “If you need me, just call me, honey, and I’ll come help you.”

She held Izuku a little tighter for a moment, giving her one last reassuring squeeze before loosening her grip. Izuku pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting her mom’s, and there was a flicker of something unspoken—gratitude, relief, a silent thank-you for the constant patience and care Inko had always given her.

Inko brushed a strand of damp hair from Izuku’s face, her touch gentle but firm, like she was grounding her daughter with something solid. “You’re stronger than you think, my little butterfly,” she said softly, taking a step back to give Izuku space. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

With that, Inko quietly left the room, the soft click of the door echoing in the stillness behind her. Izuku stood there, feeling the silence press down on her like a weight, swallowing her whole. She stared at the door, the emptiness in the room a stark contrast to the chaos that had consumed her only hours ago. She couldn’t stay here—stuck in this numb, hollow state. Not if she wanted to feel something other than the terror and confusion that had taken hold of her earlier.

A shaky breath left her lips, her chest tight as she took the first step. She had to move. She had to try. Slowly, she began to peel off her uniform, her fingers trembling as she carefully navigated around her wings and antennae. They were still a part of her, but the butterflies—they were new. The feeling of them shifting beneath her skin was still foreign, unsettling. Every motion felt like it was connected to something wild and unpredictable, like they were a force she had no control over. She could still feel the subtle, tingling rhythm of them beneath her skin—those tiny, fluttering wings, crawling and shifting in patterns that made her feel more disconnected from herself than ever.

By the time she stood before the mirror, she couldn’t look away. Her black sclera stared back at her—dark, empty, unnerving—and her antennae twitched, as if they too were trying to make sense of what had happened. Her hair, damp and matted from the sludge attack, clung to her skin in uneven strands, a sharp contrast to the pale tone of her face. Her reflection was both familiar and alien at the same time, the shock of it settling deeper with every passing second. She had been so used to the wings, the antennae—but the butterflies, those fluttering things beneath her skin, were a constant reminder of what she had barely survived.

They were everywhere now. The sensation of them was unbearable—fluttering beneath her skin, not just an internal feeling anymore. She could see them, tiny little butterflies crawling over her arms, her chest, her legs, as if they had always been there, buried deep inside her. But they hadn’t. They were a new addition, a terrifying manifestation of the chaos she had barely contained earlier. The movement beneath her skin was erratic, shifting in patterns that unsettled her in ways she couldn’t quite explain. Her sides, her neck, the curve of her inner thighs—everywhere she looked, they were there. And they moved, like a subtle, constant swarm that never stopped, never settled. The reminder of her transformation—a transformation she hadn’t yet fully come to terms with.

Izuku tore her gaze away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight any longer. She couldn’t look at it—couldn’t face the new reality of what she had become.

Minutes later, she sank into the warm bath, the hiss of the water filling the room as she slid into the tub, allowing the heat to embrace her. Her hair, heavy with the remnants of the sludge, fanned out around her like an inky halo. She leaned back, closing her eyes, letting the warmth seep deep into her muscles, trying to shake off the tension that still clung to her. She didn’t know what to do with all of it—the wings, the antennae, the butterflies that moved beneath her skin. It was all too much, too soon, too overwhelming.

She knew sleep wouldn’t come. Not tonight. Not after everything. Her insomnia always found its way in at the worst times, twisting her thoughts until they were a tangled mess she couldn’t unravel. And the nightmares—twisted, horrible things that felt so real, they were almost worse than waking up. The thought of falling into that darkness again, trapped in her own mind, made her heart race even now, in the calm of the bath.

But for now, she let herself take a few moments. The warm water, the subtle flicker of her antennae, the soft fluttering of the butterflies beneath her skin—it was all she could manage. She wouldn’t fall asleep. Not tonight. She couldn’t let herself. Not when everything felt so uncertain, so new.


Izuku opened the bathroom door two hours later, stepping out slowly, her movements deliberate, like she was dragging herself through thick air. A quiet exhale escaped her lips as she closed the door behind her. She had scrubbed the remnants of the sludge off her skin, but the lingering sensation of it—sticky and gross—still clung to her, even though the water had washed most of it away. The butterflies, though—those new, unsettling flutterings beneath her skin—hadn’t gone anywhere. They moved with a quiet insistence, brushing against her insides with their delicate wings as they traveled across her body. They were a constant, reminding her of everything that had changed.

Her towel was wrapped around her body, soaked at the waist from the water dripping down from her damp hair. She ran her fingers through it absently, the strands now slick and softened, though the weight of everything else still hung on her shoulders. The wings, the antennae—they were familiar now, even if she didn’t fully understand them yet. But the butterflies? They were a new and uncomfortable addition, constantly shifting beneath her skin in a way that made her feel like something was crawling inside her.

She sighed deeply, the sound heavy in the quiet hallway. From the kitchen, she could hear her mom humming—soft and steady, the familiar melody that always seemed to float through the house when Inko was trying to keep her calm. Izuku could tell, though, that there was a quiet tension in the tune, a strain that betrayed the worry Inko had been holding back since the moment Izuku came home.

With slow, steady steps, Izuku made her way to her room, the weight of the day pressing on her chest again, heavy and suffocating. The events of earlier were still fresh in her mind, too sharp to forget, but she needed a moment of quiet before it all came rushing back. A brief pause, before she had to face everything once more.

Notes:

HI HI, thank you SO much for reading through this entire chapter—I really hope you enjoyed it!

I seriously need to ask, though: if at any point I’ve been insensitive or written something inappropriately throughout chapters 1-2, PLEASE let me know. I haven’t personally been through these kinds of experiences, and I would feel absolutely horrible if anything I wrote upset someone. If anything came off the wrong way, don’t hesitate to call it out—I won’t be offended at all, I just want to fix it right away. Seriously, I want to make sure no one feels uncomfortable with anything I write, especially since I’m writing about things I haven’t experienced myself. So if something’s off, please let me know immediately—this goes for future chapters too. If anything is offensive or wrong in any way, I’ll make sure to fix it.

Again, thank you so much for reading—can’t wait to see you in Chapter 3!!

-author

Chapter 3: Enough for Now

Summary:

The sludge still clings, a breathless weight,
Her wings ache heavy, tethered to fate.
A mother’s love, in soup and vow—
She sips, she breathes, she whispers how:
“It’s enough for now.”

Notes:

TW/CW's
PTSD/Trauma Symptoms, Suffocation Imagery, Anxiety, Panic, Disordered Eating, Mental Health Struggles, Parental Concern, Helplessness, Hypervigilance, Physical Manifestation of Trauma, Insomnia, Mild Body Image/Physical Discomfort, Mild Guilt/Self-Blame, Light Depressive Symptoms.

 

HELLO, did you miss me? This chapter is basically the definition of Hurt/Comfort—lots of emotions, a good chunk of lore, and some solid character development. Also, I really loved today’s poem! What did you guys think?

Izuku couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares came rushing back to pull her under. The sludge was there again, thick and suffocating, clinging to her like tar. She could feel it wrapping around her, squeezing, leaving her breathless and panicked. Each time she jolted awake, her heart was racing, her chest heaving like she’d just surfaced from drowning.

It was midnight now, and the apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that settled in once her mom had gone to bed, soft and heavy but not comforting. Izuku had come into the kitchen, hoping the movement might shake her loose from the weight of the dreams still clinging to her. She’d made herself some hot chocolate, using the instant mix her mom always kept in the cupboard. It was easy to stir together—just powder and warm milk—but even the simple steps had given her something to focus on, if only for a few minutes.

Now, she stood by the counter, holding the warm mug in both hands. The heat seeped into her fingers, steadying the faint tremble that hadn’t fully gone away. She leaned back against the counter, letting the cool surface press into her back as she took small sips of the drink. It tasted good, sweet and rich, but the heaviness of it was starting to sit wrong in her stomach. It wasn’t bad enough to make her feel sick, but enough to twist slightly, a discomfort that made her hesitate before taking another sip.

Her hair was mostly dry now, falling in loose waves down her shoulders. She was dressed in her lavender sweatpants and one of her custom bras, the ones her mom had altered to fit around her wings. The slits were lined with soft fabric to make sure they wouldn’t rub or irritate her skin. Her mom’s thoughtfulness was in every detail, and it made Izuku’s chest ache in a way that wasn’t entirely bad, but not easy to sit with either.

Her wings felt heavier tonight—not by much, but enough for her to notice. She stretched them out slightly, just enough to test their weight. The motion sent a faint shiver down her back, and she frowned, wondering if they were stronger now than they’d been before. She shook her head quickly, cutting off the thought before it could spiral. She wasn’t ready to think about what that might mean.

The mug of hot chocolate clinked softly as she set it down on the counter. She stood there for a moment, staring at it before opening the fridge. Her eyes landed on a small bowl near the front, covered in plastic wrap with a sticky note attached.

I know you’re probably awake, sweetie, and we don’t have to talk about it. But please try to eat this for me if you can.
—Mama

Izuku blinked at the note, her breath catching in her throat. Her mom’s handwriting was neat and careful, each letter familiar and steady, and it made her chest tighten all over again. She reached out, brushing her fingers over the paper like she could somehow feel the love behind it.

Pulling the bowl out, she peeled back the plastic wrap and saw a simple serving of miso soup. The kind her mom always made when she wasn’t feeling well. It looked perfect, and just the sight of it made Izuku feel like crying. Her mom always seemed to know what she needed, even when Izuku couldn’t put it into words herself.

She grabbed a spoon and carried the bowl to the small kitchen table, settling into the chair quietly so she wouldn’t risk waking her mom. Holding the bowl in her hands, she let the warmth seep into her palms, leaning forward slightly to breathe in the steam. The smell was light and familiar, wrapping around her like a hug.

Taking a small sip of the broth, Izuku sighed softly as the warmth spread through her chest. It was comforting in a way almost nothing else had been tonight. She tried to go for the noodles next, but her stomach churned slightly, making her hesitate. She poked at the tofu and noodles with her spoon, wanting to eat them but knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep them down. Her stomach was too unsettled, and she couldn’t bring herself to push it.

Instead, she stuck to the broth, taking slow sips in between letting herself just sit in the quiet. The hot chocolate earlier had been too much, leaving her stomach feeling heavy and uneasy, but the soup was lighter. Easier.

It wasn’t much, but it helped. Her wings still felt heavy, and the strange fluttering under her skin hadn’t gone away completely. The memories of the sludge villain still clung to her, and the ache in her chest lingered. But even with all of that, her mom’s soup, the care in the note, and the warmth of the broth were enough to steady her, at least a little.

For now, that was enough.

-.-

Izuku was sprawled across the couch, her body heavy with exhaustion, but her mind was too wired to rest. The ceiling above her was barely visible in the early morning dimness, and the quiet hum of the fridge was the only sound breaking through the stillness. She tried to focus on it, on anything that wasn’t the memories clawing at her, but it didn’t work. The images from yesterday were still sharp and unrelenting—the sludge villain, the suffocating grip, the helplessness. It all looped endlessly in her head, like it was determined to root itself there.

The sound of soft footsteps broke through the fog of her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. She blinked, lifting her head slightly to see who was moving around. The living room was still dim, but the faint glow from the kitchen lights spilled out, and she caught sight of her mom, already dressed for work.

She cracked an eye open fully, watching as her mom moved through the kitchen with practiced efficiency. Inko’s movements were familiar, each one deliberate yet easy, like she could do it all in her sleep. It was oddly comforting to see her doing something so normal, so steady. It made Izuku feel just a little more grounded, like not everything in her world had shifted.

“Mom...?” Her voice came out soft, almost unsure, like it wasn’t meant to leave her throat.

Inko froze mid-step, her head snapping toward the couch. Her eyes widened in surprise, but the expression melted almost instantly into concern when she saw Izuku. “Oh! I didn’t see you there, honey,” she said, walking toward her. Her tone was warm, but her gaze flicked over Izuku carefully, taking in the way her daughter was curled up on the couch.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Inko asked gently, “I’m heading to work. Do you think you’re up for school today?”

Izuku hesitated, the question settling heavily in her chest. School felt impossible. The thought of being surrounded by classmates, of pretending everything was normal when she still felt raw and shaky, was too much. She shook her head slowly, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

Inko’s expression softened, her concern deepening. “Okay,” she said quietly, her voice full of understanding. “I’ll call the school and let them know you’re staying home today.” She stepped closer, sitting down on the edge of the couch. Her hand hovered for a moment before she placed it gently on Izuku’s knee. “Do you think... you might be up for talking about yesterday when I get home?”

The question hung in the air, and Izuku’s fingers tightened around the fabric of her sweatpants. Talking about it meant facing it, dragging everything back up to the surface. But her mom had never pushed, never demanded more than Izuku was ready to give. She thought about that, about the quiet patience that had always been there, and nodded slowly. “Y-yeah,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I think so.”

Inko’s face lit up with a gentle smile, relief and love shining through. “Okay, honey. I’ll see you this afternoon, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” Izuku whispered, watching as her mom stood and grabbed her bag.

Just as she reached the door, Inko paused and turned back. Her smile was soft, her voice warm as she said, “Bye, my little butterfly.”

The nickname, light and full of affection, wrapped around Izuku like a hug. She nodded, the weight in her chest easing just a little as the door clicked shut behind her mom. The quiet returned, but this time, it felt less heavy. Less lonely.

---

The day dragged on, heavy and suffocating, weighed down by a quiet that seemed to seep into every corner of the house. Izuku had managed to drift off for a couple more hours earlier, but it wasn’t the kind of sleep that left her feeling rested. If anything, she woke up feeling worse. The nightmare still lingered in the back of her mind, sharp and unrelenting. The suffocating pressure of the sludge, the way it felt like she was being swallowed alive—it clung to her like a second skin. Every time she thought about it, her stomach twisted, her hands shaking faintly as the memories clawed their way back to the surface.

She didn’t know if she’d sleep tonight, either. The mere thought of closing her eyes again made her chest tighten. It wasn’t just the fear of the dream—though that was bad enough. It was the way she could still feel it, like the nightmare had left invisible marks she couldn’t scrub away.

Her mom’s voice from earlier that morning echoed faintly in her head, a soft mix of worry and warmth. They needed to talk. Izuku knew that. She wanted to tell her mom everything. But the thought of actually sitting down and putting the nightmare into words felt impossible. It wasn’t just that it hurt—it was more than that. How could she explain what it felt like to be so helpless, to be so completely consumed by fear? How could she make her mom understand without falling apart completely?

Every time Izuku tried to rehearse what she’d say, her thoughts turned to static. Words she wanted to speak unraveled into a tangled mess of emotions, none of them coherent. She sighed, sinking deeper into the couch, her head resting against the back cushion. The weight of her exhaustion wasn’t just physical; it was everywhere, pressing down on her like a storm she couldn’t escape.

Her wings shifted against her back as she adjusted herself, and for a moment, the strange sensation of the butterflies beneath her skin pulled her attention away from the mess in her head. She’d barely thought about them since last night, and the faint flutter they gave now was more grounding than she wanted to admit. It was a reminder that her body wasn’t entirely her own anymore, but it was also a distraction—a small one, but enough to pull her out of her thoughts, if only for a moment.

The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the fridge. She stared at the ceiling, watching the faint patterns of light that filtered through the blinds. Her thoughts kept circling the same hopeless loops, her chest aching with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

She let out another sigh, this one shakier than the last. She didn’t know how she’d find the words when her mom came home. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to try. All she knew was that she was tired—tired in a way that went deeper than her body, tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.

Even so, the idea of closing her eyes again filled her with dread. For now, she stayed where she was, hoping the quiet wouldn’t swallow her whole.

-.-

Inko was worried. How could she not be? What parent wouldn’t be, when their only daughter came home late, her uniform disheveled—skirt slightly twisted, top wrinkled and askew, faint streaks of green sludge still clinging stubbornly to the fabric? Izuku hadn’t smiled when she walked in. There had been no cheerful greeting, no warm hug. Just a fleeting glance before her eyes dropped to the floor, avoiding contact like it hurt to be seen.

Inko had noticed it all. The way Izuku’s shoulders tensed when she stepped closer, her body flinching ever so slightly when Inko tried to touch her arm. It was barely there, but it was enough to make her freeze, her hand hovering in the air before falling back to her side. Izuku hugged herself instead, her extra arms curling tightly around her torso as though she was trying to hold herself together, to keep from unraveling entirely.

And the butterflies. Inko couldn’t stop thinking about them. They moved across Izuku’s skin, shimmering and alive, wings fluttering in a way that defied reason. When one brushed against her hand earlier, it sent a jolt through her body—brief, startling, and strange. Her muscles locked up, just for a second, but the feeling had left her shaken, her heart racing in confusion and fear.

Now, walking home from work, Inko couldn’t push the memory from her mind. The image of her daughter—so small, so quiet, and so clearly struggling—was like a weight pressing down on her chest. She’d asked Izuku earlier, softly, if she wanted to talk about what happened. The slow nod she’d gotten in response had been both a relief and a worry. It was rare for Izuku to accept help so willingly, and while it reassured Inko that her daughter trusted her, it also confirmed just how shaken she really was.

Inko had learned the hard way not to push. There had been times in the past when she’d done just that—when her desire to help had turned into insistence, when she hadn’t seen that Izuku wasn’t ready to share. The memory of Izuku’s tears, of her stumbling over her words before shutting down entirely, was still fresh in Inko’s mind. For days after, Izuku had avoided her, and Inko had vowed never to make that mistake again.

So she’d wait. If Izuku wanted to talk, Inko would listen, no matter how much or how little her daughter could manage. If she needed more time, Inko would give it to her. What mattered most was that Izuku knew she wasn’t alone—that no matter what had happened, no matter how scared or broken she felt, her mom was there.

Still, the worry gnawed at her. The fear in Izuku’s eyes, the way her body carried tension like it was bracing for something, the impossible butterflies—it all replayed in her mind like a broken record. Inko tightened her grip on her bag strap, her pace quickening as she neared their home.

She just wanted to be there. To sit with Izuku, even in silence, and remind her that whatever she was going through, she wasn’t facing it by herself.

-.-

The soft creak of the door pulled Izuku’s gaze away from the TV. Not that she’d been paying attention to it in the first place—her thoughts were too tangled to focus on anything. The events of the day before kept replaying in her mind, a jumbled mess of memories that didn’t quite fit together no matter how many times she tried to make sense of them.

Her mom stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed from the cold and hair slightly tousled. Inko nudged her shoes off carefully, her movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of the day clung to her. When her gaze met Izuku’s, she gave a small, tired smile, one that somehow managed to hold warmth even through her exhaustion.

Relief washed over Izuku, gentle but enough to coax a faint smile to her lips. The heaviness in her chest didn’t disappear entirely—it never seemed to—but her mom’s presence softened the edges of it, made it feel just a little less suffocating.

“Welcome home, Ma,” Izuku murmured, her voice quiet but sincere.

Inko’s smile softened further, her eyes warm. “Hey, honey…”

She crossed the room and set her bag down before wrapping Izuku in a careful embrace. The hug was firm and reassuring, but there was something there—something Izuku couldn’t ignore. For just a moment, her mom’s muscles tensed, her fingers flexing against her back. It was subtle, but Izuku felt it. And then there was the faint buzz, that strange sensation that seemed to hum through her skin whenever they touched.

The butterflies. It had to be the butterflies.

Though their glow had faded overnight, something about them lingered. She could feel it under her skin, like an itch she couldn’t reach. It was there, and her mom’s reaction told her that Inko could feel it, too.

Izuku’s stomach twisted. Was it hurting her?

The thought made guilt settle heavily in her chest, a feeling so thick it was hard to breathe. But her mom didn’t pull away. If anything, she held on tighter, her arms steady despite whatever discomfort she might’ve felt.

“I missed you,” Inko whispered softly, her voice as comforting as the warmth of her embrace. Izuku exhaled shakily, letting herself lean into it, even if she couldn’t fully relax. Her thoughts were too loud, too tangled, but for now, she let herself take what little comfort she could.

When Inko finally stepped back, she rolled her fingers subtly, as though to shake off the lingering numbness Izuku had started to recognize. “I’m going to take a quick shower, okay? Then we can sit down and talk.” Her tone was gentle, every word deliberate, like she knew how fragile Izuku felt.

The mention of talking made Izuku’s chest tighten again. Her hands found the hem of her pajama top, fingers fidgeting nervously as her gaze dropped to the floor.

Inko noticed—of course, she did. She always noticed. Without hesitation, she stepped closer, cupping Izuku’s face in her hand. Her thumb brushed softly against Izuku’s cheek, and this time, she didn’t flinch at the faint tingle of discomfort.

“Just as much as you can, sweetheart,” she said quietly, her voice unwavering yet endlessly patient. “You don’t have to push yourself.”

Izuku swallowed hard, her throat tight. The words she wanted to say wouldn’t come, but she managed a small nod. It was enough to make her mom smile again, leaning in to press a kiss to Izuku’s forehead.

The warmth of it lingered, though it couldn’t quite mask the faint buzz that followed, that same strange sensation that left Izuku’s heart sinking.

“I’ll be quick,” Inko promised, her voice soft as she stepped back, offering one last reassuring look before gathering her bag and heading down the hall.

Izuku stayed rooted in place, her hand brushing against her forehead where the kiss had landed. There was warmth there, yes, but also something else. Something unsettling.

She didn’t know what it was. Not yet. But she knew it was her.

Her chest tightened again, the heaviness in her stomach refusing to budge. But for just a moment, her mom’s steady presence had made it all feel a little easier to bear.

-.-

The mother and daughter sat curled up together on the couch, the soft, flickering light of the TV casting an uneven glow across the room. The quiet hum of the screen was the only sound, filling the space between them. Izuku slumped against her mom, her head resting in Inko’s lap like she had done so many times as a child, seeking the comfort only a mother’s touch could bring. Inko’s fingers combed through her daughter’s green hair with gentle, practiced ease, a steady rhythm that calmed them both.

Her hand moved carefully, threading through the strands while instinctively avoiding the delicate antennae now sprouting from Izuku’s head. Occasionally, her fingers paused to softly scratch her scalp or twirl a lock of hair around her fingertips, the repetitive motions soothing in their familiarity. There was something grounding in the act, a quiet reassurance that connected them even as the weight of the unspoken hung between them.

Inko could feel the tension in her own muscles, a persistent hum beneath her skin. Her fingertips tingled faintly where they brushed against Izuku’s hair, the sensation strange and lingering, but she pushed it aside. This moment wasn’t about her. Izuku needed her full attention, her unwavering presence, and Inko gave it willingly.

“You ready…?” Inko asked softly, her voice barely louder than the low drone of the television.

For a moment, Izuku didn’t respond. She lay still, her small frame heavy against her mom, her silence stretching long enough for Inko to wonder if she would pull back entirely. But then, Izuku gave the faintest nod, her chin brushing lightly against her mom’s lap as she murmured, “Mm-hm…”

Inko’s hand paused briefly before resuming its comforting motion. She didn’t rush her daughter, waiting patiently for her to find the words.

Izuku’s voice, when it came, was hesitant and uneven. She began at the beginning—the walk home from school. Her words were halting, each one edged with unease as she described the sensation of being watched, of the creeping dread that followed her like a shadow.

But as she continued, the words began to pour out faster, her sentences tumbling over one another. She described the sludge villain’s sudden attack in vivid, heart-wrenching detail. Her voice trembled as she spoke of the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest, the panic that had clawed at her as she struggled to breathe. Every word was raw, laced with fear and lingering trauma.

Inko’s chest tightened with each detail. She stayed quiet, her free hand reaching up to gently wipe away the tears streaming down Izuku’s face. Her thumb brushed against her daughter’s cheek, and her palm cupped it softly, grounding her as best she could. Izuku clung tightly to her mom’s shirt, her small hands shaking as she held on like it was the only thing keeping her steady.

The words caught in Izuku’s throat, and she gagged suddenly, one hand flying to her mouth as her body convulsed with the effort of holding back the overwhelming tide of emotions.

Inko reacted instantly, pulling Izuku upright and wrapping her arms securely around her. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured, her voice a quiet anchor in the storm. “We don’t have to rush. Just breathe, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

They stayed like that for a long while, Inko cradling her daughter against her chest. She whispered soothing words, her hand rubbing slow, steady circles into Izuku’s back. Bit by bit, the shaking eased, her breaths evening out as the tightness in her chest began to loosen.

When Izuku spoke again, her voice was hoarse but steadier. She finished recounting the attack, her tone softening slightly as she spoke of All Might’s dramatic arrival. There was something lighter in her voice now, a flicker of relief breaking through the fear. A faint smile ghosted her lips as she recalled his powerful entrance, the image of the hero cutting through the darkness of the memory.

It wasn’t much of a smile, barely more than a twitch at the corners of her mouth, but Inko noticed. She noticed everything.

“You were so brave,” Inko whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to Izuku’s temple, her hand still resting gently in her hair.

Izuku didn’t respond with words, but she leaned into her mom’s touch, the faint smile lingering just a moment longer. 

And for now, that was enough.

Notes:

Hi again! Thanks so much for reading this chapter!

Quick ask: if anything I wrote was 1) offensive or 2) incorrect, please let me know. I’d hate to upset anyone or get something wrong! Hope you enjoyed, and I can’t wait to see you in Chapter 4!

-author

Chapter 4: Breaking the Shell

Summary:

Her heart races, the butterflies take flight,
A fluttering chaos, but now there's light.
Slowly, she learns to guide the wings,
Each beat a whisper, a softening string.

Notes:

TW/CWs:
Body Horror, its more like Body Discomfort though, Panic, Anxiety, Bullying, Harassment, Paralysis, Guilt, Self-Doubt, Trauma, Mentions of the Sludge Villain incident (from chapter one), Unwanted Physical Contact, Panic Attack, Emotional Overload.

 

WAIT. Okay, so before you continue to the chapter, IZUKU DOES STILL HAVE TWO PAIRS OF ARMS (so four arms). I didn't express it a lot throughout this chapter but they have been just hanging on her sides for the most part. Please don't forget that and READ THE END NOTES. The full quirk description is down there and it has all the details I didn't focus throughout the chapter, please read it.

Izuku was frustrated, and honestly, a little confused. Ever since… that day, she couldn’t stop noticing the butterflies that seemed to move across her skin. It felt so weird, like something out of a dream. They were usually still, but every time she got upset, they fluttered—just enough for her to feel it. And every time they moved, there was this strange heat that spread across her skin, like her body was reacting to something she couldn’t understand. It didn’t feel good at all. In fact, it was kind of burning, a sensation that felt so foreign to her that she couldn't just ignore it. And the worst part? The more she tried to push it away, the more she started to see a pattern—one she couldn’t deny anymore.

She gripped the edge of her lunch tray a little too tightly, her fingers digging into the plastic as she let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the table. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She was supposed to be okay by now, wasn’t she? But every day at school felt like a constant reminder of how everything was so far from normal. She hadn’t wanted to come back here, but her mom had been gentle but firm in insisting she go. Inko had been just as unsure about the decision at first, but after a lot of careful talks, they’d agreed it was the best choice. Izuku had to study to become a hero, and Aldera was the only option that made sense, especially with Inko’s unpredictable work schedule and their tight finances. It wasn’t easy, but it felt like something they couldn’t avoid. And with just a few months left until the break, Izuku told herself she could get through it. She just had to.

The noise of the cafeteria buzzed in the background, but Izuku’s thoughts kept turning over and over, sharp and bitter, like an aftertaste she couldn’t get rid of. Then, out of nowhere, something unexpected broke through her thoughts—a hand on her shoulder, too close to her neck.

It was a heavy, firm pressure that made her flinch, her heart racing for a second before she even realized it. She hadn’t expected anyone to touch her, not like this. And sure enough, the butterflies beneath her skin stirred in response. Their wings fluttered briefly before settling again, but it was enough to make the discomfort in her chest grow. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like how it felt or how it made her feel so out of control.

Slowly, she turned her head, jaw tightening. And there he was.

Akanabe.

Great.

His usual arrogant smirk was there, the one that made her want to crawl into a hole and hide. His eyes gleamed with that smug look that made her want to ignore him completely. But she couldn’t. Not this time. Not when she could feel that unsettling feeling inside her, the quiet stir of something she couldn’t quite control. Her quirk, the one she barely understood, was reacting again, and it was like everything inside her was buzzing, just waiting to explode.

She set her tray down on the table and sat up straighter, forcing herself not to back down. She could feel the heat creeping under her skin, like the storm inside her was about to get worse. But she wasn’t going to let it control her. Not now. Not again.

Akanabe didn’t miss the way she stiffened, and his smirk grew even more obnoxious. “What, are you just gonna sit there looking all moody?”

Izuku clenched her fists, trying to keep her breathing steady. Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. “What do you want, Akanabe?”

His smirk only deepened, but there was no real warmth in his eyes. It was the same old thing—taunting her like he always did. It made her want to look away, to shrink back. But she couldn’t. Not now, especially not with her quirk buzzing like this. Not when she could feel her own emotions pushing back against him.

For the first time in a while, Izuku didn’t look away. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. Not this time.

Her wings twitched—a small, involuntary flutter—as Akanabe leaned in, pressing into her space like he belonged there. Her entire body went rigid, every muscle locking up in response. Her antennae flicked at the unwanted contact, a sharp pulse of awareness running through her.

“Akanabe.” Her voice came tight, laced with warning. “Get off of me.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he hummed, low and dismissive, like her discomfort didn’t even register. His weight didn’t shift. If anything, he moved closer, his breath brushing warm against her ear.

“And if I don’t?” he murmured, a smirk playing at his lips.

His hand moved before she could react—fingers brushing against hers. Skin to skin.

The butterflies stirred.

Izuku barely had time to process it before heat bloomed beneath her skin, rushing outward like fire licking through her veins. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was potent—something deep and electric, something more than just a sensation. A soft glow pulsed where his fingers touched hers, the light flickering just beneath her skin.

Then, suddenly, he tensed.

His entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. The arm against her went slack, his fingers twitching before curling inward, useless.

A strangled yelp ripped from his throat as he staggered back, his weight stumbling away from her. He cradled his arm against his chest, fingers flexing weakly, struggling to move.

“What the hell!?” he spat, voice sharp with panic and anger. His eyes—wide, startled—locked onto her with something between fury and fear. He shook his arm violently, like he could shake off whatever had just overtaken it.

Izuku barely breathed.

Her gaze dropped to her hand, where a single butterfly had fluttered just above her skin, its delicate wings pulsing with a faint, lingering glow. But then, just as quickly, the shimmer faded. The light disappeared, and the butterfly stilled, dark and ink-like once more.

Akanabe’s shock twisted, curdling into something cruel. His mouth curled into a sneer, his eyes narrowing with fresh malice. “So that’s what those shitty tattoos are,” he spat. “You’re even more of a freak than I thought.”

Izuku didn’t need to look up to know the eyes were on her. She could feel them—sharp, prying, drilling into her skin like needles. They had been there since Akanabe’s yelp split through the cafeteria air, since the first gasp, since the first scrape of a chair against tile as someone turned to stare.

The whispers swelled around her like a rising tide. Muted at first, then sharper, pointed. What just happened? Did she do that? Did you see her hand?

A phone camera flashed in the corner of her vision.

Izuku’s breath hitched. Her fingers clenched at her sides as she pushed herself up, her legs unsteady. She felt her antennae twitch wildly, picking up on every shift, every murmur, every second of suffocating scrutiny.

Her throat was dry.

She swallowed, hard.

Then she turned on her heel and bolted.

The cafeteria doors slammed open as she rushed through them, her heart pounding against her ribs.

-.-

Izuku pressed her back against the stall door, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The butterflies beneath her skin wouldn’t settle, their delicate wings shifting in a way that sent an unsettling hum through her nerves. Her hands trembled as she wrapped her arms around herself, gripping tightly as if that could somehow ground her. Her wide eyes darted around the cramped stall, searching for nothing yet seeing everything—the faint graffiti scratched into the walls, the dull reflection of the overhead lights on the tile floor, the thin gap beneath the door where the fluorescent glow stretched too far.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Block it out. Just block it out.

Her mother’s voice broke through the haze—steady, warm, and familiar.

"Breathe in for four... let it out for six."

Izuku inhaled, shaky and uneven, but she forced herself to follow the rhythm, her chest rising and falling in time with the words looping in her mind.

Slowly, her legs gave out, and she slid down the door, ignoring the way it scraped against her wings until she was seated on the cold floor, knees drawn tightly to her chest. Her heart still pounded against her ribs, but she held onto the counting, clinging to the structure of it.

In for four... out for six...

The butterflies stirred once more, wings fluttering softly beneath her skin—then, finally, they stilled.

Izuku let out a shaky breath, the last remnants of her panic clinging to her lungs as she forced her eyes open. Her wings twitched, barely noticeable, brushing against the cold stall door behind her. Slowly, she lowered her gaze to her hands, turning them over with trembling fingers, searching—for what, she wasn’t sure. Maybe for answers. Maybe for proof that what just happened was real.

What was that?

No—she knew exactly what it was.

The butterflies.

Her mother had always hesitated when touching her after that day—never obvious, never harsh, but always there, in the way her fingers hovered just a second too long before making contact, in the way she pulled away a little too quickly. Izuku had noticed, of course, but she had never really questioned it. Not until now.

Was it the burning?

That day—it happened then, too. She could feel it now, like a memory crawling back under her skin. That sharp, spreading heat just before the sludge villain froze. She hadn’t understood it at the time, too overwhelmed, too terrified. But now—now she remembered. The way its shifting mass had suddenly gone rigid. How its mocking voice had twisted into something confused, then panicked.

"What the hell is happening?!"

Izuku swallowed hard, pressing her forehead against her knees.

Were they… paralyzing people?

A cold realization settled in her bones, chilling her from the inside out.

Yes. That’s exactly what they’re doing.

That was why her mother flinched. That was why she was always careful, always watching, always hesitating. That was why Akanabe’s arm had gone completely slack, the muscles refusing to respond.

That was why the sludge villain had stopped moving.

That was why All Might had thanked her.

Izuku lifted her head slowly, breath evening out as her gaze settled on her palm. The butterfly from before was still there, faint glow from before gone, its delicate wings frozen in place—waiting.

Her brows furrowed, her fingers twitching slightly.

Then what was that glow?

---

Izuku sat cross-legged on her bed, hands resting on her knees as she stared down at the butterflies inked into her skin. It had been almost a week since she had… paralyzed Akanabe.

The moment she got home that day, she had told her mom everything—every detail, every flicker of heat beneath her skin, every second of that terrifying realization. Her words had tumbled out in frantic bursts, barely giving her time to breathe. Through it all, Inko had listened, her expression unreadable, nodding slightly as Izuku’s theories spilled out. And when she finally stopped, chest heaving, throat tight, Inko had simply hummed in thought before saying, “That explains why my fingers go slightly numb when I touch you.”

Izuku had frozen. Then, immediately, she had started apologizing, guilt pressing down on her like a weight. But her mother had only smiled, pulling her into a hug and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Izuku had felt the slight tension in her arms, the way she hesitated for just a second before holding her close—but she still did. She still held her. Still whispered reassurances into her hair.

Now, days later, Izuku was frustrated.

She had spent nearly a week trying to get the butterflies to move on command, trying to will them into responding. But no matter how much she focused, how hard she concentrated, they remained still—unbothered, indifferent, like she was just another observer.

With a groan of exasperation, she let herself fall back onto the bed, two pairs of arms flopping at her sides as she stared up at the ceiling.

Why wouldn’t they listen to her?

Izuku let out a slow sigh, rolling her shoulders before sitting up again. Frustration gnawed at her patience, but she wasn’t about to give up. Closing her eyes, she focused—just like she had countless times before—and tuned in to the strange, almost electric sensation of the butterflies resting against her skin. She could feel them, the faint pulse they carried, as if they were waiting for something.

She reached out with her mind, trying once more to get them to move, to make them respond. Nothing. The silence stretched on, the butterflies stubbornly still, unaffected by her concentration.

Izuku exhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists. Move. Do something. Anything.

Her nails dug into her palms, and just when the frustration was about to overtake her—flutter.

A spark of sensation, barely noticeable, but it was enough to make her freeze. Her breath hitched in her chest as her fingers instinctively tightened. The butterflies shifted, stirring beneath her skin. This time, the familiar burn followed—a soft, tingling heat spreading through her veins, not painful, but stronger than before. It was controlled—different from the wild rush of heat she had felt with Akanabe.

Her eyes snapped open, heart pounding with excitement.

They had responded.

A smile crept onto her face as she slowly unclenched her hands, the tension melting from her body. It wasn’t fear or panic that had triggered them this time—it was pressure. That realization lit a spark of thrill inside her.

If pressure was the key to activating them, maybe… maybe she could work with this.

She glanced down at her palm, flexing her fingers thoughtfully. Pressure-based activation—that was something she could control. Subtle, precise. If she could refine this, she could turn it into a weapon.

Izuku took a steadying breath, eyes bright with new determination.

She did it.

Notes:

Hi thanks for reading and before you go, here's the full quirk description:

Quirk Name: Chrysalis Toxin
Type: Mutation / Emitter

Quirk Description:
Mutation Aspect: Izuku’s body has some butterfly-like mutations, including two pairs of arms, black sclera, and moth-like wings. These wings let her glide or do short bursts of flight, which makes her super agile and great at dodging or sneaking around.

Emitter Aspect: When Izuku activates her quirk, the butterfly markings on her body suck up her blood and release a poisonous toxin into the air. This toxin doesn’t kill anyone, but it paralyzes them temporarily. The butterflies themselves also carry the same toxic properties, so anyone who comes into direct skin-to-skin contact with her gets hit with the paralysis. The toxin doesn’t spread far from her body, so she needs to be close to her target to use it effectively. This makes her super dangerous up close, but she has to touch or be touched by someone to paralyze them.

There is a possible quirk awakening that I am still considering but for now this is all.

Once again thank you for reading and see you in chapter 5!

-author

Chapter 5: Building Up

Summary:

A whispering world, a weight so deep,
Footsteps light, but fears don’t sleep.
Yet wind and wings in silence play,
A park, a breath—fear drifts away.

Notes:

TW/CWs:
Sensory Overload, Dissociation, Self-Isolation, Mild Body Dysmorphia/Self-Consciousness, Paranoia, Mild Panic Symptoms, Implied Unsafe Environment, Abandonment/Decay Imagery, Self-Worth Issues, Mild Existential Reflection, Self-doubt, Physical exertion, Bullying.

most of the warnings are mild and or implied.

Izuku’s footsteps barely made a sound on the sidewalk, their soft rhythm a contrast to the heavy weight pressing down on her head. Normally, she could ignore the whispers, the jabs, the accidental brushes of people’s hands as they passed her, or the disgusted stares that followed her wherever she went. It was just a part of life now. But today? Today was different. She couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was closing in on her. The glances felt worse, the whispers felt louder, and her skin was crawling with every passing second.

She sighed quietly, wrapping her four arms tighter around herself in an attempt to feel even a little less exposed. The butterflies inside her stirred restlessly, their wings fluttering against her skin, sending little shivers through her body. They were always there, but today it felt like they were more awake than usual, more insistent. Every part of her felt alive with their restlessness, like they were ready to burst out of her any second.

She couldn’t go home like this. Not with everything threatening to spill over. She didn’t want her mom to see her like this, not when the tension in her chest was so heavy she could hardly breathe.

Izuku wasn’t sure where her feet were taking her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop them. Wouldn't stop them. Her legs moved on their own, pushing her forward as if they had a mind of their own. Her feet didn’t even hit the ground with any force. The motion was automatic, like something deep inside her knew that if she stopped moving, everything inside her would break loose.

So, she kept walking, her steps light and quick, trying not to pay attention to the chaotic flutter of her emotions or the butterflies getting more restless by the second. She couldn’t stay still. Not today.

She didn’t know why she stopped, but when Izuku looked up, she blinked. Was that—? A park?

It was a small, forgotten patch of green tucked away between the crisscrossing streets of Musutafu, almost like it had been abandoned for years. The rusting metal gates were slightly askew, and overgrown weeds pushed through the cracks in the concrete path. There was no sign of life, not a single person in sight. The park felt distant, as if it existed outside of time, or at least outside of the bustling city she was used to.

Izuku blinked again, her four arms slowly unfurling from around her body, and her wings fluttered nervously at her back, twitching just a little. Her antennae twitched with a mix of curiosity and relief. It was quiet. No murmurs, no stares. She could breathe again.

She stepped further into the park, the gravel crunching underfoot as she moved deeper, drawn in by the stillness that surrounded her. The space felt so distant from the crowded streets she’d walked in moments before. How far had she gone? How deep into Musutafu had she wandered without realizing?

Izuku’s gaze drifted to the swings. She always liked how the wind felt against her wings—how the rush of air helped her center herself, made her feel lighter, like the weight of the world was just a little less heavy. Maybe it would calm her down now.

She approached the swings, hesitated for a moment, then sat down on one. It creaked slightly under her weight, but she didn’t mind. Izuku kicked her feet against the gravel, gently rocking herself back and forth.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

The motion was familiar, soothing. The rhythm settled into her bones, slow and steady, and soon, she barely noticed the butterflies on her skin. The restless flutters inside her began to quiet, like they were lulled by the gentle rocking, like everything—the tension, the pressure, the thoughts—was fading away, even if just for a moment. The butterflies slowed, the chaos in her mind easing into a gentle calm.

Izuku flinched when her phone rang, the sharp sound shattering the quiet stillness of the park. Her heart skipped a beat, and her breath caught in her throat. She scrambled to grab her backpack, fumbling around inside it until her fingers brushed against her phone. She pulled it out quickly—Mom.

She blinked, her eyes catching the time on the screen. It was late. A pang of guilt tightened in her chest. She hadn’t meant to lose track of time, but here she was, sitting in an empty park, still a little too far from home.

She answered the call, the familiar sound of her mother’s voice ringing through the speakers.

“Izuku?”

The moment she heard it, Izuku felt a weight lift from her shoulders, her tension easing in a way she didn’t realize she’d been holding onto.

"Hey, ma..." she murmured, her voice soft as she pulled her legs up, hugging them to her chest in the swing.

“Oh honey! Are you okay? It’s really late, and I’m worried sick!”

Izuku hesitated, running her thumb across the edge of her phone. She hadn’t meant to worry her mom...

"Yeah... Yeah, I’m fine. I just needed some fresh air, I—" she trailed off, her words faltering as she looked around the empty park again, trying to settle herself.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” her mother’s voice softened, and Izuku could hear the concern in it. “If you're okay, it's fine. You should come home now, though. It’s late, and if it gets too dark, it’s way too dangerous to be walking around. You know why.”

Izuku closed her eyes for a second, her throat tightening. She knew exactly what her mom meant. Her side of Musutafu wasn’t the safest place to be, especially with the constant villain activity. Even though she was fine, she knew her mom wouldn’t let go of that worry.

"Yeah, I'll—I'll be there soon, ma," she said, voice a little steadier now.

“Okay, honey. See you soon.” Her mom’s voice was fond, but Izuku could hear that edge of worry still lingering underneath.

"I'm fine, ma. Really. I just needed a moment. I'll be back home soon, kay?" she reassured her, the words leaving her more easily than she expected.

There was a small huff of breath on the other end, and Izuku imagined her mom shaking her head with that soft smile she always wore.

“Okay,” Inko replied, the worry still there, but softened. “Just be careful, alright?”

"I will, promise," Izuku whispered, feeling lighter somehow. With one last sigh, she ended the call and slipped her phone back into her bag.

She lingered there a moment longer, letting the faint traces of her mother's concern hang in the air, before slowly standing up from the swing. Her feet felt steadier now, and the park didn't feel so empty.

-.-

Izuku found her way back to the park again. She didn’t really know how—her feet just seemed to take her there, like they knew the way by now. It wasn’t like she was running from anything this time, though. She just needed air. It was Saturday, and a walk always helped her clear her mind, especially when her mom was working. Inko always tried to keep her weekends free, but sometimes things didn’t work out that way. Her mom’s schedule was all over the place, and Izuku had long since learned not to blame her mom. It wasn’t her fault, and Izuku had accepted it.

This time, the park felt even more familiar, like it was just waiting for her to show up again. It had been a few days since she’d last been here, and it still felt empty. Really empty. It made sense though—it was practically abandoned. No wonder it was so run-down and messy. The old gates squeaked in the wind, hanging off their hinges like they were barely holding on. The ground was cracked and uneven, and there were leaves everywhere, scattered like no one had bothered to clean up in ages. But that was part of the appeal. It was hers, in a way, no one else came here. It was quiet.

She walked further in, stepping over the uneven paths and crunching through the dead leaves. The place felt kind of… forgotten, in a good way. She paused at the slope leading down to what used to be a pond, but now it was just a cracked, dry pit. It looked like it hadn’t seen water in years. There were little patches of moss clinging to the cracked edges, but it was lifeless. She couldn’t even imagine it being full of water anymore. The whole park just had this air of decay about it, but it wasn’t a bad thing. It was peaceful.

She kept walking, glancing around at the rusty swings in the distance. The chains were covered in rust, and the seats looked like they’d been abandoned long ago. The whole frame of the swing set was covered in layers of rust, and the metal creaked whenever the wind blew. The place wasn’t just old—it was forgotten, left to rot for who knew how long. The jungle gym in the back looked like it was about to collapse, leaning to one side, some of the wooden platforms splintered and cracked. The paint had peeled away years ago, leaving it looking more like a ghost of what it once was. There was no way any kids would be playing here now.

But that was kind of the best part. It was quiet. Empty. Just hers.

Izuku walked a little deeper into the park, her footsteps muffled by the overgrown grass and the crunch of dry leaves. The pond, or what used to be the pond, caught her eye again. She looked at it for a moment, taking in the cracked surface, the emptiness. It felt like everything here had just been left behind, like the world forgot this little corner of the city. And for some reason, Izuku found that kind of calming.

Everything was still, everything was quiet. She didn’t have to worry about anyone seeing her or judging her here. It was like the park understood that, too. It didn’t matter what she looked like or what her quirk was or how much she was struggling. Here, she could just be. No expectations, no pressures.

She let herself relax for a moment, feeling the wind pick up and brush against her wings, the familiar, soothing sensation that had always calmed her down. It was almost like the park was giving her the space she needed to find her own pace, even if it was only for a little while...

-.-

As Izuku walked home from the park, the cool evening air brushing against her skin, she found herself thinking more clearly than she had all day. She wasn’t in a rush, but she also didn’t want to be late again—not with how much her mom worried. But as her feet moved along the familiar sidewalk, a thought slipped into her mind, unexpected and almost too perfect to ignore.

It's isolated… Her footsteps slowed as she considered it. No one would be around, no one to see me or judge me… The park. The place where she could be herself, where no one knew her, where she didn’t have to hide. It was the one place she didn’t feel eyes on her, and she’d always felt a strange sense of calm there, a kind of peace that let her think clearly.

I could train there, right?

Her heart picked up a little as the idea settled in. It wasn’t like she had many options—U.A. was demanding enough with her studies, and finding a place to practice away from the eyes of others was nearly impossible. But there? The abandoned park, with its rusty swings and cracked pavement? It seemed perfect.

I think so… She let the thought linger, turning it over in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more right it felt. The quiet, the emptiness—it was a place where she could push herself without anyone watching, without the pressure of having to be perfect.

Izuku's steps quickened, a spark of determination in her chest. She could do it. She could go there after school, when the park was completely deserted, and try. Maybe even finally make some progress.

Her thoughts raced ahead of her, planning out the first steps, the first movements she’d try. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she knew if she kept at it, she might just make it work. And for once, that thought filled her with something close to hope.

---

It took a few more days before Izuku found herself back at the park again. Honestly, it wasn’t like she’d been avoiding it; she’d just had to get her mom’s permission first, which hadn’t been easy. Inko had been understandably hesitant—Izuku was still her baby, no matter how old she was. At first, Izuku tried to play it off, but her mom’s gaze had been firm when she asked, “How would you feel if your daughter told you she wants to train her quirk in a deserted, abandoned area with no one to keep an eye on her?” And when her mom had said it like that, it was hard to argue. Izuku had been about to protest, but then she stopped, realizing how reckless it probably sounded.

After a bit of back-and-forth, and a few more pointed questions, Inko had agreed—on one condition. Izuku had to promise she’d be careful, stay in touch, and make sure she had a plan. And that led to Izuku piecing together some kind of basic training routine, a makeshift structure that she could stick to. It wasn’t anything formal, but it showed she was serious about getting better. Getting that in order had taken more time than she’d expected. It felt like a lot of responsibility—suddenly she had to be accountable for her own training, not just aimlessly fumbling through it like she had originally planned(which really, just proved her moms point).

But in the end, she was ready. And as messy as it might seem to others, to her, it felt just right. The space, the quiet, the solitude—it was the perfect setup for what she had in mind.

So, after all that, she was back at the park now. And just as she’d expected, it was exactly the same. Empty. The old swings creaked with the wind, but there wasn’t a single person in sight. The place had a strange, almost eerie stillness to it, like it hadn’t been disturbed in years. The rusted structures, the dry pond, the overgrown grass—it was all part of the charm. And to Izuku, it wasn’t abandoned or neglected; it was hers. This park, this space, was where she could truly begin. No eyes, no judgment. Just the freedom to move, to grow, and to push herself without worrying about anything else. Perfect.

As she stepped further into the park, a thrill ran through her. Her wings fluttered instinctively, a soft buzz filling the air, her antennae twitching with excitement. Her second sets of arms, normally at rest, flexed at her sides as she took in the surroundings, eager to get started. This was where she would make it all happen.

-.-

The first day had gone... okay. Izuku couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed though. She had hoped for some kind of breakthrough, maybe a sign that all this effort was actually paying off. But in her opinion, there wasn’t much progress to speak of—at least not yet. She tried not to be too hard on herself. After all, it was only the first day. Still, there was that nagging feeling at the back of her mind that she wasn’t doing enough, that she wasn’t getting anywhere fast enough.

She had learned a few things, though. That was something. When she focused on her butterflies, really paid attention to them, she noticed something she hadn’t before: they were releasing a pinkish vapor, almost like smoke. It wasn’t thick, not enough to be noticeable from a distance, but it was there. A slight, faint cloud that swirled around her arms and her back, like a delicate mist. Izuku frowned, curious. It wasn’t like she’d seen anyone else’s quirk behave this way before. She didn’t even know if she could call it “smoke,” though that’s what it reminded her of. Maybe it was more like a vapor or residue? Either way, it was something. And if that was happening every time the butterflies moved, she wondered just how much of it they were capable of releasing. Could she control it? Could she slow it down or make it more concentrated once she got a better handle on the quirk? That thought kept rolling around in her head as she caught her breath after one of her runs.

Her mind had wandered to the practical side of things, trying to gauge how far she’d come and how far she had to go. She’d managed a solid stretch of exercises—running, sit-ups, push-ups, the basics. Those sit-ups had been surprisingly tough at first, mostly because of the dirt on the ground. Without the mat she’d brought, she was sure she’d be sore all over by now. She winced a little, picturing how miserable it would’ve been, but at least with the mat, she could focus more on the work than worrying about getting filthy. As the day went on, though, she could feel herself getting a little stronger. The burn in her muscles, though uncomfortable, was oddly reassuring. It was proof that her body was working, adapting, and building.

Izuku had set out to test her limits, to see how far she could push herself. By the time the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, her legs were aching, her arms sore, and she felt the exhaustion start to creep in. But there was something about it—something about the quiet of the park, the way the trees swayed lazily in the breeze—that made her want to keep going. No one was watching. There was no one to judge. She could just be herself.

The swings creaked in the background as Izuku caught her breath, wiping sweat from her forehead, the pink vapor from her butterflies swirling around her in gentle, almost comforting patterns. She couldn’t help but smile a little. This park, this space, it was hers. It was safe. She was safe here.

But still, there was a part of her that was frustrated. She could feel her potential, her ability to do more, but the path to getting there felt long. How long would it take? Would she ever be able to control the butterflies completely, to use them the way she wanted to? And more importantly, would she ever be strong enough to stand on her own—without anyone else’s help?

As she sat down on one of the old benches and pulled her knees up to her chest, Izuku let out a quiet sigh. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But she was determined to try. Every little bit of progress was a step closer. She couldn’t afford to be impatient—not when she had so much more to learn.

She glanced at the sky, watching the fading sunlight dance between the branches. It had been a long day, but it was a start. And she could live with that. For now, anyway.

-.-

It had been a few weeks now, and Izuku was finally starting to see some real progress. Five months stood between her and the U.A. entrance exam—just over a season, a little more than a hundred and fifty days. It seemed like a long time when she thought about it in numbers, but she knew better. Time slipped through her fingers when she wasn’t paying attention. If she wanted to be strong enough to pass, she had to keep pushing.

At school, things hadn’t changed.

The whispers still followed her through the hallways, hushed but ever-present, like a dull, constant hum in the background of her life. They didn’t even need to be words most of the time—just the weight of stares lingering too long, the slight shift of bodies angling away from her, the quiet exclusion that had become second nature to everyone around her. She tried not to let it bother her. But it was hard, some days, when she caught the sharp glances, the way her desk always seemed to have a little more space around it than the others.

Not that it mattered. Not really.

Because the moment she stepped into the park, none of that existed anymore.

It was her space.

She inhaled deeply as she entered, the familiar scent of rusted metal and dry earth filling her lungs. The cool air of the evening wrapped around her, carrying the faint creak of old playground equipment shifting in the breeze. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, slopes dipping into patches of overgrown grass and cracked pavement. The dried-up pond at the center sat as lifeless as ever, its stone edges crumbling, weeds sprouting through the gaps.

Empty.

Just how she liked it.

Her routine was much smoother now. The first few days had been exhausting, leaving her sore and barely able to move the next morning, but now? Now she could keep up. The runs no longer left her gasping for breath. The sit-ups and push-ups—though still tough—were starting to feel more natural. She had learned how to pace herself, how to push through the ache without overdoing it. Her muscles burned in a way that felt… good. Like proof that she was building something.

And then there was her quirk.

She had noticed something new a few days ago, while resting on one of the rusted platforms after a particularly grueling set of exercises. She had been watching the soft pink vapor curl off her skin, something she had always assumed was just a natural side effect of her butterflies. But then, without warning, the color changed.

The pink darkened, shifting into a muted red.

She had barely processed it before it faded again, like it had never been there at all.

It had been such a small thing—so subtle she might have missed it entirely if she hadn’t been paying attention—but it sent her mind racing. What did it mean? Was it an accident? Could she control it? And, more importantly… if red was stronger than pink, then what came next?

She had spent every day since trying to replicate it, to figure out what had triggered the shift. It only seemed to happen when she focused really hard, when she pulled at something deep inside her. It was faint, fleeting, but she was getting better at holding it.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

She needed to keep going.

Which was why she was standing on the same platform now, arms spread for balance, her wings fluttering restlessly behind her.

Because if she wanted to get stronger, she couldn’t just train her body. She needed to train her wings, too.

The thought had hit her out of nowhere the day before, while she had been stretching, her wings shifting absently with her movements. Could she fly? She had never really tried before. They were delicate things, translucent and shimmering when they caught the light, twitching at the slightest change in her emotions. But were they strong enough to carry her?

There was only one way to find out.

She took a deep breath, bent her knees slightly, and jumped.

For a split second, she felt weightless.

The wind caught at her wings, sending an odd, shivery sensation down her back. She flapped—once, twice—

And then she fell.

Not painfully, but not gracefully, either. She landed on her feet, but the impact threw her off balance, making her stumble forward with a startled laugh.

Her wings twitched in frustration, her lower set of arms flexing instinctively, as if reaching for something to steady herself. But she just shook herself off, exhaling sharply.

Okay. Not great. But not terrible, either.

She glanced up at the platform again, analyzing what went wrong. Maybe it was about momentum. Maybe she needed to angle herself differently, or push off harder.

Either way, she wasn’t giving up.

She climbed back onto the platform, rolling her shoulders, adjusting her stance.

Then she jumped again.

This time, she stayed in the air just barely longer. 

And that was enough.

She had five months.

And if there was one thing Midoriya Izuku didn’t do, it was quit.

-.-

It had been months—longer than she wanted, shorter than she feared—but Izuku had finally done it.

She stood on the highest platform in the park, wings spread wide, the night air cool against her skin. Below her, the empty space stretched out, familiar and no longer as daunting as it had once been. Her fingers curled at her sides, lower arms flexing in quiet anticipation. She knew this jump wasn’t going to end in a clumsy fall. Not this time.

She had worked for this.

She had earned this.

Her training had pushed her further than she’d ever thought possible. The bruises and sore muscles had faded, replaced with something steadier, stronger. Sit-ups no longer left her gasping for breath. Her runs stretched longer each time, her legs burning with something almost satisfying instead of unbearable exhaustion.

And the push-ups—

She remembered the first time she had dropped down to do them, pressing her palms against the cold ground, weight uneven, awkward. She had tried using just her upper arms at first, but her lower ones had twitched instinctively, unsure if they should help or stay out of the way. The balance had been wrong, her arms shaking as she struggled through just a few.

Now?

Now, all four arms worked together, pushing her up with ease. No trembling, no struggling. Just strength.

She carried herself differently.

The rude whispers at school were still there, of course. They still slithered into her mind when she wasn’t careful. But here? Here, those voices didn’t matter. Here, she had space to grow.

And she had grown.

Her quirk, once so unfamiliar, was something she was finally starting to understand. The butterflies that shimmered across her skin, shifting and fluttering, had always been a mystery—something she’d accepted but never truly controlled. But now she knew better. Now she could see it.

The toxin they released wasn’t just a harmless pink mist.

It could shift. It could change.

The first time she’d seen the soft pink vapor darken into red, she’d barely believed it. It had taken so much focus, so much effort—but it had happened. And now she could do it on command, even if she didn’t fully understand what red meant yet. She knew one thing for certain: red was stronger than pink.

She still had a long way to go, but every discovery was a step forward.

And her wings—

She had spent months trying.

Jump after jump, failure after failure.

She had felt the air push against her, felt the way her wings trembled under the effort, but she had never quite managed it. It had always been almost—almost right, almost working, almost flying.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, she had leapt—

And she had glided.

It had been brief, barely more than a few seconds, but she had done it. The wind had caught her, lifted her, carried her forward. She had landed, breathless and shaking, and she had known—

This was it.

She was ready.

So now, standing on that same platform, she crouched slightly, wings buzzing to life. The weight of her limbs felt natural now, no longer awkward. The park stretched out beneath her, the rusted playground and cracked pavement bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights.

She took a breath.

And then, she jumped.

The moment her feet left the platform, she moved.

Her wings angled just right, catching the air, her body tilting forward with the momentum. And just like before—just like yesterday—she wasn’t falling.

She was gliding.

The world blurred past beneath her, the rush of air against her face cool and exhilarating. This time, she felt the control. It wasn’t just instinct anymore—it was knowledge. It was understanding. A shift of her wings, a tilt of her weight, and she adjusted, moving with the wind instead of fighting it.

The glide lasted longer than before. She stretched her arms out, feeling weightless, powerful, free.

And when she finally landed, feet hitting the ground in a near-perfect landing, she knew.

She had done it.

She had really done it.

Without thinking, she threw all four arms up in the air, wings fluttering wildly, antennae twitching with excitement, a wide grin splitting across her face.

"I did it!"

Her voice rang through the empty park, and she didn’t care if anyone heard.

She was stronger now.

Her body, her quirk—she had pushed past her limits, and she had grown.

And in just over two weeks, she would take the first step toward proving it.

U.A. was waiting.

And she was ready.

Notes:

And that’s the end of this chapter! Honestly, I had such a good time writing this—watching Izuku build herself up little by little has been really satisfying.

Huge thanks to everyone reading this, seriously. Hope you liked the chapter, and I’d love to hear your thoughts! See you in the next one!

-author

Chapter 6: Crossing the Line (Pt.1)

Summary:

Nerves twist like wings beneath her skin,
A past behind her, a future she must begin.
In the mirror, she finds her strength anew,
One step forward, where dreams break through.

Notes:

TW/CWs
Anxiety, Stress, Trauma, slight PTSD, Self-Doubt, Emotional Vulnerability, mentions of Past Attacks, mentions of chapter ones Sludge Villain Attack, Overwhelming, Self-Soothing Behaviors, MATH.

I hope you guys enjoy this one, I'm going for an extra long chapter!

Izuku had not slept. She had tried—oh, how she tried—but no matter how she closed her eyes or curled up under the covers, her body refused to settle. Nerves surged through her in relentless waves, twisting and turning inside her, a storm she couldn’t quiet.

So, here she was. Five a.m., her alarm buzzing softly in the background as she stood before her mirror. The early light filtered in from the window, casting the room in soft hues of grey and pink, a world still half asleep. She gazed at herself in the reflection, adjusting the collar of her school uniform. It was the same middle school uniform she had worn for years, now oddly out of place in the context of the day ahead. U.A. had requested it—required it, in fact—for applicants to wear their middle school uniforms to the entrance exam.

Izuku wasn’t sure why they asked for it. But as she stared at herself in the mirror, she understood something about it, in a way. This uniform, this life, was the last piece of the past. Today would be the first step into something bigger, something unknown, and maybe, just maybe, better.

She took a deep breath, her eyes tracing the reflection of herself.

She saw differences.

Her arms were no longer the thin, fragile limbs of the girl who had once felt so small and insignificant. They were still slender, but there was a subtle strength to them now—something she hadn’t had before. Her body didn’t feel as heavy as it once did either. The weight she had carried, the invisible burden of insecurity and weakness, seemed lighter now. She could breathe easier, stand taller.

But it was the butterflies on her skin that drew her gaze most. She could see them clearly now, as they curled and shifted just beneath the surface of her skin. They were as black as night, jagged edges flickering with an eerie green glow.

They were still there. Always there.

Izuku swallowed. She wasn’t afraid of them anymore—not in the way she used to be. They no longer made her skin crawl, no longer made her stomach twist in that dark, uneasy way.

But they were a reminder.

A reminder of the day she had almost lost everything. Of the feeling of suffocation, the terror of being trapped inside the sludge villain’s grasp, of losing control. Of the fire that had erupted within her—an inferno she had never asked for, never wanted. The butterflies were the result of that pain, that chaos, that moment where her life had hung by a thread, only for something inside her to snap and awaken.

And now, the butterflies were her. A permanent part of her. She still didn’t fully understand the toxin or how to control it. But she was learning. She had learned to live with it, even if they never failed to remind her of that terrifying day.

Izuku sighed, her fingers brushing lightly over the black wings as they danced across her forearms. For once, they didn’t bring the usual ache in her chest. The butterflies still made her feel... unsettled, but it wasn’t the unbearable weight it once was.

She could bear it. For now.

She knew it wouldn’t last forever. There would be days when the memory of that attack, the burn of that moment, would resurface like it always did. There would be days when she would catch a glimpse of the butterflies and feel her stomach lurch all over again, reminded of what she had gone through.

But today? Today, she allowed herself to feel just a little bit lighter.

The butterflies weren’t a curse. Not anymore.

Izuku looked at herself one more time in the mirror, adjusting the edges of her uniform once again as if she could somehow smooth away all the uncertainties, all the fears swirling inside her.

She distantly hoped it wouldn’t change. That the butterflies—her butterflies—could remain just as they were now: a part of her, but no longer a source of pain.

Her heart pounded with anticipation as she grabbed her bag and stepped away from the mirror. The entrance exam to U.A. was today, and this was the first step on a path she wasn’t sure she was ready for—but one she had to walk, nonetheless.

She could do this.

She would do this.

Izuku blinked, her antennae twitching when there was a knock at the door. Her mother’s voice came through, light and full of warmth, “Hey, honey, you awake?”

Izuku turned toward the door, her fingers momentarily frozen on the collar of her uniform as her heart skipped a beat. She took a steadying breath before responding, trying to sound more at ease than she felt.

“Yeah, I’m up,” she said, keeping her voice level, though she could feel the tremble that still lingered in her hands.

The soft click of the door unlocking was followed by a gentle creak as it opened. Inko’s familiar figure appeared in the doorway, her soft smile radiating warmth as always. Izuku’s stomach fluttered, the tension in her body easing just a little at the sight of her mother’s reassuring presence. But she didn’t miss the gleam of concern in her eyes as they quickly scanned Izuku.

“Sleep any?” Inko asked, stepping inside the room and walking toward Izuku. She leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her daughter’s cheek, her touch tender and full of the love she always seemed to express.

Izuku shook her head, eyes flicking briefly to the floor as she avoided meeting her mother’s gaze. She didn’t want to voice the nervous knot twisting inside her chest. She had spent the night tossing and turning, her mind racing with a million thoughts she couldn’t silence.

Her mom chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound. “Figured. You nervous, honey?”

Izuku nodded, not even bothering to hide the truth. She took a deep breath before answering, voice dripping with the sarcasm she used to deflect her anxiety. “Yeah, how’d you guess?”

Inko raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking into a teasing smile as she narrowed her eyes playfully. “Don’t sass me, young lady.” Her tone was light, but there was a warmth in it that made Izuku smile in return, despite herself.

Izuku bit her lip, trying to suppress the nervous energy threatening to break free. “Sorry, mom,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m just... this whole thing feels so unreal, you know? It’s like I’m still waking up from some kind of crazy dream.”

Inko’s smile softened, her expression taking on a more serious, yet still tender, quality. She reached out, placing a hand gently on Izuku’s shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared, sweetheart. But you’ve worked so hard for this, and I’m so proud of you. You’ve always been strong, even when you didn’t know it.” She gave Izuku a small, knowing smile. “It’s just one step at a time. You’ll figure it out.”

Izuku nodded, though she couldn’t quite shake the swirl of emotions inside her. The familiar weight of her mother’s hand on her shoulder helped, but the tightness in her chest remained. This was the moment—the moment that would shape everything to come. She couldn’t back down now. She had to make it through today.

“Thanks, mom,” Izuku said quietly, her voice soft but genuine. She glanced at Inko, who was still looking at her with such pride that it almost made Izuku want to turn away in embarrassment. But she held her gaze. Her mother had always been her support, her constant, and she knew that would never change, no matter where this path led her.

Inko leaned in for one more quick kiss on Izuku’s forehead before stepping back. “Alright, I’ll leave you to get ready. Don’t forget to eat something before you go, okay? And remember, I’m here if you need anything.”

Izuku nodded, the tension in her body slowly unwinding as her mom stepped back toward the door. She watched her go, still feeling the reverberations of her reassuring touch. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel safe again—just a moment.

As the door clicked shut, Izuku’s gaze flicked back to the mirror. She adjusted the collar of her uniform once more, smoothing out the small creases that had appeared in the fabric as her hands fumbled with it. The butterflies on her forearms fluttered beneath the surface of her skin, the wings shifting and curling in response to her rising anxiety.

She looked at herself again, taking in the reflection. A nervous smile tugged at her lips as she adjusted her posture, trying to look more confident than she felt.

“I can do this,” she muttered under her breath, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. Her eyes lingered on the reflection for just a moment longer, then dropped to the floor, her fingers tracing the edges of the uniform once again. She could feel the weight of everything—the expectations, the pressure, the fear of failing—but she knew she couldn’t back down.

Not now.

Izuku grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, casting one last glance at the mirror before turning away. She had no idea what today would bring, but she wasn’t going to let fear control her.

With a deep breath, she stepped toward the door, her heart pounding in anticipation. Today wasn’t just the start of her future. It was the start of everything she had fought for, everything she had worked toward.

She was ready.

Even if she didn’t feel like it.

---

Now, standing before U.A. High, Izuku really didn't feel like it. The towering walls of the school loomed over her, their intimidating presence only adding to the storm of nerves brewing in her chest. She had imagined this moment for years, but now that it was real, all she could feel was uncertainty. Her stomach churned, and for a brief, fleeting second, a quiet voice whispered: What if I turn back? What if I just go home and try again next year? Maybe I’m not meant for this after all...

She caught herself before the thought could take root. No, I can't think like that.

She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a deep, steadying breath, the chill of the morning air filling her lungs. The coldness grounded her, pushing away the rising panic as she opened her eyes once more. She could do this. I’m here for a reason. The same mantra her mother always said echoed in her mind: “One step at a time. You’ll figure it out.”

Izuku couldn't help but smile faintly at the thought of her mom. Despite everything, she had always been the one to remind her that it was okay to be scared—just as long as you kept moving forward. One step at a time. I can do this.

Determined, Izuku stepped into the crowd, the sea of students milling around the entrance of U.A. almost overwhelming. The noise, the movement, the chatter—it all felt so loud, so big, like an ocean she was barely able to stay afloat in. She immediately felt that familiar weight press in on her chest, the pressure of being surrounded by so many people. The crowd felt suffocating, and instinctively, she hunched her shoulders, pulling her arms closer to her body as though to make herself smaller. Her wings, which were always there but always tucked tightly against her forearms, fluttered nervously under the fabric of her sleeves.

Then, in the midst of the crowd, her sharp gaze landed on something—or rather, someone. A flash of spiky blonde hair caught her attention, and her heart skipped. She froze for just a second, her body instinctively tensing. No. Not now.

Izuku’s breath caught in her throat as she subconsciously quickened her pace, hoping to move past the person before they could notice her. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her, to recognize her... She was fine, really. She was just going to keep going.

She had nearly made it to the door when her foot caught on something—something solid and unmoving. Her body lurched forward, but she quickly corrected herself, managing to stop just before tripping on a raised brick in the pavement. She gave the brick a pointed stare, as though it had conspired against her. Really? Of all the things...

Her wings fluttered uncomfortably, as if they too were trying to hide away from the world. She hugged them closer to her body, her lower arms instinctively wrapping tightly around her stomach. The pressure was familiar—a reflexive attempt at self-soothing, one she had learned to rely on in moments like this.

Izuku could feel the soft, ever-present weight of her wings against her forearms. The strange, jagged blackness of the butterflies that had settled beneath her skin all those months ago still lingered there, twisting with an eerie green glow when she focused on them. They would always be a part of her, but right now, in the bustling crowd, they felt even more like a burden than usual. She tried to ignore them, but it was hard—everything was hard right now.

She swallowed the bitter thought. Focus, Izuku.

Her mother’s voice returned, softly in the back of her mind: “One step at a time.”

The crowd pressed in around her, but this time, Izuku didn’t shrink away. She stood a little taller, her grip on her arms loosening just a fraction. One step at a time.

Taking another deep breath, she picked up her pace again, pushing through the discomfort. She could do this. She was doing this. The crowd felt a little less suffocating, and the weight on her chest grew a little lighter with each step. No, she wasn’t alone in this. She was here, surrounded by others like her, and she could handle whatever came next—one step at a time.

-.-

Izuku slid into her seat, barely registering the person beside her as she adjusted her posture, wings tucked tightly against her back. The nervous energy coursing through her body made her antennae twitch involuntarily, a shiver of unease crawling up her spine.

Then she looked up—and froze.

Familiar red eyes bored into her, sharp as a blade and just as cutting.

Katsuki.

Her breath hitched before she could stop it. He was right next to her, posture tense, glare fixed on her as if he had been waiting for her to notice. His lip curled slightly, the faintest twitch of distaste shadowing his face, and she quickly averted her gaze, her second pair of arms wrapping around herself in a protective motion.

It shouldn’t have rattled her. She had prepared for this, told herself over and over again that he didn’t matter. That he was just another student, just another applicant trying to get into U.A. just like her.

But her body didn’t seem to care about her resolve.

The weight of his glare settled on her shoulders like a lead blanket, making her antennae twitch again. Don’t react. Just ignore him. The logical part of her brain tried to reason, tried to keep her focused, but it was difficult when everything in her screamed to move, to run, to do something other than sit still.

And then—

"Tsk."

The sharp sound barely registered, but the weight of his glare finally eased. She risked a glance out of the corner of her eye just in time to see him shifting his focus away, his arms crossing over his chest as his attention moved elsewhere.

She exhaled shakily, only just realizing how tightly her fingers had curled into her sleeves.

Focus.

That was easier said than done, but then—

"Hello, Little Listeners!"

The booming voice cut through the tension in the air, and Izuku latched onto it like a lifeline.

She knew that voice.

It was a voice that had filled the silence of her room late at night, one she had listened to over the radio countless times, accompanying her through long study sessions and restless nights.

Present Mic.

A small, almost hesitant thrill of excitement pushed past her nerves. She’d always admired him—not just as a hero, but as a presence. His energy, his way of making the world seem just a little less overwhelming, had always been something she found comfort in.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous about what he was about to say.

“I hope you all studied,” Present Mic continued, hands on his hips as he grinned at the crowd. “Because today you’ll all be taking—the written exam!”

A murmur swept through the auditorium, a mix of groans, nervous whispers, and a few confident huffs. Izuku swallowed hard.

The written exam.

Of course, she had known this was coming. She had prepared for it. Spent weeks reviewing old hero case studies, memorizing formulas for quirk-related physics, and pouring over strategic scenario breakdowns.

But hearing it confirmed made it all so real.

She could handle written tests—she was good at them. But this wasn’t just any test. This was an exam created by Nezu himself. U.A.’s written exam was infamous for being one of the most difficult in the country, filled with problems designed to challenge even the most prepared students.

And if she didn’t pass—

No.

She cut off the thought before it could spiral, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

“I know, I know! Pretty cool, right?” Present Mic continued, voice carrying an easy enthusiasm. “But don’t let it scare ya too much. Just do your best, yeah?”

Right. Just do her best. That’s all she could do.

“Anyway!” Present Mic gestured to the hero beside him. “Mr. Ectoplasm—the guy right next to me—” He gave a playful tap on Ectoplasm’s shoulder, earning a silent nod from the hero. “—will be passing out your tests! And don’t even think about cheating, ‘cause it won’t work.”

Izuku tensed slightly as Ectoplasm stepped forward, his clones already moving through the rows of students, each carrying a stack of test papers. The room was quiet now, the air thick with anticipation.

She clenched her hands together for a brief moment before forcing herself to relax.

She had studied.

She was ready.

She had to be.

Izuku flinched when one of Ectoplasm’s clones placed a thick exam packet in front of her on the metal table. The soft clink of the packet landing made her antennae twitch, and her lower arms instinctively wrapped around her torso in an attempt to calm herself.

"Good luck," the clone murmured before moving on, placing another packet onto Katsuki’s section of the table beside her.

Izuku barely dared to glance his way. She could still feel his glare from earlier, burning into the side of her face. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that.

Instead, she focused on the test in front of her.

It was huge.

Her stomach twisted as she flipped it open, scanning the first page.

The English section.

She exhaled slowly. English. She could handle this.

Her eyes landed on the first question.

1. Choose the correct verb form:

If he ___ harder, he would have passed the exam.
a) studies
b) studied
c) had studied
d) was studying

"C. Had studied." She circled it quickly. This was basic conditional tense.

The next question required her to translate a sentence.

2. Translate the following into English:

私の夢はヒーローになることです。

That was easy.

My dream is to become a hero.

She answered a few more: correcting grammatical errors, choosing proper verb tenses, reordering jumbled sentences, and filling in missing words. Some were easy, others forced her to pause and think, but she worked through them, her pencil flying across the page.

More questions tested her ability to understand long passages, identify synonyms and antonyms, and correct awkward phrasing in complex sentences. By the time she reached the last question in the section, her hand was starting to cramp.

She took a deep breath and turned the page.

Math

Her confidence wavered.

Her grip tightened on her pencil as she scanned the first problem.

1. Solve for x:
2(3x - 5) = 4x + 10

She quickly worked through it:

6x - 10 = 4x + 10
6x - 4x = 10 + 10
2x = 20
x = 10

She double-checked, then moved on.

The next question involved geometry.

2. A right triangle has one leg measuring 8 cm and the hypotenuse measuring 10 cm. What is the length of the other leg?

Pythagorean theorem.

8^2 + b^2 = 10^2
64 + b^2 = 100
b^2 = 36
b = 6

6 cm. Another answer down.

Then came the harder problems—probability, statistics, and algebraic functions that made her pause before working through step by step. Some had multiple variables, others involved graph interpretations.

One particularly difficult problem dealt with a quadratic function.

3. A factory produces hero support items. The production of gadgets follows the function:
f(x) = 2x² - 5x + 3,
where x represents the number of hours worked. How many gadgets are produced when x = 4?

She substituted x = 4:

f(4) = 2(4)² - 5(4) + 3
= 2(16) - 20 + 3
= 32 - 20 + 3
= 15

She wrote 15 gadgets in the answer box before forcing herself to move on.

More questions followed, some demanding complex calculations, others trick questions meant to test logical reasoning. By the end of the section, her brain felt like it had been wrung out.

Still, she pushed forward, flipping to the next part of the exam.

Heroics.

Relief flooded her. This was her subject.

The first few questions were multiple-choice, testing knowledge of past hero incidents and ethical decision-making.

1. What was the primary cause of the villain attack on Hosu City last year?
a) A villain group targeting a high-profile hero
b) A coordinated attack from a terrorist organization
c) A case of mistaken identity leading to a hero’s intervention
d) A solo villain seeking revenge on a hero

Easy. A. A villain group targeting a high-profile hero.

2. A hero is in a burning building with two civilians. One is conscious and mobile, while the other is unconscious and trapped under debris. What should the hero do first?
a) Escort the conscious civilian out and return for the unconscious one
b) Attempt to lift the debris first
c) Signal for backup and wait for reinforcements
d) Prioritize their own safety and exit immediately

She barely had to think. A. Escort the conscious civilian out and return for the unconscious one. The unconscious person couldn’t escape on their own, but ensuring one person was safely evacuated first prevented further casualties.

More questions followed—hero case studies, proper protocol for responding to villain attacks, strategies for handling mass evacuations. There were even questions about old hero laws and how they had changed over time.

She answered each one carefully, recalling lessons she had studied for weeks.

Then she flipped the page.

Open-ended questions.

Her fingers curled around her pencil.

1. You are a hero in a hostage situation. The villain has no visible weapons but refuses to let the hostage go. What is your first move?

Her antennae twitched as she thought.
The first priority is to assess the villain’s mental state. Are they panicked? Do they have demands? Establishing communication is key. If they feel cornered, they may lash out, so I would try to de-escalate. Meanwhile, I would position myself to block their escape and discreetly prepare for a takedown if necessary.

She moved on.

2. A hero witnesses another hero breaking the law to stop a villain. Should they report it? Why or why not?

Her breath caught slightly.
Yes. While heroes should act to protect people, the law exists for a reason. If heroes start bending the rules, it sets a dangerous precedent. However, context matters—if reporting them immediately would endanger civilians, I would prioritize safety first and report later.

More questions followed, each forcing her to think through difficult situations: moral gray areas, leadership strategies, conflicts between duty and personal beliefs.

Then—

The final question.

What does being a hero mean to you?

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, she stared at the page.

A hero…

Her mind spun with all the expectations, all the things heroes were supposed to be. Strong. Fearless. Righteous.

But that wasn’t it, was it?

Her grip tightened on her pencil.

Then, slowly, she wrote:
Being a hero means standing up even when you’re scared. It means protecting people, not just from villains, but from fear, from hopelessness. A hero isn’t just someone who fights—they’re someone who refuses to let the world fall apart.

Her heartbeat was loud in her ears.

She set her pencil down, hands slightly shaking.

It was over.

Now all that was left was to wait.

-.-

It had been thirty minutes since the exam ended, and Izuku was starting to feel the weight of the silence pressing in on her. She had finished well ahead of time—half an hour early, in fact. But instead of feeling accomplished, her legs jittered under the table as she nervously braided and rebraided her hair over and over. She tried to focus, but the constant fidgeting didn’t help. Her second pair of arms crossed tightly over her chest, an unconscious attempt to comfort herself.

Katsuki’s presence next to her only made her feel more on edge. He hadn’t said a word, but his angry silence was deafening. His glare was practically a physical weight, and it made her feel like she couldn’t breathe properly. Izuku swallowed hard, trying to ignore him, but it was impossible. Her antennae twitched involuntarily, betraying her stress, but she didn’t dare turn her head to look at him.

As the minutes dragged by, she felt the tension in her chest growing. What if she missed something on the test? What if her answers weren’t good enough? She had done her best, but the thought of failing—of not being able to move on to the practical—made her stomach churn.

It was then that Present Mic’s voice boomed across the room, breaking through her spiraling thoughts. “All right, Little Listeners!! Time is officially up!” His cheerful tone rang out, but Izuku barely reacted. She had finished half an hour ago, and hearing him announce the time made her feel even more self-conscious. She’d had plenty of time, but she had just sat there, staring at her paper, too anxious to leave.

“Ectoplasm should be coming around collecting those tests, so I hope you were able to finish!” Present Mic continued, his excitement palpable, but Izuku barely registered it. She could hear Ectoplasm’s clones moving through the aisles, gathering up test papers, and she nervously pushed her packet forward when one of them reached her. Her hands shook slightly as she placed it on the table, feeling her throat tighten again as the clone gave her a quick “Good luck” before moving on.

"Ha! You guys must be starving, huh?" Present Mic’s voice rang out again, but Izuku wasn’t in the mood to laugh. Her stomach was definitely growling, but the nervousness still clung to her. She didn’t have the energy to smile, much less laugh at his attempt at humor. “Well, luckily for you, you’ve got the mercy of a well-needed break!” he continued, and Izuku glanced around, hearing other students shifting in their seats. She tried to focus on the words, hoping they’d help take her mind off the exam, but all she could think of was Katsuki’s scowl still fixed on her.

"If you didn’t bring lunch, don’t worry! Lunch Rush, our resident chef, has made plenty of bento boxes, so if you need one, don’t be shy—just ask! You’re gonna need the energy for the practical, so fuel up!” Izuku’s stomach growled at the mention of food, but it was hard to feel hungry with the knot in her stomach. She could almost hear the harshness in Katsuki’s breathing next to her, and she wanted to shrink further into herself.

"Also," Present Mic continued, his voice almost too loud in the still room, "if you don’t know your way around these halls—and let’s be honest, none of you do—just follow the purple lines to the cafeteria. You’ll see it! It’s got a big bold sign reading ‘Cafeteria!’ Can’t miss it."

Izuku let out a small sigh, wishing she could feel as carefree as the others seemed to. She couldn’t stop worrying, and the loud, enthusiastic voice of Present Mic wasn’t helping. Her heart raced as she glanced toward the purple lines painted on the floor, wondering if she could even find the cafeteria without making herself a bigger mess.

"You’ve got forty minutes, so make it count!" Present Mic’s voice cut through the air again, and Izuku flinched. "But listen up—" His tone suddenly shifted, and the room fell quiet, "You’ll get a twenty, fifteen, ten, and five-minute warning. If you’re late, you won’t be able to come back in, and that means you’ll miss the instructions for the practical. That would suck, so get back here on time! Alright? Now, get going, Little Listeners! Enjoy your lunch!"

The room started to move, but Izuku barely registered it. Her mind was still caught in the storm of what was to come. She stood up slowly, trying to keep her breathing steady. Her second pair of arms pressed against her sides, fingers trembling lightly as she took a deep breath. She didn’t know how to handle the practical exam. She didn’t know what it would be like. She was already exhausted, and the fear of failure gnawed at her.

Katsuki was still next to her, and she could feel his eyes burning into the side of her head, but she didn’t dare look at him. She wasn’t sure what kind of mood he was in after the exam, but she was fairly certain it wasn’t good. As she moved to follow the purple lines on the floor, her stomach lurched again. She had no idea what she was walking into next.

The cafeteria was supposed to be right ahead, but the only thing Izuku could focus on was the thumping of her heart and the way her legs felt like they were made of jelly. She had to calm down. It was just lunch. But everything seemed so much bigger than that.

Notes:

Haha, I hope you all missed me because I almost lost my mind doing the math section of this chapter. Seriously, if anything’s wrong in the test, I’d like to defend myself by saying I was writing this while running on about two hours of sleep and questionable decisions.

But honestly, aside from the math-induced pain, I really had fun writing this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed getting all my anxiety out on paper—I mean, creating dramatic tension for Izuku.

And with that, we must part ways—for now. Thanks for sticking with me through the first part of the entrance exam! Now go grab a snack or something. You’ve earned it. See ya next time!

-author

Chapter 7: Crossing the Line (Pt.2)

Summary:

Nerves alight in bustling halls,
A quiet lunch, a bond that calls.
In battle's heat, her strength is shown,
A hero’s heart, by kindness grown.

Notes:

TW/CWs:
Social Anxiety, Competition, Exam Stress, Risk of Injury, Injury, Physical Exhaustion, Helplessness, Violence, Destruction, Overcoming Panic, Passing Out.

The final chapter for our entrance exam- hope you enjoy!!!

Izuku stepped into the cafeteria, and the noise hit her all at once—the loud chatter, the clatter of trays, the scrape of chairs against the floor. Her antennae twitched at the sheer amount of movement, voices overlapping into a mess of background noise. She straightened her shoulders, fighting the urge to shrink in on herself. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Just find a spot, sit down, and eat. That’s it.

Her eyes darted around the room, skipping over tables crammed with students and the long line of people still waiting for food. The whole place felt packed, and the last thing she wanted was to wedge herself into a crowded table full of people she didn’t know. Too many eyes, too many conversations happening at once. It made her skin crawl just thinking about it.

Then—there. A nearly empty table in the far corner. Out of the way, not too close to the noise, and most importantly, no one was sitting there yet. Perfect.

Tightening her grip on her bag, she made her way over, slipping between groups of students without a word. It was something she’d gotten good at over the years—dodging people, moving fast enough that she wouldn’t get stuck in some awkward small talk. By the time she reached the table, she let out a quiet breath and set her bag down like a silent claim to the space.

Unzipping it, she pulled out her bento, fingers automatically loosening the cloth around it.

"You need the energy, sweetie! How will you do good on the practical without energy, Izuku!?"

Her mom’s voice rang through her head, full of warmth and love, and she felt a smile pull at her lips before she could stop it. She could practically picture her mom in the kitchen, fussing over every detail of her lunch, determined to make sure she had enough food to get through the day.

One step at a time. That’s what her mom always said.

A sharp knock on the table yanked her out of her thoughts. Izuku’s head snapped up, heart jumping slightly, and she found herself staring into a pair of striking lavender eyes.

Whoa.

The boy standing across from her had the same lavender shade in his hair, though a bit darker, and it floated slightly like it had a mind of its own. His face didn’t give much away, expression cool and unreadable, but his eyes were… intense. Not in a scary way, just sharp. Focused. Like he was used to watching people carefully.

He raised an eyebrow. “This spot… is it taken?”

His voice was smooth—not too deep, not too high, just… steady. Strong enough to be heard over the cafeteria noise without being loud.

Izuku blinked, her antennae twitching slightly. He had a nice voice.

Her eyes flickered down to the empty seat, then back up at him.

“No—uhm… you can sit down if you want.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he was amused. “Thanks.”

Without another word, he pulled the chair out and sat down, setting his tray on the table. His movements were slow, almost lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

Izuku hesitated for a second before turning her focus back to her bento. She could feel the quiet settling between them—not really awkward, but not exactly comfortable either. Just… there.

The guy started eating without hesitation, his eyes locked on his food. He had a bento from Lunch Rush, neatly packed and balanced, and he ate with this weird kind of efficiency. Not rushed, not slow, just… deliberate. Like eating was something he had to get through, not something he really cared about.

Izuku picked up her chopsticks, glancing over at the boy from the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help but wonder about him for a second. He hadn’t said much since sitting down, but his quiet vibe was... different. He wasn’t trying to fill the silence with pointless chatter, which was kind of nice. Most people felt the need to talk all the time, but he didn’t seem bothered by the noise. Was he like this all the time? Or was he just... not into talking right now?

Should she say something? Was it weird to ask? Maybe it was. But sitting in complete silence wasn’t great either. Izuku chewed on her bottom lip, debating with herself. She could just keep quiet, but she also didn’t want it to feel like she was ignoring him.

After another second of thinking, she decided to just go for it. She cleared her throat and raised her voice just enough to be heard over the noise of the cafeteria.

“Wh-what’s your name?”

Shinsou didn’t answer right away. He paused mid-bite, like he wasn’t sure whether to bother responding or not. His eyes flicked over to her, studying her for a moment. After a beat, he leaned back just a little and said, “Shinsou. Shinsou Hitoshi.”

Izuku nodded quickly, her face heating up a bit. “I—I’m Midoriya. Midoriya Izuku.”

There was a brief pause. Shinsou didn’t seem to care that much about the introduction, but he gave her a small nod, just barely, before going back to his food. The conversation was over before it really started.

Izuku shifted in her seat, poking at her rice. Great, now she felt even more awkward. Was it always this hard to talk to people? Why did she have to make it so weird?

She glanced at Shinsou again, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on his food, like he wasn’t even thinking about the awkward silence between them. Maybe it wasn’t bothering him as much as it was bothering her.

Her chopsticks were still hanging in the air, and she stared at her bento. Maybe she should just eat. This was fine, right? But before she could focus on that, she caught something out of the corner of her eye.

Across the cafeteria, she locked eyes with Katsuki, on those sharp ruby red eyes, and—of course—they were locked on her. She froze. That feeling in her chest came back. He was glaring at her, that angry, annoyed look he always gave her. Her stomach tightened, and she her stomach twist as her second pair of arms tightened around her torso.

He didn’t even hide it. As soon as their eyes met, his scowl deepened, and he looked like he wanted to punch something. Great, just what she needed. He was always like this.

Izuku quickly turned her head, not wanting to make it worse. She stared at her food, feeling like she was shrinking into her seat. Why did he always have to do that? It wasn’t like she had done anything to deserve it.

But after a few seconds of staring her down, he finally looked away. He turned back to his food like nothing happened, and Izuku let out a quiet breath of relief. He wasn’t glaring anymore, but the tension in her chest didn’t completely go away. She tried to shake it off and focus on eating.

The awkward silence with Shinsou hung in the air, and she couldn’t help but shift in her seat again. Just as she was about to pick up her chopsticks again, she heard a loud voice ring out across the cafeteria, cutting through the noise like a megaphone.

“Alright, everyone! Lunch is almost over! Get ready to head back to the gym!”

It was Mic, of course, his voice unmistakable. A few students groaned, but the crowd started to move, collecting trays and getting ready to leave.

Izuku quickly finished off her last bite of food, glad to have one less thing to worry about. She glanced over at Shinsou again. He was standing up, gathering his stuff, and giving her one last look and a small nod before walking off. She gave him a small, awkward wave, even though she wasn’t sure if he noticed.

Well, at least she made it through lunch. Now it was back to the stadium. One step at a time.

-.-

Izuku had just settled into her seat when Present Mic’s voice boomed through the stadium speakers again, full of his usual energy.

"Hello again, Little Listeners! I hope you all got enough calories in because you're gonna need that energy, ya dig?"

Silence.

The entire stadium remained dead quiet, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. No one was brave enough—or maybe just not enthusiastic enough—to humor him with a response.

Izuku huffed softly despite the nerves twisting in her stomach, a small smile tugging at her lips. One step at a time.

"You're all boring!" Mic whined dramatically, dragging out the word like he was genuinely offended. Then, just as quickly, he cleared his throat and switched back to business mode. "Whatever, you guys are here for information on the practical, aren't you?"

There was a shift in the room—subtle, but noticeable. A few students straightened in their seats. Others gripped their desks just a little tighter. This was it. The part of the exam that really mattered. The part that determined whether they had a shot at U.A. or not.

"Luckily for you, I have just that! Here's the rundown—" Mic continued, his voice still energetic, but with a sharper edge. "You’ll each get a pass with a letter on it. That letter tells you which bus you're taking to your assigned arena. The buses are lined up in alphabetical order, so if you get a letter further down in the alphabet, look for a bus further down the line—got it?"

The moment he finished speaking, a mechanical whir filled the stadium. Izuku’s eyes flicked to the desks in front of her as a small, rectangular slot slid open on each one. A beat later, thin plastic cards were pushed out with a soft click.

Reaching forward, Izuku picked hers up. A bold, black letter C was printed in the center.

Arena C, huh?

She turned the card over in her hands, her fingers running over the smooth surface. It was real now. The nerves, the excitement, the sheer weight of everything that was about to happen pressed in on her all at once.

She took a slow breath, tightening her grip on the pass.

One step at a time.

"Also—" Present Mic’s voice cut through the stadium again, snapping Izuku’s focus back to him. "-don’t lose that pass! You’ll need to show it to your bus driver to get in, so keep it close!"

Izuku glanced down at the card in her hand, tucking it carefully into her pocket. Right. No pass, no bus. No bus, no exam. Noted.

"Now, onto the more important part—" Mic spun on his heel, throwing an arm out toward the massive stadium. "The actual practical!" As he spoke, the air behind him shimmered, and a hologram flickered to life.

A robot.

Izuku leaned forward slightly, studying it. It wasn’t too big, about the size of a vending machine, its mechanical limbs twitching as it hovered in place. "As you guys can see, this is a robot," Mic continued, gesturing toward the projection. "Which you will be fighting!"

Before Izuku could process that, another mechanical whirr sounded from the desks. A second slot slid open, this one bigger than the last, and a small packet of papers was pushed out. She reached for hers automatically, flipping through the first few pages before flicking her gaze back up. "Those little packets contain more details, so be sure to read them," Mic explained. "But pay attention to me for a sec first!"

The first robot’s hologram shrunk, shifting to the side as a new one took its place—a larger, bulkier design with heavier plating and thicker limbs. "This guy right here is a two-pointer!"

Another shimmer. Another hologram. This time, the robot was massive. Towering over the first two, with reinforced armor and weapons that looked way more serious. "And this beast? That’s a three-pointer!"

Izuku swallowed, eyes darting between the three images.

"As the names suggest, each of these gives you one, two, and three points! But obviously, the higher the points, the harder they are to take down!" Mic grinned, rocking back on his heels like this was the most exciting thing in the world. "Now, listen up—" His tone shifted slightly, just enough to make Izuku sit up straighter. "You need at least forty points to get into the hero course. And you’ve got fifty minutes to earn them, alright?"

She heard a few people shift in their seats. The weight of that number settled in her gut, heavy and unshakable.

"Sounds rough, but it’s possible! I promise!" Mic threw up a thumbs-up, his usual grin plastered across his face. "So don’t freak out just yet!"

Forty points.

Izuku tightened her grip on the packet in her hands.

She exhaled slowly, steadying her thoughts.

One step at a time. She could do this.

Izuku was snapped out of her thoughts when Present Mic suddenly perked up.

"Oh? A question!" His voice echoed through the stadium, and a bright spotlight flicked on, illuminating a student a few rows ahead.

The boy stood stiffly, adjusting the perfectly straight frames of his glasses. His deep blue hair was neatly combed, and his entire outfit—right down to his perfectly pressed suit—screamed fancy. Even the way he stood was formal, like he was addressing an entire boardroom instead of a bunch of nervous examinees.

"What do you need, little listener?" Present Mic grinned, his usual enthusiasm not dimming in the slightest.

The boy pushed his glasses up, expression sharp with determination. "Yes! I noticed something in the packet—there are four robot types listed, but so far, you've only provided details on three!" His voice was crisp and clear, like he was making an official complaint. "I believe that failing to disclose such crucial information is highly unbecoming of a school as prestigious as U.A.!"

A few murmurs rippled through the crowd, some students exchanging glances.

Izuku blinked, glancing down at her own packet. Four robots? She skimmed through the pages—one-pointer, two-pointer, three-pointer… oh.

Present Mic didn’t look the least bit fazed. He just nodded, grin still firmly in place.

"Yep! You’re totally right, dude!" He spun on his heel and threw a hand up toward the stadium. "That fourth robot is called the zero-pointer!"

This time a hologram didn't appear, Izuku noted, was it a surprise...? Was it a bad one? She gulped.

"You can go ahead and ignore this one!" Mic continued, clapping his hands together. "It won’t give you any points, so it’s not really worth wasting your energy on!"

Izuku frowned slightly, her stomach twisting. That was… weird. Why include it at all, then?

"That answer your question?" Present Mic called out.

The boy nodded stiffly before taking his seat, the spotlight cutting off as quickly as it had appeared.

"Alright!" Mic clapped his hands, looking over the crowd. "Any more questions? No? Alright! Let's keep things moving!"

“Now, this next part is very important, so listen up!” Present Mic’s voice rang through the stadium, snapping Izuku’s focus back to him. She straightened in her seat, wings twitching slightly as she leaned forward. Behind him, a hologram flickered to life, displaying a neat bullet-point list.

“This list right here? That’s the main rules list for the practical. If you flip to page seven in your packets, you’ll find it there too—along with some extra rules you might wanna read over. Just saying.” He grinned before pointing at the first rule.

“Rule number one—stay inside the boundaries!”

Izuku glanced down at her packet, quickly flipping to the page he mentioned. She found the rule easily, but her attention stayed on Present Mic as he continued.

“The arenas are big, and the boundary walls are far off, but that doesn’t mean you can just ignore them! They’re there for a reason. As long as you’re inside, we can track you and make sure you’re safe. That includes anyone who can fly—you know who you are!”

Izuku felt her wings give a small, involuntary flutter, and her second pair of arms tightened around her stomach. Yeah, no thanks. Not getting disqualified today.

“Next up—do not attack other students! I get that you’re all pumped up, ready to show off those flashy moves, but if you go around throwing punches at your competition instead of the robots—boom! Instant disqualification! Keep your fists, fire, lasers, and whatever else to yourself.”

Izuku bit the inside of her cheek. That… made sense. But with so many people in one place, all scrambling to get points, things could get messy real fast. Accidents could still happen, right? She just had to make sure she wasn’t in the middle of it.

“Now, if you do end up in trouble—don’t panic. We’ve got Pro Heroes stationed around the arenas for emergencies. If you’re seriously hurt, they’ll step in. But don’t think that means you can just sit back and wait for help—that’s not very heroic, is it?”

Izuku exhaled slowly, her grip on her packet tightening. Right. No freezing up. No relying on someone else to step in. I got this.

“And finally—this one’s super important, so listen close!” Present Mic held up a finger for emphasis.

“Your fifty minutes start the second you hear the buzzer. Once time’s up—stop fighting! No sneaking in a last-minute robot smash, no ‘one more hit’—if the timer’s done, so are you. Unless you want to get disqualified, which I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

Izuku swallowed and nodded slightly to herself. Fifty minutes. That wasn’t too short, but it wasn’t long either. She had to move fast.

“When the test is over, exit through the gates and follow the instructions from the exam proctors. No wandering off!”

The hologram flickered off, but before Present Mic could wrap things up, he snapped his fingers like he’d just remembered something.

“Oh! One last thing! Before we send you all off, you’ll be heading to the locker rooms to change into appropriate clothes for the exam. If you brought your own training gear, great! If not, don’t worry—we’ve got ya covered! U.A. has provided exercise wear for anyone who needs it, so you’ll be all set.”

A few murmurs spread through the room, but Present Mic kept going.

"Each locker room is labeled with the same letter as your bus, so find the right one, get changed, and then head outside! No dawdling, all right?"

He clapped his hands together, grinning as he scanned the room.

“All right, little listeners! That should just about cover it! So, grab your passes, read those packets, and get pumped! ‘Cause the next time I see ya, you’ll be showing us what you’ve got!”

Excited murmurs spread across the stadium as the announcement wrapped up, but Izuku barely heard them. Her fingers tapped anxiously against the edge of her desk. Fifty minutes. Forty points. No room for mistakes.

She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

Alright. Let’s do this.

---

The locker room was crowded. The low hum of conversation mixed with the occasional clang of metal doors being opened and shut, and the faint scent of detergent and clean fabric filled the space. Izuku hovered near the entrance for a second, wings tucked in tight, arms curled slightly around herself. She had expected the swarm of students, but now that she was here, the reality of it hit harder than she thought.

Alright. Find a locker, get changed, focus on the exam. Simple enough.

Except, as she started weaving her way through the rows, she realized most of the lockers were already claimed. Some had folded clothes stacked neatly inside, others had bags shoved in the corners. She frowned, chewing the inside of her cheek. Had she moved too slow? Was she supposed to have rushed in sooner? Was there some kind of unspoken locker-claiming rule she had missed?

Before she could spiral too far, a voice called out, breaking through the noise.

“Hey, there’s an open one over here.”

Izuku turned, blinking in surprise. A girl with bright orange hair was standing a few lockers away, glancing over her shoulder at her. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes were bright but steady, calm in a way that made something in Izuku’s chest untangle just a little.

She’s pretty.

The thought came before she could stop it—her hair looked smooth, like it would be nice to run her fingers through, and her expression was open, like she wasn’t the type to glare at someone for taking too long to move.

Izuku cleared her throat, pulling herself back to the moment. “Oh—uh, thanks!” she said quickly, stepping forward.

The girl just gave a small smile, turning back to her own locker. “No problem.”

Izuku let out a quiet breath as she opened the locker. That had been nice. Quick, simple. Just another student helping her out. It wasn’t a big deal or anything, but still, it was... reassuring.

She focused on pulling out the clothes U.A. had provided, her nerves still buzzing, but maybe—just maybe—not as bad as before.

-.- 

Izuku felt her nerves creeping back as she stood in line in front of Bus C. She could already feel the tension building up again, her stomach twisting in that familiar knot of anticipation. The exam was finally starting, and the reality of it was settling in.

In front of her, one of Ectoplasm’s clones stood at the bus door, a stoic expression on its face as it checked IDs and letters before allowing students to board. The ID was something everyone had been given when they entered the building, a piece of identification they were told to keep on them at all times in case of random checks. Izuku hadn’t thought much about it until now, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it was some sort of added security or just another part of the exam to throw students off.

When her turn came, she shuffled forward, her heart pounding as she moved closer to the door. The clone didn’t even glance up, simply holding out its hand for the necessary documents. Izuku hesitated for a fraction of a second, the weight of the moment heavy on her. She fumbled a little as she pulled out her card and ID from her pocket, the cool metal of the ID pressing against her palm.

With a quiet breath, she placed both items in the clone’s outstretched hand. It scanned them with mechanical precision, and Izuku felt a slight shiver run down her spine as it processed the information. The clone’s eyes flicked back to her, its expression as impassive as ever.

"Go on," it said in its monotone voice, handing her ID back while keeping the letter card.

Izuku nodded, swallowing hard as she stepped past the clone and onto the bus. As she walked up the stairs, the tight feeling in her chest didn’t ease, but she forced herself to take slow, steady breaths. There were still a few other students boarding ahead of her, but Izuku chose a seat near the back, sinking down into the seat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The air inside the bus felt different—charged with nervous energy, and she could feel the weight of all the other students' anxiety pressing in on her.

It was happening. It was all happening now. She just had to get through it.

---

Students filed off the bus in an orderly fashion, and Izuku shuffled through the crowd, her wings pressed tightly against her back to avoid bumping into anyone. The mass of students moved as one toward a massive door at the front of the arena. The door was imposing—heavily reinforced with metal, the kind of door that looked like it could withstand a major assault. Izuku couldn’t help but stare at it for a moment longer, the weight of the moment sinking in.

Her gaze drifted upwards, and a large, illuminated pad flickered to life above the door. The words ARENA C flashed in bold, white letters.

The tension in the air was almost tangible. Izuku’s heart raced in her chest as she took a deep breath, steadying herself. This was it. The entrance exam was about to begin.

Before she could process much further, Present Mic's voice blared across the stadium, echoing through the speakers. "Alright, little listeners! I hope you're all ready—because the practical is about to begin. You have three minutes to collect yourselves, so be ready!"

Izuku nodded to herself, the sound of his voice shaking off some of the nerves that had begun to resurface. She quickly started stretching, her wings stretching outward as much as they could in the confined space. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the tension in her muscles loosen. Her back popped as she twisted, letting her arms stretch high above her head.

She had to be ready. She couldn’t let the nerves hold her back. She had to do well. One step at a time.

Izuku could almost hear her mom’s voice in her mind, like it was guiding her, “You can do it, Izuku. Believe in yourself.”

The countdown on the pad above the door caught her attention again. The time was ticking down—a minute and a half, it read. She swallowed, watching the numbers shift in front of her eyes.

A minute.

Thirty seconds.

Her heart began to beat faster, but she kept her breathing steady.

Fifteen seconds.

Just focus. You’ve trained for this.

Three seconds.

Izuku’s pulse quickened in her ears.

Two seconds.

One second.

"Alright, little listeners—YOU'RE UP!" Present Mic’s voice roared over the loudspeakers. The doors creaked open with a heavy groan, revealing the arena inside. Many students stood frozen, hesitant at first, unsure of what to do. But the moment Present Mic spoke again, his voice full of energy, he cut through their hesitation.

"What are you all waiting for!? There isn’t a countdown in real life, so there’s no countdown here—GET MOVING!"

Izuku’s heart skipped a beat, the words hitting her like a burst of electricity. Without thinking, her legs moved forward, the adrenaline pushing her into action. It was time. The practical exam had begun.

-.-

Izuku darted between robots, her wings pressed tightly against her back. They weren’t strong enough to let her fly for long, but she could use them to glide for a couple of feet, giving her a small advantage to dodge or reposition. Her muscles burned with the effort, and her heart hammered in her chest. Just focus, Izuku. Focus on the task at hand.

She spotted a 1-pointer ahead, and her instincts kicked in. But before she could make her move, she hesitated. Is it too late to dodge that strike? Her mind raced, calculating the angles, the best way to approach it. She bit her lip, anxiety building up in her chest.

No. I can’t hesitate. She forced herself to move. Her second pair of arms shot out, grabbing the robot’s metal arm just before it could swipe at another student. With a grunt, she twisted it sharply, hearing the satisfying crack as the joint snapped. The robot fell to the ground, and Izuku quickly shoved it aside, barely giving herself a moment to breathe.

But her thoughts were already racing again. That was close... too close.

She didn’t have the time to dwell on it. Her gaze swept over the area, and her eyes landed on a student caught near a 2-pointer. The robot was winding up for another strike. Izuku’s first instinct was to run forward, but her feet faltered, hesitation creeping in. What if I can’t reach them in time? What if I’m too slow?

She almost froze, but then the scream of the student pulled her out of her daze. No. I can’t let that happen.

With a deep breath, she sprinted forward, wings fluttering weakly behind her, giving her just enough speed to slide under the attack of the 2-pointer. She grabbed its leg, twisting it with all her strength, and heard the mechanical crunch as it crumpled to the ground. She quickly checked on the student she saved, who was already scrambling to their feet. She nodded to them, her mind racing, not allowing herself to linger.

“Be careful,” she told them, but her words felt hollow, like they were too late. She had already felt the weight of doubt creeping into her chest.

Izuku kept moving, focusing on the task at hand. There’s no time to stop and think. Just keep going.

Another 1-pointer appeared in front of her, but this time, she didn’t hesitate to jump in. Her second set of arms reached out, grabbing it by the head and wrenching it off balance. She twisted its neck, and the robot fell with a loud crash. Her heart pounded, but there was no time for relief. She quickly glanced around for the next threat.

A 2-pointer was advancing on a student who had tripped. Izuku’s eyes darted between the student and the robot. If I can’t stop it, they’re done for...

For a split second, she hesitated again. Her body felt stiff, her thoughts rushing. What if I can’t stop it in time?

She shook her head, forcing herself to move, her arms already reaching out as she shoved the student out of the way. Her wings fluttered weakly as she used them to launch herself upward just enough to avoid the robot’s attack, before tackling it to the ground. Her arms worked to twist and disable it, her body moving on autopilot as she quickly dealt with the machine.

“Thank you!” The student she’d saved shouted, and Izuku just nodded in response, already looking for the next robot to deal with.

As she glanced around, her body sore from the constant motion, she tried to keep her focus. Just a little longer. I can’t stop now.

With five minutes left, Izuku took down another 2-pointer but then something felt off. Her heart skipped in her chest as the ground beneath her started to tremble. What’s going on?

She froze for a second, staring around. Her breath hitched. Is that…?

The ground shook harder, the tremor now unmistakable. Her eyes turned toward the massive form emerging from behind a building.

The Zero Pointer.

The giant robot—its legs towering over everything else—was approaching. It was like nothing she had seen before. It was huge. Far too large, its steps shaking the ground beneath her feet. She felt a chill run down her spine. That’s… that’s the Zero Pointer...

Izuku’s heart raced, and her stomach churned. She hadn’t been prepared for something like this—not with how exhausted she was, not with how little she had left. How am I supposed to stop that?

A scream rang out in the distance. "Help!" The voice was unmistakable, desperate. Izuku’s eyes darted to where it came from, her breath hitching when she saw a student—the girl from the locker room, she recognized her by the orange hair—trapped under debris, with the massive Zero Pointer heading straight toward her.

I can't just leave her there. I can't let her get crushed. Izuku’s legs trembled with exhaustion, but the thought of letting anyone get hurt spurred her into action. Her wings fluttered weakly, pushing her into a glide as she bolted toward the girl.

The Zero Pointer’s too big, too strong. I can’t stop it. Her mind raced as she reached the trapped girl, trying to think of any way to help. The massive robot loomed closer, its metallic feet crashing down with deafening force. Izuku’s arms trembled as she tried to lift the debris off Kendo, but it was too heavy, and the weight of exhaustion weighed on her shoulders. She didn’t have the strength for this.

But I can’t just leave her here... The thought sent a wave of panic through her chest, but she quickly forced it down. Her wings fluttered again, not enough for flight but enough to let her hop back to her feet.

There had to be something—anything—she could do to slow it down, to give Kendo time. Izuku glanced at the Zero Pointer, eyes narrowing as she tried to calculate the best way to help. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Think, Izuku. Think. What can I do?

Izuku’s heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t just leave the girl—gosh she needed to get a name—was in danger. The Zero Pointer’s steps were so heavy that the ground shook with each one. It was getting closer.

Izuku’s mind raced as she quickly assessed the situation. She didn’t have the strength to lift the debris. Her wings weren’t strong enough for flight, and she couldn’t overpower the Zero Pointer. But she couldn’t just watch either.

She bit her lip, her thoughts scattered. Then—wait. Her second pair of arms. She could use them.

Izuku quickly moved into position and dropped to her knees, pulling at the rocks with both sets of arms, trying to move the debris inch by inch. She gritted her teeth, using all her physical strength to shift the heavy pieces. Each moment felt like an eternity, and the Zero Pointer was getting closer with every second.

"Hold on," Izuku muttered under her breath, trying to keep the panic at bay. "Just hold on a little longer."

The girl with orange hair was still conscious, but she looked terrified, and with good reason. Izuku could see her struggling to move, pinned under the rubble. Every time she tried to lift a piece, it slipped back down.

Then, Izuku heard a loud clang. The Zero Pointer’s arm swung dangerously close, and she could feel the ground vibrating beneath her. It wasn’t going to wait much longer.

I have to hurry.

Izuku’s arms burned with the effort, her muscles screaming at her. She had to dig faster. She had to get the girl out of here. Finally, with a final push, the last of the debris was moved away, revealing Kendo fully. She looked up at Izuku, her face a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"Thank you…" she gasped, but Izuku couldn’t spare any more words.

Without hesitation, Izuku grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, her wings fluttering weakly to help balance herself as they moved out of the way. But just as they started to move, a terrifying sound shook the air.

The Zero Pointer’s massive hand slammed down, sending a shockwave through the area. The ground cracked open from the impact, and debris flew through the air. Izuku’s heart leaped into her throat.

"Come on!" Izuku shouted. "We have to get out of here!"

She forced herself to run, pushing herself harder than she ever had before. Her wings flapped in short bursts, not enough to carry her, but enough to keep her grounded and propel her forward. The girl's arm was tight in her grip as she dragged her along, hearing the massive robot’s footsteps behind them, the rumble growing closer with every second.

But there was no time to slow down, no time to think. Only run.

"Just a little more…" Izuku whispered to herself, her legs burning, her arms aching. Every part of her body screamed, but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t fail.

She heard the girls voice from behind her, a mix of breathless relief and awe. "You...You saved me-"

Izuku couldn’t respond—she was focused entirely on getting them both to safety. Finally, they reached a narrow gap between two buildings. Izuku ducked under the frame, pulling Kendo through just as the ground shook again with the Zero Pointer’s massive footfall.

They both collapsed against the wall, breathless and shaken.

Izuku looked at the girl, her eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

The girl nodded, smiling, though her face was pale. "I—I think so. My leg might be- might be sprained though..."

Izuku’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked back at the Zero Pointer. It was still rampaging, causing destruction everywhere it went. But for now, she had done what she could.

She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her racing heart. “Right. uhm- let’s just stay out of sight,” she said quietly, more to herself than the girl infront of her.

But despite the terror of the Zero Pointer, Izuku couldn’t help but feel a small spark of relief. She had done something. She had helped. And that was enough—for now.

Then, the unmistakable sound of a buzzer rang through the air, cutting through the chaos. “Alright listeners—THAT’S TIME UP!” Izuku froze, her body stiffening as the ground continued to rumble from the Zero Pointer’s footsteps, but only for a moment before everything came to a sudden halt.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the silence enveloped her. She allowed herself to collapse against the nearby wall, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as the tension in her body melted away. It’s over. She couldn't help but think, her body aching from every muscle, every movement, every step she had taken just to make it this far.

In front of her, the girl with orange hair—Kendo—let out a strained cough, pulling Izuku's attention back to the present. Kendo looked over at her, her face still pale but determined, and asked in a hoarse voice, "What's your name?"

Izuku blinked, a little dazed from everything, before meeting Kendo's gaze. Her first instinct was to give her usual response, but she paused for a second longer, noticing the exhaustion in Kendo's eyes, too. Then, Izuku smiled just a little, the corners of her lips tugging upward.

"Midoriya Izuku... you?"

Kendo, still trying to catch her breath, offered a small but genuine smile in return. "Kendo Itsuka... nice to meet you."

Izuku nodded, her smile softening as she absorbed Kendo’s words. Kendo. The name clicked in her mind, and she couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of relief from the exchange. "Yeah... It's nice to meet you too," she responded, her voice a bit quieter now, tinged with the lingering adrenaline of the ordeal they’d just survived.

They both remained there for a moment longer, sharing a brief silence as the sounds of the exercise field echoed faintly in the distance. 

Izuku sighed, she hadn’t been this drained in a long time. The adrenaline from the fight with the Zero Pointer was finally wearing off, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes for just a moment. A second.

She let her eyelids flutter closed, too tired to keep them open any longer. Maybe... just a quick rest.

-.-

The next thing Izuku knew, she was blinking her eyes open, disoriented. Her surroundings were different—cleaner, quieter—nothing like the chaotic battlefield from earlier. For a split second, she had no idea where she was. The soft hum of a machine and the scent of antiseptic filled her senses. It wasn’t until she looked down at her hands that she realized she was in a bed. Recovery Girl's office. She was lying down.

Her head felt foggy, like her brain was wrapped in cotton, but a warm, comforting presence immediately washed over her. She wasn’t alone.

"Mom..." Izuku croaked, her voice weak.

A soft chuckle broke the silence, and her mom’s voice reached her ears before she could make out her figure.

“You really went all out, didn’t you, Izuku?”

Izuku turned her head slightly, her blurry vision finally focusing on Inko sitting at her bedside, a gentle smile on her face as she carefully held Izuku's hand. The familiarity of her mom’s presence was like a wave of warmth that Izuku hadn’t realized she needed so desperately.

"I… I guess I did." Izuku whispered, trying to sit up but wincing at the stiffness in her limbs.

“You passed out after the exam ended. You’ve been out cold for a while now.” Inko said, her voice tender but with an edge of concern. “But you’re going to be alright.”

Izuku nodded, letting her mom’s words settle in. She had been so close to collapsing before—she had barely made it through the exam—but she didn’t regret it. She’d given everything she had.

After a moment, Inko added, “You’ve got a visitor.”

Izuku blinked and looked up, slightly confused. Who would be visiting her here?

Inko gave her a playful smile and gestured to the side of the bed. At that moment, Izuku’s eyes caught a small piece of paper, resting on the pillow next to her. It was a folded note.

She reached for it, her fingers still heavy, and opened the note carefully.

It read:

Hey, thanks for everything. You really helped me out back there. I owe you one.

By the way, my number’s here if you ever need anything. I mean it. You're a tough one.

Good luck with getting into U.A. I’m rooting for you.

Kendo Itsuka

Izuku couldn’t help but smile, a little surprised. Kendo... Izuku felt a quiet gratitude well up inside her, followed by a tiny spark of curiosity. She hadn’t expected to be so moved by a simple note, but there it was.

Izuku turned her head back to her mom, her voice soft. “I guess I made a friend.”

Inko smiled, a little teasing. “Looks like it. You’re surrounded by good people, Izuku. You’ll find your way.”

Izuku nodded, feeling a little more grounded. One step at a time.

Notes:

Guys, this chapter has 6.9k words, I'm actually really proud of it!

Before you go, though, I need to clear up a couple of things that are important for the direction of the story: THIS FIC WILL NOT BE IZUKU x SHINSOU OR IZUKU x KENDO. Just to be crystal clear, Izuku is not romantically interested in either of them, and she never will be. There’s a difference between admiring someone’s beauty and having romantic feelings for them, and that will become way more obvious when Yaoyorozu is introduced.

On a more exciting note, we’ve introduced some awesome new characters in this chapter! I had so much fun bringing in Kendo and Shinsou, and I’m really looking forward to exploring their dynamic with Izuku (and with each other) as the story moves forward. I love both of these characters and have my own take on their personalities, so I’m writing this fic with how I imagine they'd interact with the world and the people around them.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it and thank you for the support so far! see ya next time!

-author

Chapter 8: Waiting for Tomorrow

Summary:

Anxiety tangled her thoughts, a storm within,
Days stretched long as doubts would spin.
She waited, hoping for a sign to break,
But still, the silence kept her heart awake.

Notes:

Hello!! There's actually not a lot of warnings for this chapter sooo

TW/CWs
Exhaustion, Nightmares, Mentions of Bullying, Crying, Anxiety, Impatience.

Hope you enjoy!!

Izuku had always been an anxious person. It wasn’t just a quirk of her personality—it was a deeply ingrained part of her. She overthought things to the point of exhaustion, dissected conversations long after they ended, and fixated on the smallest details until they grew into insurmountable worries.

So, really, it should’ve been no surprise that waiting for U.A.’s entrance exam results had her spiraling into a full-blown anxiety-ridden mess.

It had been two weeks. Two whole weeks.

Every morning, she woke up with the thought: Maybe today is the day. Every afternoon, when nothing arrived, she would bite her nails and convince herself, No, no—it’ll probably come tomorrow. And then, when tomorrow came and nothing changed, the cycle would start all over again.

Her emotions swung between extremes—one moment, she was desperate to know, pacing her room with restless energy. The next, she wanted nothing more than to delay the results, terrified of what they might be. What if she failed? What if she had messed up too much? What if her points weren't enough? What if she didn’t belong there?

Even when she tried to distract herself, her mind inevitably drifted back to U.A.

She practiced her quirk—focusing on extending her second pair of arms and trying to strengthen her gliding capabilities—but the moment she stopped moving, the anxiety returned. She visited her park, a place that usually calmed her, but all she could think about was whether her performance had been enough.

Did I destroy enough robots? Was I too slow? Did I hesitate too much?

Her mother had noticed, of course. Inko was nothing if not painfully perceptive when it came to her daughter’s emotions. She had gently encouraged Izuku to relax, made her favorite meals, and even suggested watching old hero documentaries together. Izuku had tried, she really had—but nothing could shake the restless energy curling in her chest.

And school was no better.

Aldera had returned from break, which meant dealing with the usual. Katsuki’s glares still burned into her from across the classroom, and his insults still found her whenever she passed him in the hallways.

But something was different.

He never touched her anymore. Not like before.

Ever since the exam, he had been avoiding her. He didn’t shove her shoulder as he passed, didn’t snap at her during lessons, didn’t even go out of his way to mock her the way he used to. Instead, he hovered at a distance, watching her from afar but refusing to engage.

It was… weird. Unnerving, even.

Did she understand why? No. Did she care? Also no.

If it meant less of his nonsense, she’d take it as a victory.

Now, lying on her bed, Izuku let her head fall back against the wall and let out a long sigh.

Her room was dimly lit, the glow of the evening sky barely filtering through her curtains. The silence was heavy, pressing against her ears as she stared at the ceiling.

Her phone was next to her, screen dark, as if taunting her.

Izuku tapped her fingers restlessly against the blanket. The results had to come soon… right?

Her stomach twisted at the thought.

What if they didn’t? What if they had already sent out the acceptance letters, and she just wasn’t on the list? What if she failed so miserably that U.A. didn’t even bother with a rejection letter?

She squeezed her eyes shut.

No. Stop it.

She had done her best. Even if it wasn’t enough, she wouldn’t let herself spiral.

But still… she really wished the results would just hurry up and get here already.

-.-

Izuku stumbled through the front door, barely registering the familiar creak of the hinges as she stepped inside. She felt like a walking corpse, running on fumes and sheer stubbornness. It wasn’t just school that drained her—Aldera was always a mess of tense shoulders, sharp whispers, and Bakugou’s occasional glare—but the lack of sleep was starting to take a toll.

She shouldn’t be this exhausted.

But sleeping two hours a night for the past week would do that to a person.

Izuku let out a slow breath, adjusting the strap of her backpack before shrugging it off entirely, letting it drop onto the floor with a soft thud. Her wings, stiff from being pinned close to her back all day, fluttered slightly at the newfound freedom, but even they felt heavy. She sighed and rubbed at her eyes before bending down to untie her shoes, forcing her tired fingers to cooperate.

It wasn’t just the nerves keeping her up at night.

The entrance exam had been two weeks ago. Two weeks of replaying her every movement in her head, overanalyzing every moment, agonizing over whether she had done enough.

And even then, that wasn’t what stole her sleep.

Because every time she closed her eyes, it was there.

The sludge.

The weight of it, suffocating and thick, pressing against her lungs, stealing the air from her body. Even now, the memory made her chest tighten, her fingers twitching at the phantom sensation of being held down, of having no way out. She had woken up gasping so many times that she had started keeping a water bottle next to her bed, but it never really helped.

It had been getting better.

It would get better.

If she ignored it, if she didn’t acknowledge it—then maybe it would just go away.

Shaking herself from the thought, Izuku straightened up, stretching her arms over her head. She could hear the soft sounds of movement in the kitchen—clattering dishes, the occasional shuffle of feet. The smell of miso soup lingered in the air, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

That was strange.

Her mom usually wasn’t home this early.

Izuku blinked, caught off guard for a moment before raising her voice.

"Hey, Mom! I'm home!"

There was a pause.

Then—hurried footsteps.

And then, her mother appeared in the hallway, her face practically glowing with excitement.

"Izuku!" Inko’s voice was breathless, like she had been waiting for this moment. "The letter—it’s here!”

Izuku froze.

Her heart skipped a beat before slamming against her ribs, a cold rush of adrenaline washing over her exhaustion in an instant. She stared at her mother, at the small white envelope clutched in her hands, at the bold red stamp on the front that read U.A. HIGH SCHOOL.

Her mouth went dry.

She had spent two weeks waiting for this letter.

And now—it was here.

-.-

Inko had always worried about Izuku—what mother wouldn’t? But this time, it wasn’t just about the usual things. It wasn’t just the nerves. Those, she was used to. Izuku had always been an anxious child, prone to overthinking and second-guessing herself. Inko herself had struggled with anxiety for years, so she understood the endless cycle of worry that could keep someone up at night.

No, this was something else.

The exhaustion in Izuku’s face, the way her shoulders sagged more and more each day, the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of lighthearted conversation could erase—it all pointed to something deeper than pre-test jitters.

It was the lack of sleep. And Inko knew exactly what that meant.

It meant nightmares.

She should have expected them, really. After...the incident, it had been the same. A week and a half of barely any rest, her daughter running on thirty minutes to an hour of sleep at best, flinching at sudden touches, waking up with gasping breaths and shaking hands.

It had taken time for things to settle, for Izuku to find some peace. And now, it seemed that peace had been disrupted all over again.

Still, Inko didn’t call her daughter out on it.

She wanted to—desperately. Every time Izuku came home looking like a strong wind could knock her over, every time she caught her barely suppressing a yawn at the dinner table, every time she saw her force a tired smile, Inko wanted to say something.

But she knew better.

Izuku had always been the kind of person to bottle things up, to pretend she was fine so no one would worry. If she hadn’t come to Inko about the nightmares yet, then that meant she was trying to spare her mother from knowing about them.

And if Inko pushed—if she called her out on the lack of sleep, if she let her concern show too much—Izuku would only grow more anxious. She’d start feeling guilty on top of everything else, and that guilt would feed into the stress, which would make the nightmares worse, which would lead to even less sleep.

A vicious cycle.

How did Inko know this?

Because she had spent years of her life studying psychology. Because she had a master’s degree in it.

And because, at the end of the day, she knew her daughter better than anyone else.

So, when Inko checked the mail that afternoon, fresh from arriving home earlier than usual, she wasn’t expecting anything particularly exciting—just the usual stack of bills, advertisements, and newsletters she’d probably toss straight into the recycling bin. But then, nestled among the mundane, she saw it.

A sleek, official-looking envelope stamped with the insignia of U.A. High School.

For a moment, she just stared at it, her breath catching in her throat. Then, a wave of pure joy and relief washed over her. Finally.

This was it. The U.A. exam results.

Inko had believed Izuku would pass. She had hoped for it, prayed for it, but even with all her faith in her daughter, there had been a small, nagging worry in the back of her mind. What if they didn’t see what I see? What if they overlooked her talent, her determination, her heart?

But no. She refused to think that way.

Izuku deserved to get in.

She was smart, resourceful, and had the kind of creativity that couldn’t be taught. Even if her quirk wasn’t the flashiest or the strongest, even if she still had so much to learn, she had worked for this. Ten months of training, pushing herself beyond her limits, leaving early and coming home late, dedicating herself to something she had always been told was impossible.

Inko had seen the change firsthand.

Her daughter had built herself up—her frame stronger, her arms more toned, her clothes fitting just a little tighter than before. (I really need to remember to buy her some new ones soon… Is my age catching up to me?) More than that, she had pushed herself every single day, going to that park, training until exhaustion, refusing to give up on something that had meant the world to her since she was a child.

And if—if—this envelope contained anything other than an acceptance letter?

Well, Inko would personally march to U.A., stand at their gates, and demand to know exactly why her daughter wasn’t accepted.

But she knew, knew, that wasn’t going to be the case. It couldn’t be.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

Wait for Izuku to come home.

Wait for her to rip open the envelope, hear the news, and finally—finally—let go of at least some of the stress that had been weighing her down.

Maybe then, she’d start sleeping properly again.

Inko really hoped so.

---

Inko and Izuku sat side by side on the couch, the U.A. letter resting on the table in front of them like a weight neither of them wanted to touch. Izuku's hands clenched into fists on her lap, her second pair of arms wrapped tightly around her lower torso, holding herself together. Her antennae twitched erratically, reacting to her racing thoughts, while her wings gave the occasional flutter. Beneath her skin, the butterflies stirred, restless in response to the storm of emotions raging inside her.

Inko gently rubbed slow, comforting circles into her daughter’s back, her touch grounding, patient. She wasn’t rushing her, wasn’t pressuring her—just there, steady and warm.

"Izuku… are you going to open it?" she asked softly.

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t a push. If anyone else had said it, Izuku might have felt cornered, like she was being forced to act before she was ready. But with her mom… it was different. Inko always had a way of making things feel safer, like there was no right or wrong answer, no pressure. Just support.

Izuku exhaled shakily, leaning slightly into her mother’s side. "I don’t know…" she muttered, her gaze fixed on the envelope. She wanted to open it. Needed to. But her hands wouldn’t move.

Because what if it was a rejection?

What if all those months of training, all the effort, all the sweat and exhaustion and pain, had been for nothing? What if everything she did still wasn’t enough?

The thought made her stomach twist, and her butterflies flared in response, fluttering frantically beneath her skin like they were trying to escape, even though they couldn’t.

Her mother’s voice cut through her spiral, gentle but firm. "That’s okay, honey," Inko reassured her. "Do you not want to open it yourself, or is it something else?"

Izuku hesitated, eyes flicking to her mom before darting back to the envelope. She swallowed, then nodded. "Can you… can you do it?" Her voice was small, almost embarrassed, but she couldn’t bring herself to be the one to tear it open.

Inko smiled, warm and understanding, like she already knew Izuku’s answer before she said it. "Of course I can," she said without hesitation, reaching for the envelope. No questions, no judgment—just a simple yes.

Izuku felt something in her chest loosen just a little.

Has she mentioned how much she loves her mom?

Because she does. So much.

Inko glanced at Izuku, envelope in hand, and when the teenager gave a small nod, she carefully tore it open. The sound of the paper ripping made Izuku tense, her wings giving an involuntary flutter.

Inko hummed as she pulled out the letter—only to pause when something small and metallic slipped out alongside it. A… disk? Mother and daughter exchanged a confused glance before Inko reached for it. But the moment her fingers brushed the surface, the disk suddenly lit up with a soft whir, a hologram flickering to life above it.

Izuku gasped. Inko let out a startled yelp, nearly dropping the thing altogether.

But Izuku wasn’t paying attention to that anymore.

Because staring back at her, in full, glowing projection, was All Might.

All Might.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared, wide-eyed, at the larger-than-life hero beaming down at her. His usual, blinding smile stretched across his face, golden hair sharp against the glow of the projection.

Then, in a booming, cheerful voice, he began to speak. "Hello, young Midoriya! I hope you are receiving this letter in good health, as the last time I saw you, you were in rather bad shape for… well, obvious reasons!"

His smile faltered just slightly, his expression softening, but Izuku barely registered it.

Because—he remembered her.

All Might remembered her.

Oh god.

Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling slightly where they gripped her pants. The butterflies beneath her skin flared in reaction, their wings flickering like sparks under her flesh. Beside her, Inko placed a hand on her back again, steady and warm, but Izuku barely noticed.

"Allow me to get straight to the point—you must be frantic to hear your results, no?"

Izuku let out a choked breath. That’s an understatement.

"So, be proud of yourself, because you passed the written exam with an amazing ninety-one percent!"

Izuku blinked.

"This leaves you as the third highest score for the written exam! We've got a genius on our hands, huh?"

Izuku froze.

Her brain short-circuited.

All Might—All Might—had just called her a genius.

A strangled noise escaped her throat, her face flushing so hard she thought steam might start pouring from her ears. Her wings fluttered wildly, her antennae twitching in rapid little movements as her butterflies stirred again.

Inko, watching her daughter’s flustered reaction, chuckled softly.

But Izuku could barely process anything.

Because she had just passed the written exam.

That was a guarantee into General Studies!

She felt a smile break across her face, unrestrained, wide, and real

"Now, you also took part in an even more important exam!"

All Might’s voice rang through the room, and Izuku's breath hitched. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her fingers digging into the fabric of her pants as she stared at the hologram with wide, unblinking eyes.

This was it.

This was the moment.

"I'm upset to inform you that you passed the practical with a very close thirty-two points!"

Izuku’s breath stopped. Her mind stopped.

Thirty-two.

That wasn't enough. It wasn’t nearly enough—

"However, what kind of hero school would we be if we didn't reward hero behavior?"

Wait.

Izuku's mind stuttered, gears shifting wildly, her stomach twisting into knots as she clung desperately to every word.

"Introducing rescue points!"

The air in her lungs felt like it had turned to stone.

"Throughout the exam, you showed time and time again your heroism, and we are happy to grant you a whopping thirty rescue points—"

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

"That brings your score to sixty-two, putting you in sixth place, with only three points less than fifth!"

For a moment, there was nothing. No thoughts, no words—just shock.

Then her mother’s arm tightened around her, grounding her, warmth pressing into her side. Izuku swore she felt her soul leave her body.

"With this amazing score—both in the written and practical exam—along with your incredible display of heroism, I, new U.A. staff member All Might, am proud to welcome you to Your Hero Academia!"

The hologram flickered and dimmed.

Silence filled the room.

Izuku's breath came in sharp, unsteady gasps, and then, before she could stop herself, she sobbed.

"I—I did it!" The words tumbled from her lips, raw and shaking, her body trembling as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "Mom, I did it! Oh my god, I did it! I made it to U.A!!"

A choked sound escaped Inko, and suddenly, her arms were around Izuku in full, pulling her close, holding her tight. Tears streamed down her face, her chest rising and falling with quiet, joyful sobs.

"You did!" Inko’s voice cracked, her hands cupping Izuku’s face, fingers brushing against damp cheeks as she gazed at her daughter with overwhelming pride. "You did it, Izuku!"

Izuku's butterflies fluttered frantically beneath her skin, her wings quivering in response to the whirlwind of emotion.

Inko cradled her face gently, just like she used to when Izuku was small, her thumbs brushing away tears. "I'm so proud of you, sweetie…" she whispered, leaning in to kiss her daughter's forehead. A faint numbness spread across her lips where they met Izuku's skin, but she didn’t care.

Izuku collapsed against her, face buried in Inko’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Thank you," she kept whispering, over and over again, voice breaking under the weight of emotion.

But to Inko, there was no need for thanks.

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, the weight of months of effort, stress, and fear finally melting away.

The good news washed over them like a wave—gentle, steady, and real.

---

The teacher's lounge was unusually quiet, which didn't surprise Vlad King in the slightest. Midnight had disappeared to enjoy what little summer remained, Ectoplasm had muttered something about exhaustion before promptly leaving, and Present Mic had dashed off to his radio show. As always, the blood hero was left to deal with things on his own—sitting across from Aizawa in the sparse, empty room.

Aizawa looked as if he hadn't slept in days, which was probably the case. Vlad couldn't help but appreciate the man's stamina. He, however, wasn’t built for the grueling life of an underground hero. He needed sleep to function, and even coffee and jelly pouches wouldn’t be enough to fuel him through sleepless nights. Aizawa, on the other hand, seemed impervious to fatigue—or just plain insane for his refusal to rest. Either way, Vlad couldn't help but respect it.

Kan sighed heavily, the weight of the task ahead already hanging over him. "Let's just get this over with," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. Aizawa grunted in acknowledgment and grabbed the stack of papers in front of him, the same one that Vlad had been eyeing for the past few minutes.

"Alright," Aizawa began, his voice gruff. "Recommendation students. Who do you want?"

Vlad pondered for a moment, then leaned forward, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "That Setsuna girl has potential," he said, glancing over at Aizawa. "But your teaching style isn't exactly what she needs."

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Vlad gave a small shrug. "She's playful, likes to be in control. Could be a trauma response, for all we know. Your style is more... rigid, and I don't think it would mesh well with her. I could take her under my wing. She's a bit of a wildcard, and I can work with that."

Aizawa didn’t argue. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable. "Alright. One for you."

Vlad scribbled Setsuna's name on his paper, then looked up at Aizawa. "Who are you taking?"

"Todoroki," Aizawa deadpanned without hesitation. "His quirk is a hazard, so I’m clearly the best option. But he’s also way too stubborn for his own good. He needs a rough push to get him in line. He has potential, but his attitude always drags him off course."

Vlad nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that kid could use someone who can keep him on track. Fair enough."

Aizawa then leaned back, giving Vlad a steady look. "Who else do you want?"

Vlad thought for a moment, his gaze flicking over the list. "Well, I think you should take Yaoyorozu."

Aizawa's brow furrowed slightly. "Hm? Why her?"

"She's got insane potential," Vlad explained, "but she hesitates too much. Second guesses everything, and I’m not sure that’s just her personality—could be an overthinking thing. She needs someone who can give her a bit of a confidence boost. Your methods could help with that."

Aizawa didn’t respond immediately, but his lips quirked up into a faint, knowing smile. "I can see that," he admitted, his voice low. "Alright, I’ll take her. Who’s next?"

Vlad nodded, pleased. "I’ll take Honenuki. He’s got grit, but his control over his quirk is all over the place. I think I can work with that."

Aizawa looked down at his papers and nodded once more. "Can’t argue with that."

Kan stretched slightly, looking at the list before glancing up. The list of normal exam students was long.

"Alright, let’s go from first place to last, yeah?" Kan suggested, leaning back in his chair. He flicked a glance at Aizawa, who was already poised to keep going.

Aizawa gave a curt nod. "Sure."

"First up, Bakugou," Kan began, tapping his pen against the list. "Explosion quirk, a total powerhouse. But that kid has too much fire in him for my class. Not the right fit."

Aizawa nodded, writing Bakugou’s name down with little hesitation. "Second place is Ejirou Kirishima," he continued. "He’s a good kid—optimistic, solid determination. I think he'd work better in my class."

Kan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Aizawa didn’t break his steady gaze as he wrote. "Yeah. He has obvious self-doubt issues, and I think my approach will help him work through them. He needs someone who can push him but also build his confidence."

Kan hummed thoughtfully. "Alright, I think you should take third place as well."

Aizawa glanced at the paper, skimming over the name. "Uraraka, huh? Sure, I can see that."

Kan nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Good. Fourth place—Shiozaki, right? She seems like someone who’d work better with me. Your...methods might not align with her."

Aizawa shot him a deadpan look. "Because she's religious?"

"Exactly," Kan replied, tone dry. "Not sure she'd mesh well with your no-nonsense attitude."

Aizawa grunted in acknowledgment, scribbling Shiozaki's name onto his list. "Fair enough."

"Alright, Kendo Itsuka," Kan said, leaning over the desk as he examined the next name. "What do you think?"

Aizawa didn’t hesitate. "She and Yaoyorozu are similar in some ways, but Kendo’s got more confidence. I don’t see how I can benefit her, so it’s probably better if she’s with you."

Kan gave a nod, writing Kendo’s name down on his list with a little more force than necessary. "I agree. She’ll be a good fit."

Aizawa glanced up, a slight frown pulling at his face. "Sixth place... Midoriya, right? She’s a bit harder to crack."

Kan chuckled softly. "Yeah. She hesitated a lot during the practical, but she’s smart. Very similar to Yaoyorozu in that regard."

Aizawa didn’t seem impressed. "But?"

Kan’s tone shifted to something more serious. "But there’s a key difference. I saw a lot of signs of anxiety and trauma. She’s got her issues. And..." Kan hesitated before continuing, "I noticed her and that Bakugou kid have tension."

Aizawa’s brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I was helping out during lunch rush and I saw Bakugou glaring at her. Like, full-on glaring," Kan explained. "When she noticed, she flinched. It was subtle, but it was there. And I’m pretty sure there’s more to it."

Aizawa absorbed the information without comment, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Hmm."

Kan wasn’t done yet. "Look, her quirk works with her blood. That's right up my alley. So I think it makes more sense for her to be in my class anyway."

Aizawa blinked, then gave a slow nod of approval. "Fair enough."

They continued like that, moving methodically through the list of students, each exchange more direct than the last. Aizawa’s quiet deliberation was in stark contrast to Kan’s more open style of communication, but it worked. They were efficient, their differing methods balancing out the discussion.

Kan had lost track of time as they went down the list, discussing students like Shinsou, Iida, and others. Each decision was considered with care, but there was a quiet camaraderie that made the process feel like more than just a chore.

Hours passed—Kan wasn’t sure how many—but eventually, they were finished. The lists were finalized, students divided, and the work done.

Kan leaned back, stretching his arms above his head, and glanced over at Aizawa. "Well, that’s that, I guess," he said, half-smiling. "Mission accomplished?"

Aizawa, never one for much of a reaction, simply gave a quiet grunt and slid the paper to the side. "I think so."

Kan grinned. "You know, we’re pretty damn good at this, right?"

Aizawa didn’t even look up, his focus still on the list. "Don’t get cocky."

But the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Right." 

The two sat in a brief, comfortable silence, the hum of the fluorescent lights above the only sound in the room as they let the work sink in. Finally, Kan let out a breath, shaking his head.

"Well, here's hoping the kids don’t drive us crazy this year."

Aizawa’s voice was low, but there was an unmistakable edge of dry humor. "Too late for that."

With that, they both gathered their papers, ready for the next step of their duty—teaching a new class of hopeful, brash, and talented students. It was a win, after all, even if the real challenge was just beginning.

Notes:

Hello hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Just a few things to keep in mind :D

As you probably noticed, this chapter had a bit more angst, particularly focusing on Izuku’s struggles with sleep and nightmares. It might feel a little jarring after the action-packed, somewhat upbeat chapters we've had recently, but I wanted to emphasize that sometimes bad days just hit out of nowhere. This won’t be the last time you’ll see that kind of contrast between chapters — one might be action-filled or lighthearted, and the next might have more emotional weight. It’s all part of capturing the unpredictability of life, and I think it adds depth to the story.

Also, if you caught it, Aizawa and Vlad seem to be getting along a bit more. Why? Because I think their primary conflict has always been more about petty arguments and the competitive rivalry between their classes. In this version, I see them as two people who can be civil and even enjoy some moments of mutual respect, without the constant tension. They don’t hate each other, at least not in this fic — and it’s nice to explore that dynamic!

Lastly, Vlad’s going to be extra observant, as I’m sure you’ve already noticed. I’m really excited to dive deeper into his character, especially when it comes to him looking out for his students. It’s going to be fun to see him take on that role more and more!

Also-

CLASS 1-A STUDENT LIST

1. Aoyama Yuga

2. Ashido Mina

3. Asui Tsuyu

4. Iida Tenya

5. Uraraka Ochako

6. Mashirao Ojiro

7. Rin Hiryu

8. Kaminari Denki

9. Kirishima Ejirou

10. Kouda Kouji

11. Kaibara Sen

12. Shouji Mezo

13. Jirou Kyoka

14. Sero Hanta

15. Tokoyami Fumikage

16. Todoroki Shouto

17. Hagakure Toru

18. Bakugou Katsuki

19. Mineta Minoru

20. Yaoyorozu Momo

CLASS 1-B STUDENT LIST

1. Awase Yotetsu

2. Kamakiri Togaru

3. Kuroiro Shihai

4. Kendo Itsuka

5. Kodai Yui

6. Komori Kinoko

7. Shiozaki Ibara

8. Shishida Jurota

9. Shoda Nirengeki

10. Tsunotori Pony

11. Tsuburaba Kosei

12. Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

13. Tokage Setsuna

14. Fukidashi Manga

15. Shinsou Hitoshi

16. Honenuki Juzo

17. Bondo Kojiro

18. Midoriya Izuku

19. Monoma Neito

20. Reiko Yanagi

Chapter 9: New Day, New Horizons (Pt.1)

Summary:

A storm held tight in trembling hands,
She walked where only courage stands.
The gate loomed wide, her doubts still near—
But still, she stepped, despite the fear.

Notes:

TW/CWs:
Anxiety, Intrusive thoughts, Sleeplessness, Power Dynamics, Mild Allusion to Trauma, Emotional vulnerability, anxiety symptoms, brief reference to past trauma (near-death experience).

guys, this chapter is actually really happy. Overall anyway. and the next one will be too, before everything starts to spiral.

-author

In Izuku’s defense, she really did try to sleep the night before. She'd gotten into bed early, trying to settle down, but for some reason, her mind wouldn’t cooperate. She almost thought it was working for a second—until those little voices started creeping in: "What if they just expel you on the spot?" And just like that, her mind snapped awake, heart pounding. She couldn’t shake the thought, and once it was there, sleep was out of the question. The anxiety took over, and there she was, wide awake, stressing about what could go wrong.

So here she was at five in the morning, sipping on a mug of tea, trying to calm down. Coffee felt too harsh today, too much, so tea seemed like the gentler choice. The quiet of the house made everything feel a little heavier, like she was waiting for something big to happen. Her mom should be getting up in an hour, and Izuku figured this was a good time to start getting ready.

U.A.’s classes started at seven fifty—oddly specific, but who was she to argue? It didn’t matter anyway, because her mom had to leave for work by seven and had to go far this time so she offered to drive Izuku if she needed a ride. Honestly, Izuku didn’t even hesitate to say yes. She wasn’t sure her legs would be up for a walk today, and a ride would save her from the added stress of worrying about walking on top of everything else.

U.A. had sent over the uniform a week and a half ago, right after the acceptance letter arrived. It was still kind of unreal, seeing that U.A. uniform hanging in her closet, waiting for her to wear it. She'd carefully unpacked it when it arrived, smoothing out the wrinkles and just staring at it for a while, taking it all in. It almost felt like it wasn’t even hers. But then there was the skirt.

Izuku had asked for a longer one, mostly because she didn’t like how short skirts made her feel. It took a bit of convincing, and some bribery from her mom with promises of the new Mirko merch (because that was the only way Izuku could be persuaded), but it worked. The skirt arrived just the way she wanted, and even though it was a small thing, Izuku couldn’t help but feel a little better about it. It was one less thing to worry about, one less thing to feel uncomfortable with. According to her mom, It wasn’t petty—it was just her preference. And the fact that U.A. had listened to it meant more than she cared to admit.

Now it was time to stop thinking about it all and get ready for the day.

And that’s exactly what she did. As she slid into the U.A. uniform, the fit was better than she could’ve ever hoped for. Saying it fit perfectly was almost an understatement. The skirt fell just below her knees, exactly the length she had asked for—comfortable and modest without feeling too short. The top was loose but still tailored enough to not look baggy, and the best part? The extra sleeves for her second pair of arms. It felt so thoughtful, like U.A. had really paid attention to the little things. She admired the way the fabric draped over her shoulders, allowing her to move freely without restriction. Even the shoes, while not the most fashionable, were surprisingly comfortable—nothing too tight or stiff, perfect for a long day on her feet.

She didn’t bother with the tie; her mom would help her with that, as she always did. Izuku had tried tying it herself a few times before, but each attempt had ended in frustration, the knot never quite right, the fabric slipping out of place. Her mom had a way of doing it that just worked, so Izuku didn’t waste her time. She figured she’d leave the finishing touches to the expert.

Then, just as she finished adjusting the uniform, the familiar creak of her mom’s door echoed through the house, followed by the soft, steady sound of footsteps making their way to the bathroom. Izuku smiled softly, a wave of warmth spreading through her chest. Her mom’s presence was a comforting constant, a reassuring anchor amidst all the nerves swirling inside her.

-.-

Izuku had opted for toast for breakfast. It was simple, something easy to stomach before a day that was bound to be full of nerves and anticipation. She’d just finished spreading cream cheese and a layer of fresh strawberries on top when the soft clink of shoes on the kitchen floor signaled her mom’s arrival. Inko walked in, fully dressed in her work uniform, and Izuku immediately slid a plate toward her, offering a silent but warm gesture.

Her mom paused for a moment, glancing at her. Then, Inko’s gaze softened, and a wide smile spread across her face, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Oh, Izuku...look at you!” she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion.

Izuku's face flushed almost instantly, a mix of embarrassment and something more tender bubbling up inside her. “Ma—”

Before she could finish, Inko was already on her, arms wrapping around her in a tight, affectionate hug. Izuku felt her mom’s arms squeeze her so fiercely it almost knocked the air out of her. “My baby is all grown up now!” Inko murmured, pressing a kiss into Izuku’s hair. The sound of her voice broke through the lump in Izuku’s throat.

Inko pulled back slightly, her fingers gently running through Izuku’s long hair, eyes scanning her as if trying to memorize the moment. “Are you going to leave it down?” she asked, her voice soft, yet tinged with nostalgia.

Izuku hesitated, her face still partially hidden by her mom’s embrace. “Oh—probably not?” she mumbled, feeling her mom’s warmth still radiating through her.

Inko nodded thoughtfully, a small, fond chuckle escaping her. “How about I tie it up for you and get your tie done, too?” she suggested, her tone so full of love and pride that Izuku almost didn’t know how to respond.

Izuku managed a soft smile, her cheeks still pink. “Yeah, thanks, ma.” Her voice carried the unspoken gratitude she often felt, but sometimes couldn’t express.

Inko’s smile remained, utterly fond and soft, as she moved to gather the hair tie and the extra touches Izuku needed to finish getting ready. The sight of her mom, looking both proud and just a little emotional, settled some of the nerves coiling inside her.

---

The ride to U.A. wasn’t long, but it felt like it stretched on forever.

Izuku sat quietly in the passenger seat, her bag pressed to her chest, like hugging it tighter might calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. Her uniform was neat and pressed, her hair tied back just the way her mom had done it, and the longer skirt brushed softly against her knees whenever the car turned. Everything looked perfect on the outside. Inside, though, she felt like a can barely holding back a storm.

Outside the window, the city slipped by. Early morning sunlight spilled over buildings, casting long shadows and golden edges on everything it touched. They passed a group of kids in matching middle school uniforms, a woman walking her dog, a closed bakery with a “Help Wanted” sign in the window. It was all so normal. Meanwhile, Izuku’s life felt like it was on the edge of something huge.

Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag.

“Almost there,” Inko said gently, glancing over at her with a warm, reassuring smile.

Izuku didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked on the road ahead now.

And then—there it was.

U.A. loomed up ahead, just as massive and imposing as the pictures had made it seem, if not more. Tall, clean-cut buildings that practically shimmered in the morning light, polished glass windows catching the sky like mirrors. The gate was already open, and through it, she could see the school courtyard. It was mostly empty—only a few scattered students were lingering around, some sitting on benches or standing in quiet clusters—but it still felt overwhelming.

Inko pulled the car up to the curb. The engine quieted.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then: “You ready?” her mom asked softly.

Izuku didn’t answer. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She was staring through the windshield, chest rising and falling too quickly, like she was trying to breathe through a paper bag.

I can’t do this. I really—what if I mess up? What if they regret letting me in? What if I walk in and everyone just knows I don’t belong?

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” Izuku mumbled, voice barely audible.

Inko chuckled quietly, but not unkindly. “Then throw up with pride, baby,” she said, brushing a hand along Izuku’s cheek. Her thumb lingered just under Izuku’s eye, like she was memorizing her face before letting her go. “You’ve already made it this far. I’m proud of you no matter what.”

Izuku swallowed hard. Her throat felt tight. “Thanks, Ma.”

She reached for the door handle. Paused.

“You sure you don’t wanna walk in with me?” she asked, only half-joking.

Inko smiled, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “You got this,” she whispered.

And with that, Izuku stepped out of the car.

The air hit her like a wave—cool and crisp, the kind that usually made her wings twitch from the chill. She stood there on the pavement, staring up at the gates of U.A., bag still clutched to her chest. She hadn’t realized how quiet the area around the school would be. There were a few other students nearby, but no crowd. Just distant footsteps, the rustle of wind, and birds somewhere high up.

When she turned back to say something—maybe one last nervous joke, or a thank you, or please take me back home just for five more minutes—the car was already halfway down the street. Her heart gave a tiny lurch.

Too late.

She was really here.

Izuku turned back toward the gate. Her legs felt stiff. Her palms were clammy. Her wings gave a twitch beneath the fabric of her blazer, like they were just as restless as she was.

Come on, she told herself. You made it here. You’re not backing out now.

But even as she walked forward, step by step, part of her still felt like turning and running. It didn’t matter that she was early. It didn’t matter that barely anyone was around. Her whole body felt on edge, like she was walking into the biggest test of her life—and in a way, she was.

She reached the gates. Stepped inside.

It was quiet, except for a few students chatting off to the side. She avoided eye contact. Her steps were slow, careful, like the ground might give out beneath her if she walked too confidently. Her stomach flipped again.

I’m not supposed to be here, whispered a voice in her head. I’m not like them.

But still—she walked forward.

Because she was here.

And no matter how much her nerves screamed otherwise, she wasn’t going to waste it.

-.-

Izuku was suddenly really glad she’d gotten to U.A. early.

Because, wow—this place was massive. It was like stepping into a superhero theme park. Every hallway stretched on forever, the walls so pristine they practically gleamed, and the ceilings? High enough to make her feel like a tiny bug in a palace. She was pretty sure a few of the hallways could fit an entire city block. If she wasn’t so focused on not getting lost, she might’ve stopped to gape at the sheer awe of it all.

And, well… she did get lost.

It took her ten minutes to find Class 1-B. Ten minutes. That might not sound like a lot, but in this gigantic maze of a school? It felt like an eternity. She’d turned corners that led to nowhere, passed by what looked like a rooftop garden she hadn’t even known existed, and probably wandered into a few teacher-only areas (but no one had yelled at her, so it couldn’t have been too bad, right?).

By the time she finally saw the doors to 1-B, Izuku could’ve kissed the floor in relief. Seriously, these doors were huge. Not just big—like, ridiculously big. Who needed doors that size? Was this U.A.'s idea of making a grand entrance? Was she supposed to feel like some kind of royal walking in? Maybe they expected her to bow or something. She shook her head with a wry grin. Whatever. It's U.A. They can do whatever they want.

She pushed the door open quietly, careful not to make too much of a sound—because even though she had plenty of time, the last thing she wanted was to make a dramatic first entrance by slamming the door open like some anime hero (even if that would’ve been a great way to make an impression).

Inside, the room was mostly empty, just a handful of early birds who’d also gotten here ahead of time. There was one student off to the side with headphones in, another girl sitting near the windows sketching in a notebook, and someone else fiddling with the desk like they were getting it ready for battle. Honestly, it was a little calming to see people as nervous as she was.

Izuku’s eyes flicked to the front of the classroom, where the seating chart was written up on the board. She scanned the list, fingers hovering over the names until she found it: “Midoriya, Izuku – Table 18.”

She blinked, surprised at how easily she found it. Of course, it was third row back, right by the window. Yeah, that tracks, she thought with a smile. If she was gonna get a spot in this class, it was definitely gonna be the one with the best view. She walked over to it, dropping her bag onto the floor next to the desk as she slid into the chair. The window was already open a bit, letting in a nice breeze.

She took a deep breath and leaned back, looking around the classroom. She was really here. At U.A. She felt that familiar flutter in her stomach—the nerves, the excitement, the disbelief that this was all actually happening.

She looked out the window, watching the few students trickle in, but her thoughts kept circling back to one thing: She made it. She really, really made it here. And as much as she was freaking out inside, she couldn’t help but admire how cool this place was. She might’ve gotten lost for a solid ten minutes, but everything about U.A. screamed potential—and, even though she was shaking a little, she felt like it was the first time in a long time she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

She couldn’t wait for class to start.

Around five minutes later, the door to the classroom swung open, and Izuku’s attention was drawn to the familiar figure standing in the doorway. Her gaze immediately locked onto the shock of bright ginger hair and those unmistakable green eyes. It was Kendo.

Ever since Kendo had given her her number after the entrance exam, the two of them had been talking more and more. It honestly had Izuku feeling elated. She’d never had someone to chat with like this before, someone who actually wanted to talk to her. Kendo was so easy to get along with. They’d spent half an hour on the phone together after their exam results had come in, excitedly discussing how they’d both made it into the same class. It had been one of those small, happy moments that Izuku had never expected but now cherished deeply.

Everything about Kendo was easy to like. Her laugh was warm, her words kind, and she always made Izuku feel at ease, like she wasn’t the quiet, unsure kid she usually was.

Lost in her thoughts, Izuku didn’t realize how much time had passed until the sound of footsteps pulled her out of her reverie. She looked up just in time to see Kendo stopping right in front of her with a cheerful smile.

"Midoriya! Hey, how’ve you been?" Kendo’s voice was as friendly as always, and Izuku could already feel herself smiling in response.

Izuku grinned back, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. “I’ve been fine! How about you? Did Haruto-san get better?”

Kendo’s face softened at the mention of her brother, and she let out a relieved sigh. "Yeah, thankfully! He’s back to his normal self. Honestly, he was so annoying for the past few weeks, always whining and complaining about being sick. I’m just glad that’s over." Her face shifted, showing a mix of affection and exasperation as she rolled her eyes. "But, seriously, thank god. I was about to lose my mind!"

Izuku chuckled softly at Kendo’s words, feeling a little lighter now that she was talking to someone who had a way of making everything feel more normal. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders just by the simple act of talking with her new friend.

-.-

As time passed, more and more students began filtering into the classroom, voices starting to rise as the room slowly filled with life. Kendo, of course, had no hesitation jumping right in, going around to greet everyone with a confident grin like she’d known them for years. It made Izuku smile—Kendo was like a one-girl welcome committee.

Izuku, on the other hand, stayed in her seat.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to anyone—it was just… hard. Her nerves were still simmering under the surface, making her hands a little jittery and her thoughts too fast. Starting a conversation out of nowhere felt impossible right now. So, she sat quietly by the window, watching the classroom slowly come to life around her, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

And then, two seats ahead of her, someone sat down.

Lavender hair.

Izuku blinked.

It was him.

Shinsou.

She hadn’t seen him since that brief moment in the cafeteria during the exam. Not that they’d talked much then either—but he’d sat with her when he didn’t have to. Just… plopped down like it was nothing. And he’d answered her question, even if it had been the most awkward back-and-forth in the world. That had to count for something, right?

She let her eyes linger on him for a second—he looked the same as before: tired in that I’ve-seen-too-much-too-soon kind of way, with that cool, unreadable face and those sharp eyes that missed nothing. He hadn’t glanced her way yet, and Izuku quickly looked back down at her desk before he could catch her staring.

Still, a small spark of something bubbled in her chest. Relief, maybe. Or familiarity. He was someone she sort of knew. That made the room feel a little less overwhelming.

She wanted to say hi.

But… she didn’t. The words got stuck somewhere between her ribs and her throat, and all she managed was a tiny shift in her posture, like her body was trying to make itself more visible—like maybe if he saw her, he would say something first.

But he didn’t.

Of course he didn’t. That wasn’t really his style, was it?

So Izuku sat quietly again, the air between them charged with a strange kind of awareness. It wasn’t a bad silence, though. It felt like the one they’d shared at lunch—still and calm, the kind that didn’t demand anything from her. The kind that let her exist, jittery nerves and all.

And honestly, that was kind of nice.

Soon enough, the classroom was packed—every seat filled, the buzz of voices layering over one another in a kind of organized chaos. Right in front of Izuku sat a boy she was pretty sure was named Monoma or something. And… well, he was eccentric, to say the least.

He hadn't stopped talking since he'd walked in, loudly proclaiming that Class 1-B would definitely surpass Class 1-A. Every other sentence was some kind of jab, dramatic declaration, or oddly formal taunt about how they were clearly the better class and destined to rise above. It was… kind of a lot. But hey, at least he was passionate? Determined, even. If nothing else, he believed in his class with an intensity that was almost impressive.

Even when he started awkwardly trying to rope Izuku into conversation—mostly to make comments like, “We’ll show them what real heroes look like, right?”—she found herself nodding along, half out of politeness, half because… honestly, he was better than another blonde she knew. And that was a low bar, but still. Monoma hadn’t exploded anything yet. So that was a win.

Then the door slid open again, sharp and smooth—and this time, Izuku knew it wasn’t another student.

The final bell rang in perfect sync with the sound, and the room immediately began to settle. Everyone’s heads turned toward the entrance.

And there he was.

Vlad King.

The Blood Hero.

Izuku’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened, locked onto the man as he strode confidently to the front of the room. Holy crap, he was so much cooler in person.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and sharp in his red and black costume. His silver-white hair was wild and spiked, except for one strand that fell just over his face. His expression was focused, but calm—like he had zero doubts about being in control of the room.

He didn’t say a word at first—just moved with easy confidence to the podium. But the room responded anyway, going completely still. Attention followed him like gravity. It was easy to see why he was a Pro Hero.

He was real. Not a name on a page or a face on TV—he was right there.

Izuku sat up a little straighter without realizing. This was it. This was U.A.

And that was their teacher.

Oh. Wow.

-.-

Now, Kan prided himself on being a well-rounded hero.

Rescue, border protection, frontline combat, healing—he’d worn more hats than most Pros did in a lifetime, and he wore them well. Versatility was part of what made him valuable. Reliable. He didn’t just dip his toes into different branches of hero work—he dove headfirst, learned fast, and always made it out stronger.

So when Nedzu approached him with a gleam in his eye and a polite but unmistakably loaded offer to teach at U.A., Kan had known better than to refuse. Not that he’d wanted to say no, of course. But even if he had... well. Let’s just say saying "no" to Nedzu while he was peering into your soul like a smiling cryptid wasn’t something many people survived unscathed.

Still, it had turned out well. Together with Aizawa, he’d helped produce some of the finest heroes Japan had seen in decades. And sure, Aizawa’s students sat a little higher on the charts than his did but Kan had never been one to chase the spotlight. His students spoke for him.

Balanced, capable, media-savvy without being fake, and trained in multiple fields, every one of his graduates walked out of U.A. ready to face anything. He was proud of that.

Just like he was proud of the fact that—despite their drastically different methods—he and Aizawa never once failed to deliver. Where Aizawa tore students down to rebuild them stronger, Kan guided with a steadier hand. Both styles worked. Neither of them would admit it out loud, of course—but the respect was there.

And now, here he was again. Another year, another fresh batch of wide-eyed first-years with dreams bigger than their uniforms. He slid open the door to Class 1-B and stepped inside, boots quiet on the polished floor.

Immediately, the volume dropped.

Good. Very good. He hadn’t even spoken yet.

As he made his way toward the podium, he felt the weight of several gazes lock onto him—sharp, curious, intense in the way that only ambitious teenagers could be. He could almost pick out which ones would be trouble and which ones would be stars just from the way they looked at him.

He didn’t mind the attention. In fact, he welcomed it.

But for now? He let it pass. Let them stare. Let them wonder.
They’d get to know him soon enough.

And by the end of these three years? They’d know exactly what kind of teacher they’d been handed.

“Alright, children…”

Kan let the word hang for a moment, eyes scanning the room as the last few whispers died off. Good. They were paying attention. At least, most of them.

“I’m glad to see you all in your seats—that’s a great start to discipline. And discipline is something we’ll be practicing a lot in this class.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. A firm, grounded tone carried farther than shouting ever could, and he'd long mastered how to hold a room without trying.

“Now, I’m not going to sugar-coat anything for you. These next three years? They’re going to be hard. Some of the hardest of your lives. There’ll be days where quitting feels easier than standing back up. And I’d be shocked if that thought doesn’t cross every single one of your minds at least once.”

He paused. Let that settle.

Kan knew what that felt like—knew it too well. He still remembered those early days, younger, greener, caught in the chaos of real hero work and wondering if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. The battlefield didn’t care about dreams or fancy rankings. Only about whether you could endure.

“Being a hero,” he continued, “isn’t all about punching villains in the face or posing for the media. It’s not about fame. It’s not about power. What it is about is people. It’s about pulling someone out of the wreckage and giving them a chance to go home again. It’s about giving families their loved ones back.”

He looked around the room slowly. No one dared speak.

“If you don’t see the value in that—if that’s not the kind of hero you want to be—then you’re in the wrong classroom. And that door is right there.”

Still nothing. No movement. No protest.

Good.

“Now,” he said, letting some of the weight lift from his voice, “we’ll be heading to orientation in a few minutes, but there are a few things I want to cover first.”

He rested his hands lightly on the podium.

“Number one: Don’t be afraid to reach out. To me, or to any of your other instructors. We are here to help you. That’s not just a nice sentiment—it’s our job. We get paid for it. Let us do it.”

A few brows furrowed. Some students shifted in their seats. He could tell they weren’t used to adults being that direct about support.

“More than that,” he added, “I want you to reach out. If you’re struggling, if you’re confused, if you just need to talk—come to me. I mean that. I want to give you the tools to grow. I want to give you the space to ask questions, make mistakes, and come back stronger.”

His voice lowered slightly, just enough to soften the edge.

“You don’t have to earn that. You already have it. So use it.”

There was silence again, but this time it felt different. He could feel the shift, the stillness of people listening—not just hearing, but taking it in.

They were young. They had no idea what they were walking into.

But they would learn.

And he would make sure they walked out of here as heroes worth the title.

He let the silence settle a few seconds longer before continuing, voice steady again.

“Second thing you should know—every teacher at U.A. has full authority over how they teach their students.”

He straightened slightly, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he surveyed the class. “That means I have control over your curriculum, your training schedules, your drills, and the way I grade your progress. It won’t be the same as what Class 1-A does. It might not even look similar.”

There was a flicker of unease in a few expressions. One or two students sat up straighter.

“Some of you might try to compare yourselves to other classes. Don’t. It’s a waste of energy and it won’t help you grow. Every teacher here—whether it’s me, Aizawa, or even the support staff—knows what our students need. I will teach you in the way that best prepares you for what’s out there. So trust the process. Even if it’s different from what you expected.”

He let that point settle for a beat before his tone shifted again—just slightly gentler.

“Third—and this one’s important—if you’re injured, no matter how minor you think it is, you report it immediately. No exceptions.”

He uncrossed his arms and rested both hands on the podium again, leaning forward just slightly.

“You’ll be training hard. Accidents will happen. But if you wait too long, a small injury becomes a big problem. And that is a fast way to shorten your career.”

There were no interruptions. No one fidgeted. Kan’s voice was steady, but the weight behind it was enough to keep the class still.

“We’re lucky to have one of the best medical professionals in the country here on staff. Recovery Girl is not just a school nurse—she is a licensed Pro with decades of experience. Her Quirk is powerful, but it still takes your energy to heal. So don’t show up half-dead expecting miracles.”

He raised a brow slightly, more of a warning than a joke.

“If you need her, go. Do not wait. Do not tough it out. There’s no medal for ignoring your limits. In fact, if I find out you pushed through an injury instead of reporting it? You’ll be benched until I say otherwise. Understood?”

A few hesitant nods.

“Understood?”

This time, a louder chorus of “Yes, sir.”

He gave a short nod in return.

“Good. That’s the kind of answer I expect.”

Kan checked the time. They still had a few minutes before orientation. Enough for one last note.

“One final thing.”

His tone softened—not in volume, but in intent.

“You’re here because you’ve got potential. Every single one of you. But potential doesn’t mean anything without the will to grow. You’re going to fall down. A lot. And every time you do, you’ll get back up. That’s the work. That’s the job.”

A pause. Then:

“And no one expects you to do it alone.”

He let the weight of that linger, eyes sweeping the room once more.

“Alright,” he said finally, stepping back from the podium. “We’ll head to orientation in a few. Form a line at the door, single file. No pushing, no side conversations. You want to be heroes? Start with listening.”

And with that, he watched them move—hesitant, but trying. It was a start.

And sometimes, that’s all a good teacher needed.

---

This stadium is a bit smaller than the one at the entrance exam, Izuku noted silently as she entered and made her way to the designated 1-B section, wings tucked tight against her back. Her eyes scanned everything—not for danger, but for distraction.

She needed one.

Because her chest still felt tight from Vlad-sensei’s speech. No, not Vlad—Kan-sensei, as he said to call him. The name felt strange on her tongue, too familiar, too... warm, for a pro hero. But his words had hit something in her that she hadn't even known was exposed.

The part of her still aching from years of rejection. The part that thought maybe someone finally saw her as someone worth protecting, not just tolerating.

She sat down quietly and clasped her lower hands together beneath her jacket. Her upper hands fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, trying to redirect her nerves somewhere small, somewhere quiet. Her wings itched to move, but she kept them still, not wanting to accidentally brush someone or draw attention.

She didn’t want to cry. Not on her first day. Not in front of her class.

A small weight shifted beside her as someone sat down. Monoma, all energy and casual confidence, like this was just another stage for him to perform on.

Then another seat filled on her other side, and she flicked her gaze to the left—Shinsou. His posture was relaxed but unreadable, eyes fixed on the stage ahead with the kind of stillness that felt practiced. It was the first time she’d seen him since the exam cafeteria, where they'd talked for all of two minutes and shared a passing comment about the curry being bland.

She only remembered his name because he’d introduced himself then, voice quiet and words oddly deliberate. “Shinsou Hitoshi.”

Izuku wondered if he remembered hers. Probably not.

She looked forward again, pressing her wings closer to her back as the rows around them began to fill. Everyone else in 1-B settled in with the kind of restless energy that made the air feel charged, but her eyes caught something odd before the faculty even started speaking.

One row in the center—front and slightly off to the right—was completely empty.

Seats pristine. Name placard gone. No students filing in.

Izuku blinked. Why leave an entire row open?

She could guess it was another class, maybe with a different schedule, but it still seemed weird. Not urgent weird, just… unanswered-question weird. It scratched at the corner of her curiosity the way most mysteries did.

Before she could dwell on it too much, a faculty member stepped up to the mic. The welcome speech started—loud, proud, and scripted down to the syllables. It was all about U.A.'s legacy and prestige and the "honor" of being here. How they were the next generation of heroes. How the staff would challenge them, push them, mold them.

Izuku tuned in for maybe the first five minutes. Tops.

Then the words started blending together like background music. Her brain buzzed with leftover emotion from earlier, and all the adrenaline she’d used to get through the morning was crashing now, leaving her dazed and a little sleepy.

So, naturally, her thoughts wandered.

She tried not to fangirl.

Tried.

But come on—it was U.A. Even if she wasn’t a traditional fan anymore, the school still meant something to her. She’d studied its hero rankings, memorized student stats, pored over old Sports Festival videos. She could recite Pro Hero data in her sleep. And seeing them here now—Thirteen standing off to the side in full gear, Cementoss near the back—made everything inside her flutter just a bit.

Her wings gave a little twitch, just a soft pulse of motion before she tucked them again.

I really made it, she thought. Even when everyone said I wouldn’t.

It felt surreal. Like she was floating above her own body, watching from a distance. The stadium, the other students, the sky stretching overhead—it all blurred together for a moment.

Until the lights shifted.

Not dramatically. Just subtly—less harsh, more focused. Enough to make her blink and look up again, instincts sharpening.

She felt it before she saw it.

The shift in the air. The tension. The subtle wave of energy rolling through the stadium like a silent announcement.

Her gaze snapped to the stage—

—and there he was.

All Might.

Izuku’s heart launched into her throat so fast she choked on her own breath.

She barely heard Monoma’s whispered “No way,” or the distant murmur that rippled through the crowd. Her fingers locked in place on her jacket and her wings gave a startled flutter behind her back.

He walked like someone born to take the stage. Tall. Towering. Bright even without the spotlight.

Izuku didn’t blink.

She couldn’t.

He’s real. He’s actually here.

Her brain lit up like a switchboard, buzzing with every possible thought all at once. All Might is here. He’s really here. And he’s gonna speak to us. Oh my god, oh my god—

Izuku’s heart raced in her chest, faster than it ever had before. It didn’t help that her wings, too, seemed to hum with the electricity of excitement, fluttering so lightly that it almost felt like they were about to take flight on their own.

She’d met him before. She’d been there, standing on the edge of the alley, practically dying in the clutches of a sludge villain. She remembered the way his voice had boomed, the moment he’d ripped the villain apart, his heroics saving her life in the most unexpected and thrilling way. He was All Might, the Symbol of Peace—the one who had stood between her and death.

But that had been the worst possible moment. She’d been terrified, struggling for her life, unable to think clearly. It hadn’t been the kind of meeting she’d dreamt about.

This time, though?

This time, she could actually focus. This time, she was ready to meet him—not in a life-or-death situation, but as someone who shared a dream, someone who was now part of the very same hero world.

Izuku’s mouth went dry, and she could feel the usual nerves creep back in, but this time, they were buried beneath a tidal wave of pure excitement. She wasn’t the only one looking at him this way—everyone in the stadium seemed to be leaning forward, caught in the same spell. The very air seemed charged with anticipation.

All Might’s trademark grin stretched across his face as he reached the podium. Even though it was just the beginning, the mere presence of him made the space feel... larger. Like there was more air to breathe, more room to stand in.

"Good morning, students of U.A.!" All Might’s voice boomed, deep and strong, carrying effortlessly across the entire arena. “Are you ready to embark on the journey to become the next generation of heroes?”

The crowd, as expected, erupted into a mixture of cheers and excited murmurs. Even the students from 1-B, most of whom Izuku didn’t know personally, had their eyes glued to the stage. Their expressions were a mixture of disbelief and exhilaration, and she could see a few of them sharing eager glances, nudging one another.

Izuku was certain her face was lighting up like a Christmas tree. She couldn’t help it.

All Might. Talking to us.

It was still sinking in—this wasn’t the same moment as that underpass(couldn't, shouldn't be). This was U.A., this was real, this was the beginning of a whole new chapter.

She had always admired All Might, of course, but now it was different. She was here, a student at U.A., standing shoulder to shoulder with her classmates and listening to the legend himself address them.

She swallowed hard, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart.

“Don’t get too comfortable, though,” All Might continued, the playful tone in his voice a little sharper now, “because being a hero isn’t all about flashy moves and smiling for the cameras. It’s about grit, determination, and the heart to keep going—even when it gets tough.”

Izuku felt something stir inside her chest—somewhere between excitement and anxiety. She gripped the edges of her seat harder, but it wasn’t out of nervousness. It was because she wanted to be everything he was talking about. She wanted to be strong. Not the flashy kind of strong, but the kind of strong that saved people. The kind that could protect a family, a friend, a stranger—anyone who needed it.

Her wings fluttered slightly, just a small twitch. The instinct was there, the need to move, to be more than she was.

She was quiet for a moment, just listening to All Might’s words, processing them the way she’d done with all the heroes she admired. And then, like it always did, a spark lit up inside her.

One day, she thought. One day I’ll make him proud.

Izuku didn’t dare look around, not yet. She was too caught up in the moment, the idea of it all. All the years of wanting this, of dreaming of this, rushing toward her like a wave.

But she couldn’t help it. After a second, she couldn’t resist the pull.

She glanced sideways at Monoma, who was still leaning forward, almost bouncing with excitement, and then to Shinsou. He wasn’t moving much—still, detached—but there was something in the way he was watching All Might, something Izuku couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t admiration the way the rest of them had it, but there was something else behind his neutral gaze. A kind of calculation.

She quickly turned back to the stage, hoping no one noticed her brief glance. Her wings shifted behind her, eager for movement, though Izuku did her best to keep them still. She didn’t want to make a scene—today was important, and she was determined to keep her composure.

But even so, she couldn’t stop her mind from racing.

All Might is right here. Talking to us. He’s...

Izuku’s breath caught, the weight of it all settling in.

It felt almost surreal.

She wondered if all of U.A. would feel like this—like standing right at the edge of something extraordinary.

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading—I hope you enjoyed it! First day at U.A. has officially begun, hurray!!

BTW, this chapter clocked in at 6.8k words... just sayin’.

Also, heads up—next chapter might take a little longer to drop. I’ve been exhausted lately, and this one seriously wiped me out. So I’m giving myself a quick breather! It won’t be more than two months, promise. Just need to recharge a bit before diving back in.

anyway, not too much to add this time, so see ya next chapter!

-author

Chapter 10: UPDATE

Hey....haha

I’m currently off on vacation and don’t have my computer with me, so writing is on pause for the next few months (probably around 3). That means this fic—and a few others—will be on a little break for now.

I haven’t dropped anything, promise!! Just taking a step back until I’m back home and can get back into it properly.

Thanks for being patient, and I’ll see you guys soon with new chapters!

Also, SO SORRY ABOUT THE LACK OF UPDATES RECENTLY. I'M GONNA TRY HARDER WHEN I COME BACK

—Author