Trapped in the Hero’s World

by luv_xenization

Summary:

Truck- Kun has struck again, and now Evangeline is stuck here.

Chapter 1

In New York, tucked away in a small, cramped dorm room, lived Evangeline Otto.

Her teenage years had been a balancing act between her love for the written word and her burgeoning passion for illustration.

Countless hours were spent in her sanctuary, surrounded by sketchbooks and manga volumes, where her drawings pulsed with the vibrant energy she admired in her favorite stories.

Now a college student majoring in Japanese literature, Eva sought to deepen her understanding of the culture that fueled her artistic spirit. Her weekends whirled with art markets and anime conventions, where she proudly sold her illustrations and connected with fellow enthusiasts.

"Ugh, I’m bored!" Evangeline groaned, flopping onto her stomach on the bed and glaring at her bookshelf. "There’s nothing to do!" She frowned, her eyes scanning the spines of the books she had devoured multiple times.

The thought of re-reading them felt as thrilling as watching paint dry. With a huff, she turned her attention to the sketchbook lying forlornly on her desk.

Inspiration, however, was playing hide-and-seek, and she felt like she was trying to coax a cat out from under a couch. After a desperate glance around her room, she sighed and decided to get dressed.

Bundled up in her favorite oversized hoodie—complete with a cartoon cat that looked suspiciously like it was judging her—Eva made her way to the campus library, craving a fresh story to ignite her imagination.

In the manga section, a thin volume with a shimmering cover caught her eye: My Hero Academia . She didn’t recognize it, but something about it tugged at her like a well-placed plot twist.

Unable to resist, she plopped down on a nearby beanbag and dove in.

Hours slipped by as she read, chuckling in disbelief at the main character's antics.

"Seriously? Is he going to cry every time someone looks at him funny?" she muttered, shaking her head.

Glancing out the window, she noticed the winter sun dipping below the horizon.

With a reluctant sigh, she checked out the manga and tucked it carefully into her bag, her mind still swirling with thoughts of heroes and villains.

As she started her walk home, flipping through a few pages while crossing the street, she muttered, "I swear, if this guy doesn’t get some backbone soon..."

Her eyes stayed glued to the panels, so she never saw the truck coming.

A screech of tires, a sharp impact, and then, nothing.

When Eva opened her eyes, she found herself in an unfamiliar room, its walls plastered with posters of people striking hero poses.

She felt like she had stepped into a half-dream, half-memory. Dazed, she stumbled toward a mirror and gasped in horror.

Staring back at her wasn’t the college student she remembered, but the main character straight from the manga she had just bought.

Eva stumbled back from the mirror, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to break free.

"No. No, no, no," she whispered, shaking her head so hard her newly green hair flopped into her eyes. She pushed it back frantically, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

The person in the mirror had the same wide, expressive green eyes and chaotic hair she had just spent hours making fun of.

"This isn’t happening," Eva croaked. "This is a stress dream. I fell asleep in the library. I drooled all over the beanbag, and now I'm hallucinating."

She pinched her arm. Hard. Nothing.

Her gaze darted around the room, and every absurd detail made the dread settle deeper in her bones.

The hero posters, the messy desk stacked with notebooks labeled "Hero Notes.”

It hit her like a brick to the face. This was My Hero Academia. The first chapter. She was in Izuku Midoriya’s bedroom.

And then she looked down at herself and screamed. Flat chest. Baggy T-shirt. Skinny shoulders.

She frantically patted herself down like she could find her missing curves somewhere.

"I’m a boy?! WHAT THE HELL?!" she yelled, stumbling backward and tripping over the desk chair.

She crashed onto the floor with a thud, staring up at the ceiling in absolute betrayal. "No, no, no, no! I didn’t sign up for this ! I was supposed to be a starving artist with student debt, not, not this crybaby Shonen Protagonist 101!"

Her mind reeled. She remembered exactly what happened in the first chapter.

Getting bullied, mocked, told she could never be a hero, and worse, getting attacked by a sludge monster.

The kind of monster that literally possessed people's bodies and tried to choke them to death.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna die in like, three pages!" Eva wailed, rolling over and pounding the floor with her fists. "I don't even know how to throw a punch! I can barely lift a grocery bag without spraining something!"

She scrambled to her feet, frantically digging through the drawers for anything that might save her, while already planning the world's most desperate survival strategy in her head.

She rifled through the drawer, dropping the pens and searching for what? Mace? A roll of quarters?

Instead, her hands shook over notebooks full of careful statistics and naïve dreams: “Quirk Analysis: Bakugo Katsuki,” “Possible Hero Suit Mods,” all scrawled in frighteningly neat handwriting that belonged to someone else.

She silently wept with joy as she read.

The notebook was filled with things that could help that spikey-haired Pomeranian, but there were also things that he could work on, as those were his weaknesses, and she was going to fully use that to her advantage.

Chapter 2

"This is fine!" she lied, her voice shooting several octaves too high. "I’ve got protagonist plot armor... right?" She didn’t believe it for a second.

As she stood there, marinating in her misery, a sudden wave of dizziness hit her, like she had just stood up too fast after ten hours of doom-scrolling TikTok.

She staggered, clutching the edge of the desk for balance.

And then it slammed into her.

A tidal wave of someone else’s life came crashing through her skull.

Childhood memories, Izuku Midoriya’s endless struggles, heartbreaks, triumphs, friendships, and humiliations. His entire life was pouring into her mind all at once, and it was way too much information.

Eva reeled, trying to keep up.

Sure, she was grateful, super grateful, for stuff like suddenly knowing fluent Japanese (because let’s be real, Duolingo hadn’t been cutting it), and instinctively knowing how to get home, how to dress, and how to act like a semi-functional middle school student.

But along with all that handy knowledge came the mother of all migraines.

She groaned and slumped onto the bed, clutching her head like it was about to crack open.

"Okay," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Cool. Amazing. I love having my brain blended. This is the best day of my life." She might have cried a little, but she was too dehydrated to tell.

Eva eventually pried herself off the desk, wobbling like a newborn deer.

"Okay," she muttered, wiping her face with the sleeve of her too-big shirt. "I just have to survive today. Just today . I can fake it till I make it."

She patted her cheeks for encouragement, they were way rounder than she was used to, which was honestly the least of her problems, and stumbled toward the closet.

School uniform. Bag. Shoes. She could do this. ‘You have the memories now, ’ she reminded herself as she tied her sneakers with trembling fingers. ‘You know how this day goes. Just avoid Bakugo. Blend in. Stay alive. Easy.’

(Spoiler alert, it was not easy)

---

By the time she made it to the front gate of Aldera Junior High, she was already sweating bullets.

There he was, right near the entrance, Bakugo Katsuki, in all his angry Pomeranian glory, surrounded by his pack of goons.

His spiky blond hair practically radiated menace, and he was laughing way too loudly about something that probably involved punching someone into a locker.

Eva immediately executed a perfect 180-degree turn. "Nope," she said out loud. "No, thank you. I’ll just... walk to Osaka. Start a new life as a ramen chef. It’s fine."

But fate, cruel, evil fate, was not having it.

"HEY, DEKU!" The voice hit her like a sniper shot to the spine.

Eva winced so hard she nearly dislocated something. Slowly, like a kid who knew they were about to get detention, she turned back around.

Bakugo was stalking toward her with a grin that could curdle milk, hands shoved casually into his pockets like he didn’t plan to commit psychological warfare before first period.

‘Plot armor, plot armor, plot armor,’ Eva chanted in her head like a desperate prayer.

"Whatcha doin’, nerd?" Bakugo sneered, getting all up in her personal space.

"Trying to run away? What, you forget how to walk and breathe at the same time?" His buddies laughed like it was the height of comedy.

Something snapped in Eva.

Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the deep, primal part of her that refused to be publicly humiliated by a walking temper tantrum.

Either way, her mouth moved before her brain could stop it.

"Wow," she said dryly, flashing a painfully fake smile. "With all that hot air coming out of you, you could power a wind farm."

For a second, the world froze.

Bakugo blinked, actually stunned into silence. His friends' jaws collectively dropped.

Eva, realizing she had just personally insulted the human embodiment of C-4, chose life and bolted.

"BYE!" she yelled over her shoulder, sprinting like the coward she absolutely was.

Behind her, she could hear Bakugo sputtering with rage, and then the sound of footsteps pounding after her.

"GET BACK HERE, NERD!" he roared, tiny explosions crackling in his palms.

Eva screamed, a very dignified, heroic scream, obviously, and pumped her legs faster.

Unfortunately, her legs were those of a scrawny middle schooler now, and Bakugo was gaining. ‘ I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die before the plot even STARTS!’

Just as Bakugo closed the distance with a battle cry worthy of a boss fight, salvation appeared in the form of a very tired-looking math teacher, Mr. Sato, stepping directly into the line of fire.

Bakugo skidded to a halt, barely avoiding mowing down the man.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Mr. Sato snapped.

Bakugo's fists sizzled once, angrily, but he gritted his teeth and backed down, shooting Eva a glare so furious it could've stripped paint.

"Stupid nerd," he muttered under his breath, stalking off back toward the school entrance.

Eva, gasping for breath, leaned against a lamppost and wheezed, "Thank you, random tired adult. You are my new favorite human being."

Mr. Sato gave her a look that said, ‘Why the hell are you talking to me?’ and grunted before following Bakugo inside.

Eva wiped sweat from her forehead and straightened up, her hands still shaking. "Okay," she muttered.

"Okay. Step one: Don't die. Step two: Don't mouth off to future supervillains. Step three: Invest in a taser."

She stared up at the looming school building and sighed heavily. And this is only the first chapter.

Chapter 3

The halls buzzed with the jittery chaos of students trying not to look like they cared about anything.

Eva—Izuku, he guessed, ducked his head and clung to the comforting weight of the backpack.

Locker combinations and names of classmates tried to bubble up from somewhere deep inside his skull, half the memories melted together, but at least his feet moved in the right direction.

He had exactly zero ideas what to do with what came next in the script, but one thing was painfully obvious, he had to get out fast, because he was not letting that pea brain burn him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Bakugo stalking down the row of lockers, scowling like a thundercloud in sneakers.

He slouched lower, hoping for invisibility. No sudden moves. Blend in, blend in, blend in.

But every time someone brushed past or called out a mocking "Deku!" across the hallway, all he could do was not flinch, and not throttle someone with the pure, desperate adrenaline screaming through his veins.

The day had just started. Lunch break felt approximately three decades away.

As he got to class, it buzzed with the low, chaotic hum of middle schoolers trying to survive another day.

Izuku slunk into his seat near the back, hunched low like a hunted animal. His bag sat on his lap like a security blanket, and he kept darting glances around like someone in witness protection.

And of course, because karma hated him, Bakugo was two rows over, still glaring holes into the side of his head. If looks could kill, he would've been six feet under before homeroom started.

Izuku tugged at the collar of his uniform, trying to make himself as small as possible. ‘Just blend in,’ he told herself desperately. ‘Be normal. Act like you belong. Don't do anything weird-’

"Midoriyaaaa," whined a kid behind him, jabbing him in the back with a pencil eraser. "Why’d you run like that? You looked like a turtle on roller skates." The class around them giggled.

Izuku’s eye twitched. ‘Control yourself. Control yourself. Protagonist immunity only goes so far.’

He turned around, slapped on the fakest, brightest smile he could muster, and said through clenched teeth, "Thank you so much for your valuable feedback, it was just as wanted as you are to your parents.” 

The kid blinked at him, stunned into silence.

One crisis averted, Izuku thought happily, spinning back around, ignoring everyone's dropped jaws, and promptly locking eyes with Bakugo again. Still glaring. Still murdery. Awesome.

---

At the end of the school day, their last-period teacher shuffled in, a stack of papers in one hand and a lukewarm coffee in the other.

He launched straight into a lecture about career forms and future aspirations, totally ignoring the murder atmosphere brewing in the back row.

Izuku tried to listen. He tried.

But between his pounding heart, creeping panic, and the fact that he was ninety percent sure Bakugo was mentally setting him on fire, it was impossible to focus.

The teacher droned on about how important it was to "think realistically" about their futures, especially for students without Quirks.

Izuku’s stomach twisted into a knot. 

Then the teacher proceeded to tell everyone that he had applied to UA, and the room fell silent, before everyone promptly broke into laughter.

And then came the inevitable.

He turned just in time to see Bakugo vault over a desk, practically frothing at the mouth, murder written all over his face.

"YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME, DEKU?!" Bakugo roared, grabbing the front of Izuku’s uniform with both fists and hauling him out of his seat like he weighed nothing. Izuku instinctively yelped, arms flailing. "Bro, this is a middle school announcement, not a challenge to Mortal Kombat!"

The class lost it. Someone actually fell out of their chair laughing.

Bakugo, however, did not find it funny. Because, of course, he didn’t have a sense of humor.

His hands sparked dangerously, little explosions popping like firecrackers between his palms.

Izuku immediately went into full survival mode, twisting awkwardly in Bakugo’s grip. "Hey man, can we just, uh, circle back to this little temper tantrum later?" he wheezed, kicking his legs uselessly. "Maybe after I don't die horribly in front of all these witnesses?"

Bakugo roared and yanked him closer, sparks dancing threateningly across Izuku's sleeves.

Then the bell rang.

‘Okay, that's it. Emergency exit time,’ Izuku thought, and with a burst of sheer, panicked instinct, Izuku slammed his foot down on Bakugo’s and yanked himself free in the half-second his captor flinched.

He staggered backward, stumbled over a desk, and bolted for the door at a full sprint.

“LATER LOSERS!” Izuku shouted over his shoulder, voice cracking wildly as he yeeted himself out into the hallway. The laughter behind him grew louder. Bakugo’s furious roar echoed after him.

Chapter 4

Izuku didn’t stop running until the school was a speck in the distance, and his lungs felt like they were actively trying to file a lawsuit against him.

He skidded around a corner, nearly eating pavement, and staggered into a tunnel.

It wasn’t until he finally slowed down to a pathetic wheeze that he realized he had no idea where he was going.

He'd just moved. Instinctively.

"Cool," he gasped. "Love that for me. Definitely not just subconsciously following the original anime plot. Nope. No way."

He hunched his shoulders and tugged at his backpack straps, trying to look like he wasn’t looking around for the grim reaper.

Somewhere nearby, a storm drain gurgled.

Izuku’s gut twisted with that "protagonist pre-boss fight" feeling. He didn’t know how, but every cell in his body was suddenly screaming.

And that’s when he heard it.

A wet, sloshing, squelching noise, like someone had tried to make a balloon animal out of radioactive jello.

Izuku froze, gripped his bookbag tighter, and ran like his life depended on it, because well, it did.

The manhole behind him bulged upward and exploded.

A massive blob of green sludge erupted from the ground, spraying sewage and god-knows-what everywhere.

The guy coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape, writhing and bubbling, eyes gleaming with pure malice.

It turned towards where he could hear running. "Perfect," he gurgled, his voice like a broken garbage disposal. "A flesh suit, just what I needed!"

"I HATE THIS I HATE THIS I HATE THIS," he shrieked, dodging a slimy tendril that snapped inches from his head.

The sludge villain oozed after him, moving way faster than something that looked like expired pudding had any right to.

Izuku stumbled into a narrow alley, heart hammering against his ribs.

He skidded to a halt against a chain-link fence blocking the way. Of course, it was a dead end.

Because, of course, it was.

He dropped his bookbag and started trying to climb it, but wasn’t very successful with his noodle arms.

The sludge villain surged forward, tendrils reaching and grabbing him.

Izuku had about three brain cells firing at once, and all of them were screaming. "This is it. This is how I die. Killed by Nickelodeon’s evil twin."

— and then, with a blast of wind so strong it knocked Izuku out of the villain's hold and over the fence, a huge shadow crashed down.

"FEAR NOT, FOR I AM HERE!"

Izuku, dizzy and blinking up from the pavement, could only gape as the No. 1 Hero stood there like a freaking statue carved out of hope and protein shakes.

The sludge villain reeled back, startled.

All Might grinned. His teeth were a blinding white.

Izuku, still flat on his back in the alley trash, managed a weak little wave at him and croaked, “Can you toss me my backpack?”

And then he passed out.

Chapter 5

Something tapped Izuku’s cheek. Then again.  And again.

"Come on, young man, wake up—!"

Izuku groaned, his eyes blinking open like old computer screens trying to load.

Above him loomed All Might, larger than life, dazzling smile and all.

And then Izuku noticed it — a soda bottle jammed awkwardly into All Might's pocket, bulging and wobbling suspiciously.

Inside was a very squashed, very angry blob of green sludge.

Izuku sat bolt upright, nearly crashing into All Might’s chest.

“WHAT IS THAT?!” he yelped.

All Might just laughed. "Worry not! The villain has been captured! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must—"

He started turning away, already preparing to leap off into the sunset like some kind of crime-fighting Uber.

Izuku, flailing with urgency, scrambled after him. "Wait!! WAIT!! My backpack! It’s still over the-"

He gestured wildly back toward the fence like a confused air traffic controller.

But All Might clearly wasn’t about to waste time retrieving lost luggage.

Panicking, Izuku made the only tactical decision available to him, he latched onto All Might’s leg.

“YOUNG MAN—!!” All Might bellowed, right as he jumped.

The two of them blasted into the sky like a rocket, the sludge bottle bouncing violently in his pocket with every gust of air. 

And somewhere, between the takeoff and the awkward midair flailing, the bottle slipped free.

Neither of them noticed it fall, tumbling down, spiraling through the air like a misguided missile aimed at the sprawling city below.

When they crash-landed on a rooftop, All Might peeled Izuku off of him like a stubborn sticker and tried to salvage the situation with his most heroic voice.

"Listen well! Clinging onto a hero during duty is both dangerous and-"

"My bag," Izuku gasped, lying sprawled on the concrete like roadkill. "I need my bag."

All Might twitched violently.

"-and irresponsible!" he continued, louder, pretending the interruption hadn't happened.

"You could have been severely-"

"My bag," Izuku said again, eyes huge and shiny.

All Might looked one more interruption away from a full mental breakdown.

His whole body was trembling like a soda can someone had shaken.

Then, with a horrible, sputtering noise, steam exploded off of him.

In seconds, the towering symbol of peace deflated into a rail-thin, sunken-eyed man in a baggy hoodie.

Izuku gawked, jaw hanging open.

Skinny All Might wiped his mouth and said weakly, "Not exactly my finest hour."

"My bag?" Izuku whimpered.

Before All Might could even try to answer, a deep, rumbling sound cracked through the air.

They both turned toward the horizon.

A column of thick, black smoke spiraled upward from the city, screaming bad news in every language known to man.

"...That's," croaked All Might, "definitely not fine."

Somewhere deep in the chaos, he caught a voice shrieking bloody murder, faint but unmistakable.

Bakugo.

Izuku’s brain connected the dots with lightning speed.

The sludge villain. The bottle. The escape. Bakugo.

Izuku stared at the rising smoke, the screams echoing faintly across the city.

For a split second, pure instinct shoved him forward, to help, run, do something.

Then his brain caught up and went, ‘Wait. It's Bakugo.’

He hesitated.

He thought about Bakugo's snarling face, the endless years of bullying, the locker shoves, the names, the explosions, the rage.

He thought about the way Bakugo had almost literally committed homicide during a career counseling session an hour ago.

Izuku slowly rocked back onto his heels and stuffed his hands into his pockets, the picture of Could Not Be Bothered.

“I know those screams,” he said to All Might.

“You do?” All Might asked, horrified. 

"Honestly?" he muttered, watching the smoke. "Kinda seems like karma."

All Might, still skinny and steaming like a sad kettle, gawked at him. "You can't be serious," he said, scandalized.

Izuku shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, like, a little serious."

More screams. Something heavy crashed in the distance.

All Might grimaced, the shadows deep under his eyes making him look a hundred years old.

"This isn’t about who deserves it," he said, voice low and strained.

"It's about saving lives. A true hero doesn't pick and choose who’s worth saving."

Izuku didn't answer.

He just scuffed the toe of his shoe against the rooftop, pretending to find the concrete very interesting.

All Might let out a rattling, frustrated breath.

Then, before Izuku could react, he grabbed him by the back of his uniform like an unruly cat.

"H-HEY—!!"

"No time to argue," All Might rasped, hauling him bodily toward the roof's edge. "You're coming too."

With absolutely no ceremony, he slung Izuku over one narrow shoulder like a sack of flour.

Izuku flailed. "I DIDN'T AGREE TO THIS!"

"You lost him," All Might said grimly. "You're helping clean it up."

And with that, they leapt off the rooftop, Izuku screaming the whole way down, as the wind howled past their ears and the city rushed up to meet them.

Chapter 6

They landed hard enough to rattle Izuku’s skeleton like a maraca.

All Might dropped him unceremoniously onto the asphalt.

Izuku immediately tried to scramble away on all fours like a spooked crab.

The scene unfolding in front of them was pure nightmare fuel.

The sludge villain had gotten bigger, way bigger,  ballooning around Bakugo like some horrific, slimy octopus.

Bakugo thrashed wildly, his explosions going off like frantic fireworks inside the monster’s body, but it barely seemed to notice.

A small crowd of pro-heroes had gathered around, forming a very loose and very not helpful perimeter.

They were shouting things like “Hang in there!” and “We’re assessing the situation!” and “Don’t worry, backup’s coming!” while absolutely nobody did anything useful.

Bakugo’s face, trapped inside the sludge, was twisted with furious terror.

Izuku watched all this, arms folded, one eyebrow slowly crawling up his forehead. "Wow," he said dryly. "Look at all these highly trained, professional heroes. Truly inspiring."

All Might was clearly sweating bullets.

He kept glancing at the crowd, at the sludge villain, and then at his own pathetic, deflated body.

His hands twitched at his sides. He couldn’t transform. Not right now.

Izuku squinted sideways at him. "Sooo, uh. Plan?"

All Might gritted his teeth. "You... distract him. I'll-"

Izuku made a face at him.

"I feel like that plan is missing several important details," Izuku said, backing away a step. "Like, oh, I don't know, how I’m not gonna die doing that within two minutes?"

But it didn’t matter.

All Might's eyes locked onto the scene, and Izuku could practically see the battle raging inside him, pride vs. guilt vs. whatever cosmic force made All Might the idiot hero he was.

Finally, All Might squeezed his eyes shut and said, "I'm sorry, young man," and shoved Izuku straight into the disaster zone.

"TRAITOR!!!" Izuku screamed as he stumbled forward.

The crowd gasped.

The sludge villain snarled, twisting its huge, dripping mass toward the new arrival.

Bakugo, meanwhile, caught sight of Izuku and managed to glare even through the slimy prison of death.

"DEKU?!" his muffled voice roared in disbelief, even as the slime tried to crush him.

Izuku, hands raised, knees shaking, faced the monster.

He hated everything about this day. He hated it so much. He hated it loudly and internally while preparing to do something spectacularly stupid.

The sludge villain let out a gurgling growl and lashed a massive, slimy tendril straight at him.

Izuku did the only logical thing he could.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbed a random traffic cone off the ground, and threw it as hard as he could.

It bounced harmlessly off the sludge villain’s gooey surface with a pathetic bonk.

Everyone, the pros, the civilians, even Bakugo stared.

The villain blinked.

There was a moment of silence so awkward that Izuku almost died from secondhand embarrassment before the monster actually got mad.

Then the villain roared and lunged.

"OKAY OKAY BAD PLAN BAD PLAN BAD PLAN," Izuku shrieked, immediately running in the opposite direction, somehow managing to dodge the grasping slime by pure panic-powered luck.

Bakugo was still trapped, still fighting, still absolutely frothing at the mouth.

He clearly would rather be murdered by the sludge villain than be saved by Izuku Midoriya, which was so rude, honestly.

Meanwhile, Izuku was leading the villain on a merry chase around overturned cars and wreckage, slipping and sliding like a cartoon character on a waxed floor.

Back near the sidelines, the pro-heroes finally started snapping out of their collective brain freeze. "Kid’s distracting it!" "Now’s our chance!" "Someone go for the hostage!"

All Might, still skinny and visibly struggling, clenched his fists. "Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, as if willing his body to cooperate.

But Izuku, pure, disaster-grade Izuku, was already stealing the show.

He scrambled up onto the hood of a wrecked car, grabbed a loose piece of pipe, and waved it around like an unqualified sword.

"HEY, SHAMPOO SPILL!" he yelled. "YOUR MOM WAS A FUNGUS!"

The sludge villain screeched in rage.

"WHAT?!" Bakugo howled from inside the sludge, absolutely livid and confused all at once.

It worked.

The villain lunged toward Izuku, dragging itself farther away from Bakugo.

The moment of opportunity finally cracked open, a slim window, and All Might took it.

Even in his weakened form, he burst forward in a blur, reaching Bakugo in seconds. He plunged both arms into the sludge, ripping Bakugo free with a guttural roar.

The villain screamed in fury, swirling around like a storm cloud.

Izuku barely dodged a swipe that would’ve turned him into a greasy stain.

He tripped, tumbled across the pavement, and landed flat on his back, stars spinning around his head. 

When he managed to focus again, All Might was stumbling back with Bakugo slung over one shoulder, coughing violently but grinning like a man who just won the lottery.

The other pro-heroes were finally piling in, capturing the sludge villain with hoses, traps, and a lot of shouting.

Izuku flopped onto his back and wheezed at the sky, arms sprawled out.

"I would like to go home now," he said to the clouds. "Preferably into the void. Thanks."

All Might staggered over, still carrying Bakugo (who was kicking and screaming bloody murder), and looked down at Izuku like he wasn’t sure whether to congratulate him or apologize.

"Young man," he said solemnly, "that was the most reckless, idiotic, self-endangering thing I have ever seen."

Izuku gave a thumbs-up without lifting his head. "Thanks."

Chapter 7

Izuku watched the pros wrangle the last of the sludge villain, Bakugo screaming profanities the whole time, and decided it was officially Not His Problem anymore.

Quiet as a mouse and twice as exhausted, he ninja-stepped backward into the crowd.

He slipped away from the wreckage, half limping, half shuffling down the cracked streets, clutching his aching ribs.

His brain was making that fuzzy TV static sound again.

One singular thought burned in his mind.

‘Bag. Need bag.’

It didn’t take long to find the alley from before. The chain-link fence was still there, mocking him.

His sad little backpack rested on the other side.

Izuku stared up at it for a long moment, then took a running start, climbed the fence like a feral cat, snatched his bag with a victorious grunt, and scrambled up it again.

His whole body felt like it had been run through a cheese grater, but by god, he had his bag.

Hugging it to his chest, he started hobbling down the street toward home, dreaming of a long bath and maybe a week-long coma.

That’s when a shadow loomed in front of him.

He froze. Blinked up.

And there was All Might. Still in his skinny form, still looking like a strong breeze could kill him.

Izuku immediately recoiled, clutching his bag tighter like it would protect him. "HOW DO YOU KEEP FINDING ME?!" he shrieked.

All Might coughed awkwardly into his fist. "I… may have followed you."

Izuku's eyes bugged out. "You’re stalking me?! Are you stalking me?! That’s illegal!"

All Might flinched. "No! Of course not! I simply-"

"Are you a pedophile?!" Izuku demanded.

The poor man went white as a ghost. "W-what?! NO!! Young man, I assure you I am not!!"

Izuku narrowed his eyes, suspiciously.

All Might wiped his sweaty forehead with a sleeve and tried to recover. "Listen! I tracked you down because I have an important proposition for you!"

Izuku took a step back.

All Might winced.

"Not like that! I’ve just been watching your actions today," All Might said, voice steadying.

"And even though you were reckless — incredibly reckless — you showed the spirit of a hero. The heart. The drive to save others even when you yourself were powerless."

Izuku blinked, thrown off balance by the sudden sincerity.

"And that's why," All Might continued, standing straighter despite the way his body shook with effort, "I want to offer you the chance… to become a true hero."

Izuku just gawked.

He pointed dramatically at Izuku.

"Now, let me tell you about my Quirk-"

"I didn’t even want to save him, you know," Izuku cut in, deadpan.

All Might froze mid-speech, finger still in the air.

"I mean," Izuku continued, shrugging with maximum indifference, "you were the one who basically kidnapped me and made me go. I wasn’t gonna lift a finger."

All Might's eye twitched so hard it was almost audible.

He dropped his hand and gave a slow, painfully tired sigh that sounded like it came from the depths of his miserable soul. "I am aware," he said, voice thin with exhaustion.

Izuku stared at him, unimpressed. "Just saying. Kinda feels like false advertising if you’re calling me ‘heroic’ for something you forced me to do."

All Might pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Should've just let him keep looking for that stupid backpack."

Then he dropped his hand and fixed Izuku with the flattest, deadest stare he could muster.

"Do you want to become a hero or not?" he said, each word like its own separate struggle.

Izuku, sensing he was maybe pushing his luck, zipped his mouth shut with an invisible key and gave a tiny nod.

All Might sagged a little in relief. "Good," he rasped. "Because if I have to listen to one more of your interruptions, I'm going to voluntarily retire right here on this sidewalk."

Izuku beamed, completely missing the threat. "Awesome! Let's do this!"

All Might closed his eyes like he was praying for strength.

All Might coughed into his fist and straightened up a little, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. "My Quirk," he said gravely, "is called One for All. It's a sacred power passed down from generation to generation, enhancing the user's strength, speed, and-"

"Wait," Izuku interrupted, hand shooting up like they were in a classroom.

"If it’s passed down, does that mean it’s like, genetic? Do you, like, sneeze on someone and boom, new hero?"

All Might blinked. "No, it's not that simple-"

"So is it, like, contagious? Should I be wearing a mask? Are you about to bite me?"

All Might’s smile faltered dangerously. "N-no?! It's not a virus! It's-listen, would you please let me finish?"

Izuku mimed zipping his lips again but nodded enthusiastically.

All Might cleared his throat louder. "You have to ingest my DNA."

There was a long, horrified pause.

Izuku’s smile slowly disappeared. 

"...You want me to eat you?" he said, voice absolutely traumatized.

All Might slapped a hand over his face. "Not me , young man! Just, just a small piece of DNA! A hair, for example! Or some blood! You don't have to consume my flesh like a feral animal, good grief!"

Izuku wrinkled his nose like he'd just been asked to eat week-old sushi off a public restroom floor.

"So...you're telling me," he said carefully, "that my dream...my lifelong dream...is one hair away from me becoming a cannibal. "

All Might made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a scream.

"And," Izuku added, thoughtfully tapping his chin, "this isn't some weird grooming tactic, right? You’re not gonna show up later with like, a shrine or a collar?"

"NO!" All Might barked, face turning bright red. "NO SHRINES! NO COLLARS! THIS IS A PURELY PROFESSIONAL RELATIONSHIP!!"

Izuku stared at him for a beat. Then shrugged. "Okay, cool. As long as you're not a creep. Gotta protect my brand."

All Might stared at the kid in front of him, the tiny, chaotic goblin who somehow had the emotional range of a goldfish and the self-preservation instincts of a boulder, and questioned every decision that had brought him to this moment.

But he forced a smile, the Symbol of Peace in the flesh, even if that flesh was currently skinny, bruised, and moments from cardiac arrest.

"Now then," he said through gritted teeth, reaching into his pocket and dramatically pulling out a single, golden hair.

"Eat this."

Izuku looked at the hair. Then, at All Might. Then at the hair again.

He held out his hand very solemnly.

"Can I get some ketchup or something? Maybe some fries to go with it?"

All Might inhaled slowly through his nose, counted to ten, and reminded himself that murder was, in fact, illegal.

Chapter 8

Izuku squinted suspiciously at the hair dangling in front of him like it was laced with arsenic.

"Okay, but," he said slowly, "if I eat this...I’m not gonna like...explode or something, right?"

All Might froze.

It was a tiny hesitation, almost too quick to catch, but Izuku caught it.

His eyes narrowed into thin little slits.

"You paused," he accused immediately. "Why did you pause?"

All Might coughed awkwardly into his fist. "Well...technically, if your body isn't properly conditioned, the sudden surge of power could ...um. Cause some damage."

Izuku just stared at him.

Blank, soulless, like someone had hit a hard reset on his brain.

"You mean to tell me," Izuku said very slowly, like he was explaining the concept of gravity to a brick, "that if I eat this hair...my skeleton might possibly burst out of my body like a firework?"

All Might gave him two big thumbs up, as if that would somehow make it better.

"That's why we'll have to start training immediately!" he said, way too cheerful for someone casually announcing potential death.

Izuku stared. And stared. And stared.

"I literally just wanted my backpack," he whispered brokenly, looking into the middle distance like a war veteran remembering the trenches.

"That's all I wanted. My stupid nerd bag full of nerd crap. And now I'm eating hair and possibly dying."

All Might laughed a little too loudly, clapping him on the back. "You’ll be fine! Probably! Mostly!" 

Izuku tilted his head up to the sky, sighed like he was asking the heavens why , and finally, with the air of someone about to commit a crime against God and nature, snatched the hair out of All Might’s hand.

"This better not taste like sadness," he grumbled.

And with all the grim determination of a man taking his final shot before death, he shoved the hair into his mouth and swallowed.

Instant regret. Immediate and absolute. Izuku gagged violently, bending over like he was going to cough up his own soul.

"BLEAGH! It’s like eating depression and protein powder!"

All Might just beamed at him like a proud soccer mom watching their kid score an own-goal.

"Congratulations, young man!" he said. "You’ve taken your first step toward becoming a true hero!"

Izuku, still gagging and questioning every choice that led him here, gave a wobbly thumbs-up. "I want to die," he croaked.

"That feeling will pass!" All Might said, far too cheerfully.

---

Izuku stumbled home in a daze, stomach roiling from the worst meal he had ever had in his life (and that included the time he accidentally ate a glue stick in kindergarten).

He still wasn’t sure if the gritty feeling in his throat was from the hair, the trauma, or the sheer psychic damage he had taken over the last two hours.

When he finally made it to his apartment, he fumbled the keys and nearly knocked the door off its hinges, bursting in.

From the kitchen, a clatter, then a shout.

"Izuku?! You're home late! I was starting to get worried!"

He barely had time to process that before Inko Midoriya, short, soft, and radiating pure Mom Energy, charged around the corner and swept him into a crushing hug.

"Ah—!" Izuku choked, awkwardly patting her on the back like he was comforting a live grenade.

Right. Right. This was his “mom.” He knew her. Technically. Emotionally? His brain was just playing elevator music.

"Sorry," he said automatically, peeling himself free.

"I got, uh...held up. At school. And also almost died."

Inko froze. Her entire body tensed like a loaded mousetrap. "I'm sorry," she said slowly, her voice wobbling at a dangerously high pitch. "You what?"

Izuku realized he had said that out loud.

He backpedaled instantly. "I mean, not, like, serious dying! More like, fun dying? Very casual. Just a little light homicide. Nothing to worry about!"

Inko grabbed his shoulders, eyes wide and wild. "IZUKU MIDORIYA," she barked, pure Mom Authority mode engaged.

"You tell me what happened. Right now."

Izuku flailed helplessly.

His survival instincts were screaming to lie.

Badly. Impressively badly.

Instead, what fell out of his mouth was, "Bakugo tried to kill me, so I ran, then got attacked by a slime monster and met All Might, then Bakugo got attacked by the slime monster and All Might made me help save him but it’s fine now and also I ate hair."

There was a long, long silence. You could have heard a hamster sneeze across the street.

Inko’s eye twitched. "…you what."

"I mean it sounds worse than it is?" Izuku offered weakly, somehow making it worse.

Her face went through several stages of grief in under five seconds.

Then, without warning, she spun around, grabbed her purse off the counter, and marched to the door.

"Mom??" Izuku yelped.

"I’m going to kill whoever let that happen!" she announced furiously, jamming her feet into a pair of fuzzy pink slippers like they were battle boots.

"And then I’m calling the news! And the police! And the government! And a lawyer! Probably several lawyers!"

"MOM, NO, IT’S FINE," Izuku shouted, chasing after her as she stormed down the hall.

She whirled on him, pointing dramatically. "Was it Bakugo’s fault? Was it All Might’s fault? Was it the school's fault?! Because I’ll SUE ALL OF THEM!"

Izuku covered his face with both hands. "It was technically Bakugo's fault, but also technically society’s fault if you think about it—"

Inko was already halfway to calling the PTA emergency line.

"Oh my god," Izuku muttered into his palms. "I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die, and it's not even because of the hair. It’s because my mom is gonna start World War III at my middle school."

Behind him, Inko Midoriya was already planning detailed vengeance with the fury of a thousand suns.

 And somewhere far away, All Might probably sneezed violently and didn’t know why.

 

Chapter 9

After another thirty minutes of damage control ("No, Mom, I’m not joining a cult," "Yes, Mom, I'm sure he’s a real hero," "No, Mom, I’m not going to die from hair poisoning"), Izuku finally managed to retreat to his room.

He closed the door softly behind him and leaned against it, exhaling the long, exhausted sigh of someone who had aged twenty years in a single evening.

His room stared back at him.

Or, more accurately, his walls stared at him.

Posters. Figures. Hero memorabilia.

All Might smiling. Endeavor flexing. Best Jeanist... jeanisting.

It was like living inside a shrine built by a crazed fanboy.

Izuku ran a hand down his face, groaning. "God, this is so embarrassing," he mumbled into his palm.

He couldn’t bring anyone here.

It looked like a stalker’s bedroom. A shrine to a life he hadn't even started yet.

He peeled himself off the door and wandered into the bathroom for a quick shower, letting the hot water beat down on him until he felt human again.

Or close enough.

When he stumbled back into his room in a cloud of steam, hair dripping and in baggy clothes, he glanced around and made a decision.

Time for a full remodel.

Grimly, like a soldier preparing for war, he grabbed a garbage bag and started yanking down posters.

"Goodbye, All Might cardboard cutout," he said solemnly, tossing it face-first into the bag. "You deserved better than this."

One by one, figures and plushies, and signed photos disappeared into the abyss.

The room started to feel bigger. Less fanboy. More future badass.

When he was done, he collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the now-empty walls.

It was freeing from the eyes that stared at him.

And then another idea struck him.

Slowly, with the evil grin of a kid about to commit a petty crime, he grabbed his laptop.

A few clicks later, he had listed half his hero memorabilia online. 

“Rare All Might figure, mint condition, slightly judged by owner. Starting bid: 20,000 yen.”

If he was gonna rebuild himself, he needed funds.

And there were plenty of weirder people out there who would pay big bucks for this stuff.

"Use your assets," Izuku muttered to himself, feeling alarmingly wise.

Speaking of assets- He rolled onto his stomach and opened a blank notebook. Time to make a new kind of plan.

WORKOUT GOALS:

BIGGER thighs. BIGGER butt. SMALLER waist. STRONGER everything.

He underlined bigger butt three times, aggressively. Because priorities.

"I refuse to have All Might thighs and a chopstick ass," he muttered, scribbling furiously.

He spent the next hour researching workouts: squats, deadlifts, hip thrusts, Bulgarian split squats (which sounded like a medieval torture technique), core circuits, and mobility drills.

He made a full chart, color-coded and scheduled, complete with little notes like “Remember to squeeze glutes!!”

He even penciled in protein smoothies and stretching because if he was going to glow up, he was going to GLOW UP.

At some point, as he lay back grinning at his masterpiece of a workout plan, and thought, ‘New room. New body. New life.’

---

The next morning, Izuku woke up with a terrifying sense of purpose.

Step one of becoming a new person? Look like one.

First up, his shoes. Those cursed, ugly red sneakers.

He sat on the balcony with an old towel under him, a can of black fabric paint in one hand and a cheap brush in the other, frowning down at the shoes like they had personally offended him.

Which, to be fair, they had. "No quirkless pity shoes in my new era," Izuku muttered. With careful, angry strokes, he turned the ugly red into a sleek, dark black.

It took two coats, a hair dryer, and a lot of glaring, but when he was done, they looked good.

Feeling victorious, he turned to the next task, clothes.

He ripped through his closet like a one-man tornado.

Out went the baggy nerd shirts, the cargo pants, the sweatshirts three sizes too big.

He ended up with three giant trash bags stuffed to the brim with old clothes.

Inko watched him from the doorway, bewildered, as he tied the last bag shut with a vicious yank.

"Sweetie, are you...running away?" she asked, half-joking.

"Nope," Izuku said brightly. "New life. New clothes."

"Ah," Inko said. "Mid-life crisis at fifteen. Got it."

They dropped the donation bags off at a local charity shop, the workers there blinking at the sheer volume. (“Wow, uh, thanks?” one lady said, struggling to drag a bag inside.)

And then the real fun began. 

Shopping.

Izuku hadn't realized how fun shopping could be when you weren't just surviving off clearance racks and pity discounts. This time, he had a plan.

Together with Inko (who was having suspiciously way too much fun helping), they picked out new everything.

By the time they finished clothing and bedding, the cart looked like a high-end magazine ad.
 

Izuku was smug. Inko was delighted. They were unstoppable.

And then, Inko got a glint in her eye that spelled trouble. "You know what would really complete this transformation?" she said.

"Mom," Izuku said, wary, "I'm scared."

"New hair!" she declared.

Before he could protest, she physically dragged him into a trendy-looking salon down the street.

Thirty minutes and one consultation later, Izuku was sitting in a salon chair, sweating bullets, while a cheerful woman with electric purple hair prepped her Quirk.

Her power? Accelerated hair growth.

"So," the stylist chirped, clapping her hands together, "waist length, right?"

Izuku nodded, somewhere between horrified and exhilarated.

Ten minutes later, he had a thick, messy waterfall of curly green hair that brushed the small of his back.

"Whoa," he whispered, staring at himself in the mirror.

He looked...different. Kinda hot, actually.

Inko was getting her hair done too, she went for a soft, shoulder-length bob that made her look years younger.

They celebrated their new looks by hitting the haircare aisle with brutal efficiency.

Deep conditioners, silk pillowcases, wide-tooth combs, and special serums for split ends. (“You have an investment now," Inko said solemnly, dropping a ridiculous amount of hair products into the cart. "Respect the mane.”)

---

Two hours later, they returned with an entire wardrobe.

Black pleated skirts. Pink cropped hoodies with cute little devil horns on the hood. Thigh-high socks in black, pink, and striped combinations. Oversized sweaters that slouched off one shoulder. Combat boots with pink laces.

He even set aside a few outfits just for lounging, soft black shorts and cropped pink tanks, fluffy black and pink pajama sets.

When he finally collapsed into bed, dressed in a comfy black t-shirt with pink clouds and matching shorts, he felt more himself than he had since waking up in this world.

Still a little Izuku Midoriya. Still a lot, Evangeline. Maybe both.

Maybe something new.

And as he curled up, his hair sprawled around him like messy ivy, he thought lazily about how much thigh mass he was gonna need to really rock those skirts.

Tomorrow. Workout starts tomorrow. 

He stretched out like a cat, long hair spilling over the mattress, feeling completely, finally different.

"New era," he muttered to himself, grinning lazily. "Who dis?"

He drifted off to sleep smiling.

Chapter 10

The next morning was a Saturday, and Izuku woke up to a strange sensation. 

Something was…smothering him.

He groggily cracked open an eye only to find his own hair had cocooned him like a green, fluffy spider web. 

A long, messy strand was in his mouth. Several were wrapped around his arms like vines. 

He flailed helplessly for a second before wrestling his way free, coughing and spitting.

"Okay," he wheezed, sitting up with hair draped everywhere. 

"New era... new problem." He stumbled to the bathroom, tied his hair into a half-hearted bun (which immediately sagged because there was just too much of it), and glared at himself in the mirror. 

"You will not defeat me," he told his reflection grimly.

---

Today was the first official day of Operation Thighs of Glory.  

He pulled on one of his new workout outfits, a black sleeveless turtleneck crop top with a pink skull on the chest, matching black athletic shorts with pink piping, and pink-striped knee-high socks, and marched down to the living room where he’d set up a workout mat.

Inko peeked in from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in hand, eyebrows raised at the sight of him. "You look adorable," she said, sipping. 

"I’m going for intimidating," Izuku grumbled. 

"You're intimidatingly adorable," she corrected, smiling proudly. 

Izuku sighed, planted his feet, and pulled up his workout app. Squats first.

He dropped into a squat. And immediately his hair whipped forward like a vengeful spirit, smacking him in the face. He fell over sideways with a loud thud.  

"..." 

Inko choked on her coffee. 

Izuku lay on the mat, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The next thirty minutes were a battle between man and mane. 

Hair tie? Snapped. 

Headband? Slid off instantly. 

High ponytail? Lasted three squats before exploding like a bomb. 

At one point, desperate, Izuku tried wrapping his hair into a messy bun and securing it with four scrunchies and two chopsticks from the kitchen drawer. 

It held for exactly seven Bulgarian split squats before detonating midair like a green firework.

Finally, sweaty, gasping, and furious, Izuku ended up just braiding the damn thing into a thick, heavy rope and tossing it over his shoulder like he was a Final Fantasy character. 

It...kinda worked? At least it stayed mostly out of his face while he finished his workout. 

He was shaking by the end, muscles screaming, thighs already regretting life choices.

But as he collapsed on the mat, chest heaving, he couldn’t help grinning. Sweat dripped down his temple. His braid stuck awkwardly to his back. His muscles felt like spaghetti. And still, he felt... awesome.

---

Izuku spent the next two hours in full hair boot camp.

He watched YouTube tutorials. He practiced French braids, Dutch braids, and Viking braids. (He failed all of them.) 

He scowled at the mirror while Inko helped him pin the giant braid into a coil at the back of his head, muttering about "defensive hairstyles" like he was going into battle.

"I feel like I'm prepping for war," Izuku said grimly, tugging the braid to make sure it wouldn’t unravel. 

"You are," Inko said seriously. "War against your own hair." 

It still somehow tried to kill him twice, going to the location All Might had sent him.

---

Izuku met up with All Might at Dagobah Station, a run-down train platform near a mostly abandoned part of the city.

All Might, in his skinny, skeletal form, was waiting under a flickering streetlamp, trying to look casual. 

Instead, he looked like the ghost of Christmas Past and Future combined.

"Young Midoriya!" he boomed, voice still ridiculously loud for his frail body. "How is the training going?" 

Izuku, dressed in black joggers, a pink cropped hoodie, and his new combat boots, slumped dramatically against the nearest bench. "I think my thighs are plotting to secede from the rest of my body," he said flatly.

"Otherwise, great."

All Might chuckled, the sound slightly wheezy. "Excellent! Persistence is key!"

He puffed up like he was about to make a grand announcement, hands on hips, somehow glowing even when he looked like a half-deflated balloon.

"I, too, have been thinking about your training," he said proudly. "I have a brilliant idea for your next phase!"

Izuku immediately narrowed his eyes.

"Define ‘brilliant.’" All Might whipped out a folded-up map and stabbed a bony finger at a spot marked with a little doodle of... a beach?

"This!" he declared. "Dagobah Municipal Beach Park! Once a beloved public area... now tragically abandoned and covered in garbage! You shall clean it, young Midoriya!"

Izuku blinked."...You want me to clean up a trash beach."

All Might beamed."Correct!" 

"A beach. Covered in garbage. In an abandoned district where no one would hear me scream."

"Y–Yes?"

Izuku stared at him for a long, silent moment.

"Okay," he said slowly, "not to sound like every true crime documentary ever, but this sounds exactly like how you get murdered and dumped in a fridge."

All Might spluttered. "Wh-What?! No! It’s perfect! You'll build strength and stamina while performing good deeds for the community!"

Izuku crossed his arms, braid flicking behind him.

"Or," he said sweetly, "I'll get tetanus and my mom will have to sue your ass."

All Might sagged slightly, coughing into his hand. "I see your point."

Izuku softened a little, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.

"Look," he said, "I'm not against doing community service or whatever. But can we maybe start with, like... less murdery locations? Like a gym? Or a park? Somewhere, I’m not guaranteed to find a dead seagull wrapped in a tire?"

All Might deflated even more, but after a long moment, he gave a tired chuckle. "Fair enough, young Midoriya. We'll rethink the plan."

Izuku grinned. "Cool. You brainstorm that. I'm gonna go foam roll my glutes until I die."

As he turned to leave, All Might called after him, voice fond, "Your spirit is truly admirable, young one."

"Thanks," Izuku called back over his shoulder, "it's held together by hair ties and caffeine!"

The next morning, Izuku met up with All Might outside a local coffee shop, large iced coffee in hand and a determined sparkle in his eye.

"Ready?" All Might asked, looking suspiciously hopeful.

"No trash beaches," Izuku said firmly, slurping aggressively through his straw.

"No trash beaches," All Might promised, solemn as a priest.

Thus began the great gym hunt of Izuku Midoriya.

---

The first gym was a disaster.

It smelled like stale sweat and regret, and some dude in a tank top two sizes too small immediately tried to sell Izuku an "herbal supplement" that looked suspiciously illegal.

Izuku took one look around, wrinkled his nose, and turned on his heel.

"Veto," he said, already halfway out the door.

"But we haven’t even-" All Might started.

"Veto," Izuku said louder, speed-walking like a man pursued by demons.

---

The second gym was technically cleaner, but the vibes?

Immaculately cursed.

The walls were gray. The lights buzzed. Everyone inside looked like they hadn’t smiled since the invention of electricity.

Izuku stood in the doorway, sipping his coffee like a judgmental crow.

"...This feels like the kind of place where dreams go to die," he said bluntly.

All Might opened his mouth.

"Nope," Izuku said immediately, spinning around. "Next."

---

By the fourth gym, All Might was starting to look a little fragile around the edges.

Izuku, however, was thriving.

"This one has carpet. CARPET. In a gym. I will literally catch a fungal infection just by looking. "

All Might, trying valiantly to keep up, asked weakly, "What exactly are we looking for, young Midoriya?"

Izuku sipped his coffee thoughtfully, considering.

"Somewhere I can do squats without feeling like I'm going to be abducted by a protein powder cult."

All Might made a noise that might have been a whimper.

---

Finally, finally, after nearly three hours and two coffee refills, they found it.

A cozy little gym tucked between a laundromat and a vegan bakery.

Wooden floors. Big open windows. Plants.

Friendly, chill-looking people who smiled without looking like they were about to sell you essential oils or human trafficking.

Izuku stepped inside, took a deep breath, and instantly relaxed.

"This," he declared, "is the one."

All Might, clutching the wall for support, looked around in wonder. "I...I can't believe it."

A cheerful woman behind the counter beamed at them. "First class is free! Let me know if you need any help picking a program!"

Izuku grinned, feeling a spark of real excitement.

New room. New clothes. New hair. And now? New gym.

Izuku giddy, headed for the squat rack like it owed him money.

All Might stood there for a moment longer, smiling faintly, before pulling out his phone and making a note:

"Find Midoriya a personal trainer who can survive his sass."

Chapter 11

The next morning, Izuku woke up early, full of a terrifying amount of motivation. 

Hair brushed until it shone, face washed, uniform pressed to perfection, he looked like a straight-A honor student ready to absolutely demolish middle school. 

Black knee socks. Shiny shoes. Crisp Aldera Middle School jacket. 

Ready to suffer through another day of being ignored, blown up, and emotionally stomped on.

He threw his backpack over his shoulder, adjusted the collar of his jacket, and headed for the door. 

Inko, humming happily in the kitchen, was flipping pancakes. "Where are you going, sweetie?" she asked without turning around. 

"School!" Izuku said glumly, yanking on his other shoe.

There was a pause. A very suspicious pause.

Then Inko turned around, smiling that specific Mom Smile that meant he was about to be blindsided. 

"School?" she echoed. 

"...Yeah?" Izuku said slowly, dread already building. 

"Oh honey," Inko said sweetly, walking over and lightly patting his hair down like she was preparing him for a funeral. "I signed you up for online school yesterday."

Izuku blinked."...what."

"No more Aldera," Inko said brightly, as if announcing a vacation. 

"No more Bakugo. No more teachers pretending not to see you getting half-murdered between periods. You're officially a remote student now!"

He stared at her. Then down at his pristine Aldera uniform. Then back at her. "But I... I just ironed this..." he mumbled pitifully. 

"You can wear it for online school if you want," Inko said, practically glowing. "Nothing wrong with dressing for success!"

Izuku opened his mouth to argue and then paused. 

He really thought about it. No Bakugo. No hiding his notebooks. No waiting for the next ‘accidental’ elbow to the face. No teachers side-eyeing him like he was a nuisance.

Instead, waking up, logging in, doing school at his own pace, in his room.  

In his black-and-pink fortress of peace. That actually sounded kind of amazing. 

Slowly, he sat down at the kitchen table, feeling like he had just been handed a winning lottery ticket and was too suspicious to cash it. 

"Wait," he said, cautiously. "Is it a good online school?"

"The best one I could find," Inko said proudly. "Good reputation, flexible classes, no bullies, lots of support. You’ll be graduating middle school from the comfort of home — safely." 

Izuku chewed on that, then slowly nodded. Honestly? It sounded way better than surviving a year at Aldera. "I guess," he said carefully, "this could work."

Inko beamed at him, looking like she had just achieved the world's biggest mom victory. 

She slid a plate of pancakes in front of him like a reward. "That's my smart boy," she said proudly. 

Izuku took a bite of pancake, feeling the tension melt off his shoulders. 

For the first time since he got to this world, school didn’t feel like a battlefield waiting to blow up under his feet. It just felt...manageable. Safe.

He could actually plan for the future without worrying about Bakugo sabotaging him for daring to exist. 

He thought about all the free time he'd have after finishing his assignments, time he could spend working out, getting stronger, and preparing.

Maybe this new era wouldn't be so bad after all. He grinned into his pancakes. "New school," he muttered under his breath. "New me."

Inko, overhearing, practically burst with pride.

---

Izuku’s first task of the day, after his triumphant pancake breakfast, was simple, create the ultimate study space.

His room already felt like a fresh start, and now it was time to really make it his. 

A place where he could focus, be productive, and also not feel like he was drowning in a sea of awkward school memories.

He cleared off his desk, which had been covered in leftover notebooks and old homework assignments. 

With a small sigh, he tossed the last remnants of his old life into a box for donation. Even the worn-out textbook he'd never actually read got tossed aside.

The desk was ready. But it was bare. A clean slate.

Izuku grabbed his laptop from its charger and opened it, logging into his new online school account. 

Everything was neat, organized, and calming. No more crowded hallways. No more waiting for lunch only to have Bakugo make his day miserable.

“Okay, step one,” Izuku muttered, grabbing his new planner and a set of pens. 

He opened it to a blank page and began to sketch out how he wanted his desk to look. He was determined to keep things organized, but also stylish . 

His study space needed to inspire him. He would not be the guy whose workspace looked like an unfinished painting.

The plan was simple. Black and pink theme, obviously. Cozy desk lamp. An aesthetic mug for his matcha lattes. A few motivational posters, not All Might this time. Something subtle. Minimalistic.

He smirked at his own level of dedication.

Five minutes later, the desk had a clean surface with a soft, black-and-pink desk mat underneath. 

He added a delicate, pink vase with fresh flowers, a gift from Inko, who had insisted it "would help calm his mind."

The mug? It was pink. Of course. The design was cute and quirky, with a smiley face and the words "Tea Time is Me Time" written on it. He filled it with matcha he had already made in a travel thermos. The perfect drink for a focused study session.

Finally, he added a single plant in a pink ceramic pot. Something small and low-maintenance, but still cute and life-affirming.

With everything in place, he stood back, hands on his hips, surveying the transformation. His desk was now an oasis of peace, perfectly aligned with his aesthetic. 

The black-and-pink vibe was strong but not overwhelming. There was a neatness about it, but a comfort, too. 

He could live here for hours without feeling like he was being stifled by his surroundings.

Feeling satisfied, Izuku stepped back and sighed, appreciating the work he’d put in. "Alright," he said to the empty room. "Now for the finishing touch."

He slid the plush pink chair from the corner of his room over to the desk and placed it just perfectly. 

He had decided to make sure everything was in a place that maximized his comfort. 

When he sank into it a moment later, it was like he was being enveloped in a cushion of warmth and support.

Izuku pulled up his online school portal, logged in, and set everything up for the first session of his new life as an online student.

The lessons for the day were easy enough to follow, but the real bonus was that he could set his own pace. 

He breezed through the assignments, typing out answers at a steady pace, pausing only to sip his matcha or adjust the light as it changed in the room.

In between lessons, he practiced some of the exercises from his workout plan, taking breaks to keep his body moving and growing stronger. 

He’d become a master of multitasking in no time.

When his first session of online school finished, Izuku sat back in his chair, exhausted but oddly content. 

He could feel the peaceful flow of his day, it was like he had more control, more space, more time to become the person he wanted to be.

His room was quieter. Cleaner. Brighter. 

He had stepped into this new space and was taking it one step at a time. "New me," he whispered again, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Before he could get too comfortable, though, he heard a soft knock at the door. Inko peeked her head in, smiling warmly at the sight of her son’s transformed space.

"How’s it going, sweetie?" she asked. Izuku pushed his chair back and stood up, stretching slightly. "It's... actually kind of amazing. I think this was the best choice." 

Inko smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. “I’m so glad, Izuku.”

"I feel good about this," he said, glancing around at his neat little corner of the world. 

“And I’m getting stronger, too. Between this, the workouts, and-" He glanced at his laptop, thinking of the next task to conquer. "It’s all coming together.”

"That’s the spirit!" Inko cheered, her voice full of encouragement. "You’re going to do great, honey."

Izuku grinned, feeling more himself than ever before. 

For the first time, everything felt like it was aligning. This new journey wasn’t just about being stronger physically; it was about getting stronger mentally, emotionally, and building a future where he didn’t just exist... he thrived.

The new era wasn’t just starting with his workout plan. It was starting with the person he was becoming.

Chapter 12

The next five months flew by in a blur. 

Izuku had settled into his new rhythm, online school during the day, training in the evening, and personal growth in between. 

His study space was perfect, and the routine was starting to feel like second nature. 

But the real change came when he started working with Gran Torino.

---

First and Second Month

Gran Torino had Izuku on the ground more times than he could count during the first few weeks. 

The old man pushed him to his limits, using unconventional training techniques that focused not just on strength, but on reflexes, flexibility, and reaction time.

The old man was small, but surprisingly quick for his age. 

Every time Izuku tried to land a punch, Gran Torino would sidestep, swipe his feet from under him, or even just smack him in the back of the head with the flat of his hand. 

It was exhausting, mentally, physically, and emotionally.

“Come on, Midoriya! You call that a punch?” Gran Torino shouted from across the room after another failed attempt. 

“The only thing that punch could break is your knuckles. If you don’t use those legs to power up your punches, you’ll never get anywhere! You’re built like a noodle, kid!”

Izuku’s arms were sore, his legs shaking with exhaustion, but Gran Torino’s criticism pushed him to dig deeper. 

He’d always been the kind to take the insults and turn them into fuel, and now it was working. 

Slowly, he started to feel his muscles strengthening, his reflexes sharpening. But there was always something more to improve, more to learn.

---

Third Month

Gran Torino’s training became more intense as they started focusing on speed. 

The old man would use his Quirk to move around the room like a blur, forcing Izuku to respond faster than he’d ever thought possible.

If Gran Torino's laughter echoed through the room, that meant Izuku hadn’t been fast enough.

One particular day, Gran Torino had set up a series of agility drills involving dodging weighted balls that flew at impossible speeds. 

Izuku had to react, move, and pivot in milliseconds, his body starting to learn the patterns of movement that would save him in real combat situations.

But then Gran Torino added something else, strategy.

“Your mind’s got to be just as quick as your body, kid,” Gran Torino would bark. “Don’t just react, think! What’s the angle? What’s the next move? Where do you go after dodging this punch?” 

Izuku didn’t even have time to question his decisions. He had to rely on instincts, training, and pure grit.

---

Fourth Month

Gran Torino’s grueling training reached its peak as they started working on endurance. 

For hours, Izuku would push himself to the absolute limit. 

He was doing weighted squats, holding planks longer than his body could handle, and running for miles in the middle of a downpour. 

But Gran Torino wouldn’t let him stop.

"Quit whining!" Gran Torino would yell. "You're not gonna become a hero by staying comfy in your little bubble. Train hard, get tougher. The world doesn’t give a damn if you're tired."

Izuku’s legs were sore, his arms shaking, but the mental fortitude Gran Torino had instilled in him kept him going. 

The old man wasn’t kind. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. But there was a purpose behind it, and Izuku had come to understand that the harder he pushed, the stronger he became.

---

Fifth Month

By the fifth month, Izuku had transformed. 

He was faster, stronger, and more agile than he’d ever been before. His reflexes were honed, his fighting style more fluid. 

He wasn’t perfect, far from it, but he was becoming the fighter he needed to be.

Gran Torino finally stopped bickering with him. 

Mostly. 

“You’re actually starting to look like something useful. I might even take you seriously now.” 

Izuku beamed, grateful for the old man’s tough love. “I’m ready for whatever comes next.”

Gran Torino’s lips twisted into a smile. “You’ll get there,” he said cryptically. 

“Uh... thanks?” Gran Torino’s expression softened just for a moment. “You’re welcome. Now stop being so slow, or I’ll make you do pushups until you can’t remember your name.”

---

Over the next few weeks, Izuku saw the results. 

His body had changed, his confidence had soared, and he’d finally started to see his potential. 

Izuku’s strength had reached new heights, and his reflexes were honed to a razor's edge. 

He could easily handle the physical training now, no longer feeling like he was on the verge of collapse after every session. 

But the next challenge awaited: integrating his Quirk into his training.

"Alright, kid," Gran Torino said, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "Time to start using that Quirk of yours."

---

Sixth Month

After a lot of trial and error, the first successful use of One for All was a breakthrough. 

Izuku had learned to channel his power, focusing the energy into controlled, deliberate movements. 

His punch, while not perfect, sent Gran Torino flying back into the padded walls.

Gran Torino let out an exaggerated gasp, rubbing his back. “Well, I didn’t think you had it in you, kid,” he grumbled, but there was approval in his voice.

All Might clapped, his face brightening with pride. “That’s what I’m talking about, Midoriya! You’ve got it now! It’s all about control! Power without control is just a disaster waiting to happen.”

Izuku’s face lit up with joy, but Gran Torino wasn’t having it. 

“Don’t let that go to your head! You still have to train your reflexes with that thing, or it’s going to get you into trouble.”

---

Seventh Month

As the months passed, Izuku worked tirelessly to refine his use of One for All. 

Training with Gran Torino focused on precision, aiming his punches, using his legs to add strength to his blows, and learning how to move seamlessly while using his Quirk.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing.

“Midoriya!” Gran Torino scolded after another failed round. 

“That was supposed to be a left hook, not a catastrophic earthquake. You need more finesse, not just power!” 

Izuku winced, glancing at the craters in the floor and the hole he’d punched into the ceiling. “I’m sorry, I’m trying!”

“Trying isn’t enough!” Gran Torino snapped, pacing back and forth like a tired parent. 

“You need to find the balance. Focus the power in one spot, your muscles are strong enough now, so it’s just about using that strength intelligently.” 

All Might, as usual, was cheering on Izuku from the sidelines. “You’ve made so much progress! I’m proud of you! We just need to keep refining it!”

Despite Gran Torino’s tough love, Izuku could feel himself growing stronger.

---

Eighth Month

Izuku now began working on integrating his Quirk with his new skills. 

His fight style was improving, and his ability to use One for All with precision was becoming more natural.

Gran Torino was pleased with the progress, but he remained the voice of reason in the corner. “Don’t forget the basics. Your power is only as good as your technique. You’re still not good enough to rely entirely on it.”

“Right,” Izuku panted, taking a break after another round of training. 

His shirt was soaked through with sweat, his body aching, but he was starting to feel more confident. 

All Might couldn’t help but smirk. “Gran Torino’s right. Don’t be cocky, Izuku. We’re making great progress, but there’s still a long way to go.”

Izuku took a deep breath, running a hand through his now longer hair, feeling the weight of the training. But the feeling of accomplishment was enough to push him forward.

---

Ninth Month

Gran Torino decided it was time for Izuku to face a real challenge. 

He took him to a nearby warehouse, rigged with obstacles, and told him to fight. But it wouldn’t be just a normal sparring session — this was the test.

“Don’t hold back!” Gran Torino barked as the countdown began. 

Izuku’s heart raced as he prepared. 

He couldn’t afford to let his nerves get the best of him. He focused on what he had learned, his technique, his power, his reflexes.

In a flash, he was moving through the obstacles, dodging, blocking, and landing punches with speed and accuracy. 

By the time the final bell rang, Izuku was panting heavily but smiling — he'd passed. Gran Torino nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good work, kid. You’ve earned it.”

---

Tenth Month

By now, Izuku had 50% of One for All controlled. 

His body had grown accustomed to the strength and the power that came with it. His reflexes were sharp, his fighting style more fluid than ever before. 

Gran Torino and All Might watched with approval as Izuku demonstrated his new skills. The power was no longer a problem, it was a tool.

“You’ve done well, Midoriya,” Gran Torino said, his gruff tone softened with respect. “You might not be a professional yet, but you’ve got the basics down.” 

All Might gave a hearty laugh. “Look at you! I never thought I’d see the day when you were the one making me proud. Keep this up, and there’s no telling how far you’ll go!” 

Izuku beamed.

Chapter 13

The afternoon sun poured lazily through the curtains of Izuku’s room, casting a warm glow across the floor. 

After finishing his latest training session with Gran Torino and All Might, Izuku stumbled into his room, towel slung around his neck, muscles aching in that strangely satisfying way.

He tossed the towel aside and caught sight of himself in the mirror. 

He blinked. And then blinked again.

Standing there in his favorite black pajama shorts with little pink hearts and a matching loose pink cropped top that said “Sweet but Deadly” in bold black letters, he really saw himself for the first time.

He turned to the side a little, resting his hands on his hips, then twisted to check his reflection.

His thighs were thick, not just "maybe kinda thick" but "break-a-chair" thick. His waist had cinched into a slim line from all his ab work. His arms and shoulders were solid with lean muscle, but not bulky like All Might’s, more compact, all built for speed, for strength. And his butt.

"Oh my god," Izuku whispered, leaning closer to the mirror, "I have an actual ass now." 

He flexed experimentally, watching the curve of his hips and the snug way his pajama shorts clung. 

He twisted for another angle and grinned.

"Mission: Accomplished," he muttered proudly, throwing up a small fist pump in the air. 

And that’s exactly when the door creaked open.

"Izuku, do you-" Inko’s voice cut off mid-sentence.

There was a long, long beat of silence as she stood there in the doorway, holding a laundry basket, blinking at the sight of her son posing dramatically in pink and black pajamas, admiring his own butt.

Izuku froze, mid-turn, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. 

Inko's lips twitched once. 

Twice. 

And then she lost it, full, doubled-over, can't-catch-her-breath laughter.

"MOM!" Izuku yelped in mortification, his ears burning red. 

"I'm sorry!" she wheezed, wiping at her eyes, "But, you looked so serious! Like you were about to propose to the mirror!"

"I WAS JUST CHECKING PROGRESS!" Izuku shouted, voice muffled from him putting his hands over his face. 

Inko managed to calm herself down enough to set the basket down and approach, still smiling way too wide.

"You really have grown," she said, softer now. 

She reached out, tugging the towel gently from his face. "You're strong. You're healthy. You're... happy. I’m so proud of you, Izuku." 

Izuku blinked at her, heart squeezing warmly.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, a little thickly. 

Then, with a sheepish smirk, he glanced at the mirror again. 

"Also... not to brag... but, uh, I think my butt deserves some of the credit." 

Inko laughed again, reaching up to gently ruffle his messy green hair. "Well, it’s definitely a future-Pro-Hero-level butt," she teased warmly. "Villains won't know what hit them."

They both laughed, easy, real, and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but sunlight and love.

---

Izuku, feeling proud of his new wardrobe and overall glow up, decided to treat himself.

A cat café sounded perfect, cute vibes, comfy atmosphere, and lots of tiny fluffy creatures to snuggle. 

Plus, he looked cute today. 

He was wearing a black pleated skirt, pink thigh-high socks with little black cat faces, a cropped black hoodie with "Bad Kitty" written in pink letters, and his black shoes. 

His hair was in pigtails with two curly strands left out in the front that framed his face.

Confidence? Through the roof. An ounce of chill? Absolutely none.

He waltzed into the café, the little bell above the door chiming merrily. The air smelled like coffee and sugar and warm fur happiness. Heaven.

And then—

Izuku's eyes landed on him.

Tall. Slouchy. Messy black hair. Burying his face into a sleepy white cat, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the mortal plane. 

The most exhausted but weirdly hot man Izuku had ever seen.

Izuku blinked. Paused. Grinned. Target acquired.

He sauntered over, hips swaying a little more than necessary, and flopped into the armchair across from the man, cradling a calico kitten in his arms. 

"Hey there," Izuku said, voice light and playful. "Come here often, or are you just everyone's favorite stray?"

The man looked up, deadpan, dark eyes bloodshot like he hadn’t slept since 1992. 

He stared at Izuku. Izuku smiled sweetly and tilted his head just so, letting his long green hair fall in soft waves down his shoulder.

The man blinked once. Twice.

"...Are you flirting with me?" he asked in a voice so dry it could have sparked a brush fire. 

Izuku giggled, actually giggled, behind his hand. "Maybe. Is it working?"

The man rubbed his face like he was trying to physically wipe the conversation out of existence. 

"Kid," he muttered, "I'm pretty sure you're still in middle school." 

Izuku gasped in mock offense. "How dare you assume my grade level based on height alone! I’ll have you know I'm extremely mature." 

He held up his kitten like a business card. "Also, this cat likes me, and cats have excellent taste."

The man sighed deeply, like someone who had just realized he walked into a nightmare while half-asleep. 

"I’m Aizawa," he grunted finally. "And I’m not interested in going to jail today." 

Izuku beamed. "I’m Midoriya," he said. "And don’t worry, you’re too tired to be my type anyway. I'd have to carry you to the wedding."

Aizawa made a strangled noise like he'd just swallowed his tongue. 

He looked at the kitten in his lap for help. The kitten offered none. 

"I need more coffee," he muttered, standing up like a man fleeing a natural disaster. "And possibly bleach for my brain." 

Izuku winked at him as he shuffled away. "I'll still be here, handsome! Don't miss me too much!"

Several cat café employees were snickering into their sleeves. 

Izuku settled back in his chair smugly, sipping his iced coffee and cuddling his kitten.

Mission accomplished. Chaos achieved. No regrets.

---

The teachers' lounge at U.A. was usually a place of refuge, coffee, paperwork, and the comforting low hum of exhausted teachers pretending they were paid enough for this nonsense.

Today, though, it was chaotic.

Aizawa sat on the worn couch, cradling his thermos of coffee, that he had just got from the cafe, like it was life support. 

Across from him, Hizashi was still snickering every few seconds, doing a terrible job pretending he was getting ready for the next school year.

"--pink thigh-highs," Hizashi wheezed under his breath again. 

"I will kill you," Aizawa muttered darkly, dragging his scarf up over his face.

From the corner of the room, Midnight, real name Nemuri Kayama, leaned back in her chair, looking way too interested. 

"Pink thigh-highs?" she echoed, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Shouta, you dog. I didn't know you were into cosplay types."

"NO," Aizawa barked immediately, scandalized. "It was a middle schooler. A tiny middle schooler." 

Nemuri choked on her tea and started laughing so hard she almost fell out of her chair. "Oh my god," she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "You got hit on by a baby?!"

"I was ambushed," Aizawa grumbled, sinking lower into his hoodie like it could protect him from the shame.

At that exact moment, Nezu, principal of U.A., part genius rat, part agent of chaos, wandered into the room carrying a tiny cup of tea. His round ears twitched at the commotion. 

"A middle schooler?" Nezu said pleasantly, hopping onto one of the armchairs. "What’s this about a middle schooler?"

There was a beat of silence where Aizawa considered just setting himself on fire to escape.

"Someone," Hizashi said way too gleefully, "caught Eraserhead's eye. Pink. Thigh-high socks. Curls for days. Called him a stray."

"Confident, too," Midnight added, fanning herself. "Apparently had the 'you know you want me' attitude. Iconic, honestly."

Nezu’s eyes sparkled with dangerous curiosity. 

"Really?" he said, tilting his head. "Such charisma at a young age... Fascinating." 

Aizawa immediately regretted his life choices. "Don’t," he said flatly.

Nezu ignored him entirely. "Do you know their name?" 

"No," Aizawa said quickly. "No, and I don't want to know, and I don't want you finding them, Nezu."

Nezu steepled his tiny paws together, clearly already scheming. "A middle schooler who can mentally destabilize an adult pro hero just by existing? Perfect material. With the right guidance… they could be a game-changer."

"Stop plotting," Aizawa snapped. 

"Too late," Nezu sang.

Hizashi was crying actual tears of laughter by now. 

Midnight pulled out her phone like she was already taking bets on when they'd meet again.

"I hate it here," Aizawa muttered into his coffee. "I love it here," Midnight chirped.

Nezu just sat there, sipping his tea, eyes gleaming like a tiny evil mastermind. 

Somewhere out there, Izuku Midoriya, pink socks and all, sneezed, he had accidentally put himself on Principal Nezu’s radar.

Chapter 14

The morning of the U.A. exam, Izuku stood in front of the mirror doing some last-minute checks.

Outfit: perfect. Hair: fabulous. Confidence: dangerously high.

He was rocking a sleek set of workout clothes, a black cropped hoodie with pink trim, black compression shorts under pink-accented black gym shorts, and his favorite black-and-pink running shoes. 

His mismatch pink-black socks peeked out just a little over the top of the shoes, and his long green hair was tied up in a high, messy ponytail.

Inko peeked around the corner, clutching a pink water bottle and a little packed lunch. 

“Oh my goodness,” she said, hand flying to her mouth, "you look like you’re about to break hearts and kneecaps!" 

Izuku spun around dramatically and struck a pose, flexing one arm. “That’s the goal, Mom.”

Inko giggled, bustling over to fuss with the hem of his hoodie. “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough? It gets chilly in those big buildings. Maybe you should take a jacket-”

“Mom,” Izuku whined, trying to squirm away. “I look cool! You can’t just ruin the aesthetic with, like, a parka!”

Inko sniffed, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. 

“My little rebel. First you grew a butt, now you have a whole aesthetic. Where did my tiny nerd go?” 

“He evolved,” Izuku said, chest puffing up proudly. 

Inko burst into laughter, pressing the pink water bottle into his hands. "Here. Hydrate, you little menace." 

Izuku saluted dramatically. “Yes, Commander.”

Inko pulled him into a tight hug, ruffling his hair and completely ruining his careful ponytail.

"I’m so proud of you," she whispered fiercely. "No matter what happens today. You’re already my little hero."

Izuku’s chest squeezed tight, but he grinned anyway, hugging her back just as hard. 

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, voice a little thick. 

Then, stepping back, he tossed his ponytail over his shoulder like a diva and pointed toward the door. 

"Now if you’ll excuse me," he said grandly, "I have an exam to crush."

Inko snorted. "Go get 'em, killer." And with a final twirl, pink hoodie swishing and water bottle tucked under one arm like a football, Izuku Midoriya sprinted off toward destiny.

And toward Aizawa’s inevitable slow descent into madness.

---

Izuku practically skipped through the gleaming halls of U.A., humming under his breath and sipping from his pink water bottle. 

Other examinees stared at him, some confused, some openly impressed, and a few a little terrified.

As he turned the corner, his green eyes sparkled, because there he was.

Aizawa Shota, standing stiffly in a little huddle of teachers: Present Mic, Midnight, Cementoss, Snipe, Nezu, and— oh, look, All Might himself, in his bulky, slightly hunched civilian form, pretending (poorly) to be inconspicuous.

It was fate.

Izuku’s grin turned absolutely evil.

He caught Aizawa’s eye, gave a dramatic wink and blew a kiss across the room, and skipped away toward the exam hall, his long green hair bouncing and pink-accented workout clothes practically glowing under the hall lights.

Aizawa looked like he’d just been personally attacked.

Present Mic immediately let out a bark of laughter, practically doubling over.

"Yo, Eraser, what was that?!" he choked out, slapping Aizawa on the back hard enough to jolt him.

Midnight smirked, swirling her whip lazily around her fingers. "Is that your special admirer, Shota~?"

Cementoss crossed his arms and rumbled, “Pretty sure that’s harassment in some workplaces.” 

All Might coughed so hard he almost fell over. "Young Midoriya?!" he gasped in horror, wide-eyed. "That’s Young Midoriya?!"

Nezu giggled behind his tiny paws, vibrating with delight.

Aizawa dragged a hand down his face. "Please," he groaned, "for the love of everything, do not put him in my class." 

Nezu’s ears perked, and he smiled a devious little smile. 

"Oh, but Aizawa," Nezu said sweetly, "spirited youth need spirited mentors!"

Aizawa made a sound like a dying cat. 

All Might slowly sat down on the floor, muttering, "I didn’t train him for this… I didn't train him for this."

---

Meanwhile, Izuku arrived at the exam arena, stretched his arms lazily, and threw up a few peace signs at the terrified students around him.

Izuku sat at his desk in the exam room, surrounded by other students who were furiously scribbling down their answers. 

The air was thick with tension, the kind that could only come from a high-stakes test. But Izuku? 

He was practically dancing across the paper.

"Question 1: What is the primary function of a hero's Quirk in combat situations?"

Izuku grinned, the answer already forming in his mind as he scribbled with ease. 

"A hero’s Quirk is a tool used to neutralize threats while minimizing collateral damage. It’s important for heroes to use their powers responsibly, utilizing strategic thinking and teamwork."

His pen moved smoothly across the page. There was no hesitation. 

Every question was like a warm-up, a chance to showcase the knowledge that he’d been meticulously gathering over the past few months. 

He’d been studying for this, not just the heroics, but the technical side, the safety protocols, the ethical considerations, the history of Quirks and their societal impact. 

This test was nothing to him.

The other students? They were sweating. A few were trying to peek at their neighbors’ answers. 

But Izuku? He was practically skipping through the pages. He even cracked a little smile when he reached the next question.

"Question 25: What is the most effective way to maintain public safety when fighting a large-scale villain?"

He didn't even need to think about it. He'd gone over this with Gran Torino, All Might, and even Inko. 

"The best way is to prioritize evacuations first, setting up perimeter defenses to keep civilians safe. The hero’s first duty is to protect the people, even before subduing the villain. Remembering the importance of strategy and crowd control is essential."

His answer was so on-point it could’ve been pulled from an official U.A. textbook. He flipped the page. 

There were only three questions left.

Aizawa had warned them earlier that the written test wasn’t just about speed but also the ability to think on your feet under pressure. 

And Izuku? Well, he had that in spades.

His pen flew, writing out an explanation for the complex scenario about Quirk laws, and then, a final question about ethical decision-making in the field. He took a moment to pause, considering his words carefully. 

But ultimately, he wrote, “A hero must always act with integrity, even when faced with difficult choices. The people look to heroes not just for strength, but for moral guidance.”

He closed his test booklet with a satisfied sigh. 

And then, with a dramatic flourish, he stood up.

The rest of the examinies were still scribbling. One kid was even chewing on his pen. 

Izuku smiled softly to himself as he walked up to the front of the room. 

With a tiny skip in his step, he handed the test in to the proctor.

“Done,” he said, all nonchalant, like this was just another day at the office. 

The proctor blinked at him, completely flabbergasted, as Izuku smoothly skipped back to his seat.

“You finished the written portion already?” the proctor stammered. 

Izuku grinned wide. “Yup! All set! I’m confident I aced it.”

He sat back down, legs swinging, looking way too calm for someone in the middle of one of the most important exams of his life. 

The proctor glanced down at the test papers, then back at Izuku, and whispered to himself, “What… kind of middle schooler is this…?”

---

When the starting siren blasted through the arena, Izuku exploded forward with a pink-and-black blur, hair trailing behind him like a comet tail.

The robots didn’t stand a chance.

Within seconds, he was vaulting off walls, flipping over bots twice his size, blasting apart weak points with precise, devastating kicks. 

His movements were sharp, dazzling, almost performative, like he wasn’t just passing the exam, he was auditioning for the role of "coolest person alive."

---

Up in the teacher’s observation deck, the reactions were immediate.

Midnight fanned herself dramatically. "That's some serious talent wrapped in chaos."

Snipe nodded, grunting, "Efficient and vicious."

Present Mic cheered loud enough to rattle the windows.

Cementoss just mumbled, "Remind me to reinforce the training zones next year."

Nezu scribbled notes happily.

All Might leaned closer to the glass, eyes sparkling with pride. "Look at him go!" he boomed. "That’s my successor! That's my boy!"

Aizawa slumped so far in his seat that he nearly fell out of it. "That’s my future headache," he muttered.

When the Zero-Pointer emerged, most students panicked. 

Izuku? He cracked his knuckles, grinned, and charged. "Let’s make it flashy~!" he sang, slamming a punch so hard into the Zero-Pointer’s ankle that it toppled like a skyscraper under demolition.

"Definitely going to Class 1-A," Nezu chirped.

Aizawa whimpered.

---

Izuku strolled out of the dust cloud casually, sipping his water like he hadn't just demolished half the arena.

He looked up at the observation window. 

Aizawa, exhausted, hollow-eyed, haunted, stared back.

Izuku winked.

Aizawa slumped face-first onto the observation table.

Nezu giggled gleefully. 

Midnight gave a standing ovation. 

Present Mic was crying from laughter. 

Cementoss just patted Aizawa sympathetically on the back. 

All Might, proud dad mode activated, clutched his chest and whispered, "That's my successor!"

Aizawa moaned into the table, "Nezu, please. I’m begging you. Anyone but my class." 

Nezu’s whiskers twitched. "You’ll thank me later!" Nezu chirped.

( Spoiler: He would not. )

Chapter 15

The morning of Izuku’s first official day at U.A. started, naturally, with a fashion show.

He stood in front of the mirror again, flexing dramatically while Inko circled him like a concerned stylist-slash-hype-woman.

Outfit: U.A. standard uniform, but he’d "adjusted" it. 

The sleeves rolled just right, tie loose and stylish, pants fitted perfectly . 

Pink-accented sneakers because, obviously. 

Hair in a high, messy ponytail again, just a little piece framing his face. 

A tiny, tasteful pink pin shaped like a star stuck proudly on his blazer.

"You’re going to cause a riot," Inko said, fake-solemn as she packed him another lunch and a second water bottle.

"That’s the goal, Mom," Izuku said with a wink, throwing on his backpack and striking a pose like he was on the cover of Teen Hero Monthly .

Inko pretended to cry into a dish towel. "My tiny nerd evolved into a fashion icon !"

He finger-gunned her on his way out the door. "Love you, Commander!"

"Stay hydrated, you little menace!" she called after him, and he skipped off toward U.A., humming under his breath.

---

Walking into 1-A for the first time felt like stepping onto a battlefield.

Everyone looked tense, sizing each other up. 

Except Izuku, who basically glided in with a skip, a spin, and a hair toss that caught the light just right.

Bakugo, seated in the second row and already radiating murder, locked eyes with him.

"Oi, Deku," Bakugo barked, sneering, "think you’re hot shit now just because you cheated your way into UA?"

Izuku paused, hand dramatically pressed to his chest like Bakugo had wounded him.

" Now? Baby, I’ve been hot shit," he said sweetly, eyes glittering. "Keep up."

Bakugo’s chair screeched across the floor as he leapt to his feet, practically frothing.

Before he could say anything, though, a strange rustling noise came from the front of the room.

Like a potato sack being dragged across concrete.

Everyone turned.

And there, in all his exhausted glory, crawling into the room inside a yellow sleeping bag like a disillusioned caterpillar, was their homeroom teacher.

Aizawa Shota, also known as Eraserhead.

He wormed his way to the front, then stood with the saddest sigh anyone had ever heard.

The students just blinked. No one moved. No one spoke.

Except Izuku, who immediately gasped like a Victorian maiden and clasped his hands under his chin.

"Oh my god," Izuku said, loudly and gleefully, "he’s even hotter in a professional setting."

Bakugo made a noise like a tea kettle about to explode.

Aizawa just closed his eyes and regretted his entire life.

"Put your uniforms on," he said flatly. "Then meet me outside."

He didn’t even try to acknowledge the chaos. He just wormed away again.

---

Changing into his gym uniform, Izuku admired the fit in the locker room mirror, striking another few poses and throwing up peace signs.

One of the other students, a guy with tape elbows (Sero, he thought), whispered, "Is he for real?"

"Unfortunately,I believe so." Tenya Iida muttered, adjusting his glasses with trembling hands.

Out on the field, the students lined up awkwardly. Izuku bounced on the balls of his feet, grinning

---

so brightly it could have powered a small city.

Aizawa stood in front of them, now fully human-shaped again but still with infinite regret in his eyes.

"This is a Quirk Apprehension Test," he said, voice dead. "We’re seeing what you’re capable of."

The class buzzed excitedly.

"But," Aizawa added, giving them a dead-eyed smile, "the one who comes in last gets expelled."

Immediate silence.

(Except for Izuku, who dramatically gasped again and whispered, "Scandalous~!")

Aizawa didn't even flinch . He just sighed and pulled out a tablet.

Bakugo was still glaring murder at Izuku.

Izuku still wasn’t looking at him. He had eyes only for their miserable, beautiful teacher.

---

First event: The Softball Throw.

Aizawa tossed a ball at Bakugo first. "You've done this before, right?" he said, monotone.

Bakugo caught it with a snarl. "Tch. Of course."

He stormed into the ring, revved up his quirk with a massive BANG , and launched the ball into the sky with enough force to create a mini-sonic boom.

The distance readout on Aizawa’s tablet blinked, 705.2 meters.

The class lost their minds . "Whoa!" "That's insane!" "That’s the top!"

Bakugo turned around, smugly glaring at everyone, especially Izuku.

"Top that, Deku , " he growled.

Izuku, who had been twirling a daisy between his fingers that he must’ve picked somewhere ( where? when? how?? ), just smiled sweetly.

He pranced into the circle like he was stepping onto a runway. Tossing the flower over his shoulder like a diva. 

Caught the ball one-handed and weighed it thoughtfully.

Then he looked at Aizawa through his lashes.

"Would it impress you if I did good?" he purred.

A vein throbbed violently in Aizawa’s forehead. "Just throw it," Aizawa said, voice thin with pain.

Izuku nodded, cocked his arm back like he was dramatically posing for a hero poster. and with a tiny, almost casual flick of his wrist, activated just enough of his quirk.

The ball shot off like a missile, vanishing into the sky so fast the tracker on Aizawa’s tablet couldn’t even register a number at first.

The tablet beeped.

∞

There was dead silence for about three seconds. Then Sero whispered, awe-struck, "He broke math."

---

Next events: 50m Dash, Grip Strength, Side-to-Side Jumps, etc.

Izuku was barely trying but still beating everyone.

In the dash, he skipped across the finish line with an effortless little twirl.

In the grip strength test, he got bored mid-squeeze and started humming a pop song, still getting a score high enough to make Iida malfunction.

In the jumping event, he just casually bounced like he had moon boots.

Every time Bakugo tried to outshine him, Izuku made it look like he wasn’t even competing; he was just existing fabulously.

And through it all?

The constant, relentless flirting.

Every time Aizawa gave instructions, Izuku would beam at him like he hung the stars.

When Aizawa demonstrated an exercise?

 Izuku, " Wow, sir, are you single? Asking for a friend. (It’s me. I’m the friend.) "

When Aizawa sighed and rubbed his temples?

 Izuku, " Looking stressed, handsome. Can I buy you a coffee? Maybe a lifetime supply? "

At one point, when Aizawa tried to erase Bakugo’s quirk mid-temper-tantrum, Izuku actually fanned himself.

" Sir, " he whispered, "you didn’t tell me you had sexy laser eyes."

---

By the end of the test, Aizawa looked one bad pickup line away from walking into the ocean.

He stood there, hair tangled, eye twitching, holding his tablet limply as the students buzzed around, still high off the adrenaline.

And Izuku?

Izuku just leaned against a tree, arms folded behind his head, looking like a cat that had eaten an entire flock of canaries.

When Aizawa called out the final rankings (with Izuku, obviously, at #1), Izuku winked dramatically at him.

"You can reward me with dinner if you want," he said, voice obnoxiously smooth.

Aizawa dropped his tablet face-down on the ground, told Mineta he was expelled, and walked away without a word.

Chapter 16

After the Quirk Assessment, the students shuffled back toward the main building, sweaty and exhausted.

Except for Izuku, who looked fresh as a daisy.

Aizawa led them inside like a dead man walking, his sleeping bag dragging behind him like a funeral shroud.

The classroom door slammed shut behind them.

"Sit," Aizawa said hoarsely, throwing himself behind his desk like he'd just been shot.

Everyone scrambled into their seats. Izuku sauntered.

Very important: he sat in Bakugo’s row, one seat over.

Not because he wanted to be near Bakugo. Because he wanted Bakugo to suffer .

Bakugo’s left eye twitched so violently that Sero genuinely started scooting his desk away from the blast zone.

Aizawa cracked one bloodshot eye open. "We're starting hero basics tomorrow," he muttered. "Get your crap together."

He rubbed his temples again, and Izuku, without missing a beat, said with way too much concern, "Need a massage, sir? I have very strong hands."

Aizawa just put his forehead flat on the desk.

---

Mina shook Kaminari violently "THEY'RE FLIRTING. THEY'RE FLIRTING SO BAD. THIS IS BETTER THAN TV." Kaminari stared in amazement, "Dude I would totally date Aizawa if he let me. Respect."

Todoroki: staring at Izuku like he’s a scientific anomaly. "Is… is this allowed…?" Tsuyu nodded thoughtfully. "I think Midoriya's mating ritual is working, kero."

Uraraka was in open-mouthed horror, "He's so…bold…" Momo was frantically flipping through the student handbook. "It doesn't say anything about not hitting on teachers, wait, no, here's a clause about 'professional conduct.'"

Bakugo?

Bakugo was vibrating .

He was gripping his desk so hard that tiny hairline fractures started creeping through the wood.

He kept glancing at Izuku like he couldn’t decide whether to punch him or throw himself out the window.

Izuku?

He was leaning back in his chair, whistling, spinning a pen between his fingers, winking at Aizawa every time the man looked up.

---

Then Aizawa tried to start the syllabus explanation. Big mistake.

He stood up, cleared his throat, turned on the projector, and started listing course units like "Rescue Training," "Urban Combat," and "Disaster Response."

He was three bullet points in when Izuku raised his hand. "Midoriya," Aizawa groaned, not looking up.

"Please marry me" Izuku said sweetly, resting his chin on his hands like a cartoon Disney princess.

Dead silence. Everyone froze.

Aizawa dropped the projector remote.

Bakugo screamed. A loud, furious, wordless sound of rage.

Aizawa grabbed his sleeping bag and physically threw it over his own head like a turtle retreating into its shell.

From under the bag, "Homework," he said in a muffled voice. "Read chapters one through five. Practice obstacle course maneuvers. Don't talk to me."

The bag scooted backward across the floor to the corner of the room, where it curled up into a heap and refused to move.

---

Class ended early.

Because what was Aizawa supposed to do? Argue with the boy who proposed to him in front of 19 witnesses???

As the bell rung for their next class Izuku stood up, stretched his arms above his head, and winked at Bakugo on his way out just to be petty.

Bakugo exploded his own desk.

---

Outside the classroom, Izuku texted his mom.

Izuku: First day went amazing! :D Everyone’s super nice!! I think I have a favorite teacher already <3

Inko: AWWW, sweetheart!!! Just don’t cause any trouble, okay? Be respectful!!

Izuku stared at the message for a moment.

And then, smiling brightly, he sent back

Izuku: Of course, Mom!!! being so respectful rn :)))

Meanwhile, behind him, Aizawa was still hiding under his sleeping bag, and Bakugo was being forcibly restrained by Sero and Kirishima.

Chapter 17

The day started normally enough for 1-A, at least. It was time for their battle trials, and the students were dressed in their hero costumes.

Izuku Midoriya strolled into the Battle Center, looking absolutely illegal. 

He wore a black sleeveless turtleneck bodysuit tucked into pink cargo pants, combat boots, and a jacket that hung open and low, almost shrugging off his elbows, boasting 27 different pockets.

His curls were in a ponytail, wild and fluffy, catching every movement of air like he had a personal wind machine following him. 

His green eyes sparkled with weaponized charm. Somehow, he looked simultaneously ready to kill you and kiss you goodbye.

The class reaction was immediate.

"Oh my god, is he a model?!" Mina stage-whispered.

"Manly..." Kirishima mumbled, his voice filled with awe.

Even Jirou coughed to hide a squeak. Kaminari clutched his chest dramatically.

Izuku paused, blinking innocently, then smiled like a knife sliding out of its sheath. He sent a wink to the class.

Uraraka blinked. "Wow, Midoriya is really pretty."

---

FLASHBACK — Earlier That Morning

While tying her shoes, Uraraka had tilted her head. "Hey, Deku, is that like your real name?"

Izuku had laughed, tossing his bag onto his shoulder. "Nope. Just something Bakugo made up when we were kids. I don’t use it nor like it, but, y'know. He's stubborn."

---

All Might clapped his hands. "Today is a battle trial! Heroes versus villains! Teams will be randomized!"

He smiled brightly. It was terrifying.

"And to guide you today," All Might added, "I’ll be assisted by Eraserhead-sensei!"

Aizawa, still half-buried in his sleeping bag in the corner, groaned tiredly.

All Might drew the teams and announced:
Villains: Bakugo and Iida
Heroes: Midoriya and Uraraka

Uraraka practically skipped toward Izuku. "Yay! I'm with you, Midoriya!"

Izuku grinned. “We’ll make a great team."

---

From the shadows, Aizawa caught Izuku’s mischievous glance and nearly tripped over his own scarf, trying to look unbothered.

Izuku, smug, sent him a slow, smoldering look.

All Might coughed awkwardly. "Let’s... begin preparations, shall we?!"

Villains Bakugo and Iida secured the bomb in a high room, Iida following protocol strictly while Bakugo muttered curses under his breath.

---

Meanwhile, outside, Izuku tightened his gloves. Uraraka buzzed with excitement beside him. "You look so cool, Midoriya," she said.

Izuku smiled, adjusting his belt. "Victory is eighty percent presentation," he said with a wink.

The second the buzzer sounded, the building practically shook with the force of Bakugo launching himself at them.

"DIEEE, DEKU!!"

Uraraka squeaked and floated back with her Quirk.

Izuku didn’t flinch. 

His hair whipped dramatically as he spun in place, twisting away from the first explosion in a fluid, acrobatic back handspring, landing on one palm and pushing himself into a twisting flip to the side.

Bakugo charged, explosions crackling. Izuku darted around him like smoke, sliding under Bakugo's wild swings with a split, popping up with a kick that caught him square in the jaw.

"Come on, Bakugo," Izuku taunted, green eyes glinting. "You’ve got to aim better than that."

He dodged again, cartwheeling away as debris rained around them.

---

Aizawa, in the observation room, squeezed his own face with his hands. "Why is he like this?"

All Might laughed awkwardly. "Spirited youth! Such... confidence!"

---

Bakugo screamed in rage and blasted the ceiling, missing Izuku by a mile.

Upstairs, Iida stood guard at the bomb, perfectly in character, scanning every angle. What he didn't notice was the tiny floating pebbles drifting past him, and then a floating Uraraka using her Quirk to make herself weightless and sneak directly over his head.

Iida turned sharply at a noise, saw nothing, and resumed his vigil.

Uraraka floated carefully to the bomb, dropped herself quietly to the ground behind it, and tapped it.

---

Back downstairs, Izuku twisted gracefully around another explosion, somersaulting to his feet.

"WINNER: HERO TEAM!" All Might’s voice thundered through the building.

Izuku beamed, giving a flourishing bow that sent his jacket fluttering off one shoulder.

Bakugo stood, shaking, fists smoking, twitching with raw fury.

Izuku straightened up, flicked a dramatic hand through his ponytail, making it even wilder, and winked.

"Better luck next time."

Bakugo exploded himself into the wall.

Chapter 18

The students of 1-A filed back into the classroom, still buzzing from the Battle Trial. 

Bakugo stomped in last, trailing smoke and murderous intent, while Izuku sauntered in like a model off the runway, his jacket barely hanging on and his ponytail somehow looking even better after a fight.

Aizawa stood at the front, arms crossed, wrapped in his capture weapon like a disapproving cat burrito. He gave the class a flat stare.

“Overall, you performed adequately,” he said, monotone. 

“Nobody died. Minimal property damage.” He flicked a glance at Bakugo, who was still twitching violently. “Mostly.”

He sighed heavily, as if the burden of teaching these children had aged him twenty years overnight.

“Bakugo, control your temper or you’ll end up destroying yourself before a villain even gets the chance. 

Iida, good tactical thinking, but be more aware of your surroundings. 

Uraraka, creative use of your Quirk. Nice stealth work.”

Uraraka beamed, bouncing slightly in her seat.

Aizawa finally turned his gaze to Izuku.

“And Midoriya—”

Izuku, lounging back in his chair like it was a throne, rested his chin delicately on one hand, green eyes sparkling with pure mischief. 

He tilted his head just slightly, his curls catching the light, and smiled, slow and dangerous.

“Yes, Sensei?” he purred.

The entire class stopped breathing.

Aizawa visibly froze for a millisecond. 

He made a noise suspiciously like a muffled cough and dragged his scarf higher up his face, like it could physically shield him from whatever the hell that was.

“…Midoriya,” Aizawa said, voice a little tighter, “while your combat performance was effective, you are not allowed to weaponize your aesthetics during training exercises.”

Izuku blinked, all faux-innocence. “Weaponize my aesthetics?” he echoed, voice a melodic lilt. 

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his desk and smiling just a little too sweetly. “Sensei, are you saying you find me distracting?”

From somewhere near the back, Kaminari let out a high-pitched wheeze. Jirou slapped a hand over her mouth. Mina looked ready to ascend.

Aizawa stared at Izuku like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this exact moment.

“…Sit properly,” Aizawa said eventually, voice flat as a cutting board. “And stop flirting with your teacher.”

Izuku straightened up obediently, but not without flashing a lazy wink.

“Yes, Sensei,” he said.

The class collectively lost their minds the second Aizawa turned around, muffling their shrieks of laughter and half-mortified gasps behind textbooks and hands.

Bakugo, meanwhile, was vibrating in his seat with such violent fury that his desk was starting to melt.

Aizawa sighed again, loud and long, and pulled out a travel coffee mug with the word “SUFFER” on it in huge letters.

Today was going to be a long day.

---

By the time the lunch bell rang, Class 1-A had officially reached Critical Gossip Levels.

They swarmed Izuku the second they hit the cafeteria.

“Midoriya!” Mina practically sang, throwing an arm around his shoulders as they walked. “What was that?!”

“What was what?” Izuku asked, all wide-eyed innocence, popping the lid off his juice box.

“Don’t play dumb!” Kaminari shouted. “You flirted with Aizawa-sensei and lived!”

“I think he even blushed a little,” Jirou muttered, poking at her rice bowl like it had personally offended her.

“That’s manly as hell,” Kirishima added solemnly, nodding like he was witnessing history.

They collapsed around a lunch table, half of them vibrating with excitement, the other half still trying to recover from the secondhand embarrassment.

Uraraka plopped down across from Izuku, grinning. “You were amazing! And you didn’t even seem nervous!”

Izuku tilted his head, sipping his juice with a mischievous little smile. 

“Confidence is eighty percent presentation,” he said again, like it was gospel.

“That’s not a real statistic!” Iida barked from the next table over, looking scandalized.

Izuku just winked at him.

Kaminari flailed. “HOW are you like this?! Like, dude, you pulled off a backflip kick during a fight, taunted Bakugo, and then made Sensei flustered all in the same day! Are you even human?!”

Izuku leaned back in his chair, jacket slipping dangerously off one shoulder.

“I have layers,” he said solemnly. “Like an onion. Or a very dangerous cake.”

Mina leaned across the table, eyes sparkling. “Okay, real talk, if you can fluster Aizawa, you could probably flirt your way out of anything.”

“Anything?” Uraraka asked, wide-eyed.

Mina nodded. “Anything.”

Izuku smiled, slow and bright. “Only one way to find out.”

Before anyone could stop him, Izuku stood, smoothed down his fitted uniform pants, and sauntered toward the lunch lady at the front counter like he was walking a Paris runway.

The class watched in horror and awe as he leaned casually on the counter, smiled a devastating smile, and said something none of them could hear.

The lunch lady immediately handed him two extra dessert cups without hesitation.

Kirishima slammed his hands on the table. “HE’S A WEAPON.”

“He’s a menace,” Iida muttered, adjusting his glasses furiously. “A dangerous menace.”

“He’s a legend,” Kaminari corrected, absolutely starry-eyed.

Izuku strolled back to the table, casually tossing a pudding cup at Uraraka and keeping the other one for himself. “Told you," He said lightly.

Mina dropped her face into her hands. “I am not surviving the next three years with you.”

Izuku just smiled, all bright eyes and mischief, and peeled the lid off his pudding with the air of someone who knew he was unstoppable.

From across the cafeteria, Aizawa sat slumped at the teacher’s table, sipping his coffee of suffering, and wondering if it was too late to transfer schools.

---

Later that evening, in the teacher’s lounge, Aizawa collapsed into a chair like a man who had faced war and lost.

Across from him, Present Mic was trying very hard not to laugh.

And failing. Spectacularly.

“You’re telling me-” Hizashi wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes, “-that Midoriya flirted with you during a lesson, and you just stood there like a sad cactus?!”

Aizawa glared at him from over his coffee mug.

“I handled it,” he muttered.

“You froze,” Hizashi said, still laughing. “You, Eraserhead, terror of UA, quirk-cancelling overlord, got out-charisma’d by a fifteen-year-old in pink cargo pants.”

Aizawa pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead.

“He’s dangerous,” he said, voice hollow. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Of course he does!” Hizashi practically crowed. “You saw the way he winked? That’s premeditated. That’s first-degree flirting!”

Aizawa groaned quietly into his coffee.

“And it’s not just you, man!” Hizashi continued, gleeful. “Mina said half the class almost combusted. I heard Kaminari tripped over his own feet trying to look away.”

“I need hazard pay,” Aizawa muttered.

“You need emotional armor,” Hizashi said. “Or a pair of sunglasses so he can’t weaponize those big ol’ green eyes at you.”

Aizawa gave him a long, dead stare.

“Or- hear me out,” Hizashi said, grinning like a feral cat, “you could flirt back.”

Silence.

Aizawa took a very slow sip of his coffee. “I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Hizashi cackled, leaning so far back in his chair that he almost tipped over.

“You’re doomed, bro!” he sang. “He’s too powerful! We’re all doomed! He’s got the main character sparkle and killer fashion sense! There’s no defense!”

Aizawa stared bleakly at the ceiling.

Maybe he could fake his death and move to a remote island.

Maybe he could convince Nezu to reassign him to some quiet desk job.

Maybe he could retire.

Somewhere in the distance, he could almost hear Midoriya’s innocent laugh, sweet as poison.

Aizawa closed his eyes and sighed.

Chapter 19

It started, as most bad ideas did, at lunch again the next day.

Mina leaned across the table, her eyes glittering with pure mischief.

“I dare you,” she said, voice low and conspiratorial, “to flirt with another teacher.”

The table went dead silent.

Izuku tilted his head, considering. “Which teacher?” Mina smirked. “Dealer’s choice.”

“Don’t encourage this,” Iida hissed, scandalized. “This is highly inappropriate behavior!”

“Highly hilarious behavior,” Kaminari corrected.

Even Uraraka looked torn between morality and pure, chaotic glee.

Izuku tapped a finger to his chin, looking almost scholarly.

“Hm. Well, Aizawa-sensei is already suffering… who would have the best reaction?”

“Midnight would flirt back,” Jirou pointed out, deadpan. “You’d lose immediately.”

“Vlad King would explode,” Kirishima said. “Manly, but bad idea.”

“Present Mic,” Mina said, slapping the table. “Flirt with Present Mic! He’s too loud — he’ll make a scene!”

Izuku’s smile was slow, almost predatory.

“Challenge accepted,” he said.

---

Twenty Minutes Later, Outside of the Teacher’s Lounge

Class 1-A crouched behind a small potted plant, badly hidden but vibrating with anticipation.

Izuku strolled up to the door, tugging his jacket a little lower off his shoulders, and knocked once.

Present Mic threw it open with his usual flair. “YEAH?!”

Izuku leaned casually against the frame, his green eyes gleaming.

“Hey, Sensei,” he purred, voice rich and warm. “You’re looking especially electrifying today.”

There was a split-second beat, then Present Mic slapped a hand over his chest and staggered back like he’d taken critical damage.

“OH MY GOD!” he howled. “HE FLIRTED- HE DIRECTLY ATTACKED-”

Behind the potted plant, Class 1-A erupted into silent, violent laughter.

Inside the lounge, Aizawa, who was sitting at the table grading papers, slowly set his pen down.

His eye twitched.

He watched, with thinly veiled displeasure, as Hizashi practically swooned, clutching the doorframe like he was starring in a daytime soap opera.

Izuku, completely unbothered, smiled brighter, and winked.

Winked.

Something cold twisted in Aizawa’s stomach.

He stood up slowly, walked across the room like a man preparing for violence, and  without breaking eye contact, grabbed Hizashi by the collar and yanked him backwards into the teacher’s lounge like a mother cat dragging a stupid kitten.

“Get back inside,” he said flatly, as Hizashi howled with laughter.

Izuku’s smile tilted dangerously into smugness.

He shifted his weight slightly, slightly poking his chest out, purely out of spite.

Aizawa’s jaw tightened.

“Problem, Sensei?” Izuku asked sweetly.

Aizawa’s eye twitched harder.

“No,” he said, voice low and scratchy. “No problem.”

Izuku beamed like a menace.

The students behind the plant were dying.

As Izuku turned and sauntered back toward them, Mina clutched Kaminari’s arm and whispered, “Did you see that?! Aizawa-sensei was jealous!”

“I thought he was gonna erase Present Mic’s whole existence,” Jirou whispered back, wide-eyed.

Kirishima shook his head solemnly. “Bro… Midoriya’s too powerful. He’s playing 4D chess while the rest of us are playing checkers.”

---

As the class came back from lunch, Izuku slid into his seat, casually twirling his hair between his fingers.

Across the room, Aizawa stared at his coffee cup like he was considering throwing it through a wall.

Or at Hizashi.

Or maybe at himself.

“I think Sensei needs a nap,” Uraraka whispered.

“I think Sensei needs a hug,” Mina said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Maybe from a certain green-eyed menace?”

Izuku just smiled, slow, lazy, dangerous.

“No rush,” he said, voice pure honey. “I’m very patient.”

At the front of the room, Aizawa sipped his coffee with all the bitterness of a man who knew he was completely and utterly doomed.

Chapter 20

The bus to the USJ was louder than usual.

Not because Kaminari was trying to freestyle over Jirou’s playlist again (he was, and Jirou had already unplugged her jack twice), or because Kirishima had challenged Sero to a push-up contest in the aisle (he had, and they were both sweating like they were being hunted), but because Izuku Midoriya was still in his bold era.

He was leaning far too close to their homeroom teacher. Chin in hand. Elbow braced casually on the seat in front of him. Voice pitched low, warm, and absolutely brimming with mischief.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down, Sensei?” Izuku asked, eyes glittering. “You’ve been standing the whole ride. That scarf must be heavy… I could help you take it off.”

The bus went silent for three seconds.

Aizawa Shouta blinked very slowly, as if calculating the distance to the emergency exit and whether it was legally permissible to dive out of it at high speed.

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m fine.”

Izuku tilted his head like a curious cat. “I’m just worried about your posture,” he murmured. “Can’t have you sore before training. Unless…”

A pause. A sparkle of faux innocence in his eye.

“You like being sore?”

Kaminari choked on his water. Jirou punched his back half-heartedly.

“Midoriya!” Iida hissed, scandalized. “That is entirely inappropriate conduct toward a pro hero and faculty member—”

“SOMEONE GET ME A CAMERA,” Mina whisper-screamed, already digging in her bag.

Aizawa turned his face to the window with the slow, hollow grace of a man experiencing the five stages of grief simultaneously.

Uraraka had turned a dangerous shade of red. “He’s not even trying to be subtle anymore…”

Izuku leaned back in his seat with a smile that could’ve been a threat or a promise.

Honestly, it was hard to tell with him lately.

---

A few seats back, Todoroki blinked. “Is he… flirting?”

“Flirting?” Bakugou repeated, voice pitched somewhere between a snarl and disbelief. “That’s not flirting. That’s premeditated emotional terrorism.”

“Bro,” Kaminari wheezed. “He’s been like this since the first day of school. It’s escalating.”

“Should we intervene?” Iida asked urgently.

“Absolutely not,” Mina hissed. “I want to see how far he takes it. I’ve got a pool going with Sero.”

---

Meanwhile, Aizawa kept his eyes on the horizon and willed himself not to react. Not to flinch. Not to acknowledge .

He is just trying to get a reaction out of you, he reminded himself.

You are the adult. You are composed. You are—

“I could rub your shoulders during lunch,” Midoriya offered sweetly. “It’s good for circulation. You’re always so tense.”

Aizawa’s soul briefly attempted to eject from his body.

He gripped the overhead rail tighter, knuckles whitening.

I hate my job , he thought.

---

The bus screeched to a halt outside the USJ.

As the doors hissed open, Aizawa stepped off like a man escaping a cursed domain. The class followed, chatter bubbling behind him, and Thirteen stood waving at the entrance to the massive domed facility.

Izuku was the last off the bus. He adjusted his gloves and grinned to himself.

“Training, huh,” he murmured. “Time to make a real impression.”

Chapter 21

Inside the USJ, the air buzzed with anticipation and faint disinfectant.

Thirteen stood at the front of the group, animated as always. “Welcome to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint! This facility is designed to mimic natural disasters so you can gain hands-on rescue experience. Think of it like a practical exam, only with a higher chance of simulated death!”

Kaminari whispered, “So, like training, but wet?”

Aizawa cleared his throat. Loudly.

The students fell into a loose semi-circle. 

Izuku, as usual, drifted dangerously close to their homeroom teacher’s orbit again. 

He wasn’t touching him. Not quite. But he stood at that exact distance where his presence was unmistakable, close enough to be felt, just far enough to be deniable.

Aizawa didn’t look at him.

Which, of course, was unacceptable.

Izuku leaned in, voice like silk. “You smell like sleep and apocalypse prep. It’s oddly comforting.”

Aizawa exhaled like a man being hunted. Before he could reply, Thirteen began gesturing excitedly at the disaster zones.

“We’ll be splitting you into teams. Each section has a different scenario: floods, landslides, urban collapses-”

The lights flickered.

Twice.

Then died.

A low, electric hum rumbled through the dome, followed by a sudden vortex of swirling black mist erupting on the central platform.

“Get back,” Aizawa ordered instantly, voice dropping into lethal calm. 

He stepped forward, scarf already unwinding from his neck like a living thing. “Thirteen, protect them. Students, retreat to the entrance—now.”

The mist gathered into a form. Solidified. Then Spoke.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Kurogiri intoned, his voice very polite. “This is no longer a training session. Consider it a live demonstration.”

A cold silence fell.

And then—

Villains. Dozens. Pouring from the portal like rats from a sinking ship.

The students flinched. Uraraka grabbed Iida’s arm. Jirou reached for her jacks.

Aizawa turned fully toward them, voice sharp. “Move—!”

That’s when Izuku stepped forward.

Because of course he did.

“Midoriya, do not-” Aizawa began, whirling around.

Izuku smirked. “Sensei,” he said, “you’re even more attractive when you’re mad.”

A vein in Aizawa’s temple visibly throbbed.

Kirishima muttered, “Bro has a death wish. ”

A group of villains broke off from the main crowd and rushed the platform. 

Aizawa was already moving, fluid, precise, dangerous, but his head whipped back once, just long enough to yell:

“Iida, get help! Thirteen, keep them safe!”

And then he launched himself into the fray.

---

Izuku didn’t move right away.

Not because he was scared. Because he was calculating.

Watching Aizawa’s form blur as he incapacitated three villains in five seconds. Watching how his scarf wrapped and redirected like a blade. Watching how he threw himself between danger and his students like it was nothing.

Izuku’s fists clenched. ‘He’s amazing,’ he thought, almost dazed. ‘And he’s going to get himself killed.’

He cracked his neck. “Okay,” he muttered. “Time to earn my teacher’s undivided attention.”

Behind him, Kaminari whisper-shouted, “Midoriya, no! You can’t flirt and fight at the same time—!”

“Watch me,” Izuku replied, and then sprinted into the chaos.

---

Aizawa was in the middle of flipping a villain over his shoulder when Midoriya slid into position beside him like a green comet.

Aizawa snarled, “What did I just say?!”

“You said students retreat to the entrance. I’m an outlier.”

“You’re a pain in my-”

A villain lunged. Izuku sucker-punched them into a wall. He smiled, “See? Helpful.”

Aizawa groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I’d prefer to be the reason you live longer, actually,” Izuku said brightly, ducking under another swing.

A beat passed.

Aizawa didn't reply. Probably because he was too busy roundhouse-kicking a guy with knives for hands.

And then, from the far end of the dome, came a low, unnatural growl.

The class who was now scattered across USJ froze.

Even the villains pulled back slightly.

A hulking figure stepped into view, massive, stitched together like Frankenstein’s monster, steam rising from its shoulders.

The Nomu.

Aizawa stared up at it, eyes narrowing. His quirk activated, muscles tense, sweat already gathering at his brow.

He took one step forward.

And Izuku knew that he was going to try and fight that thing alone.

Chapter 22

The Nomu charged.

A blur of muscle and inhuman rage, it moved faster than something its size should’ve been able to, each step a seismic event, each breath a war drum.

Aizawa met it head-on.

He dodged the first swing, scarf wrapping around the Nomu’s outstretched arm. He tried to twist, redirect, disable. Tried to erase its quirk.

It didn’t work.

The Nomu smashed through his defenses like they were paper.

Aizawa landed hard, teeth gritted, blood dripping from his temple. He forced himself up to one knee. The room spun.

His Erasure wouldn’t hold. It was adapting too fast. Too strong. Too built to kill him.

The Nomu roared and lunged.

Aizawa braced. And then something hit it.

Hard.

A green blur slammed into the Nomu’s side, sending the monster careening into a pillar. Dust exploded around them.

Aizawa blinked, momentarily dazed.

Izuku Midoriya stood between him and the beast, arm still steaming, chest heaving.

“God, Sensei,” he said, not even turning around. “You have got to stop almost dying. It’s killing my flirting momentum.”

Aizawa wheezed, “Midoriya, this isn’t the time—”

“Disagree,” Izuku replied cheerfully. “Near-death really brings out your bone structure.”

The Nomu screamed and barreled toward them again.

Izuku’s eyes snapped forward, sharp and bright with power.

“See? Even he’s mad I flirt better.”

---

The fight was chaos, Izuku was defeating the Nomu in the most show off way possible.

Izuku danced between the Nomu’s swings like he’d choreographed the whole battle in advance. 

One strike shattered the floor. Another cracked a wall. Izuku was fast, too fast, he ducked low, flipped up, and slammed a kick into the Nomu’s chest.

Concrete exploded.

Aizawa could only watch, half-leaning against debris, half-unable to look away.

Izuku dodged another strike, twisting mid-air, and threw a wild grin over his shoulder. “You seeing this, Sensei?”

“I’m bleeding,” Aizawa groaned.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m dying!”

“Still counts!”

The Nomu roared again. Izuku caught its next blow with both arms. The force cratered the ground beneath him. His muscles screamed. He didn’t stop grinning.

Electric green lightning licked across his frame. Power surged.

He looked feral. Glorious. Completely unhinged .

Aizawa’s brain was trying very hard not to emotionally process any of this.

“I’ll always protect you,” Izuku said softly, still holding the Nomu at bay. “Can’t have anyone else putting their hands on you before I do.”

Aizawa’s brain officially blue-screened.

Izuku launched himself upward and crashed a punch into the Nomu’s chin, lifting the beast clean off its feet.

“Besides,” he called, flipping mid-air, “if you died, who would I flirt with?”

With a final, explosive Detroit Smash, the Nomu flew through the reinforced wall at the far end of the dome. Smoke billowed from the crater.

Silence.

Only Izuku’s breathing, ragged and wild.

He landed. Turned. Walked straight back to Aizawa.

Still glowing. Still impossibly smug. And he smiled, something soft and cocky, full of heat and promise.

“Still think I’m a distraction?”

Aizawa shook his head before he even meant to. His voice rasped, low and hoarse.

“You’re an absolute nightmare, Midoriya.”

Izuku chuckled, then deadpanned, “But your favorite nightmare, right?”

---

Behind the wreckage, Kaminari whispered, “Bro. Did he just seduce-punch a Nomu?”

“He just main-charactered so hard he flirted through a boss fight,” Mina breathed.

Iida looked like he was calculating how many school rules had been violated in one minute. The number was upsetting.

---

Then a slow clap echoed through the room.

“Oh wow,” came a gravelly voice, low and amused. “That was hot.”

Izuku turned. His eye twitched.

Shigaraki stepped into view, scratching at his neck, eyes fixed on Aizawa like a predator spotting something interesting.

“That was really impressive,” Shigaraki said. “Brutal. Efficient. Definitely watched My Chemical Romance as a kid.”

He tilted his head.

“And the way you were protecting Eraserhead? Adorable. You’re like a violent, sparkly guard dog in love.”

Aizawa froze.

Izuku’s fist twitched.

Shigaraki took another step, grin widening. “But honestly? Now I kinda want a turn. He’s got that tired, bitter, emotionally unavailable thing going on. I like a challenge.”

He winked.

Aizawa whispered, “Midoriya, don’t-”

Too late.

A burst of green lightning.

Shigaraki got maybe one more syllable out before Izuku slammed him against a wall by the throat.

“Okayokayokay—!” Shigaraki wheezed, arms flailing. “Rude—!”

“You wanna flirt?” Izuku growled. “Flirt with a hospital bed.”

A second slam. The wall cracked.

“You think you can threaten him and walk away?”

---

Aizawa, bleeding and concussed, muttered, “…Kind of impressed. Terrified, but impressed.”

Kaminari whispered, “Bro is one villain monologue away from a proposal. ”

---

Pro heroes arrived in a flash of motion and light.

Kurogiri yanked Shigaraki into a portal, sputtering about “boundaries” and “boyfriends with anger issues.”

Aizawa ended up on a stretcher, bruised and barely upright.

Recovery Girl hovered over him. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said hollowly. “I was flirted at during live combat.”

Izuku strolled by, smiling. “It helped morale,” he said. “Also, your hair looked amazing backlit by explosions.”

Aizawa’s soul visibly exited his body.

Behind them, Sero muttered, “This is what it looks like when a man’s will to live is tested in real time.”

Chapter 23

UA Recovery Wing at 2 p.m.

Aizawa woke up to the sound of someone aggressively peeling a banana next to his head.

He opened one eye.

Izuku Midoriya was sitting in a chair beside his bed, kicking his legs like a kid in a dentist’s office.

He had a banana in one hand and an aggressively glittery “GET WELL SOON (from head trauma and emotional unavailability)” card in the other.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Midoriya said, cheerful as a cult leader. 

“I was worried I’d have to spoon-feed you vitamin pudding.”

Aizawa groaned. “What- why are you he-”

“Visiting!” Midoriya grinned. “Like a responsible, concerned student. Who happens to be madly in love with his homeroom teacher’s jawline.”

Aizawa tried to sit up. And he immediately regretted it.

Midoriya gasped dramatically. “No sudden movements! You need rest! Hydration! And positive reinforcement!”

He gently placed a sticker on Aizawa’s forehead. 

It was a cat giving a thumbs-up.

Aizawa blinked. “Get out.”

Midoriya pulled out a clipboard. “Unfortunately, I’ve cleared this visit with Present Mic, who said and I quote, “You get one visit to be weird. After that, I’m confiscating your hormones.”

Aizawa squinted at him. “You think this is flirting?”

“I think I carried you bridal-style away from a monster and screamed your name like I was auditioning for a soap opera. That counts for something.”

“You dropped me when you tripped on debris.”

“Semantics.”

The door opened, and Recovery Girl walked in, saw Midoriya, and immediately said, “I told you! One hour only!”

Midoriya pointed to a very fake-looking sticker badge on his chest ‘CERTIFIED EMOTIONAL SUPPORT STUDENT.’

She sighed the sigh of someone who once had peace. “He is medically stable. Mentally, less so.”

“I’M STANDING RIGHT HERE,” Aizawa snapped.

Recovery Girl patted his shoulder. “Yes, and I’m sorry.”

She left. 

Midoriya leaned forward, serious for a split second.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Aizawa blinked, caught off guard.

Then Midoriya added, “Because if you’d died, I’d have to develop a tragic backstory and become a hot, brooding vigilante, and frankly, I don’t have the coat budget for that.”

Aizawa grabbed the pillow and placed it over his own face.

From behind the muffled fabric, he muttered, “How are you still enrolled.”

“Tenacity. And friendship. And also blackmail material on Mineta.”

From the hallway came the faint sound of Uraraka whisper-shouting, “I’m not going in there! He’s got the crazy eyes again.”

Kirishima smiled obliviously, “He said he brought mood lighting.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, “If that nerd sings one more power ballad I will throw myself into traffic.”

The door cracked open. 

Iida poked his head in. “Midoriya, you are in flagrant violation of every hospital rule and about twelve district mandates.”

Midoriya tossed a juice box at his face and shut the door.

He turned back to Aizawa, who was now quietly sobbing under the pillow.

“Anyway,” Midoriya said brightly, “do you want to watch Titanic on my phone? I brought snacks. And commentary.”

“Go away.”

“I can mute the kissing scenes if it makes you flustered.”

“Go away.”

“I made a playlist called Combat Recovery. Want me to play it?”

Aizawa reached for the nurse call button and when nothing happened he looked down. 

Midoriya had replaced it with a second cat sticker.

---

UA Principal’s Office at 3:32 p.m.

Aizawa sat stiffly in the world’s most unnecessarily high-backed chair, arms crossed, head pounding, heart full of dread.

Next to him, Izuku Midoriya was sipping tea like a Victorian orphan who had just inherited a duke’s fortune and absolutely planned to ruin everyone’s lives.

Across the desk sat Principal Nezu.

He was smiling the smile of a small creature who had definitely rigged a Rube Goldberg machine of chaos and was now enjoying the aftermath with popcorn.

“Thank you both for coming,” Nezu said sweetly, paws folded like he wasn’t the mastermind of nightmares. 

“We need to discuss a matter of utmost professionalism and ethical integrity.”

Aizawa sighed. “If this is about the Usj incident, I’ve already written a report.”

“Oh no,” Nezu said, still smiling. “This is about your face during that report. You looked like someone had just declared war on your blood pressure.”

Midoriya coughed delicately. “To be fair, my flirting did distract a Nomu for 0.8 seconds. Which is technically a support maneuver.”

Aizawa closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to no gods in particular.

Nezu leaned forward. “Midoriya, as a student, you understand that certain boundaries must be maintained with your teachers.”

“Yes, sir,” Midoriya said politely. “Totally understand. Boundaries are very important.”

“Excellent,” Nezu said. 

Then, with a twinkle in his eye not even trying to be subtle, he added, “That said… in hypothetical scenarios, purely academic, of course, should one’s teacher be, say, hopelessly repressed, I suppose there’s no harm in… light encouragement.”

Aizawa sat up straight. “What.”

Nezu turned to him with wide, innocent eyes. “Oh nothing. Just wondering if hypothetically, exposure therapy through relentless praise and strategic pining could be a growth opportunity.”

Midoriya nodded seriously, “I also brought him pudding shaped like a heart.”

Nezu, nodding sagely in return, “A future hero must be bold.”

Aizawa looked like he had just given up on life, “I hate this school.”

Midoriya gave Nezu a very subtle thumbs-up under the table. 

Nezu winked back.

Aizawa noticed. “Am I being emotionally hazed right now?”

Nezu gasped. “Of course not! This is a formal administrative review. With tea. And matchmaking.”

“I KNEW IT.”

Nezu cleared his throat, face suddenly Very Official. “To summarize, student-teacher relationships are strictly prohibited while a student is enrolled. Flirtations, dramatic rescues, and borderline love confessions during combat will be frowned upon, publicly. Privately…” 

He made a vague gesture that was somehow both encouraging and unhinged. “Live your truth. Within reason.”

“THAT’S NOT A POLICY!”

“It is now,” Nezu chirped. He handed Aizawa a small folder labeled “Professional Ethics & Emotional Damage Compensation Forms.”

Inside was a sticker sheet. One read “I survived workplace flirting and all I got was this aneurysm.”

Midoriya smiled brightly. “So I’ll just tone it down until graduation?”

Nezu smiled with a closed mouth, “Or don’t. Either way, I’ll be watching. For science.”

Aizawa stood up, done with everything. “I’m retiring. I’m moving to the woods. I’m going to teach squirrels about boundary-setting.”

Midoriya called after him, “Can I visit the forest? I make excellent trail mix!”

Nezu turned to Midoriya. “He likes chamomile tea, books about cats, and exactly six hours of sleep. Good luck.”

Midoriya saluted. “Understood. Operation: Professional Respect with undertones of yearning is a go.”

Nezu sipped his tea, tail swishing.

Chaos was alive and well at UA.

Chapter 24

Aizawa stood at the front of the classroom, looking as tortured as usual. He very deliberately did not make eye contact with Izuku as he began to speak.

“The Sports Festival is coming up.”

A groan swept the room, somewhere between dread and wild excitement.

Bakugo cracked his knuckles loud enough to be a warning.

Todoroki just looked bored in that expensive, I-might-be-bored-but-still-better-than-you way.

Izuku’s smile was immediate, pretty, and dangerous, like he’d just remembered something deeply incriminating about the universe and intended to use it out loud.

“It will be televised,” Aizawa added, ignoring the growing chaos. “So I expect all of you to at least attempt basic dignity.”

Kaminari perked up, hopeful. “Will there be a parade? Some sort of... team dance?”

“No,” Aizawa said, absolute and final. “There will not.”

Midoriya raised his hand, not waiting to be called on. “Quick question! Is it still considered basic dignity if you win while making heart eyes at the announcers box?”

Two desks away, Uraraka slapped her forehead. Across the aisle, Kirishima was clearly torn between admiring the audacity and planning his own showboating routine. Iida’s hand shot into the air, like maybe pure bureaucracy could will the chaos into submission.

Aizawa glared at Izuku, who was already grinning wider. “If you attempt to flirt during the festival, I’m switching your shoes with rollerblades.”

Midoriya’s eyes sparkled. “Challenge accepted.”

Outside, another peaceful morning at UA. Inside, the countdown to public spectacle began, and nobody looked more ready to ruin decorum than Class 1-A.

---

In the gym Aizawa stood with a clipboard, watching his students with the slow-building look of a man who hadn’t known peace since 2003.

That was when Midoriya appeared again, sweaty from training, glowing from adrenaline, and somehow still looking like trouble in green sneakers.

“Aizawa sensei,” he said, already grinning. “Quick question about the Sports Festival.”

Aizawa didn’t look up. “If this is about the uniforms again-”

“No, no,” Midoriya said. “It’s about tactics.”

Aizawa made the mistake of glancing at him. Midoriya had the expression of someone with a plan. Or worse, a color-coded PowerPoint with custom transitions.

“I’ve noticed,” Midoriya continued, flipping a page on a small notebook titled ‘Heroic Interpersonal Performance: A Tactical Romance Subset’, “that dramatic personal moments during combat can destabilize the opponent.”

Aizawa squinted. “You mean trash talk.”

“No,” Midoriya said brightly. “I mean, like, passionate confessions. Tearful monologues. Emotional whiplash.”

There was a long pause.

“You want to weaponize feelings?” Aizawa asked with a raised brow.

Midoriya lit up. “Yes! Exactly! Emotional misdirection! Heartfelt disarray! Love as psychological warfare!”

Aizawa turned away like he was physically in pain. “I need earplugs. And a lawyer.”

Midoriya leaned in, hopeful. “So that’s a tentative yes on the Love Confession Feint maneuver during the cavalry battle?”

Aizawa looked at him. Slowly. Tiredly.

“You try to shout a love confession mid-battle and I will disqualify you.”

Midoriya nodded seriously. “So...save it for the obstacle course. Got it.”

---

Somewhere behind them, Present Mic was watching from the door, holding a bag of popcorn recording and whispering “this is better than soap operas.”

---

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are my options always terrible or catastrophic?”

Midoriya tapped his pen against his chin, unbothered. “That’s the hero student experience. Adversity. Growth. Public humiliation. Occasionally televised affection.”

Before Aizawa could fire back, someone shrieked from the corner.

Kaminari, waving his phone. “Dude, my feed just exploded! People are making memes out of your Detroit Smash. Look, ‘Love Hurts!’ It’s trending.”

Sero leaned over his shoulder, cackling. “Wait, scroll up-there’s a poll: ‘Who does Midoriya have a bigger crush on, Eraserhead or Justice?’”

Bakugo stomped over, scowling. “If I see one more ‘Midoriya thirsts for Eraserhead’ post, I’m leaving this country.”

Midoriya blinked innocently. “That’s only option B if the obstacle course goes badly.”

Aizawa let out a long, world-weary sigh. “You know what, Bakugo? Take me with you.” He stalked toward the exit, clipboard still clutched in white-knuckled hands. “Everyone, ten more laps. If you finish before I find a new job, you win.”

The class groaned, stumbling after him, already speculating about what kind of emotional terrorism Midoriya would try next.

---

Present Mic, munching popcorn, grinned wider. “Tune in next time, folks. Love, pain, and questionable life choices- only at UA.”

Chapter 25

The stadium was packed. The crowd buzzed with energy. Cameras panned. Flags waved. Somewhere, a popcorn vendor was doing record business.

Then—

“YEEEEAAAAHHH, HELLOOOOO SPORTS FESTIVAAALLL!” Present Mic’s voice exploded over the sound system like joy, caffeine, and questionable judgment combined. 

“ARE YOU READY FOR THE HOTTEST, WILDEST, MOST RIDICULOUS DISPLAY OF POWER AND PUBLIC SCHOOL FUNDING THIS SIDE OF JAPAN?!”

The crowd screamed back.

“First up, make some noise for the chaos gremlins of Class 1-B!”

Class 1-B entered the stadium in coordinated formation. Mostly. A few kids tripped. One did a cartwheel. Tetsutetsu flexed at the camera like it owed him money.

“Looking good, looking terrifying! Give it up for Class 1-B!”

The crowd clapped, confused but polite.

“AND NOW- THE STARS OF DESTRUCTION! THE REASON THE BUDGET’S ON FIRE! THE KIDS WHO ONCE LAUNCHED A SCHOOL BUS INTO A TREE- IT’S CLASS 1-A!”

The stadium roared.

Class 1-A walked out with various levels of decorum. 

Bakugo was already glaring at everyone like they insulted his mother. Todoroki looked like the final boss of an ice-themed RPG. Iida was doing dramatic parade marching, and Kirishima was waving like a Disney prince.

Midoriya? Midoriya was just smiling pretty but wincing. He didn’t know why the crowd was so loud.

“And let’s give it extra volume for the TOP EXAMINEE- THE QUIRKY KID WITH QUESTIONABLE SANITY- MMMIIIIIIDORIYA IZUKU!”

The applause surged again.

Izuku blinked.

From the platform above, Midnight smiled and made an elegant hand motion.

Izuku gave her a thumbs up.

She gestured more aggressively.

He tilted his head.

She started miming a mic and pointing at the stage.

He stared. Eyes narrowed. Calculating.

“…Oh my god,” he whispered to Uraraka. “Midnight’s having a stroke.”

“No she’s not!” she whisper-hissed. “She wants you to give the speech!”

“What speech?!”

“The winner’s speech! You got first place, remember?!”

Midoriya froze.

Midnight, now fully doing jazz hands and what might have been sign language for “get up here before I throw something,” glared at him.

Present Mic was still going.

“We’ve got drama! We’ve got tension! And now, we’ve got a speech incoming from a boy who once cried his way through a villain takedown! C’mon, Izuku Midoriya, GET YOUR GREEN HAIRED SELF UP HERE!”

---

Aizawa, from the staff row, didn’t even look up.

“I told them," He muttered. “I told them not to give him a mic.”

---

Midoriya slowly, reluctantly, walked up to the stage like a man about to be sacrificed to ancient gods.

When he reached the podium, he looked at the crowd.

Looked at his classmates.

Looked directly into the nearest camera.

Then he took the mic and said, “Okay. I was not warned about this. And I haven’t eaten breakfast. So if this goes badly, just remember, this is technically the school’s fault.”

Somewhere, a fan screamed, “HE’S GONNA SAY SOMETHING POETIC—LOOK AT HIS FACE!”

“He’s so pretty,” a girl near the front row whispered reverently. “I bet it’ll be something really heartfelt.”

“I hope he cries a little,” someone else murmured. “Or quotes All Might. Or love. Or both.”

Izuku adjusted the mic. A camera zoomed in. Midoriya posed instinctively.

“I’ve been told I have to give a motivational speech. So here’s my best shot. Winning isn’t everything. But it’s pretty fun. And if you can’t win, at least go viral doing something dramatic.”

Present Mic shouted happily, “OH MY GOD, HE’S GONNA TURN THIS INTO A MUSICAL, I CAN FEEL IT-”

Midoriya pointed vaguely at the announcer’s box with a flirty smirk. 

“Also, shoutout to Aizawa-sensei, who looks like he hasn’t slept since the Meiji era, but somehow still manages to rock a capture weapon like it’s runway fashion and be hot doing it.”

The camera immediately cut to Aizawa, who looked directly into the lens like he was begging the viewers at home to call for help.

“Sensei, I just want you to know,” Midoriya continued, absolutely on a roll, “if I win this entire festival, it’s not for fame. It’s not for glory. It’s because I want to impress one extremely tired man with dry shampoo and commitment issues.”

“AND HE’S DOWN!” Present Mic howled with laughter. “AIZAWA LOOKS LIKE HE JUST GOT HIT BY A TRUCK FULL OF EMOTIONAL DAMAGE!”

Midoriya held up one fist. “To my classmates good luck! To my enemies: I’m emotionally unstable and powered by romantic chaos. Let’s do this.”

He gave finger guns to the crowd. The crowd lost their minds . Bakugo was audibly yelling in the background. Iida had gone completely stiff, like maybe his soul left his body.

And in the stands, someone held up a new handmade banner, “I <3 FLIRTZUKU.”

Present Mic, still cackling, “LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND NONBINARY ICONS- THE GAMES HAVE BEGUN AND SO HAS THE FLIRTING!”

---

Aizawa, up in the announcer’s box, stared into the middle distance like a war veteran remembering things best left forgotten. 

His face was blank. His soul was screaming.

Beside him, Present Mic was doubled over the desk, wheezing with laughter.

“Oh, buddy,” he managed between cackles, “you just got verbally seduced in front of an international audience! How’s it feel to be Japan’s newest most wanted?”

Aizawa blinked slowly. “I will sabotage the speakers.”

“You gonna sabotage the feelings, too?” Present Mic wiped a tear from his eye. “Midoriya just thirst-posted live on stage. That kid’s got a death wish and a crush.”

Aizawa said nothing. He just reached under the desk and cracked open a canned coffee with the resigned finality of a man who knew this was his life now.

---

In the stands, Class 1-A was having what could only be described as a collective meltdown.

Iida looked like he was about to pass out. “There are RULES! There are PROTOCOLS!”

“I’m so proud of him,” Uraraka said, hand over her heart. “He just- he went up there and committed to the bit. ”

“Dude,” Kirishima laughed. “Did you see sensei’s face? He short-circuited. Legendary.”

Bakugo was physically vibrating. “IF HE FLIRTS ONE MORE TIME I’M GONNA THROW HIM INTO THE SUN.”

“Please do,” Mina whispered dreamily, already editing the video on her phone. “It’ll look amazing in slow motion.”

“Wait, wait,” Sero said, eyes glued to his screen. “The internet’s already exploding. Look- someone turned his speech into a TikTok thirst edit with dramatic music and, oh my god, laser eyes.”

---

Meanwhile, online

#Flirtzuku was trending within six minutes.

Fan accounts with names like @GreenTeaHeartbreaker and @ThirstSmash69 were already live.

Someone uploaded a clip of Aizawa’s blank stare with the caption, “when your most chaotic student confesses to you in front of god and everybody and you can't even throw him into detention because you're on camera.”

Edits began circulating, 

One was stylized like a romance movie trailer, “He’s a tired underground hero. He’s an emotionally volatile gremlin with a dream. Together, they’re rewriting the sports festival rulebook- Flirt to Win: The UA Love Games.”

Another just looped the moment Midoriya said “dry shampoo and commitment issues” with sparkles and heart emojis.

Someone on Twitter posted, “midoriya izuku’s villain arc is gonna be emotionally devastating AND hot and we’re all just gonna have to deal with that.”

---

Back in the stadium, Midoriya rejoined his class, cheeks pink but so smug.

“That went well,” he said, absolutely delusional.

“Midoriya,” Iida choked. “I- I don’t even know what you violated. Ethics? Physics? My will to live?”

Midoriya just gave a little salute. “Motivation achieved. Time to win the obstacle course and a date.”

Somewhere in the distance, Aizawa screamed internally.

Chapter 26

Stage one: The Obstacle course

The starting cannon went off.

Explosions. Screams. At least three students fell over immediately.

Midoriya took off like a green bullet, already strategizing.

“Okay. Prioritize momentum. Minimize contact. Maintain optimal coolness level for flirting—”

He yelped as something exploded behind him. 

A body flew through the air and crashed directly into him. They rolled in a tangle of limbs and metal before landing in a heap, Izuku on the bottom, dazed.

“Hey!” a cheerful voice piped. “You break easily?”

Midoriya blinked up at the wild pink-haired girl currently straddling his ribcage like it was a perfectly normal thing to do in public. 

Her goggles were askew. Something on her shoulder sparked.

“Um,” he said eloquently. “Not usually. Hi?”

“Hatsume Mei!” she grinned, shoving a glowing device back into her utility belt. “Support Course, inventor of twenty-seven functional prototypes, and currently using the obstacle course as a field test!”

“Oh,” Midoriya wheezed. “Cool. I’m Izuku Midoriya. General menace, aspiring hero, and apparently now your crash mat.”

She beamed. “You’ve got strong thighs. I bet you can throw me.”

“I’m sorry- what?”

“Like a cannonball! Human missile! Come on, green bean, launch me at the next robot!”

Before he could object, she was climbing up his back like a gremlin backpack and shouting flight coordinates.

---

From the stands, Pro Hero Ryukyu blinked. “Are students allowed to weaponize each other?”

“Technically, there’s no rule against it,” murmured Vlad King, squinting through binoculars.

“Should there be?” Mt. Lady added, watching Hatsume slap Midoriya on the shoulder and scream “YEET ME, PRETTY BOY!”

“I think I’m witnessing the birth of a war crime,” murmured Kamui Woods.

---

Midoriya, caught between logic and adrenaline, sighed and braced himself. “Aizawa-sensei, if you’re watching, I’m doing this with love.”

He spun on his heel, gathered momentum, and launched Hatsume into the air with enough force to register as a minor threat on radar.

The crowd exploded.

---

A camera cut to Aizawa.

He was not impressed.

“That was unnecessary.”

“Yeah, but,” Present Mic was vibrating, “you gotta admit, it was aerodynamic as hell.”

Aizawa sipped his coffee with the tired solemnity of someone praying for the sweet release of unconsciousness.

---

When the smoke cleared, Hatsume Mei was dusting soot off her gloves and beaming.

“Midoriya! We meet again, this time at high velocity!”

“Do you always crash into people during introductions?”

“Only the cute ones!”

He opened his mouth, paused, then nodded. “Respect.”

Behind them, the robot they’d just hit began rebooting.

Hatsume held up a glowing gadget. “I have bombs!”

“Good!”

“Wanna throw ‘em together?!”

“Absolutely!”

They hurled matching explosives at the robot’s feet. It exploded in a theatrical fireball. Both of them posed instinctively.

---

From the Pro Hero stands, Ryukyu side eyed Nezu, who looked like he was going to spill his tea from how hard he was laughing. “That felt illegal.”

Fat Gum chuckled. “They’re improvising! It’s creative! And adorable!”

Nezu nodded agreeing with him.

“Look at that synergy,” Midnight cooed. “Explosions and innuendos.”

“Remind me why no one’s stopping this?” Endeavor asked, annoyed.

“Because we’re all emotionally invested now,” Hawks said, not looking up from his phone. “Also, I’m screen-recording this for scientific purposes.”

---

Stage Two: The Pitfall Zone

Dozens of narrow footholds and crumbling planks hovered over a trench lined with actual spikes.

“Terrible design,” Hatsume muttered. “No physics respect.”

“I could try jumping it,” Midoriya offered.

“Or,” she said, eyes gleaming, “you could wear this. ”

She yanked out a suspicious-looking belt labeled ‘Provisional Hoverpants Mk 2 (Untested)’

“Does it work?”

“Fifty-fifty shot!”

He strapped it on immediately. “If I die, tell Aizawa-sensei I died doing something deeply reckless to win his attention.”

She cackled and slapped the ON switch.

Midoriya shot into the air like a flying toaster.

“AHHHHHHH”

“DO A BACKFLIP!”

“I CAN’T FEEL MY LEGS BUT OKAY!”

He barely made it to the other side, tumbling like a tumble weed.

She followed with a spring-loaded grappling claw that flung her over the gap and crashed her into him for the second time that day.

They high-fived again.

---

Stage Three: Minefield of Doom

The final stretch was a field of hidden mines and unstable terrain.

Hatsume pulled out a tracker and smugly said. “I can see the mines. I built half this tech.”

“Awesome,” Midoriya grinned. “I’ll carry you, you navigate.”

“What are you, my noble steed?”

“I prefer the term emotional support himbo.”

She shrugged. “Suits me.”

He crouched, and she jumped onto his back. 

Together, they began weaving through the minefield at a surprisingly steady pace.

Until Monoma tried to pass them, cackling about superiority.

Without missing a beat, Hatsume pulled out a flashbang.

“Mine!” she shouted, and threw it right in Monoma’s path.

There was a flash. A bang. Monoma vanished from the leaderboard.

---

From the announcer’s box, Present Mic sob-laughed. “SHE STRAIGHT-UP YEETED THAT BOY OUT OF THE RACE!”

Aizawa, stone-faced, muttered, “I warned them. I warned everyone about giving him a mic. And her access to wiring.”

“And yet,” Mic wheezed, “this might be the best festival yet.”

---

Final Stretch: One Last Jump

The finish line loomed ahead. A wide chasm separated them from it.

“Okay, legs, don’t fail me now—”

“Wait!” Hatsume cried, pulling out her final prototype, a rocket skateboard. “Hold onto me!”

Midoriya obeyed without hesitation.

“Do you trust me?” she asked, eyes wild.

“Nope!” he shouted happily. “But I’m reckless and emotionally compromised!”

“Perfect!”

She slammed a button. They blasted forward, trailing fire and laughter, both screaming as they soared over the gap.

For exactly three seconds, they looked majestic. Triumphant. Powerful.

Then they exploded mid-air and crash-landed just across the finish line in a heap of limbs and metal, Hatsume sitting on his chest again.

“WE LIIIIIIVE!” she whooped.

The crowd erupted. Someone shot confetti. A random Pro Hero stood up and started clapping in awe.

Midoriya groaned and lifted a hand toward the camera, winded and said, “Aizawa-sensei- huff, I hope you’re watching-wheeze, because I nailed that landing- deep breath, for you.”

---

Aizawa was sipping his fourth coffee.

His face remained blank.

His soul was leaving his body.

Next to him, Present Mic was practically vibrating. “HE’S GONNA MARRY YOU AT THIS RATE, BRO!”

Aizawa whispered, “I’m going to put myself in detention.”

Chapter 27

The break between events was a blessing. Class 1-A limped, crawled, and in Bakugou’s case, detonated their way back to the prep room, limbs sore, clothes singed, and collective trauma freshly bonded over.

Midoriya collapsed onto the bench with a groan. “My everything hurts.”

Across the room, Kaminari was failing spectacularly at something. He held up a stack of folded clothes and beamed.

“C’mon, girls! Cheer uniforms! It’s school spirit! It’ll be fun!”

Mina stared at him like he’d grown another head. “You want us to wear what now?”

“They’re cute! The Support Course handed ‘em out!” he said quickly. “Totally voluntary. But, y’know, we could match the other class, and I think it’d boost morale-”

“Boost your ego maybe,” Jirou muttered, earjacks twitching.

Kaminari laughed nervously. “I just think you’d look great! Plus, it’s tradition, right?”

Before he could dig himself any deeper, a shadow fell over him.

Midoriya loomed behind him, smiling.

“Kaminari,” he said softly. “I’d rethink this line of persuasion.”

Kaminari turned. Froze. And paled.

“You’re bleeding,” Kaminari said weakly.

“I’m always bleeding,” Midoriya replied. “From effort. And judgment.”

He leaned in closer, still smiling.

“Do you want to wear one instead?”

Kaminari immediately backpedaled out of the room.

The silence lingered for a moment.

Then, slowly, Midoriya turned back to the table of abandoned cheer uniforms, eyed one that looked vaguely his size, and picked it up.

He started walking toward the door, clearly intending to disappear with it like a goblin thief, when a calm voice stopped him.

“Midoriya?”

He flinched. Turned slowly.

Yaoyorozu stood behind him, a soft smile on her lips.

“…Yes?”

“If you’re going to wear it, I could tailor it to your measurements,” she said gently. “And make you some shorts to go underneath. You’ll move easier.”

His eyes sparkled with gratitude. “Can you make them glittery?”

“Absolutely.”

---

Ten minutes later, Midoriya emerged for the second half of the Sports Festival like he was strutting onto a runway made of poor life choices and boundless confidence.

His waist-length green curls were swept into a high, bouncing ponytail that sparkled with glitter and righteous chaos. 

The cheer uniform, courtesy of Yaoyorozu’s tailoring skills and what could only be described as divine mischief, fit him like it had been summoned by a god of fabulousness.

The sleeveless turtleneck crop top shimmered in the sunlight, clinging just right across his chest and shoulders, the bold U.A. logo glittering with pride and menace. 

The skirt was short. Dangerously short. It swished dramatically with every step, deceptively light and airy, giving the impression that he might not be wearing anything underneath.

He was.

The shorts, snug and dazzling, caught the light like they’d been bedazzled by an unhinged magpie. 

He moved with the effortless confidence of someone who had nothing to prove but planned to do it anyway.

The stadium went silent for a beat.

Then exploded into screams.

---

From the Pro Hero stands, someone dropped their snack. 

Vlad King visibly choked on a protein bar.

---

Present Mic screamed like he’d just seen a comet crash into his soul.

Aizawa took a slow sip of his fifth coffee. His soul visibly left his body and hovered six inches above his seat.

Midoriya struck a pose and pointed toward the announcer’s booth like he was declaring war.

“Aizawa-sensei!” he yelled with gleaming eyes and a heroic stance. “I’m bringing school spirit and leg day excellence!”

Aizawa stared in exhausted silence.

“I should’ve expelled him.”

Present Mic wiped away a tear, whispering, “But you didn’t.”

---

Class 1-A froze.

Silence fell like a divine judgment.

“WHAT IN THE GLITTERY HELL,” Bakugou barked, pointing aggressively like the sight physically offended him. “DEKU, WHAT- WHAT IS THIS- WHY ARE YOUR LEGS OUT?!”

“I think I’m seeing God,” Uraraka whispered, shielding hes eyes. “And he’s wearing short shorts.”

“Those aren’t shorts,” Jirou muttered, squinting. “Wait. Are they?”

“Yes,” Yaoyorozu confirmed calmly. “I made them.”

Sero gasped. “That makes this so much worse!”

“I support this fully,” Mina beamed. “Look at that confidence. That’s a man who’s gonna backflip into somebody’s heart.”

Todoroki tilted his head slowly, gaze locked on Midoriya’s exposed midriff. “Are we supposed to be fighting him later? In that?”

“It’s called psychological warfare,” Iida said faintly, pushing up his glasses like it would block the visual. “And he’s winning.”

---

Meanwhile, Online:

@QuirkAlertLIVE:
BREAKING: U.A. 1-A student Izuku Midoriya just shut down gender norms, fashion rules, and possibly the laws of physics with one outfit.

@HeroThirstBot:
Why does Midoriya look like a magical girl who could bench-press me AND steal my man.

@AizawaFanArchive:
Did anyone else see the way Eraserhead blinked slowly when Midoriya pointed at him? That’s the anime version of yearning.

@UASpiritTeamOfficial:
We didn’t even assign cheer uniforms this year. Where did he get that? How do we get that level of commitment?

@MidoriyaDefenseSquad:
I don’t care what happens next. He already won the Sports Festival. And fashion. And my heart.

---

Back in the stadium, Midoriya struck one last pose, one leg popped, hands on hips, skirt swishing dramatically in the breeze.

Chapter 28

“ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP MY LITTLE POWERPUFFS!” Present Mic’s voice boomed across the stadium like judgment from the heavens. “YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS—STRAP IN, CAUSE IT’S CAVALRY BATTLE TIME!”

The crowd cheered.

“And thanks to the explosive beauty that was their obstacle course run, Midoriya Izuku and Hatsume Mei are currently sitting on five hundred thousand points EACH!”

The cheering stopped.

Everyone stared at them.

Mei was grinning like a maniac. 

Midoriya was still wearing the sparkly cheer uniform, spinning in a circle watching as the sparkles caught in the light. His hair was in a swishy high ponytail, glitter dusted across his cheeks like divine war paint.

He smiled, sweet and radiant, and said, “I feel like a walking target.”

“YOU ARE A WALKING TARGET,” Kaminari screamed, crawling behind Jirou.

“A fashionable one,” Mina added admiringly.

Midnight giggled. “Ooh, double trouble. That’s one shiny team!”

Present Mic continued, “You all know the rules! Form teams of two to four people! Top scorers are worth the most! Work together! Betray each other! Embrace chaos!”

As students scrambled to form alliances, a wide berth formed around Midoriya and Hatsume like they were glowing bombs set to detonate.

“Should we ask people?” Midoriya asked.

Hatsume shrugged. “They’re cowards. Also, we exploded a robot last round. Respect.”

“Fair.”

One brave soul approached, a General Studies student, maybe twice their size, with the sort of energy that screamed frat boy on discount Red Bull.

“Heyyyy,” he said, winking at Midoriya. “So. I was thinking I could be on your team.”

Midoriya blinked. “Oh?”

“Yeah, like, I don’t mind carrying you. Or being carried. Or, y’know…” His eyes briefly drifted to Midoriya’s legs. “Feeling the team spirit.”

Mei's head whipped around so fast her goggles nearly flew off. “Did you just try to flirt via thigh contact proposition?!”

“It wasn’t-  I mean-”

“Gross,” Midoriya said flatly.

“Unclean,” Mei added.

“We're denying your application,” said Midoriya.

“I’m reporting you to OSHA,” said Mei.

The boy backed away like he’d just been spiritually slapped. “Rude!”

“Don’t make me throw a flashbang!” she yelled after him.

Midoriya nodded solemnly. “We respect boundaries in this household.”

“Anyway,” Mei said brightly, “you’re stuck with me now, glitter thighs.”

“Couldn’t ask for a better teammate, mad scientist.”

They high-fived again, a little explosion going off behind them for dramatic effect.

---

In the stands, Fat Gum leaned over. “They’re about to get absolutely dogpiled, huh?”

Hawks, still screen-recording, grinned. “And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Think they’ve got a strategy?” Mt. Lady asked.

“They have each other,” Ryukyu said, “and an alarming disregard for their own safety. So probably.”

---

Back in the arena, Present Mic bellowed.

“TEAMS LOCKED! GET READY FOR MAXIMUM BETRAYAL, AND FOR OUR GLITTER-CLAD NIGHTMARE DUO TO GET CHASED BY EVERYONE WITH EYES ON THE PRIZE!”

Midoriya struck a pose. “Aizawa-sensei! If I die in this next round, know that I died with sparkles in my soul!”

---

Aizawa covered his face with his scarf. “Why is he like this.”

Nezu, sipping tea, chirped, “Because it’s entertaining!”

---

The timer started.

The horn blared.

And the entire stadium collectively decided: destroy the sparkle twink and his tech goblin partner.

“AND THEY’RE OFF!” Present Mic screamed. “EVERYONE’S CHASING MIDORIYA AND HATSUME LIKE IT’S BLACK FRIDAY AND THEY’RE A DISCOUNT FLATSCREEN!”

---

“They are really going after them,” Fat Gum observed, mildly concerned.

Ryukyu exhaled slowly. “I’m not surprised.”

---

Back on the field, Izuku crouched low, braced on all fours, while Hatsume clung to his shoulders like a glitter-wearing spider monkey, goggles locked in place, hair sparking slightly with static.

“Okay!” she yelled over the chaos. “We’re surrounded! What’s the plan?”

“I thought you had one!”

“I figured we’d improvise! You’re good at reckless improvisation! It’s your brand!”

“That’s fair.”

Their team was immediately charged by a group of four students from Class 1-B, led by a boy with a buzzcut and murder in his eyes.

Hatsume tossed a gadget over Midoriya’s shoulder. “GLITTER SMOKE BOMB!”

It exploded in a neon pink cloud that smelled aggressively of mango.

Their attackers staggered, coughing and glitter-blind. Midoriya kicked off the ground, blasting into a high-speed zigzag pattern, his skirt swishing with dramatic flair.

“YOU CAN’T CATCH THE TWINK IF YOU CAN’T SEE HIM!” Present Mic howled.

---

“Is- is that allowed?” murmured Vlad King, blinking.

“There’s no rule against weaponized glitter,” Cementoss replied grimly. “I checked.”

---

Another group closed in from the left. Midoriya veered right, barely dodging a lasso.

“They’re flanking us!” Hatsume yelled.

“I’ve got this!” Midoriya launched himself into a spin that would’ve made Olympic gymnasts weep. “SPARKLE TWIRL ESCAPE MANEUVER!”

The force of his dramatic ponytail alone knocked a passing student off of their team.

---

“WHAT THE HELL KIND OF MOVE WAS THAT?” Endeavor demanded

“An iconic one,” Midnight replied, tears in her eyes. “That’s our boy.”

---

Hatsume cackled like a madwoman. “Let’s use the Hoverpants!”

“They exploded last time!”

“They’ve been updated!”

Midoriya, with no regard for his physical safety or public dignity, activated the belt.

A loud BOING sounded as the two of them launched thirty feet into the air.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“SCIENCEEEEEEEEE!”

They soared over the heads of their enemies like chaotic, sparkling gods of mayhem.

---

From below, Todoroki paused, one eyebrow raised. “Should I… do something?”

“Let them cook,” Yaoyorozu said, shading her eyes. “Let them flambé.”

---

As they landed (poorly, Izuku on his stomach, Hatsumi completely on his back not touching the floor, and righteous screaming), Hatsume whooped and waved her custom tracker. “We still have both our headbands!”

Midoriya, flat on his stomach, held up a thumbs up.

A small team tried to sneak up while they were down.

Hatsume pulled out a new gadget. “Flashbang boomerang!”

“Wait-” The team wide eyed tried to say.

BOOM.

Midoriya blinked at the crater now beside them. “Remind me never to doubt you again.”

“Correct response.”

They scrambled back into position just in time to dodge another assault.

At one point, someone tried to sneak up behind them to grab Izuku’s headband, only to be kicked backward by a flying cheer skirt and a very judgmental boot.

“NOT TODAY, PERVERT!” he yelled. “THESE LEGS ONLY FLIRT FOR AIZAWA-SENSEI!”

---

Aizawa, now nursing his fifth coffee, rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to bury myself alive.”

“LET’S GO, GLITTER GREMLINS!” Present Mic screamed. “THEY’RE STILL IN IT! THEY’RE STILL FABULOUS! AND THEY’RE TRAUMATIZING EVERYONE IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE!”

---

By the time the timer ran out, Midoriya and Hatsume were standing atop a pile of dazed competitors, covered in glitter, soot, and the raw power of scientific nonsense.

They hadn’t stolen a single extra headband.

They hadn’t needed to.

They’d kept theirs.

By themselves.

Against everyone.

The crowd lost its mind.

Confetti rained down again.

Nezu was wheezing with laughter. “Extra credit. Give them all the extra credit.”

Midoriya, panting and clutching his knees, pointed at a stadium camera.

“Aizawa-sensei,” he wheezed. “Did you see that? I was airborne. Glittery. Functional. Marry me.”

---

Aizawa pulled his scarf over his head and whispered, “No.”

Present Mic clutched the mic with shaking hands. “He means ‘not yet’.”

Chapter 29

The crowd had just stopped screaming about the Cavalry Battle when Present Mic yelled again, like the world’s most caffeinated alarm clock.

“WE’RE NOT DONE YET, FOLKS! IT’S TIME FOR THE ONE-ON-ONE TOURNAMENT!”

Cheers erupted.

“YOU KNOW THE DRILL, HEAD-TO-HEAD COMBAT, WINNERS MOVE ON, LOSERS GO HOME OR INTO EMOTIONAL TRAUMA COUNSELING! OR BOTH!”

Up on the massive stadium screen, the bracket lit up, names flashing by like a game show roulette wheel of doom. It finally stopped on the first matchup.

“ROUND ONE: MIDORIYA VERSUS SHINSO!”

Midoriya blinked. “Oh, cool. He seems chill.”

Kaminari, still nursing flashbang-related emotional damage, whimpered from the corner. “Bro, that guy gives me cryptid energy.”

“You give cryptid energy,” Midoriya replied. “He’s got sad poet eyes and trauma posture. I respect it.”

“Do you even know what his Quirk is?”

“Nope!” Midoriya beamed. “But he’s cute, so how bad could it be?”

“Famous last words,” said Jirou.

---

Midnight gestured to the stage. “Combatants, please enter the arena!”

Shinsou strolled out with all the energy of a man who’s been awake since 3 a.m. against his will. 

He looked at Midoriya, glittering, sparkly, skirt swishing in the breeze, and visibly recalculated his entire day.

Midoriya twirled, did finger guns, and called, “Hey there, handsome stranger.”

Shinsou blinked. “...Are you seriously going to wear the cheerleading uniform?”

Midoriya opened his mouth to say something flirty.

And then his eyes glazed over.

---

“Midoriya?” Mei said slowly, from the stands.

“Did he just-?” Iida asked.

“He answered a guy he doesn’t know in the middle of a combat arena,” Uraraka said flatly.

Bakugou facepalmed so hard it echoed.

“IS HE- IS HE ALREADY BRAINWASHED?!” Present Mic shrieked, halfway between horror and laughter. “DID HE JUST FLIRT HIMSELF INTO A QUAGMIRE OF MENTAL CONTROL?!”

“Seems likely,” Cementoss said grimly.

“Boy’s downfall was being too bisexual and polite,” Snipe muttered.

---

In the ring, Shinso sighed and started to walk forward, knowing all he had to do was push the brainwashed sparkletwink out of bounds.

But just before he got close enough—

Midoriya twitched.

His ponytail swished.

A single glitter particle floated dramatically in front of his face.

And suddenly-

“NOT TODAY, MIND GREMLIN!” he screamed, leaping backward and landing in a ridiculous power pose. “MY HEAD IS FULL OF VOICES, BUT NONE OF THEM OBEY YOU!”

Shinsou stumbled back in pure confusion. “What- how?”

---

Mei jumped up, cheering. “HE REBOOTED HIMSELF LIKE A MALFUNCTIONING ROBO-VAC!”

Aizawa groaned into his hands. “I was hoping he’d just pass out quietly.”

“TOO BAD,” Present Mic roared. “THE SPARKLE GREMLIN IS BACK ONLINE AND OUT FOR BLOOD! LET’S GOOOOOO!”

---

Thats when Shinsou realized he was in danger.

Not just physical danger, but spiritual danger. 

Midoriya Izuku was running at him at full speed, not even pretending to strategize, ponytail flying behind him like a war banner, eyes alight with the same energy as a raccoon about to knock over a trash can for fun.

“HELLO, MYSTERIOUS STRANGER,” Midoriya shouted. “YOU HAVE THE VIBE OF A DORMANT SEXY CURSE AND I THINK THAT’S NEAT.”

“What—”

Midoriya tackled him.

Full-body, glitter-forward, sparkly uniform swishing.

Shinsou went down with a yelp as the force of the collision took them halfway across the ring. 

Midoriya rolled with it, somehow flipping them over twice before standing and hurling Shinsou back the other direction like a chaotic glitter tornado.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” Shinsou screamed, halfway airborne.

“COURTSHIP!” Midoriya yelled, chasing him.

“HELP,” Shinsou said to no one, stumbling to his feet.

Midoriya picked him up again.

“SPARKLE SUPLEX!”

“NO—”

WHAM.

---

In the stands, Vlad King had a hand over his mouth. “This feels illegal.”

“I’m conflicted,” Midnight whispered. “It’s violence, but it’s so graceful.”

“He hasn’t used his quirk more than once,” Aizawa said flatly. “Because he hasn’t been able to speak for more than a second without getting rag-dolled.”

---

Down in the arena, Shinsou was trying to crawl away.

“Why are you like this?!” he shrieked.

Midoriya followed at a casual walk, completely unbothered, not even winded, adjusting his cheer top and shaking glitter out of his sleeves.

“Because I drink three Red Bulls, don't sleep, and have emotional issues I project through flirty aggression!”

Shinsou tried to backpedal. Midoriya just picked him up again.

And spun.

“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME!” Midoriya shouted joyfully.

Shinsou flailed. “IS THIS ALLOWED?!”

“THERE’S NO RULE AGAINST AGGRESSIVE SPARKLE HUGGING,” Present Mic screamed. “AND THERE SURE AS HELL ISN’T ONE AGAINST VIOLENT COURTSHIP!”

“I want to go home,” Shinsou mumbled, upside-down.

“I am home,” Midoriya said, twirling again. “This ring is my stage. You are my scene partner. Let’s make magic.”

With one final flourish, Midoriya flung him skyward, caught him with terrifying accuracy, and suplexed him into a perfect cradle.

Shinsou blinked up at the stadium lights, dazed.

“I feel like I was emotionally mugged,” he muttered.

“I call this move The Romantic Powerbomb ,” Midoriya cooed.

Midnight raised the flag, barely able to contain her laughter. “Winner: Midoriya!”

Shinsou didn’t even get up. He just laid there, arms sprawled out, whispering to himself.

Midoriya stood, blew a kiss to the judges’ table, and pointed at the camera again.

“Aizawa-sensei! Did you see?! I didn’t even sweat! I’d throw YOU around too, if you’d let me!”

---

Aizawa dropped his forehead to the table. “Expel him. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the festival. I’ll do it myself.”

Nezu, cackling into his teacup, replied, “No you won’t.”

---

Online people were having mixed reactions.

@HeroFever: “Midoriya’s wearing a cheer uniform, sparkling like a divine idol, and bodyslamming his way through the tournament. I’ve never known love like this.”

@BigThreeEdits: “This is no longer a sports festival. It’s a drag-infused war ballet and Midoriya is the general.”

@Bakubro420: “bro i hated him last week but now i would die for him. also how did that skirt stay on. science?”

@GlitterSuplexDaily: “Did anyone else see the sparkle cloud when he threw that guy?? Physics said no. Midoriya said YES”

@AizawaSpouseActual: “I LOVE what he’s doing I just HATE that he did it to a boy who wasn’t Aizawa. Where is Aizawa. Why isn’t Aizawa being suplexed lovingly.”

@Eradeku4Life: “OKAY BUT LISTEN. Izuku can glitter suplex whoever he wants but if he doesn’t save that raw, unfiltered feral twink energy for Aizawa-sensei, then what are we even doing here.”

@CanonOrWeRiot: “If this doesn’t end in Aizawa dramatically confessing his feelings from the stands while Izuku blows glitter kisses back up at him, I will sue the Hero Commission.”

@ZawaIzukuShippers: “He touched another man and we’re being SO BRAVE ABOUT IT 😭😭😭”

@FanficQueen13: “It’s giving glittery unhinged loyalty, it’s giving hopeless crush on your hot grumpy teacher, it’s giving ‘I only sparkle for Aizawa-sensei but I’ll destroy others as a show of mating prowess.’”

@MidoZawaTCC (Tactical Chaos Campaign): “Reminder: Any closeness with someone who is not Aizawa is a battle tactic. Midoriya is clearly demonstrating agility and flexibility as a courting ritual. This is fine. Everything is fine.”

Chapter 30

Midoriya strolled down the hallway, glitter still trailing faintly behind him like some sort of fabulous comet of doom. 

He was humming, light on his feet, high on victory and unresolved authority issues.

“Now,” he said to himself, twirling once in front of a trophy case, “where is my extremely grumpy mentor who definitely saw me flirt-suplex a boy unconscious?”

Somewhere, hiding behind a vending machine, Aizawa sneezed. Violently.

Midoriya paused. Squinted.

“…No,” he said aloud. “Too obvious. He’s better than that. Probably burrowed into a ceiling tile like a sleepy raccoon.”

As he turned a corner, still on the hunt, he bumped into a wall. Except the wall growled.

“Watch it,” said the wall. Or, more accurately, said Endeavor, number one hero, man made entirely of testosterone and fire, currently glaring down at Midoriya like he was a cockroach in a tutu.

Midoriya looked up. Blinked. “Oh. Hi, Fire Daddy.”

Endeavor scowled, flames flickering at the edges of his coat. “Do not call me that.”

“I absolutely will continue to call you that.”

“You think you’re impressive? All that sparkle and shouting? You’re going to lose. The moment you face Shoto, you’ll crumble. My son, he has potential. Power. Ice and fire. You have… glitter.”

Midoriya beamed. “I have rage and flair. That’s a deadly combo.”

Endeavor ignored him. “Shoto will destroy you. With discipline. With control. You’re just loud. He’s—”

“Hot and emotionally complex?” Midoriya interrupted. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s kind of my thing.”

Endeavor’s eye twitched. “You don’t stand a chance.”

Midoriya tilted his head. “I beat a guy with one move and unresolved trauma. What do you have? A trench coat and five court-mandated therapy sessions you ghosted?”

“I- what- HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT-” Endeavor bellowed, flames flickering at his shoulders.

“Oh please, you give off divorced energy,” Midoriya said, patting him on the arm. “It’s okay. You’ll find love again. Probably with a mirror.”

Endeavor looked moments away from spontaneous combustion.

“I should- You-! This-!!” he sputtered.

Midoriya, smiling serenely, twirling in his cheerleading skirt. “Anyway, thanks for the motivational speech. I’m off to find Aizawa sensei and emotionally blackmail him into acknowledging my existence.”

He turned on his heel and sauntered away, ponytail bouncing.

Behind him, Endeavor growled, adjusted his coat, and shoved his hand into his pocket.

And froze.

“My wallet,” he whispered, horror dawning on his face.

Far down the hall, Midoriya whistled innocently, flipping open a very expensive leather wallet and pulling out a black credit card.

“I’m gonna buy so many glitter cannons.”

---

Aizawa crouched behind a wall. His capture scarf was wrapped around a door as a decoy, and his phone was on silent, flipped face-down like it could betray him by association.

Hiding from students wasn’t new. Hiding from Izuku Midoriya, however, that was an elite-tier challenge. 

The kid had the tracking instincts of a bloodhound and the emotional persistence of a rejected anime protagonist two episodes from a confession scene.

“I just need twenty-four hours,” Aizawa muttered, sipping cold coffee and praying to whatever higher power handled teacher-student boundaries. 

“Twenty-four hours without sparkle, shouting, or unsolicited affection-based wrestling.”

A gentle ding rang out from the hallway.

He froze.

Then came the voice. That voice. Too cheerful. Too caffeinated. Too here.

“Ooooooh, what’s this? A glitter cannon that launches biodegradable sparkles and plays dramatic K-pop drops on impact?! Add to cart!”

Aizawa slowly peeked over the corner.

There, sitting crisscross-applesauce in the middle of the hallway floor like an internet gremlin, was Midoriya Izuku, cheer uniform still glittery and hair slightly windblown.

He scrolled through his phone and spun a credit card, that suspiciously had the name Todoroki Enji on it, like a fidget spinner.

“Free shipping if I spend over 5000 yen?” Midoriya gasped. “Well, now it’s financially irresponsible not to buy three of them.”

Aizawa stared. He could slip away. He could still escape.

He shifted his weight.

The floor creaked.

Shota cursed under his breath Nezu because they were a high-end school and the floors didn’t just creak by themselves.

---

Nezu cackled watching the situation from the security cameras in his office.

---

Midoriya’s head snapped up like a hunting dog.

“…Sensei?”

Aizawa stood slowly. Like a man who knew he had lost.

Midoriya lit up like a disco ball in love. “THERE YOU ARE!”

“No,” Aizawa said immediately, holding up both hands like he was facing down a wild bear. 

“No declarations. No hugs. No airlift suplexes. We are in a school building.”

Midoriya was already standing. Already sparkling. “But Sensei, I WON! Did you see me? I did a whole combo move! It was like a sparkly powerbomb of love!”

“I watched,” Aizawa said wearily. “I haven’t stopped watching. I haven’t slept since.”

“Aw, Sensei,” Midoriya said, practically glowing. “You’ve been watching me.” He batted his eyes, a teasing smile on his lips.

“No, not like that.” Aizawa muttered. “I have concerns. There’s a difference.”

Midoriya skipped up, holding out a phone like a child showing a parent their macaroni art. 

“Anyway, do you want the glitter cannon that shoots heart-shaped smoke or the one that does neon stars? I’m buying them in pairs. One for me. One for you. We could match!”

“You’re using Endeavor’s credit card,” Aizawa said flatly.

Midoriya winked. “That’s why it’s not a crime, it’s redistribution of wealth. He’ll survive.”

“Do I need to call security?”

“You are security, Sensei.”

“I could expel you.”

“I’d enroll again under a fake name. You know I would. Don’t test me.”

There was a long pause. Then, very softly, Aizawa sighed into his hands and muttered, “I should’ve transferred to General Studies.”

Midoriya looped an arm around his waist and put his chin on his chest, gently pressing the phone back into Aizawa’s hands. “So. Neon stars?”

Aizawa stared at the screen.

It sparkled back.

“Fine,” he said, defeated. “But only because the school’s budget won’t cover stress therapy and if I’m going down, I’m going down with artillery.”

Midoriya squealed and fully wrapped him into a hug.

Aizawa didn’t even fight it this time.

Chapter 31

Midoriya was mid twirl, humming the theme song to Glitter Force when the hallway flickered.

Literally flickered. Like the budget got cut.

He paused, confused.

Then a figure appeared out of nowhere. Silent. Stoic. Beautiful. Slightly backlit like a tragic anime character entering their villain arc.

Midoriya, startled, did what any normal person would do when a mysterious figure spawns in front of them unannounced.

He punched him square in the face.

“AH! Home invasion instincts! I’m sorry!” Midoriya gasped, already reaching for his lip gloss and some glitter band-aids.

Shoto Todoroki blinked. Ice formed under his feet. His nose was red but otherwise unbothered. “You hit hard.”

“You materialized like a Sims character during a power surge!”

Shoto shrugged. “Follow me.”

“Wait, what? Aren’t you mad? Shouldn’t there be yelling? A duel? A legal notice?”

But Shoto was already walking away. Like a cryptid. Or a sad lamp in a trench coat.

Curiosity, and a slightly concerning attraction to emotionally unavailable men, got the better of Izuku.

He followed.

---

They stopped in front of a supply closet.

“A dark closet?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow. “Are you aura farming in here? Because I will report you. This is a PvE zone.”

Shoto blinked. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Uh huh.”

He opened the door and stepped inside. Midoriya followed, fully prepared for murder, romance, or a bizarre combination of both.

Inside, it was quiet. Just the faint buzz of fluorescent lighting and the weirdly fresh scent of janitorial lemon wipes.

Shoto turned, serious. “Are you related to All Might?”

Midoriya blinked. “Yes.”

That was a lie. A blatant, unrepentant lie.

Shoto nodded slowly like he had just confirmed a conspiracy theory. “I knew it.”

There was a pause. An awkward, soul-stretching silence.

Midoriya shifted. “Sooo…”

“My father is a monster,” Shoto said suddenly, eyes distant, voice like a sad violin solo on a rainy rooftop.

“Oh.”

“I once burned my own noodles because he yelled at me during dinner prep.”

“…Oh.”

“I have three siblings,” Shoto said, eyes fixed on something only he could see. “One of them set our house on fire.”

“Oh,” said Midoriya, mentally backing away from the glitter cannon in his brain.

“My brother Touya died.”

“Uhm”

Shoto continued like he hadn’t heard. “My sister is nice. Like, actually nice. Which is suspicious. I don’t trust it.”

Midoriya nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

“My mom threw boiling water on my face when I was five.”

Midoriya’s soul left his body briefly.

“She’s in a mental hospital now,” Shoto added like that made the boiling water part normal.

“I grew up being told I was a masterpiece. But like, a weapon masterpiece. Not a ‘you did a good job on your macaroni art’ masterpiece. You know?”

“I’m not sure I do but please continue.”

Shoto looked at him uncomfortably long. 

He then nodded, satisfied. “Good talk.”

Then he turned and left.

Midoriya stood, blinking, unsure if this was emotional intimacy or a side quest.

“…What the hell just happened?” he whispered.

The mop in the corner offered no answers.

---

Midoriya wandered the halls with the jittery energy of someone who had just seen a classmates soul leak out in a janitorial closet and wasn’t sure if that made them closer or in mortal danger.

He walked with purpose. And by “purpose,” I mean chaotic, whispery muttering to himself while chewing the cap of a glitter pen and trying to decode trauma like it was a Sudoku puzzle.

Aizawa, who had just heated up leftover coffee and was halfway turning a corner, froze.

“No,” he said immediately and tried to backtrack, but Izuku had grabbed on to him before he could.

“I think I was trauma-proposed to in a broom closet,” Izuku said, voice an octave higher than normal and eyes wide like a haunted Victorian child.

Aizawa closed his eyes. Counted to four. Reopened them.

“Who?”

“Todoroki,” Midoriya whispered. 

“He spawned in front of me like a Final Boss cutscene, led me into a dark closet, asked if I was related to All Might—which I lied about—and then emotionally imploded like a quietly depressed piñata.”

Aizawa blinked. “And you followed him into the closet.”

“He looked sad! And hot! And like he had unresolved issues that could either kill me or lead to an intense enemies-to-lovers arc!”

“Why would you lie about being related to All Might?”

“I PANICKED! HE WAS LOOKING AT ME LIKE A GHOST WITH A THESIS!”

Aizawa, very slowly, put his coffee down.

Midoriya began pacing in frantic zigzags, arms flailing like his glitter cannons had short-circuited. 

“He told me his sister is too nice and therefore suspicious, his brother is dead, his other brother tried arson, his mom boiled his face, and his dad is emotionally bankrupt with a God complex.”

Aizawa stared. “That’s… unfortunately accurate.”

Midoriya stopped mid-stride. “Wait. So you knew this?!”

“I have access to their files, problem child.”

“And you LET HIM CLOSET TRAUMA ME?”

“I didn’t send him. You just attract chaos.”

Midoriya slid down the wall like a Victorian lady who was just told her husband died.

“What am I supposed to do with this information? Bake him cookies? Offer him therapy? Challenge his trauma to a dance battle?!”

Aizawa sipped his coffee. “Do literally none of those things, well maybe except baking him cookies.”

Midoriya stared at the ceiling. “I think I imprinted on him like a glittery duckling.”

“Don’t.”

“Too late. We shared a janitorial moment. That’s legally binding.”

Aizawa sighed and finally sat. “If you feel the need to emotionally rescue Todoroki, do it quietly and far away from school property.”

Midoriya perked up. “So, I can rescue him?”

“I said quietly. And no glitter cannons. Or motivational powerballads. Or, God forbid, a cheer routine.”

Midoriya pulled out a sparkly clipboard. “Too late, I already have a seven-phase emotional support plan titled Project: Cold Boy, Warm Hugs.”

Aizawa stood back up with his soba. “I’m going back to pretending I’m on a different plane of existence.”

Midoriya watched him go, then turned dramatically to a wall.

“I will emotionally repair you, Todoroki Shoto,” he whispered to the breeze. “Even if it takes two broom closets.”

The wall, tragically, did not respond.

Chapter 32

The stadium was electric. Crowds roared. Aizawa already had a migraine.

Midoriya stood across from Shoto in the arena, arms twitching with nervous energy and at least three emergency glitter capsules strapped to his skirt “just in case.”

Present Mic was yelling something loud and probably dramatic.

---

Class 1-A leaned forward in synchronized dread.

“Oh no,” Iida muttered. “He’s going to do something unhinged , isn’t he?”

“Do something ? He already brought glitter grenades to a combat match,” Yaoyorozu whispered, clutching her juice box with rising horror.

Mina grinned. “I hope it’s a proposal.”

Bakugou snarled. “I SWEAR TO GOD IF HE FLIRTS HIS WAY TO ANOTHER WIN—”

---

Shoto stared at him, emotionless. Intense. Like a beautiful anime wallpaper that was hiding deep psychological issues and also possibly ready to commit murder.

Midoriya raised a hand. Not to punch. Not to fight.

To wave.

“Hi,” he said.

Shoto blinked.

The audience blinked.

Aizawa sighed.

“What are you doing?” Shoto asked, already on guard.

“Look, I know this is supposed to be a fight,” Midoriya said, inching forward with alarming sincerity, “but I think we need a hug more than we need conflict.”

Shoto stared at him like he’d just offered to emotionally defuse a landmine using a friendship bracelet.

“This is a combat event.”

“Yes. But also a healing opportunity.”

“This is not therapy.”

“It could be.”

“No.”

“I’m gonna hug you.”

“Don’t.”

Midoriya lunged.

The audience collectively gasped.

---

Fat Gum blinked. “Wait, is that allowed?”

Cementoss sighed. “Technically, he’s just approaching. We have to wait for impact.”

All Might, hiding a grin, “That’s the spirit of a true hero. Resolving conflict with uh, interpretive affection.”

Endeavor looked like he was trying to explode through sheer disapproval.

---

Shoto sidestepped so fast he left a light dusting of ice and existential dread in his wake.

Midoriya missed and did a cartwheel to keep himself from falling. He popped up, unfazed. “That’s fair. Boundaries. I respect that. But also, consensual hugging builds trust-”

Shoto launched a wall of ice.

Midoriya dodged.

“IS THIS BECAUSE I LIED ABOUT BEING ALL MIGHT’S SON?”

Shoto’s face twitched. “You what?!”

“You trauma-dumped on me in a broom closet!” Midoriya shouted, backflipping away from a blast of ice. “That means something!”

“You punched me in the face!”

“You teleported in front of me like a sleep paralysis demon!”

A pause.

Then Shoto yelled, “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW ME!”

“I’M TRYING TO!”

“You’re insane!”

“I BROUGHT YOU COOKIES!”

The ice blast paused mid-launch.

“…What kind of cookies?”

“Emotional stability flavor.”

Shoto launched himself forward with ice-powered momentum.

Midoriya launched forward with glitter-powered delusion.

They collided.

A shockwave exploded across the arena, half hice, half sparkles, all teenage trauma.

The crowd lost their collective minds.

Aizawa lowered his capture scarf over his eyes. “I’m not paid enough for this.”

A column of fire erupted between them. Hot, fierce, and absolutely panicked.

Shoto used it not to attack, but to run.

He blasted himself backward like a tragic firework, skimming across the ice like a flaming bobsled of emotional avoidance.

“NOPE,” he shouted mid-air, voice cracking just slightly. “I’M NOT DOING THIS!”

Midoriya coughed on the smoke, blinking through the steam and glitter haze. “Did he just retreat?”

“Yes,” Aizawa muttered from the speakers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Like a traumatized Looney Tune.”

Midoriya narrowed his eyes. He crouched.

The camera cut to a dramatic close-up of his sparkly shoes.

“This isn’t over.”

Cue stealth music. Cue ninja pose.

He took off after Shoto with all the silence of a glitter-powered forest creature, darting between icy spikes and fire-blasted tiles like a sparkly assassin of emotional reparation.

Shoto had perched dramatically on a glacier, panting, eyes wide and very much trying to pretend he wasn’t moments from combusting inside and out.

He sensed something.

Turned.

Too late.

Midoriya dropped from above like a chaotic therapy owl and gently grabbed Shoto around the middle.

“WHAT-”

“I’m doing this gently!”

“Don’t you DARE-!”

And then, with the care of someone placing a precious glass vase on a table, Midoriya slowly set Todoroki down.

Outside the arena boundary.

A single whistle blew.

The match ended.

Silence.

Then absolute chaos.

Present Mic was losing his voice. Bakugou was screaming obscenities. Yaoyorozu dropped her juice box. Aizawa just sat down on the ground and let the earth hold him.

Midoriya dusted his hands off. “That was the softest ring-out in tournament history.”

Shoto lay flat on his back in the grass, eyes wide, expression blank. “Did you just sneak hug throw me?”

“I sneak hug placed you.”

A pause.

Then, quietly, Shoto muttered, “I hate how safe that felt.”

Midoriya beamed. “Victory.”

---

The internet exploded. Again.

@HugQuirkConfirmed : THAT’S MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT MADMAN
@TododekuCanon : Shoto is now in therapy. His name is Izuku Midoriya.
@QuirkPsych : I have never seen a more effective use of gentle contact in combat. I am taking notes.
@GlitterDadRights : He said he only flirts with Aizawa. HE SAID THAT.
@MidoriSawa4Life : this is fine this is fine this is a healing side quest he still loves our sleep-deprived disaster dad
@EraseMeSoftly : I will not be gaslit by glitter
@CanonWhen : I’m holding the ship together with duct tape and denial please send help

---

Aizawa, watching from the commentary box, didn’t even blink at the influx of tagged posts and trending hashtags. He calmly turned off his phone mid-vibration. “I don’t know them,” he said. Present Mic cackled into the mic. “Bro, you’re trending again. ”

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Shoto had not moved.

He remained horizontal on the grass like someone who had just been emotionally assassinated by a warm beverage commercial. His eyes stared blankly at the sky, replaying the moment a boy in glitter and eyeliner had gently hug-yeeted him out of the tournament.

He was processing.

Poorly.

Meanwhile, Midoriya was being escorted off the battlefield like a champion, or perhaps a beloved local menace. Either way, the support robots had started playing upbeat elevator music and vacuuming up the leftover sparkles, which were now classified as a stage hazard.

Recovery Girl was muttering to herself as she dusted off her equipment. “I went to medical school for this. Medical school. ”

---

In the stands, Class 1-A was still a collection of open mouths and spiritual injuries.

“Did… did he win by comforting his opponent out of the ring?” Tsuyu croaked, voice teetering between awe and mild concern.

“He weaponized emotional vulnerability,” Kaminari said, haunted.

“I am unwell,” Yaoyorozu whispered, clutching her empty juice box like a lifeline.

“HE’S CHEATING,” Bakugou screamed, vein on forehead visibly throbbing. “YOU CAN’T WIN A FIGHT WITH THERAPY!”

---

Izuku was now currently skipping from the bathroom after fixing his hair, which was now in two pigtails with bright pink scrunchies and hair glitter covering everything, when he decided to go to the cafeteria for a snack. 

He strutted down the hallway like a sparkly gremlin prince, glitter drifting from him like pollen from an aggressively affectionate flower.

Every time he passed a student, they blinked in dazed reverence or sheer terror.

"Is... is that the guy who hug-threw Todoroki?" one whispered. "He's a menace," said another. "He's my idol," a third declared, clutching a notebook titled How to Weaponize Love and Glitter .

Midoriya, entirely unaware of the chaos he left in his wake, twirled once for no reason other than vibes, then moonwalked into the cafeteria.

He pointed dramatically at Lunch Rush. "Sir. I require emotional recovery snacks. The sparkles have spoken."

Lunch Rush, a man who had cooked for Pro Heroes during active warzones, paused. “…What do you want?”

“Mac and cheese. With a side of closure.” A beat. “…and tater tots.”

Lunch Rush didn’t even blink. “Coming right up.”

---

While the matches continued to go on, Izuku realized he would have to fight Bakugou. Knowing this he sighed dramatically and flopped sideways onto the cafeteria bench, one pigtail falling into his ketchup.

“Why,” he whispered to the ceiling, “must I suffer for my charisma?”

Across from him, Hatsume Mei had reappeared, possibly by phasing through the table. “You’re fighting Bakugou, huh?” she said, munching a churro she had definitely not paid for.

“Yes,” Izuku groaned. “I fear for my life.”

“Have you considered psychological warfare?” she asked.

Izuku blinked at her. His mind filled with the pages he had read of Bakugou tormenting the Izuku before him. Then smiled darkly. “I like the way you think.” He then skipped away, the ketchup magically gone, surrounded by sparkles. 

Hatsume watched him go feeling an unusual cold sweat coming over her.

---

The arena buzzed with tension. This was the match everyone had been waiting for.

Bakugou stood in his corner like a landmine with a grudge. Explosive, furious, and vibrating with barely contained rage.

Across from him was Izuku.

But this wasn't the glittering menace who hug-threw Todoroki like a warm, sparkly missile.

No.

This Izuku was smiling softly. Calm. Too calm. Glitter still dusted his cheeks like stardust, but his eyes—his eyes were dark.

Still. Patient. Knowing.

Bakugou sneered. “You gonna throw sparkles at me, Deku?”

Izuku tilted his head. “Why would I do that, Bakugou? You already sparkle. With deep, unresolved issues.”

Bakugou twitched.

The crowd chuckled nervously.

Izuku didn’t move from his corner.

“You know,” he said casually, “I used to think you hated me because I was weak. That I was pathetic. That I didn’t deserve a Quirk.”

His voice was still light. But it echoed strangely.

“I was wrong.”

Bakugou frowned. “The hell are you on about?”

“I figured it out,” Izuku continued. “You didn’t hate me because I was weak. You hated me because I wasn’t . I kept getting back up. Again. And again. And again.”

He took a slow step forward.

“You couldn’t break me. No matter how many times you tried. And now you’re terrified of me. Not because I got a Quirk.”

Another step.

“But because I’ve always been stronger than you . ”

Bakugou backed up half an inch. Just one. Just a sliver. But the whole arena noticed.

Izuku smiled wider.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You called me Deku for years, Katsuki. You made that name mean worthless. But guess what?”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I like it now.”

A long, eerie silence.

The cameras zoomed in on Bakugou’s face, wide-eyed, pale, sweat dripping down his neck.

The crowd wasn’t cheering anymore.

Midoriya walked closer.

“I made that name mine,” he whispered, low and cold. “I turned your insult into something beautiful . That means I own you now. Your words. Your rage. Your fear.”

He stopped just inches away.

“Tell me, Kacchan.”

He leaned in.

“What do you have left?”

Bakugou screamed. He swung, explosions cracking the air like thunder, but Izuku’s presence had already evaporated from where he stood. The only thing left was the cold whisper behind Bakugou’s ear, sharper than any blade.

“You thought I was a mistake. A weakness. But I was always your reckoning.”

Bakugou turned and swung blindly, panic written across every movement, explosions going off at random like a child throwing tantrums in the dark.

But Izuku danced.

Effortless.

Controlled.

And smiling.

By the time Bakugou fell to his knees. Out of breath, out of strength, out of rage, Midoriya hadn’t laid a hand on him.

He didn’t need to.

Izuku’s voice curled around him again, low and insidious.

“Every scream you shouted at me. Every scar you wanted to carve into my skin. They built me. Not just stronger, but untouchable . You trained me for this moment, Bakugou. You didn’t break me, you forged a weapon. And now… I’m the nightmare in your reflection. The person who you feared would become better than you now is.”

Bakugou’s eyes darted, panic blooming like wildfire. His body shook, mind scrambling to find an outlet, a way to claw back control, but the more he fought, the deeper the paralysis took hold. 

Izuku’s silhouette appeared behind Bakugou once more, voice a haunting lullaby of menace.

“You thought I was your punching bag. Your problem to solve. But I am far beyond that now.”

He stepped close enough for Bakugou to feel the chill in his breath, glitter catching the harsh arena lights like tiny stars trapped in darkness.

“Tell me,” Izuku said softly, “who’s broken now?”

Bakugou’s face hit the ground, chest heaving with desperate gasps. The rage had burned out completely, replaced by something colder, something more terrifying. 

Utter helplessness.

Izuku turned towards Midnight waiting for her to call the match, a smile returning to his face, but it wasn’t a happy one, it was a smile carved from shadows and sharp edges.

---

“I… I no longer feel safe,” Kaminari whispered from the stands.

“Did he just emotionally vivisect Bakugou?” asked Mina, clutching Jirou’s arm.

Tsuyu’s wide eyes blinked rapidly. “This isn’t a fight anymore. This is horror.”

---

Up in the announcer box, Aizawa dropped his scarf onto his lap and closed his eyes, pride curling its way across his usually unreadable face. “I was prepared for explosions. I wasn’t prepared for therapy horror,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the buzz but filled with approval. 

Present Mic stared mournfully at the replay, where Bakugou’s pride collapsed in slow motion. “That’s going to stick,” he said, almost somber. “You can’t just put an ice pack on that, man. He’s gonna need a priest.”

---

Down on the field, Midnight cleared her throat three times before she remembered which muscle to use to raise the mic. Her voice wavered as she declared, “Winner: Midoriya Izuku.” 

Applause fizzled out as soon as it started. Maybe out of respect. Maybe out of fear. The support robots just quietly resumed sweeping glitter and Bakugou-shaped scorch marks, careful not to look anyone in the eye.

---

Meanwhile online

@GlitterMage92:
“Ok but did Midoriya just emotionally assassinate Bakugou?? Like someone call the emotional ambulance, he’s out cold 😳😭 #TherapyHorror”

@BakugouBeware:
“I’m shook. The only thing exploding was Bakugou’s fragile ego and now I’m terrified for him. Can someone check if he still remembers his own name?? #DekusMindGames”

@PigtailPrince:
“Deku in pigtails? Sparkles everywhere? Honestly, I’m here for the glitter revolution. Also 10/10 for psychological warfare. This is peak villain energy but make it adorable 💖✨”

@ShotoStillFrozen:
“I feel personally attacked by this whole thing. Shoto is still out there thinking about that hug-throw. Someone please bring him a heating pad and a hug that doesn’t end in elimination 😢”

@AizawaStansUnite: “Did anyone else notice Midoriya’s eyes when he said ‘Tell me, Kacchan, what do you have left?’ Yeah, he was definitely flirting with Aizawa energy. This is not a fight, it’s a mood 💅 #MidoriyaXSensei”

@SupportRobotWatching: “Support robots still sweeping glitter but honestly, I’m the one who’s shaken. Midoriya’s voice was too smooth, too cold. This is like watching your therapist in a boxing match and them winning. WTF?”

@Class1A_Cheerleader: “This is exactly why I stan the guy who can fight with glitter and feelings. Honestly, Bakugou can implode, I’m just here for the chaos and pigtails. #WeaponizeLove”

@BakugouFanboyConfused: “Ok, why am I scared for Bakugou but also kinda impressed? Like, Deku just ghosted him with words and that was it . I’m half afraid, half in awe. This is some next-level rivalry stuff.”

@MidoriyaNGlitter: “Plot twist: Midoriya is the villain AND the hero and the sparkle fairy godparent all at once. And I’m living for this. Also did he wink at Aizawa at the end or am I hallucinating?? #ShipSailingStrong”

---

Class 1-A Group Chat: “We’re All In Danger”

[Kirishima]: Bakugou hasn’t moved in 10 minutes. Do we check if he’s breathing orrrr…

[Jirou]: He blinked when I said “Deku.” So I think he’s alive. Emotionally? Debatable.

[Mina]: WAIT HAVE Y’ALL SEEN THE INTERNET RN

* [Screenshot attached by Mina:]

@AizawaStansUnite: “Deku was performing for someone and it wasn’t Bakugou 😏 Sensei’s deadpan means he’s intrigued #DaddyDekuEnergy”

[Denki]: OH MY GOD MIDORIYA JUST SOFTCORE FLIRTED THROUGH A PSYCHIC BREAKDOWN AND AIZAWA DIDN’T EVEN BLINK?? 💀💀

[Tokoyami]: Midoriya walks the line between light and horror. I respect it. Dark Shadow’s scared though.

[Dark Shadow]: HE LOOKED INTO MY SOUL. I SAW ETERNAL GLITTER.

 

Notes:

Sorry for taking so long guys

Chapter 34

Izuku stood on the first-place podium, posing and blowing kisses toward Aizawa, who was still in the announcer’s booth, wearing an expression that was a peculiar mix of reluctant pride and mild horror. Like a man trying desperately not to chuckle at a particularly disastrous circus act.

Izuku’s cheer uniform still looked pristine. Not a single sequin out of place. His curls were suspiciously perfect, framing his face like he had backstage access to a salon between events. His legs sparkled. His short-shorts shimmered. His victory pose involved finger guns, a wink, and a dramatic hair toss that should’ve been illegal under school dress code and most broadcasting standards.

Camera shutters snapped like popcorn around him, capturing his every movement.

Down to his right, on the second-place podium, Bakugou was dissociating. Fully and irreversibly gone. There was violence in his eyes, but no one home behind them. He stared into the middle distance with the dead focus of a man watching every mistake he’s ever made unfold in real time. Occasionally, his hands twitched—tiny micro-explosions blooming in his palms like his body was trying to self-destruct out of shame.

On Izuku’s left, Todoroki stood like a statue, frozen mid-thought, arms at his sides and gaze fixed on an invisible point in the cosmos. He looked like someone had hit pause on his life, leaving him in a state of serene confusion. Did he even know he was on a podium? Or had he transcended to a higher plane of existence where medals and competitions held no meaning?

Aizawa rubbed his face with both hands in the announcer’s booth. Present Mic had long since given up commentary and was wheezing quietly into his mic in what might’ve been laughter or a hernia.

On the field, All Might stood stiffly holding three medals and a fancy bouquet, looking like he wanted to throw himself into the sun. He gave a cautious glance at Izuku, who was now blowing a kiss in slow motion while twirling like a ballerina. The skirt fluttered just enough to make the camera crews zoom in. One of the drones may have gotten blinded by sparkle.

“Let’s, uh… begin the award ceremony!” All Might boomed, in a voice far too chipper for a man who had just watched a students life crumble in a very sparkly, very public way.

The crowd erupted into cheers, a cacophony of excitement and disbelief.

Izuku struck a pose, arms raised high like a champion of chaos, ready to take on the world.

Bakugou didn’t flinch.

Todoroki blinked. Once. Maybe.

And somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered, “Is this really happening?”

All Might approached with the medals, moving like a man walking into a minefield, bouquet tucked under one arm like a makeshift shield. He started with Todoroki, because he was quiet, and wouldn’t try to stage a one-man Broadway production.

“Third place: Todoroki Shouto!” All Might said, slipping the medal over his head.

Todoroki didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, eyes staring off into some faraway existential void, possibly pondering the structural integrity of glitter or the futility of human ambition.

Then All Might turned to Bakugou. “Second place: Bakugou Katsuki.”

Bakugou made no sound, didn’t react. All Might had to gently lift his chin like one would with a possessed mannequin. As soon as the medal was placed, Bakugou’s palms sparked. It wasn’t a thank-you. It was the start of an internal combustion process fueled entirely by rage and shame.

All Might turned to Izuku with the reluctance of a man handing a loaded confetti cannon to a toddler.

“First place… Midoriya Izuku.”

Izuku twirled forward like a figure skater accepting Olympic gold, arms extended, face radiant, and utterly immune to shame.  “Thank you, thank you,” Izuku beamed as the medal was placed around his neck. “I’d like to say a few words—”

“No, please don’t,” Present Mic wheezed into the mic.

“—first and foremost,” Izuku continued, undeterred, “to the love of my life, my reason for breathing, my brooding prince of capture tape and dry sarcasm, Aizawa Sensei. I dedicate this win, this sparkle, this high amount of thigh exposure… to you.”

Aizawa dropped his head onto the announcer’s desk with a very prominent thud. Present Mic was audibly choking.

“I also,” Izuku said, flipping his curls, “wish to thank Principal Nezu, my enabler, supplier, and spiritual mentor, for the industrial-grade glitter delivery that made this moment possible. He said I was ‘an agent of chaos and a public relations nightmare.’ I wear that badge with pride.”

Nezu, watching from the staff section, sipped his tea serenely and clapped like a man watching Rome burn for the aesthetic.

---

The Pro Heroes in the stands were having mixed reactions.

Midnight was on her feet, hollering, “SHOW THAT LEG, BABY!”

Endeavor looked like someone had run over his dog and then made it wear heels.

Hawks was recording it all with the gleeful enthusiasm of a man compiling blackmail for future entertainment.

---

Meanwhile, Class 1-A was in freefall.

“Oh my god, he’s still going,” Iida muttered, frantically trying to hide behind his hand.

“Did he just confess on live television again?” Uraraka squeaked.

“He’s still in the cheer outfit,” Jirou added faintly. “The skirt is… still so short.”

“Honestly, good for him,” Mina said, halfway through streaming it to her followers.

---

And online?

#MidoriyaMidriff was trending within seconds.

Other top hashtags included #AizawaRun, #SparkleMenace, and #PublicConfessionGoneTooFar.

One popular fan edit had already surfaced. 

It was a slow-motion montage of Izuku’s twirl set to dramatic orchestral music, with Aizawa’s horrified expression superimposed in the background.

---

All Might blinked awkwardly. “Midoriya, son, that’s… quite enough.”

“Agreed,” Aizawa’s voice crackled over the announcer’s mic. “He’s going back to general studies. Today.”

Izuku blew him one last kiss.

---

The Sports Festival was over. The crowd had dispersed. The camera drones had stopped following him. And yet Izuku, still in his cheer uniform and still sparkling like a high-end disco ball, was not going quietly into that good night.

He strutted down the street like a fashion-forward storm, hips swaying, medal bouncing against his chest, and sequins catching the late afternoon sun in dazzling flashes. 

The skirt twirled with every step, and his curls were still suspiciously perfect, as if styled by angels. The thigh-high socks were a personal attack on modesty and national broadcast regulations.

He was carrying a bouquet of flowers, his first-place medal, and the smug aura of a man who had just emotionally shattered two prodigies and made a public confession with the same energy as a pop idol’s farewell tour.

People noticed.

“OH MY GOD IT’S HIM!” someone shouted from across the street.

A group of middle school girls ran up, phones out, squealing in horror and admiration.

“Are you really Midoriya from the Sports Festival?” one asked, eyes wide.

“I am,” Izuku said, striking a finger-gun pose. “Want an autograph?”

They shrieked. One fainted. Another handed over her sketchbook, trembling.

“Oh my god, my cousin said you were a myth—”

“I saw the twirl live. The twirl!”

“Can you sign this glitter pen? It just feels right.”

He did. All of it. With flourishes and hearts and the occasional lipstick kiss mark from a borrowed tube someone handed him like a sacrificial offering.

Behind the fan cluster, however, not everyone was thrilled.

A man waiting at the crosswalk slowly turned his child away like he was shielding them from a cursed object.

Two elderly ladies clutched their handbags and made the sign of the cross.

One woman stared at him dead-on, looked at her coffee, then poured it into the nearest trash can and muttered, “I’m hallucinating again.”

Izuku didn’t care. He tossed a petal from his bouquet into the air and blew another kiss to the universe.

---

Izuku swung the door open with dramatic flair.

“I’m home!” Izuku called, striding in like he was being filmed for a Vogue behind-the-scenes video.

Inko looked up from the kitchen with a spoon in hand and nearly dropped it.

“IZUKU!” she gasped. Then paused.

Then squealed like a fangirl at a boy band concert.

“Oh honey, look at you!” she cried, rushing over. “The sequins! The medal! The legs! You look like vengeance in a miniskirt!”

“I am vengeance,” he said proudly, striking a glittery pose.

Inko grabbed his face, peppered him with kisses, and then flung open her phone.

“I told the other moms at the book club you were going to cause a scene! Mitsuki said you were too nice. Who’s laughing now, Mitsuki!? WHO’S LAUGHING NOW!?”

She immediately opened their group chat and began typing with the furious energy of someone liveblogging their child’s world domination.

“Mom,” Izuku giggled, flopping onto the couch. “You’re going to start a neighborhood war.”

“Oh sweetie, I already did. Now take a selfie with me, I need proof for the fridge shrine.”

They posed together. He blew a kiss. She did finger guns. It was offensive how proud she looked.

Outside, somewhere in the city, Bakugou stared at the ceiling of his bedroom with the expression of a man spiritually haunted by jazz hands.

But in the Midoriya household?

It was nothing but glitter, soup, and victory.

Chapter 35

The next morning, U.A. was buzzing like a beehive on caffeine. Students were still reeling from the Sports Festival, and Izuku Midoriya had morphed into a living legend overnight.

Rumors swirled like glitter in the air.

“Did you see the twirl?” “He confessed to Aizawa Sensei on mic, bro.” “Someone said Endeavor left the stadium crying blood.” “My cousin made an Etsy store for #MidoriyaMidriff merch.”

So, when Izuku Midoriya walked through the front gates, heads turned fast enough to cause collective whiplash.

He was, simply put, ethereal.

The girls’ uniform fit him like it was tailored by the fashion gods themselves. His green pleated skirt swished with every confident step. The pristine grey blouse was buttoned just enough to follow the rules while still breaking hearts like they were piñatas at a birthday party. The white dress shirt clung to his frame like it had a crush on him.

The black thigh high stockings hugged his thighs matching perfectly with his custom-made brown platform Doc Martens.

His hair was tied into a sleek high ponytail, with two curly pieces in the front, that swung like a judgmental metronome. 

He had a light touch of sparkling pink clear lip gloss. And his eyeliner?

Wicked. Winged. Lethal.

He walked like a pretty problem.

And he knew it.

Students froze mid-step. Whispers flew.

“Wait, is that Midoriya?” “Why is he prettier than me?” “Did he always have legs??” “Oh my god, I’m questioning everything.”

A third-year student leaned against a vending machine, watching the chaos unfold with a smirk that suggested he was enjoying the show a bit too much.

“Yo,” he called, tone smooth. “Didn’t think you could get prettier after the sports festival, but here we are. You got a name, or can I just keep calling you gorgeous?”

Midoriya glanced over, smiling with just a hint of mischief. “Depends. Are you prepared to suffer the consequences of flattery?”

The third year laughed. “You’re dangerous.”

Before Midoriya could reply, a dry voice cut in from nearby.

“Shouldn’t you be heading to class?”

Aizawa stood, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze wasn’t sharp or glaring, but it lingered on Midoriya just a beat too long before shifting to the upperclassman.

The third year straightened, suddenly very interested in the vending machine’s selection. “Ah—yes, Eraserhead, sir.”

Aizawa didn’t say anything else. He just raised an eyebrow in a way that made the upperclassman find urgent business elsewhere.

Midoriya, unfazed, tilted his head and batted his lashes. “Aw, Sensei, were you watching me?”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change. But his eye twitched. Just slightly.

“I was watching for rule violations,” he said flatly. “You’re… within parameters. Barely.”

“Oh? So you were looking.” Midoriya’s smile sharpened, eyes dancing with quiet chaos. “Noted.”

Aizawa exhaled like someone who’d just been handed a glitter bomb with the pin halfway pulled.

“Get to class.”

Midoriya stepped forward, passing him with the smooth elegance of a cat who just knocked over an expensive vase and blamed gravity.

“Of course, Sensei,” he purred. “Wouldn’t want to be tardy. You might punish me.”

Behind him, Aizawa’s fingers visibly flexed. Like he was trying very hard not to strangle a teenager or combust.

They walked toward Class 1-A in a tense, electric silence. Students parted like the Red Sea as Midoriya passed, half stunned, half enthralled. He winked at a second year and sent a girl clutching her chest dramatically against a locker.

Aizawa didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The weight of his gaze on everyone was enough to make even the vending machine beep nervously.

As they reached the classroom, Aizawa opened the door and gestured.

“In.”

Midoriya curtsied.

“After you, Sensei.”

“…Don’t push it.”

Midoriya winked again and stepped inside.

The room erupted.

Ashido gasped. “WHAT—”

Iida flailed. “M-MIDORIYA! That uniform is for—! You’re—!”

“Gorgeous,” Jirou muttered under her breath.

Kaminari fell out of his chair.

Midoriya slid into his seat with all the grace of a rom-com lead entering Act II. His skirt swished. His ponytail shimmered. His lip gloss glinted under the lights.

Aizawa rubbed his temples like he was trying to erase the memories of Izuku's existence.

“Alright everyone,” Aizawa began, dragging a hand down his face like this moment personally betrayed him, “after your… performance at the Sports Festival, most of you have gotten some offers.”

He didn’t look at Midoriya when he said performance. But he didn’t have to.

Midoriya was glowing. Not metaphorically. He had glitter on his collarbone and the early sunlight adored him.

“Your folders are in your desk cubbies,” Aizawa continued, voice strained. “Take a look. Internships are optional but recommended. Especially if you plan to survive this industry for more than five minutes.”

“Do they allow crop tops in internships?” Ashido asked, still staring at Midoriya like he was an alien revelation. “Because I feel like standards just changed forever.”

Midoriya crossed his legs slowly, gracefully. “Don’t worry, Mina. I’ve got a full rotation of statement pieces.”

Bakugou muttered something that sounded suspiciously like menace from where he was sitting, face down on his desk like he was pretending to be a corpse.

“Oh Bakugou, don’t be shy,” Midoriya cooed, his voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Say it with your chest. It’s fine.”

“EXPLODE YOURSELF!”

“I’m not sure that’s biologically possible,” Midoriya replied sweetly, flipping through his internship folder. “But I’m flattered you’re thinking about my anatomy.”

Aizawa made a noise that sounded like a balloon losing air and tossed a stress ball into the air, catching it with trained precision.

“Focus. This is still a classroom,” he deadpanned. “Even if one of you thinks it’s a Vogue runway.”

Midoriya smiled innocently. “You think I could model, Sensei?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Aizawa caught the stress ball a little harder this time.

The rest of the class began digging into their internship papers. 

As Izuku went through his papers Aizawa, for all his exhaustion and apathy, kept glancing at him from under his scarf. Just once. Just twice.

And that when he found it.

An internship paper with Eraserhead in bold letters at the top.

Izuku went utterly still.

He blinked at the page, once, then twice, as if it might vanish if he stared too hard. But no. It was there, in a clean professional typeface.

Pro Hero: Eraserhead (Shouta Aizawa)

Agency: Underground Response and Surveillance Operations (URSO)

Notes: Stealth reconnaissance, subversion tactics, underground hero work. Recommended for candidates with high adaptability, improvisation skills, and emotional resilience.

Personal Comment: “God help me.”

Midoriya’s eyes lit up like someone had just handed him a signed copy of How to Seduce Your Homeroom Teacher.

He turned his head just slightly, gaze flicking up to the front of the class.

Aizawa wasn’t looking at him.

But the tips of his ears were red.

Midoriya bit his lip to suppress a grin. It didn’t work. At all.

Beside him, Kaminari leaned over. “Yo, did you get one from Mt. Lady too? Her agency has good snacks—”

Midoriya slowly turned his paper around.

Kaminari stared.

“…You got one from Aizawa?”

Midoriya just smiled psychotically. “Apparently.”

From behind them, Sero let out a strangled wheeze. “Wait, wait, wait. Does that mean you’ll be working with him?”

“Alone?” Mina whispered, scandalized.

Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Dude, you’re brave.”

Bakugou didn’t look up, but a low growl vibrated through the desk.

Aizawa, perhaps out of pure self-preservation, cleared his throat. “Those offers were made by individual agencies based on your performance and records. You are not obligated to accept any specific one.”

“But Midoriya got yours,” Ashido pointed out. “You’re like, elite underground elite. You don’t take interns.”

Aizawa glared at the class like he could erase the conversation with his Quirk.

“I said you’re not obligated.”

Midoriya raised a hand, all sugar and sin.

“Yes, Midoriya?”

“I accept.”

A beat of silence passed. It dropped like a bomb.

“You haven’t even read the conditions yet.”

Midoriya tilted his head, lashes fluttering. “I’m very adaptable. And emotionally resilient. And stealthy. And full of surprises.”

Aizawa’s jaw flexed. “I’d advise caution. This isn’t a game. You’ll be in dangerous environments. High-pressure situations.”

Midoriya rested his chin on his hand. “Oh, I thrive under pressure.”

“You’ll regret it.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

There was a tense beat of silence as the class collectively realized they were not just witnessing a flirtation. They were witnessing a battlefield.

A deeply emotional, glitter-covered battlefield.

Finally, Aizawa sighed the sigh of a man who knew he was going to suffer and would do it anyway because fate is cruel and Midoriya was… Midoriya.

“Fine. You’ll report to my office after classes. Bring the proper documentation.”

“Yes sir,” Midoriya said cheerfully, already flipping the folder closed like it was a signed contract.

Aizawa didn’t answer.

He just rubbed his temples again and mumbled something about needing hazard pay.

Chapter 36

Aizawa’s office was dark, cold, and smelled vaguely like old coffee, leather, and crushed optimism.

Izuku walked in like he owned the place.

His steps were silent, calculated, but the swish of his skirt and the soft sparkle of his eyeshadow ruined any attempt at subtlety. He stood in the center of the room with the casual elegance of someone about to commit a stylish murder.

Aizawa didn’t look up from his desk at first. “Close the door.” Izuku did, slowly, quietly. The click echoed like a gunshot.

“Sit.”

Izuku giggled from the command and perched himself in the chair across from him, crossing his legs delicately. “Am I in trouble, Sensei?”

“No. Not yet,” Aizawa replied without blinking.

He finally looked up and immediately regretted it. Izuku was smiling again. The kind of smile you give a knife before introducing it to a throat.

Aizawa cracked open the folder in front of him and took a deep breath.

“This is a professional internship, Midoriya. You’re going to be in real field situations. That means surveillance, stakeouts, underground contacts, close-quarters recon. No theatrics. No flirting. No glitter. No… whatever that was at the award ceremony.”

Izuku’s grin widened, eyes glittering with mischief. “You watched it?”

Aizawa’s eye twitched. “The entire school watched it.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I wanted to die.”

Aizawa stared at him. Why does every conversation with this child feel like a negotiation with a fae creature that’s been kicked out of theater camp?

“Focus,” Aizawa snapped, rubbing his temples. He flipped a page. “Let’s go over protocol.”

He flipped to a page in the folder. “Scenario one: You’re embedded in a surveillance position. You’re watching a suspect. They leave the building early. What do you do?”

Izuku’s smile deepened, almost predatory.

Izuku leaned in, eyes sharp. “I follow at a safe distance. Blend with the crowd. Use my compact mirror to keep visual without breaking cover. Duck behind kiosks, signs, people. Ghost mode. Minimal glitter.”

Aizawa nodded, impressed despite himself.

“Acceptable.”

Izuku’s eyes glinted with a subtle, sinister light.

“But if needed... I’d consider seducing a bystander to create a distraction. Maybe slip something in their drink. Nothing deadly. Just enough to make them... malleable. Then, while they’re distracted, I slip past security like a ghost.”

Aizawa blinked, unease creeping in.

“But it’d be subtle. Tasteful. Maybe a lip gloss application and a wink. I can weaponize charm in thirteen different languages, Sensei.”

Aizawa squinted.

Izuku licked his lips slowly. “It’s not illegal if it’s glamorous.”

“That’s not a rule—”

“I have a sticker machine that says it is.”

“Scenario two,” Aizawa said, skipping ahead quickly before he lost his soul. “You’re sent into a known villain den as backup. Your team is compromised. What do you do?”

Izuku’s grin didn’t falter. His eyes shimmered with a strange glow.

“Sabotage the building’s infrastructure. Disable their comms. Use smoke, fire, whatever I need to make chaos. But that’s just the start.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper.

“I find one of the villains, preferably the leader. I plant seeds of doubt in their mind. Whisper their worst fears, secrets they thought buried. I unravel their psyche until they beg for mercy or self-destruct. If that fails, I can always mimic the voice of someone they lost... or worse.”

Aizawa inhaled sharply.

“Fear is a weapon,” Izuku said, eyes dark and wild.

Aizawa’s brows knit together, the weight of those words sinking in.

Izuku tilted his head, smiling sweetly but chilling.

“…And if even that doesn’t work?” Aizawa prompted cautiously.

Izuku’s grin spread, stretching a little too far.

“Then I fake a demonic possession,” he said, eyes gleaming unnaturally bright. “I’ve been practicing contorting my joints, speaking in tongues. You’d be surprised how effective a little chaos and fear can be in breaking someone’s will.”

Aizawa closed the folder slowly, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.

“Are you… okay?”

Izuku tilted his head, the sparkle in his eyes almost unsettling. “Define okay.”

“I mean mentally.”

“I’m having a great time,” he chirped, a grin stretching across his face that felt too wide, too eager.

Aizawa ran a hand down his face like he was trying to scrub off his own soul. “Midoriya. I need you to promise me one thing.”

Izuku leaned forward eagerly, like a raccoon about to receive a cursed gift. “Anything for you.”

“Don’t kill anyone.”

There was a pause.

Izuku blinked, mock offended. “You act like I go looking for it.”

“I’m serious. No glitter-based violence. No emotionally vaporizing criminals. No monologuing someone into an existential spiral.”

Izuku hummed thoughtfully. “Okay. But what if they try to hurt you?”

Aizawa opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed his eyes again like he was trying to wipe away reality.

“Then… try not to make it messy.”

Izuku placed a hand over his heart. “I will break their kneecaps with discretion and dignity.”

Aizawa sighed. “God help me.”

---

Outside Aizawa’s office, Class 1-A had gathered like raccoons around a trash fire.

“Shhh, they’re talking again,” Jirou whispered, her earjack plugged neatly into the wall. Mina was crouched next to her, scribbling furiously in a pink notebook labeled:

Operation: Will Sensei Snap (And If So, When)?

Kaminari was filming on his phone with the excitement of someone recording a celebrity meltdown.

“This is illegal,” Iida hissed, flailing behind them. “This is an invasion of teacher-student privacy! And possibly federal law!”

“We’re not listening,” Jirou muttered, tuning her jack. “We’re conducting a psychological study.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima whispered. “This is cultural history. Like the moon landing. But glitterier. And hotter.”

“Shut up, shut up,” Jirou hissed again. “Midoriya just said something about kneecaps—”

“I’m raising my bet to twenty yen that Aizawa walks out rubbing his temples again,” Sero muttered, as Jirou adjusted her receiver’s dials.

“Got it,” Mina chirped. “Also adding a side bet: if Midoriya says something that makes Aizawa visibly question his life choices again, that’s worth double.”

A long silence stretched as they all listened in tense anticipation.

Then—

 “…I will break their kneecaps with discretion and dignity.”

A beat.

Aizawa’s voice came, low and resigned, “God help me.”

The hallway erupted.

“Yes!” Mina fist pumped. “Pay up, suckers!”

“I KNEW IT,” Kaminari shouted, high-fiving Sero. “He’s losing his mind! I live for this content!”

“I’m calling the school therapist,” Iida muttered, pulling out his phone.

“He already said if we bring up Midoriya again, he’s taking early retirement,” Uraraka said gently.

“Wise,” nodded Tokoyami.

“Exactly,” Iida said grimly. “We’re doomed.”

Then the door creaked open.

The group froze like children caught raiding the cookie jar of sanity.

Aizawa stood in the doorway, looking tired in that very specific “someone just promised to commit glitter-based war crimes for you” kind of way. Behind him, Midoriya walked out slowly, calmly, smiling like sin in a school uniform.

Aizawa glanced at the group.

They all pretended to be casual.

Kaminari leaned against the wall too hard and fell over. Sero waved awkwardly with one hand and held up a pencil with the other, as if that somehow made him look innocent. Iida attempted to block the entire group with his arms.

Aizawa blinked once. Long. Then he turned to Midoriya.

“Dismissed. Go pack your gear.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Midoriya said sweetly, then twirled and vanished down the hall like a cursed ballerina.

Aizawa turned back to the group.

“Betting pool’s closed,” he said flatly. “I’m confiscating all of it.”

“Wait—how did you know—” Mina started.

“I teach you. I’m not blind. Or deaf. Or emotionally stable anymore, thanks to your classmate.”

And with that, he took the money and walked off, his shoulders slumped, hair disheveled, and footsteps heavy like a man who had stared directly into the glitter-filled mouth of madness and lived to regret it.

Kirishima squinted after him.

“So… is that a yes or a no to the Midoriya x Aizawa ship?”

Chapter 37

After dropping the other students off at the train and confirming everyone’s tickets were scanned, Aizawa turned back toward the platform. He spotted Izuku instantly—not that it was hard.

He was standing under the station awning, framed dramatically by morning light like some kind of fashion-forward cryptid summoned via cursed Hello Kitty merchandise. The cropped pink hoodie, complete with sparkly embroidered bows and Sanrio chaos, was barely brushing the waistband of his denim mini-skirt. The fishnet stockings shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lighting, like they, too, were judging everything around them. And the light pink furry knee-high boots were stomping hard on the line between "innocent" and "psychological warfare."

He was also swinging a white bunny duffle bag from one finger like it held either snacks or live explosives. Possibly both.

Aizawa stared.

Izuku caught the look and smirked, one brow lifting in slow, evil amusement. He took a single step forward and tilted his head just enough to make the pink pigtails bounce. “What?” he asked sweetly, voice oozing with faux innocence. “Is there something on my face? Or are you just overwhelmed by my raw beauty and want to marry me?”

Aizawa sighed and walked away. Izuku skipped after him.

---

After making it to Aizawa's house, Izuku instantly gasped. Audibly and dramatically, like someone discovering buried treasure on a reality show.

There were three cats.

One was perched on top of a bookshelf, glaring down with silent judgment. Another was curled up on the windowsill like a living loaf of existential detachment. The third, a fat, orange tabby with the energy of a retired war general, was sprawled across the coffee table like it paid rent.

Izuku immediately dropped to his knees with a reverence usually reserved for religious experiences. “You didn’t tell me you were a cat dad,” he whispered, eyes wide and shining with unspeakable joy.

Aizawa gave him a look over his shoulder as he toed off his boots. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t relevant.”

---

Five minutes later, Izuku was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his bunny duffle bag now being used as a bed by the bookshelf cat, Soba, and he was hand-feeding tiny fish snacks to the other cats, a lean black one named Tobi, who had already accepted him as one of its own, and a brown and black one named Bastard, who treated him like a peasant who was supposed to do this.

Aizawa came back into the room with a mug of coffee and stopped short.

“You’ve assimilated,” he said flatly.

Izuku beamed, cheeks resting in his hands as three cats lounged around him like he was some kind of soft-pink animal deity. “They’ve chosen me. I’m a part of the pride now. I live here.”

“You don’t.”

“I do. I’ve been reborn.”

“No”

“Now that I’ve meet your children and they like me you have to marry me”

Aizawa blinked. Slowly. As if he was buffering.

“No,” he said again, this time with the resolve of someone trying to ward off a demonic entity.

Izuku only smiled wider, petting Tobi like a Bond villain. “You’re not saying no because you don’t want to. You’re saying no because you’re scared of being happy.”

Bastard bit his wrist at that exact moment. Not hard, just enough to assert dominance.

Izuku didn’t even flinch. “See? Your son agrees.”

Aizawa inhaled deeply through his nose. “For the record, Bastard hates everyone. That’s not approval, that’s barely tolerated neutrality.”

Izuku gave a slow, contemplative nod. “So… you’re saying there’s potential.”

“No,” Aizawa repeated, louder this time.

“Say it with more conviction,” Izuku teased, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. “Maybe while gazing lovingly into my eyes. Or holding my hand. Or admitting you think I’m devastatingly hot in fishnets.”

Aizawa looked like he aged another decade on the spot.

Instead of responding, he turned and walked back into the kitchen. Possibly to get more coffee. Possibly to climb out the window and fake his own death.

Izuku called after him, “If I help scoop the litter boxes, does that count as winning your heart, or is that just foreplay?”

From the kitchen, there was the sound of a cabinet slamming shut.

---

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Aizawa said, pointing to a small room at the end of the hallway after a silent, mildly threatening tour.

The room was tidy and sparsely furnished. A twin bed in the corner, a small desk, and a closet that looked like it hadn’t ever been used. The walls were blank, the vibe clinical. The only sign of life was a single cat toy abandoned in the corner.

Izuku stepped inside and immediately turned a slow circle, taking it all in. “You know, this is the exact kind of room where anime protagonists have dramatic self-reflections after getting rejected by their emotionally repressed love interest.”

Aizawa, still standing in the doorway, blinked at him. “This isn’t a fanfic, Midoriya.”

Izuku spun on his heel, pigtails bouncing. “Not with that attitude!”

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “The walls are thin. Do not monologue after midnight.”

“I only monologue at emotionally significant hours,” Izuku assured him. “Like 3 a.m. or while dramatically sipping tea in the rain.”

Aizawa gave him a look like he was reconsidering every life choice that led to this moment. Then, with a final sigh of defeat, he turned away.

---

The next morning Aizawa woke up to the smell of something suspiciously good.

Not just “edible.” Not “tolerable.” Good .

This was instantly concerning.

Dragging himself out of bed with the grace of a reanimated corpse, he shuffled down the hall, fully expecting to find a war zone, a kitchen fire, or possibly his intern trying to deep-fry glitter.

What he found instead made him stop dead in the doorway.

Izuku stood at the stove humming a song Aizawa didn’t recognize, flipping something golden and perfect-looking in a skillet. His hair was pulled into two soft, loose braids tied at the end with matching white scrunches. 

The off-the-shoulder top he wore was light pink and sinfully soft, slipping just low enough to hint at collarbones and bad decisions. His shorts, also pink, were scandalously short. His thigh-high socks were cotton-candy pink and hugged his legs with unapologetic intention.

And Aizawa? Aizawa choked.

Not on air. Not on coffee. Just on existence.

Izuku glanced over his shoulder, eyes lighting up. “Good morning! I made breakfast!”

Aizawa stared.

Izuku beamed. “I wasn’t sure if you were more of a savory or sweet guy, so I made both! There’s a veggie omelet, crispy bacon, buttered toast, miso soup, rice, and I tried making tamagoyaki, don’t judge me if it’s weirdly shaped. Also, coffee. I used your emergency bean stash. Sorry not sorry.”

He turned back around to plate everything with an elegance that was frankly suspicious. Like he’d done this before. Like he was good at this.

Aizawa blinked slowly, like he’d walked into an alternate dimension.

“You… cooked?” he asked, voice scratchy and hesitant, as if unsure if this was a trap.

Izuku set the food down on the table like a trained maid from a magical girl café and pulled out a chair for him.

“I thrive in domestic settings,” he said proudly, posing dramatically. “I'm chaos in the streets, but soft in the kitchen.”

Aizawa sat down slowly, like he was afraid the chair might explode.

He took a bite of the omelet.

Paused.

Took another.

Izuku leaned in, hands behind his back. “Well? Is it good? Do you love me now?”

Aizawa didn’t respond.

Not with words.

Just a long, tired stare. The kind of stare that said this is amazing, but I will die before admitting it to you.

Izuku smiled, triumphant.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “Eggs are my love language.”

Aizawa returned to his food in stoic silence, as if he could ignore the way his entire body was short-circuiting over fluffy eggs and bare shoulders.

Mochi jumped onto the table and curled up beside the plate like this was normal.

Chapter 38

After thoroughly bullying Aizawa into eating two full servings and drinking coffee that “tasted suspiciously like it had been made with love,” Izuku moved on to his next goal.

Taming the beast.

And by beast, he meant Aizawa’s hair.

The man had slumped into the living room chair with the grace of a retired cryptid, coffee mug cradled in both hands like it was his last lifeline. That’s when Izuku made his move. Slow, and deliberate, and smiling like a pink devil in knee socks.

He appeared behind him like a sparkly ghost.

“Let me do your hair.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“I made you food. You’re legally obligated to let me braid your hair as emotional compensation.”

“That’s not—”

“I will start singing ballads if you say no again.”

Aizawa stared ahead in silent agony.

Then, slowly, very slowly, he leaned back in the chair and muttered, “You get twenty minutes.”

Izuku squealed.

---

Ten minutes later, Aizawa sat stiffly, expression blank, while Izuku stood behind him on the couch with a comb, a collection of black silk hair ties, and the giddy focus of a sugar-powered gremlin.

“This is the best day of my life,” Izuku said, fingers moving quickly as he worked a tidy braid into Aizawa’s thick hair. “I feel like a medieval princess who just tamed the local beastman into letting her brush his fur.”

Aizawa sipped his coffee with the dead-eyed focus of a man pretending he didn’t hear that.

“I’m adding two small braids into the main one,” Izuku continued. “For flair.”

“Midoriya.”

“Yes, my liege?”

“I’m going to explain your duties now before I walk into traffic.”

Izuku giggled. “Go ahead, Professor Grumpypants.”

Aizawa ignored him. “You’ll be working two schedules. Daytime is training and operational learning. I’ll assign tasks based on your performance. That includes surveillance drills, support work, communication tracking, and quirk regulation.”

“Sounds hot.”

“It’s not.”

Izuku finished the braid and gently looped it into a low knot. “It could be.”

Aizawa exhaled like a man regretting every decision that led to this moment. “Nighttime is patrol. You’ll stay close to me. No solo wandering, no engaging suspects without instruction, and absolutely no glitter bombs.”

“Am I allowed to flirt with you during patrols?”

“No.”

“...What about during stakeouts?”

“No.”

“...What about if I get bored and you look unfairly hot in moonlight?”

Aizawa turned his head and gave him a look. The kind that could end careers.

Izuku smiled. “So that’s a maybe.”

---

Aizawa had trained dozens of students. He’d watched teens cry, puke, and mentally crumble under his regime.

He prided himself on it.

So when he stood in the middle of an abandoned training facility with a clipboard in hand and a carefully curated list of hellish drills, he was confident.

Across from him stood Izuku, his hair in a ponytail, and dressed in a pink lululemon jacket and a pink pleated skirt with a black tank top and biker shorts underneath.

“Today’s training will push your endurance, focus, and judgment,” Aizawa said, tone pleased. “No Quirks. No theatrics. Just pain.”

Izuku grinned. “Sounds like foreplay.”

Aizawa didn’t blink. “First drill is a six-mile sprint through uneven terrain followed by an obstacle climb.”

Izuku rolled his shoulders, hips shifting. “Lead the way, boss man.”

---

Twenty Minutes Later

Aizawa stood by the last checkpoint. Stopwatch in hand. Expression neutral.

Izuku rounded the final bend in a dead sprint, hair flowing, boots pounding the gravel. He vaulted the last wall, landed with perfect poise, and flicked a piece of imaginary dust off his sleeve.

“Done,” he said cheerfully, barely winded.

Aizawa stared at the stopwatch.

He stared at Izuku.

He stared back at the stopwatch.

“You weren’t supposed to finish that in under twenty minutes,” he muttered.

Izuku beamed. “Maybe you weren’t supposed to underestimate the sheer willpower of someone petty enough to do extra crunches just to look good in a skirt.”

Aizawa scribbled something on the clipboard.

“Next drill. Reflex gauntlet. Live fire, non-lethal rounds. You get hit, you start over.”

Izuku nodded, cracking his neck. “Bet.”

---

Fifteen Minutes Later

Izuku stepped out of the gauntlet untouched. Hair slightly tousled. lipgloss still perfect. One hand casually holding a deflected foam round like a souvenir.

Aizawa looked genuinely unsettled.

“That run was designed to push you into a mental breakdown.”

“Oh, it did,” Izuku said. “But I have depression and childhood trauma. This was recreational.”

Aizawa opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Then opened it again.

Then rubbed his temples.

“You… you’re not normal.”

“Aw,” Izuku cooed. “You’re learning.”

---

Back at the training post

Aizawa sat on a bench, re-checking his training notes. Izuku was sipping from a glitter-sticker-covered water bottle and doing lunges “for fun.”

“I can make tomorrow harder,” Aizawa muttered.

“You can try,” Izuku said, grinning. “But I’m fueled by spite, pink accessories, and unresolved emotional issues. Good luck, sensei.”

A pause.

Then Aizawa quietly muttered, “I need another coffee.”

---

It was dark outside and Izuku lounged in the waiting room of Aizawa’s agency, a space that smelled like stale coffee and the lingering scent of insomnia, an olfactory cocktail that screamed “pro hero life.” His legs were crossed, and his elbow perched on the armrest as if he were the rightful king of this chaotic realm.

Which, arguably, he did.

Unfortunately, the rest of the pro heroes passing through didn’t seem to think so.

They all slowed when they saw him. First out of reflex, then out of sheer, stunned confusion. Some blinked rapidly. Others whispered behind clipboards. One guy actually walked into a wall.

He didn’t blame them.

His suit was a sleek black masterpiece, hugging his frame with tactical precision. Neon pink detailing traced the seams, glowing softly with embedded tech that made him look like he’d just stepped out of a futuristic heist film. 

His mask was a cyber punk styled black and neon pink nightmare

His combat-grade boots, glossy black with pink soles and laces, rose to mid-calf, as if they were ready to kick down the doors of both villains and the gender binary itself.

Pouches lined his legs and hips, each one labeled in crisp, elegant handwriting: glitter bombs, protein bars, trauma gauze, pepper spray, duct tape, emergency lipgloss, carmel cold brew vial.

The high neck of the bodysuit hugged his throat with serious “I may look like a Barbie but I will absolutely end your bloodline” energy.

He idly toyed with a section of his hair, that was in pigtails, while making firm, unwavering eye contact with a sidekick who clearly wasn’t ready for the level of energy he radiated.

After a full minute of silent tension, Izuku tilted his head and smiled sweetly. “Hi there,” he said it in the most unsettlingly polite voice he could muster. “Do you need something, or are you just basking in the presence of excellence?”

The sidekick bolted.

Across the room, a senior pro murmured, “Is… is that Eraserheads intern?”

“He looks like a cyberpunk cat burglar,” another whispered.

“I think he’s wearing eyeliner.”

“I think I’m into it.”

Before it could spiral further, the heavy metal door to the office creaked open.

Aizawa stepped out with the weariness of someone who already regretted waking up today.

He paused. Looked at Izuku.

Taking in the sight of the outfit, the pigtails, the pose, the confidence, and the literal glitter sprinkled on both him and the waiting room chair.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What,” he said flatly, “are you wearing.”

Izuku uncrossed his legs and stood with an unsettling amount of grace.

“My field outfit,” he replied brightly. “I call it Tactical Hotness.”

Aizawa looked like he aged six years in ten seconds.

---

9:00 p.m.

They walked down the dimly lit streets of Musutafu, the moon overhead casting long shadows across alleyways and rooftops. It was the kind of night perfect for stealth operations, hushed stakeouts, and quiet arrests.

Unfortunately, Izuku was there.

Not that he wasn’t silent, Aizawa couldn’t even here him breathing, but his presence was distracting him.

Skipping in his combat boots, with somehow no sound. Hair in bouncing pigtails. Cloaked in a tactical outfit that made him blend into the dark with the exception of the soft neon glow.

He walked beside Aizawa like they were on a date.

Which they were not.

But he was pretending they were.

“So,” Izuku said, hands behind his back, voice soft and deceptively casual. “If a villain falls in love with me during a chase, do I accept the confession or arrest them first?”

Aizawa didn’t look at him. “You arrest them.”

“But what if they’re cute?”

“No exceptions.”

“What if you’re the villain?” Izuku asked sweetly, batting his lashes.

Aizawa stopped walking.

Just… stopped.

Then slowly turned to look at him. “Midoriya.”

“Yes, Eraserhead?”

“This is not a dating sim.”

“I’m just saying,” Izuku said, tapping his chin, “if you were the morally gray antihero with a tragic backstory and I was the unhinged pink-coded protagonist, the fandom would ship us.”

Aizawa gave him the kind of look that could crush dreams.

Then he kept walking.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Izuku grinned and jogged to catch up. “Okay, brooding love interest.”

---

Ten minutes later, they were posted on a rooftop overlooking a known smuggling route. The night air was cool, the streets quiet. Aizawa was crouched low, surveying the alley through binoculars. Focused. Calm.

 

Izuku lay on his stomach beside him, legs bent at the knees and slowly kicking in the air like a teenage girl at a sleepover.

He unwrapped a protein bar from one of his many pouches. “Do you want a snack, or are you fueled by pure resentment?”

Aizawa didn’t answer. He was trying to will the world into muting Izuku’s existence.

“Okay,” Izuku said, munching, “but if we run into villains and you get hangry, don’t blame me.”

Aizawa lowered the binoculars and finally gave him a sideways glance. “This is surveillance. You’re supposed to be quiet. And subtle.”

“I am subtle,” Izuku whispered dramatically, eyes sparkling like a disaster waiting to happen. “Subtle as a dagger in the dark. Subtle as heartbreak.”

Aizawa sighed.

---

12:00 a.m.

Izuku’s boredom was now weaponized.

He was now sprawled out like a dramatic Victorian widow, drawing hearts in the dust on the rooftop with his gloved finger.

“Sir,” he whispered. “If we don’t see criminal activity soon, I will start narrating your internal monologue.”

“Midoriya—”

“In that moment, Eraserhead questioned everything. His life, his choices, his emotional repression. And yet, despite his many regrets, one thing became clear—he was wildly, catastrophically, devastatingly in love with his intern.”

Aizawa turned and stared at him.

Long. Tired. Stared.

Then, finally: “I’ve changed my mind. Use the glitter bomb.”

Izuku blinked. “Wait, really?”

“If it keeps you quiet,” Aizawa muttered

---

2:00 a.m.

The streets of Musutafu were dead quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt too still—like the city itself was holding its breath.

Aizawa and Izuku were heading back to the agency, side by side in silence. One of them was brooding. The other was gently humming the Powerpuff Girls theme under his breath.

Aizawa was visibly twitching with every note.

“I’m going crazy,” he muttered then turned to Izuku. “No more talking. None. Not one more sound out of your mouth or I swear—”

A sudden crash echoed from the alley to their right. The sound of breaking glass. A muffled shout.

They both stopped.

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. He pressed his back to the wall, peeking around the corner. Two figures. One clearly unconscious. The other, a tall, twitchy man in a cracked leather coat, rifling through their pockets with a feral grin and blood on his knuckles.

Izuku leaned in from behind. “Ooh, a mugger! Do I get to—”

“Yes,” Aizawa said instantly, cutting him off like a man seizing an opportunity. “Go. Arrest him. Alone.”

Izuku blinked. “Alone?”

“Yes,” Aizawa said flatly. “Consider it a field test. You pass, I get five minutes of silence.”

Izuku gasped. “Oh my god. You’re bribing me with quiet.”

“I’m desperate.”

Izuku dramatically popped his neck and rolled his shoulders. “Permission to sparkle, sir?”

Aizawa sighed. “Fine. Use the damn glitter bomb. Just—go.”

Izuku grinned like Christmas had come early.

---

Twenty Seconds Later

The mugger had just finished stealing a wallet when something landed behind him with a soft click of boots on pavement.

He turned, snarling. “What the—”

And paused.

Standing ten feet away was what could only be described as an aesthetic fever dream.

Sleek black suit. Neon pink seams pulsing like a heartbeat. Pigtails. A glowing pink visor. Combat boots shining under the streetlight. And in his hand?

A small, glimmering orb.

“Hi,” Izuku said sweetly. “You’ve been selected for immediate glitter-based justice.”

The man barely had time to blink before the glitter bomb detonated.

A blinding puff of iridescent powder exploded in every direction. The mugger screamed and stumbled back, disoriented and covered head-to-toe in shimmering dust.

And then?

Izuku moved.

Low sweep kick—legs out from under him.

Disarm—knife flipped neatly into Izuku’s free hand, then tossed into a nearby trashcan.

Pin—knee pressed to the mugger’s back, one arm wrenched behind his back with surgical precision. All without smudging his lip gloss.

Izuku leaned down, voice low and cheerful in his ear. “You just got your ass kicked by a sparkly intern in pigtails. Think about your life choices.”

---

Two Minutes Later

Aizawa stood in the alley, staring down at the unconscious, glitter-covered mugger now neatly zip-tied to a trash can.

Izuku was dusting off his sleeves.

“Did I pass?” he asked, cocking his head innocently.

Aizawa’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“You—” he started, but paused.

Izuku raised an eyebrow.

“You... used excessive force,” Aizawa muttered, turning away before Izuku could see the way his face turned red.

“He was armed and mugging someone,” Izuku pointed out. “And now he’s not. That sounds like a win.”

Aizawa exhaled deeply through his nose and rubbed his temple. “I need a sedative.”

Izuku beamed. “I’ll make you tea when we get back.”

“No.”

“I’ll put bourbon in it.”

Pause.

“…Fine.”

Notes:

Guys I just realized I forgot their hero names😭