Chapter Text
xxxXXXxxx xxxXXXxxx xxxXXXxxx
Izuku stood silently before four weather-worn gravestones, their edges smoothed by time and the wind. The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cemetery as a breeze stirred the hem of his dark green hoodie. His red sneakers were half-buried in the dirt, unmoving. He stared ahead, not at the names etched into the marble, but through them, eyes distant, hollow, and heavy with purpose.
He inhaled deeply, holding the breath in his lungs like it might ground him, then slowly let it go, steam curling from his lips in the chilled air. The faint scent of burnt leaves carried on the breeze, mixing with the ever-familiar scent of smoke that lingered in his memory.
"Mom... Kacchan... Aunt Mitsuki... Uncle Masaru..." he whispered, voice low but clear. "Tomorrow's the U.A. Entrance Exam. And I'm going to pass. I'm going to make it. Not just that—I'll rise above every last one of those extras."
His tone sharpened, the fire beneath his words flickering to life.
"When I'm strong enough... when I've mastered it... I'll turn him into nothing but ash, and scatter his remains across the wind."
Izuku raised his hand slowly, palm open to the sky. A burst of flames ignited from his palm—bright, intense, controlled. They danced and twisted, gathering form until they shaped themselves into letters glowing like molten metal. One word emerged from the fire:
"LIVE"
He stared at the word, brows furrowed as the heat shimmered before his face.
"You told me to live..." His voice trembled. "All of you did. Again and again. Even when I wanted to follow you… You told me to keep going."
His hand shook, the flames flickering in response to the crack in his composure.
"For years, I didn't understand. I kept asking myself: Why? What good was it that I survived? What purpose could it possibly serve for me to live while all of you..." He paused, jaw tightening. "...were reduced to ashes and bone?"
His voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"But then, I figured it out."
The fiery word shifted, the letters unraveling and reshaping, morphing with a slow, deliberate twist. "LIVE" became something else—something darker.
"REVENGE"
The flames flared once, then stabilized, casting a red-orange glow on Izuku's face.
"I'm not just your legacy," he said, voice steady now. "I'm your blade. Your fire. The one chosen to bring justice to the monsters who took everything. I'm the one who will burn the rot out of this world. Starting with him."
With a snap of his fingers, the fire vanished, leaving nothing but cooling air and the scent of scorched earth.
Izuku lowered his hand slowly, fingers curling into a fist. He looked back at the graves—and where they once stood, now appeared the spectral figures of the four people he loved most, faint and translucent in the fading light. They stood together, watching him, their expressions solemn... and proud.
Izuku stood still, bathed in the golden hue of the dying sun, staring at the four ghostly figures before him. Time had not touched them—death had preserved them exactly as he remembered.
His mother, Inko, looked just as she had the day he turned six. Young, vibrant, her soft features lit with warmth and love. The same maternal light in her eyes, that unshakable tenderness, reached for him even in death.
Beside her was Katsuki Bakugo. Still only six. Still wild-eyed and full of spirit. That familiar cocky grin tugged at the corner of his lips, like he was seconds away from calling Izuku a "damn nerd" before bursting into laughter. But even the smugness couldn't hide how happy he was to see his best friend again.
Mitsuki and Masaru stood just behind them, close as ever. Mitsuki's fiery presence was softened only by the unshakable calm of her husband's arm around her shoulders. They smiled with the same gentle pride and love they had always shown Izuku, their faces beaming not with sorrow, but encouragement.
They had come to see him off.
One last time.
Izuku looked at them all, his heart tightening in his chest like a vice. The ache never dulled, but in this moment, it found a shape—a purpose.
"I am... Fire Punch," he said, the name heavy with meaning. "And I'll avenge you… With the fire burning inside me."
His voice didn't waver. It didn't rise with rage. It simply was—a statement, a promise carved from grief and forged in fury.
As the last syllable left his lips, the four apparitions began to fade. Not in silence, but with the soft hiss of embers dying in the wind. Like paper catching fire and curling into glowing ash, their forms dissolved—slowly, gently, like a final embrace carried away by the breeze.
Izuku lowered his head. He didn't cry. The tears had dried years ago, replaced by something far hotter—something alive.
He turned away from the graves and began to walk, his footsteps slow but certain, his shadow long in the fading light. He didn't look back. He didn't have to.
He could still feel them.
Not just his mother, or Katsuki, or Aunt Mitsuki and Uncle Masaru.
No... There were more.
Dozens.
Maybe hundreds.
He felt their unseen eyes—those of every soul buried in that forgotten graveyard. Every whisper of wind, every rustle of the brittle grass was a voice he could hear in his bones. All of them... all of them had burned in the fires of the so-called hero: Endeavor.
Their lives had been reduced to nothing but flame and ash. Flesh charred. Bones pulverized. Dreams and futures incinerated beneath a righteous blaze wielded by a man the world still dared to call a savior.
Izuku's fists clenched at his sides, heat simmering beneath his skin, rising, building.
But his fire wouldn't save. It wouldn't protect. It wasn't born of hope.
His fire was retribution.
And one day soon, it would consume him—the man who took everything. The man who stood on a throne of bones and called it justice.
Izuku's flames would sear Endeavor's flesh, boil his blood, and reduce him to ash scattered on the same wind that had taken everyone Izuku loved.
Even if it meant Izuku burned away right alongside him.
He would have his revenge.
No matter the cost.
As Izuku stepped beyond the cemetery gates, the fading warmth of twilight was replaced by the cool stillness of evening. The path ahead wound through narrow streets, shadowed by looming apartment buildings and dim streetlights that flickered weakly, casting ghostly halos over the cracked pavement.
He walked with purpose, heading toward the modest apartment he shared with someone who had taken him in—someone who had become more than a friend. A surrogate family. His only anchor.
Yet, as he moved deeper into the neighborhood, an odd stillness settled over the world. The usual hum of passing cars and idle chatter faded into silence. Footsteps grew scarce, the few pedestrians vanishing into doorways or crossing the street as if something unseen had whispered a warning only they could hear.
Izuku paused.
Then he heard it—wet, grotesque, and unmistakably wrong. The sound of something slithering... followed by a muffled scream and a cruel, guttural laugh that echoed down the alley like a wolf calling to the moon.
His eyes narrowed. He turned the corner.
Up ahead, beneath the flickering glow of a broken streetlamp, he saw them.
A girl, no older than him, was suspended in midair, her arms pinned to her sides by a grotesque mass of translucent green sludge that pulsed and twisted like it was alive. The creature coiled around her like a serpent made of sewage, thick tendrils constricting tighter with every struggle she made.
"Hehehe... C'mon now, don't squirm too much," the sludge creature rasped, voice bubbling with vile glee. "Just let me borrow your body for a bit! I promise I'll give it back—once I'm done having fun with it. I really don't want any pesky heroes ruining things this time..."
Izuku's fists clenched as heat instinctively surged in his veins.
The girl was short and slight, no taller than him. Her honey-brown hair curled inward in a rounded bob, the ends brushing just beneath her shoulders. Normally, her long fringe would've hidden her face—but now, as she thrashed, her bangs parted just enough to reveal a pair of striking eyes: warm brown irises with distinctive black cross-shaped pupils, like the caps of sliced shiitake mushrooms.
Her mouth was nearly swallowed by the sludge, her muffled cries barely audible through the viscous muck as it tightened around her chest and limbs. Her struggle was frantic, but futile. She was completely restrained—her body little more than a puppet waiting for the villain's hand.
Izuku's breath hitched.
He knew this feeling—helplessness. The terror of being too weak, too slow, of watching someone suffer while others did nothing.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he had fire.
And tonight... he would burn.
The sludge villain let out a delighted hiss, his form pulsing with anticipation as he prepared to force himself into the girl's body—his mass shifting, compressing, snaking its way toward her mouth and nose. Her eyes widened in sheer terror as the filth crept closer, inches away from total possession.
Then—FWOOM!
A sudden blast of searing fire cut through the darkness, slamming directly into the sludge's left eye with a violent sizzle. The creature shrieked in agony, smoke rising from the scorched section of his face as his hold on the girl loosened immediately.
"AAARGH! MY EYE! YOU LITTLE—!"
The girl tumbled from his grasp, collapsing hard onto the pavement on her knees. She coughed violently, thick globs of sludge spewing from her mouth as she struggled to catch her breath. Eyes watering and chest heaving, she frantically looked around, trying to find her savior—her voice still caught in her throat.
The sludge villain twisted in place, half-melting and half-pulling himself together, turning his singular, undamaged eye in every direction.
"Who did that!? Show yourself, damn it!" he screeched, fury and pain distorting his grotesque form.
A calm, cool voice cut through the tension.
"Over here."
From the shadows emerged a figure, walking with deliberate, slow steps. His green hoodie was partially unzipped, his breath fogging slightly in the cool air. And as the light from the streetlamps hit his face, the flames burning around his right eye cast eerie shadows across his features.
The girl blinked, squinting through her tear-streaked eyes as she looked at him. Who was he?
The villain snarled, forming crude arms from his liquid body. "A little brat like you did that!? You're gonna regret it!"
With a roar, the creature launched himself forward, a writhing tidal wave of sludge surging toward Izuku like a living avalanche.
But Izuku didn't flinch.
"The only one who's going to regret anything... is you," he said coldly.
In that instant, his body ignited.
A jet of flame burst around his right eye, trailing across the side of his head like a crown of fire. Flames surged down both of his arms, swirling and tightening around his fists like gauntlets forged in hell. The soles of his shoes flared bright, glowing red as concentrated fire erupted beneath them.
With a roar of heat and power, the flames exploded, propelling Izuku forward like a missile.
The pavement cracked beneath the force of his launch, the air behind him igniting in a flash as he surged straight at the villain—eyes locked, fire blazing, and vengeance burning through his blood.
Tonight, he wasn't just fire.
He was judgment.
The sludge villain didn't even have a chance to scream before Izuku was on him.
With a sharp crack of heat splitting the air, Izuku's flame-wreathed hand slammed into the villain's face—specifically, his left eye. The moment his palm made contact, fire exploded outward, crawling across the creature's semi-liquid body like a sentient blaze.
The reaction was instantaneous.
"AAAAAGHHHH!" the villain shrieked, flailing as the fire devoured the entire left half of his gelatinous form. "It burns! It BURNS! GOD DAMN IT—MAKE IT STOP! PUT IT OUT!"
The flames hissed and roared as they clung to him, refusing to be extinguished.
But Izuku didn't move.
He stood there, silent and still, watching the villain twist and wail in agony. His expression was unreadable.
Not hatred.
Not rage.
Not satisfaction.
Just silence.
As the villain writhed, Izuku stepped forward without a word, each stride slow and deliberate. The sludge tried to slither away, but it was already too late. Izuku's right fist ignited again, flames spiraling around his knuckles like they were alive, hungry.
Without hesitation, he drew back his arm and drove his fist into the sludge's right side.
FWOOOOOOSH!
The rest of the villain caught fire instantly, his entire body now consumed by infernal light. His screams reached a fever pitch, echoing through the empty street like a death knell.
"WHYYYY!? WHY ME!? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!?" he howled, his form collapsing into a puddle of flaming tar. "AREN'T YOU A HERO!?"
Izuku stared down at him, eyes glowing faintly with residual heat, face cast in flickering light. His voice came out low and flat—emotionless. "I am a hero, and I burn away the filth that hides in this world." He leaned forward slightly, gaze narrowing. "You... are nothing but grabage."
The villain gave one final, inhuman scream as the fire overtook him completely. Within seconds, he was gone—evaporated into a foul-smelling, blackened smear on the concrete. The scent of scorched chemicals and burnt garbage hung heavy in the air.
Izuku slowly exhaled and deactivated his Quirk. The flames vanished, leaving only curling steam rising from his skin. His fists unclenched. His expression didn't change.
He turned.
The girl was still kneeling where she had fallen, her eyes wide and shimmering with a mix of awe and fear. Her breathing was shallow, and her body trembled slightly. She had just been saved… but what she'd witnessed was something more primal than heroic. Izuku walked toward her—calmly, quietly. She tensed, unsure if she should run, unsure if the fire that had incinerated her attacker would soon turn on her.
But when he reached her, he simply stopped and knelt down slightly, extending his hand.
His fingers were bare now.
No fire.
No smoke.
Just a hand—smooth, steady, and open.
Kinoko stared at the hand extended toward her, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling in short bursts. Her eyes flicked from the soot-streaked pavement to the boy standing before her—his silhouette outlined by the warm golden glow of the setting sun. The fire was gone, but the heat still clung faintly to the air around him, as if the flames had etched themselves into his very presence.
Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through her.
Maybe it was the way the light framed him—haloing his figure, catching in his messy green hair, and casting a radiant glow around his face.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that he had saved her, without hesitation, without question, without expecting anything in return.
But in that moment, Kinoko Komori didn't see a boy.
She saw a guardian.
A flame-bathed angel who stood between her and a nightmare.
"Are you okay?" he asked gently, his voice softer than she expected—warm and careful, like a whisper wrapped in kindness.
She swallowed, her head lowering slightly as her long fringe fell back over her face, obscuring her eyes once more. She gave a small, shaky nod. "I… I'm alright," she whispered, though her voice still quivered.
The boy nodded, his expression relaxing just a little, as if her answer allowed him to breathe again. "Good," he said simply, sincerity in every syllable. "My name's Izuku Midoriya. What's yours?"
His hand remained steady, patient.
After a brief hesitation, Kinoko finally reached out. Her fingers, still trembling faintly, brushed his palm—and in that touch, something shifted. She felt grounded. Real. Alive.
He gently helped her to her feet, steadying her with surprising care. Once she was standing, she glanced up at him through her curtain of hair. She could see him more clearly now—his green eyes, intense but kind, and the faint soot clinging to his hoodie and face. "…Kinoko," she murmured. "Kinoko Komori."
Izuku smiled softly. "Well, Kinoko… you're safe now. There's no need to be afraid anymore." He stepped back slightly, squared his shoulders, and raised his chin—his expression calm and confident, a quiet fire still flickering in his gaze. "Because now…"
He paused for just a moment, and then said it with quiet conviction:
"I Am Here."
The words struck her like a bell in a cathedral.
They weren't shouted. They didn't need to be.
But somehow, they held the same power she'd only ever heard in the voices of the greatest heroes.
Kinoko looked up at him, truly looked—and her eyes widened in awe. The last traces of fear in her heart began to melt away, replaced by something new. Something warm and steady.
Admiration.
In that moment, she didn't just see the boy who had saved her.
She saw her own personal hero
Her savior.
From that day forward, a new legend took shape—a hero who molded roaring infernos as easily as a sculptor works with clay, whose searing resolve spoke on behalf of all those silenced by fear and injustice.
Wherever darkness festered, his flames pierced the blackest corners, illuminating hope and incinerating the wicked that lurked unseen.
Stories would spread of his blazing silhouette against the night sky, of embers dancing in his wake like emboldened sparks that contained courage, vengeance, and fury, and of the fierce promise in his eyes that no evil would remain unchallenged and unburnt.
This was the tale of Fire Punch... A burning avenger.