The Masks we wear

by Artemis43259

Summary:

The final blow wasn’t loud. It came quietly, from the people you trusted most. A friend who looked away. A mentor who lied. A boy who promised to protect you — and didn’t.
So when the League found you shattered, they didn’t offer salvation. Just a mirror.
And for the first time, you recognized the monster inside.
They made you a ghost. You chose to become a storm.
The only question is: how much does it take for you to break? or will you stand strong and remain a hero for all of those that need you?
Read to find out.

Chapter 1: Starting Point

The cardboard boxes still smelled like the old apartment—faint traces of pine-scented floor cleaner, dusty curtains, and the cheap vanilla candles your mother always lit when she was nervous. You sat in your new room, legs crossed, picking at the peeling edge of a sticker on your suitcase. It was your favorite: a faded cartoon All Might with a chipped smile and a speech bubble that once read "Go Beyond!" Now the ink had worn down to a smudge.

Downstairs, your mother was doing that thing she always did in new neighbourhoods—chattering too brightly, knocking on doors with store-bought pastries like she had baked them herself, and introducing you like a prize ribbon. You had hoped, maybe stupidly, that this move would be different. That you’d have a say in how people saw you. That you wouldn’t always be the new girl.

Your hopes sank the moment she called out from the bottom of the stairs.

“Come on, sweetie! Let’s meet the neighbours!”

You didn’t answer. Not at first. But the creak of the third stair betrayed your feet moments later.

You were told the neighbourhood kids were “very lively.”

What your mom didn’t say was that the Bakugo household sounded like a war zone. Shouting, stomping, laughter—intense and unfiltered, like a bonfire too big for its firepit. The moment you and your mom stepped onto their porch, you heard something crash against a wall, followed by a woman’s voice.

“Katsuki! Don’t throw your damn shoes across the hall!”

The door swung open a second later.

Standing there, shirt half-untucked and a juice box in hand, was a small boy with spiky ash-blonde hair and fierce red eyes that flicked over you like a threat assessment. He was shorter than you expected, but he stood with his feet wide like he owned the ground. You couldn’t have been more than five, and yet, you felt like you were staring at a thunderstorm in the shape of a child.

“What do you want?” he asked bluntly.

Your mom laughed it off with a practiced smile. “We just moved in! Thought we’d say hello. I brought these!” She extended the plastic-wrapped tray of cookies like a peace offering.

The boy didn’t move. He squinted at you.

You shifted behind your mother’s leg, eyes flickering between him and the floor. He wasn’t welcoming. He wasn’t shy, either. He looked like he was already sizing you up for some invisible competition.

A woman stepped into the doorway behind him—tall, sharp-shouldered, with short blonde hair and arms crossed over a tank top that read “FEARLESS.” Her smirk was knowing.

“Katsuki, don’t be rude.”

The boy scowled. “I’m not. I just asked what they wanted.”

“Katsuki,” his mom repeated.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, then turned to you. “I’m Bakugo Katsuki.” It wasn’t an introduction—it was a challenge.

You opened your mouth, but the words clung to the roof of your throat. You wanted to say your name, offer a smile, maybe even a wave. Instead, you froze.

“You don’t talk?” he asked. “What, are you scared?”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. You were used to teasing. You weren’t used to it being this direct.

“I’m not scared,” you muttered.

He tilted his head. “You look like you cry easy.”

Your cheeks flushed. You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to prove him wrong.

So you whispered "im Y/N"

Later that same afternoon, your mom was unpacking pots and pans when a knock rattled the front door.

You opened it, half-hoping it was a mistake. But it was him.

Katsuki stood there, arms crossed, grinning like he’d already won something.

“You wanna race?”

You blinked. “Race?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “To the end of the block and back. If you can beat me, I’ll let you hang out with us.”

You didn’t ask who “us” was. You didn’t ask why you needed permission. Something in your chest twisted—annoyance, maybe—but also a weird kind of excitement.

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s go.”

You lost.

He was fast, like a bullet wrapped in shouts and sharp elbows. You tripped halfway through the return run, knees skidding against the asphalt. Blood welled under your tights. It stung.

You thought he’d gloat. Maybe even call you a loser.

But instead, he stopped, circled back, and stared down at you like you were a weird puzzle piece.

“You’re bleeding.”

You wiped your hands on your dress and stood up.

“I’m fine.”

For the first time, he looked surprised.

Then he grinned, smaller than before. “You’re not that bad.”

You didn’t know then, but that was the closest thing to a compliment he knew how to give.

That night, you sat on the windowsill in your new room, knees bandaged and stickered with cartoon plasters. You watched Katsuki in his yard, hurling a rubber ball at a wall with mechanical intensity. He wasn’t playing—he was training. You saw it in his expression.

Your mom leaned in from the hallway, voice soft. “You made a friend today.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure if he was your friend.

But when he turned and caught you staring, he didn’t yell. He didn’t smirk.

He just raised one hand.

Not a wave—just a hand. A quiet acknowledgment.

You raised yours back.

First Impressions

You thought Katsuki was loud, impulsive, bossy, and weirdly competitive.

But you also saw something else—something that made you curious.

He burned too bright. Too sharp.

And part of you wanted to see if you could stand close to the flame without flinching.

 

A/N

Hey guys, this is my first fanfic. i mean you could probably tell because of how bad it is, but i promise it's going to get better just stick with me for now please. let me know what you thought of this and any feedback i could take to make it better

Join my discord if you want and we can talk about whatever

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have a great day, Artemis

Chapter 2: Broccoli's are good for you

You met him at the sandpit first.

You’d only just started going to the same preschool. You were still learning everyone’s names—most of them loud, sticky-fingered kids who yelled or grabbed or threw things to get attention. It was noisy, full of static energy. But he sat in the middle of the sandpit, small and quiet, scribbling in a notebook much too serious for a kid his size.

His legs were folded underneath him. His tongue stuck slightly out as he drew—focused in a way that felt older than he was. He didn’t even notice the way the wind tugged at the edges of the paper or how the other kids trampled near him. He just kept writing.

You didn’t know his name yet. But something about him made you sit down nearby.

He flinched when you got too close. Covered his notebook with his hands.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, hugging your knees. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He blinked at you, wide green eyes wet at the corners from the wind.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m just… drawing heroes.”

“Heroes?” You leaned in, curious.

He hesitated, then slowly turned the page. Inside were crayon-coloured sketches of heroes with giant capes and big gloves and smiles that took up their whole faces. He’d labeled them, too. Not with real names, but things like ‘Wind Boy’ and ‘Lady Healbeam.’

“They’re not real,” he said seriously. “But they could be.”

You nodded. “Can I be in there too?”

He stared at you for a long second. “Do you want to be a hero?”

You thought about it. “I think so.”

He smiled—shy and big and warm like a cup of cocoa.

“I’m gonna be one too,” he said. “Even if I don’t have a Quirk yet.”

His name was Izuku Midoriya.

You found that out later, when the teachers called it during lunch. He had a box of rice shaped like All Might’s face and the other kids laughed at him for it. He just ducked his head and ate slowly, like he didn’t mind.

You sat beside him.

After that, you were friends.

He always had the same green backpack, the same scuffed shoes that looked one size too big, and a notebook he guarded like treasure. Every page was a different hero, or idea, or question.

“Do you think someone with wings could fly faster than a jet?” he once asked you.

“I dunno,” you said. “Maybe if they had a super strong wind Quirk?”

He beamed. “That’s a good point! I’ll write that down.”

He scribbled so fast his letters turned crooked. But the joy never left his face.

Midoriya didn’t just love heroes. He believed in them. He treated every story, every video clip of All Might, every comic book panel like sacred truth.

But he wasn’t just a fan. He was planning. He wanted to be one of them. Not because it looked cool—but because he wanted to help people.

“You don’t have to be strong to be kind,” he once said. “But if you’re strong and kind, then you can save everyone.”

It wasn’t something another four-year-old would say.

But it made perfect sense coming from him.

Sometimes kids picked on him.

Not because he was mean. But because he was soft. Because he cried easily. Because he liked to sit quietly and talk about things that didn’t interest most of the others.

But he never fought back.

Not really.

He just took it. Flinched. Hugged his notebook to his chest and turned away.

“Izuku,” you said once, “why don’t you tell the teachers?”

He shook his head. “It’ll just make it worse.”

That answer stuck with you.

You didn’t like it.

You tried to sit with him more. Share your crayons. Pull him away when the rowdy kids got too close.

He always smiled at you like you were saving him.

There was a day, right before naptime, when you found him crying in the hallway outside the playroom. His notebook had been ripped in half. A clumsy tear straight through the spine.

He was curled up, knees to chest, fists pressed to his eyes.

“I can fix it,” you said quickly, holding out your hands. “We can tape it!”

He didn’t look up.

You sat beside him. Quietly. Then rested your hand gently on his back.

It took ten minutes before he spoke again.

“…They said I’ll never be a hero.”

Your chest ached. You didn’t even know who they were.

“Izuku,” you said firmly. “You’re already more of a hero than anyone.”

He looked at you, eyes glassy.

“But I don’t even have a Quirk.”

You shrugged. “Neither do I.”

He blinked.

You smiled. “But we’re trying, right?”

His lower lip trembled. But he nodded.

That night, you went home and asked your parents for a notebook.

When they gave you one, you filled the first page with a drawing of Midoriya—cape too big, hair messy, smile crooked—and titled it, “My Hero.”

You gave it to him the next day.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he hugged you so hard you fell over.

From that day on, he kept it tucked in the back of his own book.

And every time someone laughed at him, he’d run his fingers over the cover—like it reminded him that at least one person in the world believed.

You.

You weren’t sure if that made you a hero.

But it made him feel like one.

And for now, that was enough.

A/N

let me know what you thought of this and any feedback i could take to make it better

have a great day

What's you favourite vegetable?

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-Artemis

Chapter 3: Katsuki's view

From the moment Katsuki Bakugo heard the sound of boxes scraping across the floor in the house next door, he knew something was about to change—and not in a way he liked.

He was five years old, smart enough to know when his life was being invaded, and already far too aware of how quickly things could get annoying. New neighbours meant new adults asking dumb questions and new kids trying to follow him around. He hated that. All those mindless extras.

But still... curiosity gnawed at the back of his skull like a mosquito. He tried to ignore it at first. Blasted his ball against the backyard wall again and again until his arms ached and sweat dampened his shirt. But when his mom shouted something about welcoming cookies, and he heard the sharp knock on their door, his feet moved before he could stop them.

And there she was.

The girl.

Tiny. Quiet. Not crying, but close. He could tell by the way she held her hands, like she was fighting the urge to grip her mom’s skirt. Her hair was messy—like she didn’t care what she looked like. Or maybe she did, and she was just bad at keeping it together. Either way, she was weird.

He didn’t trust weird.

“What do you want?” he barked, like a dog guarding his territory. He didn’t care that his mom was behind him, rolling her eyes and huffing. He wasn’t gonna let some girl show up and think she could just exist here without proving something.

She said nothing. Just stood there, holding out a tray of cookies with shaking hands. Her mom talked a lot, said something about moving in. He didn’t care.

But something bugged him.

She wasn’t scared of him.

Oh, she looked it—at first—but not in the way that made him feel powerful. It wasn’t fear. It was just nerves. Shyness. Like a cat that hasn’t decided if it’s going to scratch you or sleep in your lap. That made him itch. He didn’t know what to do with that.

“You look like a crybaby,” he muttered, testing the waters.

She frowned.

Didn’t say anything, but she didn’t cry.

He blinked.

Huh.

The next day, he stomped over to her house like it was enemy territory.

“I wanna race,” he declared when she opened the door.

She looked surprised. Almost confused. "What?"

“I said I wanna race. To the end of the block and back. Winner gets bragging rights.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer. He just started walking, confident she’d follow.

And she did.

She was slower than him. Duh. But she didn’t quit. She tripped, scraped her knee, bled a little. He thought she’d start crying then, for real this time. But she didn’t. She wiped it on her dress and got up like it didn’t hurt at all.

He hated how that made his chest feel weird.

Not bad. Just... weird.

“You’re not that bad,” he said with a shrug.

He didn’t know why he said it. It just came out.

She looked up, and there was something calm in her eyes—like she already knew.

Katsuki didn’t like people. Not most of them. Not the snotty kids at preschool who only talked to him after he got his Quirk. Not the teachers who pretended to care. Not the moms at the park who called him "spirited" like it was a nice way to say "brat."

But this girl… she was different.

She didn’t talk much. Didn’t butt in. She just... watched. And listened. And when she did say something, it wasn’t stupid.

He didn’t know what to do with that, either.

And then there was Deku.

That nerd had been stuck to his side since they were babies. Izuku followed him around like a lost puppy, asking questions, taking notes, drawing in those dumb notebooks. Katsuki used to like it—used to think of him like a sidekick or something. But after he got his Quirk and Deku didn’t, it all started to change.

Now, Deku just looked... weak.

And that made Katsuki feel weird again.

Especially when Y/N started talking to him too.

He watched them once, from behind the tree at the edge of the park.

Deku was showing her a page in his notebook, babbling about hero costumes or some crap, and she was nodding along like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Katsuki’s jaw tightened.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. Deku was nobody. And yet, the way she smiled at him—soft, patient—Katsuki felt like someone had lit a fire in his chest and walked away.

He hated it.

He hated it because it made him want to do more than explode things. It made him want to prove something.

To her.

To himself.

To everyone.

 

A/N

I still dont know where im going with this. let me know what you thought of this and any feedback i could take to make it better

have a great day

Who do you think is the fittest character in BNHA?

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-Artemis

Chapter 4: Alliances and aftershocks

It started with sparks.

They didn’t hurt.

That surprised Katsuki the most.

One second, he was hanging from the top of the jungle gym, staring down at the dry bark below, and the next—a flick of heat surged in his palms like soda fizz in a can that had been shaken too long.

It burst out of him in a flash of light and noise. Not loud enough to scare anyone, but enough to turn heads. The metallic tang of smoke lingered in the air.

He blinked down at his hands. The skin tingled. His mouth fell open.

“Did you see that?!” he shouted. “Did you see that?!”

You and Izuku were the first ones running toward him. Your shoes crunched the bark as you came skidding to a halt below him.

You looked up, eyes wide—not with fear, but with awe.

“That was you?” you whispered.

He jumped down and stuck his palms out toward you. There was another soft pop. A flare of light.

“I think I got my Quirk,” he said. His voice trembled, just a little.

Izuku’s voice came from behind you. “You—you think it’s… explosion?”

Katsuki grinned. “It’s better than explosion. It’s mine.”

The teachers came, and Katsuki’s mother was called.

By the time she arrived, he was bouncing on his feet, hands clenching and unclenching like he couldn’t wait to show her again.

When he did—when he held out his palms and lit them up like match heads—her eyes widened, and she swept him into a hug so hard he almost fell over.

“That’s my boy!” she laughed. “Just like me—but a bit stronger!”

Katsuki flushed with pride.

He looked back at you and Izuku to make sure you were still watching.

You were.

You looked happy.

Izuku looked like he was holding something in.

That night, Katsuki lay in bed with his hands above his face, watching them spark. They glowed soft in the dark like fireflies caught under his skin.

His brain was racing.

I’m gonna be number one. I’m gonna be just like All Might.

No. Better.

Nobody’s gonna tell me what to do. Nobody’s gonna stop me.

He balled his fists. The covers popped with static.

But then… a whisper of doubt slipped in. Just a flicker. Something he didn’t want to admit out loud.

What if I hurt someone?

What if I can’t control it?

What if I already scared him?

The image of Izuku’s face—tight smile, red-rimmed eyes—hovered behind his eyelids.

He shook his head.

“Stupid,” he muttered. “He’ll be fine.”

"At least i'll always have Y/N by my side"

But he didn’t feel as light as he had earlier.

The next day, everyone wanted to see it again.

“Do it again, Bakugo!”

“Blow up a leaf!”

“Can you set stuff on fire?!”

Katsuki soaked it in like sun through a window. His chest swelled. His grin was almost too big for his face.

He could make leaves pop. He could even make little holes in the sandbox wall if he focused hard enough. The smell of gunpowder clung to him like cologne, it left him smelling like burnt caramel.

But you…

You weren’t cheering. You were watching.

Carefully. Quietly.

After everyone else left, you walked up and took his hand.

“You’re gonna be amazing,” you said.

His stomach flipped.

“I know,” he said, but softer this time.

“Just don’t forget us when you’re famous.”

He snorted. “You’ll be there too, idiot.”

You smiled, but he noticed how your eyes flicked to Izuku, who was drawing something alone in the corner.

The next day began and it started off different.

At first, Izuku said nothing. He smiled—too big, too careful.

“That’s amazing, Kacchan,” he said, voice thin. “You’re gonna be such a strong hero.”

Katsuki puffed out his chest. “Of course I am. You see that? That was mine.”

He didn’t notice the way Izuku’s hands twitched. Or the way his green eyes dulled.

You did.

When the two of them ran ahead to show the teachers, you hung back with Izuku’s notebook.

It lay in the grass, pages fluttering like wings trying to take off.

You pressed it gently against your chest, hoping the wind wouldn’t carry it away.

Later, Izuku came back for it.

He didn’t say anything, just took it from your hands like it was something fragile that had already cracked.

You crouched beside him as he flipped to a page he’d drawn the day before. A new hero—based on Katsuki. Spiky hair, explosive fists, a smirk drawn too big.

He stared at it like he didn’t recognize it anymore.

You nudged him with your shoulder. “He’s still your friend.”

Izuku didn’t look up.

“Is he?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

The wind picked up again.

Katsuki’s Quirk wasn’t all fun.

It hurt, sometimes. His hands stung. When he practiced too much, the skin turned pink and raw. His mom rubbed lotion into his palms and told him to rest, but he never wanted to stop.

The power was his now. He had to learn it. To master it. To show the world he was worth it.

But at night, when the pain made it hard to sleep, he thought about your hand in his.

How soft it was. How you didn’t flinch.

And how, for the first time in his life, Izuku didn’t follow him home.

He was going to be number one.

And he wasn't going to settle for less.

 

A/N

i feel like i dont go into enough depth with the reader, do let me know if you want more detail. let me know what you thought of this and any feedback i could take to make it better

have a great day

Do you guys ever feel sorry for Bakugo

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-Artemis

Chapter 5: The Truth kills slowly

It started with an x-ray.

The room smelled like rubbing alcohol and vinyl. Izuku sat on the crinkly paper of the examination table, kicking his feet, still too short to touch the floor. His mother, Inko, sat beside him, hands clutched in her lap so tightly her knuckles were white.

The doctor held a tablet.

There were no smiles.

Izuku stared at the screen, confused. It showed two skeletal feet, side by side—his own. One of them had a strange note circled in red, a tiny detail he didn’t understand.

He looked up. The doctor’s expression didn’t change.

“There’s no second joint in his pinky toe.”

That’s what he said.

So simple. So clean.

A sentence that slid into the air like a scalpel, slicing the world in half.

“Wait,” Inko said, voice trembling, “I—I thought that was an old theory—doesn’t that just mean—”

The doctor didn’t meet her eyes.

“No,” he said. “It means he’s Quirkless.”

Izuku didn’t understand at first.

He blinked. The room was quiet. Too quiet. Like the moment right before thunder.

Quirkless?

What did that mean?

He turned to his mother. Her face had fallen apart. Not crying—not yet—but the kind of collapse that started from the inside. Her lips pressed together like they were trying to hold in all the things she wasn’t allowed to scream.

“But…” Izuku started. “I’m going to be a hero.”

He looked up at the doctor, like maybe he could fix this. He was a grown-up. Grown-ups could fix anything.

Right?

The doctor hesitated. Then he gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“There are plenty of ways to help people, son,” he said. “Emergency services. Law enforcement. Scientific research. You could still—”

“I want to be like All Might.”

Silence.

The doctor looked down. “I’m sorry.”

Izuku didn’t cry until they got home.

Not in the car.

Not when his mom thanked the doctor and bowed too many times.

Not when he held her hand in the lobby.

But when they walked through the door and she shut it behind them, he couldn’t hold it anymore.

He screamed.

It wasn’t words. Just raw sound. Pain and confusion and fear all tangled into something that broke out of him like his chest had cracked open.

Inko sank to her knees and held him.

He sobbed into her shirt.

“I tried so hard,” he said. “I tried to wait. I—I kept track of everyone’s Quirks—I thought maybe it just wasn’t showing yet—”

“I know, baby,” she whispered, rocking him. “I know.”

“But I have to be a hero.”

"i want to protect Y/N"

His voice broke. Crumbled like paper.

“If I can’t be like All Might, who else is gonna help people? Who else is gonna smile and make them feel safe?”

She didn’t answer.

Because there wasn’t an answer.

Not one that would make this okay.

That night, Izuku sat in his room surrounded by notebooks. His drawings. His theories. His diagrams of how Quirks worked and how heroes fought.

All of them felt useless now.

He stared at them through blurry eyes, hands shaking.

He’d believed—really believed—that if he worked hard enough, it would happen. That he just had to wait. That he’d wake up one day and something would feel different.

Like Katsuki.

But it never came.

And now it never would.

His chest hurt. His throat ached. He clutched one of the notebooks to his chest like it was a lifeline.

He wanted to rip it apart.

But he couldn’t.

Because it was still all he had.

Even if the world told him it didn’t matter.

Even if Katsuki looked at him differently now.

Even if you didn’t know what to say anymore.

He curled up under the blankets, heart splintering in his chest, and whispered into the dark:

“I still want to try.”

He didn’t come to school for two days.

When he did, he didn’t have his notebook.

You didn’t really understand what the word “Quirkless” meant. Not until that day in the park.

Not until you saw the look on Izuku’s face.

You were five, maybe a little more. The sun was out, but it felt cold. Like something had changed in the air. Something you couldn’t name. He was sitting on the swing—not swinging—just holding the chains so tightly his knuckles looked like they might crack open.

No one told you everything, not exactly. Just that he went to the doctor. Just that something was different now.

And that Katsuki hadn’t talked to him in two days.

You dragged your feet through the sand. The wind tugged at your sleeves. You weren’t sure what to say, only that you had to say something. Because no one else had. No one else had sat next to him, or looked him in the eyes, or asked.

So you climbed into the swing beside him and said, quietly, “Hey.”

He didn’t look at you.

You saw the pink on his nose, the way his lashes clumped from dried tears. You’d seen kids cry before. But never like this. Not silent. Not hollow.

You leaned toward him, just a little, bumping your shoulder to his.

“You okay?”

He blinked. Took a shaky breath. Then whispered, “I don’t have a Quirk.”

It came out like a secret. A curse.

Your heart did something weird in your chest. You didn’t know how to answer. So you said the only thing that felt right.

“…Okay.”

He finally looked at you then.

“I—I thought it was just late,” he said. “But the doctor showed us these bones. Said mine were wrong. Said nothing would grow. My mom cried the whole way home.”

His voice broke. You hated that sound.

“Katsuki won’t even look at me.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not yet. But something cracked inside you.

“I’m not gonna be a hero.”

You slid off your swing and crouched down in front of him. You looked up, so he had to look down. So he had to see how serious you were.

“You’re still Izuku,” you said.

He shook his head. “That’s not enough.”

“Yes it is.”

“I wanted to be like All Might,” he said, voice barely holding together. “I wanted to help people. Save them. Smile. Like he does. But now I can’t. Ever.”

You reached for his hand.

It was small. And clammy. But he let you take it.

“You still can.”

“No.”

“You don’t need a Quirk to be kind. Or brave. Or good.”

He looked away. His bottom lip trembled.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

“Kacchan said I’m weak. That I should give up.”

You bit your lip.

You loved Katsuki. You did. But sometimes he got loud when he was scared. And you could tell he was scared. This wasn’t what he thought would happen. Izuku was supposed to get his Quirk. The three of you were supposed to be a team.

But now…

“I don’t care what he said,” you whispered. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

His voice was hoarse. “Why?”

“Because you keep going. Even when it hurts.”

Izuku didn’t cry.

Not then.

But he held onto your hand like it was the only thing left in the world. And you let him.

You sat together until the sun sank behind the clouds, and the wind started to bite, and even then, he didn’t let go.

“Kacchan,” you said on the swings. “You shouldn’t call him that.”

Katsuki squinted at you. “Call him what?”

“Deku.”

He shrugged. “It fits. He’s always crying and he's useless. He couldn't even spell his own name”

You narrowed your eyes. “That doesn’t mean he’s nothing.”

Katsuki’s nose wrinkled. “He is nothing. He can’t even fight back.”

“He still wants to be a hero.”

“That’s dumb,” he snapped. “He can’t! He’s useless without a Quirk.”

You stood up.

“Izuku’s brave,” you said quietly. “Even when it’s hard. Even now.”

Katsuki scoffed.

You didn’t talk to him the rest of the day.

Izuku sat on the edge of the sandbox, staring at his palms. He turned them over slowly, like they might change if he looked long enough.

“Do you think maybe it’s just late?” he asked you once. “Like… maybe it’s hiding?”

You nodded because you couldn’t bear not to.

“Maybe,” you said. “Maybe you’re just special. Maybe it’s not ready yet.”

He smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He didn’t draw much anymore.

One afternoon, you found him at the back of the schoolyard, sitting behind the tool shed where the teachers kept old tires and cones.

He had his notebook again. But he wasn’t drawing. He was writing.

You sat next to him without a word.

He showed you the page.

“Hero Study Notes,” the title said. “For When I Meet All Might.”

Your chest squeezed.

“You’re still gonna try?” you whispered.

He nodded. “Even if I don’t get one. I have to try.”

You didn’t tell him then, but it was the bravest thing you’d ever heard.

Katsuki grew louder after that.

He didn’t mean to be cruel—not really. He just didn’t understand the same way. He saw power and wanted to be near it. He saw weakness and hated it. Hated what it said about him if it followed him around.

Izuku still called him Kacchan.

And Katsuki still shoved him sometimes.

But there were moments—small ones—where the fire dimmed. When Katsuki stared at his own hands like he didn’t know what they were capable of yet. When he glanced at you after saying something harsh, then looked away quickly.

Those were the moments that made you stay.

That made you hope.

Because underneath it all, they were still just boys.

One with too much power too soon.

And one with none at all.

And you were caught between them.

One night, Izuku knocked on your door.

It was raining. His hair stuck to his face. His eyes were red.

He held out a new notebook.

“I want to start again,” he said.

You let him in.

Together, you drew the first page.

A hero with no name yet.

One who smiled even when it hurt.

And in the background, a girl with her hand on his shoulder.

Just in case he forgot he wasn’t alone.

A/N

I still dont have a clue where im taking this fanfic, do let me know if you have an event or character you really want to meet next.

let me know what you thought of this and any feedback i could take to make it better

have a great day

What's your favourite quote that you have seen or read? Could be from anything

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-Artemis

Chapter 6: Stardust and sparks

You didn’t always think you were different.

There was a time before quirks ruled the playground. Before flashy powers and schoolyard showoffs turned into hierarchies. Before Katsuki Bakugo started looking through people like they were smoke and not solid.

You were still friends then. Or something close to it.

You remembered it in flashes—his messy explosions of laughter, the way he tugged on your sleeve to show you how far he could jump from the top of the monkey bars. You used to race each other across the yard until your legs ached. He used to sit next to you during snack breaks.

But once the talk of quirks began, and Bakugo’s palms began to spark with something real, everything shifted.

You still didn’t have anything.

No glow. No twitch. No burst of energy or shimmer in your skin.

“Late bloomer,” they called it at first. Your mother said it like a promise. Your teachers said it like a consolation.

Katsuki said nothing at all.

You remembered that morning clearly—he stood with a small crowd of kids, sparks cracking faintly from his palms as they oohed and aahed. You walked up, hoping to be part of it.

“Don’t stand so close if you’re gonna get in the way,” he snapped.

It hit harder than it should’ve.

But you didn't stop standing near him after that because you generally believed that one day you will be worth enough to stand near him.

Later that week, Izuku Midoriya found you sitting beneath the schoolyard tree, hugging your knees to your chest.

He didn’t say anything right away—just sat down beside you, placing his bag down carefully.

“I don’t have one either,” he said quietly, as if he was afraid of the words. “A quirk.”

You looked over, unsure.

“Not yet,” you whispered.

He smiled, small and sad. “Maybe not ever.”

You didn’t cry. You wanted to. But instead you leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder, and let the silence carry something warmer.

You weren’t alone.

The classroom wasn’t kind.

You heard the snickers behind your back. The way they said “quirkless” like it was contagious. Like it made you less than. It was the reason why they bullied you and Midoriya.

They didn’t push you down the stairs or shove you in lockers. But they didn’t include you either. They’d whisper when you passed by. Swap seats when you sat too close. Sometimes you’d find notes left in your cubby—little drawings of stick figures labelled with your name, powerless and sad, facing off against other kids drawn with flaming fists and laser eyes.

They’d joke that if there was a villain attack, you’d be the first one squashed. The weak link. The background extra.

You started eating lunch with only Midoriya. Bakugo didn't always have time to hang out with you two. Even the quiet corners of the school felt like they were closing in on you.

But once—just once—it changed.

You were walking back to your desk after gym, trying to ignore the paper someone had stuck to your back. You could hear the giggles behind you. Someone muttered, “She probably doesn’t even have a future quirk. What’s she doing here?”

Before you could slip into your seat, the paper was yanked off your back. You turned—and found Katsuki Bakugo holding it, his crimson eyes narrowed into a deadly glare.

“Who the hell wrote this?” he barked.

The room fell silent. Everyone stared.

The note crumpled in his fist as tiny sparks popped around his knuckles.

“I said—who wrote it?”

No one answered. A few heads ducked.

“Bunch of extras,” he scoffed. He turned, dropped the crumpled note into the trash, and shot you a glance. Not soft. But not cruel either. Something stuck between guilt and pride and something else he didn’t have words for yet.

“Don’t let those losers talk like they matter,” he muttered. “They’re just jealous you haven’t peaked yet.”

And then, just like that, he walked off.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t thank him. Not aloud.

But something inside you flickered.

You went home that day feeling marginally better.

But your mother noticed your tears. She always notices.

She pulled you into her arms after dinner, running her fingers gently through your hair as you tried to pretend your tears were just from yawning.

“You are not broken,” she whispered, kissing your forehead. “Even the stars don’t show their light all at once. Some of them take time.”

“But what if I never shine?” you whispered back.

She pulled you tighter. “Then we’ll find new ways to glow. Together.”

She wiped your tears, even when more followed. She held you until sleep took over. Until the ache dulled.

And even if the world refused to see your worth—you knew she always would.

You were invisible.

Except to Izuku.

And Katsuki.

and M/N.

You’re seven when it happens- a late bloomer, unheard of but not impossible. And it doesn’t feel like a miracle.

It feels like a storm.

The sky cracks open above the schoolyard, dark clouds swirling too fast for a spring afternoon. Children scream. Teachers rush to gather students, ushering them back inside.

But you—

You’re frozen. There’s a pressure building in your chest, a pulse that thrums in your veins like stardust waking up. It’s not fear. It’s not pain. It’s something bigger.

Something cosmic.

Your fingers tremble. The air around your hands shimmers, faint motes of silver-blue light sparking to life like tiny constellations. You feel them hum—not against your skin, but inside you. As if your heart is drawing maps across the stars and your breath is syncing with the rhythm of space itself.

Someone calls your name.

You don’t answer. Your eyes are locked on the way the light curves around your arms—like galaxies spinning in your wake.

It’s beautiful.

And terrifying.

Katsuki sees it first. He’s standing just across the field, still breathing hard from training, palms faintly smoking. He’d been showing off—until the sky turned strange. Now he watches, rooted, eyes wide with something close to… awe. But it’s more than that. He’s quiet, jaw tight, brows furrowed. He’s never looked at you like that before. Like you’re glowing with something he can’t touch.

Izuku stumbles out of the doorway a second later, notebook in hand even though the wind threatens to tear it from his grasp. His pencil clatters to the ground when he sees you. His eyes are wide, sparkling—not with fear, but wonder. Pure, undiluted wonder.

You’re floating.

Only an inch. Maybe less. But your feet are no longer touching the earth. The moment is impossibly silent. The wind stills and yet you H/C H/L hair seemed to be floating. The clouds hesitate. Time seems to hold its breath.

And above you, the storm is parting.

A shaft of gold and silver light spills down like moonlight melted into sunlight. The glowing runes that begin to circle your body don’t come from anything you’ve learned. They come from somewhere else. Ancient. Sacred. It feels like your blood is singing in a language you were born knowing but forgot.

Deep in your chest, the voice of your Quirk finally whispers:

Heavenly Body Magic.

The words don’t echo. They resonate. Like a bell inside your ribs. Like the universe just said your name for the first time.

You fall to your knees as the power settles. The lights blink out like stars dying. The storm breaks overhead—but it’s only rain now. Gentle. Soft. Cleansing. It kisses your skin like an apology for all the confusion, all the waiting. Like the sky itself is saying, Here you are. Finally.

And you cry.

Not because it hurts. But because something in you has finally made sense. Something that felt missing for years has clicked into place. Like your soul finally took a breath.

You remember watching the other kids get their quirks—how some of them glowed, and some sparked, and some changed shape entirely. How Katsuki’s had exploded from him with a roar of heat and pride. How even Izuku, still quirkless, had clapped and smiled for the others.

And you’d waited. And waited. And wondered if maybe the stars had forgotten you.

They hadn’t.

Later, they’ll test you. They’ll try to understand it.

You’ll be told your Quirk is rare. Celestial-based. Energy-driven. Capable of spells and abilities not typically seen in modern evolution. You’ll learn the names: Grand Chariot. Meteor. Altairis. You’ll be warned that the more you use it, the more it will demand of you—stamina, discipline, will.

But none of that will matter as much as the look on Katsuki’s face when you rise back to your feet, soaking wet, cheeks tear-stained, and he’s still staring like he’s seeing you for the first time.

He doesn’t speak right away. His fists are clenched at his sides. His jaw works like he’s grinding his teeth behind closed lips. He looks—shaken. Like his world just shifted half an inch to the left and he’s not sure how to follow.

Izuku runs to you, shouting congratulations, already scribbling notes and praising how amazing you were.

But Katsuki just says one thing:

“...That was cool.”

And then, under his breath:

“Really cool.”

You nod, still dazed. Still not ready to speak.

Because the stars just opened inside you.

And the universe suddenly feels so close.

That night, you don’t sleep. Your hands glow faintly in the dark, the magic under your skin pulsing gently like a heartbeat. You draw shapes in the air with your fingers—stars, spirals, a moon—and they stay, suspended like constellations stitched from light.

You think about Katsuki. The awe in his voice. The way he didn’t cheer or laugh or boast. Just stared. Like maybe you’d scared him.

Or maybe you’d reminded him he wasn’t the only one meant to shine.

You think about Izuku. How he asked a million questions. How his eyes never once held envy.

And you think about yourself—about the power that sang when the sky split. About the calm you felt at the center of the storm.

You know something now.

You were never meant to stay small.

The stars have called you.

And you’re finally ready to answer.

The next few days are different.

Not just for you, but for all of you.

Katsuki is quieter. Not outwardly. He still shouts. Still barrels through life like a fireball. But you catch the hesitation now. The way his eyes flick toward you when you’re not looking. The way he holds his explosions just a little longer when you train—like he’s thinking. Like he’s watching.

He doesn’t tease you. Not about the sparkles. Not about floating or crying or drawing moons in the dirt with your finger like a baby sorceress. And he doesn’t treat you like a princess either. He just… doesn’t know what to do.

Because you changed. And suddenly, he’s not sure how to stand beside you.

You hear him snap at another boy in the schoolyard when he calls your Quirk “pretty.”

“It’s not just pretty, dumbass. She could level the whole damn building if she wanted.”

You don’t know if that’s true. But it makes something twist inside you.

Izuku changes too. He doesn’t just admire your power—he adores it. Every word you say about it, every new move you discover, every spark you make in your palm—he’s memorizing it. Sketching runes in his notebook. Trying to find the logic in something ancient and instinctive.

He walks with you more. Stays after school longer. Hovers beside you like a moon in orbit. It isn’t uncomfortable—but it is new.

And Katsuki notices.

You feel it most in the way he looks at Izuku now.

There’s a sharpness to it. Not quite anger. Not yet. But something colder than before. Something possessive.

He never used to care that Izuku followed you around. But now, when he sees you laughing together, something shifts in his shoulders. Tightens in his jaw.

You try to ignore it. But you feel the rift forming—Izuku pulling closer to you, and Katsuki drifting further away.

And you don’t want that.

Not between the three of you.

So you make small efforts. You ask Katsuki about his explosions. You tell him his sparking looks cooler when it’s controlled. You stand between him and Izuku when things get tense. You hope it helps.

But when you float again—just a little, just enough to reach a book on the high shelf—Katsuki stares too long. And walks away without saying a word.

He doesn’t hate you. But there’s something inside him now that burns a little hotter. Something that’s not fire.

It’s doubt.

And in his world, doubt feels like weakness.

That weekend, you train alone.

You stand under the stars and let your power rise in your fingertips. You shape light into spears, then scatter them into comets. You whisper the names you’ve read in secret—Altair, Vega, Sirius—and they answer you like old friends.

And when you close your eyes, you imagine them both standing with you.

Katsuki, mouth curled in that defiant smirk, daring you to go higher, hotter, brighter. Izuku, wide-eyed and scribbling, cheering every time you find something new.

But when you open your eyes, it’s just you and the stars.

And for the first time, it feels a little lonely.

Because you’ve changed.

And you don’t know yet whether your light will pull them closer…

…or leave them both behind.

A/N

I hope you like your quirk, as you probably could tell i based it off of Jellal's heavenly body magic from fairy tail. i dont on fairy tail or BNHA, if i did i might actually be wealthy but alas im not.

have a great day

Do you believe in reincarnation?

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

-Artemis

Chapter 7: Promise me

It’s late.

The sun has long set, leaving only the pale traces of twilight curling around the trees. You’re sitting on the swings near the edge of the neighbourhood park—the same place where the three of you used to race to see who could pump highest, who could leap furthest.

Now it’s quieter. The chain creaks softly as you sway back and forth, your palms warm with leftover stardust you haven’t quite figured out how to store away. Your legs are still muddy from training. The notebook Izuku gave you rests at your side, closed.

You hear the footsteps before you see him.

Izuku doesn’t announce himself.

He just appears. A soft crunch on the gravel path, hands curled tightly around a familiar green notebook. His hair is wind-tousled like he’s been running. His eyes flicker—once at you, once at the sky.

You don’t speak. Not at first.

He stands there, fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie, like there’s something he’s rehearsed over and over again—but can’t quite say.

Finally:

“You’re still out here?”

You nod, not trusting your voice yet. You study him from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t quite meet your gaze.

“I, um… I thought maybe you’d want some company. Or… I dunno. I just didn’t want you to be alone.”

You blink, surprised. “Thanks, Izuku.”

He walks over slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you. He sits on the swing next to you, his notebook resting in his lap.

“I saw you trainin’ the other day,” he says. “With the stardust, and that… that spiral thing you did? You looked like something out of All Might’s Silver Age arc. Like a real hero.”

Your heart skips.

“I ain’t jealous or anything,” he adds quickly, waving his hands. “I’m just… I’m happy for you. Really happy.”

You smile. “I know.”

A pause.

He kicks at the gravel with the toe of his shoe.

“I just—” he breaks off, then starts again. “I’ve always been the one writing things down. Watching. Cheering. And now… now you’re the one they’re watching. And cheering for. And I’m…”

He trails off.

You turn on the swing, shifting your body so you can face him. “Izuku…”

He gives you a small, sheepish smile. “I guess I just feel like I’m falling behind. Again.”

You reach out, fingers brushing his arm.

“You’re not behind.”

He blushes. “It’s not bad. I mean, I’ve always admired people with strong Quirks. And yours is amazing. Just… sometimes I wish I was more like you.”

Your chest aches at that.

“I want you with me, Izuku. Not watching from the sidelines.”

He swallows. “Really?”

You nod, eyes wet.

“Of course I do.”

He looks down at his hands. They’re trembling slightly.

“I just… I get scared. That if I can’t keep up, maybe you’ll drift away. Like a star burning past too fast to catch.”

You take his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks up, his eyes full of emotion, glinting in the starlight.

“I believe you.”

The night stretches quiet around you, the stars blinking softly overhead.

And for now, that promise is enough.

"Let's be heroes together, Izuku"

 

A/N

Are you guys liking it so far? Does it seem rushed or too slow? Do let me know, i would like to make this a fanfic that you readers will enjoy.

have a great day

Who’s your least favourite BNHA character?

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-Artemis

Chapter 8: starlight bruises

TIME SKIP, ELEVEN YEARS OLD

How were you supposed to know it would turn out like this?

How were you supposed it know it was the beginning of the end?

Just tell me, how could you have known your friendship would've been crushed?

You found him behind the school after class, scuffing up the cracked pavement with his sneakers and popping sparks like gum. He didn’t see you at first—too focused on the wall he'd blasted into a spiderweb of blackened brick.

“Katsuki.”

His head jerked up. His eyes met yours.

You swallowed. “Train with me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I want to get stronger. I need to.”

He scoffed, turning away. “…You don’t even know what you’re working with yet.”

You flinched. He caught himself.

“I know,” you said, forcing your voice to steady. “But I’m tired of being the one they laugh at. I want to be strong enough to defend myslef, how can i get stronger if i dont properly train my quirk and physical strength. I want to be able to fight. You can help me control my quirk. I've seen the skill and mastery you have over yours. Please just help me!”

His mouth twisted. He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with what he was feeling. Like he hated how much he understood.

“What do you even think training with me is gonna do?”

You stepped closer. “I don’t know. But if I’m gonna get stronger, I want to do it right. And you’re the best at this. You’ve always been.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He looked down, fingers flexing with contained energy.

Then, gruffly: “Fine. But if you fall behind, I’m not gonna wait.”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

He turned away, but not fast enough to hide the flicker of something in his eyes. Maybe annoyance. Maybe pride. Maybe fear.

The sparks in his hands danced brighter that day.

When you first asked him to train you, Katsuki Bakugo’s initial reaction was a sharp, almost reflexive snap. “Why the hell would I waste my time teaching someone like you?” His pride bristled at the idea. He wasn’t some charity case handing out hero skills. He’d become a hero by sheer grit and power — no hand-holding, no shortcuts.

But beneath that bluster, something gnawed at him.

You weren’t like the others — quiet, serious, stubborn. You had a fire beneath your surface, even if it wasn’t as loud or explosive as his own. And that made him… uneasy. He didn’t want to admit it, but he noticed how you never gave up, even when he was sharp and cruel.

“Damn it,” he thought, scowling as he clenched his fists. “Why do I care? I don’t care about helping weaklings get stronger. I just want to be the best.”

But then, there was the fact that you’d looked him dead in the eye when you asked. Not scared, not begging — just determined. And somehow, that chipped at the walls he’d built around himself.

“You think I’m going soft? Like I’m gonna baby you? Hell no,” Katsuki grumbled internally. “But maybe… maybe I can push you. Break you. Make you fight for it like I did.”

That was the real reason he agreed. Not out of kindness or friendship — no, it was about challenge. About dominance. About control.

“If I’m training you, then I’m the one who sets the pace. If you want to keep up, you better earn it.”

He would push you hard — maybe too hard. But it was the only way he knew. And, deep down, a tiny part of him hoped you’d surprise him.

Not because he cared.

Because he hated losing.

 

The edge of the riverbank behind the school wasn’t much. Overgrown weeds and cracked concrete, long since abandoned by the public. But Katsuki liked it. No extras. No interruptions. Just space to explode.

He spoke, " we're going to start with hand to hand combat first, then eventually we will incorporate your quirk into it"

You stood across from him, hands balled at your sides, breath short already from nerves.

“Now, are you sure about this?” he asked, cracking his knuckles. “Don’t cry when I knock you flat.”

“I said I want to train. Not get babied,” you said, meeting his glare.

“Tch. Fine.”

He didn’t warm you up with stretches or run you through the basics. He threw a jab without warning.

You barely ducked.

“What the hell, Katsuki?!”

“If you can’t react, you’re dead. Real fights don’t wait for countdowns.”

The next hit didn’t come with explosions, but it came faster. You blocked with your forearm, stumbling back. He didn’t chase. Just watched.

“Your stance sucks.”

You adjusted. Lowered your center of gravity like he’d shown you.

Again.

And again.

Each strike was a lesson, every misstep met with growled corrections.

“Stop turning your shoulder like that.”

“Don’t flinch. You flinch and they win.”

“You think villains are gonna play nice?”

Sweat stung your eyes. Your arms ached. Your legs shook. You tasted dirt once when he swept you off your feet. You got back up.

And that—more than anything—seemed to get to him.

He didn’t say it, of course. But by the third round, when you blocked his elbow with both arms and didn’t go down, his smirk twitched like it meant something more.

“You’re not bad,” he muttered.

You exhaled, shaking. “I’m not done.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“Thanks.”

A pause. Then—

“Next time,” he said, already turning away, “you come at me harder. I’m not holding back again.”

You nodded, chest heaving.

And behind the ache, behind the bruises… you felt stronger.

Two days later, you met Katsuki again at the edge of the river bank. Your arms were still sore from the first session, but you didn’t dare say anything. You didn’t want to give him any excuse to stop taking you seriously.

He was already there, blasting apart a rotting log with a loud BOOM that sent a few birds screeching into the sky.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking at you.

“I’m five minutes early.”

He grunted, then turned toward you. “We’re working on movement today. Dodging. Prediction. You’re too stiff.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to be a psychic,” you muttered.

Katsuki cracked his neck. “You’re supposed to survive.”

The drill started simple. He’d charge—fast—and you had to move. But there was no rhythm to it. No count. No warning. Just Bakugo, a storm of motion and muscle, forcing you to learn the hard way.

You ducked one swing. Sidestepped a palm coated in sizzling heat. Rolled too slow the next time and ended up flat on your back with the wind knocked out of you.

“Again.”

You pushed yourself up.

Your lungs burned, your hair stuck to your forehead, and sweat soaked your collar. He was relentless. But you were stubborn.

He came at you again. This time, you turned too early, and he caught your ankle with a leg sweep.

“You think villains give second chances?” he barked.

“No,” you gasped, pulling yourself up. “But I do.”

His eye twitched. “That’s the kind of crap that’ll get you killed.”

You wiped blood from your lip and stared at him. “Then help me live.”

Something in him stilled. The explosion crackling in his palm faded.

For the first time that day, he didn’t have something scathing to throw at you.

“…Get ready. Last round.”

You nodded, chest heaving, body bruised.

But when he came at you again, you saw the pattern.

He always shifted weight to his right before swinging left.

You ducked just as his fist whistled past your cheek.

And for the first time—

You landed a hit.

Not a strong one. Not one that would knock anyone down. But your palm connected solidly with his ribs.

He froze.

You froze.

He stepped back, stared at you.

Then, slowly, he smirked.

“…’Bout time.”

You smiled too, teeth pink with blood. “Told you. I don’t stay down.”

His smirk widened.

“Good. 'Cause next time? I will knock you down.”

You nodded, breathless.

“Good. I’ll get back up again.”

You trained with Bakugo for another hour before you both called it quits and started heading home.

Bakugo strolled off, hands in his pockets, he had chosen to talk the short way home whereas you had decided to take the longer more scenic route.

Izuku didn’t mean to spy.

He was just walking home, notebook tucked to his chest, when the distant echo of blasts pulled his gaze toward the edge of the riverbank.

He followed the noise—half curiosity, half instinct—and ducked behind a warped fence post, peeking through the slats.

That’s when he saw you.

Covered in sweat, dirt clinging to your arms, lip split, but eyes fierce.

Katsuki was circling you like a wolf, movements sharp and unpredictable. You moved too—sloppy, yes, but brave. Unrelenting.

Izuku's heart caught in his throat.

He watched as you took hit after hit, as you fell and got up, again and again. He winced when you staggered, cheered silently when you landed your first strike. A small one. But enough to make Bakugo stop.

Enough to make him smirk.

Enough to make Izuku ache.

Not from jealousy—he thinks. But from something deeper.

Admiration.

And fear.

He clutched his notebook tighter.

You were getting stronger. You were fighting.

And he—still quirkless, still on the sidelines—wondered if he’d ever catch up.

But mostly?

He was proud.

Even if he couldn't tell you.

Not yet.

And so he decided to follow you quietly  as you begin the long walk home before making his presence known.

“Wait!” Izuku called, slightly breathless. “Can we talk?”

You paused, heart thudding from more than exertion.

He caught up beside you, notebook hugged to his chest like a shield. His brows were furrowed, his cheeks pink from running—and something else.

“I saw you,” he said softly. “Training. With Kacchan.”

Your breath caught.

He looked up, eyes uncertain. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You looked away, unsure how to explain it. The ache in your muscles, the fire in your chest, the way Bakugo's blunt edge cut through your self-doubt like nothing else.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see that,” you admitted. “Especially not with him.”

Izuku flinched but didn’t look away. “It’s not that. It’s just… you’re hurting yourself. I saw you fall. I saw your lip.”

“I’m okay,” you said quickly. “It’s part of getting stronger.”

“You’ve always been strong,” he said quietly. “Even when no one saw it.”

That made you freeze.

“I just—” he fumbled, voice cracking. “I want to help too. I want to get strong too. But… I don’t even have a quirk.”

Guilt settled in your chest like lead.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “It’s not fair. You—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted. “I’m proud of you. I mean it.”

You turned to him fully. His eyes shimmered with something raw and open. He was trying to smile, even though it hurt.

“But promise me you’ll be careful,” he said. “Don’t let him push you too far.”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Okay. I promise.”

A beat passed. Then you asked, softer than before, “Would you want to help me train?”

Izuku blinked. “Me?”

You nodded. “You’re smarter than anyone else I know. You notice everything. Even if you don’t have a quirk, you think like a hero already.”

He stared, stunned silent for a second. Then his cheeks flushed, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I—I’d like that,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I really would.”

And for a moment, standing under the fading sky, he looked a little less left behind.

And you didn’t feel so alone.

When you asked Izuku if he wanted to help you train, his heart skipped a beat — a mix of surprise, hope, and nervous excitement flooding through him all at once. He’d never imagined you’d ask him.

“Me? Train you?” His mind raced, words stumbling over themselves as he tried to process. He was just an ordinary kid, quirkless for so long, always on the outside looking in. Yet here you were, trusting him enough to lean on him.

His cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink as he nodded eagerly. “I—I’d like that, very much!” he wanted to say, but instead, he fumbled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Inside, though, his thoughts ran deeper.

“I can’t let her down. She’s strong — stronger than I am sometimes — and yet she’s so kind, so determined. I want to help her because she deserves that support. I want to be better for her, and for myself.”

There was a quiet resolve settling in his chest, a promise whispered in the silence between words. Training wasn’t just about strength — it was about hope, about forging bonds that could withstand any storm.

And in that moment, Izuku knew: this was a step forward. For both of you.

The next afternoon, you met Izuku at a quiet park near the river—an open stretch of grass sheltered from the wind, perfect for testing your quirk safely.

Izuku had brought a small satchel filled with notebooks, pens, and a stopwatch. He looked excited. Nervous, too—but mostly thrilled to help.

“I was reading up on magical projection types last night,” he said eagerly. “Your quirk’s celestial alignment suggests energy comes in pulses, right? Can you show me the starting spark again?”

You nodded, planting your feet and focusing. You took a breath, raised your hands to the sky—and called the stars.

A faint shimmer pulsed at your fingertips, soft light gathering like stardust. One flick of your wrist, and a streak of violet light arced forward, vanishing midair.

Izuku scribbled furiously. “That was about ten meters! Try again, but adjust your stance like this.” He demonstrated, hands awkwardly mirroring what Bakugo had once barked into your posture.

You followed. Tried again. This time, the blast curved.

“Okay! So gravitational curvature is a factor. That’s incredible—if we figure out your center-point tether, we can maybe stabilize it for repeated casting.”

You smiled, sweat building at your temples. “You’re kind of amazing at this.”

Izuku flushed crimson. “N-No! I’m just observing! You’re the one doing all the hard work!”

The two of you practiced for hours. Focus, breath control, range. Izuku even ran across the field with a stopwatch to track blast delay. He cheered when your second beam left a faint scorch on a boulder.

The sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the grass.

You sat on the ground beside him, panting and flushed, watching stars flicker faintly in the corners of your vision.

“You really think I can control it?” you asked softly.

Izuku looked at you. “I know you can.”

The moment held. Long and warm.

Then he grinned. “Same time Saturday?”

You nodded.

And for the first time, the sky felt a little closer.

 

The following morning,  you met up with Bakugo, excited and nervous for what was about to come.

The riverbank lay scorched and cracked beneath the unforgiving sun, but your focus was razor sharp. Across from you, Bakugo’s glare burned hotter than the afternoon heat, his arms already sparking with tiny explosions.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the quiet hum beneath your skin — the celestial pulse of your quirk stirring like a distant constellation awakening. Slowly, you extended your hands forward, palms open to the sky.

A soft glow blossomed, faint at first, like the gentle twinkle of stars just before dawn. Wisps of silvery light spiraled from your fingertips, curling and weaving like ethereal ribbons in the air. Slowly, they gathered, coalescing into a small orb that hovered just above your palms — a miniature galaxy swirling with starry motes that shimmered with cold, cosmic light.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed, the usual smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you summon your power.

With a sharp inhale, you flicked your wrists, launching the orb forward like a comet streaking across a midnight sky. The light left a sparkling trail of tiny stars in its wake, casting prismatic colors across the cracked ground.

The orb collided with the dirt, erupting not in fire but a burst of radiant stardust. Instead of flame, the explosion scattered delicate shards of luminous energy that twinkled like falling stars, momentarily lighting the field in a celestial glow. The energy pulses washed over Bakugo, pushing him back a step with the gentle but unyielding force of cosmic wind.

“Not bad,” he muttered, eyes wide with grudging respect.

But the moment was brief.

Bakugo surged forward, explosions bursting from his palms like boiling fire. You barely had time to react.

Your hands shot up instinctively, weaving light in a fluid motion. The shimmering stardust bent and twisted, condensing into a radiant shield swirling with constellations — luminous lines connecting glowing points like celestial maps.

His fiery blasts slammed against your barrier with a deafening roar. The impact sent ripples through the shield, which flickered under the assault but held firm, casting flickering shadows shaped like distant galaxies.

You could feel the energy vibrating through your arms, a tingling warmth mingling with the sting of pressure.

“You’ve got guts,” Bakugo snarled, pushing harder.

The shield shimmered brighter, pulsing with every hit, as if drawing strength from the cosmos itself. You shifted your stance, channeling more of your quirk’s power into the barrier, the swirling star patterns growing intricate and intense.

Then, with a swift motion, you sent a burst of radiant energy spiraling from the shield’s surface — a concentrated beam of stellar light that shot toward Bakugo’s charging form.

The beam crackled like a meteor streaking through the atmosphere, trailing sparks that glittered like tiny galaxies unraveling in space. It hit Bakugo squarely in the chest, the impact sending him skidding backward, the edge of his uniform singed but his eyes alight with excitement.

“Damn,” he breathed, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re not just playing around.”

Your chest heaved with exertion, your hands glowing softly with residual energy. The celestial light flickered like a heartbeat — steady, radiant, alive.

“You ready for the next round?” Bakugo asked, a fierce grin breaking through his usual scowl.

You nodded, eyes blazing. “Let’s go.”

As he charged again, the field became a battlefield of fire and stars — explosions colliding with shimmering cosmic light, a fierce dance of power and will.

And you stood your ground, a spark of the heavens incarnate, ready to meet his blaze with your own stellar fury.

The sun was dipping below the treetops, casting the sky in gold. You were both still at the edge of the riverbank behind your school—your unofficial training spot.

You were panting, knees dug into the dirt. Cosmic runes shimmered around you, fragile and flickering. Your hands trembled.

"Again," you whispered. Your voice cracked, but your eyes burned with stubborn fire.

Katsuki paced nearby, clenching and unclenching his fists. Sweat beaded along his temple. "You’re pushing too hard. Your aim’s trash right now. You keep losing focus."

You ignored him. Raised your hands. Summoned another sigil.

A brilliant arc of starlight blazed from your palm, but the trajectory skewed wide. It slammed into a rock, shattering it with a thunderous crack.

You stumbled back. Your vision blurred. Blood trickled from your nose.

"Shit," Katsuki muttered. He stepped forward, grabbing your wrist. "You're bleeding. Stop. You’re done."

You yanked your arm back. "No. I’m not. I can keep going."

"No, you can’t," he snapped. "You’re gonna pass out at this rate."

"I have to get stronger!" you shouted, eyes glimmering with tears. "If I want to be a hero—"

"Yeah, if. That’s a big 'if' right now." Katsuki’s expression twisted. His voice dropped. Cold, sharp. "You’re acting like some delusional extra with sparkles in their eyes."

You flinched, the insult hitting deeper than it should have.

He stormed closer, hands curled into trembling fists. His voice was like a lit fuse, growing more unstable with every word.

"You always hesitate. Always second-guess. You want to be a hero, but you don’t have the guts to go all in. You think a few glowing circles are enough to take down villains? You think your pretty little stardust is gonna mean something when people are screaming for help?"

Your chest tightened. Your throat burned. "Katsuki—"

He wasn’t done.

"You’re too soft. You stop to help everyone. You freeze when things get bad. That’s not what heroes do. Real heroes don’t break every time something goes wrong."

You looked at him—really looked.

His shoulders were tense. His jaw clenched. But his eyes—those furious, molten red eyes—were wide with something you didn’t expect.

Panic.

Fear.

He was lashing out, not because he hated you… but because he was terrified of losing you.

"You don’t think I can do it," you whispered, voice barely audible.

Katsuki looked away for the briefest second.

And then—his voice hardened.

"No," he said, like it physically hurt. "I know you can’t."

Silence fell.

The sun dipped lower, staining the clouds crimson. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves. Your magic flickered around your hands—weak, unstable, and dim.

You lowered your arms. Slowly. Carefully. Like you didn’t trust yourself not to shatter.

"Get out of here," he said, turning away. "Before you break something else."

“And don't come crying to me when you fail, you and that quirkless Deku”

He didn’t look back when he walked away.

And when your stars finally blinked out… you let them.

Your limbs were leaden.

The light in your fingertips had long since fizzled out. Your chest still heaved, lungs desperate for a breath that didn’t burn. The words Katsuki hurled at you echoed, not just in your ears—but in your bones.

“You don’t think I can do it.”

“No. I know you can’t.”

You walked. Not because you knew where you were going, but because standing still hurt too much. The world felt distant—like a dream you couldn’t wake up from. Everything moved around you, but nothing touched you.

Your hands tingled from the backlash of the last spell. But the ache in your chest swallowed it all.

The stars didn’t feel like yours anymore.

They felt like something borrowed. Something broken.

You found yourself in the forest clearing behind your neighbourhood—the one with the tall cedar tree and the flat rock you used to pretend was a throne. You collapsed onto it, folding your legs beneath you, resting your head in your hands.

“Real heroes don’t break every time something goes wrong.”

Maybe he was right.

Maybe your quirk—beautiful, vast, celestial—was nothing more than a light show. A flickering spark in a world that needed fire.

You dug your fingers into the dirt, grounding yourself in the cold, damp earth. The stars didn’t come to you this time. You didn’t call them. What would be the point?

Tears slipped down your cheeks in silence. Not dramatic. Not sobbing. Just… falling. Like everything else.

You thought of all the nights you trained alone. Practicing until your fingers cramped. Studying constellation maps. Reading about gravitational pressure and black hole theory like it would make your magic stronger.

You thought of the way Katsuki used to watch you—competitive, annoyed, but always there. Always watching. You thought of the time he shielded you from a flying ball in P.E. The way he smirked and said, “Can’t have my training dummy breaking early.”

And now?

Now he looked at you like you were fragile. Like you were a disappointment.

You wiped your face and stared at your hands. They trembled, faint cosmic shimmer still lingering at your fingertips, stubborn as ever.

You wanted to scream at him. Punch him. Make him take the words back.

But more than anything—you wanted to prove him wrong.

You took a slow, steadying breath.

The stars weren’t gone. Just hiding. Just scared.

Like you.

And stars were always born in the dark.

A/N

Do you guys enjoy when i give you snippets of their thoughts? I'm sorry if the Characters seem a bit OOC, im trying my best, if you got any tips they would be appreciated.

Have a great day

Whats you favourite song?

If you join my discord, i have a section where you guys can recommend ideas for future chapters like the special ones

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

-Artemis

Chapter 9: Constellations and cracks

You didn’t hear the footsteps right away.

Soft, hesitant crunches over twigs and leaf litter. You turned your head slowly, eyes swollen, heart still a brittle thing in your chest.

It was Izuku.

He looked winded, like he’d run the whole neighbourhood. His freckles stood out stark on his pale cheeks, and his backpack hung awkwardly from one shoulder. His eyes landed on you—red-eyed and dirt-smeared—and you saw them widen, filling with something tender and heavy all at once.

"I was worried," he said breathlessly. "Kacchan was yelling and you didn’t come back and—"

You turned away, wiping your cheeks with the back of your sleeve. "I'm fine."

He took a tentative step closer. "You don’t look fine."

The comment wasn’t meant to be rude. Just honest. So painfully honest, like he always was.

You let the silence stretch, but not forever. You looked down at your lap, voice barely above a whisper.

"He said I’ll never make it. That my quirk is useless."

Izuku didn’t flinch. Instead, he knelt in front of you, his knees pressing into the earth, and looked up into your eyes like you were something sacred.

"He was wrong."

You laughed, bitter and watery. "You didn’t hear how angry he was. And maybe... maybe he’s right. I push too hard. My magic hurts me. Sometimes it doesn’t even listen to me."

Izuku reached out, slowly, like you were made of glass, and placed his hand gently over yours.

"You try harder than anyone I know. Your quirk is beautiful. It’s powerful. It’s you."

The dam cracked again. This time it wasn’t just tears.

"You don’t get it," you croaked. "You don’t even have a quirk, Izuku, and here I am whining because mine isn't perfect. I shouldn't even be complaining to you. It feels wrong."

His hand squeezed yours.

"That doesn’t mean your pain doesn’t matter. Just because I don’t have a quirk doesn’t mean you have to carry your pain alone. You can talk to me. Please talk to me."

Your vision blurred again.

"Why are you always so kind to me?"

He gave a small, shaky smile. "Because you were kind to me first. And I meant what I said before... I'm going to be by your side. No matter what."

The wind moved gently through the trees. The first star blinked to life in the early dusk sky.

You leaned forward slowly, pressing your forehead to his.

"Thank you, Izuku."

For a moment, just a moment, the weight didn’t feel quite so crushing.

And somewhere inside you—small, soft, and defiant—the stars began to shimmer again.

 

Bakugo's point of view

Katsuki Bakugo didn’t sleep well that night.

Not because he was scared. Hell no. He wasn’t some weak, crybaby kid scared of the dark. It was the heat in his chest—the pressure behind his ribs—that kept him awake. Like an explosion trying to detonate, with nowhere to go.

He’d seen you earlier. You and Deku.

On the swings. At your park.

Your knees brushing. Your head tilted toward him. That gentle way you always looked at Midoriya, like he was made of glass and stars at the same time.

It made Katsuki sick.

Not because he hated Deku—not exactly. It was more complicated than that. He hated how small Midoriya used to be, all mumbles and scribbles and apologies. And now? Now he was still small, still awkward—but somehow he was the one next to you. Sitting where Katsuki used to sit.

He punched his pillow. It didn’t help.

The next morning, Katsuki stomped out the front door before his mom could ask if he wanted natto. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his brow thunderous. His mind was a storm.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just moved.

Until he found himself outside the park again.

It was empty now. No floating stardust. No glowing eyes. No Deku.

Just the swing set. Rusty chains swaying in the wind.

Katsuki sat on the swing you’d been on last night. He didn’t mean to. His feet just dragged him there. He sat down, palms gripping the cold chain.

He closed his eyes.

And it hit him—like a punch to the gut.

You were slipping away.

You were stronger now. Brighter. You had power. And you had Midoriya whispering support like it meant something.

It should’ve been him. He should’ve been the one training with you. He should’ve been the one seeing you glow but it was his fault.

“Damn nerd,” he muttered.

But his voice broke halfway through.

Katsuki dropped his head forward, shoulders hunched. The shame pooled in his stomach like tar.

He remembered the day you all met. The way you’d looked at him—sharp, stubborn, wide-eyed. You didn’t take crap from anyone. Not even him.

You’d been his rival before you were his friend.

And now you weren’t either.

You were… what? A teammate of Deku’s? A star he couldn’t touch?

“Tch.” He kicked the dirt. “Stupid.”

The swing creaked.

He wished he could rewind. Say something better. Not shove you. Not mock Deku in front of you. Not act like a goddamn villain just because he was scared of being left behind.

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

Fear.

Not that you’d leave.

But that you already had.

The next time he saw you, he didn’t say anything.

You were walking to school with Deku again. Laughing at something he said. Your hand glowed briefly when you stretched it toward the sky.

Katsuki turned down the next street.

He wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

But one day—one day soon—he would be. He’d get stronger. Stronger than Midoriya. Stronger than you.

And then?

Then he’d be the one standing next to you.

He swore it.

Y/N's point of view

Training came quietly after that. In secret.

Because you weren’t like the others.

You didn’t want anymore help.

You wanted help before with Bakugo, but look at how that turned out.

So now, now you wanted control.

Heavenly Body Magic—what the scientists called “aether-based celestial manipulation,” and what Midoriya excitedly called beautiful—wasn’t easy. It demanded calculation, precision, restraint. It wasn’t loud like Bakugo’s explosions, or versatile like the dozens of quirks you saw on TV.

It was cosmic.

And unpredictable.

 

You trained in abandoned parks.
Fields during sunrise.
Rooftops lit only by moonlight.

Your power answered the skies. So you chased the sky.

You'd whisper the names of stars like prayers. Altair. Sirius. Vega. They became your companions, your mantras. You learned to track lunar tides by feel. To sense when stardust swelled in your blood.

Some days, it poured from you effortlessly—forming comet arrows and celestial shields.

Other days, you wept in silence as the magic twisted out of reach, unyielding.

Those were the days you thought of them.

 

Of Midoriya, who still looked at you with quiet reverence. Who once tripped over his own feet to offer you a water bottle after your training left you too dizzy to stand. Who never said it out loud, but you knew he admired you.

And of Bakugo.

Whose name used to taste like fire on your tongue.
Who hadn’t spoken to you in months.
But whose eyes, when they met yours, still made your ribs ache.

You hated that.

You hated that he hadn’t apologized.
You hated that you still wanted him to.

So you trained harder.

By thirteen, you could summon Altair Barrage—a spiral rain of light projectiles that bent mid-air to track their targets. It left your arms numb for hours. It tore the sleeves of your uniform. It made you feel like the stars had lent you their fury.

That was the day M/N frowned at your appearance.

“You’re pushing your Quirk beyond what your body can handle,” she warned gently.

You bowed your head. You thanked her.

You went right back to training.

 

Then came the night you almost lost yourself.

You were on the rooftop of an old apartment building. It was past midnight. The stars shimmered like silent judges. You raised your hand, sweat beading on your brow, and whispered, “Grand Chariot.”

A ring of seven stars burst into life above you.

And then came the pain.

Blinding. Bone-deep.

The magic surged out too fast, too wild. It crashed through your nervous system like a meteor storm, dragging you to your knees. Blood dripped from your nose. Your vision doubled. Your heart skipped—

“(Y/N)!”

You didn’t know how he found you.

Midoriya stumbled forward, green notebook clutched in his fist, eyes wide with terror.

You tried to speak, but the words tangled.

He knelt beside you. His hands didn’t touch, but hovered—shaking. “You can’t—your body’s not ready—”

You slumped forward.

His arms caught you before the concrete did.

 

You woke up hours later in a small hospital room.

Bakugo never came.

But Midoriya was there. Head on your mattress. One hand still holding your wrist like he was afraid you’d float away.

Your voice came out raw. “How did you find me?”

He blinked awake. Flushed.

“I… I tracked your training schedule. I noticed your stars align around 2:30 AM during clear skies, so I figured… you’d be up there.”

You stared.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Was I wrong?”

You shook your head.

He grinned—soft, sheepish. “I’ve always thought your Quirk was amazing. Like something out of a legend.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you looked out the window at the sky.

And whispered, “Then why do I always feel like I’m not enough?”

His smile faded.

You turned to him. Your eyes burned. “I train every day. I bleed for this. But no matter how strong I get, I still feel like I’m stuck between you two.” “And I feel awful complaining like this to you. I’m a terrible person, here I am whining when you’re here suffering more than me.”

“You’re not,” he said, too quickly.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said, and his voice cracked. “Because you’re the only one who’s ever seen me. The real me. And you shine, (Y/N). Even when you don’t think you do.”

 

That night, you cried silently into your pillow.

Not because of the pain.

But because part of you believed him.

And the other part still missed Katsuki.

 

You returned to training two days later.

Slower. More deliberate.

You didn’t chase pain anymore.

You chased mastery.

You learned to shape constellations mid-air. To conjure lunar shields on instinct. You found a rhythm with your magic, not through brute force, but through harmony.

You stopped asking the stars to make you powerful.

You asked them to make you whole.

And somewhere in the silence between sunrise and spellcasting, you began to believe:

You could become the hero you dreamed of being.

Not for Katsuki.
Not even for Izuku.
But for yourself.

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 10: Smoke in the mirror

Middle school-Aldera Junior High-age 13

You notice it starts with a glance. A shrug. A word that lands too sharply.

It’s small at first. So small you almost miss it.

Katsuki doesn’t call him Izuku anymore. Just “Deku.”

It’s playground nonsense at first. But it starts to stick like gum under desks and bruises on knobby knees. You hear it when he mutters it after Izuku answers a question in class. You see it in the roll of his eyes when Izuku trips or stammers or clutches his notebooks too tightly.

You see how Izuku’s shoulders start to hunch. Like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

The other kids follow Katsuki’s lead.

“Why’re you sitting with him?” one whispers to you.

Another snickers, “Isn’t he, like, broken?”

They don’t say it around teachers. Only in corners. Only when they think they can get away with it. But you see it.

And so does Izuku.

The worst part isn’t the words. It’s the way he stops defending himself. Like somewhere, deep down, he agrees with them.

You remember the first time Katsuki pushed him.

It wasn’t a big shove. Just enough to knock Izuku’s backpack from his shoulder. Enough to send him stumbling. Enough to make the others laugh.

You stood up then. Grabbed Izuku’s bag and helped him put it back on. Katsuki watched you. His expression didn’t crack. But his hands curled into fists.

He didn’t say anything. Not that day.

But the next week, it got worse.

He scorched the edges of Izuku’s notebook. Just enough to make the pages curl and blacken. Just enough to watch Izuku’s face fall.

You didn’t even think. You slammed your hand down on Katsuki’s desk.

“Stop it!” you said. Your voice shook. Your knees did too. But you didn’t back down.

The room went quiet.

Katsuki didn’t yell. He just scoffed. Like you were a fly.

“What, you gonna cry for him too?”

“I’m not crying,” you said. “You are. Inside. That’s why you’re so mean.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You sat back down beside Izuku, whose eyes were wide and watery. And from then on, every time Katsuki sneered or rolled his eyes, you leaned a little closer to Izuku.

The gap between the two boys grew like a crack in the sidewalk. And you stayed in the middle. Like a thread stretched tight.

Sometimes Izuku asked you, “Why are you still friends with me?”

You’d answer, “Because you never made me feel small.”

Sometimes Katsuki stared at you in the hall. Long. Hard. Like he was waiting for you to choose.

But you already had.

Izuku’s hand was ink-stained and shaky. But it held yours like a promise.

And even when your classmates whispered, when your teachers gave sideways glances, when Katsuki’s scowl grew deeper and louder—

—you stayed.

Because someone had to.

The classroom was quiet — the kind of quiet that made Izuku Midoriya’s thoughts louder than they should’ve been. You had just left to get lunch, flashing him that small smile, one that always made his stomach settle and his heart flutter uncomfortably in his chest.

"Be right back. Don’t move, okay?" you’d said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. He’d nodded, clutching his Hero Analysis notebook to his chest like a shield.

Maybe he should’ve gone with you.

He didn’t hear them at first — just felt it, the sudden pressure in the air like a shift in gravity. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps, the scent of scorched ozone, and the mocking lilt of a voice he knew too well.

“Still pretending you’re gonna be a hero?”

Izuku froze.

Bakugo’s shadow fell across his desk, flanked by two of his usual lackeys. He didn’t even need to look up to know the expression on Kacchan’s face — that superior, half-lidded smirk that always meant trouble.

“What’s this garbage?” Bakugo asked, snatching the open notebook from Izuku’s desk. He flipped through it, nose wrinkling at the meticulous notes and sketches. “You seriously wasting your time with this crap again?”

Izuku rose halfway from his chair, panic in his throat. “Please—Kacchan, give it back.”

Bakugo’s red eyes flared, glinting with something sharp. “You gonna make me, Quirkless?”

The word hit like a slap.

Izuku felt the warmth drain from his face, his fingers tightening on the desk. “I just want to—”

“You just want to what?” Bakugo cut in, his voice rising. “Be a hero? Hah. You think writing down nerd notes and watching All Might clips is enough to make up for being born useless?”

Laughter bubbled from one of the other boys. The other one leaned over to peer into the book. “Look at this! He’s got stats on Midnight like he’s her manager or something!”

Izuku flinched, but his eyes stayed locked on Bakugo. He could see it — the frustration, the heat rolling off him in waves. It wasn’t just about Izuku. It never was. It was about what Izuku represented.

Weakness. And stubbornness. The two things Bakugo hated most.

“And now you’ve dragged her into this fantasy?” Bakugo’s voice dropped to something darker. “She actually has a future. A real Quirk. Real power. But instead of climbing with it, she’s wasting her time playing nursemaid to you.”

Izuku’s breath caught. That—hurt.

Because even if he didn’t say it out loud, even if he’d never dared to ask, a part of him always feared that might be true.

That maybe, someday, you’d realize he was just… dead weight.

“You don’t deserve her loyalty,” Bakugo snapped. “And she’s too dumb to see it.”

That—was too far.

Izuku’s fists clenched. “Don’t talk about her like that,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“What was that?” Bakugo leaned in, his hand sparking. “Speak up, Deku.”

Izuku didn’t back down. “She’s kind. She’s strong. And you don’t get to decide who she cares about.”

Bakugo’s smirk faded into something colder. His palm flared, not a full explosion — just a warning. Enough to make Izuku flinch.

You had just gone to get lunch. You weren't even gone for that long. So, why are they arguing?

You hear the breath leave Izuku when Katsuki yells at him. Not loud—but sharp. A whip-crack through the late afternoon air.

“You think you're better than me?” Katsuki’s voice shakes, not from fear—but fury. That barely-bridled, volcanic heat he's carried since his quirk awakened. “You think just ‘cause you write in those damn notebooks you know everything? You're nothing. Just a shitty worthless extra. Why does Y/N even hang out with you when she should be with me. I was with her first."

Izuku doesn't answer. He just hugs his bag closer. You stand in front of him now, facing down Katsuki. Your pulse drums in your ears.

“I said STOP,” you shout. “Why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t HATE him,” Katsuki bites, voice low, cracking. “He’s just—pathetic.”

There’s a pause. Even the wind seems to hold its breath.

“He’s trying his best, I thought that you were better than this” you whisper.

"Just leave us alone," you mutter.

And maybe it’s that softness that cuts Katsuki deeper than yelling ever could. Maybe it’s because you look at Izuku with compassion—the way you used to look at him.

Something flickers in Katsuki’s eyes. But he turns dropping the notebook in his hand. Shoves past a bush, nearly tears his sleeve on a branch.

And leaves.

You and Izuku are alone in the schoolyard, where silence feels heavier than noise.

Izuku doesn’t look at you. He just stares at the ground as he picks up his notebook.

“I wish I could do something to fix it,” he says. “Maybe if I had a quirk—”

You take his hand. “You don’t need one to matter.”

His fingers tighten around yours.

You walk him home that day. Past kids who whisper. Past a shadow that looks a little like the boy who once grabbed your wrist and promised you both would be heroes.

But now that boy is gone. Replaced with smoke and fire and resentment.

And you wonder—not for the last time—if Katsuki ever misses being your friend.

Izuku sniffles beside you. You squeeze his hand tighter.

He still believes in being a hero.

And if he’s going to hold onto that dream—you’ll hold onto him.

No matter how wide the gap becomes.

And he knows that, which is why he whispers "Thank you Y/N"

Katsuki doesn't sleep that night.

He stares up at the ceiling, fists clenched in the blanket, like he’s bracing for a fight. But there’s no opponent here—only the thoughts crawling across his skull like poison.

He’s angry.

He’s always angry. But it’s not that wild, explosive kind tonight. It’s something quieter. Something that knots in his chest and makes his throat burn.

Your words echo, stinging sharp:

“Just leave us alone.”

You hadn’t yelled them.

You’d whispered it. Like a truth. Like a confession you couldn’t hold in anymore.

And that made it worse.

You weren’t scared of him. You were tired of him.

You looked at him like he’d become everything you never wanted him to be. Like he was a villain in some story where he used to be your hero.

And that… that shattered something in him. Quietly. Messily.

He doesn’t care about Deku. That nerd is weak. Pathetic. Katsuki’s always known it, always felt it in his bones. Deku clings to dreams he doesn’t have the spine to chase. That’s what he tells himself.

But then why does it feel like Deku’s the one winning?

Why is he the one getting your smile, your attention, your soft voice when you ask if he’s okay?

It’s like you don’t even see Katsuki anymore.

It’s like you looked away once—and never looked back.

His stomach twists with something he doesn’t want to name.

He misses you.

He shouldn’t. You’re soft, and quiet, and too gentle for your own good. You’re everything Katsuki used to make fun of. But you always looked at him like he could become something big. Something bright. Even when no one else did.

Now all he sees in your eyes is disappointment.

And he doesn’t know how to fix that.

He tries. Stupid, half-hearted attempts. A muttered greeting. An awkward shuffle in line so maybe you’ll end up next to him. But everything comes out wrong. Too loud. Too sharp. Like a firecracker meant to light the sky that just ends up scaring people.

You flinch.

You flinch.

And that hurts worse than any punch he’s ever taken.

He lashes out more.

He shouts louder. Trains harder. Makes jokes that bite too deep. Because if he can’t be your favourite person anymore, maybe he can just be someone you can’t ignore.

But even that fails. You stop reacting. You don’t even look at him half the time.

You don’t call him Katsu.

You don’t reach for his hand.

You laugh at shitty Deku’s stupid jokes like they’re worth something.

He slams his locker door too hard. Blows out the training dummies faster than anyone else. Makes sure the world knows he’s strong, even if it’s hollow.

Because the one person who used to see him without all the fire doesn’t see him at all now.

And maybe that’s the part that stings the most.

He doesn’t cry. He won’t cry. He’s not like Izuku. But there’s a lump in his throat some nights when the memories hit too hard.

The three of you, sitting under that jungle gym. You laughing. Izuku rambling. Katsuki pretending not to care while secretly loving the way your hand brushed his when you reached for his snack and the way your hair dangled in front of your face.

Now you don’t even sit on the same side of the playground.

And it’s Deku who gets your secrets.

It’s Deku who hears your laugh.

It’s fucking Deku who picks up your bag when you forget it in class.

Katsuki watches from across the room, fists curled, jaw tight, wondering how the hell everything slipped away.

Wondering why you let it.

No. That’s a lie. He knows why.

Because he pushed.

He shouted. Mocked. Ignored the little winces in your eyes every time he picked on Deku in front of you. He thought you’d get over it. Thought you’d pick him.

You didn’t.

And now he’s stuck with the fallout. A thousand unsaid apologies. A hundred missed chances.

He thinks about what he’d say if he had the guts.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I was just angry.”

“I don’t hate him—I just… I hate that you don’t look at me anymore.”

But he can’t say it.

He’s Katsuki Bakugo.

He doesn’t do soft.

So he burns.

And hopes someday you’ll see the smoke and come back.

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 11: Celestial Inheritance

📓 Hero Analysis for the Future: Entry #206
👤 Subject: [REDACTED – Codename Pending]
🎇 Quirk: Heavenly Body Magic
📝 Analysis by: Izuku Midoriya

 

🌀 Basic Overview:

A quirk that doesn't just emit power, it embodies it. This one is cosmic in nature — no, really, it actually taps into celestial energy. The user acts like a conduit for starlight and gravity, and depending on her state of mind and the constellations above, her abilities can shift in scale and form. It’s almost like a hybrid between support, offense, and enhancement — one of the most beautiful, complex quirks I’ve ever seen.

She calls it Heavenly Body Magic, and yeah — it really feels like magic.

What makes this quirk so rare is how it's split across three key branches:

Orbitals (floating stars)

Celestial Constructs

Starline Spells

🌌 Core Ability Breakdown:

⭐ 1. Celestial Orbits

Floating star-cores that revolve around her like planetary satellites.

Each star can:

Act as a shield (orbital defense pattern)

Be launched as a ranged concussive shot

Temporarily absorb incoming quirk-based energy (like Bakugo’s blasts!)

Number of orbits seems to depend on focus + stamina. Max observed: 7

⭐ 2. Lightwake

Healing light! She emits this from her hands or chest area — not hot like fire, but warm and stabilizing.

Works better under open skies, especially if the moon is visible.

HEALS others (even deep wounds!), but leaves behind little shimmering constellation scars (THEY LOOK LIKE STARS!! ✨)

Rumored to cause temporary emotional calm too. Almost like the quirk reaches the soul, not just the body.

⭐ 3. Graviton Flare (⚠️ EXTREMELY DESTRUCTIVE)

She compresses gravitational and radiant energy into a singularity sphere, then detonates it.

The aftermath warps gravity in the surrounding area.

Could potentially collapse a small building.

Leaves her physically drained, sometimes even disoriented or feverish.

🔮 Named Spells (ACTUAL SPELL NAMES!!)

I nearly lost it when I heard her use this aloud. It’s like a magical girl + a pro hero!

Spell Archive (Core Combat & Utility Spells)

🌌 Grand Chariot

Seven massive beams of astral light descend from the sky in the pattern of the Big Dipper.

Incredible AoE damage. Leaves behind craters and light-charged terrain.

Often used in emotional overdrive or to defend others..

🌌 1. Altair Barrage

✋ 2. Casting Mechanics & Visuals

Gesture: Y/N crosses her arms above her head, signaling the spell’s initiation

Shadow Summoning: Nearby shadows coalesce toward her, forming a small dark orb.

Growth: The orb expands rapidly, dotted with white lights—mimicking a night sky within a black hole

Unleash: Y/N flings this dense, gravity‑intensified orb at her target.

🌀 3. Magical Effects & Impact

Gravitational Pull: The orb exerts immense gravity, attracting everything in its path, even light .

High Density & Crushing Force: Its compact mass enables it to crush opponents and structures upon contact .

🧠 5. Strategic Uses & Limitations

Ranged Devastation: Excellent for long-range takedowns and strategic projectile warfare.

Area Control: Crushes single targets, but its gravitational pull may disrupt multiple foes or terrain.

Energy Demands: Statements suggest that casting Altairis Barrage drains substantial magical power, though exact costs are unknown.

⚡ 7. Cosmic Design & Symbolism

Black Hole Motif: The orb’s shadow consumption and star-like interior evoke a miniature black hole, fitting the Heavenly Body theme

Name Meaning: “Altairis” loosely translates to “dark paradise” or “Altair-like”, referencing the bright star Altair in the Aquila constellation, bridging light and darkness .

🌌 CONSTELLATION CONNECTIONS 🌌

This is the part that’s most fascinating. Her powers shift depending on which constellation she channels. These aren’t metaphors — she actually feels the constellation’s energy. Some nights she's stronger, especially when the stars are visible.

Her three most synchronized constellations are:

🦅 Aquila (The Eagle)

Strength, healing, precision.

Aligns with her Lightwake powers.

When she’s trying to protect or restore — Aquila lights up inside her.

🎯 Orion (The Hunter)

Combat and stamina.

She uses Orion during most offensive spells like Grand Chariot

She’s scary when she’s in Orion-mode… focused, fast, and nearly unstoppable.

🎵 Lyra (The Harp)

Calm, recovery, mental balance.

Helps stabilize the quirk. Probably related to emotional syncing.

When she’s struggling internally, Lyra keeps her from losing control.

🛠️ Molded Constellation Constructs (TEMPORARY STRUCTURES!)

This part makes me wonder if she could develop into a full support-style combatant in the future!

Aquila Wings – Starwings that allow for short-range flight or dive attacks!

Orion Bow – Glowing bow + arrow set that fires projectiles tied to her pulse.

Lyra Barrier – Rotating, harp-shaped starlight barrier that vibrates and reflects sound-based attacks!

These are NOT permanent. If she’s distracted or the sky gets clouded, they fizzle out. Still — amazing potential.

⚠️ Weaknesses & Drawbacks

Despite the quirk’s overwhelming beauty and destructive potential, its use is extremely taxing. I’ve compiled the following based on observed incidents, personal conversations, and pattern-matching during field training and emotional events. I believe proper guidance, emotional regulation, and environmental preparation are essential for her continued development.

🌧️ 1. Celestial Environment Dependency

The quirk is strongest under open sky, particularly at night and during certain constellational alignments (e.g., when Aquila is high or Orion is visible).

Heavily clouded weather, urban smog, or enclosed spaces like tunnels and windowless buildings significantly reduce efficiency — her orbital stars flicker, and spells may fail mid-cast.

Power output appears reduced by as much as 60% indoors if her resonance isn't stabilized beforehand via meditation or exposure to starlight.

🧪 Hero Application Concern: Indoor combat must be preceded by “stored resonance” or constellation priming. An artificial light system calibrated to mimic starlight could act as a substitute in future support gear!

🔋 2. Stellar Overdraw / Burnout

Her body serves as the vessel for channeling interstellar frequencies. Pushing beyond what her emotional state or physical stamina can handle causes severe side effects.

Documented symptoms post-overuse:

Full-body tremors

Starburn rashes (light-scorched skin)

Fever (up to 39.5°C)

Occasional fainting (after [REDACTED] use)

Memory gaps lasting 5–15 minutes post-detachment from large spells

There have been instances of her bleeding from the nose or eyes after channelling too much Orion-aligned power.

💡 Recommendation: Monitor spellcasting duration strictly. Encourage grounding rituals and implement a “cool-down phase” between large-scale spells.

🌀 3. Emotional Volatility

Her quirk is deeply entangled with emotional state. Unlike Bakugo whose explosions are anger-fueled but maintain output, her spell stability becomes chaotic or unpredictable depending on internal turmoil.

Fear, grief, or self-doubt can:

Mute constellation response

Trigger misfired spells

Cause orbital destabilization (orbs spinning too fast or shattering)

Lead to Lightwake Feedback, where healing attempts cause uncontrolled radiant flare

In rare cases, under extreme stress, her constellation marks pulse erratically, and she enters a semi-conscious fugue-like state.

🧠 Note to Self: She may benefit from emotion-focused support training.

🧨 4. Constellation Resonance Clash

She is most attuned to Altair, Sirius, and Vega, but they are not always harmonically aligned, which is why she hasnt fully mastered constellation connections with them.

Using multiple star-alignments at once (e.g., channeling Orion followed immediately by a Vega-based construct) causes an energetic clash. This “Constellation Friction” results in:

Magical backlash (crackling noise, painful recoil, sudden spell collapse)

Internal energy ‘seizing’ — like a cramp in her quirk

Temporary constellation drift, where her magic “grabs” the wrong star pattern, warping the shape and behaviour of her constructs

🚨 Field Alert: Never use [REDACTED] in succession with another major star spell. Ideally wait 3–5 minutes before switching alignments.

⏳ 5. Time-Locked Phasing

Certain spells only manifest properly during specific celestial windows (e.g., when Orion rises or Vega culminates).

During the day, her full abilities are severely reduced without a pre-charged resonance buffer. She refers to this as feeling “disconnected,” and her stars flicker or become sluggish.

Night-time is her natural element. Dawn and daylight reduce her power output and require double the stamina for the same results.

⚙️ Gear Suggestion: Design star-core compression devices that allow day charging. Perhaps use solar panels to absorb and convert star energy in advance.

🧍 6. Physical Limits

Her body is not built like a brawler’s. Although spellcasting enhances durability via radiant reinforcement, she is still vulnerable to:

Quirk-cancelling attacks

Physical blows to the head/torso

Exhaustion-based collapse mid-battle

Recovery time increases drastically after major spells — especially if her emotional state is low or she’s attempted healing too many people.

📌 Key Incident Log #34: After using [REDACTED] twice within one hour, she blacked out for nine minutes and had to be carried home. She later vomited stardust particles — this is not a metaphor.

⚖️ 7. Moral Strain / Psychological Conflict

She struggles with the cost of power — especially in combat. Healing strangers, saving people? She’s confident. But hurting people — even villains — causes visible hesitation, sometimes even mid-cast breakdown.

"What if the stars are disappointed in me?" — actual quote, written in a moment of self-doubt after accidentally blasting through a wall during training.

If guilt overtakes her, the constellation alignment dims, and she’ll abandon spells, even when in danger.

🧭 Emotional Support Hypothesis: Her conscience is built into the quirk. This could either make her one of the most noble heroes of our generation — or hold her back when she needs to act decisively.

🧠 Training Notes

Focus meditation under starlight seems to improve spell retention.

Needs vocal spell invocation (like “Grand Chariot!”) for full effect.

Potential to combine spells if resonance is managed correctly.

She should NOT channel [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] together unless she’s emotionally centred.

💬 Final Thoughts (Midoriya’s Notes)

I’ve NEVER seen a quirk like this. It’s like space itself responds to her heartbeat. There’s something… ancient about it. Like she didn’t just get this quirk — like she was meant to carry it.

Her biggest strength isn’t even her power. It’s the way she feels everything so deeply, and still chooses to stand beside people. Even when she’s burning up inside, she keeps moving like the stars won’t let her stop.

She’s got the power of the universe in her — and somehow, still finds time to smile.

…I want to be strong enough to fight beside her one day.

Yet Midoriya couldn't have possibly known just the extent of her abilities, after Y/N didn't even know them herself until after the INCIDENT happened.

A/N

let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Did you like the hero analysis done by Midoriya?

Is your quirk a little bit clearer or are you guys still somewhat confused?

Have a great day, Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 12: Feathers and Fate

The living room was still bathed in the soft light of late afternoon when your mother called out from the kitchen, voice half-distracted as she skimmed through the folded grocery list in her hand.

“Sweetheart, can you run down to Koma Street Market and grab a few things for dinner?” she asked, brushing her hair back with a flour-dusted wrist. "I need a head of cabbage, tofu, and a small bag of rice. And if they have those mochi you like, go ahead and get some."

You turned from where you’d been flipping through a hero magazine on the couch, blinking up at her. “Now?”

“It’s going to get dark soon, and I want to start cooking before then. You’ll be quick, right?”

There was a gentle note of insistence in her voice — not quite a command, but not something you’d argue with either. She’d worked late the night before and was clearly exhausted, sleeves rolled up, half-prepping a stir fry with what little you had left in the fridge.

“Alright, alright,” you said, grabbing your bag and slipping on your shoes. “Back soon.”

You caught the way she smiled — relieved, a little grateful — before she turned back to the stove.

You didn’t know it yet, but your walk to the market would change everything.

You stepped out of the market just as the sky began to shift from late afternoon into that soft golden hue of early evening, your bag swinging lightly at your side. The produce inside rustled — cabbage, tofu, rice… and the mochi you weren’t sure you deserved, but picked up anyway.

As you turned the corner back toward your neighborhood, your phone buzzed. The caller ID flashed: Izuku Midoriya.

You answered with a smile. “Hey.”

His voice practically exploded through the speaker. “Did you SEE what All Might did this afternoon?!”

You had to pull the phone slightly away from your ear. “Whoa, what happened?”

“There was this minor villain causing havoc at the Tenkai Mall — some guy with a quirk that could animate mannequins! It was kind of creepy, honestly. He was sending them after civilians like they were puppets or something!”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah! But All Might showed up and — and it was like the whole room changed. One punch — ONE — and the mannequins just shattered! The guy tried to run, but All Might grabbed him mid-jump and landed with that big smile, like it was nothing! I saw it on the local news stream, and they even replayed it in slow motion—”

He kept going, words bubbling up in a stream of breathless enthusiasm, gushing over the precision of All Might’s movements, the way the civilians were protected, the powerful speech he gave afterward. And even though the villain was small-time and would probably never be mentioned again, Izuku’s heart was in every word.

You could hear it — that yearning, that spark in his voice. That need to believe in heroes.

And beneath all that, the tiniest ache — the kind he never said out loud. That question of “Could I ever be like him?”

“Izuku,” you said softly once he paused to breathe, “You’d have done the same thing, if you could’ve.”

Silence ticked on for a heartbeat.

Then he laughed — small and a little choked. “Thanks. I… I really want to believe that.”

“I already do,” you said. “So you better catch up.”

“I will,” he promised. “Promise.”

Izuku sighed contentedly through the phone. “Thanks for always listening. Seriously.”

You shifted the grocery bag in your arm, smiling. “Of course. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d try,” he said, and though it was meant to be lighthearted, the honesty behind it was enough to warm your chest.

You glanced up the road. Home wasn’t far now — the corner with the bent streetlamp was just a few meters ahead.

“I should go,” you murmured. “Dinner won’t cook itself, and my mom’ll worry if I’m too late.”

“Oh! Right, right. Sorry — I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him gently. “It was nice to hear your voice. I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said, quieter now. “See you tomorrow.”

You smiled again and ended the call, tucking your phone into your bag just as the last light of day slipped behind the rooftops.

Your hoodie was zipped, your shoes scraped the pavement, and the quiet comfort of being alone in the world made everything feel softer.

You were at the bent streetlamp when you heard it.

A strange sound—not loud, but sharp. Like a wing clipping a metal edge. Then something like a grunt, muffled and low.

Your feet stopped on instinct.

You glanced down the alleyway just ahead of you. Narrow. Dim. Forgotten. And in it— a shape slumped against a wall.

Cautiously, you took a step closer.

It was a person. A man, maybe late teens or early twenties. Red wings hung limp behind him, battered and curled in odd directions. His jacket was torn across the chest, stained a deep, sticky crimson. His head lolled to the side. Blonde hair, tousled and damp with sweat.

You recognized him, though it took a second.

Hawks. Not a Top 10 hero. Not yet. But you'd seen him on local news. Heard about the high-speed rescues. The sharp eyes. The wings that blurred through traffic to pull civilians from danger. One of the only Heroes Izuku struggled to fill a page with in his notebook.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

He was bleeding. Badly.

You rushed forward.

"Hey! Hey—are you okay?" you asked, voice rising with panic.

He stirred, barely. His eyes cracked open, golden irises flickering in the half-light. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a dry rasp.

You dropped your grocery bag, kneeling beside him.

"You're hurt. Hold on. I can call someone, I can get help."

He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist, weak but deliberate.

"No… not the police," he murmured, hoarse. "They’ll bring attention. I just need... a minute."

You stared, unsure.

"But you’re bleeding—"

He gave a faint smirk. "Not my first time."

You pressed your sleeve against the worst of the wounds, trembling. "You need a hospital."

His eyes studied you, sharp even through the haze of pain.

"You’re just a kid."

"So?" you snapped, trying not to cry. "Doesn’t mean I can’t help."

He let his head fall back against the wall. "Name?"

You hesitated. “L/N Y/N,”

He repeated it quietly, like it mattered. Like he wanted to remember.

But you thought that was ridiculous, why would a pro-hero want to remember your name?

You drew in a breath, then pressed your palm over the worst of the gashes on his abdomen. It was a deep, ragged wound—far too serious for just pressure. You felt your pulse accelerate.

Whilst you were training your quirk, you found out it did have multiple uses, however, you weren't skilled at using it for anything but defence and some offence. You see, Heavenly Body Magic wasn't meant for healing exactly, but it came from stars—and stars had gravity, force, balance. You’d learned how to channel that balance into restoration.

You concentrated.

A warm pulse surged from your chest, your fingers glowing faintly gold and silver, flecks of starlight weaving into the air like a constellation being drawn across his skin. The light shimmered around your hand, swirling like a miniature galaxy, before seeping into the wound. Hawks gasped, his back arching slightly at the unexpected sensation.

"What are you doing...?"

"Helping," you said quietly, sweat beading at your temple. Your legs trembled beneath you, the strain intense.

The light dulled, then faded entirely. You collapsed forward slightly, catching yourself on your hands.

When you looked up, the wound was gone.

In its place, a thin, pale scar curved across his skin, glittering with the faintest silver dust. Tiny points dotted the line—not random but placed perfectly. A constellation. Aquila. The eagle. One of your favourites.

Hawks looked down at it. Then at you.

His voice was rough. "That... was you?"

You nodded, weakly. "It's not much. I can't do that a lot. But I didn't want you to die."

He stared for a long time, eyes wide, like he'd just seen something ancient and impossible.

Then he laughed, a rasping, astonished sound. "Kid... that was more than much."

He sat up slowly, the pain eased, breath no longer shallow. He rolled his shoulders, and his wings flexed slightly—wincing, but stronger.

"Thank you," he said.

You smiled faintly, still dizzy.

"You're not bad at this," he added.

You laughed, breathless. "Hero stuff?"

"Yeah. That."

He stood shakily, then turned away, pausing only once more at the end of the alley.

"I won't forget this. If you ever need backup... tear my feather."

And with a weak push from his wings, he vanished into the city. A feather falling, landing motionless in your lap

You sat there in the alley laughing, trembling, drained, staring at the fading stars in the scar you’d left. The feather a reminder of your feat.

You'd saved someone.

You hadn't even hesitated.

Maybe that meant something.

Maybe it meant everything.

And so you carried on home with a spring in your step, the blood red feather sitting comfortably in your hoodie pocket.

You walked onto the familiar curve of sidewalk, the one that passed Katsuki's house. You didn’t plan to linger. Not really. But the sound of rapid pops and faint explosions made you pause, instinct pulling you toward the edge of the fence. And for a moment, you forgot about the blood staining your clothes, you forgot about the groceries in your hand and you forgot about what just went down in the alleyway.

Because there he was. In the garden behind his house, surrounded by scorched patches of grass and plumes of faint smoke — Bakugo Katsuki, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, palms still faintly glowing. His face was twisted in that same expression he always wore now: hard, determined, angry. Like if he stopped blasting things long enough to breathe, everything would collapse.

You leaned gently against the fence, just watching.

It hadn’t always been this way.

There was a time he would’ve dragged you back here with him — grinning, wild, pushing a cardboard box toward you like it was a treasure chest and not a bunch of firecrackers and half-broken All Might figurines. He used to laugh more. Not just smirk — really laugh. Back when the two of you would play hero and villain until the sky turned orange and your mothers would yell out your names in tandem to come home.

You missed that Katsuki. The boy with scraped knees and explosive dreams — before everything became about strength and proving something to the world. Before quirks had divided you.

And now, you weren’t sure he even remembered how to smile at you the same way.

A particularly loud blast jolted you from your thoughts. Katsuki swore, shaking out his hand like it burned — and maybe it did. You noticed the tremble in his fingers, the frustration in his posture. He wasn’t training to improve. He was trying to exorcise something.

You swallowed hard and stepped back from the fence.

You didn’t call out.

Because maybe he wouldn’t hear you. Or worse — maybe he would, and still wouldn’t stop.

So you walked on, the scent of scorched earth clinging to the evening air, and the memory of his laughter trailing just behind you like a ghost.

 

You got home just as the street lamps flickered fully to life, the quiet hum of the city beginning to fade into the hush of night. Your legs felt like waterlogged branches, every joint trembling from the effort you’d poured into saving Hawks. Your grocery bag was lighter now—one of the onions had rolled away when you dropped it—and your sleeves were stiff with blood.

Not your blood. His.

You hesitated at the door, gripping the handle. The last threads of golden light from your quirk still pulsed faintly in your fingertips, like your body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over. That you’d already done something impossible. Something unforgettable.

The door creaked open.

"Y/N?" your mother called from the kitchen.

Her voice was light, but you could hear the edge in it. The question hidden beneath.

Where were you? Why did it take so long?

You stepped inside, pushing the door shut gently behind you.

"Hey, sorry," you said quickly, trying to keep your tone level. "There was a long line. I... dropped the onions. One rolled under a car."

Your mother stepped out of the kitchen. She didn’t look angry—just concerned. Her brow furrowed when she saw your face. And then her eyes fell lower.

"What happened to your hoodie?"

You looked down. The red stains weren’t huge, but they weren’t small either. Your sleeves were smudged with drying blood, dark patches clinging to the cuffs, the hem.

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"Y/N," your mother said again, quieter now. "Is that blood? Are you hurt?"

"No!" you said too quickly. "I mean—no, it’s not mine. I’m okay."

She walked forward and took your arm gently, lifting your sleeve. Her fingers were warm, careful.

"Then whose is it?"

You paused.

You couldn’t tell her. Not about the alleyway. Not about the wings. Not about the scar that now glittered on a pro hero’s chest like a secret you weren’t supposed to carry. If the HPSC found out you’d intervened—if they traced the quirk signature back to you—

Your stomach twisted.

"Just... some guy," you mumbled. "He was hurt. I helped. It was bad. But he didn’t want an ambulance. I—he just needed a minute."

You hated how hollow the words sounded. How close they were to a lie, even if they weren’t one.

Your mother searched your face for a moment longer. Then, quietly, she said, "Did he hurt you?"

Your eyes went wide. "No! No, I swear. He didn’t do anything. He was bleeding out and I... I just couldn’t walk away."

Her gaze softened, but there was still worry in the way she reached up and brushed your hair from your face.

"You can’t save everyone," she whispered.

But I can try.

You didn’t say it.

Instead, you nodded slowly. "I know."

She sighed and turned back toward the kitchen. "Go wash up. I’ll reheat dinner."

You walked to the bathroom in a daze. Closed the door. Turned on the faucet and stared at your hands under the stream of water. Red ran down the porcelain sink in quiet swirls.

As the warmth returned to your fingers, the pulse of starlight beneath your skin finally faded.

You rolled your sleeve back up just enough to glimpse your own arm.

There, just below the elbow, was a faint shimmer. Not a scar—just a faint constellation of silver stars. Aquila.

You traced it once with your thumb. Then turned off the tap.

The secret would stay between you and the stars.

For now.

You slipped in through the kitchen door, your shirt, hoodie, arms and hands now clean. The earlier encounter still echoed somewhere in your chest — the weight of it settled in your bones like twilight. The scars you carry a silent promise. Aquila represents the eagle that carried Zeus's thunderbolts, symbolizing power and strength; just like Hawks- another pro-hero with the pressure of keeping the balance of society intact. Now you had him imprinted onto your skin. A gentle reminder that you made a difference today.

When everything was plated and the table set, you both sat down with a sigh. The room was warm, the light from the overhead lamp soft. The food was simple, comforting.

““You’re doing alright?”” she asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Then: “I think so.”

She didn’t push further. Just reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear the way she used to when you were small.

“I’m proud of you,” she said. “Even if I don’t always say it.”

The lump in your throat returned — but this time, it didn’t burn. You nodded once and took another bite of rice.

Sometimes, comfort came in silence and small things.

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 13: The Giant Debut

time skip- age 14

Koma Street was packed.

You and Midoriya had taken your usual shortcut toward Aldera Junior High, but the second you’d heard the sirens and seen the crowd ahead, he’d lit up like a Christmas tree.

“There’s a villain fight happening,” he breathed, practically bouncing on his heels. “That’s Kamui Woods! His debut was only a few months ago! He’s amazing—he’s a capture-type specialist, and—”

You didn’t get the rest of that sentence. Because right then, a huge crack split through the air like thunder. The villain — a hulking man with skin like dried magma and veins that glowed faintly red — tore through a streetlight and hurled it at a police cruiser like it weighed nothing. The car flipped mid-air.

People screamed and ducked. Midoriya pulled you behind a concrete pillar, shielding you instinctively even as he peeked around the edge.

Your heart pounded in your chest. This wasn’t like watching fights on TV. This was real. The heat. The noise. The way glass rained down onto the pavement like glittering teeth.

Kamui Woods shot forward, his expression calm and composed even under pressure. Long, branch-like appendages shot from his arms, snaking toward the villain’s legs and binding them.

“Lacquered Chain Prison!” Midoriya whispered, eyes wide and notebook already in hand. “That’s a move designed to immobilize foes with large muscle mass. He’s trying to—”

The villain roared, flexing violently. The branches strained. Then snapped.

Kamui Woods stumbled back. He ducked a blow that shattered a chunk of the sidewalk behind him. Concrete dust sprayed into the air.

“He’s absorbing impacts,” you said quietly, realization prickling down your spine. “His body’s hardened like volcanic rock… maybe his quirk stores the force.”

“Exactly,” Midoriya whispered. “A kinetic absorption-type! Kamui’s gonna need more time to wrap around his core. If only he had a wide-angle restraint move—”

The villain lunged again. Kamui darted back, already forming new bindings, but the attack was too fast. A fist grazed his ribs, and Kamui hit the wall of a nearby building with a grunt.

“MOVE!” an officer barked, waving the crowd back. Midoriya grabbed your hand and tugged you behind a barricade. His fingers were trembling.

Then, the air shifted.

A boom rang out, louder than any explosion so far. The ground trembled beneath your feet.

“What the—”

You looked up.

Something was falling.

No—someone.

She crashed into view from above — a woman’s figure expanding in midair until it towered over the intersection. Her hair whipped in the wind, golden eyes narrowed with smug confidence as she landed directly in the villain’s path.

Mt. Lady.

She moved fast for someone her size. One wide sweeping kick sent a parked truck spinning into the side alley — away from civilians. Then, she turned mid-pivot and launched her heel straight into the villain’s chest.

The impact was catastrophic.

You felt it in your lungs. The villain let out a breathless grunt before being thrown back into the pavement, the crater beneath him spiderwebbing with cracks.

Dust bloomed upward like a bomb cloud.

The crowd exploded with cheers.

“She—she just—” Midoriya stammered, flipping pages furiously. “She stole the takedown! That was Kamui’s fight—he was about to—!”

You looked at the Pro-Wood user still slumped against the wall, coughing as he got back to his feet. There was a tight set to his jaw. His capture roots had been unfurled. He’d been one move away from ending it.

But Mt. Lady stood in the spotlight, literally towering over the scene with her fists on her hips and a camera crew already angling for a clear shot of her figure.

“They’re ignoring Kamui…” you said, frowning.

“Media loves a flashy finish,” Midoriya muttered, scribbling a quick sketch of her drop-kick pose. “Her landing trajectory was textbook perfect though. Her timing was… wow.”

The villain groaned under her heel, barely conscious.

You watched Kamui Woods pick up his visor, put it on and quietly walk away, vanishing from the headlines before they even started rolling.

Camera shutters clicked. Reporters swooned. “Wow, a new heroine making her debut!” 

“She’s gorgeous!” 

“Did you see that entrance?” 

You turned to Izuku, who looked both fascinated and confused. 

“She’s flashy,” you admitted. “But that wasn’t her fight.” 

He nodded slowly. “No… but the public loves flash. Even more than precision.” 

Midoriya flipped the page in his notebook and started writing. 

“Mt. Lady: Quirk – Gigantification. Draws attention. Flashy entrances. Risk of collateral damage. Crowd appeal high. Tactical timing… questionable.” 

You smiled. “Don’t go too hard on her. She’s new.” 

He grinned. “Everyone’s new once.” 

As the media swarmed Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods vanished into the background, you stood there, shoulder to shoulder with Midoriya, watching how the world didn’t always reward effort with glory. 

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. 

And you’d be there to witness it all. 

Kamui Wood's point of view

 

The pain in his ribs pulsed in sync with his footsteps as he slipped around the corner, out of view from the floodlights and the crowd's roaring cheers. His visor was cracked — a spiderweb of fractures across the upper lens — but he kept it on, shielding his face from the eyes that had already moved on.

The villain lay crumpled in the middle of the street. Dust still swirled in the wake of her landing.

Mt. Lady.

He could hear her even now — voice bright, bold, charismatic — posing for the cameras with one heel still planted atop the unconscious villain’s chest. A textbook finish. Eye-catching. Marketable. Hero agencies would be lining up.

Kamui exhaled, low and even. The kind of breath that came after a storm didn’t break in your favor.

He hadn’t needed the help. Not yet. He’d been close — a few seconds, maybe less. The branches of his Lacquered Chain Prison had already begun forming the secondary weave, preparing to wrap around the villain’s upper torso and lock his joints. It would’ve been his first solo takedown, the kind that made headlines.

But flash always won.

He didn’t resent Mt. Lady. Not truly. She’d done her job. Protected people. Ended the fight.

Still… it stung.

A small child darted past the tape line ahead, held back by their mother. “She’s so cool! Did you see how huge she got?!”

Kamui Woods turned away and kept walking.

His footsteps echoed off the alley’s concrete walls. Every ache in his body reminded him of how much that villain had fought back. How many of those blows he had absorbed before someone else had arrived to close the curtain.

His hands curled at his sides.

He thought about how he’d planned to review the footage, refine his technique, maybe submit the takedown to the Hero Commission as part of his evaluation. His agency handler had been hoping for something clean. Something headline-worthy.

He supposed this wasn’t it.

He stepped into the shadows between two buildings and let his roots unfurl from his sleeves. The ends trembled slightly. Not from exhaustion — but from restraint.

He wasn’t angry.

Just… tired.

He let the roots reabsorb, folding tightly back into his body. The ache in his ribs reminded him that he’d still fought well. That he’d protected people. That he’d stayed calm.

It would be enough.

For now.

The public didn’t know the moment he’d put himself between the villain and that couple stuck in the wrecked car. They wouldn’t remember how he’d caught the first piece of debris mid-air and redirected it with his roots. That part didn’t make it onto the highlight reels.

But that was fine.

Because it wasn’t for them.

It was for the people who didn’t get crushed. The ones who got to go home. The kids watching from behind the barricades who saw someone stand their ground when it counted.

He touched the cracked edge of his visor and adjusted it slightly, eyes narrowing with fresh determination.

He would train harder. He would push past the flash and the lights and the headlines. He didn’t need the spotlight. He just needed to be reliable.

Solid.

Rooted.

The kind of hero people could trust — even if they didn’t cheer for him.

Kamui Woods melted into the early morning haze, leaving the headlines behind.

He didn't want fame. But… a little recognition would've been nice.

He touched the cracked side of his visor once again. Then straightened.

There would be other fights. Other chances. He would keep showing up — whether or not they remembered his name.

He was Kamui Woods. A pro hero.

And pro heroes kept showing up.

The street was bustling in the daylight; people still gushing over Mt Lady and Kamui Woods. You and Midoriya sat side by side on a low wall across from the shopping arcade, legs swinging over the edge as you munched on melon bread.

“Did you see the way Mt. Lady posed after she knocked that villain into the building?” you asked, mouth full.

Midoriya nodded vigorously, swallowing his bite. “She timed it perfectly with the sun behind her! It’s like she choreographed the entire takedown. But Kamui Woods—he was right there ready to make the arrest with his Lacquered Chain Prison and she—she just—!”

“Stole the spotlight,” you offered.

“Exactly!”

Midoriya opened his notebook and flipped to a page already crowded with notes and a few sketchy doodles of both heroes. “Kamui Woods was textbook precise. He kept his distance, moved between bystanders—it was flawless execution.”

You watched his fingers fly across the page, stars in his eyes like always.

And then, like clockwork, his voice dropped with awe.

“But if All Might were there… he would've handled both the villain and the crowd control, and smiled through it all. Effortless.”

You smiled into your bread. “You really love him, huh?”

Midoriya flushed, hiding his face behind the notebook. “I-I mean, he’s the Symbol of Peace! Of course I do! He’s amazing. He always saves people with a smile. He’s what a hero should be.”

He hesitated, then looked up at you. “What about you? Who’s your favorite hero?”

You blinked.

It was rare for Midoriya to pause in his own praise long enough to ask about yours. You thought for a moment.

“I like Mirko,” you said. “She doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She just throws herself into battle, all fists and kicks. No quirks that hide behind flash or flames. Just strength, speed, and guts.”

Midoriya’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great choice! She’s number—wait, hold on—” He flipped to a later page. “Number nine on the Hero Billboard Charts right now. But she’s rising fast. I think she might overtake a few more with how active she’s been lately.”

You smiled, but quietly tucked your hands into your lap. “I like her because she doesn’t try to be soft. She’s not afraid to be… intense.”

Midoriya looked at you for a second longer, then nodded. “That makes sense. You’re kind of like her, in a way.”

You flushed. “I am not that cool.”

He giggled. “Maybe not with the punching. But with your brain and your bravery? Definitely.”

The silence that followed was gentle.

You finished your melon bread, watching as the city slowly calmed down.

Midoriya barely got the last observation scribbled down before your phone buzzed.

8:12 AM

Your heart dropped.

“Oh no—school!” you gasped.

Midoriya’s head snapped up. “We’re gonna be late!”

The two of you bolted down the sidewalk, weaving between pedestrians with all the grace of two startled cats. Midoriya kept trying to write while running, earning a glare from a fruit vendor when he knocked over a crate of apples.

“Izuku, leave the notebook!” you shouted over your shoulder.

“But I still need to record how Kamui Woods reacted when Mt. Lady—!”

“You’ll have detention if you keep writing!”

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged him through the next alley shortcut, practically dragging him.

By the time Aldera Junior High came into view, the school bell rang its warning note.

Midoriya wheezed beside you. “We’re not gonna make it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Like hell we’re not.”

With a last burst of energy, you sprinted up the steps, threw open the doors—and froze.

Your homeroom teacher stood in the hallway with arms crossed.

“You’re late,” he said dryly.

“I can explain!” Midoriya panted. “There was a villain—and Mt. Lady—and Kamui Woods got—”

You cut in, “We were making field notes. For academic purposes.”

The teacher stared.

Then sighed. “Just… get to your seats. And Midoriya, no more running with your notebook open. Someone’s going to lose an eye.”

Midoriya flushed. “Y-Yes, sir!”

As you collapsed into your desk, catching your breath, you glanced sideways at him.

He looked tired. Frazzled. But happy.

And so were you.

Even the late bell couldn’t ruin the morning adventure.

At least, not until the next day.

 

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 14: A Good Angle

The wind hit her face as she descended — fast, deliberate, like she'd jumped straight out of a magazine cover.

Every instinct screamed this is it.

She landed with a quake that rippled outward in a perfect shockwave. Pavement cracked. Wind scattered loose paper and the smell of burning rubber. The crowd gasped behind the barricade. A flashbulb popped somewhere below.

Yu Takeyama — Mt. Lady — had arrived.

Her body finished shifting midair — growing, expanding, solidifying her presence in a blaze of white-blue light. She'd trained that entrance a hundred times: the angle of her arms, the bend of her knees, the curl of her fingers. When she touched down, it looked like a goddess descending to the battlefield.

And if it didn’t? The footage would fix it. Maybe.

The villain barely had time to register her before she was moving — a hard spin, her long leg sweeping wide, crashing into his chest with an audible crack. He went flying, his hulking frame skipping across the asphalt like a rock over water before embedding into the far wall. Bricks shattered around him.

Cheers exploded.

She could hear them. Really hear them.

“That’s Mt. Lady!”

“She’s huge!”

“She’s amazing!”

There it was — recognition. The thing she’d wanted for years. The thing her instructors told her would take time. The thing her agency warned her might never come.

Yu planted a foot on the villain’s chest and smiled for the cameras.

Her heart was pounding — not from the impact, but from the afterglow. Her lips curled in just the right way, cheek tilted toward the light, eyes sparkling with that practiced blend of power and poise.

Her manager would call it “ferocity with a touch of charm.”

It was all working. She was trending. She could feel it, even without checking her feed.

But then—

She saw him.

Just for a moment, through the broken cloud of smoke and scattering debris: Kamui Woods, still standing near the perimeter. His branches were retracting back into his sleeves slowly — almost hesitantly. His shoulders were stiff. Not from injury. From something else.

Yu’s smile faltered — just a flicker.

Her heel remained on the villain’s torso. The cameras were too close now. There were reporters. Fans. Even a kid waving a plastic hero figure that didn’t look anything like her yet — but maybe it would next week.

She held her pose.

And kept smiling.

The press conference was brief — she didn’t say too much. Just enough.

"Just doing my duty," she told one of the anchorwomen, voice light but strong. "Giant problems call for giant solutions, right?"

They laughed. Ate it up.

Someone asked if she meant to make such a dramatic entrance.

Yu chuckled. “Dramatic? I just thought it looked cool.”

More laughter.

But beneath the easy charm, her stomach twisted.

Because Kamui Woods never came back.

Not to speak to the press. Not to offer a joint statement. Not even a glance her way before walking off into the smoke like the fight had never happened.

Because he was already winning.

She’d seen the tangle of lacquered branches around the villain’s limbs. The way his body had started slowing. Kamui had been two seconds away from completing a high-profile solo takedown — the kind of moment that turned quiet workhorses into national names.

And she’d snatched it.

No. That was the wrong word.

She’d finished it.

The villain had still been standing. Kamui hadn’t secured him yet. There were civilians nearby. Debris flying. Too many moving parts. She’d made a judgment call.

It had just happened to be... the right call for her, too.

Did it matter if it helped her more than him?

Did it matter that she wanted the crowd to cheer for her name?

Hours later, the echoes were still bouncing around inside her.

She’d made it home after giving her final statement to the news. Her apartment was small and barely unpacked — a 6th floor walk-up with one window that barely opened and a fridge that groaned like a dying man.

But it was hers.

She unzipped her boots, letting them fall to the floor with a thud. Her knees still ached from the landing.

Yu flopped onto the couch, chest still buzzing with adrenaline and anxiety. The TV was still on — muted footage of the scene looping with headlines like:

“Mt. Lady: New Star Giant Hero?”
“Kamui Woods Contained the Villain, Mt. Lady Claims the Win”
“Two Rising Pros Clash (Kind Of) Over Capture Credit!”

Her finger hovered over the remote. She didn’t turn it off.

Instead, she watched herself on the screen.

She looked good. Confident. Commanding. She looked like a hero.

So why did it feel like something was off?

She had to remind herself what she’d given up to get here.

Yu Takeyama didn’t come from a flashy agency. She didn’t have a legacy. No Pro-Hero parents. No mentor from a top-ranked class. Her quirk, Gigantification, was powerful — but it required space, balance, and restraint. And early on, most hero programs didn’t want the liability of a newbie who could accidentally crush a block if she landed wrong.

She’d learned how to pose before she learned how to punch. How to land without cracking pavement. How to smile like she wasn’t sweating through her gloves.

How to be seen.

Kamui Woods had seniority. Strategy. Quiet discipline. People like him deserved recognition.

But people like her?

They had to seize it.

That’s what her agent always said:

“The difference between a footnote and a headline is who finishes the fight.”

Even if someone else started it.

And yet… she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Kamui walked away.

He hadn’t even glared.

That would’ve been easier, honestly. Anger, she could deflect. She knew how to spar with it — make it part of the show. But the absence of reaction?

That was worse.

Because it meant he wasn’t surprised.

He’d expected it.

Expected her to jump in, make it hers. Maybe that’s what all the up-and-comers were doing now. Snatching credit. Turning rescues into photo ops. Everyone racing for airtime, scrambling for top ten spots that only made space for the bold, the beautiful, the bankable.

Was she just another version of that?

Yu sat up slowly, dragging her hand down her face.

She didn’t mean to steal anything. She hadn’t gone there to cut him off.

But she hadn’t stopped herself either.

And maybe that was the part that sat worst of all.

 

The next morning, she was trending again.

 

Her phone buzzed relentlessly — notifications layered over missed calls from her agency’s publicist, three news networks, and a cosmetics brand that wanted to “discuss potential visibility partnerships.”

Yu lay on her back, staring at the cracked ceiling of her apartment. She hadn't opened her curtains. Sunlight slanted across the floor anyway, creeping up her walls in long gold lines.

Another buzz.
Then another.

She flipped her phone screen down on the nightstand and buried her face into her pillow.

The cheers from yesterday still echoed in her ears, distorted now. Like sound playing underwater. Slowed. Distant.

Everyone thought she’d won.

And she had, hadn’t she?

Her first solo takedown on camera. A clean debut. Good angles. Crisp resolution. Sound bites already making their way into highlight reels. She’d done exactly what she was trained for — maximize impact, minimize damage, don’t let the moment pass.

So why did she feel like she’d stolen something?

She sat up eventually — not because she wanted to, but because she had to.

Being a pro-hero wasn’t just about punching villains. It was emails. Interviews. PR meetings. Image maintenance. It was playing a long game in a world that devoured its icons and replaced them overnight.

Yu dressed in silence, brushing her hair without looking in the mirror. The uniform hung in the corner — clean and folded — but her mind still felt smoke-stung and heavy.

On her way out, she caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror. Still pretty. Still confident.

But she didn’t look proud.

Later, at the agency office, she found herself staring at the monitors showing looped footage of the capture.

“Great coverage,” one of the junior managers said, tossing her a smile over his coffee. “The public loves you already. That grin? It’s gold. Better than Mirko’s in her first month.”

Yu gave a noncommittal chuckle and nodded. “Thanks.”

He walked off, still praising her over his shoulder. “We’ve got a meeting at four about branding. Gotta ride the wave while it’s hot.”

She nodded again and slipped away into the conference room — empty for now.

She closed the door behind her.

Only then did she pull out her phone.

She’d looked Kamui Woods up three times already that morning. Read the reports. Watched the slowed-down footage — including the moment before she landed. How his branches had begun to curl tighter around the villain’s limbs. How his stance shifted like he was preparing a final move.

He'd been in control.

He hadn’t been losing. He’d just been… slower.

More precise.

More careful.

She stared at her contacts. His name glowed on the screen: Kamui Woods (ProNet ID: RootRed01).

She hovered her thumb over it.

She should message him. Say something.

Maybe… “Thanks for the assist”?

No. That sounded like she thought he assisted her.

Maybe: “You okay after yesterday?”

No. That was worse. Like she pitied him. Like she knew.

Because she did know.

She shoved the phone back into her jacket pocket and exhaled hard.

The next time she saw him wasn’t in person.

It was a clip posted to HeroWatch.

Kamui Woods, two days later, helping redirect a flood zone. No spotlight. No photo op. Just him — stretching across a broken levy, forming a bridge with his body for evacuees to cross.

The comments were flooded with praise.

“This guy never stops.”
“Underrated legend.”
“So grounded. Literally.”

Yu watched it twice.

He didn’t mention her. Not once. Not even in passing.

That should’ve been a relief. It wasn’t.

Because it meant he’d already made peace with being overlooked.

Or worse — that he’d expected it.

That night, she stood on her apartment balcony, phone in hand. The city buzzed below. People pointed when they saw her. Someone even shouted her name.

But it felt distant. Like they were talking about someone else.

She finally typed a message.

Yu (Mt. Lady):
Hey.
I know the other day probably felt weird.
I didn’t mean to—
I didn’t plan to steal that moment.
You had him.
And you’re a good hero.
Better than most.
I just… I saw the opportunity and I panicked.
I wanted to prove I belonged.
And I’m sorry.

Her finger hovered.

Then she deleted the whole thing.

She told herself it wouldn’t help.

Kamui didn’t want apologies. He wanted results. Quiet victories. Consistency. A hero who didn’t need the world to clap.

Maybe that was why she hated seeing herself reflected in neon ads and highlight reels sometimes.

Because she couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter.

Because it did.

Because she wanted to be seen.

And maybe that was the thing that would always set them apart.

 

Three days later, her agency called a meeting.

“Let’s talk trajectory,” said one of the board members, sliding a glossy folder across the polished table. “You’ve got high search traffic, good sentiment, and we’ve lined up three potential brand deals.”

Yu opened the folder, half-listening as they pitched a snack collaboration — Mt. Lady's Mega Puffs — followed by a photoshoot concept with Hero Times Weekly titled ‘Size Isn’t Everything.’

She smiled. Nodded. Played the part.

This was what she’d worked for. Not just the fight, but the follow-through.

This was what real heroes did now, right?

Fight crime. Strike a pose. Sell snacks.

So why did she feel smaller every time they clapped?

When the meeting ended, she didn’t go straight home.

She walked. No costume. No heels. Just sneakers, oversized hoodie, hair tied in a low bun. The city didn’t recognize her like this. She liked it that way today.

She ended up two blocks from the site of her debut. The area had already been cleaned up — storefronts patched, traffic cones removed, burn marks scrubbed from the concrete. As if nothing had ever happened.

Except for the plaque.

Someone had already mounted a temporary one onto the lamp post. A local fan group, probably. It read:

“First Capture by Mt. Lady! Welcome to the Age of the Giant Hero!”

Yu stared at it.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.

Kamui Woods’s name wasn’t there. Not even once.

Her hand tightened into a fist inside her sleeve.

She walked away.

She was halfway through a bowl of cheap convenience-store ramen that night when her phone buzzed.

The notification surprised her.

Kamui Woods has posted a new article: “Timing and Teamwork: What It Means to Share a Fight.”

She tapped it immediately.

The headline didn’t accuse. It didn’t bite. It read like a philosophy lesson — one aimed at younger heroes, students, or even fans who romanticized solo captures.

His words were direct. Purposeful. Calm.

“The objective of a hero isn’t to win the fight. It’s to end it. With as little harm done as possible.
If someone else gets the spotlight but civilians are safe, then good. That’s the point.
I didn’t lose anything. The city didn’t lose anything.
Sometimes, success is quiet. And that’s enough.”

He never mentioned her name. Not once.

Not even in subtext.

But somehow… that made it worse.

Because it meant he’d already let it go.

And she hadn’t.

Later that night, Yu opened her DMs again.

The message she didn’t send was still there — the one she’d typed and deleted three days ago. Her phone had auto-saved it in drafts.

She read it again.

Then closed the app.

She didn’t send it.

Instead, she stood up and walked to her closet — to the part where her suit hung on a reinforced hanger.

The logo still looked new.

So did the gloves. No bloodstains. No cracks.

She pressed her fingers to the sleeve. Imagined what would happen if she stopped posing and just worked for a while. Really worked.

Maybe that would be enough of an apology.

Maybe it was time to let her actions speak.

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 15: Will we last

Aldera Junior High

The years passed like smoke. 

The trio of childhood—once so tangled together—now walked parallel, never quite touching. 

Katsuki Bakugo had grown sharper. Meaner. His quirk, honed into something deadly and unignorable, burned through his palms and his personality alike. His presence at Aldera was loud, magnetic, dangerous. People orbited him, laughed too hard at his jokes, nodded along to his sharp-edged opinions. No one crossed him. Not anymore. 

Izuku Midoriya had grown quieter. His notebooks filled in the margins of his life, the pages scribbled with dreams and strategies he’d never get to use. He hunched his shoulders more. Laughed less. But his eyes still held wonder, still darted toward you and Katsuki like they hadn’t gotten the memo that everything had changed. 

And you? 

You had become stardust and structure. Your Quirk had matured—Heavenly Body Magic, glittering and unpredictable—marking you as something singular. Teachers praised your control. Students whispered about your strength. You moved through the hallways like a comet, too bright to hold, always in motion. 

But still, you stood between two boys you had once called your best friends. 

And the gap between them was now a canyon. 

Katsuki sat with his group at the back of the classroom—loud, dominant, teeth-bared when challenged. He was the king of Aldera. Everyone knew it. 

Midoriya sat near the window. Alone. 

And you? You sat in the middle. Equidistant. 

Not because it was neutral. 

But because it was the only place where your gravity didn’t cause another war. 

Katsuki barely spoke to you now. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he couldn’t trust what would come out of his mouth. His pride curled around his tongue like barbed wire. Every time he looked at you, it hurt. Every time he saw you laugh at something Deku said, it burned. 

Midoriya still looked at you like you hung the stars. 

And every time he did you were thankful that you still had him. 

 

The day the teacher mentioned U.A., everything snapped like tension wire. 

Their classroom buzzed with energy. The teacher, a bored-looking man with thinning hair and a hero pin on his lapel, held a stack of career plans in his hands. 

"Alright class, I’ve reviewed your future career sheets—" 

He tossed the sheets into the air dramatically. "But let’s be real—you all want to be heroes, right?" 

The room exploded in cheers and excitement. Arms morphed into weapons. Eyes lit with lasers. Quirks flashed like party tricks. 

 

Cheers. Jabs. Admiration. 

Katsuki didn’t smile. He just leaned back, arms crossed, chin high. 

“Don’t lump me in with those losers! I’m the real deal! They’ll be lucky if they even get picked for sidekicks”  

The rest of the class jeered and booed, the only time they united against the force known as Bakugo 

 His eyes flicked your way for half a second. Just long enough to see if you were watching. 

You were. 

But your expression wasn’t pride. 

It was distant. Like a star gone cold. 

You sat in the middle, expression unreadable, arms folded neatly over your desk. No flashy display. No energy wasted. 

Midoriya, seated beside Y/N, hunched over his desk with a nervous smile. Then the teacher added: 

" Y/N, you want to go to U.A. too, huh?" 

The room went silent. 

"Y/N never even uses hers! How’s she supposed to get in?" 

Bakugo shot to his feet. He looked at you. 

"You think just sitting there looking smug means you’re better than us?  

Your gaze lifted slowly. You didn’t stand. You didn’t even raise your voice. 

"Stars don’t beg to be seen, Bakugo." 

A beat passed. A few students snickered. 

Bakugo’s pride visibly bristled. But he didn’t reply. Not this time. But he did sit back down in his seat until the teacher spoke once again. 

“Midoriya, you also want to go don’t you?” 

You looked down, the ignorance of teachers can sometime be truly amazing, do they not know they have practically put a sign on Midoriya’s back. You look back up and turned to Midoriya, who looks like he had just shit himself. 

A pause. The oxygen in the room froze. 

Before the class exploded into hysterical laughter. 

"Midoriya?! But he’s quirkless!" 

“They don’t let quirkless wannabes in!”  

“They have standards!” 

“They go-got rid of that ru-rule, i-i co-could be fir-first quirkless hero there.” 

Midoriya stood as he spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, he kept tripping over his words, nerves getting the better of him. 

Katsuki stood and slammed his hands on Midoriya’s desk, explosions sparking as he did so. 

Midoriya flinched. 

The words that followed weren’t new. 

“Don’t even fucking try it, nerd.” 

But you didn’t let them land clean. 

You stood up. 

“Enough.” 

Your voice was steady. Your eyes, brighter than the stars. 

The class went silent. 

Katsuki looked at you. Really looked. 

And for a second, he saw the four-year-old version of you—the one who’d knocked him down with her stubbornness, who’d run to Midoriya’s side when he cried. 

And then it was gone. 

Replaced by the fourteen-year-old you. Powerful. Poised. 

And no longer his. 

He sat back down. Jaw tight. 

You stayed standing. 

So did Midoriya. 

You didn’t speak again at school during that day. 

But something had shifted. 

The stars didn’t orbit the same way anymore. 

You were still laughing at something Izuku had said — something awkward and overly technical about Best Jeanist’s denim threading ratios — when your phone began to buzz.

A sharp vibration, followed by a familiar ringtone. You frowned and reached into your bag.

Mom.

You glanced at Izuku, who blinked at the sudden interruption.

“Hold that thought,” you said, offering a sheepish smile as you stood from your desk. “It’s my mom. I’ll be right back.”

Izuku nodded, a little startled but still smiling. “No problem.”

You stepped into the hallway just outside the classroom, pressed the phone to your ear, and tried to keep your voice down.

“Hey, Mom.”

Her voice came in slightly muffled, like she was holding the phone between her shoulder and cheek while doing something else. “Sweetheart, sorry to call during class. Are you free for just a second?”

“Sort of,” you said, lowering your voice even more. “We’re between lessons.”

“I just realized I forgot to ask you to pick up the laundry from the shop today. It’s ready — could you swing by after school?”

“Yeah, of course.”

There was a pause on the other end. “How’s your day been?”

You hesitated. Glanced back through the small glass window of the classroom door. You could just barely see Izuku hunched over his notebook, scribbling something down.

You smiled softly.

“It’s… okay. I’m with Izuku.”

“Oh? That sweet boy with the curls?” your mother said, her voice perking up. “He always seemed so thoughtful. Does he still bring you little facts about space every time he sees you?”

You laughed under your breath. “He does.”

Another pause. Then gently: “And what about Katsuki?”

You stiffened, just slightly. “We haven’t talked much today.”

“Ah,” she murmured. “Well, maybe give him time.”

The classroom buzzed faintly with the low hum of students leaving the room. Izuku Midoriya sat alone at his desk, hunched slightly over the spiral-bound pages in front of him. The corners of the cover were frayed from overuse, the edges soft where his fingers had lingered too many times. 

“Hero Analysis for the Future: Vol. 13.” 

He had been sketching again—another observation on Mt. Lady’s reaction time, her coordination with sidekicks during that rescue last week. His handwriting was cramped, tiny, but filled with an energy that lit up every margin. It wasn’t just a hobby. It was his dream. His lifeline. 

And he was about to be humiliated for it. 

“Hey, shitty Deku.” 

Izuku flinched at the nickname, then looked up—too slowly. Katsuki Bakugo stood over him, arms folded, a grin stretched sharp across his face. There was no warmth in it. Only fire. 

“What’re you writing, huh? Another list of how to be a fake-ass hero?” 

Izuku instinctively tried to close the notebook. "I-It’s just notes, Kacchan. I was watching—" 

Bakugo snatched it before he could finish. 

"Hey—!" 

He held the book between his fingers like it was filth. Flipping through the pages with mocking interest, his eyebrows arched as he skimmed the frantic, passionate notes. 

"God, you’ve got whole essays in here. About heroes you’ll never be." 

Izuku’s fists clenched in his lap. He didn’t know what stung more—the words or how true they felt. 

"Give it back. Please." 

Bakugo turned to him, voice low and edged. "You really think writing this crap makes you closer to being like All Might? You think taking notes gives you a chance?" 

He snapped the notebook shut, and for a second, Izuku thought that was it—that maybe he’d walk away. 

But instead, Katsuki turned and strode toward the classroom window. 

"Kacchan, no—please don’t!" 

Bakugo yanked it open. 

The classroom fell still. 

The wind rushed in. 

And without another word, Katsuki flung the notebook. 

It spiraled once. Twice. 

And was gone. 

Izuku stood so fast his chair screeched backward. The silence in the classroom was deafening. 

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. 

Bakugo watched him for a beat longer, jaw tight. His eyes held something beyond cruelty—something sour, complicated. But it vanished as fast as it came. 

Bakugo started to speak “You know you could always hope you get a quirk in your next life, if you go--” Bakugo cuts himself off when he make eye contact with you.  

Instead he huffs and shoulder shoves Izuku out of the way and mutters 

“Stay in your lane, shitty Deku.” 

Bakugo walks past you, leaving the classroom behind, not even a glance back to see the damage and destruction he left in his wake.  

Izuku’s hands trembled at his sides. He looked down at them, as if they could still grasp the book that had slipped through his fingers. That held every ounce of his heart. 

Outside, the pages fluttered somewhere on the pavement, lost to the wind. 

Like it meant nothing. 

You felt the air shift, something was happening and whatever it was, it wasn't good so you said a quick, “I should get back,” and heard her say goodbye before you hung up.

When you stepped back into the classroom, you stopped in the doorway.

The air had changed.

“You know you could always hope you get a quirk in your next life, if you go--” Bakugo cuts himself off when you make eye contact with him. 

“Stay in your lane, Deku.” 

Katsuki shoves past Izuku and storm toward the door—toward you. His expression was sharp, stormy, like the air around him could combust at any second. 

Your breath caught in your throat. 

He didn’t stop. 

Just brushed past your shoulder, too fast for a word, a flicker of something ugly in his red eyes—was it guilt? 

“Katsuki—” you said, startled. 

But he was already down the hall. 

Your heart sinks as you look toward the doorway, where Bakugo is already gone — stormed off like a wildfire that never bothered to see what it scorched in its wake.

You turned back into the room. The moment you saw Izuku’s face, the pieces clicked together. His hands trembled, eyes wide and wet, still locked on the open window. Your eyes followed. 

You didn’t move for a heartbeat.

Then you ran.

Straight to Izuku.

Straight to the boy still looking out the window, like hope had taken flight with the paper.

Outside, loose pages danced in the breeze—ink smudged, dreams thrown to the wind. 

“Izuku?” you said gently, crossing the room in a heartbeat. 

He flinched when you touched his shoulder, like he hadn’t realized anyone was still watching. 

“He—he threw it,” Izuku whispered, voice thin and cracked. “Vol. 13. I didn’t even—he didn’t even read it all…” 

You crouched down beside him, trying to steady your voice. “Your hero notes?” 

He nodded. 

Your jaw clenched. 

“That absolute jerk,” you muttered, louder than intended. Some of the kids nearby jumped. “How dare he—how dare he do that to you?” 

Izuku shook his head rapidly. “It’s fine, I shouldn’t have been—” 

“No,” you interrupted, squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

His lip trembled, eyes still fixed somewhere far away. 

“I just… I wanted to understand heroes. To be ready if—if I ever got a quirk. If there was a chance. I thought maybe… if I knew everything, maybe…” 

You blinked hard, fighting your own rising sting. 

“Katsuki doesn’t get to decide what you’re allowed to dream,” you said firmly. “He doesn’t get to rip pages out of your life just because he’s scared you’ll write a better one.” 

The words left you before you could stop them. And they rang true. 

Izuku turned to you slowly, his expression faltering in disbelief. “You mean that?” 

You nodded. “With everything.” 

“Afterall, he may have named you Deku to mock you but Deku is badge of honour, it represents your ability to rise above challenges.” 

Outside, the wind still carried pieces of his heart. 

But here—sitting close—you tried to offer something solid in the wreckage. 

Not a quirk. Not a power. 

Just presence. 

Just faith. 

And that, for now, had to be enough. 

You glance at the window again.

The notebook is long gone now.

You place a hand gently on his arm. He flinches at first — not from you, but from the weight of everything else — and then slowly relaxes under your touch.

“I’ll go get it,” you say softly.

“But—”

“It’s yours,” you interrupt completely forgetting about the laundry your mother wants you to collect. “I don’t care if it landed in the gutter or three blocks away. I’ll find it.”

Izuku finally looks at you — really looks — and in his eyes is a gratitude so raw it nearly cracks you open. But behind it, there's something else. Shame. Like he blames himself. Like he did something wrong.

You can’t let him believe that.

“Katsuki was wrong,” you reaffirm quietly, but firmly. “He doesn’t get to decide who’s worthy of being a hero. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Izuku swallows thickly. “But… he’s right. I don’t have a quirk. I’m just—”

“You’re not just anything. So stop repeating that same old quirkless mantra.”

You take his hand gently in both of yours. He startles a little at first, but doesn’t pull away.

“Izuku, you have more heart than anyone I know. You think about saving people before yourself. You study heroes like it’s a language only you can hear. You dream — even when everyone else tells you not to.”

You smile sadly.

“I think that’s what makes you one already.”

His shoulders tremble, and he lets out a soft breath — half-sob, half-laugh — and wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

You squeeze his hand one more time before standing. “Come on. Let’s go find your notebook.”

He hesitates. “Together?”

You nod. “Always.”

You step out of the classroom into the warm afternoon light. The noise of the school yard buzzes around you as students continue to leave — distant laughter, sneakers squeaking against pavement, birds chirping somewhere up high.

But it all feels muffled. Like you’re moving underwater, the sounds dulled by the ache settling inside your chest.

Izuku trails behind you, his footsteps tentative, like he’s afraid the ground will crumble beneath him. You glance back once to see him clutching his chest, like holding on to his own breath.

You reach the base of the school building, the spot where the notebook disappeared. The grass here is patchy, some spots muddy from yesterday’s rain. You scan the ground carefully.

“Anywhere,” you say, voice soft but steady. “We’ll find it.”

Izuku kneels down, pushing blades of grass aside with trembling fingers.

“Here!” His voice is a whisper, but it makes your heart leap.

Behind the bush in the lake, the edge of the notebook pokes out, pages rumpled and soaked being eaten by fish.

You grab it, brushing off the moss and fish. The book is dripping wet, the spiral binding floppy and unusable, but the pages don’t look too torn. Yet.

Izuku leans in, heatbreak flooding his face as he attempts to flips it open. But all that leads to is a page ripping

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You smile, but inside your chest is heavy again. You remember Bakugo’s words — the sting in his voice — and you want to shield Izuku from it, but you also know you can’t erase what’s already been said.

“He’s just scared,” you say, more to yourself than to Izuku. “Afraid of losing control.”

Izuku looks up, searching your face. “Why does he hate me so much?”

You kneel beside him, resting a hand on his back. “Because he doesn’t know how to be anything else. Because you’re everything he’s afraid of losing to.”

He looks at you, confusion and something like hope mixed in his green eyes.

“You’re not alone,” you say, voice firm. “I’m here.”

For the first time since the notebook was thrown, Izuku manages a genuine smile. “Thanks.”

You stand, pulling him gently to his feet.

“We should get back before our moms worry,” you remind him.

As you walk side by side back to the building, your hand brushes against his.

Neither of you says it out loud — but the quiet promise lingers between you: no matter what comes, you’ll face it together.

The air feels thick, heavy with unsaid things, as you and Izuku walk back toward the school exit.

The sun is dipping lower now, casting long shadows that stretch like fingers across the cracked sidewalk.

You keep your gaze fixed on the worn path beneath your feet, afraid to look too closely at Izuku’s face — worried you might see the cracks beneath his usual quiet strength.

The notebook in his hands feels like a fragile treasure, pages curling where the water had touched them. You can’t help but wonder if his dreams feel just as fragile.

Izuku’s voice breaks the silence.

“Do you think… I’ll ever be a hero?”

You glance at him, your heart tightening.

He’s looking straight ahead, but there’s a vulnerability in his voice you haven’t heard before.

Your fingers itch to reach out and touch his arm again — to remind him he’s not alone in this impossible dream.

“You will,” you say firmly.

“But I don’t have a quirk,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “How can I fight when I don’t even have powers like everyone else?”

You slow down, letting your steps fall into sync with his.

“Quirks don’t make a hero,” you say softly. “Courage does. Heart does. The way you keep going even when everything says you shouldn’t — that’s what counts.”

Izuku’s eyes flicker, just for a moment, with something like hope.

“But Kacchan…” His voice falters. “He says I’m useless.”

You stop walking, turning to face him.

“Bakugo’s words aren’t the truth. They’re the noise that tries to drown out yours.”

His shoulders slump.

“I don’t know how to make him see that.”

You reach out and gently squeeze his shoulder.

“Maybe you don’t have to.”

Izuku looks at you, confused.

“You just have to be you.”

You take a deep breath.

“Bakugo’s fire might burn loud, but it doesn’t have to scorch your light.”

A quiet smile finally breaks across Izuku’s face.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

You squeeze his shoulder one last time before stepping back.

“We’re going to face this together.”

The moment stretches between you, a fragile bridge made of hope and quiet strength.

And in the fading light, it feels like maybe — just maybe — there’s a way forward.

You take a slow pace, walking side by side through the school’s iron gates. The chatter of students already long faded, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.

The courtyard feels empty now, the echoes of the day lingering like a ghost.

You glance over at Izuku.

His shoulders are still tense, but there’s something steadier in his eyes — less fear, more resolve.

“I’m sorry you had to see all that,” he says quietly.

You shake your head, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

“No, I’m glad I was here.”

He looks at you, the ghost of a smile flickering.

“Thanks… for not leaving me alone.”

Your heart twists painfully at the honesty in his voice.

You want to tell him there’s no place you’d rather be — but the words stick in your throat.

Instead, you take a deep breath and say, “I’ll always be here.”

The two of you step onto the cracked sidewalk that leads away from the school.

The sun is setting, painting the sky in bruised purples and soft golds.

You walk without speaking, sharing the quiet comfort of simply being together.

At the street corner, you pause.

“I should head home soon,” you say.

Izuku nods, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Can I walk with you a little?”

You smile.

“Of course.”

You start down the street, the weight of the day lightened by his presence.

As you walk, you notice the familiar signs of the neighbourhood: the old bookstore with peeling paint, the ramen shop with its faded red lantern, the small park bench where you once shared a secret.

Each step forward feels a little less heavy.

When you reach the corner where your paths split, you stop.

Izuku looks at you, searching.

“Thank you,” he says again. “For today.”

You reach out and squeeze his hand — a silent promise.

“Anytime.”

He smiles, genuine and warm.

Then, with a hesitant wave, he turns and disappears down his street.

You watch him go, heart full and aching all at once.

The day’s shadows fall long around you as you turn toward your own path.

And though the future still feels uncertain, you know one thing for sure:

You won’t face it alone.

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 16: Ring, Ring, Sludge is calling

BAKUGO'S POINT OF VIEW AFTER THROWING IZUKU'S NOTEBOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW

The notebook was long gone by the time Bakugo stepped out of the school gate, fists shoved deep in his pockets.

He’d watched it tumble through the air like trash — pages flaring, twisting, snapping loose — and all it did was light a fuse inside his chest that hadn’t stopped burning.

He told himself it was nothing. That it served Deku right.

That stupid notebook, full of scribbles and dreams and rankings. Like having a collection of stats could make up for not having a quirk. Like pretending hard enough could change the truth.

But Katsuki couldn’t stop seeing your face.

Not Deku’s.

Yours.

The way you’d frozen when you walked back into the classroom catching just the tail-end of his outburst.

The way your eyes had darted from Izuku — red-eyed and silent — to Bakugo himself, as if he was a stranger. As if he’d grown horns in the minutes you’d been gone.

And then you went to him. To Izuku.

Just like before. Just like always.

Bakugo kicked a loose rock on the pavement hard enough to send it clattering into the curb. Sparks flared in his palm, but he clenched his fist until they faded.

He hated this.

He hated the way things felt off between you two. Hated that he couldn’t fix it — not without swallowing down the part of himself that refused to be weak. Not without remembering the last real conversation you’d had.

The one that ended with painful truths.

And silence.

And you walking away with your quirk flickering out of control — breath ragged, eyes bright with frustration.

He said something awful.

Something about how you were reckless. About how you were pushing yourself too far, too fast. About how you'd never make it as a real hero if you didn’t learn to stop getting in your own way.

He’d meant to protect you. Meant to pull you back before you hurt yourself.

But what came out was:

"You always hesitate. Always second-guess. You want to be a hero, but you don’t have the guts to go all in. You think a few glowing circles are enough to take down villains? You think your pretty little stardust is gonna mean something when people are screaming for help?" 

But he didnt stop there, he continued to damage your self-esteem further.

"You’re too soft. You stop to help everyone. You freeze when things get bad. That’s not what heroes do. Real heroes don’t break every time something goes wrong." 

That was the last thing you heard before he stormed off.

He hadn’t seen you the same way since.

You didn’t joke with him like you used to. Didn’t linger after class. And now — now you looked at him like he was just another part of the world trying to pull Izuku down.

Katsuki shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and kept walking.

The streets blurred past. He didn’t even register the sidewalk, or the power lines, or the familiar corner near your house.

He just kept hearing your voice, soft and cracking at the edges:

“I thought you were better than this.”

And maybe you were right.

Maybe he wasn’t better.

But it didn’t mean he didn’t want to be — not in your eyes.

Not after everything.

But, what could he do?

He doesn't do soft

BACK WITH YOU

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, the sharp buzz pulling you out of your thoughts like a sudden jolt. The small screen lights up with a message from your mother:

“Don’t forget the laundry’s ready to pick up! They close early today.”

You freeze for a moment, heart skipping a beat, the words hitting you like a cold wave crashing against a rocky shore. Laundry. The laundry. You completely forgot. Your mind races, scrambling to process what that means: the folded clothes, the neatly packed bag sitting behind the counter at the shop, waiting for you. The hours slipping by faster than you realized.

You glance around — the streets are bathed in a warm, fading light as the sun begins its slow descent behind the rooftops. The afternoon has nearly slipped away.

Your chest tightens with sudden, sharp panic. You shove your phone in your pocket and push off from the wall you’d been leaning against, taking off at a hurried pace.

Your heart pounds in your ears, loud and insistent, like a drumbeat urging you onward. Each footstep thuds against the cracked pavement with urgent purpose, echoing off the buildings around you.

Your breaths come fast and shallow, burning your throat, but you force yourself to keep going. You can’t let your mother down.

The city blurs around you — faces and voices and the scent of street food mingling with the cool breeze, but all of it fades to background noise beneath your focus on the task ahead.

You weave through crowds of students heading home, dodging between groups of chattering friends and hurried commuters. The world feels too loud, too chaotic, but your steps don’t falter.

Your thoughts race as quickly as your legs:

She stayed up late last night, working in the kitchen...
She’s tired and counting on me to bring the laundry back before dinner...
If I don’t get there in time, it’ll be a mess...

You bite your lip, a sharp sting that helps push down the rising panic. You’re so close to the shop now, the familiar neon sign flickering faintly in the twilight like a lighthouse.

You force your legs to move faster. Your lungs burn, but you don’t slow down.

The bell jingles sharply as you burst through the laundry’s glass door, breath hitching as warmth and the scent of soap and clean fabric wash over you.

The shop is nearly empty, a quiet hum of the dryer machines filling the space. The shop clerk looks up, her eyes softening when she sees you.

“Just in time,” she says kindly, gesturing toward the shelf behind her where the laundry bag rests.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, and grab the bag, fingers trembling just a little.

The weight in your arms feels heavier than the clothes inside — the weight of responsibility, of wanting to do right by the woman who raised you.

You thank the clerk and step back out into the evening air, now cooler and tinged with the scent of rain yet to fall.

Your pace slows as the adrenaline fades, replaced by a quiet exhaustion. The streetlights flicker on, casting pools of golden light on the sidewalk.

You glance down at the bag in your hands, then up at the sky where stars begin to prick through the dusk.

A small smile touches your lips.

You’re not perfect. You forget things sometimes. But you didn’t give up.

You didn’t let her down.

Just like she never lets you down.

Unlike your father, who did.

The street hums quietly now, the rush of the day folding into a softer rhythm as twilight deepens. Your footsteps slow, not because you want to stop but because the tension in your muscles begins to ebb, replaced by a thick weariness.

You clutch the laundry bag closer, the fabric rough against your fingers. Inside are pieces of your life—your mother’s shirts, your favorite sweater, the clothes you both wear every day. You remember how she’d carefully folded each item, her hands steady despite the fatigue in her eyes, a silent message woven in every crease: This is what I care for most.

A sudden gust brushes your hair across your face, the scent of wet earth and distant rain teasing at your senses. The evening air cools your flushed skin, but it also brings a sobering clarity.

I’m lucky, you think. I get to carry this—for her.

You step past the old bookstore with its peeling paint, its windows dark and quiet. The faded sign swinging gently overhead reminds you of lazy afternoons you once spent inside, flipping through dog-eared manga, your mother’s voice calling you home.

You pause for a moment, eyes drifting to a cracked bench beneath a gnarled tree. The bench where you’d once sat, your small hands clutching hers as you whispered promises to be brave, to never let the world break you.

That promise still echoes inside you..

With steady steps, you continue toward home, the streetlights casting long shadows that dance with the gentle sway of leaves overhead. The night is growing, but inside you, a quiet light kindles—hope born from the simple act of carrying a bag of laundry, from the connections that keep you tethered.

You think about your mother waiting in the kitchen, how her tired eyes will brighten when you walk through the door with the familiar bag in hand.

And you know—no matter how many times you stumble or forget—you’ll always try your best for her.

For yourself.

For those you love.

MIDORIYA POINT OF VIEW WHILST THIS WAS HAPPENING

The weight of the ruined notebook still sat in his bag, damp pages sticking together, ink bleeding into the margins. Every time Izuku Midoriya shifted his arm, he could feel it pressing into his side—like a bruise from earlier that hadn’t yet faded.

But somehow… it didn’t hurt as much.

Not after she’d come back for him.

Y/N’s voice still lingered in his ears, soft and certain: “I'll always be here.”
She had looked at him like he mattered. Like maybe—even without a quirk—he could still stand beside real heroes someday.

He clutched that feeling like it was something sacred.

The sun was setting behind the rooftops of Musutafu as he walked home, casting long golden rays through the clouds. His shadow stretched ahead of him, tall and strange. Like it belonged to someone braver.

The alley near Ippongi was a shortcut. It shaved five minutes off his walk. Normally, Izuku avoided it—he’d read too many stories about villains hiding in alleys—but today, his thoughts were too loud for fear. His legs carried him on autopilot, his mind replaying the moment the reader had held his hand.

Then something shifted.

A cold wind swept past him—wet and thick.

Before he could react, something slammed into his back, knocking him off his feet and into the shadows of the alley.

A foul, choking stench hit him like a wall—rotten eggs and bile. His body hit the ground with a dull thud, and then he was being pulled.

Something warm and slimy coiled around his legs, his arms—his chest.

He tried to scream, but the sludge forced its way into his mouth. It tasted like chemicals and death.

“W-wha—”

“Ah, perfect! A skin suit just my size!”

The voice was thick, gurgling, like it came from underwater. And then the villain’s face formed out of the sludge—a massive, grinning mouth, two eyes like yellowing glass.

Izuku’s body seized with panic. He kicked and thrashed, but the goo only tightened, pulling him inward.

“Now, don’t struggle,” the sludge villain said, almost amused. “You’ll just make it worse. I need a body to hide in. Got heroes sniffing around lately…”

He was going to die.

No. Worse.

He was going to be used—to be worn—by a villain.

His chest screamed for air. His vision blurred at the edges. The world shrank to the wet, sucking dark closing around his eyes.

Please, he thought. Someone. Anyone…

Then—

BOOM.

The wall behind them exploded inward, light and wind surging like a storm front. A massive gust tore through the alley, scattering newspapers and lifting Izuku off the ground.

The sludge peeled back with a horrible slorp.

The villain screamed—“Wha—?!”

And then a voice.

A voice Izuku had heard a thousand times in videos. A voice that had lifted cities and saved nations.

“Fear not, young man—”
“For I am here!”

Izuku gasped for breath, collapsing into the cracked concrete. His vision swam, lungs burning.

And there—framed in golden light, steam pouring from his shoulders, was All Might.

Real. Towering. Glorious.

Time slowed.

All Might lunged forward, faster than Izuku’s eyes could track, and scooped the sludge villain into a massive soda bottle like it was nothing more than spilt soup.

“No need to worry,” the No. 1 hero declared, corking the lid. “You’re safe now.”

Izuku stared, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest. He could barely process the words.

He wasn’t dead.

All Might was real.

All Might had saved him.

And now he was standing there—muscles bulging beneath his blue-and-red suit, sunlight catching on the golden tufts of his hair—like a god out of myth.

Izuku’s legs wobbled as he stood.

“I-I… That was…” he whispered. “Th-thank you…”

All Might turned, his smile wide and sparkling. “Just doing my job!”

The hero tucked the bottle under one arm and patted Izuku’s shoulder with the other—light, but even that made Izuku stagger slightly.

All Might turned to go.

And for a second, Izuku just stood there.

But then—his body moved on instinct.

“Wait!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

All Might paused.

Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.

“Wait, wait, I—!”

He sprinted forward, his feet slamming against the pavement. He didn’t know what he was doing. All he knew was that if he let this moment slip by—if he didn’t ask now—he never would.

All Might leapt into the air.

No. No. Not yet.

Izuku jumped.

And grabbed hold of his leg.

The air tore past his ears, roaring like a wind tunnel.

Izuku clung desperately to All Might’s leg, fingers white-knuckled around the thick fabric of the hero’s pants. The city below was a dizzying blur—buildings like tiny blocks, streets like thin veins. If he slipped, he’d fall to his death.

But that didn’t matter.

He couldn’t let go.

He wouldn’t.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” All Might’s voice boomed over the wind, his eyes bulging comically wide.

“I-I’m sorry!!” Izuku shouted, tears streaming from his eyes from the sheer force of the air pressure. “I didn’t think—!”

“CLEARLY!”

All Might scanned the skyline, searching for a place to land. His time was running out—Izuku didn’t know that yet, but he would. In less than thirty seconds, the Symbol of Peace would become something smaller. Something mortal.

They landed with a crash on a deserted rooftop.

Izuku rolled across the surface, clutching his ribs, gasping for air. The sludge villain’s bottle rolled beside him, miraculously still sealed.

All Might touched down harder than necessary, panting—sweat running down his neck.

“What were you thinking?!” he snapped, not unkindly, but firm. “You could have died!”

Izuku sat up slowly, rubbing his side. “I—I didn’t mean to— I just—!”

His words tangled in his throat.

All Might turned away, glancing toward the edge of the building. His fists clenched.

Then—

PSSSSHHHHH.

A thick cloud of steam erupted from his shoulders, like a kettle boiling over.

Izuku blinked.

Wait…

The steam cleared.

Where All Might had stood—bold, massive, glowing like a pillar of strength—now stood someone else.

Tall still, yes. But thinner. Much thinner. Gaunt, even. Hair limp and hanging over tired eyes, sunken cheeks, a massive scar twisting across his side beneath a half-zipped shirt.

Izuku stared in shock, mouth falling open.

“Wh-what…?”

The man who had been All Might coughed violently into his hand, thick red splattering his palm.

“I didn’t have much time left,” he rasped. “Damn it…”

Izuku crawled backward slightly, stunned. “Y-you’re… You’re not…”

“I am All Might,” the man said, voice low. “Or what’s left of him.”

The silence between them felt massive.

Izuku couldn’t breathe.

This was his hero. His icon. His everything.

Broken.

All Might sank onto a crate, running a hand through his limp hair. “This stays between us, understand? If the public knew the Symbol of Peace was this… damaged, it’d cause panic.”

Izuku swallowed hard, nodding.

All Might glanced down at the bottle, then back at the boy who looked like his whole world had just cracked open.

“What did you want to ask me so badly?” he said finally, more gently.

Izuku’s throat tightened. His hands curled into fists.

His mind replayed it all—Bakugo’s words, the ruined notebook, the laughter of the kids in class, the reader’s hands cupping his cheeks, telling him he wasn’t nothing. Her warmth still lingered. Her belief.

“C-can… Can someone… without a quirk…” he began, voice shaking, “…still be a hero? Like you?”

All Might’s eyes widened.

Izuku’s voice cracked, but the words kept spilling out like water from a burst dam:

“I know it sounds stupid! I know I don’t have a quirk, and everyone keeps saying I can’t— even Kacchan, even the teachers, everyone. But—”
He sniffled, wiping his sleeve across his eyes.
“But I still want to try! I want to help people with a smile on my face, even if it kills me. That’s what heroes do, right?!”

He laughed, but it sounded broken.

“I know I’m not strong. Or fast. Or cool. But ever since I was little… I’ve wanted to be one. Like you.”

The rooftop was quiet again, save for a bird chirping in the distance.

All Might stared at him. Something unreadable flickered in his expression.

Then he spoke.

“…No.”

Izuku flinched like he’d been punched in the chest.

The word hung in the air like a guillotine.

“I’m sorry,” All Might continued. “But being a hero—real hero work—it’s dangerous. Bloody. It breaks people. Without a quirk, you wouldn’t last a second on the front lines. You’d be putting yourself—and others—at risk.”

Izuku didn’t cry.

He didn’t even move.

He just… folded in on himself.

All the hope, all the fire the reader had reignited in him, dimmed like a candle in the wind.

He whispered, “I… I see.”

All Might stood slowly, looking almost regretful.

“Find another path to help people,” he said. “You’ve got the heart of a hero, kid. But sometimes… heart isn’t enough.”

With that, he leapt off the rooftop.

Izuku sat alone.

Unaware of the bottle of sludge villain opened and started moving onto the pavement below, right next to the one person he would have hated to see hurt.

You.

BACK WITH YOU

You turned the corner onto the street near Bakugo’s house, eyes scanning the neat rows of houses with their tiny gardens and mailboxes.

You didn’t expect to see anyone.

But then—

You almost collided with someone.

Your shoulder bumped into his.

You stumbled back, clutching your bag.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, eyes lowering out of instinct.

He glared.

Bakugo stood before you, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in that permanent scowl.

“You walking home carrying a damn laundry bag?” he said, voice rough but not harsh.

You blinked.

“Yeah. Mom needed it done.”

He snorted.

“You’re wasting time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

He pushed off from where he leaned against the fence, stepping closer.

“Because you’re always doing shit for everyone else. Always carrying other people’s weight,” he said, voice low but pointed.

You stiffened.

“Maybe I don’t mind.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” he said, tone almost dismissive as he turned away.

But then, after a beat, he glanced back.

You caught the faintest flicker of something—respect? Maybe grudging acknowledgement—in his eyes.

You gave him a small, tired smile.

“Thanks, Katsuki.”

He grunted, turning fully and stomping down the street, leaving you with your laundry bag and a strange, unexpected warmth where his words had landed.

You shook your head, took a deep breath, and kept walking home.

The sky above was clear, the sun dipping low—unaware of the battles still to come.

 

You had barely lifted the heavy laundry bag again when Katsuki’s voice cut through the evening air.

"Fucking Hell"

You glanced over your shoulder, surprised. 

He was jogging back to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, that fierce scowl still glued to his face.

“Why’re you so slow?” he muttered, but the edge was gone. For once, it sounded more like concern than irritation. This was a complete 180 degrees from how he acted at school.

“I’m carrying laundry,” you said, shifting the bag so it wouldn’t pull your shoulder out of socket.

He snorted. “Tch. Weak.”

You gave him a look, but a small smile tugged at your lips anyway.

He wasn’t so bad when he wanted to be.

So, with a grunt, he fell into step beside you, matching your pace without complaint.

The street was quiet, the sun dipping lower, turning the clouds to bruised purple.

“You sure you don’t want me to carry that?” he asked gruffly.

“No thanks.”

He scowled, but didn’t press it.

You walked in silence for a few blocks, the soft clack of your footsteps and his boots the only sounds.

Then you turned onto the alleyway shortcut — the one that saved you ten minutes but came with enough shadows to make you uncomfortable.

“Are you sure about this?” Katsuki asked, eyes narrowing.

You nodded.

“It’s fine.”

He didn’t look convinced but didn’t argue.

The day continued to get hotter, despite the slow disappearance of the sun — the air thick and buzzing with late summer tension — but you hadn’t expected it to end like this.

You’d just been walking beside Katsuki, arguing over nothing important. He had that smug grin again, the one that irritated you just enough to push back. He’d teased you for walking too slow, you’d snapped something back, and now he was ahead of you — just a little — when the sewer cover exploded.

You barely had time to scream. The laundry bag falling from your hands onto the ground

A green, slimy mass shot up from the gutter, smashing into the alley walls with a wet splatter. It reeked of sewage and rot and something unnatural. The mass shifted, gained eyes, teeth. It snarled.

Bakugo spun on instinct, palms already popping with sparks.

You didn’t even get a word out before the sludge lunged — straight at him.

“WHAT THE HELL—?!” Bakugo barely got his arms up before it engulfed him.

“No!” you screamed, running forward — too fast, too thoughtless — and the villain struck again, a tendril whipping toward you. You dodged sideways, rolling behind a dumpster, heart in your throat.

Bakugo thrashed inside the monster, explosions lighting up the creature’s body from the inside.

“I like this one!” the sludge villain cackled, its form shifting around Bakugo’s body like a grotesque suit. “So much power — a perfect skin!”

“KATSUKI!” you shouted.

His eyes — just barely visible — locked onto yours through a gap in the ooze. He wasn’t just scared. He was furious. Furious that you were there. Furious that he couldn’t get free. Furious that he might fail.

Your quirk flared in your veins, stardust energy twitching to life. But your hands trembled.

You couldn’t focus. Couldn’t form the constellations in your mind.

Altair. Vega. Sirius.

But they slipped through your fingers like sand. You tried to call them — tried to cast Grand Chariot to blow the monster off — but your voice cracked, your breath hitched, and your power fizzled.

Useless.

You were useless.

“I told you you were pushing yourself too hard,” echoed in your head — Bakugo’s voice, sharp and unforgiving from weeks ago.

And now here you were. Frozen.

MIDORIYA'S POINT OF VIEW

 

The city bustled beneath golden light. Car horns blared. News vans clustered around a blocked-off intersection, their cameras aimed at a swirl of smoke rising from a shopping district.

And in the center of it all—

Screams.

The sludge villain had returned.

Worse than before.

And this time, it had Bakugo Katsuki pinned—writhing inside its tar-thick form, explosions flashing weakly from his palms.

But it wasn’t just Bakugo.

You was there too.

His friend.

One of your arms was slick with the villain’s ooze, your body trembling as you tried to summon a flicker of your constellation magic—anything to help.

But it wasn’t working. Your quirk flickered, misfiring like a dying star.

He could see you were panicking.

Bakugo roared, blasting wild detonations into the monster’s insides, but he was trapped, smothered, the heat from his palms barely able to sear through.

And the villain laughed.

“Ahahaha! You again? I’ll finish the job this time—take two bodies instead of one!”

Civilians stood frozen behind the barricades. Pro-heroes shouted over each other. 

No one could reach them.

And then—

His body moved before his mind caught up.

“They're going to die.”

The heroes weren’t enough.

The people with quirks weren’t enough.

But they were his friends.

He didn’t have a plan.

He didn’t have a quirk.

He had his notebook. His instincts. His heart.

And he ran.

Smoke curled into the sky like a warning. Sirens wailed in the distance. You couldn’t hear them over your heartbeat.

The explosion Bakugo had just released had knocked you off your feet.

Your hands scraped against pavement. Your knee stung. You scrambled upright, breath hitching as your eyes locked onto the scene in front of you—

Bakugo Katsuki, trapped. Enveloped by a monster of living sludge.

His face was barely visible beneath the shifting green muck, eyes wide with fury and panic. His arms flared in bursts of light — short, vicious explosions — but the villain only cackled, absorbing each blast and pressing tighter.

You stepped forward, trembling hands alight with fragments of your quirk. The stars flickered across your arms like broken glass, but you couldn't cast. You couldn’t breathe enough to center your constellation map.

Altair. Sirius. Vega. Grand Chariot.

But the patterns slipped. The energy buckled under your emotions.

Your power wasn’t stable when you were like this.

The crowd screamed around you — pedestrians, students, businesspeople — all kept at bay by a police barricade hastily drawn up at the edge of the alley. You didn’t even register them.

You only saw him.

“Hang on!” you called, voice cracking. “I’m going to get help!”

Bakugo thrashed again, the sludge muttering in delight, “This boy’s body is ideal… such power...”

You turned — and froze.

There were heroes.

Three of them.

Standing just past the barricade, watching.

Death Arms stood tall, muscles flexed, jaw tight. “My strength’s not gonna work here,” he muttered to the press. “If I swing and hit the hostage—”

Kamui Woods crouched beside him, eyes flicking between buildings. “There’s no way to restrain him without Bakugo getting caught in the crossfire.”

Backdraft, the water hero, tried to hold back the flames erupting from the buildings. He had hoses trained, but no aim against the villain’s goo. “I can’t flood the alley! The boy could drown!”

You stared at them.

All of them.

Doing nothing.

Justifying their inaction.

Your lips trembled.

“He’s fucking dying in there!” you yelled. “Why won’t you—?!”

Another blast came from inside the villain’s body. Bakugo’s quirk — stubborn, terrified — flaring up in desperation. His eyes were glassy now. Sludge began to close over his mouth.

Your legs buckled.

“No—Katsuki—!”

Then—

A blur of green.

Someone jumped the barricade.

You blinked.

“Izuku?!”

He was already halfway to the villain, full sprint, eyes wide with panic and purpose.

“No plan. No chance. Nothing.”

But he ran anyway.

“DEKU?!” Bakugo shouted from inside the monster, eyes blazing. “What the HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

Izuku didn’t answer. He threw his backpack, striking the villain in the eye. The sludge reared back. For half a second, Bakugo could breathe.

And then Izuku was there — clawing at the sludge, shouting Katsuki’s name, tears in his eyes, fingers bleeding as he tried to pull his childhood friend free.

The crowd gasped. Even the Pro Heroes shouted warnings.

But none of them moved.

Your hands lit again.

A burst of uncontrolled light shot from your palm, slicing through a the sludge monster and sparking off a wall. You growled in frustration — your power still refused to focus.

Then—

A crash of air. A thunderous boom that split the sky.

“All Might,” someone whispered.

You turned, wind whipping your hair back.

He was there.

Bright. Golden. Terrifying in his intensity.

“I AM HERE!!”

The Sludge Villain barely turned before a fist connected — clean, final, powerful enough to split the sky.

“DETROIT SMASH!!”

The alley exploded in wind. Clouds gathered from the force alone. The sludge disintegrated.

Katsuki collapsed in a coughing heap. Izuku landed hard, panting, eyes wide.

And you — you exhaled, stars dying out slowly across your arms.

It was over.

For now.

The sirens had started to die down. 

The sludge had been bagged, sealed, and taken away. Pro heroes were already giving half-hearted apologies to the press. Civilians, now reassured by All Might’s presence, were peeling away from the barricades, murmuring relief and awe. 

But Katsuki Bakugo’s hands were still trembling. 

He stood with his fists clenched at his sides, the tattered remains of his school uniform clinging to his frame, the cuffs still stained with sludge and ash. His throat burned. His pride had been trampled. And his heart wouldn’t stop hammering. 

He hadn’t saved you. 

He hadn’t saved himself. 

He’d been useless. 

You sat just a few meters away, your shoulders draped with a thin hero agency blanket, hair mussed and eyes dazed. Your head was bowed slightly, your hands still trembling in your lap—yet even now, you glanced back toward the other boy in the alley, your lips parting into a soft, tired smile. 

At him. 

Deku. 

Katsuki grit his teeth. 

Without thinking, he stormed over. 

“You,” he barked, voice rough. 

You looked up fast, startled. 

Katsuki didn’t waste time. He crouched beside you, grabbed your wrist—not rough, but not gentle either—and turned your arm up to check for bruises, for cuts, for burns. His palm hovered, trembling slightly. 

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, not looking you in the eye. “What were you thinking—getting caught like that, using your quirk when it wasn’t stable? What if you—?” 

He stopped. 

Bit back the rest. 

Behind you, Izuku Midoriya stood a little off to the side, dirt-smudged and silent, watching them. He didn’t say anything. He looked… relieved. A little confused. And still so damn earnest. 

Bakugo hated how small he suddenly felt standing next to him. 

He rose back to his feet and tugged you up by the elbow—not roughly, just insistent. 

“Come on. You’re going home. Your mom’ll have a heart attack if she finds out what happened. I’m not dealing with that.” 

“But—” you started. 

“I said come on.” 

He began pulling you toward the street where their neighbourhood lay, not letting you argue. The laundry lay ruined and completely forgotton about, sludge soaking the clothes

And as you turned to follow—just before you was fully out of view—you twisted around one last time. 

Your eyes found Midoriya’s. 

you smiled. 

“Thank you,” you said softly. “Really.” 

And then you waved—small, but genuine. 

Izuku blinked. 

He didn’t speak. 

He just smiled back—sheepish, shy, but glowing. 

Like someone who’d just heard the one thing he’d waited his whole life for. 

Like someone who’d just been told— 

“You can be a hero.” 

And for a long while, even after they disappeared down the street, he stood there in the quiet, hand resting over his heart, the fading warmth of her words keeping him rooted in place. 

 

The street was quieter now. 

Bakugo’s footsteps echoed sharply off the pavement, the sky dimming above them in streaks of soft blue and orange. His fists were jammed into the pockets of his ruined pants, and his mouth was set in a hard, thin line. 

You walked beside him, blanket still around your shoulders, your expression unreadable. 

You didn’t speak. 

He didn’t, either. 

But not because he didn’t have anything to say. 

He had too much. 

He kept hearing your voice back there—tight, terrified, crying for help. Her quirk hadn’t answered you. He hadn’t answered you. He’d just been trapped. Weak. Helpless. 

Deku had run into danger while he was drowning. 

It made his skin crawl. 

His lip curled as he kicked a loose stone from the sidewalk. 

“You really are a damn idiot,” he muttered, still not looking at you. 

You didn’t respond right away. 

“I was trying to help,” you said quietly after a moment. 

“Tch. Help? That wasn’t helping. You froze up.” 

“I tried.” 

“That’s the problem. You tried. In a real fight, that hesitation gets you killed.” 

His tone was sharp, but his throat felt tight. He couldn’t explain it—couldn’t put into words why it had shaken him so much to see you like that. Why your hand, limp in the sludge, had filled him with such a blinding, helpless rage. 

Why it burned worse than the villain ever had. 

You glanced at him sideways. “I’m not the only one who froze up.” 

He stopped walking. 

So did you. 

The street was nearly empty. A breeze rolled past, catching the edge of your blanket. Your hair moved with it—messy, damp with sweat and sludge—and Katsuki stared at you for a second too long. 

“I didn’t ask to be saved,” he said eventually. 

“No. But we both were.” 

By him. 

The nerd. 

The fucking quirkless wannabe. 

Katsuki clenched his jaw so hard it ached. 

“I didn’t need him,” he said, even though he’d barely been able to breathe back there. Even though he still felt the phantom touch of slime in his lungs. 

You stepped closer, folding the blanket tighter around yourself. “Maybe you didn’t. But I’m glad he was there.” 

Katsuki’s eyes flicked away. He couldn’t look at you right now. 

He wanted to yell. To punch a wall. To blow something up. 

But instead, he just said— 

“…You’re walking too slow.” 

You blinked. 

“…What?” 

“I’m not waiting for you.” And he started walking again, fists shoved deep into his pockets. 

But he slowed his pace just enough for you to catch up. 

They didn’t speak again for the rest of the walk. 

But when they reached her front gate, and you turned to go inside, he muttered, barely loud enough to hear: 

“…Next time, if your quirk doesn’t answer you—don’t just stand there.” 

Your hand lingered on the gate. 

“Next time,” she said quietly, “I’ll be strong enough.” 

He looked at you. 

And for once, didn’t argue. 

Then you stepped inside. 

And Bakugo kept walking, scowl fixed, heart pounding harder than any explosion. 

BACK WITH MIDORIYA

His feet hurt.

He couldn’t remember when he’d started walking.

Midoriya’s bag felt heavier than it should have. His notebook — the spare one — was digging into his back. His shoes were scuffed. His shirt still smelled faintly like smoke and sludge.

The sun was setting behind the city skyline, bathing the streets in orange and gold. The wind blew gently, but it didn’t cool the heat burning behind his eyes.

He’d done it again.

He’d jumped in.

Stupid.

Quirkless. Useless. Reckless.

He hadn’t even thought.

He just ran.

“Stay in your lane, shitty Deku.”

Bakugo’s words rang in his ears louder than the rush of the wind. Louder than the panicked cheers of the crowd after All Might had arrived.

He hadn’t saved Kacchan or you.

He hadn’t even helped.

He’d just gotten in the way, like always.

“Why do you try so hard when it’s hopeless?”

Because someone had to. Because no one else was moving.

Because Kacchan and you had been terrified. And Midoriya had moved before he had time to remember that he wasn’t allowed to.

He kicked a loose stone on the sidewalk.

It skittered into the gutter and disappeared.

His chest hurt.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered to himself, clutching the strap of his backpack tighter. His fingers were still scraped from clawing at the sludge. His legs were sore. His knees ached from falling in the alley.

But worst of all…

No one but Y/N had told him he did the right thing.

No one but Y/N even looked at him after.

Not even All Might.

Midoriya rubbed at his eyes quickly. He wasn’t going to cry. Not in public.

The last rays of daylight glinted off a manhole cover up ahead. The road was empty. Everyone had already gone home.

He took another shaky breath, shoved his hands into his pockets, and kept walking.

Until a sound burst behind him — a puff of air and a sudden shift in the atmosphere.

“Young man!!”

Izuku froze.

Slowly, he turned.

There — standing in the middle of the street, steam rising off his body — was All Might.

In his true form.

Gaunt. Thin. Leaning forward slightly. His face less sharp, but no less determined.

Midoriya’s jaw dropped.

“A-A-A-All Might?!”

The Number One Hero winced. “Please keep it down,” he wheezed, holding his side. “I don’t want to cause another panic.”

Izuku stepped back, stunned. “But—how—? You were—”

“I had to talk to you.” All Might’s voice was quieter now, but serious. Honest. “Before you disappear thinking the wrong thing.”

Izuku swallowed.

The wrong thing?

Was there a right one?

“I—I didn’t help,” Izuku said quickly, hands trembling at his sides. “I just got in the way— I know I messed everything up— I just saw Y/N and— I didn’t think, I just—!”

“Exactly.”

Midoriya blinked.

All Might stepped closer, his expression sharp with intensity despite the frailty of his frame.

“You didn’t think,” he said, his voice cutting through the street like thunder. “You moved.”

Izuku stared at him.

“Others stood still. Pro heroes who’ve saved hundreds of lives — even they hesitated.”

All Might’s hand closed into a tight fist.

“But you didn’t.”

The boy’s breath caught in his throat.

“You may have been powerless. But that was a true act of heroism.”

Izuku’s knees felt weak.

“You... you really think I could be a hero?” he whispered, voice cracking. “Even without a quirk?”

All Might smiled then — not the wide, PR grin the world knew, but something smaller. Warmer. Real.

He pointed a single finger at Izuku’s chest.

“You too can become a hero, young Midoriya”

The words landed like a lightning strike.

Midoriya couldn’t breathe.

For a long time, he just stood there, blinking up at the man who had defined his childhood, his dreams, his notebooks, his very reason for being.

And now, that very same man — the Symbol of Peace himself — had said the words he’d been waiting his entire life to hear.

“You can become a hero.”

His eyes filled again. This time, he didn’t try to stop the tears.

He just nodded, over and over, voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you… Thank you… Thank you—!”

All Might stepped back, eyes soft. “I had to see it for myself,” he said. “The spark. The spirit. That’s what I was looking for.”

Izuku looked up sharply. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow,” All Might said, straightening as best he could. “If you're ready for it.”

Izuku wiped his face with his sleeve.

“I’m ready.”

BACK WITH YOU

You pushed open the door to your house quietly, slipping your shoes off in the genkan and trying not to wince when the door creaked closed behind you.  

The hallway was dim, warm with the faint scent of soy and rice from the kitchen. Somewhere down the hall, your mother’s voice called out, half-distracted. “Is that you, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you answered, tugging off your shoes. “Sorry I’m late.” 

You should’ve been stronger. Should’ve been faster. You should’ve done something. 

But all you had was trembling hands and a quirk that fizzled out when you needed it most. 

Your mother’s voice came from the kitchen, light but expectant. 

“Did you remember the laundry?” 

Your whole body froze. 

The laundry. 

The one errand — the simple, normal errand — you were supposed to finish after picking up groceries. The bag with tofu and rice still hung off your shoulder, heavier now with guilt. 

You’d dropped it. Literally. Back at the scene of the crime. 

Right after the explosion. 

Right before the alley turned into a battlefield. 

Your mouth opened, then closed. Panic flared in your chest. 

“I—” You swallowed hard. “No. I—I didn’t go back. I…” 

You walked slowly into the kitchen, unable to finish the sentence. The words dried up somewhere between your tongue and your heart. 

Your mother turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a towel, frown already starting to form on her lips. 

Then she saw you. 

The smudges on your arms. The scratches on your wrist. The haunted, glassy look in your eyes — like something enormous had swallowed your day whole and spat you out at the doorstep. 

Her expression shifted instantly. 

“Oh sweetheart,” she said, voice softening. “What happened?” 

You looked down, biting the inside of your cheek. “I—I meant to go back. But something happened and… it got bad. I just forgot.” 

She stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on your arm. Her fingers brushed the dried grime gently, as if touching it too hard would make everything worse again. 

“You don’t need to explain,” she murmured. “You’re home. That’s enough.” 

You blinked, the guilt in your chest twisting into something wet and heavy. 

“I ruined your errands,” you whispered. “And I didn’t—” 

“Don’t worry about the damn laundry,” she said, voice firmer now, not unkind. “I’m more worried about you. Sit down. You’re pale.” 

You sat. 

Because your knees weren’t going to hold much longer anyway. 

She poured you water without asking, handed it to you, and set about rewarming some leftovers, humming softly — an old lullaby you hadn’t heard in years. 

For a while, you didn’t speak. You just sat at the table, fingers curled around the cool glass, watching the steam rise from the pot she stirred. 

Eventually, she broke the silence again. 

“Whatever happened… you did your best.” 

You didn’t answer. 

But when you nodded, your shoulders relaxed — just enough to breathe again. 

She came into view, wiping her hands on a dish towel, worry flickering in her eyes when she saw the blanket around your shoulders. “What happened? You look like—” She caught herself. “Did someone hurt you?” 

You shook your head. “No. Just… got caught in a bad situation.” 

She looked like she wanted to ask more. But she didn’t. She never pushed—not when your eyes were still too wide and your words too slow. 

So she pulled you into a hug instead, one hand resting on the back of your head. 

And for a minute, you let yourself be held.

The house had fallen quiet.

Dinner had been a quiet ritual — you chewing slowly, your mother watching you out of the corner of her eye between bites, like she wasn’t sure if she should press you again or let you float. In the end, she’d let you drift. Said she was proud of you. Called you strong, even if you didn’t feel it.

And now, the dishes were done. The TV murmured faintly in the other room. But your door was shut, and the only sound left was the soft hum of the night outside your window.

You sat on the floor beside your bed, knees tucked to your chest, the curtain pushed aside just enough to let the stars peek in.

It wasn’t a perfectly clear sky — Musutafu never had those — but tonight, a few constellations had punched through the light pollution.

Altair. Vega. Sirius.

The three you always searched for first. The three that had always felt like yours.

Tonight, they barely looked real.

You reached your hand toward the glass, fingertips almost brushing it like you could touch the stars through the window if you tried hard enough.

Your quirk flickered at your fingertips — faint. Timid. The shimmer of silver light rolled across your skin in soft pulses, like a heartbeat too scared to beat fully.

You whispered under your breath, voice hoarse.

“Altair…”

A faint pulse sparked in your palm. The outline of a sigil shimmered there — delicate, beautiful, fragile as frost.

“Vega.”

A soft streak of light followed. Steadying. Brighter.

You hesitated on the third.

“Sirius.”

The pulse came slower this time. Hesitant. But it appeared — a bright, six-point star blooming against your wrist like a bruise made of light.

The three of them — together — always calmed you. Always centered you.

But tonight, the stars felt heavy.

Why hadn’t it worked today?
Why couldn’t I use it when it mattered most?
Why couldn’t I protect him? Or myself?

You clenched your fist around the faint starlight, and the glow dimmed.

A lump formed in your throat. Shame settled in your stomach like cooling ash.

You’d spent so long pushing yourself. Training. Memorizing spells. Mapping the sky in your notebook like it was some kind of guide to becoming strong. You’d promised yourself — if anyone was in danger, you’d do something. You’d fight. You’d save them.

And yet… in that alley, with Katsuki struggling, with Izuku lunging into danger, with sludge and smoke and the weight of your own fear…

You froze.

You folded.

Not like a hero.

Like a kid.

You curled tighter around your knees and pressed your forehead to your arms.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered — not sure who you were saying it to. Maybe to yourself. Maybe to Katsuki. Maybe to the stars.

Outside, a breeze rustled the leaves. A dog barked down the street. And above the power lines and apartment buildings, the constellations continued to burn — distant, indifferent, eternal.

You didn’t look up again for a long time.

But your hands stayed lit.

Faintly.

Quietly.

As if your quirk was saying: you’re still here.

And sometimes, that had to be enough.

 

Later, after the shower, after searching for the answers in the constellations, you found yourself sitting on your bed with your knees hugged to your chest once again. The quiet buzz of the ceiling light was the only sound. 

You opened your phone. 

No new texts. 

No missed calls. 

You stared at your screen for a moment, your thumb hovering. 

Then you opened a new message. 

To: Midoriya Izuku 

Hey. 
I just wanted to say thank you again. For today. You didn’t have to do that. But you did. 
You were brave. You saved us. 
You’re already a hero, you know that? Even without a license. Even without… 
Anyway. Just… thank you. I’m glad you were there. 

You hovered your thumb again. Then hit send. 

And for the first time that night, your chest felt a little lighter. 

WITH BAKUGO

Katsuki lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

His room was dark. Only the dull orange glow from his nightlight stretched across the wall—casting long, flickering shadows over his shelves cluttered with old All Might merch and worn-down textbooks. 

His phone buzzed on the floor beside him. 

He didn’t check it. 

He could still hear your voice. “Thank you. Really.” 

And that wave. 

That smile. 

To him. 

To that damn fucking nerd. 

He growled and turned over violently, burying his face in the pillow before punching it. Once. Twice. A third time, harder. He didn’t even care if he tore it. 

Deku. 

Quirkless, crybaby Deku had run into danger without even blinking. 

And Katsuki hadn’t been able to do anything. 

Worse—you’d seen it. 

You saw him trapped. 

Saw him helpless. 

Saw Deku come in like some cheap, trembling knight and save them both. 

It wasn’t supposed to go like that. 

He was supposed to be the strongest. The bravest. The one no one had to worry about. 

Not the one who got saved. 

Not the one who got thanked second. 

His chest tightened. His fingers curled. 

He remembered you sitting in that alley, still shaking from the villain’s hold, your eyes finding Deku first. 

You’re already a hero, you know that? 

He hadn’t heard you say it. But he knew you were thinking it. Because that’s how you looked at him. That soft look. Like he was the one who mattered most. 

Katsuki sat up sharply, sweat sticking to the back of his neck. 

No. 

He didn’t care what Deku did. 

He didn’t care about that pathetic, reckless display. 

He didn’t. 

He didn’t. 

And yet—his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

He looked down at them. The same hands that could blow apart half a training field with one hit. But today, they couldn’t even pull him out of a puddle of slime. 

He hated it. 

He hated himself. 

The next day Bakugo was in the middle of doing nothing—just lying on his bed with one hand behind his head and the other arm flung across his eyes, acting like what happened yesterday never happened—when the doorbell rang. 

He didn’t move at first. 

His mom’s voice barked from the kitchen, sharp and impatient. “Katsuki! It’s for you!” 

“Tch. Why can’t you answer it, you damn old hag” He sat up with a huff. “Seriously?” 

He stomped down the stairs, still in the same loose black shirt and sweatpants he’d thrown on after showering. The hallway light flickered above him as he yanked the door open. 

He froze. 

You stood there, shifting your weight from foot to foot. 

You were holding something—wrapped neatly in a small paper bag, your fingers curled tightly around it like you were afraid you’d drop it if you let your grip slip for even a second. 

His eyes narrowed. 

“…What?” 

You looked up, nervous but steady. “I just… wanted to say thank you.” 

Bakugo blinked. 

You held the bag out a little. “It’s mochi. Your favourite, right? Red bean.” 

He didn’t take it. 

“…For what.” 

“For helping,” you said softly, still not dropping your arm. “For getting me out of there. For walking me home. For checking if I was okay.” 

His brows drew together. “I didn’t do it for you.” 

“I know,” you said, quietly, honestly. “But you still did it.” 

Bakugo’s jaw clenched. 

The silence stretched between you. 

Then, finally, he snatched the bag from your hand, not meeting your eyes. “You shouldn’t have come over.” 

“Maybe not,” you said, “but I meant what I said. Thank you.” 

You stepped back from the porch. 

And this time, you smiled just a little. 

Not like you had with Midoriya. 

Not wide and hopeful. 

Just soft. Genuine. Something small enough not to frighten him away. 

Bakugo didn’t smile back. He didn’t move. He just stood there, frowning slightly, watching you go. 

But after the door closed— 

He looked down at the bag in his hands. 

His fingers tightened around it, knuckles whitening. 

Then he turned and went upstairs, tossing it gently onto his desk like it was something fragile. 

Like it mattered more than he wanted to admit. 

 

A/N

Whew, what a long chapter. 

As you guys can see, i switched up the points of view quite a lot, let me know if you enjoyed it or would rather i stick to keeping a general point of view without too many switches.

Let me know what you thought of this chapter.

I'm so excited though because its now the 10 months of training and i have so many ideas for it, i might do a chapter for each month for y/n to do some needed training with chapters in between for Bakugo's and Midoriya's training schemes.

Also, who would you guys like to meet next out of any bnha characters?
Come check me out on my quotev, im under the same username

have a great day, Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 17: The first spark

Izuku barely remembered how he got back home.

His feet were moving — he knew that much — but the world had turned fuzzy around the edges, like he was floating just above his own body. Like his soul had untethered from his bones and was riding some kind of euphoric high above the streetlights.

You too can become a hero.

He clutched the strap of his backpack tight with both hands, like he was afraid if he let go, those words might drift away and never come back.

He said it.

He actually said it.

Not “maybe.” Not “if you had a quirk.” Not “someday, with a lot of training.”

Just—
“You too can become a hero.”

The words echoed inside him like someone had struck a tuning fork against his ribcage. They vibrated with a strange warmth that climbed into his throat and made his eyes sting all over again.

He kept walking, past familiar fences and vending machines, past shuttered shops and glowing apartment windows. He couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears. Couldn’t feel anything except the pounding of his heart.

This wasn’t a dream.

Right?

He looked down at his hands — scraped, stained, trembling. Still so small. Still so human. There was nothing special about them. They were the same hands that had flipped through hero analysis notebooks since he was four, the same ones that had been shoved aside and mocked and ignored in playgrounds and classrooms and crowded sidewalks.

But now?

Now they were something more.

Because he believed in them.

All Might — the All Might — had looked him in the eye and said he saw potential. Saw spirit. Saw something worth shaping.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand what it all meant yet — what All Might meant by "I'll explain everything tomorrow." All that mattered was that he had seen Midoriya. Really seen him.

And he hadn’t laughed. He hadn’t turned away.

He hadn’t walked off like everyone else but Y/N.

Izuku slowed when he reached the end of his block. The streetlights flickered overhead, buzzing quietly. His apartment building stood at the far end, lights warm behind the curtains. He could see his mom moving inside, setting the table for dinner — probably wondering where he was.

He paused under the streetlamp and stared down at his shoes.

A part of him still didn’t believe it.

How could someone like him… be chosen?

But maybe… just maybe…

All those notebooks.

All those sleepless nights rewatching hero interviews.

All those little moments when he kept going even when the world told him to stop…

Maybe they meant something after all.

He lifted his eyes to the sky.

The stars were faint, barely visible through the city haze. But they were there — hidden behind the light and noise, waiting for someone to find them.

Izuku smiled, quietly.

For the first time in his life, the future didn’t feel like a locked door.

It felt like a spark — waiting to catch fire.

And it was all because he saved her, Y/N, the one person that stuck by him throughout.

Izuku Midoriya awoke with a gasp.

He sat upright in bed, the covers tangled around his legs, his hair even more of a mess than usual. His room was quiet—sunlight filtering through the curtains in pale gold strips—and for a moment, everything was still.

But then it rushed in.

The memories. The voices. The words.

"You can become a hero."

His breath caught in his throat, and for a second he thought he might cry again.

It hadn’t been a dream. It couldn’t have been. The weight of All Might’s hand on his shoulder, the look in his eyes—serious, grounded, true. The sincerity in his voice when he said that one sentence Midoriya had waited his whole life to hear.

He pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was still thudding as if trying to catch up with reality.

He slid out of bed and padded over to his desk. His Hero Analysis Notebook was still there, its pages wrinkled and torn from yesterday’s chaos. He’d tried to dry and smooth them back out before bed, though they still bore the scars of Bakugo’s cruelty—and the soot and grime from the sludge villain’s touch.

But somehow, it didn’t matter.

He looked at the place on the page where All Might’s name was scribbled in bold black ink and touched it reverently.

Everything was different now.

Today would be the first step toward something real.

The coordinates were etched in his memory.

He skipped breakfast. His mother barely caught him as he slipped his shoes on, calling out from the kitchen to remind him to take an umbrella in case it rained.

He promised he would. He lied. His mind was elsewhere.

He’d memorized the path on the train, eyes unfocused, mouth dry. The way to Dagobah Municipal Beach was mostly deserted, a graveyard of washed-up garbage and decaying metal skeletons. The place looked like a landfill had exploded beside the ocean.

The wind that rolled off the sea was cold, bitter, and biting with the tang of rust.

Izuku Midoriya stood alone on the cracked concrete lip overlooking Dagobah Beach, a warzone of garbage sprawled in every direction. Broken appliances, rusted bikes, bent signs, and rotting couches formed mountains beneath the sun. A tide of human neglect, stained with oil and disappointment.

And this, All Might had said, would be his proving ground.

Izuku clenched his fists tighter, backpack slung over one shoulder, his notebook tucked into his inner jacket pocket like it was sacred scripture.

“Guess this is it,” he murmured, breath fogging in the air.

It was perfect.

As soon as he stepped off the last set of cracked stairs and onto the wide stretch of sand-streaked pavement, he felt it in his bones.

Something important was about to happen here.

And then—he saw it.

Smoke. A puff, really. Rising from behind a gutted washing machine. And then—*

“All Might!”

The name tore from his lips before he could stop himself.

The towering figure turned.

Except… it wasn’t the All Might the world knew.

It was him—the thin, wiry figure with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, his body wrapped in oversized clothes. But Midoriya knew better now. This was the real All Might.

And still, he stood tall.

“You came,” All Might said softly, stepping forward.

Izuku nodded, throat too tight to speak.

“You’re probably wondering why I brought you here,” the hero continued, voice lighter now, almost teasing. “It’s not exactly a fancy training hall, huh?”

Midoriya managed a tiny, nervous laugh. “No, sir. It’s… kind of perfect.”

All Might grinned.

“You’ve got guts, kid. Yesterday—you didn’t hesitate. You jumped in without a plan. That kind of reckless courage… it reminded me of myself.”

Izuku's breath caught.

All Might stepped closer, more serious now. “You want to be a hero, don’t you?”

Midoriya’s eyes shimmered. “More than anything.”

“And you still do, even without a quirk?”

There was no hesitation. “Yes.”

All Might’s shoulders rose and fell with a breath. He looked toward the sea.

“I wasn’t born with my power either.”

The world seemed to stop.

Midoriya blinked. “Wait—what?”

All Might turned, voice solemn. “I wasn’t born with One For All. It was given to me. Passed down. Like a sacred torch.”

Izuku staggered backward a step. “You mean… someone gave you your quirk?”

He nodded. “And now… I want to pass it to you.”

Thin and sunken-eyed, All Might still managed to radiate presence. There was something deeply solemn about the way he looked over the ruined shoreline, like he was seeing something more than just garbage.

“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” he asked quietly. “But this beach? This is where you’ll build the body of a hero.”

Izuku nodded seriously, shoulders square. “I’m ready.”

All Might raised a brow and reached into his bag, pulling out a crisp sheet of paper folded three times.

“Then let me show you your hell.”

He handed over the page. Izuku took it carefully and unfolded it, eyes scanning the printed text and handwritten annotations:

🔥 “Aim to Pass: A Hero’s Physical Foundation”

Personalized Training Regimen for Izuku Midoriya
Duration: 10 Months
Goal: Prepare body to withstand and channel the power of One For All

DAILY ROUTINE:

05:30 AM: Wake-up, light jog (3km minimum), 30 push-ups, 30 sit-ups, 30 squats

06:30 AM – 08:30 AM: Trash removal (focus: large appliances today)

09:00 AM: Protein-rich breakfast (2 eggs, miso soup, steamed rice, spinach, natto)

09:30 AM – 12:30 PM: Alternating upper/lower body muscle training

Mondays/Wednesdays/Fridays: Upper body (lifting, carrying, dragging debris)

Tuesdays/Thursdays: Lower body (sprints, tire-flipping, squat-holds)

Lunch + Rest Period (1 hour)

01:30 PM – 04:30 PM: Beach clean-up continuation (focus: speed & endurance)

05:00 PM: Home, shower, recovery meal (fish, greens, complex carbs)

06:30 PM – 07:30 PM: Study + Hero notebook analysis

08:30 PM: Lights out. Mandatory 8 hours of sleep.

SPECIAL NOTES:

Weekly check-in with All Might

Hydrate! Stretch every 2 hours. Avoid injury!

Record daily progress.

If you collapse, crawl. If you cry, don’t stop moving.

Izuku’s jaw slowly dropped as he read through the list. His hands trembled by the time he reached the end.

“Th-this is… this is…”

“Insane?” All Might offered, grinning a little.

“I was going to say intense.”

All Might nodded. “To inherit One For All, your body must be a container strong enough to wield explosive power. The strain would literally tear you apart right now.”

Izuku swallowed hard.

“So, I train until I’m worthy.”

“Exactly!” All Might’s arm shot into the air. “This isn’t just about strength. It’s about discipline. Grit. Persistence. Being a hero is more than muscle—it’s the willingness to push when every part of you is screaming to stop.”

Izuku looked up at him. “I’ll do it. I’ll do all of it.”

All Might’s expression softened.

“You’ve got heart, kid. That’s why I chose you.”

“All right!” All Might clapped once, breaking the morning stillness. “Let’s start with something simple. See that broken refrigerator?”

Izuku glanced down the slope at the hulking rust-covered cube of metal half-buried in sand.

“Drag it up here,” All Might said casually.

Izuku blinked. “Wh—by myself?”

“No better time to start building those hero muscles!”

Midoriya let out a breath, jogged down the slope, and crouched beside the ancient fridge. He gripped it on both sides and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

He braced his legs, tried again. Still nothing.

All Might watched him from above, arms crossed. “Use your legs! Keep your back straight! Channel that frustration into strength!”

Izuku grit his teeth. His arms trembled. His palms burned. Every inch of metal scraped against the sand like it was welded to the ground.

And then—

—it moved.

Not by much. But it moved.

Izuku gasped and leaned into it, dragging the hulking mass inch by inch up the incline. His shoes slipped on the concrete, his breath came in ragged bursts, and tears prickled the corners of his eyes from the effort.

By the time he collapsed at the top, the sun had crept higher into the sky and his entire body was shaking.

He lay on his back, staring up at the clouds, chest heaving.

All Might stepped into his field of view.

“Not bad.”

Izuku laughed weakly. “That was hell.”

All Might smirked. “And that was only Task One.”

The rest of the day was a blur of motion and pain.

He filled a bag with discarded cans until his fingers were raw. He hauled a broken mattress across the sand, nearly losing his footing. He tried running laps up the beach stairs and nearly threw up halfway through the second set.

And yet—he kept going.

Because every muscle ache was a step forward. Every drop of sweat was a seed planted. Every failure meant he was moving.

He didn’t stop for lunch. He barely spoke when All Might reminded him to breathe. But by the time the sun began its descent, Izuku had cleared a full thirty square meters of shoreline.

It looked like nothing.

But to him, it looked like destiny.

That evening, Izuku returned home staggering, limbs aching with every movement. His mom opened the door before he even knocked, startled by his appearance.

“Sweetie? You’re filthy—what happened?!”

He managed a smile.

“I’m training to become a hero.”

He passed out in the bath five minutes later.

DATE: [Redacted — probably mid-April]
LOCATION: My room. (Back home. Barely.)
CONDITION: Muscles = jelly. Arms = gone. Spine = possibly missing.

ENTRY #13: HERO TRAINING – DAY ONE

I can barely hold the pen right now, so this might get messy. (Sorry, future me.) But I have to write this down. I need to remember it exactly — the pain, the progress, and the promise.

Because today… was the first day I really started chasing my dream.

Like for real. Not just writing about heroes. Not just watching them from rooftops or copying their moves in my notebooks. Today, I did something.

I cleaned one square of Dagobah Beach.

I know that probably sounds dumb. Like it’s not a big deal. But that rust-coloured fridge? The one I pulled 23 meters up a broken concrete slope? It felt like I was moving a mountain with nothing but my fingernails. I almost gave up.

But then I remembered what All Might said:

"Being a hero isn't just about strength. It's about drive. About standing back up."

So I pulled. I kept pulling.

And it moved.

That moment — that tiny shift — felt like the world cracked open a little. Like maybe I can become someone who doesn't just admire heroes but joins them.

OBSERVATIONS & NOTES (BECAUSE I CAN’T STOP):

My stamina sucks. I started shaking halfway through warm-up. Need to build cardiovascular endurance. (Maybe ask Mom to buy bananas.)

Grip strength is also a problem. My fingers are blistered from dragging cords and wire. Maybe invest in gloves? But if I don’t build calluses, I won’t improve.

All Might’s voice carries. I think someone from the pier yelled back when he shouted encouragement. Super embarrassing. Kind of awesome.

The sea air smells like iron and regret. Not sure if poetic or just actual rust fumes.

EMOTIONAL REFLECTION:

…I'm scared.

Like, a lot.

This training is harder than anything I’ve ever done. I didn’t even finish half the list he gave me. I collapsed in the bath. I couldn’t lift my arms to shampoo my hair properly. My skin stings in places I didn’t know had skin.

But somewhere under all of that… I’m excited. Terrified, but excited.

Because All Might believes in me just like she does.

He chose me just like she did.

Even if it still doesn’t feel real. Even if I keep waiting to wake up and find out it was just some stress-induced hallucination caused by too much caffeine and not enough sleep. (Note: cut back on late-night All Might documentary binges.)

But it wasn’t a dream. His words were real:

"You can become a hero."

I think I’m going to tape that to the wall next to my desk. Just those six words. Right next to my sketch of him punching that sludge villain clean into orbit.

GOALS FOR TOMORROW:

Lift two broken TVs instead of one. Don’t cry this time.

Push through the 3rd lap without walking. Run through the pain.

Hydrate better. No more vending machine cola.

Bring a backup shirt. Don’t let All Might see sweat stains again.

Believe in myself.

FINAL THOUGHT:

I know it’s only the first day. I know this beach is still covered in junk, and my arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.

But I did something today.

And that means… maybe I can become the kind of hero who saves people with a smile. Just like him.

Even if it takes everything I’ve got.

I’m gonna write that too:

"I want to save people with a smile."

…One square meter at a time.

- Izuku Midoriya

 

A/N 

Heya guys, its me, i jusr want to say a massive thank you to everyone reading and supporting this story. Honestly, it means the world to me.

Anyway, i want to know what y/n looks like, so if you want to send in fanart thats fine, infact i would appreciate it because then i'll have pictures to put at the start of each chapter

have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 18: Under the weight of the stars

MONTH ONE- DAY ONE

The first thing you notice is how heavy the air feels when you call the stars.

Even when the sky is clear, even when you're grounded and breathing slow, there's a pressure to it — not just in your muscles, but in your chest. Like your heart has to stretch wide enough to hold entire galaxies. Like you’re not just reaching for power — you're reaching for meaning.

You’re alone in a forgotten space behind the laundromat, a stretch of concrete cracked with weeds, half-covered by the shadow of an old water tower. It’s become your hidden arena. The spot you come to after school, after chores, after pretending like everything is fine at home.

Today is the day you get better, you cant rely on people to save you like you did the sludge incident.

Now, you’re here — fists clenched at your sides, the edges of your sleeves still dusted with stardust from yesterday’s practice. You’ve been coming here every day for the past week, but today feels different.

Today, you’re not just here to train.

You’re here to get better.

You start with breathing. Four seconds in. Hold. Six seconds out. Grounded. A trick Izuku taught you from one of his notebooks. It's easier to stay connected to the sky when your feet are planted firmly on the earth.

You stretch your hands to the sky.

“Altair,” you whisper.

Your fingers pulse with warm, golden-blue energy. The mark of the constellation appears above your shoulder — just a flicker. You hold it for ten seconds before your arm starts to tremble.

“Altair… Vega… Sirius…”

You call the second name. The third. The constellations respond like embers in your chest. Each one tugs at something different in you. Altair burns with precision. Vega with clarity. Sirius… Sirius is harder. It hurts. Like holding the weight of someone’s expectations — maybe your own.

Your arms drop.

You pant. Sweat rolls down your spine. You haven't even fired anything yet.

Still, you press on.

You form a light weapon — a spear, this time. Something long and stable, easier to aim.

The magic molds beneath your grip, and you try to remember what the notebook said. You need to be thinking clearly when you shape your energy. Constellations respond not just to names, but to emotion. Intent.

You think about how it felt when Hawks bled in your arms.

You think about how it felt when Katsuki told you you weren’t strong enough.

You throw the spear.

It misses the target by a full meter, crashing into the wire fence and disintegrating in a flash of white.

You fall to your knees.

You don’t cry, not yet.

Instead, you focus on the starlight. On the warm weight in your palms. You try to remember why you're doing this. Why you keep showing up even when your muscles ache and your heart won’t quiet down.

You remember the promise you made to yourself: “I’ll become a hero. No matter what.”

You rise again. Draw your power again.

You summon Altairis — the long-range arrow shot made of condensed cosmic light. It flares to life over your shoulder like a comet, its tail shimmering with small stars. It feels good — cleaner than the spear, sharper.

You fire.

It hits dead center on the chalk circle you drew against the shed wall.

You grin through your exhaustion.

🕓 Hours Later

The sun has moved. So have you. You’re sweating through your shirt, stars flickering around your skin like fireflies.

You can feel it now — the threads between the stars and your heart. They're tied to something deeper than willpower. They're tied to who you are. Every time you doubt yourself, the constellation weakens. Every time you second-guess your path, the spell fractures.

So you try to trust yourself.

You close your eyes, raise your hands, and whisper:

“Grand Chariot.”

It’s the first time you’ve dared to attempt it since you learned its name. The magic circles build in the sky above you — seven points of starlight aligning. Your hands tremble. You pour your soul into it.

And it starts to form.

A massive spell array begins to unfold above your head — concentric rings of cosmic runes and stars. The light is blinding, raw, unfiltered. You can barely hold it.

But you do.

For five seconds.

Then it sputters out.

You collapse.

That night your mother doesn’t ask where you’ve been.

She sees the dust on your knees, the tremble in your fingers, the haunted look in your eyes, and says nothing. Just hands you a bowl of rice and pats your shoulder.

Later, in your room, you journal everything. The successful Altairis shot. The almost-successful Grand Chariot. The way Altair flickered even though you were scared.

You fall asleep with stardust still on your fingers.

And you dream of skies filled with names you haven't yet learned to speak.

DAY TWO

You start by channeling Capella, something you’ve been avoiding. Yesterday proved how vulnerable you are when a spell overloads. Today, you need control.

You stretch your fingers toward the ground and whisper, “Capella: Converge.”

Light pulses out from your skin — gentle, golden, curved like a dome. The barrier flickers, trembles, then stabilizes.

You hold it for twelve seconds. A new record.

But your heart’s beating too fast.

You exhale and let it collapse.

"You're not scared," you whisper to yourself. "So why did Capella take so much?"

The answer sits beneath your ribs. You are scared. Of losing control. Of pushing too hard. Of ending up like that moment in the alley — helpless.

You clench your fists and move on.

🎯 Offensive Drills

You mark five chalk targets on the rusted wall: one for each constellation. Then you summon your constellation links one by one.

Altairis comes first — your most consistent long-range strike. You charge it. Aim. Fire.

The light lances across the yard like a comet. Hit.

Then comes Deneb Flash, your weaker scatter-burst. You aim for multiple targets and release.

It misfires — one bolt goes wide, two flicker out before impact. You groan, but take notes. Maybe Deneb responds more to sharp, momentary focus than drawn-out emotional intensity.

You keep pushing.

You test out Sirius Edge, a close-range enhancement. When you channel Sirius through your legs, your sprint speed doubles — but it also burns. Literally. You stumble into the gravel, your shoes smoking.

You hiss and roll onto your side, panting.

The stars go quiet.

💫 The Breakthrough

After nearly collapsing again, you sit in silence. Knees pulled to your chest. Arms bruised.

That’s when you hear it. Not a sound — a pulse.

Like a heartbeat above you. Not yours.

You look up.

Three stars are visible in the late afternoon sky. You squint. You know those names. They’re always the first ones to greet you in the dark when everything feels too much.

Altair. Vega. Deneb.

The Summer Triangle.

You slowly lift your hand.

“Triangle Alignment,” you whisper. “Synchronize.”

It’s not a spell you've read about. Not a real technique. But you feel it.

The three points glow simultaneously. Your chest lights up in response — a soft glow from within, not painful like Sirius or exhausting like Grand Chariot.

This feels pure.

Now, you just gotta work out how you going to use it.

📝 End-of-Day Summary

You collapse near your bag, notebook open across your lap. Your handwriting is shaky, but legible.

Day 2 Summary:

Constellations Accessed: Altair, Vega, Sirius, Deneb, Capella

New Link Attempted: Summer Triangle Synergy — Altair + Vega + Deneb. Results: Stable, emotionally uplifting, strong output.

New Spell Concept: “Triangle Pulse” — still untested. Could become a bridge spell between ranged and support-type spells.

Observations:

Capella is reactive. Best when you’re truly scared or under time pressure.

Deneb needs short bursts of concentration — extended casting leads to collapse.

Sirius is still volatile. Do not attempt Sirius Edge without emotional stability.

Injury log:

Minor burn on left calf (Sirius run technique).

Cracked thumbnail (fell during projection misfire).

Emotional state = Wavering, but clearer than Day 1.

As you pack your bag, the stars overhead begin to blink to life.

You glance over your shoulder once at the target wall, now covered in impact marks and smudged chalk.

A smile tugs at your lips.

You're not just learning how to fight.

You're learning how to feel and not fall apart because of it.

As you walk home, the Summer Triangle follows above you, faint but steady — like the sky itself is watching your steps.

DAY THREE

You arrive earlier today — just after lunch — your bag packed heavier than usual, chalk clinking in a tin, a folded blanket for cooldowns, and your small notebook ,that you got off of Midoriya, where you track everything from spell calibration to your emotional triggers.

You’ve stopped flinching at the term emotional triggers.

They’re part of your training now, as essential as breathing.

Today, you’ve decided to focus on maintaining constellation activations while moving — not just standing still and casting, but fighting while embodying the stars. The first two days taught you how delicate your balance is, how easy it is for fear or grief or hope to disrupt the cosmic thread woven through your veins.

But you're not here to break today.

You're here to adapt.

🌌 Constellation Form: Starweaver (Mobile Test)

“Altair. Vega. Deneb.”

The trio appears like old friends: light in your limbs, hum in your bones.

You draw power into your legs, visualizing the diagram you scribbled before bed last night — connecting Altair’s speed, Vega’s stabilizing counterweight, and Deneb’s pure raw energy. If you can weave the three together, you might not just sprint or leap — you could dash in bursts like meteor trails, vanishing and reappearing within a blink.

You crouch.

Breathe.

Push.

And you’re gone.

A blast of light flares where your foot last touched the earth. You reappear mid-lunge at the second chalk target, thrusting a luminous blade forward — but the spell flickers too soon, and your knees hit concrete hard.

"Ow," you hiss, laughing bitterly. “Okay… half a success.”

You pick yourself up, eyes stinging more from failure than pain.

You try again. And again.

The sky grows heavier with clouds as you burn through spell after spell. Sirius drains you the fastest. Altair slips away when your thoughts wander — especially when they drift toward Katsuki. Vega steadies you, but only just. Deneb you’re saving for when you don’t feel like collapsing mid-sprint.

You test Capella once — a half-bubble shield to soften your landing. It flickers, then fails. You grimace.

You’re pushing too hard again.

You know you are.

But something in you wants to. Needs to.

You crouch again, teeth grit.

And then you hear it — a soft scrape of a shoe behind the rusted fence.

You freeze.

IZUKU POINT OF VIEW

Izuku didn’t mean to spy.

He’d been walking back from the supply store, a little bag of pens and a new notebook slung over one shoulder, when he caught a flare of light from behind the fence.

At first, he thought it was an electrical fire.

Then he heard your voice.

Not speaking loudly — murmuring spells the way one might pray. Carefully. Rhythmically. Like each name mattered more than the last.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He saw the flash of Altair and how it danced behind your ankles when you ran. He saw Sirius pulse like a supernova when you leapt. And he saw how you faltered — not because of lack of talent, but because your heart was aching.

He could see it in the way your fingers trembled between spells.

And it hit him.

You were hurting, and still showing up.

It reminded him of himself — only brighter. Like the sun.

He pressed a hand to the fence, eyes wide, breath caught.

“…She’s amazing…”

YOUR POINT OF VIEW

You whirl around, startled. You could've sworn you heard a voice

You see a green blur duck down just past the fence.

You step toward it. “...Hello?”

Silence.

Then a squeak.

“…I wasn’t—! I mean, I didn’t mean to—! It’s not like I was spying, I swear!”

You blink.

That voice.

“Midoriya?”

His head pops up sheepishly over the top of the fence, cheeks red, hands waving. “I was just passing by! I saw the light and — you’re really good! Like, really! I didn’t know you were this far along with your quirk!”

You stand there, breathless, sweat-soaked, somewhere between embarrassed and flattered.

“I’m… still learning,” you admit.

He looks like he's about to explode from excitement and concern all at once.

“You—uh—you were weaving the Summer Triangle, right? I saw Altair, Vega, and Deneb flaring together and I thought, ‘That’s a possible multi-synergistic starfield combo,’ but that’s something I only wrote down in theory! You’re doing it?!”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Slowly,” you say. “It hurts. A lot.”

His eyes go soft.

“Yeah. I know that feeling.”

You exhale, shoulders relaxing. “I’m trying to hold them longer while moving. I want to combine movement with spells, but I can’t keep Sirius stable for more than a few seconds without… burning out.”

Izuku frowns in thought, then adjusts his bag and digs out a notebook — flipping furiously until he finds a page.

“Here,” he says, pressing it gently to the top of the fence. “I had an idea once about stabilizing high-output quirks using a counter-anchoring thought. Like grounding techniques, but with a physical cue. Maybe if you keep something steady in your pocket — like a charm or a photo — it could help anchor Sirius when your emotions spike.”

You stare at him.

He blushes. “I mean — it’s just a thought. I don’t know if it’ll actually help…”

You step forward, take the page, and tuck it into your spellbook.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

For a moment, the air is still.

Then Izuku lifts his hand. “Keep training. You’re incredible.”

You wave back, smiling faintly.

And then you turn back to the field, your heart pounding for a different reason now.

📓 End of Day 3 Summary

New Constellations Practiced: Re-aligned Summer Triangle (Altair, Vega, Deneb)

New Spell Tested: “Starweaver Step” (combines Altair + Sirius for explosive mobility) — unstable

Observation: Emotional state impacts spell stamina. Positive reinforcement (Izuku) strengthened Vega pulse output by 15%.

New Hypothesis: Physical/emotional grounding aids volatile constellation control.

You end the day lying on your blanket, constellations flickering gently around your fingertips, Izuku’s notes warm in your chest pocket.

And for the first time in a while, you feel less like you’re burning out — and more like you’re burning forward.

DAY FOUR

You arrived earlier than usual today.

The wind skims across your face as you hop the familiar rusted gate and land in the cracked concrete lot. The grass along the edges is brittle and yellowed, charred in places from the energy bursts you’ve left behind over the last three days. It’s silent here—almost sacred. Your breath forms little clouds in the morning air.

But today’s not like the other days.
Today, you didn’t just bring your water bottle and focus.
Today, you brought his notebook.

Midoriya had let you borrow it after yesterday's training session. You weren’t even sure if he meant to—he just handed it to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. A quiet “I thought this page might help you,” followed by his nervous smile and the tiniest dusting of pink on his cheeks.

You’ve barely looked away from it since.

Settling on the blanket you laid out near the cracked tree stump, you unzip your bag and pull out the journal like it’s fragile. You turn to the page he flagged: “Constellation-Based Quirks: Symbolic Amplification and Resonant Structure.” The title alone makes you feel like you’re reading ancient prophecy.

You smooth the paper flat and trace your finger along his diagrams.

Three constellations are highlighted over and over:

Altair, the swift star, often associated with velocity and thought.

Vega, the stabilizer, symbol of unwavering light and patience.

Sirius, the forceful one—the dog star—raw energy and emotion.

He’d written:

“Theory: If user can emotionally lock into all three star alignments at once, she might be able to channel them simultaneously. A triple-core spell. Volatile. But possible?”

You stare at that last word.

Possible.

Your heart thuds once behind your ribs. You wipe your palms on your leggings, stand up slowly, and walk toward the center of the lot.

If you can pull this off, you’ll be able to cast three constellation-aligned energies at once. You’ll become faster, stronger, steadier. But if you fail—

Well. You’ve failed plenty of times already.

Drawing a sigil in chalk feels right today. You scratch the old crescent arc into the ground, then the star nodes, then the anchoring symbols for the three stars.

You step into the center and breathe.

“Altair.”
Speed floods your legs. Your calves tighten. Wind curls around your ankles like playful gravity.

“Vega.”
Your chest centers itself. Your heartbeat slows. Your feet plant more solidly into the ground.

“Sirius.”
The burn comes fast. Rage, sorrow, fire. Your eyes sting, and your fingertips crackle with pressure.

You try to bind them together—fusing will, focus, and emotion—

But the sky inside your mind splits open.

Your body jerks backward, power splintering through your skin like lightning. A sharp crack splits the sigil in half. You’re thrown off your feet and land in a heap near the tree stump, breath knocked out of you.

You lie there for a while. You taste blood in your mouth.

You think of Midoriya’s notes again.

“Volatile.”

You push yourself up on shaking arms. Dirt clings to your elbows, and your left palm is raw. You exhale slowly and sit back on the blanket, wiping your nose.

You look at the notebook again.

There’s a small star Midoriya drew beside another unfinished spell.

Altairis.

It’s labeled as a spell prototype—a combination of Altair’s motion and Sirius’s energy, directed in a lance-like attack. He’d written, “If she could cast this, it might behave like a shooting star. Mid-range, high burst. Elegant and sharp.”

You bite your lip. Could you really do that?

You stand again—wobbling a little, but upright—and step a few meters back from your old training dummy: a pile of broken furniture and scorched cardboard.

You steady your legs.

Let the stars settle in your chest.

“Altair…”

You feel it rush in—your body lights up with precision, your core aligning with movement, your feet almost off the ground.

“Sirius…”

There’s pain—but this time, you let it live inside you. It’s not wild. You don’t let it overtake you.

And then you bring your hand forward in a swift arc.

“Altairis!”

A glowing burst swirls around your wrist and flares outward. The lance forms from your energy and fires forward in a straight, dazzling streak—like a comet hurling across the sky.

It slams into the dummy, bursting it apart in a shower of sparks and shredded wood.

Then silence.

You blink.

Then slowly, your knees give out, and you slump to the ground again, panting. You’re crying before you even realize it—tears streaking down your soot-covered cheeks.

It worked.

You don’t know how. You don’t know if you’ll ever manage it again. But Altairis worked.

You crawl back to the blanket, body aching, fingers trembling, and set the notebook gently down beside you.

You reach out with your scraped knuckle and tap the star he drew next to the spell’s name.

“Thanks, Midoriya,” you whisper.

The wind carries your voice up toward the clouds.

🌌 Spell Progress Notes — Day 4

New Techniques Attempted:

Triple-Core Invocation (Altair + Vega + Sirius): Failed. Energetic backlash. Stability not maintained.\n - Altairis (Midoriya prototype): Success. Star-shaped spear. High output, medium-range. Requires focused mental state.
\n- Constellation Status:

Altair: Stable under physical strain. Sharp acceleration.\n - Vega: Used only briefly. Still emotionally subtle — may require meditation.

Sirius: High volatility. Must regulate emotional surges or risk magical burnout.\n\n- Emotional State:

Pushed beyond comfort zone. Internalized Midoriya’s belief. Realized that even trying his ideas is a kind of trust in return.\n\n- Physical State:

Scorched sleeve, raw palm, fatigue.\n - Likely to have bruising tomorrow.\n\n

DAY FIVE

You wake up sore.

Your whole body feels like it’s been rung out and hung to dry in the wind. There’s a bruise blooming beneath your left shoulder blade, a scrape along your elbow that stuck to the sleeve of your pajamas, and your legs — your legs ache in a way that’s almost symphonic. Every muscle hums with yesterday’s mistakes and victories.

You barely slept.

Your mind kept replaying the moment when Altairis fired from your hand — the way it sparked and screamed and listened. The way the magic obeyed, even for a moment. And the way your limbs crumpled the second it was done.

It was worth it. You’d do it again.

Which is why you’re back at the lot before the sun even clears the rooftops.

The chill bites through your sweatshirt as you shrug your bag off and lay out your training mat again. Your fingers twitch as you stretch. You didn’t bring Midoriya’s page of notes today — not because it wasn’t helpful, but because now you wanted to see what you could do without it.

Day 5 is for repetition. For owning what’s already yours.

You trace a star into the dirt with your toe — a sharp five-pointed shape, anchored to the direction of the sunrise.

Your pulse is quiet. Controlled.

You reach out into the sky — even if you can’t see the stars, you can feel where they should be.

“Altair.”

The wind kisses your ankles again. You move.

Dart. Pivot. Dodge the imaginary strike of a villain.

“Altairis!”

The air behind your shoulder pulses — not as bright as yesterday, but real. A flicker of heat, and then the flare launches forward.

It hits a broken tree branch — snapping it in two.

You exhale. Slower. But cleaner.

Again.

You spend the next hour pushing control. Not power. Not force. Just shaping the spell like water through a narrow pipe.

You begin whispering constellations under your breath between casts — not just the big three, but the ones you’ve studied in silence since Day 2:

Cassiopeia – for elegance and poise.

Lupus – for silent strength.

Carina – the keel of the ship. Endurance.

Their resonance is quieter — more subtle — but they hum in your blood when you speak them aloud. You’re learning how to shape the mood of your magic with emotion and metaphor.

You crouch and inscribe a tight pentagram with chalk, adding Cassiopeia’s lines along the curve.

“Cassiopeia Form: Falling Star Waltz.”

You leap, spin, and throw a short burst of Vega-infused starlight in an arc.

It flickers. Soft. Almost pretty.

A new spell? Or just a variation?
You’re not sure. You write it down in the margins of your training sheet anyway.

However, you felt so happy with your training that you make the mistake of trying to cast Altairis and Sirius Burst in quick succession.

Your hands flare with too much light, and the raw backlash nearly knocks you over. Your knees hit the pavement and you catch yourself on shaking palms.

You taste blood again — not from a wound, but from the sudden spike in blood pressure.

You’re pushing it.
Your quirk responds to emotion — but it still feeds from your body.
Your muscles. Your lungs. Your heart.

You think back to what Bakugo shouted during that last big argument, back when your magic spiraled out of control and he was too angry to lie:

“Real heroes don’t break every time something goes wrong.”

You’d hated how much it hurt when he said it.
And you hate that part of you knows he might’ve been right.

You lie back on the mat, arms splayed, trying to catch your breath. Sweat makes your shirt cling. Your fingers are singed at the edges.

But you’re smiling again.

Because now you know the real battle isn’t the big burst. It’s surviving the aftermath.

🧭 Celestial Insights

You think about what Altair, Vega, and Sirius mean beyond their energy:

Altair isn’t just speed — it’s focus in motion.

Vega is poise in pressure.

Sirius is passion. But unrefined passion breaks.

And when Midoriya wrote “Triple-Core Spell?” he wasn’t saying do it now. He was wondering if it was possible someday.

You aren’t there yet.
But now? You want to be.

📝 End of Day 5 Summary

Spells Practiced:

Altairis (refined form) — more stable, cleaner arc, less raw power.

Cassiopeia Variant: “Falling Star Waltz” — prototype spell, possibly defensive/illusionary.\n

Mistakes:

Tried back-to-back invocation with Sirius Burst. Results: mild backlash, pulse spike, temporary dizziness.\n

Physical State:

Dehydrated. Singed fingertips. Slight headache. Knees bruised.\n

Mental State:

Clarity emerging. Anger has melted into discipline. Grateful for Midoriya’s curiosity and Bakugo’s blunt warnings — both are pushing you from opposite ends.\n

You pack up slowly, this time wrapping your chalk like it’s made of glass. You glance up at the sky before leaving, even though the stars are still hidden by the sun.

But you feel them there — and somehow, that’s enough.

DAY SIX

You wake up before the alarm.

Not because of excitement, or fear, or even determination. But because you’ve started to measure your life in starbursts and bruises. In how sore your shoulders are, or how long the welts on your palms take to fade. The soft glow of your ceiling looks like a sky map if you squint hard enough. You smile at the thought, even through the ache.

When you stretch, your joints crack like old constellations shifting in place. You’ve stopped wincing.

This is what becoming something stronger must feel like.

The abandoned lot is still quiet when you arrive, the morning haze settling low over the cement. It smells faintly of ozone and crushed leaves — like magic still lingers in the cracks you’ve burned into the earth.

You roll your shoulders and kneel to draw your sigils.
But today, you don’t begin with Altair.

You begin with Vega.

Not for offense. Not for speed. But for balance.

🌟 Phase One: Vega's Domain

You stand still in the center of your chalked circle. The sigil is gentle this time — open curves, soft lines, crescent wings at each corner. You hold your hands at your sides and breathe deeply.

“Vega,” you whisper.

The warmth pools slowly, curling around your ribcage like silk. Not like the fire of Sirius or the gust of Altair — Vega is… gravity. Quiet assurance. It’s the feeling of your mother’s hand on your back when she doesn’t say anything, just makes sure you’re standing.

You focus your energy inward, and the light forms at your fingertips — not as a flare or spear, but a pulsing orb that hovers gently in your palms. You guide it forward and back. You try to feel it, not force it.

You’re not trying to win today.
You’re trying to listen.

You walk a careful line across the lot, keeping the orb aloft. It trembles every time you lose focus. You adjust. Breathe. Continue.

You don’t need to be dazzling every day.
Some days, you need to be still.

🌌 Phase Two: Starfield Attunement

Mid-morning light casts long shadows across the pavement.

You sit, cross-legged, chalking a wide sigil around yourself: a full starfield array. You trace not just Altair, Vega, and Sirius — but secondary stars from your studies. It becomes a kind of galaxy across the ground, lines connecting like veins.

You whisper them aloud:

Capella – light in isolation.

Rigel – endurance under pressure.

Procyon – awareness, sharpness.

Each star you name pulls a different thread of energy through you — tiny threads. Not loud, not explosive. Just there.

You begin what Midoriya would call a Spell Integrity Loop — holding three low-level alignments at once, not to cast, but to hold steady. Vega, Capella, and Procyon dance along your nervous system. You tremble, but you don’t break.

You sit there for almost an hour.

Sweat slips down your spine.
But you hold.
And you smile.

✨ Discovery: A Subtle Shift

While shifting between Capella and Procyon, you notice something: a humming resonance when your hands form a triangle. You adjust your fingers again — index and thumb together — and the resonance returns.

It feels like a shield.

You press your hands forward slowly, and a curved shimmer of starlight ripples between them. Small. Barely visible.

You test it against a blast of Sirius magic — a flick of heat from your palm.

The shield holds.

Barely.

You whisper, “Stellar Guard?”

You grin. It's ugly and half-finished. But it's something new.

You carve it into your notebook with shaking hands:

"Stellar Guard: Procyon–Vega–Capella merge. Defensive type. Small-scale projection. Requires hand focus. Flickers under sustained pressure. More testing needed."

You’ve never made a defensive spell before.

Your quirk is beginning to evolve.

As the sun crests over the rooftops, you decide to test Altairis again — just once.

You raise your hand.

“Altair…”

The wind rushes.

“Sirius—”

Pain. Sudden and sharp. Your body recoils.

It’s not like Day 4. It’s not magical recoil or backlash. This is physical.

You crumple to one knee, panting.

Your muscles are depleted.

Not from one burst. But from five days of pushing beyond your limits. Altairis doesn’t just ask for strength — it demands endurance you haven’t built yet.

Your magic has been running on willpower and adrenaline. And now, your body is starting to say no.

You lie down. Face to sky.
The clouds look like waves of stardust.

You don’t cry.
You’re too tired to cry.

But your voice, barely above a whisper, says:

“Tomorrow... I pace myself.”

🧠 Reflective Summary: Day 6

New Spell Prototype:

Stellar Guard (Defensive): Light shield, tied to Procyon and Vega. Unstable but promising.

Starfield Control Test:

Holding three star alignments for 1hr — mental clarity improving, magical stamina still low.

Altairis: Not attempted successfully. Fatigue too high.

Insight:

Not every breakthrough is flashy. Today taught subtlety, pacing, and humility.\n

Emotional State:

Quiet pride. Slight shame. Realization: wanting to be a hero isn’t enough. You need to build yourself in layers — not explosions.

Physical State:

Tired. Muscles tight. No serious injury, but deep fatigue settling into limbs. Hands tremble when idle.

You pack your things carefully. You don’t limp — not today. You walk slowly, one foot after another. You hum a tune from a lullaby your mother used to sing.

The stars aren’t angry at you for resting.
They’re just waiting for you to rise again.

You fumble with the keys more than once before getting the front door open.

It’s late — not dark, but late enough that the light in the kitchen has already been switched on, casting long yellow shadows across the hallway. You slip inside without thinking, shoes scraping quietly against the entryway tile.

Your bag hits the floor with more force than you meant. You wince.

“Is that you, sweetheart?” your mother calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you say, voice too hoarse. You clear your throat, trying again. “Yeah. I’m home.”

She rounds the corner with a wooden spoon in hand, brow furrowed just a little. “You’re home later than usual.” Her eyes drop to your arms — faint tremors in your fingertips, the stiffness in your shoulders, the way your weight leans slightly to the left. “Long day?”

You nod. You don’t trust yourself to speak yet.

“Sit down,” she says gently. “I’ll fix you a plate.”

You obey without protest.

The kitchen chair creaks when you lower yourself into it. You let your forehead rest against the heel of your palm. The cool wood of the table helps ground you. Just a little.

Dinner is simple — miso soup, sticky rice, grilled salmon. You realize you’re starving only after the first bite. The kind of hunger that comes from a soul being wrung out, not just a stomach.

She doesn't press. She just watches you for a few moments, then returns to her own plate.

“I’m thinking of getting a new rice cooker,” she says after a beat, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “This one keeps burning the bottom layer.”

You let out a soft hum. You can’t quite manage a full reply. Your mind is still half in the lot, half in the stars — and fully inside your sore, buzzing body.

She continues talking — about work, about a woman she met at the post office, about how the price of tofu keeps inching up. And all the while, she watches you carefully from the corner of her eye.

Eventually, when both your plates are mostly empty and the quiet has stretched too long, she asks:

“You’ve been pushing yourself.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement — one born from years of knowing how you carry your exhaustion.

You nod. Slowly.

“I’m trying,” you say softly. “To get better. To make it count.”

She smiles, but there’s sadness there, tucked in the corners. “I know.”

You stare down at your hands — the faint shimmer that still lingers in your fingertips like dying embers. The magic’s not gone. But you can feel the toll. The pulse of too many spells, too little rest.

You’re not a machine. You’re not a star. You’re a person trying to hold the sky in your palms.
That’s what you’re beginning to understand.

Your mother sets her chopsticks down.

“Do you remember that time,” she begins carefully, “when you tried to carry all the groceries up the stairs by yourself?”

You blink. That was… what, three years ago?

“You were so determined not to make two trips,” she continues with a soft chuckle. “But you tripped on the second landing. Bags burst. Eggs cracked all over the floor.”

You wince. “Don’t remind me.”

“You cried the whole way up,” she says gently. “Not because you were hurt, but because you felt like you’d failed.”

You look away.

“And then,” she adds, “you tried to clean it all by yourself. But you didn’t have to.”

She leans across the table and taps your knuckles.

“You never have to do it all alone, sweetheart. Not your training. Not your dreams. Not your weight.”

You want to believe her. You do. But a part of you still clings to the idea that you have to earn your spot — that being gifted a quirk like yours means proving yourself every second.

You wipe at your eyes quickly. “I just… don’t want to fall behind.”

She gets up and comes around the table, crouching beside your chair like she did when you were small and scared of the thunder.

“You’re not behind. You’re growing. And sometimes,” she says, brushing your hair back gently, “growth looks like rest.”

After dinner, you help her wash the dishes. The water stings your fingertips. You flinch only once.

The soft clatter of plates and the scent of leftover soap fill the quiet between you.

You glance at the small calendar by the fridge, where she’s circled a few days for errands and doctor visits.

You consider circling a few yourself — not for appointments. But for pauses.

You don’t say anything more that night. Neither does she.

But she squeezes your hand just before you disappear into your room, and that small gesture lingers longer than any spell you cast that day.

Later That Night, you sit by your window with the curtains drawn wide.

The stars are faint tonight — too much light pollution. But you know where Altair is. You can almost feel its pulse in your sternum, like a heartbeat that doesn’t quite belong to you but still guides you home.

You hold your hands out.

No spell. No casting.

Just a quiet moment. Just breath.

“You’re not falling behind,” you whisper to yourself.

And for once —
you almost believe it.

 

DAY SEVEN

You had decided to go on a walk to build so endurance but your body aches in a way that makes the air feel heavier. 

Even just the sun pressing down on your shoulders is too much. You walk carefully, each step measured — not because you want to, but because if you move too fast, your knees might buckle again.

The street is mostly empty this early in the morning. The breeze carries the smell of bakery steam and summer pollen, the kind that usually makes your heart feel light.

But today, your chest is tight. Your limbs buzz, sore from the inside out. The sixth day of training — of burning magic and emotion through your bones — left you quieter. Weaker. And, somehow, stronger.

You tug your hoodie sleeves down over your wrists. Hide the faint shimmer of magic still flickering like afterimages across your knuckles. You hadn’t meant to overdo it. You just needed to see if you could hold it all. If you could control it.

You’re halfway down the block when you hear the crunch of gravel behind you.

You recognize his footsteps before his voice.

“Oi.”

You stop walking, turning just enough to see him.

Katsuki Bakugo, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes narrowed in the morning light like he’s already annoyed with the sun. He looks like he’s been up for hours — hoodie loose over a tank top, sneakers scuffed from some early training session.

“Didn’t think you were up,” he says.

You blink, surprised. “Didn’t think you were walking this way.”

He clicks his tongue. “This street cuts time. I use it when I don’t wanna deal with people.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And yet… here I am.”

He grunts, but doesn’t deny it.

There’s a short silence. The wind picks up, and your hair brushes your cheeks. You tuck it behind your ears. Bakugo’s eyes flick briefly to your hands — the way your fingers twitch, the faint tightness in your shoulders.

“You look like crap,” he says bluntly.

You snort despite yourself. “Thanks, Kacchan. Real uplifting.”

He shrugs. “Not an insult. Just an observation.”

You glance away, lips pressing into a thin line. “Been training. A lot.”

He squints at you, assessing. “You pushed too hard again, didn’t you?”

“…Maybe.”

“Tch.” He shakes his head, muttering, “Dumbass.”

You bristle. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t flinch. “You think wrecking yourself proves something? You don’t win fights if you can’t stand up after.”

You cross your arms. “I’m not trying to win yet.”

He looks at you hard — really looks this time. The kind of gaze that makes you want to shrink under your hoodie.

“You training alone?”

You hesitate.

“I was,” you admit. “Midoriya helped once. That’s all.”

Something in his jaw ticks. His hands ball in his pockets. You see the subtle spark in his fingertips before he crushes it.

“Hmph.”

He doesn’t comment on Midoriya again. But he does narrow his eyes at your posture.

“How bad is it?”

You blink. “What?”

“Your stamina. How long before you drop?”

You shift your weight, guilty. “Few minutes if I push. Less if I go full constellation mode.”

He stares at you like you just said you’d run into traffic on purpose.

“You should’ve stopped,” he snaps.

“I needed to know how far I could go,” you shoot back.

“That’s not training,” he barks. “That’s self-destruction.”

Your throat tightens. His voice is too loud in the quiet morning. But it’s not cruel — it’s angry. The way someone sounds when they hate that they’re worried.

“I’m trying to get stronger,” you say, more softly. “I need to control it. I need to earn it.”

Bakugo steps forward once, and your breath catches — not out of fear, but from the intensity in his eyes.

“You don’t have to bleed for it every damn day to be worthy.”

You don’t know what to say to that. He’s never said anything like it before. Not to you. Not this honestly.

He notices your hesitation, then scowls and looks away like he regrets every word.

“…You suck at hiding when you're tired, y’know.”

You manage a weak smile. “Guess I haven’t leveled up to your badassery yet.”

“Tch. That’s not what I meant.”

He reaches into his bag and tosses something your way — a sports drink, cool from a fridge, slightly dented but unopened.

You catch it clumsily.

“…Electrolytes?” you ask, surprised.

“Helps with post-training recovery,” he grumbles. “I ain’t carrying your ass if you collapse on the street.”

You hold the bottle for a beat too long, then open it with careful fingers. You don’t say thank you. You know he doesn’t want that.

But you sip it. And that’s enough.

You fall into step together — not walking with him exactly, but not alone anymore either. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The sidewalk hums beneath your aching feet.

Just before the turn to your block, you murmur, “You think I’ll ever catch up to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, without looking at you, he mutters:

“…You’re not supposed to catch up. You’re supposed to make your own damn way.”

You look up at him — at the tension in his shoulders, the fire in his jaw, the weight he carries like armor.

You think maybe he knows something about pushing too hard, too fast.

And maybe this is his way of saying he gets it.

“Okay,” you whisper.

And for the first time in days, you don’t feel like collapsing.

Not yet.

 

TRAINING ON DAY SEVEN

You don’t need the stars today. Today isn’t about light, or wonder, or explosions in the sky.

Today is about your body, just like your morning jog was.

Your breath.
Your will.
Your limits.

The sky is still painted with early gray and gold when you step into the empty lot. Familiar now. Sacred, in a quiet way. The weeds bend slightly with the morning breeze. A pigeon startles somewhere overhead. It smells like dew and dust and something distant you can’t name.

You roll your shoulders back and close your eyes.

No spell today.

No Vega.
No Altair.
No Sirius.

Just you.

🏃 Warm-Up
Your feet hit the cracked pavement in steady rhythm.
One. Two. One. Two.

You start with laps—slow, deliberate jogs around the perimeter of the lot. Thirty-six fence panels around the border. You count each one like a mantra, not for speed, but for focus.

Each breath is fire.
Each step drags.
But you don’t stop.

By lap three, your lungs hurt. The pain is sharp. Sharp like shame. Like the memory of Katsuki’s voice barking “You can’t win if you can’t stand.” You grit your teeth and push harder.

By lap five, you’re lightheaded. Your legs scream. The wind burns in your throat. But there’s a strange freedom in it, too—a weightlessness, like your body is finally catching up to the kind of heart you’ve always had.

You don’t stop.

Not until the sweat drips from your chin.
Not until your vision pulses at the edges.

You stumble to the curb, hands on your knees, lungs fighting for breath.

You earned that.

You strip off your hoodie and toss it over your bag. The sweat has already soaked through your shirt, clinging to your back. The sun climbs higher, but you don’t look at it. You don’t need to.

You drop to the pavement and begin pushups.

One.
Two.
Three.
Ten.
Fifteen.

Your arms are shaking by twenty-two. Your core burns, your elbows buckle, but you push past thirty. Not because it’s easy—because it isn’t. Because this is the kind of work heroes do in the dark, when no one is watching.

You pause for water, stretching your shoulders. Then come planks—solid, trembling holds until your spine aches.
Then squats, deep and slow.
Burpees, fast and messy.

Each one is an act of defiance against the voice that once said you weren’t good enough.

“Don’t Think, Just Breathe”
You sit cross-legged in the middle of the lot, your muscles tight and throbbing, your heart still racing. You stare at your hands—not glowing, not humming with starlight. Just hands.

Callused.
Red.
Yours.

You think about all the times you tried to push too far, too fast. You think about Midoriya watching you in concern, about the gentle way he had asked, “Are you taking care of yourself?”

You think about Katsuki’s fury, how it masked worry, how he shoved that sports drink into your hands and called you a dumbass because he didn’t know how else to say don’t hurt yourself.

You exhale.

Maybe strength doesn’t always come with fire. Maybe sometimes it looks like persistence. Like showing up even when you're sore, when you're scared, when you're lonely.

Maybe this is how you start building the kind of body that can carry a hero’s burden.

After you’ve rested, you mark two points on the lot with chalk. You set up cones (stolen from home) and run ten full sprints. Each one tests your lungs, your legs, your heart.

You fail three times. Fall once. Scrape your palm.

But you finish. Every. Single. One.

🧊 Cooldown: 
You lay on the cracked pavement, your back soaking in the morning heat. The clouds drift lazily overhead. You trace constellations in the sky without lifting a finger.

You can see them all.
Altair, stretched long like a blade.
Vega, wide and burning.
Sirius, stubborn and sharp.

They wait quietly. They’ll be there when you call.

But for today, you let them rest.

Today wasn’t about them.
Today was about you.

✍️ Journal Entry (In Your Voice)
DAY SEVEN
I didn’t use magic today. Not because I couldn’t—but because I chose not to.
I wanted to see what was left when all the stars were stripped away.
Turns out there’s still someone here.
Still a girl who wants to be a hero.
Even if she has to crawl toward it on shaking legs.

 

DAY EIGHT

You rise later than usual. Not because you’re lazy, but because the exhaustion isn’t clinging to your bones the way it used to. You’ve begun to find balance: between your magic and your muscles, between your drive and your doubts. It feels... clearer, today.

When you stand in your usual spot in the overgrown lot, the sunlight casts long shadows over yesterday’s chalk marks. You drag your toe through the dust, clear the space, and open your notebook.

This session is about shaping. Not projecting, not pushing. Forming. Holding. Mastering.

🕊️ Aquila Wings — Flight Forged in Faith

The constellation Aquila has always fascinated you, after all its the same constellation that scarred onto yours and Hawks's skin. A reminder of what you can achieve. But today you were trying something different.

The celestial eagle—powerful, untamed, a symbol of soaring freedom.

You kneel and draw the shape in the dirt: a sweeping pair of wings, stars glittering along a sharpened arc.

You stand, shoulders square. You whisper:
“Aquila, lend me your wings.”

Heat gathers at your shoulder blades, pulsing outward. Starlight feathers erupt in twin bursts, fanned and trembling, their shape more solid than ever before. You gasp—the weight of them real, but balanced.

You take off with a running start, and your feet leave the ground.

Only for a few seconds. But it’s enough.

They respond to your body’s momentum. A dive here, a pivot there. You can’t stay airborne long, but you don’t need to. These wings aren’t for flying—they’re for maneuvering. For dodging. For attacking from angles no one expects.

You land hard on your knees, laughing breathlessly.

You flew.

And more importantly—you could fly again.

🏹 Orion Bow — A Heartbeat’s Aim

You take a few minutes to hydrate and steady your breath before facing your next challenge.

The Orion constellation isn’t soft. It’s a warrior’s star-map—deliberate, exact. When you draw its lines into the air, your fingertips tingle with potential. Your grip finds shape even before you cast the spell.

“Orion’s mark, let fly.”

The bow appears in your left hand—slim, golden, humming with kinetic potential. An arrow forms in your right, trailing a faint silver line from the bowstring to your chest. You realize it’s tied to your pulse. Every beat of your heart fuels its tension.

You breathe in.
Aim.
Release.

The arrow streaks into the sky, striking a rusted trashcan lid you’d propped on a fence post.

The spell doesn’t drain you—but it requires absolute focus. The more emotionally stable you are, the straighter the shot. Your magic feeds off intention. Doubt even a little, and the arrow will veer.

It makes you wonder how many heroes hide their nerves behind steady hands.

You fire six more arrows before your concentration wavers.

You sit again. Record your findings.

🎼 Lyra Barrier 

The harp-shaped constellation of Lyra always seemed delicate in your notebook drawings. Beautiful, yes. But fragile. You were afraid of trying it.

Not anymore.

“Lyra, weave your song.”

A curved shield of starlight spins into form in front of you—strings stretched between gleaming arcs, each humming with low, vibrating tension. You set up your speaker and play a recording of crowd noise, then shouting, then sirens.

The barrier hums louder. Vibrations ripple across its frame and disperse the noise harmlessly into the air. A protective hum wraps around you—not total silence, but clarity. You can think behind it. Breathe.

You clap sharply.

The sound rebounds off the barrier, echoes once, then fades into nothing.

It works.
It's music as armor.

You grin.

By the end of the day, you’ve created three stable constructs.

They don’t last long. They drain energy slowly but steadily. The longer you hold them, the more your body strains. But they’re tools now, not just raw energy. Extensions of your body. Echoes of your intent.

And they feel right.

You lie on the grass, notebook beside you, stars dimming in the daylight sky.

You feel powerful. Not because of the magic. But because you’re learning to wield it with discipline.

✍️ Journal Entry
Day Eight:

Today I shaped starlight with purpose.

Aquila Wings let me maneuver through the air. Not true flight, but enough to dodge and reposition.

Orion Bow syncs to my heartbeat. Precision, not power. Firing it when I’m calm works best.

Lyra Barrier protects against sound. Reflects and dampens. Emotional noise too?

They’re short-term. Construct lifespan depends on focus and stamina. If I’m upset or tired, they flicker.

Still... I made something today.
Not just for battle. But for survival.

And maybe—someday—for saving someone else.

DAY NINE

The lot is unusually quiet today.

Even the crows that usually hang in the power lines are gone, as if the sky itself is holding its breath. You press your palm to the warm dirt, steadying your breathing as your magic settles beneath your skin—an ache you’ve grown familiar with.

You’ve been at it for over an hour already. Practicing the precision of your Orion Bow while stabilizing Aquila Wings in short bursts of movement. You’re learning to not just cast your spells, but maintain them while adapting.

You’re midair when it happens.

🕊️ Flight, Interrupted

“Still obsessed with sparkly bullshit, huh?”

The voice cuts through the sky like a crack of thunder.

You freeze. Not mid-flight, but mid-movement. Your wings falter. Your boots touch down heavier than expected, and you whip around so fast your vision blurs.

There, leaning against the rusted fence like he’s always been there, arms crossed and brow furrowed, stands Katsuki Bakugo.

Your heart stumbles. You haven’t seen him properly since—

Since the day you argued. Since the day he pushed too far. Since the sludge.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “I walk this way. You don’t own this dump.”

You don’t respond. Because technically, he’s not wrong. And because you know he’s lying.

His eyes flick over the cleared training area, the empty bottles of water, the scorched marks and constellation circles you etched into the dirt.

“You’ve been doing this all by yourself?” His voice carries something like disbelief, but it’s layered under something tighter. Something almost like... guilt.

You say nothing.

Because yes. You have.

💫 Confrontation (the Unspoken Kind)

“Thought you were all about emotion or whatever,” he mutters, walking closer now. “This stuff looks... tactical.”

You turn to face him. “It is tactical. Emotion without control is just noise.”

He scoffs under his breath but doesn’t deny it.

You go back to your stance. Raise your fingers. Channel the light.

He doesn’t stop watching.

🎯 Demonstration

You launch again—Aquila Wings glowing, sweeping you up. Your pulse stutters, but you catch it. You hover. Orion Bow forms. You aim at the hanging cans you strung from the tree earlier and fire. You hit two out of three.

Then drop. Light as dusk.

When you glance back, Bakugo’s arms are no longer crossed. His fingers twitch like he wants to say something.

But of course, he doesn’t.

“What?” you ask, keeping your tone level. “Something wrong with that?”

His jaw tics. “No.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You came here just to stare at me?”

“Tch. You wish.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable.

Then, he adds—quietly:

“You looked like shit after the sludge thing.”

You blink. That was... blunt. Even for him.

“I’m fine now.”

His gaze narrows. “You weren’t fine then.”

You grip your notebook tighter. You don’t know what to say to that.

💥 Cracks and Sparks

He kicks at the dirt near one of your drawn constellations, toe scuffing it slightly. “You always push too hard.”

You bristle. “And you don’t?”

“I don’t—” he starts, but stops. Rubs the back of his neck like it’s suddenly too warm out.

You look at him then—really look. He’s not tense the way he usually is in battle. He’s... conflicted. Like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with this version of you. The one who kept growing while he wasn’t looking.

“Why are you really here?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer.

Just looks at you like he hates the question. Like he hates that he doesn’t have a good answer.

🌪 The Moment That Almost Breaks

“I saw you training the other day,” he mutters.

You tilt your head. “You what?”

He scowls at the ground. “When you were out past sunset. I didn’t mean to. Just... saw the light from the alley.”

Your heartbeat jumps in your throat.

“And?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d... get this far, I guess.”

That’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever given you. It lands like a stone in your chest.

You don’t smile. You just say: “Well. I’m not the same kid you used to push around.”

Silence again.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:

“I know.”

You look at him. Really look at him. For a second, you swear he looks like he might say more.

But of course—he doesn’t.

The light is starting to fade. You’re not sure how long he’s been standing there.

You turn away first, picking up your bottle of water and your notebook. Your hands still shake faintly from earlier spells, but you steady them.

“You staying or going?” you ask.

He jerks his chin toward the alley. “Got shit to do.”

You nod.

He takes a step toward the exit, but pauses. “...You wanna spar sometime?”

You blink.

He doesn’t look at you. “Not now. Just—sometime. Might be good for you to go up against someone who won’t hold back.”

You nod slowly. “Sure.”

He finally glances at you, eyes unreadable.

Then he’s gone.

You stay rooted there for a long time, watching the stars peek out from the edge of the sky. Aquila, Orion, and Lyra—your celestial anchors—begin to rise.

And you think:

Maybe he didn’t come here by accident after all.

The sky is dark by the time you get home.

You’d forgotten how late it was until your legs started to drag and the stars—the real ones—flickered to life overhead. The warm gleam of the kitchen window is the only thing waiting for you as you round the corner to your house, shoulders stiff, boots caked in dry dirt and fallen stardust.

Your mother doesn’t say much when you slip through the door. Just glances up from her seat at the small dining table with a quiet, “Hey sweetheart. Dinner’s in the fridge.”

You nod and murmur a thanks. She doesn’t press, even though she must see the way your sleeves are stained with dried magic light, the faint bruise forming on your forearm, the tired slump in your spine. You’re glad she doesn’t ask.

Because you wouldn’t know how to explain it.

You heat up the leftovers. You sit at the table. You eat the rice slowly, tasting none of it. Your fingers twitch from overuse of the Orion Bow spell, and your forearm aches where the recoil landed wrong earlier.

But that’s not what’s weighing on you.

You keep seeing him. Standing there like a ghost made of fire and regret. You keep hearing his voice in your head:

“Didn’t think you’d get this far.”

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it does.

Later, you sit on your bed with your constellation journal open in your lap, pages fluttering under the slow breeze of your fan. You stare down at the notes you took earlier in the day—diagrams, pulse sequences, a half-formed idea for a new barrier inspired by Lyra.

But none of it sticks.

Instead, your mind drifts back to the way he said your name. Or rather—the way he didn’t. He never did. Not anymore.

You remember the way his jaw tensed when you stood your ground. The way he looked when he thought you weren’t watching—half-proud, half-stricken.

You think, maybe he wanted to say something real this time. But he didn’t know how. Or maybe he didn’t believe he deserved to.

You lie back against the pillows, hands folded over your stomach, magic still buzzing faintly in your bones. You wonder if he really saw you that night through the alley light. How many other nights had he watched? Had he stayed hidden?

You feel ridiculous for hoping he meant any of it.

But a quieter part of you whispers that he did.

You get up. Go to your mirror. You tug your shirt up just enough to see the constellation scar left behind by the Hawks incident—the Aquila wings faintly glowing beneath your skin like starlight frozen in place.

You touch it absently.

You think about the other scars—the ones you don’t show.

Bakugo doesn’t know about this mark. He doesn’t know you helped a bleeding Pro Hero in an alleyway. He doesn’t know you collapse some nights from overuse. That your training has left your muscles tighter, your eyes a little more tired, your dreams full of spells that don’t always work.

But he does know you’re trying.

And today, for the first time in a long while—he didn’t try to stop you.

You return to your journal.

Your hand hovers over the page where you usually draw constellation matrices. But instead of spellwork, you write something else this time:

"He came back."

You underline it once. Then twice.

You don’t know what it means yet. Not exactly. But it means something.

You close the book.

Let the room fall to quiet.

And drift into sleep, with the stars above your window blinking down like sentinels that have waited too long for things to fall into place.

 

DAY TEN

The sun’s up higher than you meant for it to be.

You’d planned to be out here earlier, like always—beat the heat, clear your head. But you slept through your alarm. Your body didn’t want to move this morning. It felt... heavier. Not in the muscle-aching, quirk-burnt kind of way. Heavier in your chest.

You stand in the middle of the lot, boots scraping loose gravel, and try to breathe.

Bakugo’s voice still lives somewhere behind your ribs. Still echoing. “Didn’t think you’d get this far.”

The worst part is... you can’t tell if he meant it as a compliment or a warning.

You shake your head, roll your shoulders, and conjure your first spell of the day.

But the starlight is already trembling.

You start with the basics.

Orion Bow.
Steady pulse. Draw the bowstring from your palm. Feed the constellation. Let your heartbeat guide the projectile.

But the arrow fizzles out before it even forms.

You try again.

This time, it flares too fast—like a star exploding in your chest—and the feedback stings through your fingertips. The blast sends the bow’s light splintering off into the grass like sharp glass.

You hiss through your teeth, biting your tongue. You’ve been doing this for eleven days. You know this spell.

Why is it unraveling now?

You clench your fists. Reset.

Aquila Wings. You’ve been using them to practice air mobility—short bursts, controlled glides. It should feel like muscle memory by now.

But today, the wings drag.

They form slowly, sluggishly. The light sputters around the constellation sigil you inscribed on your shoulder earlier. The lines are right. The glyph is sound. But the energy feeding it is shaky. Unbalanced.

You launch—barely.

The wings hold for maybe six seconds before they collapse like smoke. You land hard on one knee, the ache blooming sharp across your hip.

You smack the dirt with your palm, teeth clenched.

Why does it feel like your magic is out of sync with your body?

No. That’s not right.

It’s not your magic that’s misfiring.

It’s you.

You sit down in the grass, panting. Sweat clings to your back, and your hair sticks to your forehead.

You take out your notebook. The one Midoriya helped you sketch spells in. You flip to the page labeled Lyra Barrier—one of the first constructs you managed to shape properly.

You trace the outline of the rotating harp-like shield. Think about the way it reflects sound-based attacks. How it feels when it vibrates with incoming pressure.

You tap your pen against the corner of the page.

You haven’t tried Sirius Fang since Day Seven. And you’ve never tried combining constructs in real-time under stress.

Maybe...

Maybe if you reroute emotional feedback through the Altair-Vega channel…

You stand again, wiping dirt off your knees. Conjure Aquila Wings. Summon the Orion Bow. Try to merge the two—dive and fire simultaneously.

It works... for about two seconds.

Then the light spikes again—too intense. The pulse stutters.

You release the arrow—

And the whole construct explodes around you like a firework.

You’re thrown back into the grass, the wind knocked clean out of your lungs. Your vision blurs for a second, starlight sparks dancing at the edge of your eyes.

You gasp once. Twice.

Your chest hurts—not from impact. From what’s missing.

You sit back up slowly.

You don’t cry. Not really. Just feel your jaw tighten and your throat burn.

You feel stupid for letting him get in your head. For letting a few words—half-compliment, half-judgment—break your focus.

He wasn’t even here.

But still, you caught yourself looking over your shoulder once. Hoping maybe he was.

You want to scream at yourself. You don’t need his approval.

You don't.

And yet.

You flip to the back page of your journal.

And you start sketching something new.

A hybrid construct. Something between barrier and bow. Something that doesn’t crack when your heart does.

You name it:

Vega Crown.
A luminous headpiece that reads emotional feedback and stabilizes pulses. A circlet of starlight that anchors focus. For when your heart wants to spiral but your spell has to hold.

It’s not ready yet. But it feels right.

You close your notebook.

Your hands still shake.

By the time you head home, the sun is sliding down the sky.

Your spells weren’t clean today. Your balance was off. You’re bruised and scraped and raw.

But you’re not broken.

Tomorrow, you’ll try again.

Maybe Bakugo will come back.

Maybe he won’t.

But the stars?

The stars always do.

 

DAY ELEVEN

The ground still bore yesterday’s bruises.

Scorched patches from where the Orion Bow had misfired. A crater from the impact of your botched Aquila Wings dive. Stray flecks of starlight drifted like dust over trampled grass.

You stood at the edge of it all, notebook open in your hand.

Vega Crown.
A spell born from instability. Not a weapon. Not a shield. A guide.

You’d written the words at the bottom of the page late, late last night, pen trembling. You weren’t even sure it would work. Not yet.

But today wasn’t about perfection.

It was about trying.

You exhaled slowly, centered your stance, and reached.

You tapped your pulse first.

That was always the anchor—your heartbeat, syncing to the constellation pattern. You visualized Vega, its piercing blue brilliance, the lead star of the Summer Triangle.

You imagined it not as a distant celestial body, but something just above your head. A star you could touch.

Then came the spell frame.

Your fingers drew the familiar sigils midair—sweeping arcs that shimmered in silver-blue. They hummed in your palms, vibrating at a steadier frequency than yesterday. Less sharp. Less wild.

As the lines completed, a soft band of starlight began to form above your brow.

A circlet. Thin and luminous. Spinning slowly like a silent crown.

Stabilizing…

Your breath caught.

You felt it—the way your emotions stopped spilling over. The weight in your chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Became something manageable. Like Vega itself was watching over you.

You summoned the Orion Bow again.

And this time—it formed smoothly.

Light traced along your arm with steady precision, and the energy built inside your palm in perfect rhythm with your pulse. You drew the bowstring. A glowing arrow snapped into place.

Release.

The arrow fired dead center into your target rock, slicing through its middle with a clear, clean crack.

No explosion. No backfire.

Just control.

You let the bow fade.

And laughed—small and breathless and proud.

You didn’t hear him at first.

It was the sound of a quiet gasp—barely audible over the rush of wind through trees—that made you turn.

Midoriya stood a few meters away, half-hidden between two overgrown hedges at the lot’s edge. His notebook was clutched to his chest, eyes wide behind his bangs.

“Oh—!” he stammered when you met his gaze. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to spy! I-I was just… I thought you might be training and I wanted to check in after the other day and then you were doing that and I didn’t want to interrupt—!”

You smiled, gently, one brow raised. “Izuku.”

He blinked.

You tilted your head. “Breathe.”

“Oh. Right.” He sucked in a gulp of air, then let it out sheepishly. “Sorry.”

You sat together on the old steps near the lot’s edge, legs stretched out into sun-dappled dirt. Your Vega Crown had faded by then, dissolved gently into stardust when the emotional storm inside you had quieted.

Midoriya kept stealing glances at you—both curious and… impressed?

“You made that yourself?” he asked finally, eyes lighting up.

You nodded. “Last night. Kind of. It’s… more of a stabilizer than an attack. I needed something that could help me control everything when I feel—” You hesitated. “—off-balance.”

He nodded slowly, understanding far too well. “Because when your emotions spike, your quirk surges with them.”

“Exactly.”

“I go through that too,” he said, voice quieter. “Not because of a quirk, but… sometimes my brain just spirals. When I panic or feel like I’ve disappointed someone… I get stuck in my own head.”

You looked at him, surprised at the honesty. But not unwelcome.

You offered a small smile. “Then maybe you need a Vega Crown.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. But watching you—it was amazing. I mean, the crown alone, but then the way you used the bow—!”

He broke off, suddenly embarrassed again.

“Izuku,” you said softly.

His eyes met yours.

“Thank you. For coming. For being here.”

His face flushed pink, but his smile widened—shy, genuine. “Always.”

Later, when he left—promising to update his notes about “Vega-based constructs” and drawing in midair—you stayed a while longer.

You drew the Vega Crown again. Just once.

Not because you needed it.

But because it reminded you that you were still here.

Still shining.

Even when your stars felt out of sync.

 

DAY TWELEVE

The soft morning light filters through the linen curtains, casting a gentle, golden glow that settles across the room like a tender embrace. Dust particles dance lazily in the sunbeams, moving through the still air like tiny suspended stars. The world outside has already begun its steady hum, cars rattling along the streets and distant chatter echoing faintly, but here, inside your small living room, there is a fragile calm.

You are curled up on the old couch, wrapped in a worn blanket that smells faintly of lavender and home. Your body aches in all the places where you pushed too hard yesterday—the sharp burn behind your shoulders, the dull throb in your calves—but you welcome the exhaustion like an old friend, proof that your efforts have been real, tangible.

Your training clothes cling slightly damp, a testament to the hours spent weaving starlight constructs, molding celestial energy with trembling hands. The pages of Midoriya’s notebook lie open on the coffee table, a constellation of notes and sketches scattered across it. You reach out absentmindedly, fingertips brushing a delicate diagram of the Vega Crown spell, before pulling your knees tighter to your chest.

The quiet is a fragile thing here, held tenderly between heartbeats, and it’s broken gently by the soft sound of footsteps on the wooden floor.

Your mother stands in the doorway, watching you with a mixture of warmth and unspoken worry. She lingers for a moment, folding her arms loosely, the way she does when she’s unsure where to begin but knows she must.

She steps inside, her soft slippers muffling her movements. The faint scent of chamomile tea and rosemary clings to her skin, familiar and comforting.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she begins, voice low and steady, but threaded with the delicate tremor of concern. Her eyes search yours, trying to catch the unspoken weight you carry.

You nod slowly, the lump in your throat tightening. Your heart pounds in quiet panic, unsure if you’re ready for this conversation but knowing it’s inevitable.

She settles beside you on the couch, careful not to crowd your space, but close enough to remind you that you’re not alone.

“You’ve been training a lot lately,” she says, choosing her words with care. “More than I ever expected.”

Her gaze holds yours as you swallow. The truth of her words settles like a stone in your chest.

You want to say it’s just a phase, a necessary sacrifice on the path to becoming the hero you dream to be. But the fatigue, the bruises, and the silent fears whisper otherwise.

After a long pause, you speak softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I feel it too,” you confess, eyes glimmering with vulnerability. “Sometimes, I get lost in the training, like if I stop, I’ll fall behind... like if I stop, I’ll lose everything.”

Her fingers reach out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to carry this burden alone,” she says, voice full of a quiet strength. “You’re more than your quirk, more than your goals. You’re still you—beautiful and whole—whether you master every spell perfectly or not.”

Her words wrap around you like a warm blanket, but beneath the comfort there’s a pulse of guilt—the fear that your ambitions might be hurting the people you love.

You look down at your hands, fingers twitching with restless energy.

“It’s not just about being strong,” you say, voice wavering. “It’s about proving that I belong. That I’m not just... lucky or a mistake.”

Her eyes soften, shimmering with empathy. She squeezes your hand gently.

“Belonging isn’t earned by strength alone,” she says. “It’s something you carry inside. It’s who you are when no one’s watching.”

The words settle deep inside you, stirring a quiet hope you hadn’t let yourself feel before.

Later, you both move into the kitchen, where the scent of garlic and onions simmering in olive oil fills the air.

Cooking becomes a shared rhythm—simple, familiar, grounding.

You chop vegetables side by side, the sharp snap of the knife on the cutting board punctuating the silence.

Your mother hums a soft tune as she stirs the pot, casting occasional glances your way that say more than words could.

You talk about small things: the stray cat that’s taken to sleeping in the alley, the smell of rain before it falls, the sunlight sparkling on the wet pavement.

In this moment, the weight of your quirk, the pressure of heroism, and the ache of isolation fade into the background, replaced by something real and ordinary.

Dinner finished, the table cleared, your mother pours two cups of chamomile tea.

The steam curls upward, filling your senses with calm.

You hold the warm cup between your hands, feeling its heat seep into your skin.

She watches you with a soft smile, pride and worry mingling in her gaze.

“You’re trying so hard,” she says gently. “And I’m proud of you.”

Her words are a balm and a bittersweet ache.

You want to believe you’re doing enough. That you’re worthy.

Later, by the window, you sit wrapped in a shawl, gazing up at the night sky.

The stars glitter—Altair, Vega, Sirius—each a beacon and a reminder.

Your mind drifts to the spells you’ve been practicing: the Vega Crown, its radiant glow steadying your pulse; the Orion Bow, a shimmering arc you can almost feel forming in your hands; the Aquila Wings, light and powerful, lifting you in short bursts.

You think about how your quirk, once unpredictable and wild, is beginning to respond more to your emotions.

But you also know the truth: when your heart is heavy, when your fears take hold, the magic falters.

It’s a fragile balance.

The quiet night presses in, and you realize strength is not just about raw power.

It’s about knowing when to rest.

Your phone buzzes softly on the windowsill, breaking the silence.

A message from Midoriya lights the screen:

“Keep shining. You’re not alone.”

You smile, a soft warmth spreading in your chest.

Tomorrow, you’ll face the training again—with a little more patience, a little more heart.

Tonight, you let yourself simply be.

You lean back, eyes closing as the night wraps you in its quiet embrace.

The stars watch over you, silent sentinels lighting the path between dreams and waking.

For the first time in a long while, you feel—truly feel—that maybe you’re allowed to rest.

 

DAY THIRTEEN

The first light of dawn creeps across the sky, painting the clouds in soft pinks and golds. You wake with a calm clarity you haven’t felt in days — the kind that comes from honest rest and quiet conversations. Your body still aches slightly from yesterday, but your mind feels lighter, steadier.

You rise, lacing up your boots and pulling your training jacket snug around your shoulders. The crisp morning air fills your lungs as you step outside into the small backyard space you’ve claimed for your practice for today. The ground is uneven but familiar, scattered with patches of grass and dirt hardened from countless footsteps.

Today feels different. You don’t just want to push yourself blindly — you want to train smarter. To listen to your body and your magic. To build, not break.

The notebook Midoriya lent you rests on a nearby bench, opened to a page titled “Celestial Harmony: Balancing Power & Control.” You trace the delicate script with your fingers and breathe deeply.

 

You start slow, focusing on grounding your breath. Your hands move gently in the air, weaving subtle motions that call forth tiny sparks of your quirk — shimmering constellations of light flickering into existence like scattered stars.

The familiar shapes of Altair, Vega, and Sirius pulse faintly in the morning haze. You experiment with molding the star-energy into a simple, floating orb, watching as it drifts lazily beside you. The orb glows with a gentle white-blue light, like moonlight trapped in glass.

You smile softly — progress.

Suddenly, a shadow crosses the fence.

Your heart jumps.

Bakugo stands there, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in that sharp, unreadable expression he always wears.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady despite the tight flutter in your chest.

Bakugo smirks. “I was passing by. Figured I’d see if you’re actually serious about all this training crap.”

His tone is rough, but beneath it you catch a hint of something else — maybe curiosity, or challenge.

You nod, gesturing to the open space. “Then let's do it.”

The backyard stretches out before you, quiet except for the soft rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. The air hums with the faint crackle of residual star-energy as you prepare to test your limits.

Bakugo stands rigid just beyond the training area, his sharp gaze locked on you with that familiar blend of challenge and disbelief. His explosive temper simmers beneath his cool exterior, ready to ignite.

You tighten your grip on the moment, heart pounding, and begin.

You lift your hands slowly, drawing on the celestial energy pulsing within. From the tips of your fingers, starlight flows like liquid silver, coalescing into the magnificent form of Aquila Wings—two massive, radiant wings unfurling behind you, feathers shimmering with ethereal light.

They catch the sunlight, casting flickering constellations across the ground. You feel the subtle power thrumming through them, granting you a brief, graceful lift.

Bakugo’s eyes narrow as you take to the air.

“Don’t think flying around like some damn bird’s gonna save you,” he snarls, already igniting his palms with a sharp ka-boom.

With a guttural roar, Bakugo explodes forward, the ground trembling under his fierce charge.

You twist midair, sending a flare of stars trailing behind you, then land lightly, ready.

You nock an arrow in your mind, shaping the Orion Bow from your quirk’s star-energy. The glowing bow and arrow materialize, humming softly in your hands. Your pulse syncs with the rhythm of the quirk, the arrow’s tip shining brighter with each beat.

Bakugo closes the distance fast, but you release the arrow with precise timing.

It streaks through the air, a brilliant beam of pure light aimed at his shoulder.

Bakugo dodges barely in time, the arrow grazing his arm and exploding harmlessly against a tree trunk.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” he spits, grinding his teeth.

Bakugo retaliates with a devastating palm blast that tears up the earth where you stood seconds before. You barely raise your hands to summon the Lyra Barrier—a rotating, harp-shaped shield of shimmering starlight vibrating with soundwaves.

The blast hits the barrier, causing it to hum fiercely and ripple like a storm-tossed sea, but it holds.

Your ears ring with the intense resonance.

You grit your teeth, sweat trickling down your forehead.

Summoning every ounce of focus, you meld parts of your quirk to form a solid star-construct lance, its tip sharp and glowing with the fierce light of Sirius. You rush forward, lance aimed at Bakugo’s midsection.

He sidesteps with brutal speed and delivers a swift explosion-powered strike to your side, knocking the wind out of you.

Pain blooms bright and sharp, but you grit your teeth and stay standing.

Flashing a glare, you summon a burst of Aquila Wings again, this time using them not just to fly but to execute a dive attack. Your wings spread wide, feathers glowing fiercely, and you barrel toward Bakugo like a comet.

Bakugo barely has time to react—he blocks your dive with an earth-shaking explosion, sending you crashing back several meters.

You collapse to your knees, breath ragged, heart pounding like a drum in your chest.

Unyielding, Bakugo steps forward, his face a mask of pure intensity.

“You’re slow,” he growls, “not focused enough. You’re weak.”

Each word is a blow sharper than his explosions.

He launches a rapid barrage of blasts, forcing you to desperately raise the Lyra Barrier again, the harp-shaped shield vibrating violently, struggling to absorb the relentless assault.

Your arms tremble under the strain, and cracks spiderweb across the barrier’s surface.

Sensing your exhaustion, Bakugo grins wickedly.

With a mighty boom, he channels all his strength into a single, massive explosion aimed directly at your barrier.

The shield shatters, scattering starlight like broken glass.

You’re thrown off balance, tumbling to the ground.

Bakugo stands over you, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

“Get up,” he snarls. “You’re not done yet.”

You swallow the sting of defeat, your body aching but your spirit unwilling to break.

When the spar ends, Bakugo leans against the fence, catching his breath.

Bakugo stood a few feet away, chest heaving from the exertion, eyes still locked on you with that same sharp glare. His fists were clenched tight, knuckles white, like he was holding back a storm.

He scoffed, a rough sound that didn’t quite reach a laugh. “Hah. You’re tougher than I thought.” His voice was rough but carried a grudging edge of respect. “Didn’t expect you to keep up for as long as you did.”

He kicked a loose stone with his boot, sending it skittering across the dirt.

“But don’t get cocky,” he spat, voice hard as gravel. “You still fuckin’ suck compared to me.”

There was no malice in the words—just the brutal honesty Bakugo always wielded like a weapon.

His eyes flicked down to the faint glowing scar on your wrist—the constellation-shaped mark left from your quirk’s power.

“Still, that crap you’re doing with your quirk… that Altairis or whatever, it’s got some damn potential. If you actually focused, maybe you could get somewhere.”

He ran a hand through his spiky hair, the slightest crease of frustration crossing his brow.

“But don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you,” he growled. “I’m not your damn hero or your friend.”

For a moment, the fiery edge in his voice softened, just a little.

“I just… don’t want you to waste your time.”

He glanced away, biting back whatever else he wanted to say.

Then, with a sharp grunt, he turned on his heel.

“Keep training, but don’t drag me into your stupid dreams.”

You breathe out, steadying yourself.

“I’m not going to lose myself,” you say firmly. “I want strength, but I want balance too. To be strong without losing who I am.”

Bakugo snorts, shaking his head.

“You’re soft,” he says, but there’s no mockery in his voice. Just a grudging acknowledgment.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’ll keep fighting.”

Bakugo pushes off the fence, ready to leave.

“You’re not half bad,” he says, smirking. “Keep it up, but don’t expect me to go easy on you next time.”

You watch him go, heart pounding — a strange mix of hope, frustration, and something like pride blossoming inside.

Today was hard.

But it was worth it.

BAKUGO'S POINT OF VIEW

Damn it. His mind kept repeating the phrase like a mantra, sharp and relentless. Why the hell does she have to be so damn stubborn?

Bakugo hated losing, hated weakness—especially in himself. But today, watching her push through exhaustion, weaving those starlit wings, firing off those glowing arrows... She’s got something. Some kind of spark.

That thought made his jaw clench harder.

But she’s still soft. Too soft.

He hated how his words probably hurt her. But he didn’t know any other way to say it. Bakugo was never the type to offer kindness or encouragement wrapped in sugarcoating. The brutal truth was his way—maybe the only way—because if he let himself feel too much, it’d be like admitting weakness. And he’d never let that happen. Not in front of her, not ever.

God, I’m such an idiot.

He kept turning over the moment when he saw her falter—the way her chest heaved, sweat matting her hair, the tiny tremble in her hands when the Lyra Barrier cracked under his blasts. He’d expected her to give up, to crumble like the rest. But she didn’t.

No.

She kept standing.

Why the hell can’t I just tell her to quit? He thought bitterly. It’d be easier for both of us.

But then another voice inside him, quieter but stubborn, shouted back: Because you don’t want her to quit. You want her to get stronger. You want her to be better.

He hated the admission as much as he hated losing.

Maybe... maybe I’m starting to care.

No. No, that wasn’t it. That was stupid. He wasn’t some soft idiot who got all sentimental over everyone. He was Bakugo Katsuki, damn it. Explosive, fierce, and unbreakable.

But still...

The thought lingered.

That tiny flicker of respect, buried beneath layers of fire and pride.

He glanced down at his own hands, scarred and calloused from endless training, and then at the constellation-shaped scar glowing faintly on her wrist.

She’s carrying the stars on her skin.

And for a fleeting second, Bakugo felt something unfamiliar—a strange kind of hope.

Maybe she’s got a shot.

But he’d never say that out loud.

Because he wasn’t her hero.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to be anyone’s weakness.

DAY FOURTEEN

You awoke to sunlight.

Not the blinding kind that dragged you from sleep, but the gentle, golden sort that pooled through the curtains and stretched like warm arms across your bedspread. It made the world feel soft — like you were wrapped in something safe.

Your muscles ached from yesterday's spar with Bakugo. Not the kind of ache that stung like failure, but a deep, honest soreness that reminded you that you'd pushed yourself — that you could.

For the first time in two weeks, your day didn’t start with pre-dawn stretches, spell rotations, or the rush of star-forged heat beneath your skin. Today, your mother had slipped a soft note under your door.

You’ve earned a rest. Go enjoy being a kid for once. —Mom

And so you decided to listen. To step back. To breathe.

You glanced at your phone and smiled.

Midoriya: “They released the All Might Silver Age collection this morning!! I’m heading out early. Wanna come?”

Midoriya: “Pls say yes.”

Midoriya: “I’m already outside 😅”

You chuckled, thumbs flying over the screen.

You: “Be down in five. Don’t melt in the sun.”

The moment you stepped out the door, you spotted him. Midoriya stood beneath the short tree across from your building, a notebook tucked under his arm and a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

“Morning!” he said, raising a hand.

“Hey,” you grinned, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Did you even sleep last night?”

He laughed sheepishly. “I tried to, but it’s All Might. This collection’s based on his early solo missions in Kamino Ward! They even have the replica cape he wore when he stopped that chemical plant fire back in—”

“Okay, okay!” you laughed. “I’ll pretend I know what that means, but I’m excited if you are.”

He beamed, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Thanks for coming. I know we’ve been training a lot lately so we dont get much time to see eachother. But it’s good to… you know… get out.”

You nodded, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “Yeah. I think I needed this more than I realized.”

The shop stood like a shrine on the corner of Nakano Street — its windows glinting with golden hero insignias and cardboard standees of All Might, Mt. Lady, Kamui Woods, and even the newest rookies.

Inside, it smelled faintly of fresh vinyl, soft fabric, and something you could only describe as nostalgia.

Midoriya all but levitated through the door.

“They have it!” he gasped, racing toward the far wall.

You followed with a quiet smile, letting his excitement lift the fog from your own shoulders.

On the shelves were everything from mini-figures of All Might in various eras to oversized plushies of his signature smile. Midoriya was already clutching a limited edition Silver Age T-shirt, running his fingers reverently over the embroidered slogan:

“SMASH THROUGH LIMITS!”

He looked back at you, suddenly bashful. “Do you think it’s too much?”

You tilted your head. “Coming from the boy who once cried because they ran out of All Might water bottles?”

He turned crimson. “That was—! It was limited edition!”

You laughed, the sound lighter than anything you’d felt in days.

Nearby, you found a set of enamel pins: the All Might insignia, a stylized explosion that reminded you of Bakugo, and a silver shooting star. You picked up the last one, fingers closing gently over the pin. It felt like a small piece of the sky — like something you could hold onto.

After pooling some coins together, you each bought one item — he got the shirt, and you picked up the shooting star pin.

“You could wear it during training,” he said, eyes glancing shyly at the bag you held. “Like… a reminder.”

“Of what?”

“That you’re already shining,” he said softly, and then turned away before you could see the blush on his cheeks.

You ended up at a small noodle stall, wedged between buildings. It was nothing fancy, but the smell of broth and the buzz of the city was grounding.

Over lunch, you shared stories — Midoriya talked about a video he watched of All Might stopping a train with just his legs, and you told him about your mom catching you floating in your sleep the night you first manifested your quirk.

“She freaked,” you giggled. “Thought I was possessed by the constellation Leo.”

“Honestly, with how powerful you’re getting, maybe she’s right.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned you think I’m an astral demon?”

He smiled into his cup. “Only if you start glowing ominously again.”

By the time you were walking home, the sun had begun to dip, casting long shadows between the buildings and painting the streets in pinks and golds.

“Hey,” Midoriya said after a quiet pause. “You’ve changed.”

You looked at him, confused. “Changed?”

“I mean in a good way. You’re… stronger. Not just with your quirk. I mean you. It’s like you’re learning how to stand without shrinking.”

The words hit something inside your chest — something fragile and proud and scared all at once.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “I think… I’m still figuring out who I’m supposed to be. But I’m trying.”

He stopped walking.

“Keep trying,” he said. “No matter how hard it gets.”

You stared at him, the weight of the moment sitting gently between you.

“I will,” you whispered.

You walked the rest of the way in silence, not because there was nothing to say — but because sometimes the quiet said enough.

Later that night, you sat at your desk and unwrapped the small pin.

The shooting star gleamed faintly beneath your lamp — a reminder not of power, but of intention. Of the path you were choosing, step by step, constellation by constellation.

You pinned it to the strap of your training bag.

A promise to yourself: no matter how far you had to go, you’d get there.

And maybe, just maybe, the stars would guide you home.

DAY FIFTEEN

It wasn’t spying. At least… that’s what Izuku kept telling himself as he crouched behind the slope just beyond the clearing. His notebook was already open across his knees, the cover bent, edges frayed, and pages fluttering in the light breeze that filtered through the late summer leaves.

He couldn’t hear everything you were saying to yourself, but the tone — that rhythmic murmur of someone working through things — was familiar now. Just like the way you always stood barefoot at the edge of the field before you trained. Grounding yourself. Closing your eyes. Like you were listening to something only you could hear.

Izuku didn’t want to interrupt.

There was something reverent about the space you created when you practiced. Quiet. Sacred, almost. As if the stars themselves might notice if he barged in too loudly.

And so, he stayed low and still, the grass tickling his arms, the afternoon sun flickering through the canopy above. He watched you breathe, gather yourself, and slowly raise your hands.

Then the light began.

It started at your fingertips — gentle pulses of silver-gold energy that expanded and swirled in delicate, precise lines. Izuku’s breath caught. His pencil hovered over the page.

Quirk: Heavenly Body Magic.
Sub-type: Celestial Channeling / Construct Generation
Note: Responds to emotional focus + constellation-based intent. Constructs seem semi-autonomous when fully formed.

Today, you formed the Orion Bow first — the one shaped like the belt stars, with glowing blue limbs and a nocked arrow that pulsed in time with your heartbeat. The aura of it shimmered as you took aim at a tree trunk wrapped in makeshift cloth rings, and Izuku instinctively leaned forward.

Thrum—THWIP.

The arrow flew straight and fast, hitting center mass. The rings spun slightly. You let the bow dissolve, light breaking apart into falling sparks that evaporated into the grass.

Izuku scribbled notes, eyes darting from his page to your movements.

Then came the Lyra Barrier — harp-shaped and spinning gently in the air like a celestial sigil. It rotated in front of you, vibrating with a strange frequency. You clapped your hands together and sent out a short burst of your own starlight, the sound of it rippling off the barrier in a delicate reverb. The grass around you bent outward slightly from the sound pulse.

Defensive construct. Reflects sound-based attacks. Possibly works through harmonic frequency alignment? Note: Ask Y/N later if she’s aware of this or just instinctual.

Izuku smiled faintly.

You looked so focused. So alive.

And yet… there was still something in the set of your shoulders that hadn’t eased since yesterday. Since Bakugo.

Izuku’s hand stilled, the pencil hovering just above the paper. He remembered your laugh at the hero merch store. How you’d clutched the shooting star pin like it was a tether. You always tried to hide the weight you carried. But Midoriya had gotten better at seeing it.

You launched upward suddenly, the Aquila Wings spreading from your back in a burst of pure silver light. You didn’t stay airborne long — maybe two seconds at most — but the dive you performed back to the ground was sharp, clean, controlled.

Still, you stumbled on the landing. Hit your knee. Swore softly.

He flinched.

You didn’t cry. You just sat there for a moment, breathing hard, fingers curling into the dirt. One hand slowly came up to touch your chest — just over where your pin rested on your collar. The All Might star.

And that was when Izuku realized why he’d followed you today, instead of training himself.

It wasn’t just for notes. Or curiosity. Or even admiration, though that was part of it too.

It was because there was something in you he saw in himself — something bright and relentless and a little too lonely.

You got back up. Of course you did.

You raised your hands again. Energy formed. A new construct this time — one he hadn’t seen before. A crown, pulsing above your head like a war halo, shaped in seven sharp points. Vega, he guessed.

His breath caught.

Vega Crown – New form? Possibly enhances concentration / celestial tethering. Seems ceremonial. Defensive?

He didn’t write anything more. He just watched, silent and awed.

He thought of his own future. His notebook. His training with All Might.

And then he thought of you — rising again and again beneath the weight of stars you were still learning to hold.

Izuku smiled softly to himself.

She’s going to be amazing, he thought. She already is.

Then he slipped away — back through the underbrush, back toward the city, his notebook close to his chest.

DAY SIXTEEN

You walked a crooked line to the edge of the clearing, your body dragging behind your will like a stubborn shadow. Every joint ached. Every breath stung. But none of it felt wrong.

This pain wasn’t from recklessness. It was earned.

A leaf crunched beneath your boot, and you looked down at the crater in the field. You couldn’t help the flicker of pride that bloomed in your chest — despite the spiraling exhaustion in your veins.

That crater was yours. You’d made it with your own two hands. Not from inherited talent. Not from brute force. But from will.

You weren’t just holding the stars anymore.

You were commanding them.

“Again,” you whispered hoarsely.

There wasn’t anyone around to argue with you. No voice of reason. No scolding. Just the rustling leaves and the hum of your own pulse against your ribs. So you stepped back into the circle — the ritualistic epicenter of all your sweat and strain — and drew in a breath.

You held your hands out to either side, fingers spread.

“Vega… Altair… Sirius…”

This time, you said their names with reverence.

“Lend me your strength.”

You knew you weren’t supposed to over-channel. Your mother would panic. Midoriya would lecture you. Even Bakugo would scowl and call you an idiot — maybe worse.

But you needed this.

Because somewhere inside, you still felt like you were behind. Not strong enough. Not ready.

And you couldn’t afford to stay that way.

Your arms lifted toward the sky as if pulled by unseen strings. You let your quirk fill you — pour into your chest, your limbs, your throat until it nearly burned. The stars always answered. Even if it hurt.

“Grand Chariot,” you called.

The sky brightened instantly — seven new suns orbiting high above, burning with white fire. Your body tensed. It was too soon. You weren’t ready. But you held your stance anyway.

“Hold… hold it steady—” you hissed through gritted teeth.

The stars trembled, erratic, unsteady.

Not like last time.

But you weren’t going to let go.

You widened your stance, grounded your feet, and forced your will through the strain. The rings of starlight above you pulsed, dancing with a celestial rhythm your heart barely kept up with.

They wanted to fall.

But not yet.

You pulled your hands together and slowly began to guide them down — slow, calculated, precise. You had to control it. You had to prove it wasn’t just luck or instinct.

One orb dipped.

You compensated. Twisted your arm slightly. Redirected its trajectory.

Another wavered.

You braced your core, adjusted your breathing, felt the ripple of energy slam into your sternum like a punch. But you held it.

You held them all.

And then — you exhaled.

“Now.”

The Grand Chariot stars descended in a perfectly timed spiral, striking the perimeter of the circle in flawless synchronicity.

The clearing erupted in white.

A roar echoed through the valley. The treetops shuddered. Dust and wind lifted in a cyclone of residual force.

When it faded, you were still standing.

On shaky legs. On half-bent knees. But standing.

Your head dropped forward. Your vision dimmed.

But you were smiling.

You didn’t remember sitting down.

But you were on the ground again — legs folded, chest still heaving, sweat soaking through your shirt. You hadn’t summoned anything since Grand Chariot. That had taken everything.

But you had no regrets.

A single leaf floated down, brushing against your arm before settling beside your leg.

You looked up at the patch of sky still visible between the branches.

“…I did it,” you murmured.

Not perfect.

Not polished.

But yours.

You pulled your notebook out from your bag and flipped to a blank page. Your hands trembled a little, but you managed to write:

Day 17:
Grand Chariot — stabilized. Control maintained. Second successful cast.
Still drains full stamina. Need to build resistance.
Altairis held for extended sparring. Can now call and recall it midair.
Orion Bow accuracy at 60%. Need to tighten timing with pulse release.
Lyra Barrier — stable. Want to test against live quirk resonance.
Aquila Wings flight sustained for 45 sec. Dive precision still unreliable.

You stopped. Took a breath. Then wrote slower, more purposefully:

Something is changing. I can feel it.
The stars aren’t resisting me like they used to.
Maybe they’re finally starting to trust me.

Or maybe… I’m starting to trust myself.

You smiled faintly. Capped the pen.

Even if no one ever read this, it was proof.

You were getting stronger.

By the time you stood up again, the sun had moved past the trees. The clearing had warmed, dappled light scattering through the branches like gold rain. You stretched your back — aching, stiff — and slung your bag over one shoulder.

You gave the crater one last glance.

The ground would heal. Grass would grow again.

But the strength you left here — the fire in your lungs, the burn in your muscles — it would stay.

You turned and walked home.

No one waited for you on the path. No spectators. No friends.

Just the quiet hum of stars in your veins.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.

 

The path back home felt longer than usual.

You barely noticed it at first, too consumed by the high of the training session and the slow burn that lingered in your limbs. You could feel the thrum of your quirk still pulsing inside you — not as sharply as before, but constantly buzzing, like distant stars softly reminding you of your work.

But the longer you walked, the heavier your body became.

You’d pushed too far. Too fast.

Your right arm throbbed, and every step sent waves of discomfort up your spine. Your legs felt unsteady, the ground uneven beneath your feet. Your breath was short, ragged, even though you’d calmed down. The exhaustion you’d been ignoring slammed into you all at once.

You didn’t realize how far you’d pushed until it caught up with you — until your body demanded restitution.

You stopped at the edge of the street, near a park bench, and took a moment to collect yourself.

The pain in your chest was almost overwhelming, and you closed your eyes, trying to steady your pulse.

Why did I overdo it?

You should’ve known better. You weren’t supposed to burn yourself out like this. Training was about balance, not just strength. Yet here you were, in the middle of the road, barely able to walk straight.

But deep inside, you could still feel the weight of your resolve. The stars were burning brightly in your veins. They didn’t care that you were exhausted.

They were still with you.

And if they could trust you to wield their power, maybe you could trust yourself to learn control. To be better. Stronger.

You sucked in a breath, pulling yourself together.

You couldn’t stop now.

With a few shaky steps, you found your footing again and kept moving forward. One foot in front of the other. Until your house came into view. The lights from the windows reflected the waning light of the sunset.

By the time you reached the door, your muscles felt like they were on fire, but your mind was clearer than it had been in weeks.

You didn’t hear your mother calling out until you were inside.

“Hey, kiddo! You’re late, did you finish the laundry?” Her voice carried from the kitchen. It was light, not demanding, but there was concern laced beneath it. You forced a smile.

“Yeah, just got caught up,” you said, trying to keep it casual.

Her footsteps echoed down the hallway before she appeared, wiping her hands on a towel.

“You look exhausted,” she noted, her brow furrowing. She stepped closer, inspecting you with a mother's concern.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice not quite matching the words. “Just did some… extra training.”

“Training?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’ve been noticing you’ve been going at it more lately even after our last talk. You sure you’re not overdoing it?”

You paused. The question lingered in the air longer than you liked. Your mother wasn’t one to push. She usually let you figure things out yourself, but this — this was different. Her gaze softened when she saw the exhaustion in your eyes.

“I’ll be okay,” you said again, but quieter this time, avoiding her gaze. You moved toward the kitchen, hoping to focus on something — anything — other than the weight of the conversation.

Your mother let it go, for now. She picked up a plate and handed it to you.

“Well, dinner’s ready. I think you could use a good meal.” There was no reprimand in her voice, only the warmth of concern that she always tried to hide.

You took a deep breath, your body still aching. The stars still seemed to hum beneath your skin, but now there was a slow, steady burn that made you feel like you were about to fall apart.

But for the first time, you knew this wasn’t just about the stars. It was about you.

And you were getting stronger.

Later that evening, after the meal was finished and the dishes cleaned, you made your way upstairs to your room. It was one of those nights where sleep seemed miles away, your thoughts tumbling and mixing like a storm in your head.

Your training — how far you’d pushed yourself today — had left you with more than just physical exhaustion. There was an emotional toll, too. Every movement you made today had carried the weight of your inner struggle. Not just with your quirk, but with yourself.

Could you keep up this pace? Could you sustain this?

A part of you wanted to push harder. The other part warned you to stop before you broke.

You couldn’t keep breaking yourself, but you couldn’t stop, either.

You picked up your journal from the desk. The first few pages were filled with progress — notes on the constellations, your technique, adjustments you’d made. But today felt different. You needed to get it all out.

The pen felt heavier in your hand as you wrote.

Day 16:
I’m tired. More than I’ve ever been. My body hurts in places I didn’t know existed, but I can’t stop.
I know I’m pushing myself, maybe too far, but I’m so scared I won’t be strong enough when it matters. I know I’m getting better, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.
Midoriya says I’m improving. Bakugo hasn’t said anything else since our spar, but I see the way he watches me sometimes.
What if I can’t keep up? What if I’m pushing myself for nothing?

You set the pen down with a soft sigh.

It wasn’t a question of if you would keep going. The answer was obvious — you would. You didn’t have another choice.

But as the stars hummed inside you, a tiny voice whispered that maybe — just maybe — there was more to strength than simply grinding yourself down.

Maybe the real strength lay in knowing when to stop. Knowing when you were enough, just as you were.

DAY SEVENTEEN

The sky was still dark when you woke up, the faintest trace of dawn just beginning to creep in through the window. You rolled over, still tangled in blankets, body sore from the previous day’s exertion, but not in the way you’d expected. It wasn’t the sharp, biting ache of muscle exhaustion. Instead, there was a gentle hum of discomfort — the kind you feel when your body has been strained to its limits and then allowed to relax.

For a moment, you considered training. You could feel the constant buzzing beneath your skin, like an electric current. The stars were always with you, always calling you to push harder, to grow stronger, faster, and more precise. They were your power, your companions in this journey to become a hero.

But today was different. Today, you decided, you weren’t going to chase the stars.

You sighed and stretched, sitting up in bed and gazing out of the window. The sky was still a deep indigo, the last traces of night clinging to the horizon. The stars above were brilliant and clear, as though they were inviting you to come closer. They were as much a part of you as your own heartbeat — ever-present, always watching, waiting for you to listen.

Today, instead of battling your body or attempting new moves, you decided to spend time connecting with the stars in a way you hadn’t before: not as a source of power, but as a source of understanding. You wanted to feel their presence, to learn from them in a more intimate way.

The idea of simply being with them — of stillness, of peace — had always felt foreign, like an unreachable space in the back of your mind. But today, you allowed yourself to reach for it.

With a deep breath, you stood up and pulled on a loose shirt, jeans, and sneakers, the casual comfort of the outfit at odds with the weight of the moment. This wasn’t about training or even physical progress — this was about something deeper, something spiritual. Something that transcended your abilities and brought you closer to the vast, infinite universe you were now tied to.

The early morning air was cool as you stepped outside, the soft breeze carrying the scent of fresh earth and dew. The world was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, still sleepy from the night. You walked to the small park near your home, a place that had become a sort of sanctuary for you over the past few weeks. It was simple, just a patch of grass surrounded by trees, with benches scattered beneath their canopies.

You sat on one of the benches, pulling your knees close to your chest and staring at the sky.

The stars were still shining above you, their bright light undimmed by the rising sun. They were always so distant, so far away, but in this moment, you allowed yourself to think of them as something close. Something familiar. You wanted to understand them, not as power, but as guides. As companions.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The cool night air filled your lungs, and for the first time in a long while, you let go of the tension that had been building in your chest. The weight of your training, the pressure to constantly improve, the fear of failure — all of it seemed to melt away.

This is where you need to be, you told yourself.

You reached out with your mind, extending your consciousness into the vastness of the universe. It was a quiet thing, almost like a whisper in the back of your mind. You could feel the stars out there — so many of them, twinkling faintly in the endless expanse. They were there, and they were waiting for you.

You didn't call on them, didn’t force them to respond. Instead, you just listened. You let yourself feel their pull, their steady rhythm, the quiet hum that spoke of faraway places, of things beyond your understanding.

Slowly, over the course of several minutes, you allowed your mind to quiet. The world around you — the birds, the wind, the rustling leaves — all of it faded into the background. The only thing that remained was the stars, their distant light, and the quiet hum of their energy.

You felt them.

Not as power to be harnessed, but as something infinitely greater than that. The stars were part of everything. They were a part of the universe, a part of you, a part of all things that ever were and ever would be. You had always known this intellectually, but now, you felt it. In the deepest part of yourself, you understood it.

The stars weren’t just a tool. They were a connection. A bridge between you and the universe, a shared thread that linked you to everything around you.

You stayed there for a long while, letting the feeling settle over you.

It wasn’t until the sun began to rise higher in the sky that you opened your eyes again. The world felt different now. More alive, more real. As if the stars had spoken to you — not with words, but with their presence, with their light. And you had listened.

Your breathing was slower now, more steady. The ache in your limbs had faded, replaced by a soft warmth in your chest. You felt lighter, not from the lack of physical weight, but from the emotional release that had come with this simple act of connecting with the stars.

In this moment, you realized something important.

You didn’t need to keep pushing yourself beyond your limits all the time. You didn’t need to constantly prove your worth, to be stronger, faster, more powerful. You didn’t need to fight the stars — you needed to learn from them. They had always been there, patiently waiting for you to see the bigger picture. They weren’t a tool to be wielded at will. They were a guide, a part of you, and they had always been there to help you find balance.

You stood up, your body still sore, but lighter somehow. You looked up at the sky one last time, a quiet gratitude in your heart. The stars might have been distant, but they were always there — a constant, gentle reminder of your place in the universe.

You felt at peace.

The walk home was slower this time. You didn’t feel the rush to get back, to continue pushing yourself, to meet expectations. For once, you allowed yourself to simply be — and that, in itself, felt like a victory.

As you arrived back home, you saw your mother standing in the kitchen, preparing something for breakfast. The soft light from the window bathed the room in a warm, golden glow, and you felt the weight of the day’s earlier stillness settle into your bones.

Your mother looked over at you, her eyes sharp but warm. She had a way of knowing when something was different. When something had shifted inside you.

“How was your morning?” she asked, her tone casual, but there was a quiet understanding behind her words. She had noticed the change, even if it was subtle.

You smiled softly, taking a deep breath. For the first time in a while, you felt at peace.

“Good,” you said quietly, your voice full of something lighter than before. “Really good.”

Then you go to your room to rest.

When you sleep, you dream of flying in the sky, your hands caressing each of the constellations.

DAY EIGHTEEN

The morning light filters softly through your window, casting a gentle glow across the room. It's still early, and the quiet of the world around you feels like the perfect backdrop for today. Yesterday gave you the chance to pause and just breathe and you wanted to do it again . The last few days had been about pushing yourself to new limits, each day building on the last — but today like yesterday, you're not focused on training. Today, you just want to clear your mind.

It’s not about improvement today. It’s about finding peace.

You slip out of bed, stretching your arms toward the ceiling, and grab your sneakers. The sound of the air is crisp as you step outside, feeling the soft breeze against your skin. A jog. That’s what you need. A simple jog, just to move and get your thoughts aligned again.

There’s no rush, no intense workout planned, just movement to help settle the mind and body.

As you start, your feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm. The familiar sights of your neighbourhood pass by, but you’re not looking at them. Your focus is internal. The steady inhalation of breath and the exhale that carries your thoughts along with it. This is one of those moments when everything else falls away.

The path feels like second nature now, a part of your routine. You’ve run this route a dozen times. Your body knows it by heart. The familiar streets, the bends, the alleyways, the shops, everything... a soothing, rhythmic repetition. But today, your eyes drift toward the horizon, drawn to the distant sea.

And with a subtle impulse, you turn off your path, heading toward the beach.

The wind picks up as you jog closer to the coastline. It’s still early, and the air smells of saltwater. The beach is almost empty, save for a few people walking along the shore, taking in the early morning calm. You inhale deeply, feeling the cool breeze wash over you. The waves crash gently, rhythmic and familiar.

The beach is peaceful. A serene place to reflect. You stop at the water's edge for a moment, watching the endless movement of the ocean, feeling the sand between your toes. The vastness of the sea feels calming, yet the stillness of the morning gives you space to think. You close your eyes, taking it all in.

But as you begin to stretch your legs, you catch sight of something out of the corner of your eye. There, by the shoreline, you see a familiar figure hunched over, his back turned toward you. It’s Izuku Midoriya. His wild green hair catches the morning sunlight, and he seems absorbed in his task.

You squint, wondering if your eyes are playing tricks on you. What’s he doing here?

You jog closer, a little curious, but when you get closer, you realize he’s not alone. Another figure, a man who looks older than Midoriya, stands beside him, holding a trash bag and picking up garbage along the beach.

The sight of them doesn’t immediately make sense, and you slow down, the rhythmic pounding of your feet on the sand now fading into the background as you approach them. Midoriya looks up when he hears your footsteps, his posture stiffening in that familiar way he gets when he’s surprised.

You stop just a few paces away, and the tension in the air is palpable. Midoriya hesitates for a moment before quickly turning toward you. There’s a look of surprise on his face — but something else too. Like maybe he’s caught off guard in a way that isn’t just about seeing you here.

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow, but you greet him warmly. “Hey, Midoriya! What are you doing here?”

Midoriya freezes for a split second before awkwardly shifting on his feet. His eyes quickly flicker to the other man beside him. He doesn’t turn toward you immediately but seems to hesitate in his response.

“Oh! Hi!” Midoriya says too loudly, almost stumbling over his words. “I, uh, didn’t expect to see you out here.” He starts rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit that seems to be almost automatic for him. “I’m just, uh... doing some training.” His voice cracks slightly as he stumbles over the explanation. “Hero training!”

You blink, not quite sure how to process the information. Hero training? You glance at the trash bags scattered around them — filled with litter and debris. Midoriya is picking up trash. That doesn’t seem like the usual hero training.

“Training?” you repeat, a little puzzled. “By cleaning up trash?”

Midoriya seems to realize how odd that sounds, but before he can explain himself, the other man speaks up.

"Well," the man says with a chuckle, "we thought it would be good practice. You know, for a hero’s mindset. Part of being a hero is understanding the importance of the little things, right?" He gestures to the trash bags and the garbage scattered around them. "Doing something good for the community — it all adds up."

You take a moment to process his words, and you feel a smile tug at your lips. It makes sense, in its own way. Midoriya is always doing things to help, no matter how small. It’s what makes him, him. He’s always striving to be a hero, even if it’s not in the traditional way that most would imagine.

"That's actually really cool," you say, your voice warmer than you expected. “It’s good to see you doing something for the environment like this.”

Midoriya’s expression brightens, and the nervousness that clouded his demeanor just moments ago starts to fade. “You really think so? I wasn’t sure if it was... I don’t know. A bit too much?” He scratches the back of his neck again, avoiding eye contact. "But, uh... it felt like a good idea."

The other man, noticing the shift in Midoriya’s mood, smiles a little, though his eyes flick to you with a small flash of recognition, something unfamiliar but pleasant. “It’s nothing huge, but we do it every now and then. Part of trying to live like a hero, right?”

Midoriya nods enthusiastically. “Exactly!” he says, his voice brightening. “It’s all about the mindset.”

You smile back, feeling warmth in your chest at the exchange. It’s refreshing to see Midoriya in his element like this. He’s always had this earnestness about him, even when it’s a simple task like cleaning up a beach. You can see how much it means to him, in the way his eyes shine when he talks about it.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the conversation feeling oddly soothing, the sound of the waves and the occasional seagull keeping the air light. “Well, it’s good to see you doing something nice. You always push yourself, huh?”

Midoriya pauses, looking slightly embarrassed but grateful. “I guess so. I just want to do as much as I can. And, you know... help out where I can."

There's a softness in his voice, something that resonates with you. It’s not just about being a hero in the grand sense. It's the smaller moments — like this one — that define what it means to be a hero.

“So, uh," Midoriya says nervously, his eyes glancing over at Hisashi before returning to you, "if you want to join us... we could always use more hands. It’s a good way to train without... you know, risking anything." His hands tremble slightly as he tucks them into his pockets.

Hisashi grins at him. “We can always use more help. Don’t be shy about it.”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “Maybe another time,” you say, the suggestion feeling like a peaceful end to the conversation.

With a quick wave, you turn to leave, giving a parting glance toward the two of them. As you walk away, you feel a contentment you didn’t expect. It's good to see Midoriya working with someone, finding another way to train — something that doesn’t feel like just quirk development, but about growing as a person. The scene had a gentle warmth to it, something that made you realize how much you value moments like these.

The sound of their conversation slowly fades behind you, and as you head back toward your neighborhood, you find yourself walking with a lighter heart. The day seems a little brighter now. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about seeing Midoriya like this has reaffirmed something in you — about heroes, and about what it really means to be one.

 

DAY NINETEEN

The city streets buzzed with the typical weekend energy, a blend of laughter, chatter, and the hum of busy feet. You walked through the bustling crowds, each person moving with purpose or simply lost in their own world. It was one of those days where everything felt ordinary, nothing too remarkable, and for that, you were grateful.

You had taken a break ( yes another one, you just found that maybe you were being too hard on yourself, even heroes need a holiday sometimes) from your rigorous training to give yourself a day of distraction. No starry magic, no spells, no endless attempts at pushing your limits. Just... something fun.

The arcade.

It wasn’t a grand, neon-lit wonderland like the ones in the big districts, but it had its own charm. The soft glow of pixelated games and the rhythmic clink of tickets dispensed from machines greeted you as soon as you stepped inside. You couldn’t help but smile at the nostalgia of it all.

The smell of popcorn and the sound of people cheering for their victories filled the air as you dropped some coins into your pocket, ready to dive into the games.

You started with a few classics, your fingers flying over the buttons of a fighting game, the thrill of beating a high score sending a pleasant sense of satisfaction through you. You moved on to another machine, then another, your purse slowly lightening as you picked up a steady stream of tickets.

The games were mindless fun, the perfect way to turn off the stress of the past few days and forget about all the things you had been struggling with. But your eyes lingered on something as you approached the Pac-Man machine.

A lone boy stood in front of it, his fingers tapping confidently on the joystick as he navigated Pac-Man through a maze of brightly-colored dots.

What caught your attention first was the streak of black lightning in his hair. It wasn’t dyed, or a strange, elaborate style—it was simply there, sharp and electric, running through his otherwise messy blond hair.

The boy’s aura was electric too—there was an unmistakable confidence in the way he played, as if the game was simply a formality. And yet, despite his focus on the game, he had an effortless charisma about him.

His voice cut through the buzz of the arcade. “Ha! Easy win. I’m just too good at this.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, standing at a distance and watching him.

He noticed you almost immediately, the corners of his mouth curling into a playful grin. He straightened up from the machine, clearly proud of himself. “Hey, hey! You see that? Did you see that? That was a flawless win.”

He glanced at you with a cocky smirk, clearly expecting a reaction. His eyes sparkled with energy, and there was something magnetic about him. It wasn’t just the confidence—it was the electricity in the air that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Flawless, huh? I was just about to get a turn,” you said casually, stepping forward toward the machine.

The boy’s grin widened, and he flicked a stray strand of hair from his face, the black streak catching the light. “Oh, I bet I could show you how it’s done. It’s all in the reflexes, you know? Not everyone has this level of skill,” he said, tapping his chest.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again at his cocky attitude. “Is that so?” you asked, giving him a playful smile. “Maybe I’ll see for myself.”

The boy’s grin turned a bit more mischievous. He took a step back, making a mock bow. “The name’s Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want... as long as it’s not ‘loser.’”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a little amused but skeptical. “Denki, huh? So, do you come to the arcade often?”

“Of course! It’s where I sharpen my skills for, y’know, when the big stuff happens,” he said with a dramatic wink. “But I gotta admit, this place is a little more... basic than I’m used to. Still, nothing like a good challenge to test the reflexes!”

You chuckled at his over-the-top enthusiasm, realizing that his energy was infectious. There was something about him—he wasn’t trying to be overly serious, but there was still a warmth in his demeanor. And he had this way of making everything sound like it was all part of some bigger, more dramatic adventure.

“Challenge?” you echoed, glancing at the Pac-Man machine. “You think you could actually beat me?”

“Ha!” Denki’s face lit up with competitive fire, and he swaggered a little closer to you. “No question. I don’t even need to try, but I’ll let you have a shot anyway. You can thank me later when I show you how it’s done.”

You chuckled, feeling the playful tension in the air as you both stood in front of the machine. “Alright then, if you’re so confident, let’s see if you can actually back it up.”

Denki practically bounced on his feet, his hands already reaching for the joystick. “Oh, I will. You’re about to see a level of skill that’s totally out of your league.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his dramatic confidence. There was something charming about how seriously he took these games.

The game started, and Denki's fingers flew across the buttons. His reflexes were sharp—there was no doubt about that. He navigated Pac-Man through the maze with precision, avoiding the ghosts with an ease that made it seem effortless. But you noticed that he had a playful flair to his style, too, intentionally making some risky moves just for the thrill of it.

You grinned and stepped up to the challenge, your own fingers finding their rhythm. It didn’t take long for you to fall into the flow of the game, the flickering lights of the machine dancing in your vision. You were focused, determined to give Denki a run for his money.

As the game progressed, the tension between you two grew, and Denki’s earlier cockiness shifted slightly into a more competitive energy. The back-and-forth of the game was exciting, but it wasn’t just the arcade challenge that was keeping your attention. It was the way Denki’s energy seemed to mirror your own as you both became more engrossed in the game. He wasn’t just trying to show off—he was actually invested in winning.

As the game neared its final stretch, both of your scores were neck and neck. Denki’s face was lit up with excitement, his eyes wide with adrenaline. “This is it!” he cheered. “You’ve almost got me... but not quite!”

The final round began, and both of you were focused entirely on the screen, the clicking of the buttons almost syncing together as you furiously tried to outmaneuver the ghosts. The intensity of the game filled the space around you, the arcade noises dimming slightly as you zoned in.

But in the last few moments, just when it seemed like Denki would win, you managed to snag one last power-up and cleared the final level.

“Ha! Beat you!” you said, your voice light with triumph as you grinned over at him.

Denki blinked, clearly surprised, before he let out a dramatic groan. “No way... You... you really beat me? How did you—”

“I told you,” you said with a wink, tapping the joystick, “it’s all about reflexes. You were too focused on showing off, Kaminari.”

You laughed as Denki clutched his chest in mock agony. “Ouch! You really beat me fair and square, huh? I guess I’ll have to call it a draw... unless,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “you think you can win the next game?”

You raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across your face. “You want a rematch? Maybe you should try asking me properly first.”

Denki’s grin only grew wider. “Alright then,” he said, stepping a little closer, putting on a serious, almost dramatic expression. “Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

You froze, what the actual fuck was this, you thought he wanted another pac man game. An idea came to you. You rolled your eyes playfully but shot him a wink. “You must be a parking ticket... because you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

Denki stopped in his tracks, clearly surprised, then chuckled. “Okay, okay, I see you’re playing the game too,” he said, clearly amused. “Alright, let’s see how you like this one.” He leaned in slightly, his grin widening. “Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you’re Cu-Te.”

You smirked, crossing your arms, clearly enjoying this playful back-and-forth. “Is your name Google? Because you’ve got everything I’ve been searching for.”

Denki laughed, a full-on, deep belly laugh, and you couldn’t help but join in. He wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Okay, you win this round, seriously. I think we should call it a draw, but I’m definitely getting your number for next time. I need to have a rematch where you won’t keep stealing all my best lines or my pac man score.”

You smirked, leaning against the nearby counter, giving him a playful, knowing look. “I’m sure I’ll be ready for round two whenever you are. Besides, if you want to keep me on my toes, you’ll need a good strategy. And maybe a better pick-up line.”

“Touché,” Denki said, offering a dramatic salute. “Alright, alright, I admit it. You’re probably the only one who can keep up with me.”

You chuckled, glancing at the ticket machine still blinking in the corner. “So, a rematch for sure. But maybe you should be careful next time. Don’t want to go too hard and end up losing again.”

Denki’s eyes lit up as he pulled out his phone. “Hey, since we’re obviously going to have a rematch, I think it’s only fair I get your number now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So confident, huh? You sure you want to be stuck with me?”

“Absolutely,” Denki said with a wink. “Besides, I can always use someone as cool as you on my team. I’ve got a lot more pick-up lines up my sleeve.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, pulling out your phone. “Alright, alright, fine. But only because I want to see what else you’ve got. No promises on winning next time, though.”

Denki punched your number into his phone, his smile never fading. “I’ll hold you to that. I can’t wait for the next round.” He handed you his phone afterward, and you quickly exchanged your numbers before handing it back. “Consider this the start of our rivalry. And maybe a little something more?”

You shot him a playful smirk. “We’ll see about that, Kaminari. Just don’t get too confident—one day, I’ll be the one with the winning streak.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll take my losses like a pro. But just know, when I win... you owe me a rematch.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he gave you a wave goodbye. “Catch you later, Lightning Boy.”

“Catch you later, Star Girl,” he said with a wink pointing at your star pin, and a final, playful salute as he turned to head out of the arcade.

You turned around, a smile on your face, the playful banter between you two still ringing in your ears.

You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. It wasn’t just the win or the new friend—it was the way Denki made everything feel more fun, less serious. He had this way of throwing himself into things with a sort of reckless, carefree energy, and it was infectious. 

You hadn’t expected to meet someone like Denki today, but somehow, it felt like fate had brought you together for a little fun.

You weren’t sure where this new friendship would go, but you couldn’t deny that it felt nice to have someone to laugh with for a change.

And as you checked the number on your phone, you realized you were already looking forward to the next time you’d get to test your skills against him. 

As you walked away, the sound of the arcade fading into the background, you felt a little lighter, a little more at ease. Maybe the universe wasn’t all about constant training, pressure, and conflict. Maybe, sometimes, it was about meeting someone new, having fun, and just enjoying the moment.

DAY TWENTY

The morning air was crisp, cool against your skin as you stretched, preparing for the day ahead. You were still riding the high of yesterday, the feeling of lightness that came from meeting someone new. Denki Kaminari—someone (who wasnt Bakugo or midoriya) who pulled you out of your carefully crafted persona. The fun exchange at the arcade had been a welcome escape, a small break from the relentless focus on training and refining your quirk. You had laughed more than you had in weeks, and it felt good to feel that easy joy again.

You knew it was just one meeting, but it had left a lasting impression. There was something refreshing about Denki—his humor, his pick-up lines, his energy. He wasn’t afraid to be goofy, yet somehow he made it charming.  

And yet, despite how much fun you'd had, there was that lingering responsibility in the back of your mind—your training. You couldn’t neglect it, not with everything you were working toward.

Shaking off the lingering thoughts of Denki’s grinning face and his playful banter, you pulled on your training gear, determined to give yourself a little break while still pushing yourself physically. After all, emotional stability was just as important as physical strength, and while you couldn’t ignore the quiet excitement you felt, you needed to focus on something concrete today.

The first thing you did was run.

The rhythmic pounding of your feet against the ground always had a way of clearing your mind. You didn’t need to worry about the technicalities of magic, the constellations, or the new Vega Crown spell you had tried the other day. No, today was all about working your body, feeling the sweat drip down your face as you pushed yourself harder than you had in a while. You ran around the park near your home, dodging a few kids playing soccer, and taking a quick break to catch your breath by the edge of a pond.

The water shimmered, reflecting the soft rays of the morning sun. It was peaceful, and for a moment, you let yourself just breathe and not worry about anything.

But only for a moment.

A small sigh escaped your lips, and you shook your head. No time for this, you reminded yourself. There was always more work to do.

You pushed yourself into another sprint, your body settling into the rhythm, feeling the burn in your legs as you went. The pace was relentless, but you enjoyed the sensation of exhaustion, how it left no room for thoughts to spiral or doubts to creep in.

I can’t fall behind.

By the time you finished your jog, you felt a little lighter, a little clearer. But you couldn’t stay still for too long. There were still things you needed to do. Training your quirk. Testing out new concepts. Getting stronger.

You decided to head to the gym, just a quick walk from your house, where you usually did most of your physical training—lifting weights, doing cardio drills, all of that. Anything to keep your body in peak shape.

The gym was quiet this time of morning, just a few regulars warming up, the sounds of weights clinking against each other and the low hum of the treadmill’s motor. You stretched once again before diving into your routine, taking out your frustrations and uncertainties through reps and sprints.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself pulling heavier weights than usual. Each set made you feel the burn, each movement forcing your muscles to fatigue. You were so focused on your form, on every inch of your body being pushed to the limit, that you barely noticed the time slipping away.

After a few sets, you grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from your brow. You could feel the exhaustion creeping in, but something in you didn’t want to stop. Not now. The thought of what you were training for, the end goal, the vision of you getting stronger, of finally being able to master all your spells—it pushed you forward.

You can't stop. Not yet. Not now.

But after a while, you took a breath and realized—today wasn't about pushing yourself until you broke. Today was about taking it a step back and understanding your limits. Not everything could be solved through sheer force. You needed balance. You needed patience.

You found a quiet corner in the gym to sit down and stretch. The soreness in your arms, legs, and back was a reminder of how much work you had done today—but also of how much further you still had to go.

Your thoughts returned to the arcade. The bright lights, the sound of the machines, and the fun of playing games with Denki had been such a break from everything. And for a while, you’d let yourself enjoy that. But now, you were back here, back in the grind of your training.

You pulled out your phone and checked the time. There was still a lot of daylight left. You had time for one more thing.

When you left the gym, you didn’t go straight home. Instead, you decided to take another walk. You needed to clear your head and process everything from the last couple of days—the training, the meeting with Denki, the progress you were making with your quirk. Everything was slowly falling into place.

But even as you walked, your thoughts were never entirely yours. You thought about Denki again, how comfortable it had felt talking to him, how easy it was to laugh around him. You didn’t let many people in, but with him, you felt... well, safe. He didn’t judge you. He didn’t try to fix you.

As you walked along the familiar path through the park, you found yourself thinking about how things had changed over the last couple of weeks. The training was grueling, yes, but you were improving. You were stronger than you’d been before.

And you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, you weren’t the only one feeling this way. Maybe Denki was also getting stronger, in his own way. Despite the pick-up lines and the joking around, you believed he wasn’t just the goofball everyone saw. He had his own challenges. He had his own way of struggling.

The thought made you smile. You didn’t have to figure everything out. Not now. You just had to keep going. Day by day. Training. Improving.

DAY TWENTY ONE

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting long shadows across the pavement as you stepped out of the house. Your mother had sent you on a mission to pick up a few more things for dinner—more vegetables, some sauce for stir-fry, and, if you could find them, those special noodles she liked. You’d been meaning to stop by the shop for a few days now, but it had been easy to put it off with everything that had been happening—training, emotional upheavals, the encounters with friends and... him.

But today, you had no choice. The list was short, and you wanted to get it done quickly. Maybe, just maybe, you’d find some time afterward to focus on your quirk training before it got too late.

The shop was a local, familiar place, the kind of store your mom liked to frequent. A small market with aisles stacked high with goods, the faint scent of fresh produce and baked bread wafting through the air. The bustle of shoppers filled the space as you walked through the automatic doors. You had a mental list running through your mind as you made your way to the vegetable section, picking out the usual items.

It was a peaceful moment. A mundane one, and for once, it felt like you could just slip into the rhythm of something as simple as shopping.

That was until you heard a loud voice—a familiar one—piercing through the ambient noise of the store.

“You’re kidding me, right? These prices are outrageous!” The voice had that sharp edge, the one that only Bakugo could carry, and despite how much you’d been trying to avoid thoughts of him lately, you couldn’t ignore it.

You slowed your pace, turning toward the sound. And there he was—Katsuki Bakugo—standing in front of the packaged snacks aisle with his arms crossed, his usual scowl plastered on his face. It looked like he was staring at a bag of chips, but you couldn’t help but notice the tension in his shoulders, his eyes flitting over the price tag and back again, as if he were about to throw it across the store.

You hadn’t expected to run into him today. He wasn’t usually someone you’d see outside of school or training sessions. Yet, here he was—just another person doing something ordinary like grocery shopping.

But, knowing him, you were prepared for something different to happen. And you weren’t wrong.

Bakugo’s eyes landed on you the moment you walked closer. His usual glare softened, though only slightly, and his lips curled into that unmistakable, sharp smirk. “Well, well, look who’s slumming it at the grocery store.”

You tried not to roll your eyes at his usual snark, but there was something almost... endearing about the way he seemed to be poking fun. As if being here, in this very mundane moment, was something far beneath him.

“Hi, Bakugo,” you said, keeping your voice casual. You didn’t want to sound too surprised, but a part of you was—seeing him in this setting was strange. He didn’t exactly seem the type for leisurely shopping runs, especially for groceries.

“What? You don’t want to get away from me?” He raised an eyebrow, looking you over with the same intensity as always, but you noticed there was a subtle shift in his stance, something almost... comfortable.

You shook your head, trying not to smile. “I’m just here to grab a few things for my mom,” you said, holding up the small basket in your hand.

“Ah, figures. Let me guess, you’re grabbing ingredients for some gourmet meal?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Nope. Just stir-fry. Nothing special.”

Bakugo made a face, clearly unimpressed with the simplicity of it. But before you could respond, his expression shifted. His eyes drifted to the shelf of snacks behind him, then back to you, and for a brief second, his gaze softened. It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention, but you caught it—just a flicker of something less sharp, something more... real.

“I’m just picking up stuff for the old hag too,” he muttered, as if it was some sort of afterthought. “Not like I’m in here for fun.”

“Same,” you said, glancing at the items in his cart. A bag of chips, some drinks, a box of cereal, and... was that instant ramen? Your brow furrowed slightly. “That’s a lot of junk food, Bakugo.”

He scowled immediately. “It’s none of your business. I don’t need a lecture.”

“Just saying. If you’re going to shop for your mom, at least make it something decent,” you teased, leaning a little closer to his cart to get a better look at what else he’d picked out.

Bakugo huffed. “Tch. I don’t need your advice on what to get.”

But despite the harshness of his words, there was a strange reluctance to his tone. Almost like he wanted to do better but didn’t know how.

There was a long pause. You reached for the last item on your list and started walking toward the checkout lanes. Bakugo’s eyes followed you for a moment before he began to walk in the same direction.

“Your mom really needs a hand around the house or something?” he asked, his tone guarded but not quite as antagonistic as usual.

“Yeah,” you said, turning slightly to glance at him. “She works late a lot. So I help out when I can.”

Bakugo nodded, clearly not interested in probing further, but his expression softened as he considered it. “That’s... nice of you.”

You blinked, surprised by his comment. Was that the Bakugo you knew—or was it someone else, someone who was just a little more aware of the people around him?

You paused near the checkout, turning to face him as he approached. “Hey, thanks for... not making this as awkward as it could’ve been,” you said, half-smiling.

Bakugo snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me. You’re welcome, I guess.”

He reached the counter and placed his items down. As the cashier began to ring them up, you couldn’t help but notice the subtle way he was shifting, like he was... trying not to look like he cared. But you knew better.

"See you around, Bakugo," you said, giving him one last, easy smile.

He gave you a curt nod, not meeting your eyes directly. "Don't think this means we're friends or anything," he muttered, though there was something in his voice—something that didn’t sound so... certain.

You didn’t have time to question it before he turned and walked off, disappearing down the aisle. But as you turned to pay for your own things, the brief interaction stayed with you.

It wasn’t much. Not really. But it felt different than any other conversation you’d had with him. More real. More human. Maybe it was the quiet way he talked about helping his mom, or maybe it was just the momentary glance of something else in his eyes. Either way, you weren’t sure what to make of it, but it made your heart feel lighter.

The sun was beginning to dip beneath the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the street as you walked home, bags in hand, humming softly to yourself. The rhythmic sound of your footsteps was the only noise for a few moments, the quiet peacefulness of the evening wrapping around you.

You’d gotten everything on your list without too much trouble, but there was a quiet hum in your chest—a small ache, a bit of unease that you couldn't quite place. Your mind had been running on autopilot ever since you’d left the grocery store. The encounter with Bakugo earlier that day had stuck with you, and not in the way you’d expected.

You still couldn’t quite believe that you’d spent a moment with him outside of the usual chaos. The grocery store, of all places, had provided an odd slice of normalcy between the two of you—maybe even a glimpse into something... different. Bakugo had his usual rough edges, but there was something about the way he’d acted around you- dare you say it, he seemed a bit softer.

But right now, there was something else you hadn’t been able to shake—the conversation from your last fight still haunted your thoughts. The argument. The words he’d said to you, how harsh they were, how much they had stung. He was never one to hold back, but this time... this time it had felt different. More personal. You knew him better than that, but there were moments when you wondered if maybe you’d crossed some line you didn’t realize.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard a voice call out behind you. A voice you couldn’t ignore even if you tried.

“Tch. You’re still shopping for your mom, huh?”

You turned, not surprised to see Bakugo walking toward you, bags in his hands, his usual scowl firmly in place. But there was something in the way he held himself today, something that felt... off. His shoulders were a little stiffer than usual, his footsteps not quite as heavy. There was a quiet tension in the way he moved, almost like he was unsure of himself.

You didn’t know how to respond at first. After everything that had happened between the two of you—the training session, the argument, the words—what was there left to say?

“I was just heading home,” you said, keeping your tone neutral, trying not to give too much away. You didn’t want to reveal just how much it had all gotten under your skin.

Bakugo’s eyes flickered toward you for a second, his expression unreadable. He grunted, his usual arrogant demeanor slipping through the cracks. “I guess I’m walking in the same direction,” he muttered, “so... might as well walk together.”

There was a beat of silence before you gave a slight nod, unsure of where to take the conversation. But Bakugo—of all people—wasn’t making the usual snide remarks, wasn’t taking jabs at you. He just kept walking beside you, the weight of his presence as palpable as always, but something about the quietness felt different.

You both walked in silence for a while, the only sound being your footsteps and the faint rustling of the wind. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an unspoken weight between you, hanging in the air, something that neither of you could quite touch.

Eventually, it was Bakugo who broke the silence, and it was just as abrupt as you’d expect.

“Look... I wasn’t... I wasn’t trying to be a complete ass,” he muttered, his words sounding harsher than he probably intended. He clenched his fists in his pockets. “The last training session... it wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

You blinked, surprised by his sudden shift. You weren’t sure if you’d heard him right. You paused, glancing at him sideways. "What do you mean?"

“Shut up,” he snapped quickly, as if the words were too hard for him to say, as if admitting it was somehow worse than dealing with the fallout. “I was just... frustrated. Okay? You kept pushing yourself. And I didn’t know how else to get through to you.”

You could tell he was having a hard time getting the words out, but the frustration in his voice was mixed with something else now—something softer. Something more vulnerable. You could almost feel the internal struggle behind his sharp words.

You didn’t know what to say. The argument had shaken you more than you’d expected. Bakugo wasn’t someone who apologized easily, if ever. In fact, he had a tendency to push people away with his temper. You had no idea if he was even capable of understanding the depth of what he’d said. But right now, you could see it in his eyes—he was trying. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I just... I thought if I pushed you hard enough, you’d see it,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t want you to burn yourself out. But I was too damn harsh, and I know that now. I’m not... good at this kind of thing.”

You could feel the weight of his admission, the rawness of it. It made your chest tighten, a little surprised by the vulnerable side of him that you rarely saw. But even so, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was enough. Would this fix the rift between you?

“You don’t always have to be so hard on me, Bakugo,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual. “I know you care, but you don’t have to prove it by pushing me to the limit all the time.”

There was a long pause as he mulled over your words. His jaw clenched tightly, and you could see the conflict on his face, but after a moment, he nodded, though it wasn’t much of a nod at all. He let out a sigh, the sound thick with something that felt almost like relief.

You could see it—his frustration with himself, the struggle he was having. But there was something else, something deeper beneath all of his bravado. It was like he was finally letting his guard down, if only for a moment.

You paused in your walk for a second, turning to face him. You studied his face, searching for sincerity, but you could see it in his eyes. There was honesty there—something raw and unguarded.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, smiling just a little. “It means something. That you’re saying this.”

Bakugo let out another short breath, his usual scowl returning, but there was something softer about it now. “Don’t get all sappy on me, alright?” he grumbled, crossing his arms as he looked away. “I’m not doing this for a damn thank you. And that Fucking Quirkless loser Deku can still leave me the hell alone”

You couldn’t help but smile a little wider, watching him. Despite his gruff exterior and constant fiery attitude, there was something undeniably real about him—something you didn’t always get to see.

It wasn’t much, this moment. But it was enough. For now, it was enough.

As you both walked the rest of the way home, the silence was no longer uncomfortable. There was an understanding there, unspoken but clear. Maybe, just maybe, things between you two would be okay after all. Maybe even more than okay.

And as you reached the fork in the road where your houses split, you paused for a second.

“See you, Bakugo,” you said, your voice light.

He grunted in response, giving you a sharp nod before turning to head toward his own house.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get soft on me,” he shot back, though there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the familiar path toward his home. You stood there for a moment, watching him go, feeling the strange but comforting weight of the conversation linger in the air.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something better.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to understand each other a little better from now on.

DAY TWENTY TWO

The air was heavy with the scent of freshly cut grass, the faint hum of distant city life echoing across the open space as you stood in your usual training area. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in a soft, lavender hue that felt almost... otherworldly. It was the perfect setting for what you had planned today: a day of true mastery. No more distractions, no more outside thoughts clouding your focus. It was just you, the constellations, and the power you had been learning to control over the past few weeks.

Today was the day to push your limits healthily, to cement the progress you’d made, and to perfect the constellations you’d already unlocked. You could feel the weight of that responsibility, but also the thrill—this was your moment to grow stronger, to finally harness the full potential of your magic- that you knew of.

You stood tall, steadying your breath as you reached out with your senses, feeling for the stars above you. Their light always felt like a distant pulse, a connection that stretched out over the vastness of the night sky, yet was always within reach. You had learned to call on them, to use their power, but today, you would draw it with intention. You would make the constellations bend to your will, their shapes forming beneath your fingertips, their energy flowing through your body.

You closed your eyes, grounding yourself in the present, feeling the starlight pulse at the edges of your senses.

The first spell you called upon was the Orion Bow, a glowing weapon of light that had become your go-to for ranged combat. The power felt familiar now, the draw of energy from the stars flowing smoothly as you willed it into being. You visualized the constellation forming in front of you, the bright, shimmering lines of the stars weaving into the shape of a bow.

The tendrils of starlight gathered quickly, wrapping themselves into a solid form, creating the faint outline of an arch. The string of the bow was made of pure energy, as vibrant as the stars themselves, humming with potential.

You let out a steady breath, focusing all your energy into the bow. You reached forward, as if grasping the string of a real bow, and pulled. The bow vibrated under the pressure, the string taut as you visualized an arrow appearing. The power within you surged, and with a flick of your wrist, the arrow released—a bright streak of light shot forward, crackling through the air with an almost melodic hum.

The arrow struck the target you had set up a few meters away, the light flaring brightly as it hit. The target, an old crate wrapped in cloth, shook with the impact, but remained mostly intact. Your heart raced, but you took a moment to focus, to fine-tune the spell.

You pulled the bowstring again, this time visualizing the arrow more precisely. You focused on its trajectory, adjusting for the wind, the distance. A pulse of power coursed through you, and once more, the arrow flew—this time with deadly precision. The crate splintered upon impact, the force of the blast sending pieces of wood scattering into the air.

You couldn’t help but smile. The spell was perfect, but you knew that mastering it didn’t stop here. You had to refine your control, your ability to make each shot as precise as the first. This was your strength—the ability to adapt, to hone your abilities with practice.

The next spell you moved on to was Stellar Guard, one you had come to love for its versatility and beauty. This spell had the potential to create barriers of starlight, but it was also about control—how you shaped the light, how you bent it into the protective form you needed. You’d used it in training with varying degrees of success, but today you would push it further.

You stood with your feet firmly planted on the ground, your arms outstretched to either side. You closed your eyes again, reaching out to the stars. The familiar warmth of the constellations greeted you, guiding your focus, making you feel as though the sky itself was alive, a vast and infinite source of power.

Slowly, the energy began to gather, forming the shape of a shield. You could feel the pulse of light vibrating beneath your skin as the barrier solidified in front of you. It wasn’t as large as you wanted it to be, but it was steady, a shimmering, glowing shape that reminded you of the delicate strings of a harp.

You raised your hands, concentrating further. The shield expanded outward, a circle of rotating light surrounding you. The barrier vibrated slightly, making a soft, musical sound that seemed to echo in the air. It was beautiful, almost ethereal, but you knew you needed more than beauty—this spell had to be strong enough to withstand attacks, to protect.

You took a deep breath, pulling more energy from the stars above you. The barrier pulsed and shifted, and you focused on making it stronger. The light around you brightened, the vibrations deepening as the shield took on more substance. You felt the power surge through you, your connection to the stars growing stronger, more intimate.

With a sudden movement, you thrust your hands outward, sending a burst of energy to solidify the barrier. The light snapped into place, glowing fiercely. It was far more stable than before, its resonance filling the air with a ringing clarity. You reached out to test it, pushing against the surface of the shield. It resisted, firm and unyielding, as if the stars themselves were protecting you.

You lowered your hands, feeling the energy drain slightly, but it was worth it. You had managed to create something solid, something that could withstand an attack. But there was still work to be done.

With each repetition, you felt your mastery growing. You moved to your next spell, the Aquila Wings, a personal favorite of yours—powerful, graceful, and deceptively versatile. You’d first created the wings in your earlier training, but today you would push them to their limit.

You extended your arms out to the sides again, visualizing the constellations taking form. The image of the eagle soared in your mind, its wings broad and vast. Slowly, the stars aligned, and the outline of the wings began to form—each feather a bright point of light, shifting and shimmering as they solidified into something physical. The wings were pure energy, but the shape was unmistakable.

The power behind the wings surged as they formed, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. You felt lighter, more alive as the starlight wrapped around your body. The wings expanded, stretching outward, casting long shadows across the ground beneath you. You flexed them experimentally, feeling the weightlessness they gave you.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you attempted your first long flight. You pushed yourself off the ground, feeling the wings catch the air, lifting you higher. You weren’t soaring just yet, but you were floating, the wings carrying you with ease. The air was cooler here, and the ground beneath you seemed so distant. It was a brief moment of freedom.

You tried a few different maneuvers—dips, ascents, and sharp turns—pushing your body to its limit. Each movement was a challenge, but it felt exhilarating. The wings responded to your every command, shifting and tilting in perfect harmony with your own desires. But you knew that this wasn’t the end of it. You still had to refine your control, your ability to maneuver gracefully without using too much energy.

As the day wore on, you continued to perfect the constellations, working through each spell with a focused, determined mindset. You’d spent so much time struggling to get to this point, to get the hang of each one, and now you were finally here, standing at the edge of your growth. There was still much to learn, but you could feel the power coursing through your veins, the starlight whispering in your ear.

By the time the sky had darkened and the first stars had begun to appear in the heavens above, you were breathless, but satisfied. You had taken your magic to new heights today—there was no doubt about it. You could feel the difference in your control, the smoothness of your movements, the depth of your connection to the stars.

But even as you stood there, gazing up at the endless night, you knew this was just the beginning. There was still more to learn. Still more to discover. The journey had only just begun.

DAY TWENTY THREE

The morning light streamed through the gaps in the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground as you arrived at your usual training spot. The crisp air of early morning carried the subtle scent of earth and leaves, blending with the faint hum of distant city life. It felt like the perfect setting to continue your journey, one where you once again could concentrate entirely on refining the spells you had already learned. Today like yesterday wasn’t about new techniques or experimenting with raw power. Today was about control. Mastery.

You had already proven to yourself that you could create powerful constructs, but now the challenge was maintaining their stability, consistency, and making them feel natural. Each spell would need to be a part of you, something you could summon with a thought, something you could control as easily as breathing.

First, you reached for Lyra’s Barrier, the shimmering, harp-shaped shield that had become an invaluable tool. You stood still, grounded, and focused. The sky above you was clear, and the constellations felt close today—brighter, more vivid. You extended your hands slowly, feeling the power begin to gather around you, the stars shining brightly as you summoned the light. You closed your eyes for a moment, centering yourself, letting the constellation of Lyra fill your mind, its distinct harp-like shape coming into focus.

A soft pulse of energy vibrated through your fingers as the shape of the barrier began to form. The light gathered in a circular motion, and you could feel the delicate hum of the stars aligning, weaving together into the harp shape. The barrier wasn’t solid yet, but you could sense it—the string vibrations, the sound they would make when struck, the beauty that lay within its construction.

You focused on the feel of it, visualizing every detail. The light was now becoming more real, brighter, taking form. Slowly, the barrier grew in size until it was a full circle around you, spinning with a soft, musical hum. You took a deep breath and reached out toward the center of it, pushing lightly against the glowing strings that surrounded you.

The resonance of the shield vibrated gently beneath your fingers, like the feeling of pressing a hand to a finely-tuned instrument. You let the energy flow through your arms, keeping the barrier steady. For a moment, you felt an intense surge of power, but you had to remind yourself: control. Mastery. You needed to focus on precision and consistency, not strength alone.

The barrier held firm, unwavering, as you spun within it, testing its stability. You pushed and prodded at it, finding the limits of its current form, but it responded to your every command. The shield was beginning to feel like a natural extension of yourself, a thing of beauty, resilience, and strength.

After a few minutes, you deactivated it, feeling the cool rush of air as the light faded from your fingertips. It was time to test another.

The Vega Crown was next. This spell had been one of your most challenging to master, but it had also become a favorite. The crown was a creation of starlight, a delicate halo of energy that you could shape and use to bind your enemies, creating barriers or even using it as an anchor for other spells.

You closed your eyes once again, reaching up toward the stars. The Vega constellation was distinct—a radiant star shining brightly among the heavens, and its power always felt personal to you, as though it resonated with something deep within you.

A surge of energy rippled through you as the starlight gathered around your head, forming the familiar shape of the crown. The edges of the crown flickered like silver ribbons, pulsing with the rhythm of your heartbeat. You could feel the weight of it, not heavy, but there—a constant presence. You focused, imagining the power of Vega flowing through you, pulling the magic into a physical construct.

The crown began to glow brighter, the light solidifying into a glowing circle that sat weightlessly above your head. It was perfect—almost too perfect—but that’s when you remembered. It wasn’t about how easily you could create it, it was about how you could control it in real situations. You wanted it to be more than just a pretty shape in the air; you wanted it to serve a purpose.

You raised your hands above your head and focused, guiding the crown’s power to respond to you. A gentle pulse of energy radiated from it, and with that pulse, you could feel a new layer of control. The crown vibrated with the pull of your thoughts, moving fluidly, adjusting as you willed it to expand and contract.

The golden halo of light expanded, spinning gracefully as it followed your every movement. Your heartbeat echoed in your chest, and you could feel the pulse of the spell’s energy, like a rhythm you could control. The air hummed with starlight, and the crown responded as you tested its strength.

A flash of inspiration struck. You twisted your wrist, commanding the Vega Crown to shoot outward in the shape of a ring of light—something you had never attempted before. The light radiated from the crown, extending in a circular wave before retracting back into the original shape. It was beautiful, but you needed to refine it, make it more practical. You couldn’t afford to have it simply spin in the air or expand on whim; it needed to be sharp, controlled.

You focused on refining the technique. A deep breath in, a steady release of energy. The crown expanded again, but this time it wasn’t just a light show. It moved with purpose, its circular shape wrapping around an empty target you had set up. The energy felt potent, contained, purposeful.

You focused on the feeling of the magic vibrating at your fingertips, the energy vibrating in perfect harmony with your intent. Each time the crown expanded, it felt more fluid, more in tune with your body. You realized that you were starting to move past the raw, uncontrolled bursts of power. You could feel the connection to the stars growing deeper, and with it, the power felt like an extension of you—your emotions, your mind, your will.

After a while, you dismissed the Vega Crown, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over you. You’d mastered it for now—there were still more nuances to refine, but the spell was responsive, practical, and versatile.

The sky above had darkened as you continued working, and you could feel the pull of the stars more strongly now, their light beckoning you to focus.

As you completed your training for the day, exhaustion settled into your bones, but there was no doubt in your mind that you had made significant progress. You were no longer struggling to maintain the constructs or control the flow of power. Each spell, each movement, had become an extension of your will—a reflection of your growth.

You stood in the silence of the night, the stars above you a constant presence, guiding your journey as you took in a deep, steadying breath.

You had come far.

But there was still so much more to learn.

DAY TWENTY FOUR

The morning sky was still hazy with the remnants of the night's darkness, the world just beginning to stir as you made your way out into the quiet streets. It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but the air was cool enough to sharpen your focus. Today, you were stepping into a new kind of training, one that didn’t involve power or raw strength. Instead, it was about subtlety, precision, and control—the delicate art of blending into the background, moving without being seen, and relying on your wits rather than force. Today, you were going to practice your stealth abilities.

You had always known that your celestial quirk could be used for offensive and defensive purposes, but there was another layer to your connection with the stars—an almost unspoken harmony between you and the cosmos that allowed you to slip into the shadows when necessary. It was a form of magic that felt almost like a second nature, one that required a deep connection to the stars as well as the physical world around you.

Your first task was simple: to learn how to become invisible to the world around you.

You found a secluded spot in the park—a little grove with dense trees, far from the main paths where people would walk. The quiet murmur of the city was muffled here, replaced by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. You exhaled, feeling the cool air fill your lungs and clear your mind. This was where it would all begin.

You had trained your physical body to exhaustion, sculpted your quirk into sharp, deadly weapons, but this was different. Today, you were going to become a shadow.

You closed your eyes, reaching deep within yourself. There was a subtle connection that you could feel, even if you couldn’t fully explain it—an almost imperceptible thread linking you to the stars, to the constellations that illuminated the night sky. Altair, Vega, Sirius—they weren’t just names or patterns. They were your allies, your guides, and today they would help you slip from the light.

It wasn’t a spell this time. It wasn’t about creating something that others could see, something that would take form. This was about feeling, about blending into the world. You focused on the pull of gravity, the way your body interacted with the earth, the stars above you—everything that made up the universe.

At first, you felt silly, unsure of how to even begin. But the more you focused on the connection, the easier it became to quiet your mind and slip into a state of complete stillness. It wasn’t about making yourself invisible outright. Instead, it was about becoming part of the environment—feeling the natural flow of the world around you, syncing your movements with the rhythm of life. The stars above seemed to whisper to you, guiding you.

Your body felt lighter, like the air was part of you, your senses sharpening as you felt every tiny motion in the world. You moved a step forward, slow and deliberate, becoming more aware of how your feet shifted over the ground. Every step was calculated, a silent glide that matched the quiet whispers of the wind.

You reached out with your mind, expanding your awareness beyond your own body. With each breath, you learned to listen to the faintest sounds—the way the branches swayed in the breeze, the rustle of leaves in the distance, even the subtle shift in the air around you. This wasn’t just a physical exercise; this was about becoming one with your surroundings.

The first test came when you reached a small clearing. There was a bench near the center, and on it, you could see an older man reading a book. You paused, eyes narrowing, focusing on your breathing. The goal wasn’t to avoid detection completely—not yet. You were still learning. But you needed to be aware of the space, to feel the balance between yourself and your environment.

You crouched low, your body moving fluidly, silently. You focused on your quirk’s connection to the stars, allowing it to flow in subtle waves as you moved. The more you shifted, the more you began to feel as though you were blending into the landscape—your silhouette becoming indistinct, like a shadow just beyond the edges of the light.

As you passed the bench, you dared a glance at the man. His face was buried in the pages of his book, utterly unaware of your presence. You smiled to yourself, feeling a quiet sense of satisfaction, but it wasn’t enough yet. The next test was more difficult: you would have to move in a way that required more finesse, more control, and more precision.

You took a deep breath and then turned sharply, moving toward the large oak tree that stood nearby. It was thick, the branches spread wide like outstretched arms. This was where you would test yourself. You needed to get behind it without being seen—completely hidden from sight.

This time, you focused even more intently. You could feel the stars aligning within you, their light faint but steady. You imagined yourself dissolving into the background, becoming part of the scenery. Each step felt like it was guided by an invisible hand, your body lighter, more fluid, as you moved between shadows and sunlight.

You reached the tree, your movements so seamless that you couldn’t even recall how you had gotten there. One moment, you were standing in the open, and the next, you were pressed against the bark, hidden from view. Your heart raced with excitement, but you forced yourself to stay still, to remain hidden.

From behind the tree, you watched the man, now flipping through the pages of his book. He didn’t notice a thing. Your breath came in slow, steady cycles, every muscle in your body controlled, precise, still. You’d done it.

After what felt like an eternity, you exhaled softly and allowed the tension in your body to ease. Slowly, you stepped away from the tree, taking care not to disrupt the natural flow of the world around you. You had achieved what you’d set out to do: become a part of the environment, blending seamlessly into the world, disappearing when you needed to.

You stood there for a while, letting the connection to the stars fill your senses again. There was still much to learn, much to refine. You would need more practice to fully master this skill—to become truly invisible, to move without leaving a trace. But for now, you had succeeded.

As you made your way back to your spot, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply, feeling the quiet satisfaction of your progress. You had taken the first step toward something greater today—something that wasn’t just about power or strength, but about subtlety and finesse. There would be times when force would be needed, but there would also be times when silence, stealth, and the ability to remain unnoticed would serve you better.

The stars above you seemed to twinkle with approval, their light soft and steady.

With your heart still racing from the thrill of the practice, you began to walk back home. You weren’t entirely sure what the future held, but one thing was certain: you were growing, you were learning, and you were getting closer to mastering the full scope of your celestial abilities.

And that feeling—of being connected, of moving through the world like a shadow, of aligning with the stars—was something you could never take for granted.

It felt like the beginning of something much larger.

That night, as you lay in bed, your mind replayed the day’s training. The way you moved, the subtle shifting of your body as you became one with the landscape, the feeling of becoming part of the world itself.

And as the stars twinkled above, you knew that you would continue pushing forward, learning, evolving, mastering each facet of your celestial quirk until it was as natural as breathing.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges. But for now, you rested—content, ready for whatever came next.

The stars had guided you this far.

And they would guide you further still.

DAY TWENTY FIVE

The morning sunlight filtered through your curtains, soft and muted, as you woke up feeling more centered than before. Yesterday’s training had been different. It was quieter, subtler, and left your body aching in a way that didn’t come from sheer physical exertion. The day before had been all about harnessing your presence, or rather, your absence.

You had spent hours perfecting your stealth abilities—manipulating your quirk to blend into your surroundings, fading into shadows and evading detection like a phantom. But it wasn't just about vanishing anymore. You were learning how to remain unnoticed, how to mask your aura to the point that even the brightest lights couldn’t expose you.

The sun rising in the sky felt oddly comforting, knowing that you had come far in such a short time. You had worked hard on the fundamentals of your quirk, learning how to manipulate the constellations, summon light, and mold it into constructs. But this—stealth—was a different kind of mastery, one that required you to control not just your quirk but your energy and your emotions. You had to exist without existing, leaving no trace of your presence but the faintest whispers in the wind.

After breakfast, you gathered your gear, leaving your house behind with your sneakers laced tightly. Your plan for the day was to refine the movements and techniques you'd learned the previous day, to push further into the stealth domain. But there was something else you needed to work on today—control. Stealth wasn’t just about blending into the shadows; it was about moving fluidly, without creating a ripple, without leaving an impression on the air. It was about presence and absence, balance and timing.

You made your way to the outskirts of town, where the trees grew thick and dense, the path narrow. It was perfect for training—if you could disappear in a place like this, then the world would be your playground.

Your first test was simple: Move without being detected. You let your body blend with the environment, the trees and rocks around you offering just the cover you needed. You focused on your breathing, slow and steady, letting the world around you melt away as you tried to disappear. The wind rustled the leaves, and you mimicked the motion, slipping between shadows and hiding behind thick trunks. Your footfalls were almost silent, and the subtle pressure of your quirk helped keep you undetected. Still, you could feel your heart racing, your pulse quickening as you worked through the motions. It was still new to you, still a foreign concept, and yet, there was something freeing about it.

You reached the base of a large tree and crouched down, letting your body meld into the shade. You could hear the distant chirp of birds, the wind picking up speed. You focused on holding your breath and remaining still. It was as though time slowed down—nothing mattered except for your stillness. You let your presence fade, blending into the world around you.

The first attempt lasted a solid five minutes before you broke the silence. Your foot scraped against a stone, and you cursed under your breath. The sound was small, almost imperceptible, but you felt it echo inside you. The coolness of the air did little to soothe the warmth in your cheeks.

"Focus," you whispered to yourself.

You stood and tried again, more deliberate this time, more controlled. This time, you didn’t wait for the world to blend with you. Instead, you forced it—creating a stillness that flowed through your entire being. You allowed the shadows to engulf you, your body moving silently, your mind sharp, and your senses heightened. Each movement felt more fluid than before, each step more deliberate.

By mid-afternoon, you had found your rhythm. It wasn’t perfect yet—nothing ever was—but you could feel the difference. There was a new level of subtlety in the way your body moved, and the tension you’d felt the day before had started to dissolve. The world around you became less of an obstacle and more of an ally. You blended effortlessly with the shadows, slipped past every barrier, and merged with every movement in a seamless dance of stealth.

But there was one final test.

To make this skill work in real-world situations, you needed to master your ability to slip past other people. You needed to vanish in plain sight, right under their noses. The idea was both exhilarating and terrifying. You wouldn’t know until you tried whether you could manage the feat.

It was a quiet part of town, the street mostly empty except for a few scattered pedestrians. You saw your opportunity when a small group of people came into view, their footsteps approaching the alley where you were hidden. You knew this was the moment. It was one thing to hide in the woods, to fade into the environment—but to disappear in a crowded space would be something else entirely.

You stood against the brick wall, focusing on the group. They were still a few meters away, but you could already feel the tension building inside you. You had to move quickly—disappear the moment they were close enough. You focused, activating your quirk with subtlety, manipulating the light around you, dimming your presence as you bent your body into the shadows.

The moment the group passed by, you moved with purpose, sliding into the crowd behind them, just another face among many. Your movements were fluid and calculated, but you had to suppress the instinct to look around, to make sure you hadn’t been caught. You let yourself merge with the crowd, blending in, your steps almost imperceptible.

Your heart raced, but you kept breathing steadily, letting your quirk hum beneath your skin as you forced your presence to shrink. You didn’t make a sound, didn’t allow the faintest hint of your energy to spill out into the world.

When you reached the corner of the street, you dared to glance over your shoulder. The group had passed completely, unaware of your presence. You’d done it. For a moment, you felt the victory rush through you. The sensation of slipping past others without being noticed was incredible. The world, once so loud and overwhelming, had become your ally, and you had learned to control its chaos.

As the day turned to evening, you felt a strange sense of satisfaction settle in your chest. You had taken the first steps toward mastering your stealth abilities, refining your connection to the shadows, and learning how to move like a whisper in the wind.

But there was more to be done. This was just the beginning.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the world as you walked back home, your mind filled with the possibilities ahead. You knew that with each passing day, you’d grow stronger, more precise. This skill would become another tool in your growing arsenal, one that would allow you to become the hero you were destined to be. And as you walked home, the weight of that thought didn’t feel heavy anymore—it felt light, freeing.

Tomorrow, you would keep pushing.

DAY TWENTY SIX

You woke up feeling… content. There was no other word for it. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to carry a warmth that felt different today, like the world itself was acknowledging how far you'd come. The past weeks had been filled with hard work, emotional growth, and quiet moments of self-reflection, but today? Today was different. It wasn’t just about training. It wasn’t about pushing your limits anymore. You could feel the progress in your very bones, and for once, it didn’t feel like a race. It felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.

For the past few days, you’d been refining your control over your quirk—getting better at blending with the shadows, using your constructs with precision, and enhancing your overall physical endurance. It was no longer a struggle just to manage your powers. You were beginning to master them, a process that required patience, but also a deep connection to your emotions. You'd started to understand the subtle ways in which your feelings influenced your ability to manifest your quirk. You learned to breathe through the tension, let go of the doubts, and rely on your connection to the stars for guidance.

You threw off your covers and stretched, letting the quiet satisfaction of the past few days sink in. There was something almost sacred about the quiet before the world fully woke up. The soft glow of the morning sun lit up your room in warm hues of pink and gold, casting gentle shadows along the walls.

Today was a rare kind of day—one where you felt like you could just be.

You pulled on your sneakers, the familiar weight of your training clothes giving you a sense of purpose. You didn’t have an intense training session scheduled, no goals to reach or limits to break. It was more of a check-in with yourself. A moment to breathe, to acknowledge the growth, and to celebrate how far you had come.

You made your way outside, the air crisp against your skin, and set off on a short walk to clear your mind. The morning was peaceful, and as you walked, your thoughts wandered to the progress you’d made. The constructs you’d spent so much time perfecting—the Lyra Barrier, the Vega Crown—felt more fluid now, more natural. You could summon them without hesitation, like second nature. But it wasn’t just about the spells themselves. It was about how they made you feel.

The confidence that came with knowing that you could bend the stars to your will. That you could control your destiny with nothing but your willpower and the strength you’d built over the past month. There was something deeply empowering about that realization. You could be the hero you always dreamed of being, and you were already taking the first steps. The stars, your quirk, and your own inner resolve were guiding you forward.

The realization made you smile as you walked, your thoughts floating lightly with the breeze. You were proud of what you’d achieved, but there was no arrogance behind it. It was just the quiet joy of knowing that you were moving toward something bigger, something that would eventually define you. You were a work in progress, but the progress was real.

The next few hours were spent in the quiet of your own thoughts as you began your morning routine—stretching, preparing yourself for another day of growth. You knew you wouldn’t push yourself too hard today. You’d earned a moment of ease. And so, with a contented sigh, you decided to take a break from training and just enjoy the process.

You called your mom to check in, something you did every morning, and the conversation, as always, was light and comforting. The sound of her voice, the familiar cadence of her words, was enough to center you. She asked about your training, and you found yourself describing how well things were going. It felt so normal, like there was no pressure, no urgency to prove yourself—just a conversation between a mother and her daughter.

As you talked, the weight of your worries seemed to lift, and you couldn’t help but notice how far you’d come in such a short time. There was no more self-doubt about whether you were good enough. You weren’t perfect, but that was okay. You were growing, and that was all that mattered.

Later in the day, you decided to take a break from your usual practice and enjoy the little things. You went for a walk through the park, the sun now high in the sky and casting long shadows on the ground. The simple act of being outside, of soaking in the beauty of the world around you, felt like the perfect reward for the past few weeks of hard work.

You thought about your friends—Midoriya, Bakugo, and even Denki—and how much their presence had impacted you. They were each growing in their own ways, pushing their limits and finding their paths. And somehow, you had been right there beside them, learning, growing, and supporting each other along the way. It wasn’t just about your quirk anymore; it was about the people around you, and how they made you a better person.

You smiled as you walked, feeling more connected to the world than ever before. You weren’t alone in this journey. And that thought, above all else, filled you with peace.

As the day went on, you found yourself practicing small exercises—simple stretches, a few light runs to maintain your stamina. It wasn’t much, but you didn’t need much. You just needed to keep moving forward, keep progressing at your own pace. The idea of perfection no longer mattered. You were where you needed to be, and that was enough.

Your thoughts drifted back to the people in your life again—how different everything felt now compared to when you first started. You used to feel isolated, like you were the only one trying to figure things out. But now, you knew that wasn’t true. You had people by your side—people who cared, people who would help you along the way, and people who were growing alongside you.

The rest of the day passed in a peaceful blur, and as evening set in, you couldn’t help but reflect on how far you had come. There was a stillness within you now, a kind of calm that had been absent in your earlier days of training. You felt settled in your own skin, ready to face whatever challenges would come next. But today, you didn’t need to worry about that. Today, you allowed yourself to feel proud of how much you had grown.

You had made it this far, and you knew that the stars were still shining brightly above you, guiding your way.

DAY TWENTY SEVEN

You decided to take the morning off from intense training. The heavy strain of trying to push your quirk to the max was something you could take on later, but right now, you needed to step back. Your body and mind needed a break. You opted for something gentler: a walk around the neighborhood. Something to stretch out your muscles, give your mind some time to reset.

As you walked, you thought about everything you had been working on—the Vega Crown, the Lyra Barrier, the Altairis spell. Those were your shining achievements, the breakthroughs you’d made in the past few weeks. But you hadn’t been paying enough attention to the toll it was all taking on your body. The toll it was taking on your energy. Your stamina.

You thought back to the first time you used the Vega Crown. How powerful it had felt, how you’d brought the stars themselves into a physical form and worn them like a crown. But there had been a cost. You hadn’t realized it at the time, but each use drained more than just your energy. The strain of focusing on so many stars, bringing them together into a single, cohesive entity—each little spark of light had taken something from you. And with each use, you felt it more.

Then there was the Lyra Barrier, the shimmering harp-shaped shield you’d created to protect yourself. The first time it had felt like a lifeline, like a force of nature wrapping around you in a protective embrace. But the energy it took to keep it stable, to maintain its form while it vibrated and reflected sound? That had left you gasping for air, drained long after the shield had dissipated.

And the Altairis spell—the one that allowed you to create constructs from the constellations themselves, shaping them into weapons or shields. You’d barely started to experiment with it, but every time you attempted to craft something new, it left you feeling like you were using parts of your soul, not just your quirk. That one felt the most draining, as though you were pulling starlight out of yourself, out of your very essence, and weaving it into something physical.

Your mind wandered back to your training sessions, the way your body had protested after each intense burst of magic. You’d felt dizzy, exhausted, even sick at times. And yet, you had pushed through it. You had to push through it. That was the only way to get stronger.

By the time you returned home, the morning was slipping away. You could feel your muscles loosening, the soreness ebbing as you walked slowly. But the exhaustion still lingered, heavy in your chest. You pushed the door open, leaning against the frame for a moment as you gathered yourself.

Your mother was there, smiling as always, though she gave you a concerned glance. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You smiled back, nodding as you wiped a hand across your brow. “Yeah, just a little tired. Maybe I overdid it a little.”

She didn’t ask any more questions, just nodded knowingly. “I can tell. Don’t forget to rest. Even heroes need to take care of themselves.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment. You thought about it—really thought about it—and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to acknowledge the weight of it all. It wasn’t just the physical toll of using your quirk. It was the emotional burden, too. The way you felt as though you had to keep pushing to meet the expectations—both yours and those of others. You were so focused on getting better, on being good enough, that you forgot to take care of yourself.

You spent the rest of the day resting. You took a nap in the afternoon, something you hadn’t done in ages, and when you woke up, you felt a little lighter. There was still a slight ache in your muscles, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as before.

Maybe you were learning something, after all. Strength wasn’t just about pushing forward. It was about knowing when to stop and take a breath. It was about balance.

As the evening approached, you thought about the road ahead. You were still growing, still learning, and it was okay to stumble along the way. The journey wasn’t about perfection. It was about progress, about finding your balance between strength and rest.

And with that thought, a small sense of peace settled over you. Maybe the struggle wasn’t just in the training. Maybe it was in learning how to take care of yourself.

Tomorrow, you would pick up where you left off, but for tonight, you were going to enjoy the quiet. Just for a moment, before you faced the next challenge.

DAY TWENTY EIGHT

You trained.

DAY TWENTY NINE

It wasn’t often that you had a whole day off from everything. Most days, you woke up and dove straight into training or school, or both. Even when you weren’t physically pushing yourself, your mind was always occupied with your progress, your quirk, the next goal. But today, you were taking a break. A real break. And it was all thanks to your mom, who insisted that you deserved a another day to just relax and enjoy yourself.

The morning started slower than usual, with no alarms blaring in your ear, no workout routines or training drills to follow. You woke up to the smell of pancakes drifting through the house, the warmth of sunlight pouring in through your window.

You stretched, groggily making your way down the stairs to find your mother at the stove, humming along to some tune you didn’t recognize.

“Morning, sweetie,” she greeted, a cheerful smile on her face as she flipped a pancake onto the plate. “How’s the training been going?”

You sat down at the table, rubbing your eyes. “Tiring. Really tiring. But good, I guess?”

She placed the stack of pancakes in front of you, adding syrup and fruit with a flourish. “Well, I think you deserve a little break today. You’ve been working so hard lately.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A break?”

“Yep,” she said, ruffling your hair. “You’ve earned it. We’re going out today.”

Out? Your mind whirled with the idea of an actual day off. A chance to just unwind, do something fun. It felt a little surreal.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked, staring at the pancakes like they might hold the secret to this mysterious plan.

She set a cup of tea in front of you before sitting down. “No occasion. Just thought you deserved some time to enjoy yourself after all the hard work you’ve been putting in. You’ve been pushing yourself for so long, and I’m proud of you.”

The words struck something deep inside you. You’d been so focused on your quirk and your goals that you hadn’t realized how much you’d been neglecting the simple joys of life. The idea of spending a day just being with your mom felt like a luxury you hadn’t allowed yourself in a long time.

“Thanks, Mom,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips. “This... this sounds really nice.”

After breakfast, you quickly got dressed in something comfortable, trying to shake off the lingering tension in your muscles. Your mom insisted on taking the car, which was a bit of a surprise. Normally, you both would walk or take the train, but today was special, and she seemed eager to make it so.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, settling into the passenger seat as your mom drove.

She smiled, eyes twinkling with excitement. “I was thinking we could hit the local park first, maybe grab some ice cream after that. Then, if you’re up for it, I thought we could do some shopping—get you a little something as a reward for all your hard work.”

You were surprised by the suggestion. Shopping wasn’t something you did often, and certainly not for yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t want new things; it was just that your life had been so focused on training and self-improvement that something as simple as treating yourself hadn’t crossed your mind.

“I don’t know, Mom,” you said, half-smiling. “I’m not really the type to—”

“I’m not asking you to buy a whole new wardrobe,” she interrupted, glancing over at you with a teasing smile. “Just a little treat. You’ve earned it.”

The park was a welcoming sight when you arrived, lush green grass swaying in the gentle breeze. There were a few families scattered around, some playing catch, others picnicking under the trees. You and your mom found a spot near a fountain, the sound of water soothing and calm.

You sat down on the grass, leaning back with your hands behind your head, letting yourself feel the warmth of the sun. It felt good. No pressure. No training. Just... life.

Your mom sat beside you, her expression soft and content. You hadn’t realized how much you missed moments like this—the kind where everything else faded into the background, and all that mattered was the present.

“You know,” she said after a while, “I’m really proud of you. I know I don’t say it enough, but I see how hard you’ve been working. I’ve seen the growth. Both in your quirk and in you.”

Her words made something inside you tighten—emotion welling up in your chest. You had been so focused on your own expectations that you hadn’t really stopped to think about how much your mom had been there for you through all of it. The quiet support, the gentle encouragement. Even when you didn’t feel like you were doing enough, she always made you feel like you were exactly where you needed to be.

“Thanks, Mom,” you whispered, blinking away the sudden lump in your throat.

She chuckled softly. “Don’t make me cry now.”

The moment felt comfortable. Safe. A place where you could just relax and be yourself, without any demands or expectations looming overhead.

After some time at the park, you both walked to the nearby ice cream stand. It was a little cart with colorful banners and a long line of people waiting for a cool treat. You picked a random one—mango with a hint of mint—and your mom opted for strawberry, her usual choice.

As you sat on the nearby bench, licking your cones, you couldn’t help but smile. You’d forgotten how much fun it could be to just be in the moment with someone, without any distractions.

“So,” you said, turning to your mom with a mischievous glint in your eye, “what’s the deal with this shopping trip?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me you’re not curious. It’s just a little something to mark the end of all this training. You deserve to have something for yourself, something just for you.”

You smiled at her, but there was a slight tinge of hesitation. “I don’t really need anything, though.”

“You may not think so,” she replied, nudging you with her elbow, “but you’ve been wearing the same old things for a while now. Besides, it’s about time you treated yourself.”

With that, she took you to a nearby mall. You couldn’t help but laugh at how much fun it was to just wander from store to store, picking out clothes that caught your eye, trying them on, and joking with your mom as you did. You’d forgotten how normal things could feel.

At the end of it all, you picked out a simple but beautiful jacket, one you could wear when you weren’t training. It felt like a small thing, but it was a reminder of how far you’d come, of the life you were building not just as someone with a quirk, but as yourself.

You’d been so focused on your growth as a hero, but in this quiet, simple day, you found something else—the importance of taking care of yourself, of letting go and just enjoying the ride.

By the time you got home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. You and your mom unloaded the small shopping bags, laughing about how much fun you’d had.

“You deserve all this, sweetie,” she said, handing you the jacket you’d bought. “And more. I’m really proud of you.”

You looked at her, feeling the weight of everything she’d done for you—the support, the encouragement, the love. “Thanks, Mom. I really needed today.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” she replied, pulling you into a tight hug. “Anytime.”

And in that moment, with your mom’s arms around you, you realized just how important these quiet, happy moments were. They were just as much a part of your journey as your training. And you knew that, no matter how much you grew or how strong you became, these simple moments would always be the ones that anchored you.

DAY THIRTY

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the familiar training ground. The air was still and quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant chirp of crickets settling in for the night. It had become your sanctuary. The place where you could breathe freely, pushing yourself to your limits without the pressure of others watching. It was here that you reflected, recharged, and refined.

You sat on the cool ground, leaning against the trunk of an old tree that had witnessed countless hours of your training. Your legs were crossed in front of you, your hands resting lightly on your knees. The familiar hum of starlight pulsed just beneath your skin, the connection you’d forged with your quirk growing stronger every day. Yet, as you watched the sky deepen into twilight, your thoughts drifted to what lay ahead.

Nine months.

That was how much time you had until the entrance exam for U.A. High School—the dream you’d been working toward for what felt like forever. The next step in your journey. The moment that would determine if all your efforts, all the training, all the sacrifices were worth it.

You had been training for weeks now—and the progress had been undeniable. Your celestial magic had become more stable, more controlled. You could summon constellations at will, form constructs out of starlight, and even use your magic in creative, unexpected ways. But despite all this, a nagging thought lingered in the back of your mind: Was it enough?

The thought that kept you awake at night was simple: What if it’s not enough?

What if you weren’t ready?

There were so many uncertainties, so many unknowns. U.A. wasn’t just any school. It was where the most talented, the most capable, and the most driven heroes went to become the best of the best. Could you really measure up to them? Could you compete with kids who had decades of experience, powerful quirks honed from birth? Your quirk wasn’t as flashy as some of theirs. It wasn’t as destructive or intimidating. It was beautiful, yes—there was power in the stars, in the constellations—but did beauty matter when it came to being a hero?

Your fingers brushed against the ground, feeling the cool earth beneath you as you thought Izuku and Bakugo. They all had their own strengths. Midoriya, with his unshakable determination and his heart full of hope. Bakugo, with his raw power and relentless ambition. They were both pushing themselves, and so were you. But would it be enough?

I’ll be ready. I have to be.

The words echoed in your mind as if to remind you that this was your dream, your goal. You couldn’t afford to doubt yourself, not now. You had been working for this for so long, and you weren’t about to back down. Not when you had come so far.

The breeze picked up, rustling through the trees and carrying with it the faintest hint of the night air. It felt refreshing, grounding. You took a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs. There was something calming about the night sky, something humbling. You had always felt connected to the stars, to the constellations. They were part of you, just as much as your heart beat inside your chest. But there was still so much to learn, so much to discover about your own abilities.

I’m not there yet.

You knew that. You could feel the gaps in your training—the things you hadn’t mastered, the techniques you couldn’t quite control yet. The moments when your quirk slipped from your grasp, when you couldn’t call upon the constellations fast enough, when your magic wavered in the face of your emotions. But those were the moments that defined you. Those were the moments that would make you stronger. You could feel it in your bones, a quiet certainty that the effort you put in now would pay off in the long run.

Nine months.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the thought settle inside you. That was all the time you had. Nine months to refine, to perfect, to become the kind of hero you wanted to be. Nine months to make your mark.

The sky above you deepened, a tapestry of stars slowly unfurling as the night crept on. You could feel the familiar pulse of your quirk, the starlight inside you, and with a deep breath, you reached out, silently calling to the constellations. The magic responded, familiar and eager. The first star flickered to life in the space above your hands, then another, and another. Soon, the air around you was filled with starlight, constellations dancing in the night sky. You closed your eyes, feeling the power surge beneath your fingertips.

You summoned the Vega Crown with ease, the radiant glow swirling above your head like a halo. It had become second nature now, the arcane energy flowing through you in a way that felt almost effortless. But you didn’t stop there. You reached further, beyond the familiar spells. With a deep breath, you called upon the Aquila Wings—the starlight twisting and stretching to form the great wings of the eagle. They were vast and majestic, and as you tested their movement, you could almost feel the weightlessness of flight.

You let the wings stretch wider, feeling the energy hum in your bones. You practiced the motions, testing your limits, pushing the boundaries of what you could do. The stars above you seemed to shimmer in approval, and with a flick of your wrist, you summoned the Lyra Barrier, the harp-shaped shield materializing in front of you. It pulsed with starlight, creating a shimmering, protective wall. You could feel its vibrations in your chest, the way it hummed with energy, and you couldn’t help but smile.

But as you focused on controlling each new technique, the truth still lingered in your thoughts. You weren’t done yet. You weren’t there yet.

With each new spell you mastered, you felt a little more ready, a little more confident. But the road ahead was long. The entrance exam was just nine months away, and there was still so much you needed to learn.

But that was okay. You would get there. One step at a time.

You stood up, brushing the dirt from your hands, and took one last look at the sky above. The constellations twinkled down at you, a silent promise that they would always be there, guiding you forward. You weren’t alone. You never had been.

And with that thought, you turned and began the walk back home, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Nine months. You had time. But you would make sure it counted.

And when the day of the entrance exam finally came, you would be ready.

DAY THIRTY ONE

You still had nine more months till the U.A entrance exam, but you didnt feel scared anymore.

You were going to ace that.

You are going to be a hero.

(IF ONLY YOU HAD KNOWN THEN, WHAT HAD AWAITED YOU. YOU WOULD HAVE JOINED THEM MUCH SOONER. OH, IF ONLY YOU HAD KNOWN HE WAS GOING TO BREAK HIS PROMISE, AND THAT THEY LEAVE YOU LIKE THAT)

 

A/N

As, you guys can see i have fanfics from an author called Starflame and Kikyo851 in my library. 

These fanfics are great but for some reason, she's been getting a lot a hate for them.

I honestly dont get how readers can be so mean especially when that person is taking time to write fanfics for other people.

I know you guys are wonderful readers, so, i was wondering if you guys to show her some support. Just let her know that her life is worth keeping and that no matter what all those bullies say, they are just jealous of her writing skills.

#Justice4Kikyo851 = took this from HEX
P.S did you guys enjoy the way the months were broken down into days or would you guys just prefer me to do a general overview of each month? I mean i didn't like it, it just felt long and boring but i wanted to try something outside of my comfort zone. i would love to hear you opinon but i might not carry it on like that.

P.S.S i completely forgot that they still had school, so in this fanfic we will just pretend that school had finished already, and as you can see y/n does have some issues like self-doubt and sometimes low self-esteem because i  thought that it would be more realistic to have a flawed yet perfectly human individual like her. I'm sorry if you dont like that, feel free to let me know and i can tweak her personality a bit. But yeah, i reread this and y/n personality is really inconsistent throughout, so im really sorry.

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 19: Arcade Voltage-A Day with Denki Kaminari

Month 2- day one

Denki Kaminari sat cross-legged on his bed, phone balanced precariously between his ear and shoulder as he stared at the scattered manga volumes on his desk. The room was cluttered but cozy, filled with the familiar scent of old paper and a faint electric hum — a comforting background noise from his quirk’s residual energy. He tapped his thumb against the side of the phone nervously, glancing at the screen every few seconds.

I can’t believe I actually texted her again.

The glow of the evening sky crept through the window blinds, casting soft stripes across the cluttered floor. Denki’s thoughts kept drifting back to the arcade, to the afternoon he’d spent with you — the way your laugh had made the noise and flashing lights seem almost gentle, the way you didn’t seem to think he was a total idiot. It was... nice. More than nice. He wasn’t used to people seeing past the goofy guy who sometimes got zapped by his own quirk.

His phone buzzed. A reply.

“Hey! I’d love to go again. When?”

Denki grinned, feeling a spark of energy light up inside him. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed back:

“How about tomorrow? Same place, same time? I’ll try not to embarrass myself again.”

The nerves twisted into excitement as he ended the call and tossed the phone aside. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

The next day, Denki arrived at the arcade early, the familiar clang of pinball machines and the cheerful beep of claw games greeting him like old friends. The scent of popcorn and sweet soda mingled with the electronic buzz, filling the air with that unmistakable arcade magic. He was practically bouncing on his heels when he spotted you by the Pac-Man machine, you eyes focused and your hands steady on the controls.

“Hey! You made it!” he called out, waving awkwardly.

You turned, surprised, then smiled warmly. “Hey, Lightning boy. Ready to lose again?”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Yeah, right! You’re going down!”

The crowd of arcade regulars was a blur as they settled into their friendly competition. The screen’s bright colors reflected in their eyes as they guided the little yellow Pac-Man through the maze, gobbling up pellets and evading ghosts. Denki’s competitive streak flared, and he concentrated hard, fingers twitching over the joystick and buttons.

“Whoa! Nice move!” you said, impressed, as Denki narrowly escaped a ghost by the skin of his teeth.

“I'm just too good,” he teased, grinning widely.

They played round after round, their laughter ringing out over the arcade noise. The casual rivalry sparked a playful energy between them, lightening the moments between the more intense bursts of focus. After a particularly close game, Denki wiped his brow dramatically.

“Okay, okay. That was almost a win. Almost.”

You rolled your eyes, then grinned. “You’re just lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

As the evening progressed, Denki’s nervousness melted away, replaced by an ease he hadn’t felt in a long time. They traded stories about their favourite games, teased each other with goofy insults, and shared shy smiles when no one else was looking.

At one point, the topic shifted to something more daring.

“Alright, you may have won the battle but you won't win the war,” Denki challenged, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Are you a lightning bolt? Because you just shocked my heart.”

A few giggles echoed through the arcade. You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused.

“Okay, my turn,” you said. “Are you a star? Because your presence lights up the whole sky.”

Denki grinned. “Nice! But wait—"Are you a 90-degree angle? Because you’re looking right!”

You laughed out loud, shaking her head. “Seriously? That’s so nerdy.”

“Guilty,” Denki admitted, “but effective, right?”

The contest continued, each line more ridiculous and charming than the last, until Denki, caught up in the moment, accidentally slipped into “charge mode.” His hair flickered wildly, sparks crackled from his fingertips, and the arcade lights flickered ominously.

“Oh no, not again!” he groaned, frantically waving his hands to calm the sparks. “Sorry! Sorry, everyone! I didn’t mean to—”

You laughed, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re hopeless.”

The soft hum of arcade machines filled the background, a mix of cheerful beeps and buzzing neon lights. You and Denki sat side-by-side on the worn bench by the claw machine, the glow of the screen casting shifting colours on your faces. After a few rounds of playful teasing and laughter, the conversation slowed, taking on a more serious tone.

You glanced at him, curious. “Hey, Denki... what school do you want to go to?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. His usual confident grin faltered for just a moment before he shrugged. “U.A., of course. Isn’t that where everyone wants to go?”

You smiled softly. “Yeah, it is. But, like, why do you want to go there?”

He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve, the nervous energy buzzing just beneath the surface. “I don’t know... I guess I just want to prove that I’m not useless. You know? Sometimes my quirk backfires, and I get embarrassed or—” He shook his head and laughed nervously, “—well, I get zapped by my own electricity more than I’d like to admit.”

You laughed along with him, warmth spreading through your chest at his honesty. “Sounds like you’ve got a real challenge to master, huh?”

Denki’s eyes lit up a little, the smile returning but softer this time. “Yeah, but it’s not just about mastering it. I want to use it to help people. Like, be the kind of hero who doesn’t just rely on strength but on cleverness and heart.”

“That’s really cool,” you said quietly, meaning it. “I feel the same way about my quirk. It’s powerful, but if I’m not careful, it can spiral out of control. I’m training hard to learn how to control it... and how to use it to protect the people I care about.”

Denki nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “I get that. It’s scary sometimes. But I think that’s what makes heroes, right? They’re the ones who face those fears and keep going.”

You caught his eyes and smiled. “Exactly. And that’s why U.A. is the place for us. They help us become more than just our quirks.”

He grinned again, a little more confidently now. “Yeah. And maybe with a little luck, I won’t blow up on my own team during training.”

You both laughed, the tension easing. The moment felt easy, genuine — like the beginning of a real friendship.

As the arcade lights dimmed and the evening drew to a close, Denki walked you home, feeling a new kind of electricity — not from his quirk, but from the spark of friendship, maybe something more.

“Thanks for today,” he said softly. “I’m really glad we met.”

You smiled, your hand brushing his briefly. “Me too.”

And for the first time in a long time, Denki felt like maybe, just maybe, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

 

A/N

hope you like this quick Denki chapter, as you can see i have a soft spot for him.

Let me know what you think.

What's your favourite anime?

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 20: The boys in your life

Month 2- day one-continuation

 

The sound of keys jingling echoed down the hallway as you slipped through the door. You’d made your way home after a day with Denlo at the arcade, your mind still lingering on the excitement and laughter that had filled the air. You barely noticed the small spring in your step as you walked into the living room. The usual smell of dinner was wafting through the air—something savory, maybe stir-fry, but the lingering warmth was what you noticed most.

Your mom was there, as always, cleaning up from the day’s chaos, her face lighting up at the sight of you.

“Back already?” she asked, drying her hands on a dish towel as she turned to you. “Did you have fun?”

You nodded enthusiastically, not even bothering to hide the smile stretching across your face. “Yeah, it was really fun. Got to play all the old games, and you’ll never guess what happened.”

Her eyebrow quirked as she moved toward the kitchen, settling herself down onto one of the barstools by the counter. She placed her hands in her lap, expectantly.

“Oh? Do tell. Did you beat someone at Pac-Man again?”

You chuckled. “I kicked some serious butt.” You paused, feeling a little shy as you added, “with my new friend.”

Her eyes softened with curiosity, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Someone new, huh? A new friend?”

You hesitated, thinking about Denki. You weren’t used to talking about new friends, especially since most of your circle had been small, tight-knit. But Denki was different.

“Yeah, his name is Denki,” you explained, trying not to sound too giddy, but the excitement crept into your voice anyway. “He’s really fun. A bit of a goofball, but not in a bad way.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “A goofball, huh?” She paused, her expression going from curious to something else, as though she were pondering something. She pushed off the counter, strolling toward the living room and casually picking up a pillow.

“Well, it’s nice to see you making friends, honey. I know you’ve been keeping to yourself a lot lately,” she said with a soft smile, but it quickly turned teasing as she added, “I bet you have him on your mind now, huh?”

You froze.

“Wh-what do you mean?” you stammered, your eyes widening in mild panic. Your mom's teasing smile grew, and a playful gleam entered her eyes. You should’ve known she’d catch on to your excitement—she always did. It was just the way she was.

“Oh, come on now,” she said with a knowing look. “You’ve been grinning like a Cheshire cat ever since you walked in after he dropped you off. Dont think i didn't notice that. And then you mention a boy... Don’t tell me you’re already thinking about a crush?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The air seemed to thicken, and you felt an odd mix of warmth and embarrassment flood your chest. It was ridiculous—Denki was just a friend, right? You’d met with him again, had some fun, and now your mom was going all parental on you, asking if you had a crush.

“I—I don’t have a crush!” you blurted, a little too quickly. You could already feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

She raised both eyebrows this time, a playful smirk curving her lips. “Are you sure about that? Because, sweetheart, I’ve seen that look before. You look like you’re carrying around a little secret. And it’s not like you’re always this excited about hanging out with people.”

You squirmed uncomfortably, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not like that... We just had fun. It was... it was really casual.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” she said, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. She crossed her arms and tilted her head as she studied you. “I mean, I can’t help but notice that all your friends are boys these days. Midoriya, Bakugo, and now Denki? You’re a popular girl, aren’t you?”

“Mom, it’s not like that!” you protested, suddenly feeling a little too warm. “They’re just friends, really.”

Your mom’s grin only widened at your discomfort. “Uh-huh. Sure. And are you sure you’re not thinking about something more with them? You wouldn’t be the first girl to get a little attached to one of her friends.”

You groaned and threw your hands up, pacing away from her. “I’m not attached! I mean—okay, maybe Denki’s a little cute, but that’s not the point! He’s funny, and he’s easy to talk to, and it was just fun, okay?”

Your mother’s laughter rang out behind you, and you could hear her footsteps as she followed you, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But I can’t help it, sweetheart. I see how you look when you’re talking about him. I know the signs.”

You groaned again, collapsing onto the couch and burying your face in the pillow. “This is so embarrassing. Why does everyone always ask me these things?”

She smiled and sat beside you, nudging your shoulder with her own. “I’m not teasing you to make you uncomfortable, honey. It’s just that I care about you. And I want you to know that it’s okay to have crushes. It’s okay to like people, to have fun with them, to get excited. Just be careful with your heart, alright?”

You let out a sigh, then tilted your head to look at her. “I just want to focus on my training and school stuff right now. I’m not ready to worry about relationships.”

After that you went into the living room to eat dinner.

The atmosphere in the living room had quieted down after the earlier teasing. The soft hum of the television, the clinking of silverware as you and your mom finished the last of your dinner, and the faint rustling of the evening breeze from the open window—it all added up to a calm, comforting scene. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of peace, despite the small, ongoing feeling of embarrassment about your mom’s questions earlier.

She leaned back in her chair, watching you with a knowing look that made you feel like she was contemplating something. Her eyes, soft but mischievous, met yours as she placed her utensils down, making you feel like the subject wasn’t quite done yet.

“So,” she began casually, “we’ve talked about Denki. And how you feel about him. But... what about your other friends?”

You stiffened, your eyes widening slightly. Your stomach churned—was she really about to bring up Midoriya and Bakugo now? After all that talk about crushes? You knew where this was going. There was no way you could dodge this one.

“I—what do you mean by that?” you asked, voice not quite steady. You didn’t mean to sound defensive, but you definitely didn’t want to have that conversation just yet. Not with her, not about them.

Your mom smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. “I mean Midoriya and Bakugo. You spend a lot of time with both of them. They’re not exactly... the same type of person, are they?” She rested her chin in her palm, her eyes twinkling as she watched your reactions closely.

You felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks. Oh no, she was doing that thing again—reading you like a book. Your mind scrambled for something to say, but you ended up falling back on your usual defenses: trying to play it cool.

“They’re just friends,” you mumbled, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. “Nothing more.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, but there was no judgment in her gaze—just a gentle curiosity. “Just friends, huh? But you’re very different with them, aren’t you? Midoriya, Bakugo... and now Denki. You’ve known them for a while, but how do you really feel about them?”

You shifted in your seat uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like you were being put on the spot. Your mind briefly wandered back to the arcade, to Denki's goofy grin, his pick-up lines, and how easy it was to talk to him. But then your thoughts flitted to Bakugo—how hard it had been to see him struggle with his emotions, how much you wanted to help him, but didn’t know how.

And then there was Midoriya—sweet, gentle Midoriya, who had always believed in you when no one else did. He was kind, understanding, and never seemed to think you were anything less than capable. His unrelenting optimism made you feel like you could conquer anything.

But how did you really feel about them?

“Well, Midoriya is...” you started, but trailed off, trying to put it into words. “He’s kind. I think he genuinely cares about people. Like, he listens. And when I talk to him, it’s like... I don’t know, it feels like I can be myself. He’s not judgmental, even though I know I’m probably not the easiest person to be around.”

Your mom nodded, smiling softly. “He sounds like a good friend. Do you like spending time with him?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. He’s a good listener. He always seems to understand when I need to vent, but he doesn’t force me to talk if I don’t want to. He doesn’t push me, but he’s always there for me when I need him.” Your voice softened as you spoke about him, and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or embarrassed that it felt natural to share those thoughts with your mom.

She leaned forward slightly, giving you a look that was both amused and a little knowing. “Sounds like you admire him quite a bit.”

You blinked, taken aback by the tone. “I—I don’t know about that. He’s just... a good friend.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she just nodded in understanding, letting the conversation move on. “And then there’s Bakugo. You two seem to have a... complicated history, don’t you think?”

At the mention of Bakugo, your heart skipped a beat. Your stomach twisted with a mixture of emotions—guilt, frustration, and maybe even something else that you weren’t quite ready to put into words. Bakugo was... Bakugo. He wasn’t always the easiest to deal with, but you knew there was more to him than what he showed to others. More than what he even showed to himself.

“Well,” you began, carefully choosing your words, “Bakugo’s always been... tough. I mean, that’s just how he is. He doesn’t really show it, but I think deep down, he actually does care. He just doesn’t know how to show it without being... well, Bakugo.”

Your mom’s lips curled upward in an understanding smile. “I see. So, you think there’s more to him than meets the eye?”

You nodded, trying to explain. “I do. He’s hard to get through to, but when you’re around him long enough, you see that he’s not just all anger and explosions. He’s not as... as cold as he comes off. It’s just his way of dealing with everything. But sometimes, I think he’s afraid of really opening up.”

Your mom paused, letting her words sink in as she processed your response. “Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” she said quietly. “But you’re not wrong. People are rarely just one thing, especially Bakugo. He’s probably struggling with a lot on the inside.”

You looked down, feeling a bit guilty for not being able to reach him fully, for not knowing what was going on in his head. “Yeah. I don’t know how to help him. But I want to.”

Your mom reached over and placed a hand on your arm, squeezing it gently. “It’s okay to want to help people, sweetheart. Sometimes, all we can do is be there, even if they don’t show us they need it. You’re doing the best you can.”

You let out a sigh, nodding. Maybe she was right. Maybe being there for Bakugo, no matter how hard it was, was all you could do. After all, he was your friend.

She tilted her head and gave you a teasing look. “You’re quite the emotional one, aren’t you? Always analyzing everything, thinking about everyone’s feelings.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I guess I get it from you.”

She laughed softly. “Probably."

Your mom raised an eyebrow again, a knowing look in her eyes. “Sounds like you like them a lot. Don’t think I didn’t notice how your face lit up when you talked about them.”

You froze, blinking rapidly. “I—No! I’m just saying they're good guys! I don’t... I mean... they’re fun. That’s all. Nothing more.”

Your mom’s grin widened, clearly delighted with your reaction. “Uh-huh. Sure. But remember, sweetheart, I’ve seen that look before. You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. “Can we drop it? Please?”

She chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and sat down next to you. “Alright, alright. No more teasing. But just know, it’s okay to have fun with your friends, okay? Don’t overthink it.”

You nodded, grateful for the break in the teasing. “Thanks, Mom. I will.”

The conversation had shifted, and the teasing was fading, but the warmth in the room remained. You realized that no matter how many questions your mom asked, no matter how much she teased, she just wanted to make sure you were okay. 

You had finally managed to get away from your mother's playful teasing, your face heats up just remembering the things she said. You had decided to go on a walk just around the block, just to do some thinking.

The city felt different tonight.

The same neon lights flickered above the crosswalks. The same vending machines buzzed softly outside the convenience store near the train station. The same moths danced near the streetlamps, and the same night breeze tugged at your jacket. But something inside you had shifted — just slightly — like the static right before a summer storm.

You couldn’t stop smiling. Not a huge, wide grin. It was more subtle than that. A quiet curl at the corner of your mouth that kept returning whenever you remembered the way Denki’s eyes had lit up when you’d actually responded to one of his ridiculous pickup lines.

 

“Well, you must be a magnet, ‘cause I’m definitely attracted.”

You rolled your eyes at the memory — but gently, affectionately.

Because gods, they were terrible. Absolutely atrocious. But the way he said them, like he knew they were dumb but he just had to try anyway, made you laugh in a way that left your cheeks aching.

You felt… lighter.

Maybe it was the way he cheered when you landed that final shot in the Pac-Man game. Or how his hands had lingered when he handed you your prize tickets — not in a weird way, just... nervous, a little uncertain. Like he wasn’t used to people laughing with him instead of at him.

You could relate.

The soft buzz of your phone in your pocket interrupted your thoughts. You tugged it out, the light of the screen illuminating your face in the dark. A new message from Denki:

⚡ Denki: hey… thanks again for today
⚡ Denki: i haven’t had that much fun in forever
⚡ Denki: btw i totally let u win at pac-man
⚡ Denki: (jk u kicked my ass)
⚡ Denki: let’s hang out again soon?

You stared at the screen a second longer than necessary, your thumb hovering.

Then, with a grin that felt uncontainable:

✨ You: you’re on
✨ You: but next time i’m bringing better pick-up lines
✨ You: prepare to be DESTROYED

A beat passed before he replied.

⚡ Denki: oh no… my one weakness
⚡ Denki: beautiful girls with chaotic energy

You laughed out loud, the sound echoing off the quiet street. You didn’t care who heard.

By the time you reached your front door, your mood had completely changed from the person who left home earlier.

You’d needed this. The break. The laughter. The surprise connection.

And Denki had felt real in a way that very few people ever did. You didn’t have to try with him. You didn’t have to explain yourself. You didn’t even have to hide your quirks — the ones that weren’t powers. Just you.

You entered your house quietly, the warmth of the hallway light wrapping around you. Your mom had already gone to bed, the kitchen dark, a small plate of cut fruit left on the counter for you.

You picked it up, took a bite of something sweet, and made your way to your room.

Sleep came easier than it had in weeks.

A/N

Dont worry, this isn't a complete Denki x reader because it's a bnha x reader but i thought that for month two y/n could do some light training but spend most of month two out and about building relationships because she spent literally all of month one training. Which is why each chapter is going to be a day spent with a person.

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Chapter 21: A quiet afternoon with Midoriya

MONTH TWO-DAY TWO

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the sunlight poured in through the kitchen window, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. You had just finished breakfast and were fiddling with your phone when an idea popped into your head. It felt like a good day to have a little more company around, especially someone who wouldn’t judge you for the mountain of training notes and ideas you’d been slowly chipping away at all week.

With a deep breath, you texted Midoriya:

Hey! Want to come over? We can study or just hang out. My mom’s making lunch, so you’ll get to try her cooking if you’re free.

You leaned back in your chair, waiting anxiously for his reply. The seconds felt like minutes, but soon your phone buzzed.

Of course! I’d love to! I’ve been wanting to hang out more. I’m free in about an hour. See you soon!

Your heart fluttered a little, a mix of excitement and nerves. It was always a little nerve-wracking when you invited people over, but Midoriya had been a friend for so long now. There was no reason to feel this way. He was easy to talk to, kind, and didn’t ever make you feel weird or out of place.

You smiled to yourself, a small blush rising to your cheeks. You didn’t need to worry about anything. It was just Midoriya.

Still, as soon as the text was sent, you could feel your mom’s eyes on you from across the kitchen. She’d been sitting at the table, flipping through a magazine, but now she was watching you with an amused smile. You tried to ignore it, but you could feel her gaze like it was a physical presence, poking and prodding you from across the room.

“Who’s that?” she asked casually, folding the corner of the page down in her magazine, clearly having caught the exchange.

Your face immediately went red. You tried to play it cool, shrugging as if nothing was going on, even though your heart was already racing. “Oh, just Midoriya. He’s coming over to hang out for a bit.”

Your mom’s eyebrow lifted slowly, her smile turning into something more teasing. “Really? Midoriya, huh?” She said his name in a way that made it sound a little more loaded than usual.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act casual, but your voice came out a little too quickly. “Yeah, he’s my friend. We’re just going to study.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” she replied with a knowing glint in her eyes. “Just a casual study session. With Midoriya.”

You shot her a look, feeling the heat in your cheeks intensify. “It’s not like that, Mom.”

She grinned wider, clearly having fun with this. “Mhm. Sure, sure. Study. Got it.” Then she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms with a satisfied look on her face. “He’s a nice boy. I’m glad you two are friends.”

You groaned internally, wishing you could disappear into the floor. “Mom, please.”

“Just make sure you don’t get too distracted with the studying, alright?” she said, a playful hint in her voice. “Don’t forget that lunch is at one. I don’t want you to be too late.”

You felt your cheeks flush even deeper. “It’s just lunch, Mom,” you muttered, looking down at your phone to avoid her gaze.

“I’ll make sure the two of you have everything you need,” she continued, practically winking at you now. “Do you need help setting up for Midoriya’s visit? I can always get the snacks ready. You know he loves his food.”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “Mom, please! Stop teasing me!”

She just laughed, clearly delighted by your discomfort. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop. But remember, I can always make a wonderful impression on a guest.” She winked playfully as she stood up and made her way toward the kitchen.

You rolled your eyes, feeling the weight of the teasing set in. It was bad enough you had to be around Midoriya all the time at school, now you had to worry about your mom getting involved. You could already see her cooking up her own little plans to make you blush.

Before you could fully process it, your phone buzzed again. Midoriya had messaged back.

I’m on my way!

You took a deep breath, trying to push the anxiety away. This would be fine. It would be nice to spend time with him outside of school. No big deal.

Right?

You quickly went to your room to tidy up, throwing a few things into the closet to clear space. There was always that weird moment of pressure before someone came over, especially with a boy, even if it was just Midoriya.

You sat on your bed, staring at the clock. You had twenty minutes until he arrived. Your mom had already started humming as she moved around in the kitchen, preparing something that smelled delicious. You could tell she was probably making something a little extra for Midoriya, just because she liked him so much. It didn’t help that you could hear her softly singing as she worked, obviously in a good mood.

The doorbell rang just as you were finishing your little tidying up session. Your heart jumped into your throat, and you couldn’t help the nervous smile that tugged at your lips. Midoriya was here.

You took a deep breath before heading downstairs to open the door. When you did, there he was—looking a little sheepish but smiling as usual.

“Hey!” he said, his green eyes lighting up. “I hope I’m not too early!”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re right on time.”

He looked a little embarrassed as he shifted on his feet. “I, uh, didn’t know if I should bring anything... I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

You smiled at him, warmth flooding your chest. “No need to bring anything. But thanks for offering. My mom made lunch, so... just be prepared to eat well.”

Midoriya laughed softly, his hands rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “That’s perfect! I’m always up for food.”

You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “Come on in. Mom’s just in the kitchen.”

As he entered, he gave a small wave to your mom, who was busy placing a steaming pot on the counter. The sight of him made your mom smile warmly, and she greeted him in her usual, welcoming manner.

“Hi, Izuku! It’s good to see you again. Lunch is almost ready, and we have plenty. I hope you’re hungry.”

He looked a little flustered, but his smile was wide. “I’m starving, actually! Thank you for having me over. It’s really kind of you.”

“No problem at all,” your mom said. “I’m sure you’ve been working hard. You should always take some time to relax and have fun. Speaking of which, how’s your training going?”

Midoriya paused, blinking. “Training? Oh, uh... well... I’m doing my best. It’s a bit tough, but I’ll keep pushing.”

Your mom gave you a knowing look before turning back to Midoriya. “That’s good to hear. Keep it up! You’re going to go far, I can tell.”

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, feeling a little embarrassed by how much attention she was giving Midoriya. It was clear she was trying to make him feel at home—and she was doing a pretty good job of it.

The three of you sat down at the table, and your mom served the food. The conversation flowed easily as Midoriya shared a few funny stories about his experiences at school, and your mom joined in with her own anecdotes about work. You found yourself slipping into the background a little, happy to just listen to the two of them talk. But every now and then, Midoriya would catch your eye, and the two of you would share a brief, understanding smile.

It wasn’t long before the food was gone, and the conversation had shifted to lighter topics—what you all liked to do in your free time, your favorite movies, and the like. It was easy. Comfortable.

But as the time passed, you couldn’t help but notice how your mom kept giving you these little looks—soft, teasing smiles that said everything without saying anything at all. You could practically feel her smirk behind every word she said, as though she were waiting for something.

You were so caught up in the conversation that you almost didn’t notice when she asked the question you were dreading.

“So,” she began, her tone casual but with that hint of amusement you knew too well. “Do you two have any plans after lunch? Maybe... a walk in the park? Or just some quiet time?”

Your eyes widened, your mind racing. You could feel your cheeks growing hot again. “M-Mom!” you stammered, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Midoriya, on the other hand, looked like a deer caught in headlights. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not knowing what to say.

Your mom chuckled, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “I’m just saying, you two seem to get along really well. It’s nice to see. It’s good to have friends.”

You sighed, burying your face in your hands. “Please stop.”

"im sorry about my mum" you say, feeling embarrassed, as you walk.

Midoriya scratches the back of his head, a bright red blush appearing on his face, "No, no, it's fine, i promised."

You laugh, you could tell he was lying but didn't push him.

The sunlight was soft now, lazily dipping toward the horizon as you and Midoriya strolled down the street, heading toward the nearby park. The air was warmer than usual, carrying with it the lingering scent of spring — fresh grass, blooming flowers, and the faint scent of rain that was threatening to fall soon.

You had agreed to take a walk after lunch, a way to stretch out the meal and enjoy a bit of time together. Midoriya was walking just a little ahead, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his usual warm smile lighting up his face as he chatted about his week at school.

At first, you didn’t think anything of it. You were too busy listening to his stories, his enthusiasm contagious as he excitedly recounted his recent observations about his hero studies. But then you noticed something.

It was subtle at first — the way his movements seemed a little more fluid than usual, his steps lighter and quicker. As you walked beside him, trying to keep up with his long strides, your eyes drifted to his arms. They looked... different. More defined, more muscular than you remembered.

You glanced quickly away, a little embarrassed at your sudden curiosity. It was hard to avoid noticing, though. The way his jacket sleeves hugged his arms just a bit too tight, the subtle way the fabric stretched across his shoulders, and the firmness in his posture... It was obvious now. Midoriya had changed. He had grown.

Your eyes couldn’t help but flicker back to him, only to quickly look away when you realized you were staring. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you weren’t sure why you were feeling so... flustered. You’d known Midoriya for a long time, and he was always a bit of a nerd in the best way possible. But something about him today seemed different. His usual soft, self-conscious demeanor had been replaced with an understated confidence.

"Hey, are you okay?" Midoriya's voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been trailing behind a little too much.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," you said, forcing a smile. "Just lost in thought."

He gave you a curious look, his green eyes shining with that usual concern. "If you need to talk about something, you know I’m always here, right?"

You nodded, but for some reason, the words stuck in your throat. You didn’t know why it felt so weird to talk about it. It wasn’t like you’d never noticed his growth before. You’d seen the small changes over time — the way his clothes had started fitting differently, the way he moved with more purpose. It was all a gradual transformation, something you probably should have noticed earlier. But now that you were walking next to him, really walking next to him, it was hard not to notice how much stronger he seemed.

"I was just thinking about how much you've changed," you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

Midoriya looked at you in surprise, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to process what you said. "Changed? What do you mean?"

You winced, realizing how it must have sounded. "I mean, not just, uh, personality-wise, but physically too." You paused, realizing that maybe you were overthinking it. "I mean, you’ve always been strong, but... you know... lately it seems like you’ve been working out more or something."

There was a brief silence, and you could have sworn you saw a blush creep onto Midoriya’s cheeks. It made you feel a little more self-conscious as you tried to scramble for the right words. "I just didn’t realize how much you’d... um, grown," you finished awkwardly.

His face softened, and he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, uh, I’ve been trying to get stronger," he admitted, glancing down at his arms briefly. "I’m not as... as good as I want to be yet, but I’ve been working hard. A lot of it is for my training. I want to be ready for when the time comes." He glanced at you, his expression sincere. "And, well, I’ve been following a new routine to help me get there."

You couldn’t help but feel a little proud of him. He had always been so determined, even when things seemed impossible. Midoriya never gave up, no matter how difficult things got. It was one of the things you admired most about him.

"You’re doing great, Izuku," you said quietly, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. "I’ve noticed it. I think you’re going to be amazing when the time comes."

He smiled brightly, looking down at you with his usual shy warmth. "Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot to me."

The way he said your name made your heart skip a little, but you quickly pushed the thought aside. There was no time to focus on that. You had a lot on your plate already with your training. Besides, this was just Midoriya — your best friend.

Still, as you walked beside him, you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting back to how different he seemed now. How much he had changed, both in the way he looked and the way he carried himself. He had always been driven, but there was something about this version of him — this stronger version — that made him seem more capable than ever.

As the park came into view, the two of you fell into a more comfortable silence. The walk wasn’t long, but you both seemed to be lost in your own thoughts. You couldn’t help but sneak a glance at him every now and then, studying the way his muscles shifted beneath his jacket as he moved. It was impossible not to notice, especially when it seemed like he was just... more grown-up now.

The thought nagged at the back of your mind, but you couldn’t find the right words to address it. It wasn’t like you wanted to talk about it, but every time you looked at him, your chest tightened with a strange feeling you couldn’t place.

But whatever it was, you figured it could wait. Right now, you were just enjoying the walk and the company of your best friend. The park was in view now, and with it, a sense of calm that washed over both of you. The conversation seemed to die down as you both entered the quieter space of the park, the trees swaying gently in the breeze.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You just walked, side by side, taking in the familiar sounds of nature and the peaceful hum of the afternoon. Maybe it was the stillness that let your mind wander back to Midoriya’s muscles, but you couldn’t shake the image of him — more grown, more confident — from your thoughts.

And as the park loomed closer, you found yourself wondering how long it would be before he fully realized just how strong he had become.

The park was just as you remembered — a small haven of calm in the middle of a busy city, the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves filling the air. The path leading into the park was lined with tall trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the ground. It felt like a secret, tucked away from the world, and somehow, you always found peace here.

As you and Midoriya stepped through the entrance, the atmosphere seemed to shift. The park’s tranquility was the perfect contrast to the noise of the city, and you felt a bit lighter, the tension from your earlier thoughts starting to ease away. You had been walking side by side for a while now, the quiet rhythm of your footsteps becoming its own kind of conversation.

"So, what do you usually do here?" you asked, glancing over at Midoriya. He was looking around, his expression soft, almost nostalgic, as if he had spent a lot of time in this exact spot.

"Hmm?" He turned to you, blinking, and then smiled sheepishly. "Oh, I usually just walk around, sometimes sit by the lake and think. It helps me clear my mind. When I need to take a break from everything... or just relax, this is my go-to spot."

You nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. The quiet here had a way of making everything seem far away, and it was easy to get lost in the moment. You found yourself breathing a little easier, your shoulders relaxing as you continued walking, your shoes crunching on the gravel path.

As you walked deeper into the park, the sound of the city seemed to fade into the background, and the only sounds were the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional bird call. The area was peaceful, with families scattered around having picnics or playing in the open spaces, and a few couples enjoying walks just like you and Midoriya.

"Do you still come here often? I mean i know you did a lot as a kid,." you asked as you slowed your pace, looking up at him curiously.

"Yeah, sometimes," Midoriya answered, glancing around. "It’s kind of like my little escape. I like having time to think about everything, about what’s coming next, especially when I have so much on my mind."

He seemed to be lost in thought, his expression distant for a moment before he snapped back to reality. You couldn’t help but notice that familiar, determined look in his eyes — the same one he always wore when he was focused on something. It was comforting to see that, even now, Midoriya hadn’t changed in that way. His heart was still set on his dream, and no matter what, he was determined to achieve it.

"Do you ever feel like it’s all a bit overwhelming?" you asked, letting your voice soften. You didn’t know why you asked, but it felt like a natural question to ask him. The weight of his ambition and his future as a hero was something you were all too familiar with, even if you didn’t fully understand the pressure he was under.

Midoriya hesitated for a moment, his lips pressing together before he let out a small sigh. "Sometimes," he admitted, "it’s hard, you know? There are days when I wonder if I’m really cut out for it. If I’ll ever be good enough."

He shook his head as if trying to push away those thoughts. "But then I remember why I’m doing this. I know that if I don’t keep pushing, I’ll never get any closer to my goal. So... I can’t afford to doubt myself."

There it was again — that unwavering determination in his voice. It was one of the things you admired most about him. No matter how hard things got, Midoriya refused to back down.

"You’re going to make it," you said quietly, your voice filled with conviction. "I know you will."

Midoriya glanced at you, surprised by your sudden outburst. His expression softened as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot to me."

The moment hung there between you, a kind of quiet understanding that didn’t need any more words. You both kept walking, the sound of your footsteps merging with the peaceful atmosphere of the park. It was as if the world had slowed down just for the two of you.

Eventually, the two of you reached a small clearing by the lake. A few benches were scattered around the area, and there was a small dock leading out to the water. The surface of the lake was calm, a few ripples spreading outward from the occasional breeze. You could see a few ducks swimming near the shore, adding to the idyllic scene. It was perfect.

"Want to sit?" you asked, gesturing to one of the benches nearby. You were starting to feel the warmth of the sun on your back and realized how much you enjoyed the peacefulness of this place.

"Sure," Midoriya said with a nod, looking relieved. He sat down first, and you followed suit, both of you facing the lake. For a while, neither of you spoke, content just to enjoy the quiet.

As you sat there, you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable you felt around Midoriya. It wasn’t just the atmosphere of the park or the peacefulness of the lake — it was him. He had a way of making everything feel like it was okay. Even though he had his doubts, his insecurities, he was still a pillar of support for you, just by being there.

After a while, Midoriya shifted in his seat, turning to you with a thoughtful expression. "Hey, [Y/N]," he began, his voice a little hesitant. "I know you’ve been working really hard with your training, and I just wanted to say... I’m really proud of how far you’ve come. You’ve been pushing yourself so much, and it’s amazing to see you get stronger every day."

You were taken aback by his words, surprised by the genuine praise in his voice. It was rare for Midoriya to offer compliments without being self-conscious or awkward about it. But this time, there was nothing shy about it. He meant every word.

"Thanks, Izuku," you said, smiling at him. "That really means a lot."

The two of you sat there in the quiet for a while, the sounds of the lake and the gentle breeze surrounding you. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over everything. It was one of those moments that felt timeless, like the world outside didn’t matter. Just you, Midoriya, and the peaceful park.

As you glanced at him again, you realized something — you were grateful for this moment, for his friendship, and for everything that had led to this peaceful afternoon. No matter what the future held, you knew that Midoriya would always be there beside you, just like he had been from the very beginning.

For now, that was all you needed.

MIDORIYA'S POINT OF VIEW

The sun filtered gently through the curtains of the L/N's house, a golden spill across the table where Izuku sat, hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. He’d gotten there early — again. He always did when it came to you.

Every time you invited him over, something fluttered in his chest like pages of a wind-tossed notebook. You didn’t seem to mind when he rambled, and somehow, youR presence made the tension that usually lived between his shoulders melt a little. A quiet kind of warmth settled there instead.

He glanced around the room as he waited for you to come back from the kitchen. The scent of something sweet hung faintly in the air—probably tea. Her mom had smiled so knowingly when you had let him in earlier, it made his heart lurch in his chest.

Was it obvious? Did her mom know I… like her? No—don’t think about that. Be cool. Just be cool.

But “cool” had never been one of his strong suits.

When you returned with two mugs, he straightened instinctively, folding his hands in his lap. His heart did a little somersault when their fingers brushed as you passed him his cup. The warmth from the tea seeped into his palms, grounding him.

They talked for a while—about school, about quirks, about training. You mentioned how your mom had been teasing you about spending too much time with boys.

That sent him spiraling a bit internally.

Wait—was I one of those boys? Of course I was. Oh no, what if her mom thinks I’m weird, or—wait, does she think that too? She wouldn’t have invited me over if she thought I was weird… right?

He nodded along, trying not to let his thoughts run too fast ahead of him. But it was hard, especially when your laugh was the kind that made his chest feel tight in the nicest way.

Then came the question—“Want to go for a walk to the park?”

He blinked once. “Yeah,” he said quickly, too quickly, and then tried to recover with a sheepish smile. “I’d like that.”

They left together, slipping into the comfortable rhythm they always did when it was just the two of them. Your presence grounded him — you wasn’t loud or demanding, but you wasn’t afraid to speak up either. You was bright in a way that didn’t blind him — it guided him.

Like starlight.

The sun was warm but not harsh, and the wind tugged gently at the hem of your jacket as they walked. The sidewalk stretched ahead in that quiet, golden-hour kind of peace. Midoriya kept his hands in his pockets mostly to hide how they still trembled when he got nervous.

He noticed the little things. He always did.

The way your hands flexed when you talked about spells. The faint shimmer in your eyes when you got excited about your magic. The way you walked — like you were still carrying the weight of all your self-expectations, but determined not to let it crush you.

As they walked, you glanced sideways at him. “You’re looking different lately.”

His heart skipped. “D-Different how?”

You hesitated, then gave a soft smile. “Stronger. Like… you’ve been training.”

Oh. Right. He looked down, scratching at the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle.

“I guess I’ve been working out a little,” he admitted. “Trying to get stronger. For the future.”

For the entrance exam. For my dream. For… you.

He didn't say the last part aloud.

There was a silence that stretched between them—not awkward, not quite. Just full of things unsaid.

He risked a glance at you again. You looks happy today. Lighter. I wonder if you feel it too—that pull toward something bigger. Toward becoming more than what we are now.

He swallowed. There were moments like this that made him feel like he could almost believe it. That maybe—maybe—if he worked hard enough, if he trained long enough, he could be someone worthy of standing beside you.

Someone worthy of being a hero.

because he was being helped by All Might, and is going to get a quirk, just so he could stand by you.

 

The park opened up in front of them like a stage bathed in golden light. There weren’t many people around — a few kids near the swings, a couple walking their dog under the rows of cherry trees.

 

They settled on a bench near the edge of the open field, where they could see the sunset stretching behind the skyline. Izuku leaned back, arms resting on his knees, and took a slow breath.

This. This was peace.

You sat beside him, close but not too close. And yet, the warmth of your shoulder made it hard to focus.

They talked again — quieter now. About quirks. About dreams. You mentioned Vega Crown and Altairis with a spark in your eyes that made his chest ache.

He tried to hide the envy that sometimes crept in when she talked about her power. It wasn’t her fault. He never blamed her.

But he couldn’t help feeling the weight of his own uselessness sometimes. But it was getting better because soon he was going to have his own quirk. He was finally going to be worthy.

Still, when you asked his opinion about her new spell formations, he lit up. Your trust in him—his analysis, his notebook, his words—it gave him something solid to stand on.

So he told you what he thought. Explained a possible improvement for Lyra’s rotation angle. Suggested a counter move to pair with Aquila Wings. Your eyes sparkled as you listened listened.

And for a moment, he felt like a hero already.

“You’re amazing,” you said suddenly, looking at him with sincerity that made his ears burn.

He looked away, fingers clenching on his knees.

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “But I want to be. I want to be someone who—who can help. Who can protect people. Who doesn’t just watch.”

The words were raw and honest, slipping past his guard.

You reached over, nudging his arm gently.

“You already are,” she said.

He didn’t cry. Not quite. But his throat closed, and he nodded, swallowing the lump.

They sat in silence again as the sun dipped behind the trees, shadows lengthening across the field. Midoriya turned his gaze upward. The first stars were beginning to appear.

Vega. Altair. Sirius.

He remembered your words — how you connected with the constellations, how you felt them respond to you.

Maybe I can’t feel them, he thought. But I can believe in them. I can believe in you.

And for the first time in days, the ache in his chest didn’t hurt quite so much.

Just… glowed.

 

A/N

i just released a poll on my profile, if you guys could complete it that would be very helpful because it will help me for future chapters

Have a great day- Artemis

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Chapter 22: Dust in the wind

MONTH TWO-DAY THREE

The sun crept over the treetops like a blessing.

Its light filtered through a curtain of green leaves, casting moving patterns on the mossy floor of your forest clearing. The early morning mist still clung to the air like a whisper, faint and shimmering in the golden glow. Birds chirped somewhere above, and a squirrel darted across your vision, vanishing into a thicket.

You stood in the middle of it all, arms outstretched, eyes closed, lungs expanding. You could feel it — the difference.

Your legs weren’t as sore. Your breathing didn’t hitch. And more than that, your heart wasn’t heavy.

Yesterday’s walk with Midoriya had lifted a weight off your chest you hadn’t realized you were carrying. The conversation had been soft, easy — full of the kind of warmth that you couldn’t generate with raw willpower alone. It had reminded you that even in the middle of all this training and pressure and expectation, you were still allowed to be a kid.

You cracked one eye open and smiled softly at the familiar space. This little clearing had seen your worst. Your breakdowns. Your near-burnouts. Today, it would witness something gentler.

But no less powerful.

“Alright,” you said aloud, voice bouncing off the trees. “Let’s get to work.”

First: stamina.

You started with a light jog around the perimeter of the clearing, navigating around the roots and stones that had long since become part of your internal map. Your body moved on muscle memory alone — arms pumping, knees rising, breath steady.

After a few loops, you picked up the pace. Each footfall landed a little harder, a little faster. Sweat gathered at the nape of your neck, trickled down your back. You could feel your heartbeat pressing against your ribs, but it wasn’t panicked. It was steady. Determined.

Ten minutes became fifteen. Then twenty.

You didn’t stop until you were panting, bent over with your hands braced on your thighs, grinning through the burn in your lungs.

“Not bad,” you muttered. “Definitely stronger than last week.”

And then — time for starlight.

You straightened slowly, eyes turning skyward.

There — just visible beyond the break in the canopy — was Aquila, the eagle constellation. Bold. Fast. You raised your hands, focused on the constellation's pattern, and felt your quirk begin to hum in your fingertips like it always did.

“Aquila Wings.”

The star-crafted wings shimmered into being behind your shoulders — glowing blue-gold feathers shaped of condensed stardust. They didn’t flap like bird wings. Instead, they extended with a faint ripple of energy, pushing against gravity like magnetic fields.

You leapt.

For a moment, you hovered. Your form wavered slightly, but you corrected with a subtle shift in focus. The wings didn’t offer infinite flight, but you could ride the lift long enough to dart across the clearing in a graceful arc before landing again with a soft thud.

“Not bad!” you gasped, stumbling slightly. “Let’s try that again.”

You repeated the process five times. By the sixth, you managed to flip midair and land on one knee with a dramatic flair.

Grinning, you wiped your brow. “Bakugo would’ve laughed at that. Or called it extra.”

A brief pause. Then a sigh.

You still weren’t sure how to read him — not after everything. But that didn’t matter right now.

Right now, it was just you.

Next up: defense.

You drew a wide circle in the dirt with your foot, centering yourself as you lifted your right palm upward.

“Lyra Barrier.”

The constellation responded immediately. The starlight drew into the shape of a shimmering harp — lines of radiant energy stretched across an arched framework. You focused on the vibration. With a snap of your fingers, the strings began to hum, each note resonating with harmonic frequency.

A small, compressed energy orb floated beside you — one of the practice drones you’d constructed from condensed stardust the day before.

“Let’s test how much it reflects.”

You flicked your fingers, launching the drone forward. It struck the barrier with a loud clang, bouncing off in a spray of fractured light. You stepped back, holding the barrier firm as a second, faster orb zipped toward you from the left.

CLANG!

This one vibrated the strings enough to rattle your wrist.

You gritted your teeth, reshaping the frequency. The harp responded — shifting pitch, adjusting its vibration.

“Still not perfect,” you admitted, stepping away as the barrier dissolved into fading particles. “But definitely stronger than last week. It’s finally holding its tune.”

You jotted a quick note in your training journal at the edge of the clearing:
“Lyra Barrier holding strong vs. medium-impact projectiles. Needs tuning against sonic bursts. Try combining with Aquila for high-speed defense in air.”

You tried Vega crown next.

Your fingers tingled before you even called for it.

There was something different about this spell — something regal, maybe. Every time you summoned the Vega Crown, it made you feel like you were holding a piece of the cosmos in your hands.

You extended both arms, palms up.

“Vega Crown.”

A ring of light unfolded from your shoulders — hovering inches above your head. It didn’t look like a traditional crown. It was more like an orbiting array of star-shaped glyphs, each one pulsing with timed resonance.

You took a deep breath and focused on balance.

With a gentle push of your quirk, the glyphs rotated — one, two, three times — then began to lock into a steady rhythm, orbiting in sync with your pulse.

You dropped into a crouch, then leapt into the air.

The crown followed. As you flipped midair, the glyphs scattered in precise arcs — acting like satellites, moving to intercept theoretical threats before reforming above your head on landing.

You exhaled, sweat beading on your neck. “Still not combat-ready, but… I’m getting closer.”

And finally: attack.

You planted your feet, reaching for the constellation you’d studied for the last month — Orion, the hunter. Bold. Patient. Focused.

Your right hand extended. With a shimmer of magic, the Orion Bow formed — sleek, ethereal, made of woven star threads. A luminous quiver materialized across your back, arrows glowing like comets.

You aimed for a distant tree stump and drew the bowstring.

TWANG!

The arrow whistled through the air, landing just shy of the mark.

You huffed. “One more.”

Another. This time, you adjusted for wind, imagining Bakugo yelling something snarky about your aim.

The arrow landed dead center.

You grinned. “Take that, Blasty.”

You spent the next twenty minutes switching between rapid fire and precision shots — refining the tension in the bowstring, experimenting with holding time, practicing how the arrow speed shifted with your heartbeat.

By the end, you were trembling from head to toe — exhaustion setting in.

But god, it felt good.

You collapsed on the soft moss, panting, your limbs aching but satisfied. Your fingers still tingled with residual stardust. The Vega Crown had long since faded, and the wings of Aquila had scattered like fireflies into the wind.

Above you, the sky was shifting — brighter now, the sun nearing its peak. You squinted through the leaves.

Still a whole day ahead of me.

But you didn’t rush.

You laid there, fingers splayed wide, chest rising and falling.

In your mind’s eye, the constellations glimmered — Altair, Vega, Sirius. Your guides. Your guardians. And for the first time in a while, the pressure to prove yourself didn’t feel like a noose around your neck.

It felt like a promise.

“I’m gonna make it,” you whispered aloud to no one.

Just you. The trees. The stars you hadn’t yet touched.

And they all seemed to whisper back:
We know.

You’d just finished your morning training. 

The sunlight filtered through the dusty clouds above as you made your way toward the corner store on Yamato Street, your wallet a little lighter than usual, your stomach louder than ever. Training had taken everything out of you—your limbs ached, your shirt clung to your back, and your legs wobbled slightly as you climbed the last slope before the shop came into view. 

The automatic doors wheezed open with a quiet beep, letting you step into the cool air of the corner store. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, flickering just enough to notice. The aisles were narrow and cluttered, the linoleum slightly worn at the corners from years of foot traffic. You’d been here plenty of times — the store wasn’t far from home, and the bent old man behind the counter always offered hard candies for a smile. 

You made a beeline for the small fridge in the back, the one that held cheap bento boxes and bottled tea. Your stomach rumbled as you scanned for something filling but not too expensive — your mother had given you a bit of extra money to treat yourself after all that training. 

As you stepped into the aisle, you noticed someone already there. A tall, thin guy stood half-slouched in front of the fridges, fingers twitching near his collar, scratching. His hoodie was far too big, the sleeves frayed, and the drawstrings chewed. He wore gloves — dark, fingerless aside from the fourth finger, which was covered— and his face was mostly obscured by a mop of pale blue-gray hair. What little of his skin you could see was flushed raw and blotchy. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet. His eyes were flicking over the price labels, breath coming shallow. There was something tight about his posture — defensive, jittery. You almost thought he might bolt. 

You tried not to stare. You knew what it felt like to be looked at too long by people who didn’t understand. Still, something about him made your gut twist — not fear exactly, but a deep, primal caution. Like your instincts were whispering: don’t get too close. 

Then again… you also knew what it felt like to have people avoid you just because of a bad day, or a weird expression, or something you couldn’t control. So you cleared your throat softly and offered a polite smile. 

“Sorry—can I squeeze past real quick?” 

His head jerked slightly in your direction. You caught a flash of bloodshot red eyes — sharp and narrow, like a feral animal caught in the act. He blinked once, then stepped aside without a word, body pressed against the fridge door like he wanted to sink into it. 

“Thanks,” you said, still gentle. You grabbed a tuna-mayo onigiri and a tea bottle, then hesitated when you saw what he was holding: a cup of instant ramen in one hand and… nothing else. His other hand twitched toward the fridge like he wanted to grab something more but couldn’t. 

You stepped back to let him pass, and he shuffled toward the register without meeting your eyes. 

But something about the way he walked made you glance after him — and then you saw it. The cashier scanned the ramen, and the man pulled out a crumpled bill and a few coins from his hoodie. Not enough. His hand hovered in the air a moment longer than necessary. 

The old cashier frowned. “You’re short.” 

The man — boy, really, now that you saw how gaunt he looked — muttered something unintelligible. His voice was low, scratchy, like someone who hadn’t spoken much in days. You watched his shoulders stiffen, fingers curling against his palm. The air around him shifted — subtly, but wrong. The hairs on your arm stood up. 

“I got it,” you said before you really thought it through. 

Both heads turned toward you. 

The cashier blinked. “You sure?” 

You stepped forward, pulled your wallet out. “It’s just ramen, right? I don’t mind.” 

The boy stared at you like you’d just handed him a live grenade. “Why would you…?” 

He trailed off, his voice breaking into a harsh rasp at the end. His eyes narrowed, unreadable. Suspicious. 

You shrugged. “You looked like you needed a meal. It’s not a big deal.” 

It wasn’t about charity — not exactly. It just felt like the right thing to do. You knew what it was like to feel frayed, to have days when even the smallest kindness hit like a sucker punch. You paid for the ramen and nodded at the cashier, who gave you a grateful smile and turned to the next customer. 

The boy didn’t leave right away. He stood beside you at the end of the counter, eyes never quite on yours, fingers twitching as if debating whether to speak or not. You realized he was trying — and failing — to understand why you’d helped. 

Then, quietly, he said, “People don’t do things like that.” 

You tilted your head. “Maybe not enough people do.” 

For the first time, he looked at you directly. 

It wasn’t anger or annoyance in his face. It was confusion. Sadness. A kind of aching loneliness you’d seen in Midoriya once, before you’d ever become close friends. The kind of look someone wears when they’ve been alone so long they’ve forgotten what warmth feels like. 

“I didn’t ask,” he muttered. 

You smiled — not unkindly. “You didn’t have to.” 

He glanced down at the ramen in his hand, then at you again. His throat bobbed. “...Thanks.” 

You almost didn’t catch it. 

“Don’t mention it. Take care, okay?” 

Then he turned and left without another word. 

You caught one last glimpse of him through the store window — hoodie pulled low, his gait stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling you’d left behind. The ramen clutched tightly to his chest. He didn’t look back. 

Unbeknownst to you, a shallow scratch on his arm — one you hadn’t even noticed — was already healing. 

Your quirk had kicked in, just a little. Not enough to drain you, but enough to leave a mark. A faint scar on the inside of his forearm, ringed with delicate starlit freckles. Like constellations. 

If you had seen it later, you might have noticed they resembled the stars of Ursa Major (The Great Bear). It symbolizes guidance and direction, offering hope for navigation and finding one's path. 

But he didn’t know what it meant. Only that it didn’t burn, and that for the first time in a long while, someone had looked at him and didn’t flinch. 

And for now — that was enough to haunt him. 

Why did you do that? 

The question gnawed at the inside of his head as he walked away from the shop. His fingers scratched at his jaw unconsciously, an old wound reopening beneath the bandages. 

People didn’t help him. 

People avoided him. Feared him. He liked it that way. 

So why had you stepped in? Why did your eyes not flinch? Why wasn’t you repulsed? 

He looked down at the ramen crinkling under his grip. The moment you smiled at him—genuinely smiled—his chest had gone tight. Not in fear. Not in anger. Something worse. 

He’d felt seen. 

He hated it. 

He hated you. 

But he didn’t. Not really. 

“Take care, okay?” 

The words echoed in his skull like a curse. You hadn’t even known who he was. And yet… 

He clenched the bag tightly. 

When he looked at the skin of his wrist, just below where his fingers rested, he could see the mark, he didn't know what it was, only that it helped him, he could still feel the heat of that moment. The connection. The way you had looked at him like he wasn’t some monster clawing at the edges of a society he wanted to burn down. 

For a second, he forgot how much he hated this world. 

For a second, he wondered what it would be like to have someone like you on his side. 

And so he decided.  

He was going to see you again 

The sun was hot overhead as you stepped out of the alley shortcut and into the familiar shadow of the corner store. Your stomach growled audibly. You were way past lunch and your mother had sent you out with some spare change and strict instructions: “Something filling. Not candy. And drink water this time.” 

You ducked inside, grateful for the cool wash of air conditioning. The old overhead lights buzzed faintly as you scanned the shelves for something fast and cheap. There was no one at the counter. Just the clerk in the back, half-listening to a daytime talk show playing from a static radio. 

You made your way to the instant food section, reaching for an onigiri and a bottled tea when you heard it: 

A quiet, gravel-voiced grunt of frustration from the next aisle over. 

You peeked around the corner and saw him again. 

The same guy from last week. 

The one with the pale, cracked skin around his eyes, that unnervingly sharp gaze, and the oversized hoodie pulled too tightly around his wiry frame. His gloves were fraying worse now, and he was scratching — hard — at the base of his neck, as if the skin there never stopped itching. 

He had another ramen cup in one hand and a bottle of something unlabelled in the other. His knuckles were white, grip tense. He didn’t notice you. 

You hesitated. Your brain was whispering walk away. But your heart… your heart remembered the look on his face the last time you helped him. Not gratitude exactly — more like confusion. Like he didn’t know what to do with kindness. 

And something about that made you feel like you couldn’t just pretend you didn’t see him. 

So you stepped around the corner casually, pretending not to notice the tension in his shoulders spike the moment he saw you. 

“You again,” you said lightly. 

He blinked once. His mouth twitched into something between a scowl and a grimace. “You’re following me or something?” How ironic, if only you had known. 

You laughed, and shook your head. “Trust me, I wouldn’t follow someone who looks like they might sneeze and vaporize me.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Tch. You’ve got jokes.” 

There was a weird flicker of something — not quite amusement — that passed through his face. But it didn’t last. He was still half-turned away, like he was trying to will you to walk off. 

You didn’t. Instead, you looked at the items in his hand. 

“Lunch?” 

He scoffed. “What’s it to you?” 

“Nothing,” you said calmly. “Just wondering if you’ve actually got enough for it this time.” 

That earned you a sharp glance. “You trying to embarrass me?” 

“Nope,” you replied. “I’m trying to see if you’ll let me help again.” 

He stared at you, unblinking. Like you were a puzzle missing half the pieces. Then he said, in a low, irritated mutter: 

“You’re weird.” 

“I get that a lot.” 

You stepped up beside him at the counter, already digging for your purse. 

“Seriously,” he muttered. “Why do you keep… doing this?” 

You paused. 

He sounded genuinely puzzled. Not angry. Not sarcastic. 

Just… lost. 

You looked at him again — not at the way he dressed or scratched or hunched — but at the way he held himself. Like every muscle was waiting to fight or flee. Like he didn’t know how to just exist in peace. 

And you remembered what it was like to feel that way. 

You shrugged. “Because you look like no one else does.” 

He froze. 

The cashier rang up the ramen and bottle, giving you a side glance as he took your money without asking questions. You handed over the coins and turned back to the boy. 

“Do you have a name?” you asked. 

That made his eyes narrow even further. His mouth opened, then closed again. He looked at the floor. “Don’t need one.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Okay, Mysterious Hoodie Guy.” 

“…Tomura.” 

Your eyes flicked up. His tone had been reluctant, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. 

You smiled. “Well, Tomura, I’m glad you’re eating something today.” 

He picked up the ramen and the drink, his hand twitching once before stuffing them into his hoodie pocket. 

“…I don’t get you,” he muttered again. 

“Good. Makes it harder for people to hate me,” you replied with a small smile. 

He didn’t answer that. 

Instead, he took a half-step toward the door — then stopped. You watched as he hesitated, his foot tapping lightly on the cracked tile, fingers curling against the plastic of the ramen cup. 

“…You helped me twice,” he said at last, voice like sandpaper. “Even though I didn’t deserve it.” 

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off: 

“I haven’t done anything to deserve it. You don’t know what kind of person I am.” 

There was something raw under the words. Defensive. Self-loathing. Like he was trying to warn you away. 

You didn’t flinch. 

“Maybe not,” you said gently. “But you were hungry. And angry. And alone. And I’ve been two of those before, too.” 

He looked at you — and this time, it wasn’t confusion or suspicion in his eyes. 

It was grief. 

For a moment, he looked like a kid who’d lost everything. 

“…You’re not scared of me?” 

You hesitated. 

Maybe you should’ve been. 

But for some reason — some quiet instinct inside you — you weren’t. 

“Should I be?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer. 

He just stared at you for a long moment… then turned and walked out the door. 

This time, he looked back once. 

Just for a second. 

But he did. 

And somehow, that glance felt heavier than any words he could’ve said. 

 

In the shadow of a crumbling stairwell, Tomura leaned against the brick wall and stared down at the ramen cup and drink in his hands. 

His throat was tight. His mouth dry. 

That girl — that weird, persistent, stupidly kind girl — had smiled at him again like he wasn’t a monster. Like he was just some kid down on his luck. 

He didn’t know what to do with that. 

No one looked at him like that. 

Ever. 

He scratched hard at his neck — too hard — until he felt the skin crack and sting. Still not enough to drown it out. 

Not the way your voice had sounded. 

Not the stupid, infuriating warmth in your eyes. 

He looked down at his hand. 

The scar from last week was still there. 

It shimmered faintly in the daylight — tiny dots like white freckles, scattered in the shape of a bear constellation. He had asked master what it was last week when he had got it. 

“Ursa Major,” he muttered under his breath. “What the hell did you do to me?” 

He didn’t mean your quirk. 

He meant the part where someone gave him something — no strings, no judgment — and left him wondering if maybe, maybe not everyone was cruel. 

And that, more than anything else, scared him. 

He was still going to burn the hero society down. 

But maybe, you weren’t going to burn with the rest of them. 

 

The hideout smelled like ash and disuse. 

Dust drifted in the air, glittering faintly in the blue glow of the monitors. The silence was near suffocating, broken only by the low whir of the life-support pod in the far corner, its blinking lights like a slow, patient heartbeat. 

Tomura Shigaraki stood there with his hands clenched deep in his hoodie pockets, face partially obscured by his wild white hair. The skin around his neck was raw again — fingernail marks visible. But he hadn’t scratched as deeply this time. 

Because something else was eating at him. 

“All For One” was waiting. 

Or rather, his voice was. 

The tube-fed system crackled, the artificial breathing steady and low, barely louder than the rustle of Tomura’s hoodie as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. The faint outline of the life-support pod glowed from the far wall, and though his master could barely move anymore, the presence of him filled the whole space. Overwhelming. Heavy. Like gravity itself bowed in his direction. 

“Tomura,” came the soft, breathy voice from the pod behind him — velvet wrapped in steel, always too calm, too cold. “You’ve returned.” 

“I got food,” he muttered, not turning around. “Didn’t want to deal with people today.” 

“Oh? And yet… here you are. Wound tighter than usual.” All For One’s voice was gentle — almost fatherly. 

A pause. 

“You saw her again, didn’t you?” 

Tomura’s jaw flexed. His fingers twitched inside his sleeves. “Yeah.” 

“She spoke to you?” 

He nodded. 

“Kindly?” 

“…Yeah.” 

Another pause. Tomura finally turned, eyes shadowed. 

“She paid for my food,” he said. “Again. I didn’t even ask. She just saw I didn’t have enough and—” 

“She reached out,” All For One finished softly. “Even though you are nothing but a stranger to her.” 

Tomura hesitated. His throat was tight, and something unfamiliar coiled in his gut. 

“She remembered me,” he added. “She even asked if I was alright. Who does that?” 

The voice in the pod chuckled lightly, but not with amusement. With understanding. 

“She saw something worth saving in you,” he said. “And that, Tomura… is a rare thing indeed.” 

The silence stretched. 

“…But that’s not good, is it?” Tomura asked suddenly, voice bitter. “Master, you always said attachments were dangerous. That weakness spreads.” 

“Yes,” All For One agreed, his voice turning thoughtful, “for lesser men. But not for you.” 

Tomura blinked, caught off guard. 

“What?” 

“Feelings — especially the ones that make you hesitate — are not always weakness. Sometimes, they’re fuel. Purpose. Direction.” 

Tomura’s hands clenched tighter. 

“She’s not like them,” he whispered. “She’s not fake. She didn’t look at me like I was a disease. She just… smiled. Like I was worth something.” 

“Then protect her,” All For One said smoothly. 

Tomura looked up sharply. 

“Protect her?” he echoed. 

“Yes,” came the soothing reply. “You’ve seen how the world treats people like her. Young. Gifted. Kind. They will use her, discard her, or worse — break her trying to force her into their mold.” 

Tomura’s chest ached. 

“She wants to be a hero,” he said. “She looks up to them.” 

“All the more reason,” All For One murmured, “why she must be shown the truth.” 

He paused, letting the moment settle. 

“Tell me, Tomura — where were the heroes when you needed saving? Where are they when people suffer beneath their shining symbols and empty smiles?” 

Tomura’s nails dug into his palms. He didn’t speak. 

“They would’ve ignored you in that shop,” All For One continued, voice low and calm. “They would’ve passed by. Maybe even accused you. But she didn’t.” 

Tomura nodded slowly. 

“She’s not like them,” he repeated. 

“No,” All For One agreed. “And that is why she must not belong to their world.” 

The words slithered into Tomura’s thoughts like vines, wrapping tightly around the flicker of warmth he hadn’t asked for. 

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” he said, voice cracking despite himself. “I— I don’t want her to be like me.” 

“Then change the world,” his master replied, like it was simple. “Tear down the walls that protect only the powerful and expose the rot they hide. Create a society where someone like her will never be punished for her kindness. Where she will never have to wear a fake smile or pretend that Pro Heroes care.” 

Tomura’s heart beat harder. His thoughts twisted. 

“You’re saying… we destroy them for her?” 

“Yes,” All For One whispered. “She opened a door. Use what you feel — not to pull back — but to build. Let your anger become protection. Let your affection become purpose.” 

Tomura’s breath hitched. 

“She’ll hate me,” he said. “If she ever finds out who I really am…” 

“She will understand,” All For One said, firm and quiet. “Once the dust has settled and this broken society crumbles, she’ll see who truly stood for her. Who acted.” 

Tomura swallowed hard. 

The idea burned in him — twisted and terrible — but it felt real. 

Felt like something he could hold. 

“Let the heroes fall,” All For One finished. “And when they do, she will stand in the new world you built. Safe. Free. Grateful.” 

Tomura nodded, slow and shaky. 

“…Yeah.” 

He didn’t trust heroes. 

But maybe—just maybe—he could become something else. 

Something better. 

For her. 

Tomura Shigaraki crouched low on the edge of a rusted rooftop, fingers twitching against the cracked concrete, sleeves tugged past his wrists like a nervous habit. His red eyes followed your every movement through the broken metal fencing that lined the alley — watching, but unseen. 

You were training again. 

Just like you had been yesterday. 

Just like you had been the past week. 

And now that he’d seen it — the sweat on your brow, the glow of your quirk as it shimmered and pulsed into constellation-shaped forms — he couldn’t unsee the way your body swayed under the effort. How you pushed yourself harder than anyone should without anyone watching your back. 

He hated it. 

Not the training — not your magic glimmering in that golden-silver starlight, not the sound of your breath or the raw energy in your voice when you shouted your spells into the empty space. 

No. He hated that you were alone. 

He shifted, a faint scrape of his boot brushing against a loose shard of roofing tile. It didn’t echo. You didn’t notice. 

Good, he thought. Don’t notice me. Don’t come over here. Don’t ruin this by being kind again. 

His jaw tightened, cracking skin under his chin where he’d scratched earlier. He felt the wound pulse — raw, red — but he didn’t touch it this time. 

You were laughing now, just faintly — the kind of laugh you let slip when something finally worked. You held your hands up, and something bright and blue formed between them: a set of shimmering wings shaped like the Aquila constellation. 

“Aquila Wings,” you said, voice breathless.  

You leapt — high, gracefully — but the wind around you was too strong so you ended up crashing into the grass with a yelp. 

Shigaraki startled forward without meaning to. 

One foot hovered over the edge of the rooftop. 

You were fine. You groaned and sat up, rubbing your ribs with a wince, but then you laughed again. You brushed grass from your arms and stood back up. 

“You idiot,” he whispered, to you or himself, he wasn’t sure. “Why are you doing this alone?” 

He’d seen you in the store. Twice now. 

You never wore fear on your face. Not like others did. 

You’d looked at him — seen him — and still smiled. Still treated him like he was a person. 

You paid for him. 

You didn’t flinch when your fingers brushed his. 

And now here you were again — breaking yourself down with no backup. No mentor. No safety net. 

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched again. If you fell wrong, broke something, passed out — who would help you? 

Not the heroes. They didn’t care. He knew that. He’d seen their weakness, their excuses, their cowardice. 

They let people like you fall through the cracks. People with stardust quirks and fragile hope. 

And even if you did become one of them, they’d ruin you from the inside out. 

He stood slowly, silently, his red eyes fixed on you as you threw your arm out again — this time forming a bow of starlight, constellations linking and flexing with magic. 

“Orion Bow,” you said under your breath. “Pulse sync — fire.” 

You loosed a shimmering arrow across the clearing. It landed with a dull pulse of light, sinking into the earth with a tremble. 

You didn’t cheer this time. 

You just stared at it. 

Shigaraki could feel your breath hitch from here. You were quiet for a long time. Then he saw you shake your head. 

He saw your hand rise and clutch your chest. 

“Too slow,” you muttered. “Still too slow.” 

He knew that tone. That disgust. That shame. That gnawing need to be better, because the world would eat you alive otherwise. 

And suddenly he was angry again. 

Not at you. 

At the world. 

At the ones who had made you feel like you weren’t enough. 

The ones who told you that your power needed to be perfect. That your kindness made you weak. That the path you were walking was only worth something if you bled for it. 

I won’t let them ruin you, he thought, jaw clenched. 

Then he stopped himself. 

That was dangerous thinking. 

Too close to the kind of thoughts All For One had warned him about… then encouraged behind a velvet voice and puppet strings. “Protect her,” the man had said. “Tear it all down for her.” 

He exhaled slowly. 

You had no idea how close you were to monsters. You didn’t know the rot behind the curtain. The ugliness of the world you wanted to enter. 

But he did. 

And maybe — just maybe — if he could burn it all to ash, then the world you'd walk into would finally deserve someone like you. 

You stumbled again — this time catching yourself. Exhausted. 

You muttered something under your breath, something he couldn’t hear. 

Then you sat down, legs folding beneath you, arms wrapped around your knees. Head bowed. 

You looked so tired. 

So small. 

So human. 

And for the first time in a long time, Tomura Shigaraki didn’t want to destroy something. 

He wanted to guard it. 

He sat back down, hiding himself again beneath the shadows of the rooftop. 

And he watched you train until the sun dipped below the skyline. 

Until the starlight that danced in your hands matched the real ones flickering into the sky. 

The last light of day was slipping behind the treetops by the time you let yourself collapse onto the grass, legs aching and fingertips still tingling from the sheer effort of the last few spells. 

You exhaled hard. 

You could barely hold the flight pattern if there’s intense wind nearby. And Orion Bow’s pulse-thrum was... too slow, still faster than last month’s training but not fast enough for your liking. Off-beat. Like your body hadn’t quite caught up with your magic, or maybe your heart hadn’t. 

You pressed your palm to your chest, counting your breaths. 

In… out… steady… 

But even as the silence settled in around you — no more incantations, no crackle of starlight — there was something that wouldn’t ease. A tension. A sensation that wasn’t coming from your exhausted limbs or burning lungs. 

It was something else. 

You sat up slowly, brushing grass from your back. Your head turned instinctively, eyes scanning the thinning trees that bordered your makeshift training ground. 

The wind had gone still. 

Not eerily so — not enough to trigger alarm — but enough to make you pause. Enough to make the hairs on your arms stand just slightly on end. Enough that your quirk pulsed faintly beneath your skin, waiting for a command you hadn’t given. 

Your gaze swept across the rooftops in the distance, toward the rust-colored apartment blocks silhouetted against the fading sky. 

Nothing. 

Nobody. 

And yet… 

You felt it. 

Like a presence — not hostile, not sharp — but watchful. Like someone had been looking at you just a moment ago. 

You turned in a slow circle, heart skipping in your chest. 

The city beyond buzzed faintly. Cars honking. Lights flickering on in windows. The evening was settling into its usual rhythm. 

It’s nothing, you told yourself. You’re tired. Just worn out. Your body’s playing tricks on you. 

But even as you stretched your arms out and gathered up the scattered remnants of your training — a broken arrow here, a faintly glowing sigil there — you couldn’t shake it. 

That feeling of not being alone. 

Not exactly. 

You glanced up once more, your eyes lingering on the top of an old rooftop a block away — jagged, rust-lined, with broken fencing. Just for a second. Just long enough to wonder if someone had been there. 

Someone watching. 

You shook your head. 

No one cared about your training. No one but you, really. And maybe Midoriya. And sometimes… 

You swallowed hard. 

Sometimes Bakugo — though he’d never admit it out loud. 

You let out a breath and gave the sky one last look. 

The stars were beginning to appear now. Vega. Altair. Sirius. Familiar and silent and constant. 

You let your quirk hum gently in your hands — just once — like a heartbeat of light against the quiet. 

Whatever it was, you told yourself, if it’s real… it didn’t feel like a threat. 

Then you smiled faintly, shook your head again, and turned for home — letting the stars light the path ahead. 

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched. 

Not enough to disintegrate the rusted ledge beneath his hand — not yet — but enough that the urge sat there, biting under his skin like a hundred crawling insects. He clenched his fist tighter and leaned forward just slightly, peering over the edge of the rooftop. 

There you were. 

Chest heaving. Shoulders dusted with twilight and sweat. Starlight flickering dimly from your fingertips like you hadn’t quite let go of your last spell. 

He watched the way your shoulders rose — how your eyes swept the clearing. Not aimless. Searching. 

You felt it. 

His pulse stuttered. Something awful and electric jolted through his ribs. You’d sensed him. Somehow — even with how quiet he’d been, even with how careful — you felt him watching. 

You hadn’t seen him. 

But you’d felt him. 

He knew that look in your eyes — the kind that scanned shadows, the kind that trusted instincts more than proof. You weren’t scared, but you were alert. A quiet readiness. Not the kind that prepared to strike… but the kind that prepared to protect. 

Even now, he thought bitterly. Even after everything — you still light up like that. 

Tomura’s hand hovered above the rooftop rail. 

He should’ve left minutes ago. Should’ve never followed you in the first place. Should’ve just gone back to the base like All For One said and waited. Waited for orders. Waited for destruction. Waited for the hero society to crumble like so much ash under his palm. 

But he couldn’t. 

Not when you looked so tired. Not when you bent down to pick up the scattered fragments of your training session — like they mattered. Like you mattered. 

And not when he saw the moment your lips moved to whisper to the stars overhead — Altair, Vega, Sirius — like you were speaking to friends and not distant, burning bodies of light. 

“Why…?” he murmured, more to himself than anything. 

Why did you help him in the store? Why did you speak to him like he was just some guy short on yen and not a monster with decay in his hands and ghosts in his spine? Why did you smile when he didn’t smile back? 

Why did you make him feel seen? 

His nails dug into the side of his palm. The scar tissue didn’t bleed anymore. He’d picked it too many times to hurt. 

You should be afraid of me, he thought. You should’ve screamed. Run. Looked at me like everyone else does. 

But you didn’t. 

And now… you were looking at the sky like it was listening. Like maybe something up there would answer back. Or protect you. Or understand. 

His breath hitched. 

But you… 

You were different. 

Still hopeful, maybe. But not blind. 

Still kind. But not soft. 

You belong in a better world, Shigaraki thought, gaze sharpening. One where people don’t get crushed under rubble while the heroes stand and debate paperwork. One where quirks don’t define worth. One where someone like you doesn’t have to train alone in the dark. 

All For One’s words echoed faintly in the back of his mind: 

“Protect what matters to you, Tomura. Break this world if it means keeping her safe. You know they’ll fail her eventually — just like they failed you.” 

His hand twitched again. 

This world… this broken, hypocritical world — it didn’t deserve you. 

But maybe his new one would. 

He stood slowly, pulling the hood over his hair, shadows swallowing the faint red glow in his eyes. You were walking away now — just like last time — brushing starlight from your shoulders like dust. 

He didn’t follow. 

Not tonight. 

But the feeling in his chest — hot, terrible, addictive — it stayed. 

Like the start of something he didn’t yet understand. Something terrifying. 

And something he wouldn’t let go. 

Chapter 23: New Constellations and Old Explosions

MONTH TWO- DAY FOUR

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden shadows through the branches above. Leaves stirred in a warm breeze, soft enough not to disturb your balance as you stood barefoot in the clearing. The same one you’d worn thin over the past month. The same one that held your progress — your failures, your victories, your stardust. 

Today was meant to be light. 

Just a little movement. A little focus. 

Your body still carried the ghost of yesterday’s soreness. A dull hum in your shoulders. A throb in your thighs. But more than that… your mind needed the quiet. 

You breathed in. 

The sky above was soft blue, brushed with streaks of white cloud that moved like breath across the heavens. You inhaled deeply through your nose, feeling the crispness of the air bite gently at your lungs. The ground still bore the footprints and scorched marks of past training days, but today felt… quieter. Not empty, but full of possibility. Like the stars above were whispering—urging you to go beyond what you’d tried before. 

You’d trained defense. Mastered your constructs. Learned how to channel constellations into raw force. But today was about experimentation—reaching into the unknown. 

Your journal lay open on the grass beside you, constellations scrawled across the pages in looping ink: Perseus, Draco, Cassiopeia. But it was the fresh sketches that held your attention—drawn during a restless night under the soft glow of your ceiling’s glow-in-the-dark stars. 

You took a breath, focused your energy, and extended your palm. 

“Lepus Mirage.” 

A shimmer in the air distorted the field around you, then snapped into place like a mirror sliding into view. A rabbit-shaped blur, pulsing gently with pale violet light, flickered across the edge of the clearing before vanishing into thin air. 

You blinked. It hadn’t been perfect—but the idea was there. A decoy. Agile and fast. 

“Not bad,” you murmured, rolling your wrist to ease the tension forming along your knuckles. “Needs more stability though.” 

You closed your eyes again and focused on a newer star pattern you’d only recently connected to a sensation of burning clarity in your chest. Not one of the brighter ones—but important. Steady. A guiding presence. 

“Carina Spear.” 

This time, the energy collected more forcefully in your palm, vibrating up through your shoulder and into your core. The light condensed, forming a thin shaft of starlight shaped like a celestial harpoon. You aimed it forward, breathed out slowly… and let it fly. 

The spear of light slammed into a boulder across the clearing, cracking the stone down its middle before fizzling out in a scattering of tiny glittering stars. 

Your heart pounded. 

That one definitely had bite. 

Before you could try another, the sound of footsteps crunching through the edge of the field caught your ear. Instinctively, you turned, already adjusting your stance—just in case it wasn’t friendly. 

But it was. 

Of course it was. 

Katsuki Bakugo stood at the top of the slight hill, one hand shoved into his hoodie pocket, the other clutching a convenience store bag. His face was its usual mix of scowl and disinterest, but his eyes flicked sharply across the field, analyzing the damage, the light fading from the Carina Spear’s impact. 

“What,” he grunted, “you blowing up rocks for fun now?” 

You exhaled, surprised at the tension in your shoulders when he appeared. 

“I’m experimenting with new spells,” you said, stepping back from the scorched ground. “Don’t worry, I haven’t melted any squirrels or anything.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t worried.” 

Right. 

He stepped closer, slowly, boots crunching the dry grass underfoot. You watched as he glanced at your journal on the ground, then the fading shimmer where the Lepus Mirage had warped the air earlier. 

“What the hell was that thing you tried earlier? The rabbit thing?” 

You raised an eyebrow, surprised he’d caught that. 

“Lepus Mirage. A decoy spell. It’s not stable yet.” 

“Huh,” he muttered, crouching briefly beside the crater your spear had made. “And that one?” 

“Carina Spear. Long-range piercing attack. Kind of like a cosmic javelin.” 

He looked at you, face unreadable. “That was new.” 

“Yeah,” you replied, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. “I’ve been pushing myself.” 

A pause stretched between you. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes drifted across your stance, the slight tremor in your fingers, the quiet rise and fall of your breath. 

“You look like shit,” he muttered finally. 

You laughed under your breath. “Thanks. That’s so sweet.” 

“I mean it,” he snapped, but not harshly. “You’re running yourself into the damn ground again.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped. He was right. Your limbs were aching. Your quirk had been sputtering all morning between stable constructs and shaky bursts of raw light. 

“I have to get better,” you said quietly. 

Katsuki stared at you for a beat, eyes shadowed with something harder to name. Not anger. Not pity. Just… something restrained. 

“What do you want?” you asked, voice lighter now. “You didn’t just come here to insult my training.” 

He tossed the convenience store bag onto the nearby bench. “Was out running errands. Saw you from the street.” 

“Through a forest?”  

“It’s on the way.” 

“Oh,” you blinked. “And decided to check on me?” 

He scoffed and looked away, ears faintly pink. “Didn’t say that.” 

“But you did,” you pressed, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

He didn’t answer. 

You turned back toward the field, rolling your shoulders again. “I’m gonna try another construct. You can leave if you want.” 

Bakugo didn’t leave. 

You closed your eyes and let the starlight rise. 

“Orion Bow.” 

It was easier now—familiar. Light flowed up your arms and formed into a bow that pulsed with every beat of your heart. You pulled the string back, drawing a gleaming arrow of energy, and fired. 

The bolt arced across the field, striking the old target you’d set up days ago with enough force to rattle its supports. 

You felt eyes on you. 

When you looked back, Katsuki was watching—really watching—eyes locked on your form, your quirk, the gleam of power still lingering around your hands. 

“...You’ve gotten better.” 

The words were gruff. Quiet. But they were there. 

Your chest tightened. 

“Thanks,” you said, quieter now. 

“Didn’t say it was good. Just said it’s not total shit.” 

Classic. 

Still, it meant something. You nodded, brushing your fingers against the constellation marks on your skin as you shifted back into position. 

“I’m trying to master something new,” you said, gesturing toward the open patch in front of you. “This one’s been really hard to stabilize though.” 

Bakugo raised an eyebrow. 

You inhaled and let the magic flow—tracing the constellation Altair across your palm, letting its gleam connect to Vega, and finally Sirius — the brightest anchor star of them all. The result was a trinity of light forming a halo over your head, spinning like a crown. 

“Vega Crown,” you murmured, and your vision instantly sharpened. 

The grass sparkled. Every breath of air seemed to bend through light. 

You drew from that focus, and with your other hand, you shaped Altairis barrage— the precise, pinpoint spell of star-bullets — and launched them rapid-fire at several targets. 

They hit. Almost all of them. 

You stumbled at the last one. The crown shimmered violently. Your control flickered. 

“Shit—!” 

You dropped to one knee as the construct cracked. The light dimmed. 

Bakugo was in front of you in two long strides, hand raised — not glowing, not sparking, just ready. 

“You okay?” 

You nodded, breath shallow. “Too much energy flow. I haven’t completely figured out how to regulate Vega Crown and cast offensive spells at the same time…” 

“You said it enhances focus,” Bakugo muttered, watching you with a tilt to his head. “But not power, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then stop trying to force output through it like you’re me.” 

You blinked. 

His voice was blunt, but his tone wasn’t cruel. It was… just him. Direct. Functional. Helpful in the way he knew how to be. 

You sat down fully on the grass, still a little dazed. “You know... I’ve missed this.” 

He stiffened. “Missed what?” 

“This. You. Watching me train. Judging. Barking orders. All of it.” 

Bakugo clicked his tongue, looking away. “You really are a damn weirdo.” 

But he didn’t leave. 

You looked up at him, quiet for a moment. “Wanna spar?” 

His eyes narrowed. 

“You still haven’t beaten me once.” 

“Maybe today’s the day,” you teased, climbing to your feet. 

He scoffed, cracking his knuckles. “Tch. Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to back that up.” 

You dropped into your stance, Vega Crown flaring to life above your brow in a wreath of focused light. The spell's ring tightened slightly, anchoring your mind. 

Your magic pulsed in your veins, ready. Controlled. Steady. 

Bakugo launched first. 

The boom was deafening as he shot forward like a missile, his right palm glowing as he twisted midair. You dove back, Aquila Wings flashing into being, and caught yourself in the air just before hitting a tree. Your boots skidded across moss and dirt when you landed, heart hammering in your ribs like a war drum. 

“You’re faster,” he shouted, narrowing his eyes. “And smarter with that stupid crown spell.” 

“Then try and keep up.” 

You responded with Orion Bow, a shimmering arc of celestial light forming in your hands. You nocked a pulse-tethered arrow and fired mid-dodge. The glowing projectile zipped toward him, trailing violet-gold stardust behind it. 

Bakugo ducked under it with ease, launching himself up again with an explosive burst that cracked the ground. 

Your body moved before your mind did. You twisted your hands and activated Lyra Barrier, the rotating harp-shaped starlight barrier spinning to life. His explosion hit it midair—and to your surprise, instead of being blasted back, the barrier vibrated, reflected some of the force outward in a high-pitched frequency. He winced slightly, clutching his ear. 

“Hah! Forgot it reflects sound!” you called out, sweat sliding down your temple. 

“Shut up!” he roared, spinning and slamming into the ground feet-first, detonating a shockwave around you both. 

You skidded backward, coughing through the smoke. 

He didn’t let up. 

The fight escalated into a rhythm: your Aquila Wings letting you dodge and swoop midair, while Orion Bow kept distance. Bakugo, always one step ahead, cut through patterns, reading your movements with surgical precision. His palm grazed your shoulder once, sending heat flashing down your side, and you cried out, stumbling. 

“Still think you can keep up with me?” he sneered. 

You gritted your teeth, lifting your hand high. 

“Grand Chariot!” 

Six circles of starlight blinked into existence overhead. Bakugo paused for a split second—just long enough for the beams to converge, shooting down with punishing precision. The blast sent sparks and wind whipping through the trees. 

For a moment, everything went white. 

When the dust cleared, Bakugo was crouched, panting, arms scorched but still up. 

“You’ve been holding back that move,” he muttered, coughing. “Figures.” 

You fell to one knee, exhausted, blood pounding in your ears. “You’re… still standing…” 

“Damn right I am.” 

He launched again. 

But your limbs were heavy. You moved slower—just a half-second—but it was enough. His hand reached your side and ignited. 

The blow sent you flying. 

You hit the earth with a bone-rattling thud, stars dancing behind your eyes. 

Bakugo didn’t follow up. 

Silence rang in the clearing except for the rise and fall of your breath and the crackle of residual heat on the air. 

Your body trembled as you pushed yourself up, arms shaking. “I still… I’m not done—” 

“You are,” he snapped, but not cruelly. 

His steps were uneven as he approached, stopping a few feet away. His brows were furrowed, not with smugness but with… something heavier. Like guilt. 

“I saw what you did with that Altairis barrage combo earlier,” he muttered, arms crossed. “You didn’t even flinch when you fired that many projectiles.” 

“I’ve been practicing…” 

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’ve improved.” 

You looked up, startled. 

His jaw clenched. “But you’re still fighting like you’ve got something to prove. Like you’re trying to burn yourself out just to keep up.” 

You didn’t respond. Because maybe it was true. 

You looked down at your scraped palms, still faintly glowing from your quirk. 

“I can’t fall behind,” you whispered. “Not you. Not Midoriya. Not anyone.” 

“Tch. Stupid.” His voice cracked. “You’re already strong. But if you kill yourself doing it, you won’t be anything.” 

You blinked, stunned by the quiet urgency in his tone. 

“Don’t train like that again,” he muttered. “Not when I’m not here to stop you.” 

You wanted to laugh—because wasn’t he the one who said you didn’t have what it takes not so long ago? 

But instead, you nodded. 

“Alright.” 

He offered a hand. You hesitated—then took it. 

His grip was warm. Steady. Just like the silence that followed, filled only with the wind rustling through the trees. 

You had lost the spar. But not the connection. 

The sky was burning gold by the time they left the training clearing, the sun dipping behind distant rooftops and painting the clouds in fierce streaks of orange and red. Bakugo kept his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense, gait slightly ahead—but not too far. He didn’t look back to see if you were following. He didn’t need to. 

He could hear your footsteps behind him. Steady. Familiar. 

His heart hadn’t quite calmed since the spar ended. 

He’d seen flashes of your potential before—moments where your quirk shimmered too brightly to ignore—but today? Today, it had come crashing down like a meteor storm. Lyra’s Barrier humming against the percussion of his blasts. Altairis lancing toward him with near-perfect trajectory. Grand Chariot unfurling overhead like a divine judgment. 

And still you’d lost. 

Still you got up afterward, panting and bruised, brushing ash from your cheek like it didn’t even matter. 

Damn. 
He hated how that stuck with him. 

Not the loss—he expected to win. Always had. 
But the way you fought… It reminded him of someone. Not your usual self. Not your bubbly, encouraging, annoying self. But something deeper. Sharper. A drive he’d only ever seen in people who had something to prove. 

Like Deku. 

And that comparison burned more than any fireball. 

“Tch.” 

He spat the sound under his breath like it could clear his head. 

Why the hell had you pushed yourself so far? Why did you keep doing this—training alone, sparring him like you had something to prove, even asking Deku for help on your spells? 

You didn’t need to push that hard. You had a damn quirk. 

Better than his in some ways, even if he'd never admit it. You weren’t some extra like Deku, trailing behind and pretending he could catch up. You belonged in the world they were clawing their way toward. 

But still... you fought like you didn’t believe that yet. 

“You didn’t hold back today,” your voice said softly from behind him. 

Bakugo grunted. 

He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t do praise or comfort. And he definitely didn’t do it for people who willingly took punches from him just to prove a point. 

The silence stretched between them like a rubber band. 

Then you added, “Thanks.” 

He blinked. 

His feet faltered—not enough to trip, just enough that it felt like something yanked in his chest. 

“…For what?” he muttered, voice gruff. 

“For taking me seriously,” you said. “I know I’m still learning. I’m not perfect, but… you didn’t go easy on me. I needed that.” 

He let the words sit. 

He hated how his brain immediately threw out all the things he could’ve said. “Damn right I didn’t.” or “You think I go easy on extras?” or “I wanted to see if you’d break.” 

But he didn’t say any of them. 

Because the truth was, he hadn’t gone easy on you—and not because he didn’t respect you, but because, somewhere in the middle of the match, he’d started to. 

And that scared him more than it should’ve. 

Because respect meant investment. 
Investment meant caring. 
And caring? That always led to pain. 

He glanced sideways for the first time since they started walking. 

You were walking beside him now, hugging your arms loosely, a bit of ash still smudged across your collarbone. Your hair was mussed, and there was a scrape on your cheek you hadn’t noticed. 

But you looked... content. 

You looked like yourself. 

Like the girl who used to race him across sidewalks and ask questions faster than he could answer them. The girl who used to tell him his explosions looked like stardust. 

Not like the girl he had left behind.  

Not like the girl he had left broken that night. 

Not like the girl he was trying to make amends with. 

He looked away again. 

“…You improved,” he said finally, voice low. 

Your head snapped towards him. 

“What?” 

“You improved,” he repeated, louder. “Your aim. Control. Timing. You weren’t just tossing light shows around.” 

You blinked, startled by the rare praise. 

Bakugo felt his face heating and immediately scowled. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I said you were some kind of pro or something. You’re still reckless as hell.” 

You grinned. “I’ll take it.” 

He scoffed and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Tch. Whatever.” 

They walked in silence for a while longer. Their neighbourhood was just a few blocks away now. 

And though he didn’t say it, the memory of your Vega Crown—bright, unwavering—still lingered behind his eyes. 

That crown of stars had burned with purpose. 

It had looked like something a hero might wear. 

He swallowed hard. 

Then, against all his better judgment, he said, “Don’t burn out.” 

You blinked again. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

“I—...I won’t,” you said, softer now. 

“You better not,” he muttered, barely audible. “Or I’ll kill you myself.” 

You laughed quietly. 

And for once, Bakugo didn’t mind. 

The sun had dipped below the rooftops by the time you turned onto your street. The evening breeze was cool against your still-warm skin, clinging to the sweat from your earlier spar. Even your fingers still tingled from casting your spells so rapidly — from channeling so much magic, so much will.

Bakugo had peeled off just a few doors down from yours, muttering something about “getting dinner started” before he shoved his hands back in his pockets and stomped off without another word.

But his words stayed with you.

“You improved.”

Coming from him, it meant something.

And the last thing he said—“Don’t burn out.”

It hadn’t sounded like a warning. It had sounded like... worry. Like something that had been crawling under his skin since the first time you collapsed in front of him during training weeks ago. That night you argued. That night he told you you weren’t ready.

You shook the thought off and climbed the porch steps two at a time.

The front door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, and the quiet warmth of home washed over your sore body like a blanket. The hallway smelled faintly of miso soup and fabric softener. Comforting. Familiar.

You toed off your shoes, stretching your aching calves with a quiet hiss of pain. The aches were good, though. They meant progress.

“Back already?” your mom’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Training didn’t go too late,” you replied, hanging your bag on the hook by the door and stepping inside. “I got caught up doing a spar.”

She peeked out from the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand, one eyebrow arched. “With Midoriya?”

You blinked. “No… Bakugo.”

That earned you a look.

You held up your hands, sighing. “It wasn’t like that. We just… ended up in the same place.”

She gave you that same “I’m watching you” smile she always wore whenever you mentioned a boy’s name lately, but said nothing more as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

You made your way to your room, exhaling slowly once the door shut behind you. The spell constructs had taken a lot out of you — even the ones you’d thought you mastered. Altairis had come out ragged by the third cast, and the Grand Chariot never quite hit the way it had in the training session with Midoriya. And Vega Crown… You’d been so focused on control, on channeling your magic efficiently, that you hadn’t realized how much it drained your stamina.

You flopped face-first onto your bed, groaning into the comforter.

Progress was pain, you reminded yourself. You were choosing this. Day after day. For yourself. For your future.

Still, it would’ve been easier if Bakugo hadn’t seen so much of you today. That side of you. The part that was still unsure. The part that flinched when your shield cracked under his blast. The part that hesitated before launching that final shot — not because you weren’t ready, but because some part of you didn’t want to aim at him.

And he’d seen it. You knew he had.

But he hadn’t mocked you. Not once.

He’d stood beside you the whole walk back like nothing had happened — except for that one moment. That one honest, quiet slip.

“Don’t burn out.”

You rolled onto your back, eyes tracing the fading constellations painted on your bedroom ceiling.

He still cared. Even if he didn’t know how to say it. Even if he couldn’t undo the things he’d said before — the sharp, cruel things he’d thrown at you when you’d first started training, when you collapsed in front of him and he told you to quit before you killed yourself.

Maybe this was his way of saying he’d been wrong.

You smiled faintly, closing your eyes.

There were still nine months before U.A.

Nine months to hone your spells. To train your body and your mind. To master the cosmos stitched into your bones.

And maybe… just maybe… repair the fractures in the friendships that had broken along the way.

You’d come back stronger tomorrow.

You always did.

A/N

Hope you enjoyed this slightly fluffy chapter about Bakugo. 

And what do you know, Y/N learnt some new moves, but will she master them or will she just concentrate on the moves she already knows.

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

 

Have a great day- Artemis

Chapter 24: A storm of PASSION!!!

MONTH TWO- DAY FIVE

The morning broke gentle and bright, with a breeze that carried just enough bite to shake the lingering heat of summer from your lungs. You left your house at a steady pace, water bottle tucked into your side pouch, spell journal under one arm, and yesterday’s words echoing like a faded dream in your chest:

You’re not the same as when we started this. You’re sharper now. Focused.

Bakugo’s voice, sharp-edged but honest. It clung to your ribs like something you didn’t want to admit had meaning.

Today was supposed to be a quiet reset. No sparring. No pushing. Just light movement and clarity. Still, you found your feet drifting toward the usual trail—the one worn smooth by your daily routine. Past the shops. Past the turnoff toward the river. Toward the clearing where constellations danced under your fingers.

You were mid-step, lost in your mental checklist of warm-ups, when a voice split the quiet air.

“Hey! Yo! Star girl!”

You blinked.

Across the street, half-jogging and definitely not trying to be subtle, was Denki Kaminari. His hair was messy as ever, black lightning streak almost catching in the sun like a bolt mid-charge. He waved dramatically—two-handed—and then crossed the street without looking both ways.

You barely had time to register your confusion before he was next to you, grinning like someone who’d just found the last rare gachapon.

“Hey,” you said, blinking. “What—are you doing here?”

“Saving the world, obviously,” he replied, deadpan, before cracking a grin. “Okay no, actually my mom forgot soy sauce and it’s apparently the end of the world unless I go fetch it. So here I am.”

You chuckled. “You always this dramatic in the morning?”

He gave you a look like he was pretending to be offended. “Only on special occasions. Like this one.”

You arched a brow, amused. “What makes this special?”

Denki grinned. “Because I ran into you.”

Your cheeks flared with a touch of heat—caught off guard by the casual confidence. You knew he was joking. Probably. Hopefully. But there was something about the way he said it—earnest, warm, not trying to be cool. Just… Denki.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “After the arcade. I mean, I figured maybe you were busy with… training or saving the world or building star weapons or whatever it is you do.”

You lifted your bag slightly, letting your journal peek out. “Guilty. I’ve been working on refining my casting. Precision, stamina, making sure I don’t accidentally shoot starlight into the woods again.”

Denki lit up. “You did that? That’s so cool.”

“It was not cool,” you corrected, trying not to laugh. “I startled three birds and a jogger.”

“I mean,” he said with mock seriousness, “I’d be honored to be startled by you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Do you flirt with everyone this much?”

“Only people who kick my butt at Pac-Man and make glowing weapons out of constellations,” he replied smoothly, tossing you a wink.

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“Possibly charming,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm as the two of you walked side by side. It surprised you how easy it was—how unforced. Like you didn’t have to think so hard around him. He didn’t expect anything from you. He didn’t push or prod. He just… showed up.

“So,” he said after a beat, glancing sideways, “you heading to that hidden trail again? The one with all the trees and space to practice?”

Your eyebrows raised slightly. “You remember where it is?”

He shrugged. “Kinda. I have a surprisingly good memory for places where cool people do cool things.”

You laughed again, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. That’s where I’m headed. I try to get in at least a few hours every morning.”

“That’s dedication,” Denki said. “I usually just end up zapping myself on accident.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Your quirk. How does it work exactly?”

He perked up. “Oh! It’s called ‘Electrification.’ I can generate electricity from my body and discharge it. It’s pretty good for stunning enemies or frying circuits. But if I overdo it, I go kind of… blank.”

“Blank?”

“Like a power outage,” he said, making a little ‘bzzzzt’ sound and mimicking short-circuiting with his fingers. “I fry my own brain. Can’t think. It’s temporary but, uh, yeah. Not a great look.”

You stared at him. “That sounds… intense.”

“It is. But hey, I’m getting better,” he added with a shrug. “Still figuring out how much juice I can use without going full idiot mode.”

You smiled, nodding. “You’ll get there. I can tell.”

Denki looked at you for a long second before grinning again. “You’re nice, y’know that?”

You shrugged. “You’re easy to talk to.”

He faked a swoon. “Be still, my heart.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly and he made a dramatic spinning gesture like you’d just blasted him with your quirk.

As the street forked, Denki pointed to the left. “Shop’s this way. But hey… uh—before I go.”

You turned, tilting your head.

He asked. “Wanna hang out again? Maybe another arcade run? Or we could try something else. I dunno. I’m not picky.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Denki grinned so wide you were afraid his face might split. “Awesome. Cool. Great. Text me later?”

“I will,” you promised.

As you turned to walk away, he called after you: “Don’t zap too many birds!”

You laughed over your shoulder. “No promises!”

You were mid-spin when it happened—dust kicked up in a spiral as you finished channeling energy into your new constellation technique. The half-formed carina spear buzzed faintly in your hand, unstable from your last miscalculated pulse, flickering like dying neon. You braced, exhaled, and steadied your stance.

The training clearing was quiet except for your controlled breaths and the soft shimmer of starlight magic pulsing at your fingertips. You were getting better. Slowly. Determinedly. Just one more try and—

“WHOOOOOOOOAAA!!”

You yelped and spun around on instinct, spell flaring defensively in your hands.

Across the field, a tall figure in a jeans and a top barreled across the grass like a missile, arm waving like he was trying to flag down a plane.

“I COULDN’T HELP IT!!” the boy boomed at full volume, skidding to a halt just feet from you with the grace of a falling trash can. “I WAS WATCHING FROM OVER THERE—" he pointed vaguely toward the trees, though you didn’t remember seeing anyone “—AND YOUR PASSION WAS SHINING LIKE A BURNING TYPHOON!”

You stared.

He grinned, eyes wide and glittering with unfiltered sincerity. And then—

He bowed.

Like, really bowed. Arms stiff at his sides, forehead nearly touching the grass, his knees trembling like he was trying to push them through the crust of the earth.

“I APOLOGIZE FOR INTRUDING ON YOUR TRAINING, PASSIONATE STRANGER!”

You blinked. “Uh…”

“I just HAD to come over!! I felt it!” he declared, suddenly upright again with the force of a geyser. “The blazing DEDICATION in your stance! The unrelenting ENERGY in your movements! You—YOU HAVE THE SPIRIT OF A STORM!”

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Your carina spear gave a feeble flicker in your hand before disappearing completely with a pop. He startled.

“Oh NO! Did I interrupt the flow of your PASSION?!”

“No! No, it’s okay!” you said quickly, flustered, stepping back as he leaned too close. “I just… wasn’t expecting company.”

He gasped.

“Of course! Forgive me again!” He knelt again, arms raised in apology. “I’m Inasa Yoarashi! Hopefully going to be a future First yeat at UA! Future Number One Hero! At your service!!”

“Future—oh. Uh—hi? I'm Y/N”

“I saw your form from the edge of the park!” he continued without pause, “AND I WAS STRUCK BY LIGHTNING! Metaphorically!" he clarified, eyes darting up at the sky as if expecting an actual bolt. “It reminded me of Mt. Lady’s first rescue!  Maybe even—DARE I SAY IT—ALL MIGHT’S FIRST SMILE!!”

You gave him a tight, stunned smile. “...That’s a lot.”

He laughed. Loudly. Arms flung to the sky, head thrown back.

“YES! THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY!!”

You flinched at the volume.

Then he turned those wind-tossed, enthusiastic eyes back on you and pointed directly at your chest.

“But you! You didn’t back down! You kept going! Even when you stumbled on that last move! THAT is true passion!”

He was grinning so hard you thought his face might split. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you started wondering if this was a prank.

You tried to remember your manners. “Um, thanks? I’m… still kind of new to this.”

“Even better!!” he bellowed. “That means you’re in the prime of your growth arc! THIS is when the soul is tempered! When storms become tempests! When stars are forged from will alone!!”

You took a step back.

He took a step forward.

You took another step back.

He took two steps forward.

You shot a warning look. “Do you, uh, do this to every person you see training?”

“ONLY THE PASSIONATE ONES!!” he said, hand over his heart. “You can tell, y’know? When someone’s going through the motions… and when someone’s POURING THEIR ENTIRE SOUL INTO IT!”

You were now regretting every sound you’d ever made while training. This man had the energy of five extroverts and a marching band.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile at his sincerity, if only a little.

“Well… thanks. That’s actually really encouraging.”

He gasped again, dramatically, as if you had just knighted him.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE I ENCOURAGED YOU!” he shouted. “THIS IS A MUTUAL EXCHANGE OF PASSION!!”

You barely suppressed a laugh. “You're… intense.”

“PASSIONATE!” he corrected, finger in the air like a lightning rod. “And if I may—what’s your Quirk?! It looked like starlight and wings and BOOM! Incredible!”

You hesitated, then explained briefly: “It’s kind of like celestial magic. Based on constellations. I can summon spells from specific stars and shape them into constructs.”

Inasa's jaw dropped.

“That’s the most passionate Quirk I’ve ever heard of,” he whispered, reverent. “The sky is your partner!! The cosmos are your battlefield!”

You coughed to cover your laugh. “It’s also exhausting.”

He nodded solemnly. “All good things are. Like yelling. Or running headfirst into your dreams. Or climbing a mountain while screaming about the importance of enthusiasm!”

That last one sounded... very specific.

Then he spun in a full circle, slapped his chest twice, and said, “I SHALL LEAVE YOU TO YOUR STARRY TRAINING, PASSIONATE STRANGER KNOWN AS THE GIRL Y/N!”

You blinked. “Wait, already?”

“I HAVE TO RUN TEN LAPS AROUND THE DISTRICT BEFORE SUNSET!!” he declared. “But I’ll be back! TO SUPPORT YOUR PASSION FROM AFAR!”

And then—

He was gone.

Wind kicked up behind him as he vanished down the path, shouting something about “YOUTHFUL ENERGY” and “EXPLOSIONS OF SPIRIT” as he faded into the distance like a very loud mirage.

You stood there in stunned silence, starlight still humming at your fingertips, wondering whether that had really just happened… or if heat exhaustion had finally claimed your sanity.

After a few seconds, you let out a soft chuckle and whispered to the air, “...Okay then.”

And with that, you turned back to your training area, not moving, just standing there.

The stars, at least, weren’t yelling at you.

Yet.

You stood in the clearing for a full ten seconds after Inasa disappeared, blinking at the empty path like you’d just survived a weather event. Or a tornado. No—a tornado yelling about mutual spirit exchange.

Your carina spear still hadn’t fully reformed.

Your thoughts hadn’t either.

“…What the hell was that?” you mumbled to absolutely no one, eyes wide and mouth still hanging slightly open.

You turned in a slow circle, as if another human hurricane might appear out of the trees at any moment and yell something about "SUNSET LAPS" or "THE CRIES OF YOUR INNER TYPHOON." But no — just you, the breeze, a patch of burned grass, and the lingering smell of stardust and pure confusion.

You dragged a hand down your face.

"Okay. Let’s recap," you muttered aloud. "I was training. I was getting somewhere. I didn’t trip over my own feet this time. Great. Amazing. And then—"

You gestured vaguely toward the road.

“THAT.”

Inasa Yoarashi. First-year hopeful. Possibly powered by Red Bull and the souls of motivational posters. He’d stormed into your session like a one-man parade float, full of elbows and hero dreams, and had bowed to you like you’d just saved an orphan from a fire.

You weren’t even sure if he’d breathed the entire time.

“…I think I blacked out somewhere between ‘burning typhoon’ and ‘mutual exchange of passion,’” you said blankly. “Is this what a panic attack feels like?”

No, wait. Panic attacks didn’t usually include bows. Or the phrase ‘your Quirk shines like the cosmos dancing across the tapestry of justice.’

Which—he had definitely said. Word for word.

You pressed your palms to your cheeks, the heat of embarrassment finally catching up with you.

“Okay, no more training while audible.”

From now on, you’d whisper your incantations. Murmur your spell names. Practice in total silence. Or underground. Maybe underwater. Somewhere that loud, passionate meteorological disasters named Inasa couldn’t hear you from a mile away.

You looked up at the sky as if the stars themselves owed you an explanation.

They didn’t answer.

They just sparkled politely.

You dropped onto the grass with a sigh, flopping dramatically onto your back, arms spread like you’d just been hit by a spiritual truck. A loud one. With a megaphone and an earthquake for a voice.

Then, somewhere in the trees, a bird chirped.

You flinched and sat up, suspicious. “Was that bird… passionately chirping?”

No response.

“…Good.”

You dusted off your hands and stood, half-laughing, half-exhausted.

“Note to self,” you mumbled as you summoned your Orion Bow again. “Never be interesting within a fifty-mile radius of Inasa Yoarashi. Or own birds.”

You nocked a starlight arrow, took aim at your usual target tree, and whispered, “Now. Back to normal.”

The arrow fired with a soft pulse of cosmic energy.

But even as it struck true, you couldn’t shake the slight feeling that somewhere, somehow, Inasa was still shouting YOU’RE DOING GREAT!!! at the sun.

And honestly?

…You kinda believed him.

The sun was beginning to dip beneath the trees, scattering amber light across the clearing. After a long afternoon of summoning constellations, adjusting starlight pulses, and nearly spraining your wrist trying to refine carina spear, you finally dropped your shoulders and exhaled.

Your barrier spells were holding better. Altarius Barrage felt smoother. And you had successfully avoided summoning another accidental black hole of embarrassment like—

"HAHAA! I KNEW YOU'D STILL BE HERE!"

You froze, halfway through re-rolling your towel. No. No way.

“I sensed the SPIRIT OF DETERMINATION from three blocks over!!”

Turning slowly, you braced yourself—and sure enough, there he was: Inasa Yoarashi, legs pumping like train pistons, tearing through the grass at full speed with one hand raised in a triumphant wave and the other carrying what appeared to be… two sports drinks?

“OH!” he shouted, still several meters away. “I brought ELECTROLYTES!! Because you looked like a BLAZING COMET last time and BURNING BRIGHT REQUIRES HYDRATION!!”

You blinked. “What—?”

He skidded to a stop in front of you, a puff of dirt following him like he was a one-man stampede.

“Afternoon, PASSIONATE STAR-WARRIOR!” he declared, panting slightly but still grinning wide. “I had a hunch I’d find you here again, FLAMING WITH EFFORT!”

“…Hi, Inasa.”

He held out a blue sports drink like it was a sacred offering. “Please accept this token of solidarity between two kindred spirits!”

You took the bottle with a slightly stunned nod. “Uh. Thanks. It’s… nice to see you again?”

“I APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY!” he said—loudly, of course. “I had to do my ten evening laps, deliver groceries for an old woman I met on the street, and THEN I sensed your aura of QUASAR-LIKE DETERMINATION, so I changed course immediately!”

You paused. “You delivered groceries and then sprinted across town because you felt my… aura?”

He stood proudly. “My Quirk is Whirlwind! But my SPIRIT is a TYPHOON OF EMPATHY!”

You couldn't help but let out a small snort of laughter. “That might be the wildest sentence I’ve heard all week.”

He beamed. “Then I am HONOURED!”

You slipped the sports drink into your bag and brushed grass off your training leggings. “I was just about to head home, actually.”

“I SHALL ESCORT YOU!” he shouted, saluting so fast you nearly jumped. “The path to a hero’s home should be honored! Guarded! CELEBRATED!”

“Oh… uh, that’s really not necessary—”

“I INSIST.”

He bowed again.

Deeply.

So deeply his forehead almost hit a rock.

You sighed. “Okay. But we’re just walking. No passion-sprinting, got it?”

He straightened with a flash of teeth and wind-blown hair. “WALKING?! Like comrades sharing tales after a hard-won battle?! YES. THIS TOO IS A FORM OF TRAINING!”

“…Sure.”

As the two of you began walking along the dirt path back to the street, you noticed Inasa keeping an exact shoulder-width of distance between you, posture absurdly straight, hands behind his back like a soldier escorting royalty. He also didn’t blink for a whole minute.

You eyed him cautiously. “You… don’t need to be so formal, you know.”

“BUT YOU ARE A BEACON OF COSMIC WILLPOWER!”

“I’m also a 14-year-old with grass in my hair.”

He squinted dramatically. “And even THAT is heroic!”

You laughed—really laughed this time. “You’re… something else, Yoarashi.”

He blinked rapidly and touched his chest. “No one has ever said that to me in such a… heartfelt tone before. I am deeply moved.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No one? Really?”

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his head, suddenly sheepish. “At my old school, they mostly just told me to talk less. Or… whisper. Or leave the room.”

You looked at him with a mix of amusement and sympathy. “Yeah, I can’t imagine why.”

He brightened again like a switch had been flipped. “BUT YOU DIDN’T!! You listened to my words! You took my electrolyte offering! YOU WALKED BESIDE ME!”

“Okay, easy,” you said, laughing. “You’re acting like I handed you a sword and named you my knight.”

He stopped walking.

Dead serious.

“…Would you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Would you name me your knight?”

Your face flushed immediately. “That was a joke, I—”

“BECAUSE I WOULD GLADLY SWEAR MY LOYALTY TO THE CONSTELLATION WITCH OF STARDUST VALOR!”

“That’s not even my hero name—!”

He knelt again.

“MY KNEES ARE YOURS TO COMMAND!”

“Please get up.”

“I WILL NEVER FALTER IN MY SERVICE!”

You pulled him up by the elbow. “You're drawing stares from the neighborhood cats.”

Once on his feet, he looked bashful for the first time. “I apologize… I get carried away sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“…Often.”

The two of you walked in silence for a beat. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“You know,” he said more softly, “I really meant it. You work hard. You’re strong. And I think your Quirk is beautiful.”

You glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that another passionate metaphor, or…?”

He shook his head. “No. That’s just me. Being honest.”

And somehow… that hit harder than all the yelling.

You looked down at your shoes. “…Thanks.”

He smiled, just a bit more normal this time. Quieter. Calmer.

The two of you walked in a few moments of blessed silence before Inasa suddenly gasped.

“WAIT—DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE CONSTELLATION?!”

“Um—what?” you said, caught off guard.

“EVERYONE HAS A FAVORITE!” he declared. “Mine is the Big Dipper! Because it’s easy to spot and NEVER BACKS DOWN FROM SHINING BRIGHT!”

You laughed again. “It’s a constellation. It doesn’t back down from anything. It’s stars.”

“EXACTLY!”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I guess mine’s… Vega. It’s part of the Summer Triangle. It’s tied to a lot of stories about effort and love overcoming distance. Plus, I use it in one of my stronger focus spells.”

“HOW POETIC!! I KNEW IT!!” he shouted, pointing dramatically toward the sky. “You are TRULY A HERO IN THE MAKING!”

You sighed again, not unhappily. “You are the loudest person I’ve ever met.”

“I SHALL TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT.”

“You would.”

By the time you reached the main road near your street, the sky had darkened to a soft purple. Inasa stood beside you, somehow perfectly balanced between gallant and unhinged, like a knight that had been raised by motivational posters and caffeine.

“Well,” you said, taking your bag back, “thanks for… whatever this was.”

“A MUTUALLY PASSIONATE ESCORT OF FRIENDSHIP!” he declared.

You gave him a two-finger salute. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, STARRY WARRIOR!”

And with one final yell of encouragement toward the sky, Inasa Yoarashi windmilled off into the horizon, shouting something about “SUNSET REFLECTION JOGS” and “EXCITEMENT MUSCLE EXPLOSIONS.”

You stood alone again.

Then you exhaled deeply, shoulders shaking with laughter, and said quietly to yourself:

“Okay. So that was definitely real.”

The front door clicked shut behind you with a soft thunk, and immediately, the quiet of your home embraced you. After the whirlwind energy of the past hour—after windstorms of volume, flying declarations of passion, and Inasa freaking Yoarashi escorting you home like some enthusiastic knight—you were hit with the stark contrast of silence like a wave of warm relief.

You sighed out loud, your shoulders finally dropping from where they’d been riding near your ears all day.

From the kitchen came the familiar sound of your mother putting dishes away. You could hear the clink of ceramic, the soft swish of a dishtowel against glass, the familiar rhythm of domestic life that hadn’t changed even while your training days were becoming stranger by the minute.

“Sweetheart?” she called when she heard the door. “That you?”

“Yeah,” you replied, slipping your shoes off at the genkan, your bag thudding softly to the floor beside them. “It’s me.”

She peeked around the corner, drying her hands with a dish towel. Her expression instantly softened at the sight of you—sweat-slicked hair, stardust faintly glittering on your collar, a distant dazed look in your eyes.

“Everything okay?” she asked, stepping into the hall fully now.

You dropped your head back against the door behind you with a bonk and groaned, “I had the weirdest day ever.”

Her brow arched, amused. “Worse than the time you got chased by that flying Roomba prototype?”

“Way weirder.”

“Worse than the time you hit Bakugo in the back with a Carina Spear and he exploded the training dummy in retaliation?”

You looked at her with wide eyes and said flatly, “Inasa Yoarashi found me in the woods, he's got a wind quirk. Twice.”

She blinked. “...is he a friend”

You nodded. “Yeah. i guess he is now.”

Her lips parted, and for a long moment she just stared, visibly trying to compute what you were saying. “And… what, he just found you?”

“Bowed. Yelled about passion. Carried my bag. Offered to walk me home.”

“Oh, wow,” she muttered, setting the towel down on the hallway shelf. “That is weird.”

“I told you!”

She snorted. “Well, I’m glad he didn’t come blow the house down.”

“He might as well have with the way he was yelling.”

You both shared a laugh—soft, relieved, tired. Then she reached out and gently touched your shoulder, her hand warm and grounding.

“Go shower, starlight. I’ll leave you something to reheat for dinner if you get hungry later.”

You nodded, already shuffling past her toward your room.

“Oh, and sweetheart?”

“Yeah?” you called over your shoulder.

“I’m really proud of how hard you’ve been working. Weird windboys and all.”

That made you stop in the hallway.

You looked back at her, a tired smile spreading across your face.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Your room greeted you like an old friend. You shut the door softly behind you and stood there for a moment, staring at the dim space, your muscles humming like quiet engines. The weight of the day—of training, of awkward run-ins, of stardust sparks and loud strangers—finally caught up with you all at once.

It didn’t hit like a crash.

It melted into you.

You dragged your feet to your bed, tossing your bag onto your chair. You didn’t even bother to dig through it. You'd deal with your spell notes later.

Instead, you peeled off your outer shirt and flopped face-first onto your comforter. The starlight on your skin still shimmered faintly in the low light, and your arms ached deliciously from the repetition of Lyra Barrier forms.

From outside your window, the trees rustled with the soft evening wind. It reminded you of Inasa again, and despite yourself, you grinned into the pillow.

He had been a lot.

But he had also noticed you.

Noticed your passion.

Noticed your effort.

And that part? That part stuck with you more than his volume.

You groaned into your blanket, face burning slightly. “What is my life.”

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, intending to check your messages—maybe reread Midoriya’s latest notebook recommendations or skim Denki’s weird memes—but the second your fingers brushed the screen, your entire arm gave out from sheer exhaustion and you flopped sideways, groaning like a corpse.

Your eyes closed without you meaning them to.

The world slipped sideways and soft.

And before long, you were fast asleep, the warmth of your mother’s home wrapped around you like the final layer of a Lyra Barrier—and this time, it wasn’t made of stars, but something quieter.

Love. Home. Peace.

And, of course, a little leftover glitter from a wind-powered escort with too much energy and not enough chill.

A/N

Not going to lie but i was laughing whilst i wrote this chapter, Inasa is such an iconic PASSIONATE person.

Are you guys enjoying these individual days? Or would you rather i give brief details on what you do each month so that we can get to the entrance exam quicker? Please let me know, im creating this fanfic for you readers, so any suggestions you have, please let me know.

What character would you guys like to meet?

Thank you for reading this book!!!

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 25: A day for friends

MONTH TWO- DAY SIX

 

You sat on the edge of your bed for a moment, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The sky outside was still painted in soft dawn hues—pale lavender fading to peach and baby blue. The world was quiet, peaceful in that early morning way that felt like a secret kept just for you.

Pulling on your running shoes, you tied the laces tight, the familiar scrape of fabric against fabric grounding you. Your fingers trembled slightly — nerves mixed with excitement. You swallowed down the lump in your throat and stepped outside.

The chill of the morning air nipped at your skin, a reminder you were alive and moving forward, even when your heart threatened to stay frozen in place. You inhaled deeply, tasting the faint salt of the nearby ocean, and felt the steady beat of your heart quicken as your feet hit the pavement.

Your legs stretched and pushed through the rhythm of your jog, the steady thump thump of your sneakers on the cracked sidewalk filling the quiet streets. A flock of sparrows burst from a tree, their fluttering wings catching the first rays of sunlight. For a brief moment, the world was just you and the morning, unburdened by the weight of your worries.

As you rounded the final corner onto the beach path, the scent of wet sand and seaweed wrapped around you like a familiar hug. The waves rolled gently onto the shore, the white foam whispering secrets as it kissed the land.

Ahead, a figure caught your eye — familiar, hunched low, scrubbing something into the sand with meticulous care. It was Midoriya. His green hair, damp with sweat, caught the sun’s early glow. His round glasses slid down his nose as he worked, oblivious to everything but his task.

You slowed, watching him quietly for a moment. Midoriya always struck you as this impossible mixture of fragile and fierce. Even now, cleaning the beach like it was some crucial part of his hero training, you saw the burning determination in his bright, emerald eyes.

You cleared your throat gently. “Midoriya?”

He jumped slightly, eyes wide behind his glasses. His cheeks flushed pink, and he fumbled with the bottle of water in his hand.

“Oh! Hey! Yeah, I’m just, uh, cleaning. It’s part of my training.” His voice was rushed, but there was an earnestness to it that tugged at you.

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “That’s... really impressive.”

He scratched the back of his neck nervously, avoiding your gaze. “I just want to be ready for the exam, you know? My mum said physical conditioning is important, and… well, I’m trying my best.”

You felt a warmth in your chest, both from his words and the vulnerability behind them. “I get it. I’m nervous too, but I keep telling myself that trying is better than standing still.”

His eyes met yours, shimmering with a mix of gratitude and doubt. “Yeah. Me too.”

For a moment, the ocean’s steady rhythm filled the silence between you. The sun inched higher, casting long golden streaks across the sand.

“I should keep going,” you said softly. “But it was really good seeing you.”

He smiled, shy but genuine. “You too. Thanks for stopping.”

You waved and turned, feeling lighter somehow. Maybe it was the connection, or the shared fear that bound you together — but it was enough to keep going.

Your pace picked up again, the air filling your lungs like a fresh start. The jog warmed your muscles, and for a moment, the worries about the exam slipped to the back of your mind.

But as you neared your street, your thoughts tangled — what if you weren’t strong enough? What if all your effort still wasn’t enough?

Lost in your racing mind, you barely noticed when you collided with a solid wall of muscle.

“Oof!” a voice barked, rough but not angry. “Watch where you’re going, dummy.”

You looked up and froze. Katsuki Bakugo, standing there with his usual scowl and fiery red eyes, arms crossed like he was daring you to apologize.

Your cheeks flushed crimson. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you—”

Bakugo snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Figures.”

You braced yourself for his usual tirade, but instead, his eyes flickered with something unreadable. Annoyance? Concern? He stepped back but didn’t walk away.

“You’re running like you’re gonna die or something,” he muttered. “Why the hell are you always pushing yourself?”

You bit your lip. “I just want to be ready for the exam.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened. “Dumbass. You’re gonna wear yourself out before you even get there.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a sharp wave of his hand. “Fine. I’m walking you home. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Your heart skipped. “Okay.”

As you walked side by side, the usual tension between you softened — not quite peace, but something closer than before.

“You’ve been training a lot,” Bakugo said gruffly. “Pushing yourself too hard. Don’t be stupid.”

You glanced at him, catching a flicker of something almost like worry before he quickly masked it with a scowl.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” he snapped. “But don’t get used to me being nice.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and real.

The streets around you began to hum with morning life — birds singing from treetops, a lawnmower droning in the distance, the faint smell of breakfast wafting from open windows.

Bakugo’s pace was steady, matching your own. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, hands clenched at his sides.

“You’re gonna thank me someday,” he muttered suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“For what?” you asked, curious.

“For not letting you mess up your own training,” he replied, voice rough but sincere. “Even if you don’t realize it yet.”

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “I’ll hold you to that.”

When you reached your doorstep, Bakugo stopped abruptly, folding his arms.

“Don’t get used to this,” he warned, eyes narrowing.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you teased, heart fluttering.

He snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he spun on his heel and disappeared down the street.

You closed the door behind you, still grinning.

Inside, the scent of fresh coffee and frying eggs greeted you. Your mother stood at the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked you over.

“Well? What took you so long?” she asked, voice teasing but gentle.

You shrugged, cheeks warm. “I went for a jog.”

She arched an eyebrow, eyes lingering on the faint flush on your face and the damp strands of hair clinging to your forehead.

“You look like you ran a marathon,” she said with mock severity.

“I guess it felt like one,” you admitted, still catching your breath.

Her smile softened, but the teasing wasn’t quite over.

“Someone walk you home?” she asked slyly.

You froze, heart pounding. “Maybe.”

She chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Good. It’s nice to see you hanging out with your friends rather than just training.”

You blushed, hurrying past her before she could say more.

Later, the warm water cascaded over you, washing away sweat and fatigue. You closed your eyes, letting the sensation soothe your tired muscles. The worries and excitement of the morning faded, replaced by a quiet calm.

Drying off, you pulled on fresh clothes — soft, comfortable, familiar. Just as you were about to grab your phone, it buzzed with a new message.

Denki.

Hey! Wanna hit the mall today? Got some new games and snacks. It’ll be fun!

Your lips curled into a genuine smile.

You quickly typed back: Sounds great! I’m in.

Setting your phone aside, you felt a flicker of excitement — not just for the day ahead, but for the small connections that were slowly making your world a little brighter.

The buzz of the city felt miles away as you stepped through the automatic glass doors of the mall. The air inside was cool and crisp, scented faintly with popcorn, fresh coffee, and the faint tang of a perfume counter somewhere in the distance. It was the kind of place that felt like a bubble separate from all your worries and training — a place where laughter and the hum of chatter wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

You spotted Denki almost immediately near the arcade entrance, his bright, spiky hair practically glowing under the mall lights. He was wearing his usual casual gear — a loose hoodie, jeans, and sneakers that had definitely seen better days — but his grin was infectious and full of energy.

“Hey! You made it!” Denki called out, waving enthusiastically like a kid spotting a long-lost friend. You could already tell today was going to be fun.

“Of course,” you smiled, matching his enthusiasm. “You promised new games, and I’m not one to miss out.”

He laughed, the sound bubbly and a little nervous, like he was excited but trying to play it cool. “Wait till you see what I found. You’re gonna love it.”

You followed him into the arcade, the lights flashing and the sounds of electronic beeps, cheers, and the occasional whirring crane machine filling the space with a playful energy. The smell of buttery popcorn lingered near the snack counter, mingling with the synthetic buzz of the machines.

Denki led you straight to the Pac-Man machine, the same one where you’d met. “Alright, ready for round three?” he teased, punching in a quarter.

You grinned, stepping up to the joystick. “You’re on.”

The game started, the iconic chomp-chomp-chomp sound filling the air as you deftly maneuvered the little yellow circle through the maze. Denki was surprisingly good — and a bit cocky — but you held your own, dodging ghosts and gobbling up pellets with focus.

As the score climbed, Denki tossed a playful smirk your way. “You know, im been practicing some killer pick-up lines from our last match.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You think you can beat me there too?”

He shrugged, flashing a mischievous grin. “Only one way to find out.”

The game ended with you narrowly edging out the win, and Denki groaned dramatically. “No way! You’re ruthless.”

Before you could respond, he suddenly made a goofy, over-the-top face and struck a pose, slipping accidentally into full “charge mode” — the energetic state where his quirk short circuits if he overexerts emotionally. His hair sparked with tiny bolts of electricity as he blurted, “Hey, are you a cloud? Cause you're floating in my mind!”

You burst out laughing, the sound ringing out clear and bright over the arcade noise. Denki’s cheeks flushed deep red, and he hastily backed away from the machine, flicking a hand at the sparks.

“Okay, okay! Maybe I overdid it,” he admitted sheepishly, but his smile was wide and genuine.

You shook your head, still smiling. “Not bad. But I’m coming back with better lines.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Bring it on!”

After a few more rounds of games, tickets started piling up in your hands, and you both traded silly prizes — a mini plastic figurine for you, a glowing keychain for him. The playful competition created a comfortable rhythm between you, a balance of challenge and easy camaraderie.

Between games, Denki opened up more about his own hopes for the future — his dream to get into U.A. High School, the same goal you had. You listened, surprised at how much you had in common despite coming from very different backgrounds.

“I always thought I was kinda a screw-up,” Denki confessed quietly, “but you know… being here today, playing with you — it made me think maybe I’m not so bad after all.”

You smiled softly. “You’re definitely not. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve met.”

He shrugged, grinning shyly. “Guess that makes two of us.”

By the time the afternoon sun dipped toward evening, your pockets were full of tickets and your cheeks ached from smiling so much. You felt lighter — like all the pressure from training, exams, and worries had melted away for just a little while.

As you left the arcade, Denki nudged your shoulder. “Wanna get some clothes”

You nodded, heart fluttering with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heated battles you’d been facing in training.

“Definitely,” you said.

The mall’s bright fluorescent lights flickered softly as you wandered into the clothing section, the hum of chatter and soft pop music wrapping around you like a comfortable soundtrack. You cradled a pile of clothes—a couple of shirts, a dress, a jacket, something casual yet cool- just to show Denki. The thought made you smile; for once, it felt like life was just about fun and friendship.

As you sifted through the racks, your fingers brushing fabric tags, a voice suddenly cut through the hum—soft, almost a whisper but tinged with an eerie sweetness.

“Hey there… you’re really cute, you know that?”

You startled, turning sharply to see a girl standing a little too close. She was pale, with messy blonde hair twisted into two wild buns, sharp eyes glinting with a strange mix of curiosity and something darker—almost predatory. Her smile was wide but unnerving, like a wild animal watching its prey.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh—thank you?” Your voice was hesitant, uncertain how to respond to such unexpected attention.

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling in a way that made your skin crawl just a little. “You’d look even better… bleeding.” Her words came softly, almost teasing, but with a chilling undertone that made your heart skip.

You took a cautious step back, trying to keep the distance but unsure whether to laugh it off or get worried. “I… I don’t really understand.”

Her grin widened, eyes shining like a candle flame in the dimmer corner of the store. “It’s just a thought,” she said, voice light but charged with a strange energy. “But you’re so pure and bright. It’s… tempting.”

At that moment, your eyes flicked to the entrance where two security guards were scanning the crowd, their gazes sharp and urgent. The girl’s expression snapped instantly—no longer playful, but frantic, panicked even.

“They’re looking for me,” she hissed, voice dropping low. “Can you help me? Please?”

You hesitated, heart pounding. There was something desperate in her eyes—lost, maybe scared. Despite the unsettling vibe, you felt a flicker of pity. Maybe she was just a kid in trouble, like you sometimes felt.

“Okay,” you whispered, glancing back toward the guards. “Follow me.”

Without thinking, you guided her quickly toward the changing cubicles, slipping inside and pulling the curtain shut behind you. Her breath came fast, and for a moment she just leaned against the wall, staring at you with wide eyes.

“They’re after me,” she murmured. “But you’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You swallowed, the tension thick in the tiny space. “I’m not sure who you are or what’s going on… but I won’t let them hurt you.”

Just then, footsteps approached. Peeking through a tiny crack in the curtain, you saw the guards near the clothes racks, scanning the area.

Thinking quickly, you stepped out with a calm smile. “She went that way,” you lied, pointing in the opposite direction.

The guards exchanged glances but nodded and hurried off, distracted by the false lead.

Back inside the cubicle, you closed the curtain and exhaled deeply.

The girl looked up at you, eyes softening. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You’re so kind… I like you already.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t even know your name.”

She giggled—a little breathless, almost breathy. “Does it matter? We’re best friends now.”

Before you could say anything else, the curtain twitched and she slipped out, her light footsteps fading quickly down the corridor.

You stood there for a moment, heart racing, wondering what you’d just gotten yourself into.

The cubicle felt suddenly too quiet once her footsteps disappeared down the hall. You sank onto the small bench inside, your fingers twisting the hem of your shirt as your mind spun in a thousand directions.

What was that? Her smile — so bright, yet… something about it felt sharp, like glass beneath a soft silk sheet. And those words — “You’d look better bleeding.” Why did that stick with you? It wasn’t just creepy; it was like she saw something in you that you hadn’t even noticed yourself. Like she understood a part of you that you barely dared to admit existed.

You shivered and looked down at your hands. Were you just being paranoid? Maybe she was just a scared kid, desperate and lost like you sometimes felt. But… there was something off, something that made your skin crawl even as your heart went out to her. How do you balance feeling pity for someone and being terrified of what they might be?

Your thoughts drifted to the security guards — were they looking for her because she’d done something terrible? You didn’t know, and the thought scared you. But what choice did you have? You couldn’t just leave someone alone if they needed help.

You remembered how her eyes softened when she said you were kind. That part of her seemed real — maybe the scary parts were a defense, a mask to protect herself. You wondered if she was as lonely as you sometimes felt — hiding behind a smile to keep others at bay.

The mall noises filtered through the curtain—people laughing, footsteps passing by, the distant jingle of a cash register. Life kept moving, but your heart felt heavier, tangled in confusion and a strange, reluctant protectiveness.

You stood, stretching stiff limbs, your mind still racing. How do you be kind without getting hurt? How do you open your heart when the world seems so full of danger?

As you zipped up your jacket and headed toward the exit of the cubicle, you realized that somehow, despite everything, you wanted to believe in the good — even in someone like her.

You stepped back out into the busy mall corridor, blinking against the fluorescent lights, the weight of what just happened pressing against your chest like a quiet, unanswered question.

The mall buzzed around you as you stepped out from the changing cubicle, the noise and bright lights grounding you back in reality after the eerie encounter. Your heart still thudded unevenly in your chest, but you pushed the unsettling thoughts aside as you scanned the crowd for Denki.

You spotted him a few aisles down, laughing at some silly arcade game a kid was playing nearby. Relief washed over you — normalcy, even if just for a little while. You started walking toward him, but your gaze kept drifting back, half-expecting to see that strange girl lurking somewhere.

A flutter of worry settled deep in your stomach. What had you just gotten yourself into? You’d hidden a stranger, a girl with a dangerous look in her eyes, and now you weren’t sure what that meant for you.

But despite the fear, a small part of you felt something else — a strange pull, an odd connection that you couldn’t shake. Maybe it was because she’d called you kind, or maybe because beneath that wild exterior was someone who just needed help as badly as you sometimes did.

You shook your head, trying to clear the heavy thoughts. For now, you needed to focus on the moment — on Denki and the laughter and the carefree energy of the arcade. You needed to remind yourself that there were good people around you, people who made you feel safe.

As you reached Denki, he greeted you with that goofy grin of his, unaware of the storm swirling inside you. You forced a smile and slipped your arm through his, grateful for the warmth and normalcy, even as the shadows of the afternoon lingered at the edge of your thoughts.

The golden hue of the late afternoon spilled across the pavement as the two of you stepped out of the mall, the automatic doors swishing shut behind you. The sky was painted in watercolor streaks — soft oranges and dusky pinks — casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

Denki stretched lazily, lifting his arms above his head with a satisfied groan. “Man, I haven’t had that much fun at a mall in ages,” he said, his voice tinged with cheerful exhaustion. “You’re, like… the perfect mall buddy.”

You smiled, but your fingers clutched the strap of your bag a little tighter than usual. “Yeah. It was fun.”

Denki didn’t notice right away. He was too busy recounting his victory at the claw machine like it was a battle for national pride. You offered soft laughs at the right times, but your mind kept slipping back to the changing room, to golden eyes and whispered madness.

“Hey…” Denki’s voice dipped, suddenly serious. He slowed his steps and turned to glance at you. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve gone kinda quiet,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Like, quieter than your usual quiet. Something wrong?”

You hesitated. You could tell him the truth. But the memory of that girl’s voice — “You’re so cute, you’d be even cuter bleeding” — echoed in your ears.

You forced another smile. “I guess I’m just a little tired. The mall was loud.”

Denki nodded slowly, accepting your answer, but not entirely convinced. “Makes sense,” he said. “But hey, uh… I’ll walk you home, yeah?”

You blinked. “You don’t have to.”

“Nah, I want to,” he insisted, that easy grin returning. “It’s getting dark. And besides, what kind of gentleman lets his friend walk home alone after a killer day of claw machines, fashion shows, and… whatever that last shop was?”

You snorted softly. “You mean the bakery where you tried to flirt with the cashier and accidentally shocked the debit machine?”

He groaned dramatically. “We swore never to speak of that again.”

The two of you turned the corner toward your neighborhood, and the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that formed between people who didn’t need to talk all the time — though Denki broke it often enough with some ridiculous pun or over-the-top theory about what hero costumes the two of you would wear if you ended up at U.A. together.

Still, in the back of your mind, that lingering unease hadn’t left. You felt it clinging to you like mist. That girl — whoever she was — had left something behind. A tension. A weight.

Denki caught you looking around once or twice. “Hey… are you sure nothing happened at the mall?”

You paused again. Then gave a small shrug. “I just… thought someone was following me for a second. Nothing serious.”

Denki’s expression changed. His brows knit together. “Wait, seriously? Like, seriously seriously?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him quickly. “I think they left. Probably just my imagination.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push either. Instead, his expression darkened a little — uncharacteristically serious. “Well… if anyone ever was following you, or being creepy, or anything — you can tell me, okay? I mean, I’m not, like, All Might level, but I can discharge a light pole if I need to.”

You laughed, despite everything. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

By the time your house came into view, the sun had dipped low enough to leave a burnt orange glow on your windows. Denki slowed to a stop just outside the gate, shuffling his feet.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, clearly working up the nerve for something. “Thanks for today. Like, really. I haven’t had this much fun in forever.”

“Me neither,” you admitted, and it was true — despite everything, Denki had brought a comfort to the chaos. A bright spark in the dark.

He grinned again. “Text me later?”

You nodded. “I will.”

As you stepped inside the gate, he raised a hand in a wave, and you mirrored it. “Goodnight, Denki.”

“Night!”

You watched him go for a moment, the way his silhouette bounced with energy even as he walked. Then, slowly, you turned and stepped inside.

The moment you closed the front door behind you, your mom called out from the kitchen, “That you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, just got back!”

“Did you have fun?”

You hesitated for a second too long.

“…Yeah,” you said finally. “Yeah, I did.”

You moved upstairs to your room before she could press further. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you let your back rest against it, your eyes falling closed.

The day had been filled with highs and strange, confusing lows. You felt like you were balancing between two worlds — the simple, joyful one where friends like Denki existed… and the other one. The darker one. With golden eyes and whispered declarations of friendship from strangers who didn’t even tell you their names.

You shook your head and crossed to your desk, setting down your bag. A folded receipt fell out, and for a moment, you stared at it, lost in thought.

Then your phone buzzed.

[Denki⚡]: Still smiling. Told my pillow all about your gaming skills. 😎 Goodnight!

You couldn’t help it — you laughed, a real one this time.

And you replied:
[You]: Sweet dreams, static-head.

Somehow, that text made the world feel a little safer again.

But as you climbed into bed that night and turned off the light, the memory of that girl’s smile — wide, sharp, sad — lingered in the back of your mind like a shadow you couldn’t quite shake.

Himiko Toga point of view

The world had never looked more beautiful.

The wind blew gently over the city rooftops, stirring the hem of her skirt and tangling the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of her double buns. The sky was all pink and gold, warm and bleeding into itself like watercolor. She crouched on the edge of the rooftop above the mall, blood drying under her nails, heart hammering like a hummingbird’s wings.

But not from fear.

Excitement.

She licked the edge of her lip where she’d accidentally grazed it with her fang earlier. The metallic taste made her smile.

She was still thinking about you.

Still tingling from the way your fingers had wrapped around her wrist — not tightly, not afraid — but like you meant it. Like you were trying to help her.

Help her. Like she was normal.

“Hide in here,” you’d said, voice low, urgent, as you shoved her into the dressing room, shielding her from the mall guards. “I’ll handle it.”

You didn’t even ask questions.

Didn’t scream, or flinch, or shove her away when her eyes had traced the veins on your throat, when she’d said—

“You’d be even cuter if you were bleeding.”

You hadn’t run.

Himiko’s legs swung freely over the ledge, her school shoes clicking softly against the brick. She kicked her heels back and forth, humming as she traced the shape of your face in the clouds.

So pretty. So kind. So confusing.

She hadn’t meant to find someone like you. She’d just wanted to slip in, maybe find some new socks — steal a juice box if she could. Nothing flashy. Just a breath of normal.

But then you’d smiled at her like she was human.

Like she wasn’t a monster.

And when she’d whispered that little desire — her truth, the thing that made most people scream or recoil — you’d just looked… confused. A little weirded out. But not afraid. Not disgusted.

And when the guards came?

You lied for her.

“She went that way,” you said, pointing somewhere else, while she hid in a cubicle — heart rattling against her ribs like dice in a cup. She could’ve died in that moment. Or melted. Or kissed you. Probably all three.

She’d pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle a squeal. It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

And when you opened the door and whispered “You’re safe now,” with your eyes soft and your hand outstretched—

She fell a little bit in love.

Down below, the streetlights flickered to life.

She wondered what you were doing now. Walking home? Laughing with that electric boy? She remembered him — Denki, you called him. He was kind of funny. A little dumb. You’d blushed when he smiled at you.

She hated that.

No — no, she didn’t hate it. She just… didn’t want you to smile at anyone else that way. Not when you smiled at her first. Not when you saved her. Hid her. Chose her.

Himiko hugged her knees to her chest, pressing her cheek into the sleeves of her jacket.

“Best friends,” she whispered to herself, voice dreamy. “We’re best friends now.”

She didn’t even tell you her name.

Maybe next time.

Maybe next time she’d bring you a present. A pressed flower. A box of sweets. A vial of blood, maybe — something meaningful. Something true.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the receipt you dropped — she’d picked it up when you weren’t looking. Folded it into a heart.

“You’re so pretty,” she whispered, watching the last bit of daylight fade from the sky. “I wanna know what your blood tastes like when you’re happy.”

Later, at a safehouse she’d claimed for herself — a dusty old daycare shut down years ago — she laid on the floor, staring at the cracked ceiling. Her little trinkets surrounded her. Broken dolls. Stray socks. A few makeup compacts she’d taken from girls she’d liked once.

But they didn’t matter anymore.

She reached into her coat and pulled out a scrap of fabric she’d nicked from the clothes rack after you’d left — it wasn’t yours, not exactly, but it smelled like the changing room. It smelled like you.

Himiko curled around it like it was the only real thing in the world.

She didn’t know why you were nice to her.

She didn’t understand it.

But she didn’t need to understand it. She just needed to feel it again.

You’d protected her.

Lied for her.

Looked her in the eye and didn’t scream.

So now — she’d protect you.

Whatever it took.

The moonlight filtered in through the cracked windows of the abandoned daycare, painting long, pale streaks across the floor. Dust swirled lazily in the air with every creak of the floorboards as Himiko crouched on a pile of old blankets near the corner of the main room. Her lantern glowed softly beside her, flickering like a heartbeat.

Her notebook was already open — a mess of sketches and bloodstains, taped receipts and scribbled names. Most of them were old. Forgotten. Some were crossed out. Others had little hearts drawn next to them. But now, everything else blurred into the background, irrelevant.

Only one name mattered now.

Or, well… she didn’t know your name yet.

But she would.

Himiko bit the end of her pencil and stared at the page, breath held, then slowly, almost reverently, began to draw.

First came your eyes.

Wide. Warm. Bright like twin stars. She remembered the exact shade of them — how they looked at her like she wasn’t something broken. Not like the guards. Not like the heroes. Your eyes were full of concern. Confusion, maybe, but not fear. Not hate.

That was rare.

Precious.

Next, she added your hair — a little messy from the changing room lights, maybe tousled from your time at the arcade. She drew it like it glowed. Like the moon itself lived in your strands.

Then your smile. Not the full one you gave Denki — no, not that one — but the quiet one you gave her. When you said:

“It’s safe now. You can come out.”

A little crooked. Soft around the edges. Something just for her.

Himiko pressed her hands against her cheeks, trying to slow her heartbeat. She felt hot. Overwhelmed. She squirmed a little where she sat, legs pulled up close under her oversized sweater. A squeak of giddy laughter escaped her before she clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Focus, Himiko,” she whispered to herself. “Draw it right. Make it perfect.”

She turned the page sideways and began sketching the moment you’d grabbed her wrist — not hard, not cruel, but like you didn’t want her to disappear. The way your fingers felt. The way your brows pinched when you were worried for her.

Her pencil flew faster now.

Page after page.

In one, she drew you in the arcade — laughing behind a claw machine.

In another, she imagined you holding a bandage to her cheek. Helping her after a fight. Tending to her like you care.

One page had you with hearts for eyes. Another, with blood dripping down your chin — her doing, of course. But only in love. Only if you let her. Only if you wanted it too.

You’d look so pretty like that.

She giggled again, then flipped her notebook to a blank page and began writing:

“Journal Entry — Love at First Lie 💕”

Today, I met an angel.

She was soft and sweet and didn’t scream when I told her the truth. She saved me. Lied to the guards. Hid me. She touched me and I didn’t want to hurt her — not even a little. Not even when I imagined how warm her blood would be.

That’s love, right?

She didn’t ask my name. I didn’t ask hers. But that’s okay. We have time. I’ll find her again.

We’re best friends now. I told her she’d be cuter bleeding. She didn’t even flinch! 💖

I hope she’s safe tonight. I hope she’s thinking about me too.

I’m going to protect her. From heroes. From villains. From anyone who tries to take her away.

She’s mine now.

Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Love,
Toga

She signed it with a heart and kissed the page, leaving a smudge of red lipstick behind.

Then she sat back, fanning the notebook to dry the ink, her golden eyes glowing in the dark.

“You’re gonna love me too,” she whispered to no one. “You’ll see.”

The wind howled outside, but it didn’t scare her. Nothing scared her tonight. Because now she had you.

And she wasn’t letting go.

TOMURA SHIGARAKI POV

The screen flickered with static.

Tomura sat hunched in the glow of a second-hand monitor, fingers twitching against his neck, nails digging into flaky, scarred skin. A low growl curled behind his teeth as the grainy footage looped again.

A security camera feed.

Public mall.
Afternoon.
You.

There you were — standing in front of a dressing room curtain, chatting nervously with two store security guards. He couldn’t hear the audio, but your posture said everything. Hands stiff. Smile too polite. Voice, likely rushed. You were lying for someone.

He narrowed his eyes.

You were covering for someone. Someone dangerous — someone on the run. He could see it in the way you jerked your head toward the wrong direction, leading the guards away from the fitting room you subtly blocked with your body.

You were helping.

Helping someone else.

Tomura's jaw tightened.

Not a villain — not like him. Not one of his. This person — whoever they were — they weren’t part of his game. They weren’t part of his plan. And yet…

You helped them anyway.

The camera footage cut to the next few seconds — you motioning to the cubicle behind you. The curtain rustled. Someone slipped out. A figure in a hoodie. Blonde, petite, fast. Vanished in a heartbeat. You watched them go with wide eyes.

Tomura leaned back, a dry rasp slipping from his throat.

“What… was that?”

Not anger. Not yet. Not jealousy. Just... static.

A fizzing noise at the base of his skull.

His fingers itched — the thumb of his left hand hovered just above his pinky. One touch. One gesture. Five fingers, and the monitor would be dust. But he didn’t destroy it. Not yet. He needed to see.

He rewound the footage again.

And again.

And again.

Not because he needed to. But because he had to.

He knew you from the shops.

He’d seen you from the trees when you trained.

He’d heard your voice once when you hummed to yourself, alone beneath the stars.

You were soft. Gentle. Human.

And that’s what terrified him.

Because even after seeing his scars, even after brushing so close to the world that wanted people like him erased, you still smiled at strangers. Helped them.

Helped him.

He hated how warm you looked in those colors.

He hated how your face stayed in his mind when everything else faded.

He hated that his chest felt heavy when you waved goodbye to the guards and slipped out of frame like nothing had happened.

And more than anything — he hated the figure in the hood.

Because they had your trust.
And he didnt, at least not yet.

Tomura’s eyes flicked to the side — toward the drawing he’d made a few nights ago. A clumsy sketch of your silhouette from memory, tucked half under a cracked cup of instant ramen that you paid for. He hadn’t shown it to Sensei. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. It wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t part of the plan.

It was his.

“You don’t even know me yet,” he muttered. “But you will.”

He tapped his fingers against the edge of the monitor.

1. 2. 3. 4…

Not five.

Never five.

He stood slowly, chair scraping against the concrete floor, and grabbed the hoodie from the peg by the door. He didn’t know why. Maybe to calm the static. Maybe to see for himself. Maybe to find her — the girl you protected. The stranger.

Whoever she was… she’d taken a piece of your attention.

And he needed to know why.

The boy sat motionless, curled on the threadbare couch in the deepest corner of the hideout. The light from the single overhead bulb carved long shadows across his gaunt frame, the flicker catching the edge of the monitor nearby, where static still played.

All For One watched in silence from behind his mask.

He did not need to see Tomura’s eyes to know what played within them. He felt it radiating through the air — a dull, unprocessed weight. Something feral. Possessive. Conflicted.

It amused him.

It pleased him.

After all, emotions like these were far more powerful than logic or strategy. They made people reckless. They made them hungry.

He stepped forward, the mechanical hiss of his life support system the only sound to break the silence.

“You’ve been quiet, Tomura,” he said gently, voice smooth as oil. “That’s unlike you.”

Tomura didn’t turn. But his fingers twitched — always his fingers. The left hand curled and uncurled in his lap, the pinky constantly hovering, never quite touching the others.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered.

All For One smiled behind the mask.

“That’s a shame,” he said. “Because you used to share everything with me. I worry when you keep secrets.”

Tomura flinched.

That was answer enough.

All For One took another step, his presence filling the small room like fog. The air felt heavier, colder. Deliberate.

“You’re thinking about her again.”

Still no reply.

So he pressed further.

“She helped someone. A fugitive, no less. Someone undeserving of her attention, wouldn’t you say?”

Tomura’s jaw tightened.

“She probably doesnt remember who i am.”

“Yet,” All For One murmured, his tone almost tender. “But that can be changed.”

Tomura finally looked up — red eyes raw and rimmed with the kind of uncertainty All For One knew how to mold best.

“I don’t want her caught up in this,” the boy muttered. “She’s… different.”

“Different,” All For One repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a weapon sheathed in velvet. “Yes. You’ve said that before. She’s kind. She sees people.”

He stepped beside the monitor and rested a gloved hand on it.

“And she’s a target.”

That made Tomura still completely.

“You’re not the only one watching her,” All For One said. “You’re not the only one who noticed her compassion. Sooner or later, someone will exploit it. Twist it. Destroy it.”

Tomura’s shoulders hunched.

“And you know how fragile kindness is, don’t you, Tomura? How easily it’s stepped on. Broken.”

Silence.

Then:

“I just wanted to keep her safe,” Tomura whispered.

All For One placed a firm hand on his protégé’s shoulder.

“Then do that,” he said. “You’ve been given power, Tomura. Purpose. If you truly want to protect her… remake the world into a place where she’ll never need to be afraid again. Like i told you when you first spoke to me about her.”

Tomura’s throat bobbed.

“She still wouldn’t approve of how we do things.”

“She doesn’t need to. Not yet.” All For One’s voice was a murmur now. “In time, she’ll see this society for what it is. The way they let villains roam, the way they fail children like you, like her. And when she does… she’ll need someone to keep her safe.”

Tomura stared down at his hands.

All five fingers trembled.

“But she helped someone else today,” he muttered. “Not me.”

“And that,” All For One replied, turning back toward the hall, “is your fault. You haven’t shown her yet that you’re the one she should trust.”

He paused at the doorway.

“But don’t worry, Tomura. You will.”

A/N

there's a lot going on in this chapter i know, but did u enjoy it?

All those characters i managed to fit in plus two misunderstood villains. hope you enjoyed it.

Please do let me know what you thought of this.

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 26: Shadows Beneath the Stars

MONTH TWO- DAY SEVEN

The clearing welcomed you like it always did—open, familiar, steady beneath your feet. The morning sky had just begun to blush into pale gold, the sun rising behind a veil of misty treetops. You took in a deep breath, tasting dew on the wind.

You came here every day now. But today felt… different.

Not because of your quirk.

Not even because of the strange static that sometimes laced your skin lately, like the world was waiting for something to happen.

No—today felt different because you were different.

You were no longer stumbling your way through Aquila Wings or fumbling with shaky starlight bows. You’d earned your confidence.

And the moment you stepped into the clearing, your body remembered everything.

The wind shifted—subtle and sweet.

You held out your palm and summoned Aquila Wings with a single breath.

Light spilled behind you, folding outward into sleek wings of translucent comet-glow. They didn’t hum or vibrate now—they pulsed gently with your heartbeat. Balanced. Lithe. Fast. You knew just how much lean you needed to stay airborne, just how much momentum to cut cleanly through the wind.

You ran forward, pushed off with your heel, and the wings carried you effortlessly into the sky. Not far—just high enough to skim the treetops.

You grinned as you swooped low, wind rushing your ears.

And landed on a dime, knees bending fluidly beneath you.

Easy.

Next came the Orion Bow—the one that had become almost an extension of your hands. No longer summoned with a clumsy flick or panicked focus. Now, it formed against your fingers with the confident snap of familiarity.

The starlight bow settled naturally in your grip, glittering with threads of constellation magic. The string shimmered as you pulled it back, a glimmering arrow forming between your fingers with a thought.

You exhaled. Focused.

And fired.

The arrow zipped across the clearing and detonated against the distant tree bark in a low, controlled burst.

Perfect alignment.

You summoned another, rapid-fire this time—three in a row, all different angles, all clean and sharp. You barely blinked between them. Your pulse buzzed with steady satisfaction.

Then you paused and held out your other hand.

Because you knew what came next.

The spell that had given you the most trouble—the one that had once required your full focus, full breath, full willpower to hold steady—now answered the quiet call of your open hand without hesitation.

Lyra Barrier.

The spell shimmered to life in front of you—concentric harp-string arcs of pale gold starlight forming a wide crescent in front of you. It didn’t hum nervously now. It sang.

The strings rotated slowly in air, catching the wind. You stepped behind it, testing its integrity.

Then—without hesitation—you clapped sharply.

The sound reverberated through the barrier, the strings absorbing it entirely for a heartbeat—

And then—

Whumff!

—echoed it back outward in a short, directional burst of compressed soundwave, strong enough to rattle the grass several feet away.

You smiled.

Not just a shield anymore. A shock absorber. An amplifier. You’d taken a defensive spell and turned it into a counter-weapon.

And it felt right. Like the barrier was more than light and magic now—it was instinct.

Everything was coming together.

You felt… ready.

And then—

That stillness again.

Not from inside you.

From around you.

You didn’t drop your stance right away.

Didn’t speak.

But you knew.

You’d felt this before.

Not danger. Not exactly. But something. Someone.

You turned your head slowly toward the trees lining the far end of the clearing. Your hand didn’t summon another spell yet—but your fingers curled slightly, a whisper of magic glowing beneath the skin.

“...Someone out there?”

Your voice was calm.

No answer.

The wind moved. Leaves rustled.

You waited.

Then—just to be sure—you raised Lyra’s Barrier again in front of you. A gentle spin. A quiet ring.

Nothing bounced off it. No pressure. No attacks.

Just the low tremble of your instincts.

You were being watched.

You felt it again—a pulse against your neck. A subtle sense of eyes brushing over your spine. A hitch in the current of the wind.

But still—no movement.

If it was someone… they weren’t trying to scare you.

And they weren’t trying to hide well either.

You stepped toward the trees slowly, eyes narrowed.

Then—stopped.

You didn’t summon a weapon. You didn’t fire a spell.

You just… looked.

“I don’t know who you are,” you murmured. “But if you’re gonna stare, you could at least say hi.”

Silence.

Still… no movement.

You held the moment.

Let it breathe.

Then—finally—you turned away, letting your wings retract and the barrier melt back into your skin.

But your muscles stayed tense for a while.

Even as you went back to your target zone.

Even as you launched a few more arrows. Even as the hum of the stars returned to your blood.

You knew something had shifted.

You didn’t feel unsafe. But you didn’t feel alone, either.

And that was… new.

You don’t remember the birds stopping.

You’re not sure when the wind stilled either — only that at some point, your breaths began to echo too sharply in your ears, and the sunlight above the trees felt more like a spotlight than a warmth. The usual energy in the forest clearing — rustling branches, chirping birds, the faint pulse of distant city sounds — had dimmed into something hollow.

You turned slowly on your heel, fingertips tingling with stardust residue from your last cast of Orion Bow. The constellation’s arrowhead had flared a clean shot through the air just minutes ago — and you’d even managed a tricky spin into Aquila Wings, using the momentum to hover for three seconds longer than usual before skimming the ground.

A grin had cracked across your face then — real, satisfied. But now… it was gone.

Something was off.

Your eyes scanned the trees again. No movement. No wind. No birds.

You lifted your hand, testing the spell flow, and summoned Lyra Barrier with a soft hum. The harp-shaped, rotating starlight formed in front of you — elegant as ever — and pulsed in sync with your heartbeat. But even its glow didn’t banish the unease gnawing at your ribs.

You knew the Lyra’s notes could reflect sound-based attacks. You’d modified it last week to absorb and then burst the pressure back like an echo bomb. And still… your instincts didn’t ease.

Your barrier hummed. Your skin crawled.

You weren’t alone.

You spun sharply — but nothing was there. Just trees. Just shadow.

The whisper of leaves brushing together too deliberately.

No. Not leaves.

You reached for another spell, grip tightening — and then—

“HEY YOU!!”

You yelped — actually yelped — and spun around so fast your barrier fizzled in shock.

A hand shot straight up in the air like a flagpole. Wild hair, goggles, a ridiculous wind-themed cape snapping from sheer momentum—

Inasa Yoarashi.

Bounding toward you at full throttle with the energy of five Red Bulls and a personal wind tunnel, hands waving like semaphores.

“Your focus was intense!” he shouted, skidding to a stop ten feet away, one fist pumping. “PASSION just rolling off you in WAVES!!”

Your breath caught. The tension in your chest unwound all at once in a weird, half-disbelieving laugh.

“Inasa…?” you wheezed, hands on your knees. “What—what are you doing here?”

He saluted — literally saluted you.

“I was PATROLLING for INSPIRATION when I sensed a DISTURBANCE — the air currents had shifted strangely around this area, so naturally I had to investigate!”

He beamed. “AND IT WAS YOU!! BRILLIANT!”

You blinked at him, still dazed, heart pounding for very different reasons now.

Your first instinct had been to scold him. He’d scared you. You’d nearly fired an arrow into a tree. But your second instinct — stronger — was relief. An overwhelming, unexpected comfort.

You were no longer alone.

He babbled for a while — about your form, the shimmer of your barrier, how Lyra had “a dynamic musical shape, like a wind symphony made solid!” You didn’t fully understand his metaphors, but the sincerity in his voice made you smile anyway.

“You really think so?” you asked, settling onto a boulder near the edge of the clearing. Your hand still trembled a bit, but it was easing now that the pressure in your chest had faded.

Inasa dropped beside you — more like planted himself, legs crossed, posture awkwardly formal despite being sweaty and disheveled from wind travel.

“You remind me of the sky,” he said simply. “Not just because of the stars. Because it’s vast. It’s always changing — sometimes calm, sometimes fierce — but always alive.”

Your cheeks warmed. You weren’t used to compliments being delivered like a weather forecast at max volume.

Still… you couldn’t stop your smile.

The silence that followed wasn’t like the one before. This one was warmer. Filled with life again.

Later, when you stood to resume your training, Inasa insisted on watching — loudly. He cheered when your Orion Bow arrow hit dead center on a tree knot, whistled when your Aquila Wings lifted you into a backward dive that left a clean crater in the dirt.

And when you summoned Lyra Barrier one final time — letting the vibrations soak in a mock sonic blast from your stomp and then echo outward in a radiant, defensive shockwave — he actually applauded.

“BRAVO!” he shouted. “That kind of innovation is the mark of a future Pro Hero!”

You grinned so hard your face hurt.

And somewhere inside — where the unease had curled earlier like smoke — you felt the knot unspool.

You didn’t know what had been watching you.

But right now?

It didn’t matter.

Because you weren’t afraid anymore.

The afternoon sun blazed high over the clearing just outside the city’s edge, where the sharp scent of pine mixed with the salty tang carried by a light coastal breeze. It was the perfect spot for training: wide, open, and free of distractions — ideal for pushing limits.

You stood in the center, sweat already beading on your brow, your breathing steady but alert. Across from you, Inasa Yoarashi bounced on the balls of his feet, eyes blazing with that intense, electrifying passion he was notorious for. His cape whipped around wildly with every move, and he shouted out, voice echoing like a battle cry, “LET’S GOOOOOOO!! SHOW ME YOUR PASSION!!!”

You grinned despite yourself. There was no ignoring that raw energy.

Taking a deep breath, you prepared your quirk—calling forth the familiar celestial energy that linked your body to the stars. Your hands glowed as you summoned the Orion Bow, a radiant bow of shimmering starlight that pulsed in time with your heartbeat. An arrow formed, glowing bright blue, poised to fly.

Inasa’s grin widened, almost feral. “DON’T HOLD BACK! THIS IS A REAL TRAINING SESSION! BRING IT ALL!”

Like a gust of wind, he charged forward, pushing himself with his Quirk. The air around him whipped violently as he launched a powerful wind blast meant to overwhelm. You barely had time to react before firing your Orion arrow—sending it streaking through the air toward him with a trail of sparkling light.

With a sharp shout, Inasa summoned a twisting cyclone around himself, deflecting your arrow with ease. “HAH! NOT BAD! BUT YOU’VE GOTTA BE FASTER THAN THAT!”

He lunged again, now aiming to close the gap with a brutal gust that threatened to knock you off your feet. You didn’t hesitate—spreading your arms wide, wings of glowing starlight burst from your back: Aquila Wings. You soared upward and forward, spinning in a dive attack, your body feeling light and fierce.

“YOU THINK THAT’S ENOUGH? HELL NO! PASSION IS EVERYTHING!” Inasa bellowed as he met your dive with a violent gale. But this time you were ready—right as the wind surged to meet you, you summoned Lyra Barrier, the rotating harp-shaped shield of starlight. It vibrated intensely, absorbing the crushing force and then exploding outward in a shockwave of sound energy.

Inasa stumbled, surprised but laughing, “WHOA! NICE! I CAN FEEL THAT PASSION RADIATING OFF YOU!”

Landing smoothly, you felt a surge of control from your Vega Crown. A glowing ring of stars circled your head, sharpening your focus and channeling your energy more precisely. Your movements were quicker, every muscle ready.

Inasa charged again, shouting at the top of his lungs, “LET’S TURN IT UP! YOU’RE GONNA NEED ALL OF THAT FOCUS!” He whipped up a flurry of razor-sharp wind blades, slicing through the air with deadly intent.

You fired Altairis, your precision barrage of star-charged darts. Each shard pierced through the gusts, a dazzling shower of celestial light.

“NOT BAD! NOT BAD AT ALL!” Inasa roared in approval as he dodged and countered, grinning wider. “BUT NOW IT’S TIME TO FEEL THE REAL POWER OF PASSION!”

His Quirk surged, whipping the wind into a raging tempest aimed to crush you. Without hesitation, you called upon Grand Chariot—a radiant weapon of starfire that launched multiple targeted strikes across the battlefield, cutting through the gale with sweeping arcs of light.

The ground trembled under your feet, leaves and dust swirling around you both. Inasa’s eyes sparkled with exhilaration rather than frustration. “HELL YEAH! YOU’RE REALLY SOMETHING! BUT I’M NOT DONE YET!”

Summoning every ounce of energy, he created multiple gusts aimed to confuse and overwhelm. You responded by conjuring Lepus Mirage, creating several shimmering decoys that flickered like distant stars, forcing Inasa to hesitate.

“CAN’T FOOL ME THAT EASILY!” he shouted, but there was laughter in his voice, genuine excitement.

You followed up with Carina Spear, hurling a piercing javelin of pure starlight that cut through the air like a comet.

“WOAH! THAT’S SOME DEADLY ACCURACY!” Inasa exclaimed, barely dodging the strike before you unleashed Altarius Barrage—a relentless flurry of shining shards that rained down like meteorites.

Panting, Inasa raised his hands, laughing breathlessly, “OKAY! OKAY! YOU WIN THIS ROUND! YOU’RE THE REAL DEAL! YOUR PASSION BURNS BRIGHT, AND YOUR CONTROL IS ON POINT!”

You lowered your hands, chest heaving but proud. The spar had pushed you to your limits, but the exhilaration and pride swelled inside you like a rising star.

Inasa took a deep breath and wiped sweat from his brow. “KEEP THIS UP AND YOU’LL BLOW EVERYONE AWAY AT U.A. JUST REMEMBER—PASSION ISN’T JUST POWER. IT’S EVERYTHING. HEART. SOUL. FIRE. YOU’VE GOT IT.”

You smiled, feeling the energy and warmth behind his words. “Thanks, Inasa. I won’t forget.”

He grinned, voice booming one last time as the sun dipped low, “LET’S TRAIN AGAIN SOON! CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU LIGHT UP THE SKY!”

With that, he took off, wind swirling like a tempest, leaving you standing there, heart racing, ready to push forward. The path to becoming a hero was long and challenging—but your star was burning brighter than ever.

 

You were going to make it.

Or at least you thought you were...

The sun had started to set by the time you left the clearing, leaving your limbs heavy with exertion and your hair damp with sweat. You had trained hard again today—your quirk crackled gently beneath your skin, the faint shimmer of stardust still clinging to your fingers like glitter from the stars. You should’ve felt proud.

But the moment you passed the crooked signpost at the trail’s edge, unease slithered beneath your skin.

It started small.

Just the faintest sound behind you. A shuffle of gravel. A breath of air too close. You brushed it off as wind or maybe a squirrel. You adjusted your bag, rolling your shoulder, but then—

There it was again. Footsteps.

Rhythmic, soft… but not yours. You paused slightly. So did they.

Your spine stiffened. You turned your head just a little—just enough to catch a glimpse behind you from the corner of your eye.

A figure. Not close. But not far either. Hood pulled low. Clothes oversized and frayed around the edges, the kind of worn-down hoodie that blended too well into the shadows. You couldn’t see their face—only the vague outline of someone tall, hunched slightly, hands shoved into pockets.

They weren’t moving anymore. Neither were you.

Your heart skipped a beat.
You turned away quickly, pretending to check your phone, and kept walking—faster now, with your senses on high alert. Your fingers tingled, not from celestial energy, but from the creeping sting of adrenaline.

You didn’t want to panic.

Maybe they were just someone heading the same way. A coincidence.

But then… you reached the intersection. Your normal route home would’ve been a right turn. Short. Familiar. Lit with shops and sidewalks.

You hesitated. Then turned left.

The longer route. Narrower streets. Fewer people. But… more escape routes. More turns. More options.

Your steps quickened.
Behind you, you heard the shuffle of footsteps follow.

Still there.

Still watching.

Still following.

Your breath caught in your throat as your brain scrambled to recall every training scenario that might help you. You weren’t powerless—but your body was still tired from the sparring match with Inasa. Your barrier? Maybe. But you couldn’t activate anything until you were sure this wasn’t just your mind playing tricks.

So you ducked into the first shop you saw.

It was an old corner store, small and narrow, with flickering lights and a bell that jingled sharply when you entered. You headed straight to the drinks fridge, grabbing a random bottle just for cover, all while sneaking glances out the front window.

For a few seconds… nothing.

But then the figure passed the store. Slowly.

You ducked slightly lower behind the display shelf, breath tight in your lungs.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t look in.

But he walked slowly. Deliberately. As if waiting to see if you’d come out.

You waited. Counting your breaths.

One minute.
Two.
Three.

He disappeared past the corner.

You waited another five, just to be sure.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you approached the cashier, still clutching the unopened bottle. You didn’t need it, but buying it made everything look… normal. Routine.

The clerk gave you a bored look. “That’ll be 140 yen.”

You handed over the coins, eyes flicking to the glass door. Still empty. Still safe.

For now.

Clutching the bag close, you stepped back out onto the pavement. The street felt both too open and too narrow. Every sound too loud. Every shadow too sharp.

You exhaled slowly.

Maybe it was nothing.
Maybe it was just someone going the same way.
Maybe it was just your nerves.

But deep down, you didn’t believe that.
Because in that brief moment when you turned back near the trailhead—when your eyes had met the figure’s, just for a second—you had felt it:

There was intent behind that stare.

And it wasn’t good.
Not protective.
Not neutral.

Something was watching you.

And it wasn’t done yet.

You stood near the drinks fridge, the cold plastic bottle sweating in your hands. It had been five minutes—maybe more—since the hooded figure passed the shop.

And yet… you still couldn’t make yourself move.

The world outside felt wrong. The shadows too heavy, the silence too loud. Your heartbeat hadn't slowed since you stepped in here, and even though you'd bought your drink and the cashier barely spared you a glance, you lingered by the exit like something fragile left out in the rain.

You tried to rationalize it.
Tired. Overtrained. Paranoid from too many nights of strange dreams and stranger feelings…

And yet.

Your fingers tightened around the bottle. The condensation clung to your palm, grounding you. Your other hand hovered near your bag—ready to reach for a spell if you had to, even if your quirk still buzzed faintly from overuse.

You weren’t helpless. You knew that.

But for the first time in a long while, you felt small.

“Are you lost?”

The voice came from your left—calm, low, and eerily quiet for how close it was. Not loud enough to startle. More like a whisper designed to cut through panic instead of fuel it.

You turned sharply—and found yourself looking up at a man standing a few steps away, just past the snack aisle.

He was tall, maybe eighteen or nineteen, dressed in dark clothes that looked too formal for a corner shop. A heavy coat despite the warmth in the air, dark gloves, clean shoes. There was a certain sharpness about him. Not threatening. Not exactly. Just… clinical.

And most notably, his face was hidden beneath a strange medical mask—plague doctor–style, beaked and dark. It made his eyes all the more striking. Golden brown, with a cold, distant sort of clarity.

He blinked once, studying you like a specimen under glass.

“I’m not lost,” you said quickly. Automatically. “I’m just—”
Your voice faltered.

Your gaze flicked past the glass window—toward the alley where you thought you’d seen something move again.

There. A flash of movement. A figure? Or just the wind against the awning?

You froze.

The boy tilted his head slightly, watching your expression shift. He didn’t follow your gaze.

“Someone’s following you,” he said flatly. Not as a question. As a fact.

Your chest tightened.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, pulse thudding behind your ribs. “I think so, but—maybe I’m being dramatic. I—I just needed a second. That’s all.”

He didn’t blink.

“You’re not being dramatic,” he replied. “You’re being logical.”

That surprised you more than anything else. His tone wasn’t kind, not exactly—but it wasn’t mocking either. Just… blunt. Cool. Like someone delivering a diagnosis.

“People always say ‘I’m fine’ when they’re not,” he added. “It’s inefficient.”

You blinked at him. “Who are you?”

There was the smallest pause.

“No one important,” he said, a beat too late. “Just someone who doesn’t like watching people freeze when there’s a solution.”

That made your skin prickle.

You shifted slightly, your back still half-pressed to the fridge, eyes studying him in return. You didn’t recognize him—but something about him felt deliberate. Every movement restrained. Every breath measured.

He wasn’t scared. Or even surprised by the situation. If anything… he looked like he was evaluating it.

Like he’d seen far worse.

“I’m not helpless,” you said carefully, finally drawing yourself up a little. “I can handle myself. I just… needed a breather.”

His eyes flicked to your fingers—subtly, precisely. You realized they were still twitching slightly from the nerves.

He didn’t comment on it.

“Then you should make your move soon,” he said, calmly. “You’ve lingered long enough. If someone is watching, they’ll grow suspicious. Best to leave before it’s obvious you’re afraid.”

That cut through your anxiety like a needle—cold, sharp, true.

You swallowed hard. “Right.”

He stepped aside, allowing you space toward the door. He didn’t crowd. Didn’t insist. But he lingered just enough for you to know he was watching too. Guarding the threshold.

As you passed him, he added—almost as an afterthought, voice lowered—

“Don’t go straight home. Make loops. Watch corners. Don’t let your fear cloud your head. You’ll make more mistakes that way.”

You turned to look at him.

“Thanks,” you said, and meant it.

For a second, you swore his eyes softened. Just a flicker.

He didn’t answer. Only nodded once.

You pushed open the door, bottle still in hand, and stepped out into the cooling evening air—pulse still racing, but steadier now.

The shop door swung shut behind you. You didn’t look back.

Inside, Kai Chisaki stood still by the shelves, watching your shadow retreat through the glass. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound.

Behind the mask, he frowned faintly.

“Emotionally fragile,” he muttered. “But logical. Possibly quirk-reliant. High stress response. Could be useful. Or dangerous.”

He pulled a glove tighter onto his hand, golden eyes narrowing.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Then he turned and vanished into the shadows between the aisles—quiet as a virus in bloom.

KAI CHISAKI POV

The streets of Musutafu were too warm, too loud, too chaotic. Just too full of disgusting germs.

Kai Chisaki moved through them like a ripple through still water—precise, silent, avoided.

He walked with his hands tucked into the deep pockets of his coat, black gloves pressing lightly against the antiseptic wipes he kept ready. Every step was measured. Every breath regulated through the filters of his plague mask.

Even now, hours later, he felt the unease that had taken root under his skin. Not fear. Not quite concern. Just… an itch in the system. A variable he hadn’t expected.

You.

That girl. In the shop.

The image of your face burned with quiet persistence in the back of his mind. Not because you were striking, not because you were memorable.

Because you were kind.

And Kai Chisaki hated unpredictability most of all. Especially the kind dressed in a smile.

He turned down a side street, cutting through the cleaner part of the warehouse district. His boots clicked once against a grate. A cat skittered from under a dumpster.

“Are you lost?”

The words he’d said to you replayed, and he frowned under the mask.

Of course you weren’t lost. That much was clear within moments. You were calculating your options, but panic made your thoughts scattered. Yet even with your body tense and your gaze fraying around the edges, you still found it in yourself to be kind.

You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t even know the danger might still be present.

But you chose to protect someone else first even if it would have been safer to lead your stalker to your family, surely they would be able to protect you.

Why?

The question wasn’t born of curiosity. It was clinical. Procedural. Like checking for fever symptoms before diagnosing a virus.

Why would anyone do that?

Because it was inefficient.

Because it was stupid.

Chisaki’s jaw clenched as the low hum of the city gave way to the quieter neighborhood surrounding the Shie Hassaikai compound.

He hated the world outside. The filth. The recklessness. The systems of control that were supposed to protect people like you—but always failed.

People like you didn’t survive in this mess. That much was obvious.

That much was—inevitable.

Quirks ruined this society.

He reached the back alley to the Hassaikai’s lower entry, pulling a keycard from under his coat. The lock beeped, then buzzed open with a soft click.

He stepped into the sterile hallway, and the difference was immediate. The air was filtered. Quiet. No dust. No unnecessary scent. No chaos.

Home.

A low-ranking grunt nodded as he passed. “Chisaki-san.”

He didn’t answer.

He made his way downstairs to the lower chamber. Pops—his adoptive father, the boss—sat in chair near the window, the faint light of the shoji screen casting lines across his face.

“Kai,” Pops said, without looking.

Chisaki bowed once, gloves still on, then stood tall.

“I made a detour after picking up the shipment,” he said flatly. “I saw something.”

Pops raised an eyebrow slightly. “Something?”

“A girl,” Chisaki said, and ignored the twist in his chest as he spoke the word. “Late teens. Alone. Shaken. She was being followed.”

Pops frowned, brows pulling together. “You intervened?”

“I observed.”

Pops looked at him now. “And?”

“She’s quirk-capable. Hesitated to leave. Logical. Nervous. But still helped someone else- her family, i presume because she didnt want her stalker founding out where she lived, despite being in danger herself.” His eyes narrowed. “Unusual.”

“And what do you intend to do with that information?”

Kai hesitated. Not for lack of answers—he always had answers—but because this one was still forming.

“She’s untrained. Vulnerable. Kind. That makes her dangerous in the wrong systems… and susceptible to the wrong ones.”

Pops sat back slightly. “You want to recruit her?”

Chisaki’s jaw tightened.

“No. Not yet. She’s a risk factor. I want to monitor her.”

Pops watched him in silence, then exhaled slowly. “I see.”

Chisaki didn’t fidget. Didn’t breathe louder than necessary. But something in his shoulders twitched—just once.

He hated that he was still thinking about your eyes. The confusion in them. The fear.

The genuine thank-you.

He wasn’t used to people thanking him without knowing what he could do to them. What he was.

“Keep it minimal, Kai,” Pops warned gently. “No unnecessary attention. Don’t get distracted.”

“I’m not distracted,” Chisaki snapped, sharper than intended.

Pops didn’t press.

“Then keep it efficient,” the old man murmured. “You want to change the world? Good.  You want to bring honour to the Yakuza. Good. But don’t get caught up in singular parts of it.”

Chisaki nodded once. “Understood.”

He turned and left without another word.

But as he walked back toward the elevator, the image of your face lingered again.

And in his mind—so quiet he barely acknowledged it—another thought surfaced.

She shouldn't be in a world like this.

The new world would protect her better.

A world without quirks.

Without those diseases

He would make sure of it.

YOUR POV

 

The chill clung to the air even though the sun hadn’t completely disappeared yet—still warm enough to hold back the full bite of evening, but cold enough to make you wish you’d brought a jacket.

You stepped out of the small shop slowly, holding the bottle of water like it was your passport back into normalcy. Your fingers gripped the plastic too tightly. The water inside sloshed with your every step.

The man's voice still echoed in your head:

"Don’t go straight home. Make loops. Watch corners. Don’t let your fear cloud your head. You’ll make more mistakes that way."

You hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. Let alone notice you at all.

At first glance, he had seemed… unsettling. The plague doctor mask, the gloves, the calm monotone. A part of you thought he might have been another person to fear.

But when you thought back on it…

He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he’d stopped to check on you. And it was more than anyone else had done when you were standing in that shop too frozen to leave.

Even now, the image of the shadowy hoodie figure still pressed in on your memory. You hadn’t looked at their face—if they had a face visible—but the weight of their eyes still felt like fingerprints on the back of your neck.

You exhaled hard through your nose, trying to shake it off.

Following his advice, you took the longer, winding route home—passing the quiet strip of shops, a closed hair salon, a post office, and an elementary school already locked up for the night.

You glanced behind you once.

Nothing.

But your heart didn’t believe what your eyes were telling you. It still kicked at your ribs like a panicked rabbit.

I’m fine. I’m just being careful. The man said it’s smart.

You repeated that in your head like a mantra.

Even though he hadn’t introduced himself by name. Even though you weren’t entirely sure why he had been there in the first place. You clung to the advice like a lifeline.

At the next corner, you paused and leaned your back against the cold stone wall of a library. You checked your phone.

No texts. Not even from your mom yet. That was odd.

You stared at the home screen a little longer than necessary.

Then finally kept walking.

As you approached the edge of the long road that curved up toward your neighborhood, the shadows stretched out longer, interrupted only by the occasional streetlamp humming lazily to life. The houses got more spaced out. The streets quieter.

Your footsteps echoed too loud.

Then—
A rustle.

You stopped.
Turned.

…Nothing.

Just a garbage bag blowing in the wind beside a closed gate.

You exhaled slowly, shoulders tense as you started to walk again.

There was that old habit again—the one you’d worked so hard to kick.

The hypervigilance. The nerves. The paranoia that bloomed like smoke under your skin whenever you trained too late or walked home alone. Only this time, it wasn’t just your mind spiraling—it was grounded in something real.

You had seen someone. They had followed you.

And someone else had seen you be followed.

That second part was what stuck.

That second part was why you weren’t spiraling worse.

Because, as strange as he was, the man had noticed. Had said something. Had taken the time.

He didn’t have to.

And even though he’d left without fanfare, there was a sense of decisiveness in him that made you feel strangely… safer.

It wasn’t the type of protection you felt when Denki tried to make you life in arcade after you met that girl, or when Bakugo—grumbling the whole time—stood between you and a falling sign post. It wasn’t even the kind of assurance Midoriya’s careful analysis could offer.

This was different.

Quiet. Strategic. Focused.

You didn’t know why you trusted it—but you did.

By the time you reached your street, the tightness in your chest had finally begun to loosen. Just a little.

You stepped into the familiar welcome of your neighborhood—dim porch lights and the faint smell of someone cooking soy sauce and garlic wafting through an open window.

Your house was in sight.

Finally.

You hurried the last few steps to the gate and stepped inside, letting the latch click behind you. It was like a spell finally broke.

You were home.

You were safe.

Inside, your mom glanced up from the stove as you entered, brow furrowed. “You’re back late,” she said, gently but curious.

“I, uh…” you hesitated. “I took the long way.”

She blinked. “Why?”

You paused. Then offered a small, honest smile. “Because someone told me it might be safer.”

Your mom’s expression softened. “Good. I’m glad you listened.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t mention the masked man who had stopped you. Or the hooded figure that had triggered your flight instincts. Or the subtle shift in the city’s air that you couldn’t quite explain.

Instead, you kicked off your shoes, moved into the warm glow of the kitchen, and opened the fridge to put away your drink.

Safe. Home. Normal.

But deep in your chest, something else stirred.

Because even though you were fine now, you knew—something had changed.

And this time, someone else knew it too.

A/N

I know that Y/N lost against Bakugo and yet somehow won against Inasa but i think its obvious that he surrendered not because she pushed him to that point but he knows that she's trying her best and that the PASSION that she's showing is more important than winning because it shows she is dedicated to becoming a hero. For now anyway......

Plus Kai Chisaki made an appearance, looks like you got not one, not two but THREE intense stalkers.

What are you going to do?

BTW Kai Chisaki has been aged down, in this scene he is 18, im sorry if you guys didnt like that, but its to make the love interest side more relatable i suppose.

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 27: Day After the Unease

MONTH TWO- DAY EIGHT

The next morning arrived like a whisper instead of a shout.

Light peeked through your curtains with a softness you didn’t trust. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful—but paused. Like the world was holding its breath.

You blinked up at the ceiling, your body still cocooned in your blankets, but your mind already racing through the events of the night before. Your feet had walked the same path home as always—but your heart had kept pace with shadows.

The hoodie. The figure. The look you thought you caught for a second too long.
That man’s words.

You sat up slowly, twisting your body at the waist to stretch, but your eyes immediately darted to the window. No signs of movement. No shadows cast where they shouldn’t be.
Still, your heartbeat stayed tucked high in your throat like a warning.

You got dressed and ready quickly—slipping into a hoodie of your own for comfort more than warmth. The neighborhood looked the same when you stepped outside: sunlit fences, the distant buzz of a weed whacker, a cat stretching on a brick wall. But you couldn’t shake the sense of being watched.

So you looked.

Every alley.

Every mirror in shop windows.

Every car window you passed.

Every reflection that caught your shape.

You kept checking.

You weren’t training today, not really—but your senses were constantly active. Every pulse of your heartbeat felt like it was syncing to a spell you didn’t mean to cast. Vega Crown shimmered in the back of your mind, like your magic was quietly on edge, too.

Even at home, your head turned when a floorboard creaked.
Even in the living room, you angled yourself so the door stayed in your periphery.

Your mom noticed before you said a word.

She glanced at you over the edge of her tea mug. “You’ve been acting twitchy since you woke up.”

You tried to brush it off, nudging the toast on your plate. “It’s not twitchy.”

“It is very twitchy,” she countered, deadpan. “You almost flinched when the rice cooker beeped.”

“…That’s a little dramatic.”

She pointed at you with the tip of her chopsticks. “You’re on high alert. I’ve seen this before.”

You swallowed tightly. “It’s probably from pushing myself in training. Vega Crown sort of makes me more attuned to the environment—so it’s probably just a quirk aftereffect.”

She didn’t buy it. Her expression softened but her stare didn’t break. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head—slow and unsure. “I… don’t know. Maybe later.”

She hummed like she didn’t believe you, but didn’t press.

Instead, she changed tactics.

“Well,” she said, setting her mug down, “you’ve been doing so well with your training, and I think you deserve a nice evening off. I’ve already called up someone you know.”

“…Called up?”

She smiled sweetly, too sweetly.

“Bakugo’s mom.”

You blinked. “What?”

“She invited us over for dinner. Thought it might be nice for us moms to catch up while you two”—her eyebrows raised meaningfully—“get to spend time together again.”

You stared. “Why… why him?”

“Because,” she said, “you’ve known him the longest, and you two used to be such close friends. I think this could be grounding for you.”

“Grounding,” you echoed.

“You’re paranoid right now,” she said, not unkindly. “And nothing snaps you out of your own head faster than someone who won’t let you be weird and silent about it.”

…She had a point.

Your brain felt like it was overheating just sitting still. Vega Crown wasn’t even activated and yet you were scanning the room again.

Maybe Bakugo—gruff, explosive, aggravating Bakugo—was exactly the kind of distraction you needed.

You sighed. “Fine.”

She grinned. “Great. Dinner’s at six. Dress like you’re not haunted.”

Bakugo Residence – 6:02 PM

The familiar smell of grilled meat hit you before the front door even opened.

“You’re late,” Bakugo grunted when he opened the door, scowling slightly. His usual.

“Only by two minutes.”

“Two minutes is late,” he said, stepping aside to let you and your mom in.

His mom, Mitsuki, was already in the kitchen laughing at something yours had said, apron tied tightly over a tank top that read "DON’T TEST ME." The two women greeted each other like old friends, which by now, they were.

You peeled off your shoes, stepping into the warm scent of soy sauce and spices, heart still a little jittery from the day—but for the first time since that hoodie incident, you felt… anchored.

“C’mon,” Bakugo muttered beside you. “She’s gonna start asking questions if we stand here like freaks.”

You followed him into the living room, where he flopped on the couch without ceremony and flicked on the TV. You sat across from him, perching carefully like you weren’t entirely sure what to do.

He didn’t look at you at first.

But you could feel him glance.

Eventually, he muttered, “You’re weird today.”

You sighed. “Thanks.”

“I meant more than usual.”

You didn’t answer right away, eyes flicking to the window. The light was beginning to dim outside.

Bakugo frowned faintly, but didn’t press. “Something happen?”

You hesitated. “Not sure. Maybe. It could be nothing.”

“…But you’re freaked out.”

You nodded once.

He scowled harder, leaned forward with elbows on his knees. “Was it another guy?”

“…What?”

“Whoever made you look like that. Was it someone messing with you?”

“No,” you said quickly. “I mean—not really. I don’t know. Just… someone was following me yesterday, I think.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed like a silent fire had caught in them.

“And?”

“I lost them. Took the long way home. Hid in a shop for a bit. It’s fine now.”

He didn’t respond. His jaw was tight. There was something unspoken in the tension of his arms.

“…Don’t tell your mom,” you added, quieter. “She doesn’t need to know. That’s why we’re here, remember? So I’m not weird and twitchy anymore.”

“…You should’ve told me sooner.”

You blinked.

He looked irritated—not at you, but at the situation.

“Tch. What’d the guy look like?”

“I couldn’t tell. Hoodie. Nothing visible.”

“Sketchy.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t ask for more. Just nodded once. As if he had already filed this information into some mental category labeled “Watch list.”

You appreciated that more than you could say.

The smell of teriyaki and soy lingered in the air as you trailed behind your mom into the Bakugo household, clutching a small dessert box she'd insisted on bringing. Mitsuki’s boisterous voice echoed from the kitchen, laughter loud enough to rattle the dishes.

"You're just in time!" she called. "Food’s still hot. Katsuki, come set the table—ya damn gremlin!"

You could hear Bakugo grumble somewhere deeper in the house.

Dinner passed with noisy chatter and way too much teasing. Your mother and Mitsuki had apparently been conspiring in secret for weeks to set this up — “You two are always training,” your mom had said, nudging you, “so why not take an evening off and eat real food?”

It had been chaotic in the warmest way. The Bakugos were nothing if not intense, and even with all the mock arguments and snark, there was something solid about the whole evening. Real. Familiar.

As your mom stood up to help clear the table, Mitsuki waved her off with a firm shake of her head.

“No way,” Mitsuki barked, tossing a dish towel over her shoulder. “You’re the guest. And besides, I’ve trained Katsuki to do the dishes.”

Bakugo groaned under his breath. “That was like… five years ago.”

“And you still remember how, don’t you?” she shot back with a grin, then turned to you and your mom. “Why don’t you two go upstairs? Let the kids talk in peace for a bit. They’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Mitsuki raised an eyebrow at you both as she started stacking plates and gave a pointed look.

“You two can go upstairs,” she said, then smirked. “But don’t be getting any funny ideas. No grand chariot nonsense under my roof.”

Your mom snorted with laughter. “No exploding furniture either.”

Bakugo turned bright red. “Oi—! What the hell?!”

You sputtered. “Mom!”

You felt better.
Still aware. Still alert. But not… brittle.

“Oh!” your mom said, eyes twinkling. “We’d hate to get in the way of that.”

You felt the faintest rush of dread roll down your back.

Bakugo shoved his hands in his pockets and started toward the stairs without waiting for either of you.

Then Mitsuki added unnecessarily again, “And no funny business in his room!”

You choked on your own spit.

“OLD HAG.” Bakugo’s voice cracked with sheer horror. “What the hell?!”

Your mom didn’t help. She covered her mouth, giggling way too much for someone who claimed she wasn’t trying to tease.

“Honestly, Katsuki,” Mitsuki said with faux innocence, waving her hand like she was swatting away smoke. “You’re both at that age now. Hormones, tension, the whole teenage mess. Just don’t blow anything up.”

You turned beet red. “We’re not—! That’s not—!”

“Okay,” your mom chimed in with a grin, clearly enjoying this too much, “but if there is an explosion, I better not find out it was literal or emotional.”

“We’re just gonna talk!” you and Bakugo snapped in near-perfect unison, voices overlapping.

The two moms howled with laughter.

Bakugo scowled so hard it looked like he was about to combust. “Tch. Let’s go before they decide to bring out baby photos.”

You followed him up the stairs, cheeks burning so hot you could’ve lit a match with them.

Bakugo’s Room

The door clicked shut behind you with a heavy thud.

His room was exactly as you remembered: cluttered but clean, filled with the faint scent of fire and aftershave. The All Might posters were still up, though slightly crooked. A few notebooks littered the desk. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, avoiding your gaze. You stood for a moment near the doorway, unsure of what to say — until he broke the silence.

“…You’re still overdoing it, huh?”

You blinked. “What?”

He finally looked up, his eyes flicking to the fading bruises on your forearms, the way your posture dipped from exhaustion. “Your mom said you’ve been training nonstop. Even pushing past the pain.”

You shifted awkwardly. “I’m managing.”

“You shouldn’t have to ‘manage’ like that,” he snapped, then caught himself. His shoulders tensed, jaw locking. “Tch. I just— You’re not gonna get stronger if you wreck yourself.”

You didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t wrong. You knew that. But there was a fire in you that kept burning, a need to catch up, to earn your place at U.A.

“…You think I’m being stupid,” you said quietly.

Bakugo scoffed, but there was no heat behind it. “Nah. You’re just like me.”

That made you look at him. His expression was unreadable, but his hands flexed where they rested on his knees. Controlled tension. He wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, but he was trying.

“I saw that spar, y’know,” he muttered. “The one with that boy. You’ve improved a hell of a lot. Orion Bow’s sharper. Vega Crown’s syncing better. Even that Carina move’s startin’ to look dangerous.”

“You’ve been training like a maniac,” he said. 

Bakugo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed now, but his expression was a little less defensive.

You blinked. “You watched?”

He shrugged, trying to play it off. “Was in the area.”

“Just… randomly?”

“Shut up.”

You laughed for real this time, and it startled you. It had been days since you’d genuinely laughed like that.

“…I’ve been pushing myself,” you admitted, voice softer now. “It’s not just the U.A. thing. I think—I feel like if I stop, I’ll lose the rhythm. Or I’ll let myself think too hard.”

Your heart stuttered at his praise — rare and sincere.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

He stood abruptly and started fiddling with something on his desk, like he needed a distraction.

“…Still kicked your ass though.”

You laughed, and the tension cracked just a little.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll lose eventually.”

He looked over his shoulder, and his smirk was softer this time — something fond hidden beneath his usual bravado.

“You’re gettin’ close.”

There was a pause between you. A heartbeat of unspoken things.

Then, as if sensing the silence turning heavier than he could handle, Bakugo coughed and looked away.

“Your mom’s right to be worried,” he muttered. “But… if you ever need backup, or a spar partner… or whatever, just—”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying you’ll look out for me?”

His scowl was immediate. “Shut up! That’s not what I— Tch, forget it.”

You couldn’t help but grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He grumbled under his breath and sat back down, less guarded this time. You sat beside him, close enough for your elbows to brush.

Outside the window, the sky had gone dark, the stars faint through Bakugo’s half-closed blinds.

You leaned back against the bedframe and let the silence settle in.

Comfortable now.

Like maybe things weren’t completely broken between you two.

Like maybe this was a start.

He flopped down in his desk chair and rolled a little in a slow spin, clearly trying to shake off the residual embarrassment from downstairs.

You still hadn’t said anything.

He looked over at you, eye twitching. “Are you gonna stand there and think about the ‘no funny business’ comment all night?”

“I’m trying not to,” you muttered, moving to sit at the edge of his bed. “It’s burned into my brain now.”

He groaned and pressed his forehead to the back of the chair.

Silence settled, but it wasn’t heavy.

It was the kind of quiet that used to exist between the two of you all the time, back when you’d known each other better. When proximity didn’t feel like a threat.

“…I’m sorry about that,” he finally said. “About earlier. With the moms. And last week. And the fight.”

Your heart flicked in your chest like someone had nudged it.

He wasn’t looking at you. He never looked directly at people when he apologized—rare as it was.

You shifted slightly on the bed. “Which part of that was the apology?”

“The whole thing,” he grunted. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

You cracked a soft smile. “It was weirdly… heartfelt.”

“I’m not good at that crap.”

“No kidding.”

You shared a short, tense laugh—and then something eased between you both.

He didn’t say anything.

You risked glancing up at him.

His jaw was clenched, but his eyes had softened—just barely.

“…I get that,” he muttered.

You tilted your head.

“Sometimes I think if I stop moving, everything I don’t wanna deal with will catch up.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that.

So you just nodded.

That was enough.

For a few minutes, you sat in that rare silence—one where you both didn’t need to fill the gaps with anything.

It was strange how things could return to something steady between you two. Not perfect. Not neat. But steady. Like tectonic plates that had finally stopped grinding against each other—for now.

Finally, he broke the quiet with a grunt and stood. “Wanna go get a drink, i dont know how long they are planning to be yapping for."

You weren’t sure who moved first, but somehow both you and Bakugo ended up downstairs.

Neither of you had said anything — just shifted your weight, stood up in sync. Maybe it was the tension still coiled under your skin. Or the silence that had stopped feeling heavy but hadn’t quite turned light. Or maybe, you just didn’t want to go home yet.

As you followed him down the stairs to get a drink, you caught your mom and Mitsuki sitting in the living room, sipping tea and very obviously pretending they hadn’t been listening.

You glared playfully.

They both beamed like proud lions.

Your mom mouthed: No funny business!

You wanted to sink into the floor.

Bakugo, behind you, muttered, “I swear I’m going to move out.”

And you found yourself laughing again.

For the second time that night.

You weren’t sure the fear was entirely gone.
But right now?

The weight of it didn’t feel so unbearable.

The kitchen was dim and quiet, lit only by a small light under the cabinets that cast a soft, golden glow across the counter.

Bakugo wordlessly reached up into a cabinet, grabbed two glasses, and filled them from the tap. The sound of running water was oddly loud in the stillness.

He handed one to you without looking.

You took it with a quiet “Thanks,” and the two of you stood there for a while — not facing each other exactly, but not apart either. Just two tired kids with sore muscles and something like history between them, drinking lukewarm water in the middle of the night like it was the only thing keeping the world from falling over.

Your eyes wandered to the old photo frames along the kitchen wall. One had a tiny Bakugo, scowling with all the fury of a five-year-old holding up a sparkler like it had personally offended him. Another one showed your own mother in a group shot with Mitsuki and a couple of friends you didn’t recognize — younger, wilder, laughing in the sun, back when you were a toddler.

You smiled faintly. “Our moms were kind of cool back then, huh?”

Bakugo scoffed. “The old hag still thinks she’s cool.”

You snorted into your glass. “Fair.”

He leaned back against the counter, arms folded loosely. His eyes flicked over to you — not harsh, not probing. Just... watching. Considering.

“…You really planning to go for U.A.?”

You turned your head, surprised by the softness in his voice. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve been training for it for weeks and we still got plenty of months left. You know that.”

“Tch. That’s not what I meant.” He rolled the glass between his fingers. “It’s just... You’ve seen how brutal it’s gonna be. You’ve seen what people are like. You still think it’s worth it?”

You let out a slow breath.

“I don’t know if it’s about being worth it. I think... it’s the only thing that makes sense to me right now.”

He went quiet at that.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt full — like the space between notes in a song, not an awkward pause. You were the one who broke it.

“What about you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“You’ve always been so determined. Always shouting about being the best, being number one. But you never really say why.”

He frowned, but it wasn’t his usual scowl. More like… reluctance.

“…’Cause I have to,” he muttered finally. “If I’m not the best... then what the hell was all of it for?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Because yeah — you’d seen how hard he pushed. How he trained until his knuckles split, how he spat venom because he didn’t know how else to express everything boiling inside him. You’d seen the fury in his ambition. But underneath that…

You saw someone who was scared, too.

Of failure. Of not being enough. Of being passed by.

You sipped your water again. “You are good, you know. Like... genuinely.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that.

You shrugged. “You kicked my ass the other day. I mean, I gave you a decent fight, but I saw the difference. You’re sharp. Fast. Smart, even if you pretend not to be.”

His lips twitched — somewhere between a smirk and a grimace.

“Whatever.”

But his voice was quieter. Rougher.

“Thanks.”

You leaned your hip against the counter beside him, just enough for your shoulders to brush.

“I don’t say it often. So take it while it lasts.”

“…You should say it more.”

Your head tilted. “Huh?”

He glanced at you, then quickly looked away — ears red in the soft light.

“Just… You don’t give yourself enough credit either.”

Now it was your turn to be flustered.

You cleared your throat, trying to cover it. “Didn’t think you noticed stuff like that.”

He muttered something under his breath, too quiet to catch.

You blinked. “What?”

“I said,” Bakugo growled, now a little louder, “I notice everything, dumbass.”

And before you could tease him for that, he pushed off the counter.

“I’m goin’ back up. You comin’ or what?”

You followed him up the stairs, heart unexpectedly full.

Not of romance — not quite.

But of something warm. Something patient. Something slowly mending.

Maybe this wasn’t just about training anymore.

Maybe it never was.

As you and Bakugo moved toward the stairs, the familiar sound of the television filtered from the living room — some variety show echoing through the house in the background. Mitsuki Bakugo called out without looking.

“You two better not be sneaking snacks!”

Bakugo didn’t answer at first. You saw the way his shoulders stiffened slightly, and then he muttered back loud enough to be heard, “Just fucking water, old hag.”

Mitsuki’s snort was audible. “Sure. I’m countin’ how long you’re gone.”

You covered your laugh behind your hand as you both reached the top of the stairs. He glanced over at you, mildly exasperated but also clearly used to it.

“She’s always like that,” he said. “Don’t mind her.”

“I don’t,” you replied with a small smile. “She’s kind of iconic.”

Bakugo grunted, leading the way back into his room.

He shut the door with a soft click, then moved to flop down on the edge of his bed, setting his empty water glass on the floor with a quiet clink. You hesitated for a moment before sitting beside him, both of you facing forward.

The hum of silence returned, but it wasn’t awkward this time. Just... peaceful. The kind of quiet that let your bones relax.

“You’re actually... really clean,” you said.

He squinted. “Huh?”

“Your room. I don’t know why, but I expected chaos.”

“Tch. What, like it’d be a disaster?”

“No, I just...” You shrugged. “You’re so intense all the time. I figured your room would match.”

Bakugo grunted again, but this time with a hint of a smirk. “I’m intense, not disgusting.”

You laughed, and the soft, breathy sound made something in the air settle between you.

You leaned back slightly, your hand brushing against the edge of his comforter, fingers idly tracing a line in the quilted pattern. “It’s kind of nice in here.”

He didn’t answer right away. You glanced over, expecting a roll of the eyes or a sarcastic remark.

But instead, you found him watching you — expression unreadable, gaze softer than you’d seen in a while.

“…You get on my nerves,” he muttered.

You blinked. “Gee, thanks?”

“But,” he continued, “you’re not like everyone else.”

That shut you up.

He looked away immediately, ears tinged red. “I didn’t mean it like that, idiot. I just... you don’t treat me like I’m some monster.”

“…Why would I?” you asked quietly.

“Because I can be one.” His voice was low, rough. “Because I’ve been a real jerk. To you.”

You didn’t deny it.

But you reached out, nudging his arm gently with your shoulder. “Yeah. You can be a jerk. But you’re also trying.”

Bakugo didn’t answer.

So neither did you.

The air between you was thick with unspoken things — not all of them painful. Some of them felt like old bruises finally starting to heal. Others were new, tentative, strange in the way beginnings always are.

You didn’t remember when the both of you lay back on the bed, only that your head eventually found the edge of his pillow and his arm wound up just behind yours. Not touching — but close enough to feel the warmth.

You were still talking, soft little half-conversations spoken between yawns.

“…Do you think we’ll make it?” you mumbled. “To U.A.?”

Bakugo’s voice came, quieter than usual. “If you keep training like this, yeah. You will.”

“What about you?”

He scoffed lightly. “Of course I’ll make it.”

"What about Izuku?" you question.

Bakugo's gazes shutters, and you instantly regret bringing him up.

"That fucking quirkless wannabe will never get in" he spat, moving further away.

You look down and apologized.

He didn’t say anything for a long while.

But just before you drifted off — as sleep was tugging at your muscles and your heartbeat slowed to match the quiet — you heard him murmur something you weren’t sure you were meant to hear.

“…You’d better be there at UA.”

Your smile lingered even in dreams.

The downstairs lights had been dimmed for a while now. The television had long since been turned off, replaced by the quiet night time hum of appliances and the distant rattle of a passing train. In the Bakugo household, silence was a rare but welcomed visitor.

Mitsuki Bakugo checked the clock on the wall again.

“Almost midnight,” she muttered, arms crossed. “Thought I told those two not to stay up too late.”

Your mom — who’d been finishing her tea in the living room — gave a small laugh. “They probably just lost track of time. You said yourself they were getting along better lately.”

Mitsuki rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I trust ‘em alone for hours. Kids their age… hormones all over the damn place.”

Your mom raised a brow, grinning into her cup. “You’re assuming your son’s got game.”

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Mitsuki snorted. “He’s got volume, not charm.”

The two mothers shared a laugh before finally heading up the stairs. Mitsuki led the way with a practiced, stealthy stomp that still managed to rattle the floorboards — and your mom followed, both of them whispering like the loudest whisperers in existence.

As they reached the top landing and moved toward Bakugo’s room, Mitsuki gestured to the door.

“I swear, if I open that and find them building a pillow fort or something, I’m gonna throw a shoe.”

Your mom chuckled, “What if they’re doing something worse?”

Mitsuki grimaced. “Then I throw two shoes.”

The door creaked open just slightly under her hand — enough for a slim sliver of hallway light to spill into the room.

Then they both froze.

“…Oh,” Mitsuki said, voice dropping. “Well, look at that.”

The scene was unexpectedly peaceful.

You were curled up on the bed, one arm tucked under your head, the other lightly resting over the edge of the blanket. The soft rise and fall of your shoulders said you were out cold. There was the faintest crease between your brows — the leftover tension of someone too used to being alert, now finally at rest.

And beside the bed, sitting with his back against it, was Katsuki.

His head had dropped forward, chin brushing his chest. His arms were loosely crossed, one leg bent at the knee while the other was stretched out carelessly along the floor. His hair was messier than usual — gravity and exhaustion tugging it downward. He looked like he’d meant to stay awake. Like he’d been watching over you, but lost the battle to sleep himself.

The air in the room felt thick with something unspoken. Not romantic, necessarily. Not yet. But tender. Protective. A quiet moment between two kids who had spent so long trying to figure out the weight of their own dreams, and found small peace in each other’s presence.

Your mom smiled first.

“Oh… that’s actually kind of sweet.”

Mitsuki made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Dumbass fell asleep on the damn floor. Serves him right if his back hurts tomorrow.”

“Still.” Your mom leaned on the doorframe, gaze soft. “It’s sweet.”

Mitsuki rolled her eyes but didn’t close the door. She looked again, for a bit longer this time. Her expression shifted into something gentler.

“…He doesn’t sleep easy, usually,” she murmured. “I used to catch him pacing in the hallway when he was younger. Said he didn’t want to miss a second of being better than everyone.”

Your mom smiled knowingly. “Maybe now he doesn’t want to miss a second of letting someone in.”

“Cheesy,” Mitsuki grumbled, but her grin betrayed her. She folded her arms across her chest. “Still. I guess she’s good for him. Makes him shut up, at least.”

“I’m right here,” your mom teased.

They shared a smirk.

After a few quiet moments of just watching the two of you breathe — the peaceful harmony of friendship and fatigue — Mitsuki turned to your mom.

“I’ll get a blanket.”

Your mom nodded. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t wake up and trip over your son.”

Mitsuki disappeared down the hall and returned with a folded comforter, which she gently laid over Katsuki’s shoulders. Your mom adjusted the pillow behind your head so it wouldn’t crick your neck. Neither of you stirred.

“There,” Mitsuki muttered. “Two sleeping idiots. All is right in the world.”

The moms lingered for a second longer before quietly shutting the door — a silent truce passing between them.

And in the room behind them, two dreamers slept without fear, the distance between their hearts just a little smaller than it had been the day before.

A/N 

Hope you like this slightly cheesy chapter. I cant help it, i just love a bit of Bakugo.

Have a great day-Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 28: Quiet Mornings and Lingering Heat

MONTH TWO- DAY NINE

Warm.

That was the first thing you noticed.

There was sunlight bleeding in from the half-open blinds, soft gold spilling across the floor and glinting off the metallic posters plastered to the wall. Your skin was warm beneath the blanket someone must’ve tucked around you — and your cheek rested against something too soft to be your pillow from home.

You blinked slowly, letting your eyes adjust to the blur of morning light.

The ceiling wasn’t yours. The unfamiliar shadows stretching across the corners didn’t belong to your room. There was the faint smell of spice, maybe sandalwood, and burnt sugar. A warm breeze carried the faintest hint of detergent and—

Bakugo.

You sat up sharply.

Well, not sharply. Your body protested with a groggy stretch, but your heart was already racing.

You were still at the Bakugos’.

Memories trickled in, slow but sure: the teasing from your moms, the late-night drink in the kitchen, the way Bakugo had sat on the edge of the bed while you talked… then silence… and then—nothing.

You turned your head.

There he was.

Katsuki Bakugo, slumped against the side of the bed, still fast asleep.

His arms were crossed, one leg stretched out haphazardly, the other bent with a lazy angle. His head had tilted toward his shoulder, and his mouth was parted just slightly, like he’d passed out in the middle of waiting for something. His usual frown had faded. In its place was something quieter. Calmer.

You blinked again, slower this time.

He stayed.

You hadn’t really thought he would — not with how complicated things had been between you lately. But there he was. Right there. Guarding the space beside his bed like a watchdog too stubborn to leave his post.

You swallowed.

How long had he been sitting like that? Did he mean to stay awake? Was he…?

You shook your head.

No use overthinking it.

Instead, you carefully peeled back the blanket and swung your legs over the side of the bed. You stretched with a quiet groan, trying not to wake him.

But the moment your foot hit the floor—

Bakugo stirred.

His eyes cracked open, red and groggy. He blinked, once, twice—then scowled instinctively, only to freeze halfway through it as he remembered where he was.

“…Tch.”

“Morning,” you said quietly, voice still hoarse with sleep.

He grunted.

For a second, you thought that was it — just a grunt. Classic Bakugo. But then he sat up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and muttering under his breath.

“…Back hurts.”

“You slept on the floor,” you pointed out, offering a sheepish smile.

His eyes slid sideways to look at you, still half-lidded and unreadable. “Wasn’t about to kick you outta the bed.”

That—

That made you pause.

There was something weirdly earnest in the way he said it. No heat. No sarcasm. Just a statement. A choice he’d made. And the way he was avoiding eye contact now, the way his fingers rubbed at the corner of his palm — it all said more than he probably wanted it to.

You exhaled softly, looking down.

“…Thanks. For not leaving me alone.”

He made a face, eyes narrowing again. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The quiet hung in the air, sun stretching across the wood panels like it was listening in.

Then Bakugo muttered, “You drool when you sleep.”

You snapped your head up. “I do not!”

He snorted. “You so do. Got a little—” He made a vague smudge gesture at the side of his own face.

You smacked his arm with a pillow, and for a second—just a second—he looked like he might actually laugh.

But then he went quiet again, looking at your face like he was trying to solve a math problem.

“You good now?” he asked eventually.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He looked away, arms crossing again as he leaned against the bed frame. “…Last night. You looked like something was bothering you.”

You hesitated.

Should I tell him? About the hooded figure? About how my quirk has been acting strange ever since that moment of unease?

But Bakugo’s face was serious now. No teasing. No judgment. Just… concern, buried deep beneath the rough gravel of his voice.

You nodded slowly.

“I think so,” you said, though your voice held a thread of doubt. “I’ve just been a little on edge lately. Training. Emotions. It's… a lot.”

He grunted again. But this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It sounded more like understanding.

“Don’t overdo it.”

You blinked. “That coming from you?”

“Tch. I can take it,” he scoffed, smirking a little. “You? You run hot. You burn too fast.”

“I run passionate,” you said proudly.

“Yeah, and then you collapse like a star.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s poetic, coming from you.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, standing up and cracking his neck. “C’mon. Let’s get some water or something before our moms come back and start being weird again.”

You laughed softly and followed him out of the room.

But not before glancing back once, just for a moment.

At the place on the floor where he’d sat beside you. Where he’d stayed.

You smiled to yourself.

Maybe you weren’t the only one who’d changed these past few weeks.

Laughter floated up the stairs from below — your mom’s voice, followed by a snort that could only belong to Mitsuki Bakugo.

You braced yourself and headed down.

The Bakugo kitchen was somehow both cozy and chaotic. Mitsuki was at the stove flipping something that was probably pancakes — though from the amount of smoke, it was hard to tell — while your mother sat at the table sipping tea, looking far too smug for someone who hadn’t just been caught napping in her childhood friend’s house.

Bakugo was just getting seated at the table, pretending not to notice you. His expression was neutral, but his ears were definitely a little pink.

Your mother was the first to spot you. “Ah, there they are! The Sleeping Beauties awaken!”

You groaned softly, rubbing your face. “Please no.”

Mitsuki didn’t let the moment go to waste either. “You two looked so cute last night. Katsuki sitting there like some knight on watch duty — thought my heart was gonna melt.”

“old hag,” Bakugo hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at his plate.

You slid into the empty chair beside your mom, and she gave you a playful nudge. “You know, I always said you two would end up getting along again.”

“We were just talking,” you muttered, but your voice lacked any real bite.

“That’s how it starts,” Mitsuki said with a wink, sliding a plate of very slightly burnt pancakes in front of you. “Next thing you know, there’s wedding bells.”

“OI, OLD HAG!” Bakugo barked, practically choking on his orange juice.

Your mom cracked up, covering her mouth with her hand. “We’re just teasing, sweetheart. But really,” she looked at you with a softer smile, “it was nice to see you both relaxing. You’ve been working yourself ragged lately.”

You glanced over at Bakugo — who was very pointedly stabbing a pancake — and nodded. “It… was nice. I guess.”

Mitsuki plopped into the seat across from you and gestured dramatically with her fork. “He even gave up his bed for you, y’know. Didn’t even complain.”

Bakugo grumbled something unintelligible, and your mom leaned over to whisper conspiratorially, “That’s basically a marriage proposal, from him.”

You covered your face with both hands.

“I can still hear you,” Bakugo muttered, but he didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded… resigned.

The rest of breakfast passed with more teasing — mostly at Bakugo’s expense — and some surprisingly warm moments. Your mom and Mitsuki swapped old stories while you and Bakugo tried not to make eye contact, though there were a few moments when you did, and neither of you looked away quite as quickly as usual.

By the time your plate was empty, your stomach was full, and your cheeks were sore from smiling.

As you helped clear the table, Bakugo brushed past you, murmuring low under his breath, “Don’t get used to it.”

You smirked, bumping him gently with your shoulder. “Sure, Katsuki.”

But as he took the plates from your hands, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest ghost of a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

The late morning sun was warm overhead by the time you and your mom were lacing up your shoes by the front door, hands full of a container of leftovers Mitsuki insisted you take with you — even though they were definitely just extra burnt pancakes wrapped in foil.

“You sure you’ve got everything?” she called out from the kitchen.

“Yes, thank you!” your mom replied cheerily, patting her bag. “That was so much fun. We’ll have to do it again soon!”

“Oh, definitely! Maybe next time you two can host.” Mitsuki turned around just in time to catch Bakugo walking into the hallway, shoving his hands into his pockets like a sulking cat. “Katsuki,” she said, voice sharp, “go walk them home.”

Bakugo froze mid-step. “Why? It’s literally the same street—”

“It’s polite,” your mom added, shooting him a knowing glance.

“And you’re not doing anything useful today anyway,” Mitsuki cut in. “You didn’t even do the dishes.”

You smirked as he muttered under his breath.

“Fine.”

So that’s how the three of you — you, your mom, and a very grumbly Katsuki Bakugo — found yourselves walking down the sunny sidewalk a few minutes later. Your mom walked ahead a bit, checking her phone and giving you space under the guise of replying to texts. You didn’t miss the subtle glances she threw over her shoulder, though.

You walked in silence for a while. Bakugo’s hands stayed shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes on the pavement. You tried not to think about how close he’d sat to you last night. How he hadn’t argued when you’d nodded off. How, in the quiet of the morning, the teasing hadn’t actually been that bad.

Eventually, you glanced at him.

“…You didn’t have to,” you said softly.

He looked over, brow furrowing. “What?”

“Sit with me. Stay up. Give up your bed. I didn’t mean to take over your room.”

Bakugo snorted, but it lacked bite. “Yeah, well. You were gonna pass out standing up.”

You smiled faintly. “Still. Thanks.”

He kept his eyes on the sidewalk. “Whatever.”

Another beat of silence passed. Then—

“…You really kicked ass during that last spar we had,” he muttered. “Not bad.”

You blinked. That wasn’t a compliment Bakugo gave lightly.

“Thanks,” you said, voice a little breathless. “You were holding back, though.”

“Was not.”

“Were too.”

“Tch.”

Your mom glanced back at the sound of your quiet laughter, then gave you the most obvious thumbs-up in existence before turning away again. You nearly tripped on a crack in the pavement.

Bakugo noticed. “Watch your step, dumbass.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Stomp-First-Ask-Later.”

He gave you a sideways glance. “You get bolder every day, huh?”

You grinned. “Maybe I’m just getting used to you.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. Then, after a moment, he muttered, “Could be worse, I guess.”

You reached your house just as the sun hit its highest point in the sky. Your mom climbed the steps first, waving back. “Thanks for walking with us, Katsuki!”

Bakugo gave a half-hearted salute. “Yeah.”

You turned to him at the bottom of the stairs. “You coming in?”

He hesitated — just for a second. “Nah. Gotta get back. Old hag will probably drag me to the store.”

You nodded. “Alright. Well… see you?”

He looked at you, eyes unreadable for a beat too long. Then he nodded.

“Yeah. See you.”

And with that, he turned and started walking back down the street — hands in his pockets, gait relaxed but purposeful, like he didn’t want to give away that he kept glancing over his shoulder until he was out of sight.

You stood there for a second longer, heart fluttering just a little. Then you climbed the stairs, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Your mom was already waiting in the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter like she hadn’t raced back in to get a good look at you through the window.

“…So,” she said, sipping her tea with theatrical slowness. “Anything happen on the walk home?”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands.

“Don’t worry,” she said, patting your back. “Your face says everything.”

The sunlight filtering through your window had mellowed into that golden hue that made everything seem a little softer, a little less urgent. You sat on your bed with one leg tucked beneath you, a towel still around your shoulders from the post-breakfast shower, hair slightly damp and curling. Your training journal lay open on your lap, but you hadn’t written anything in it yet.

You held your pen still, the tip hovering just above the page.

There were a lot of moments to jot down from the last twenty-four hours: the quiet tension of waking up in Bakugo’s room, the amused looks from your moms, the awkwardly sincere walk home where Katsuki hadn’t called you an idiot once. You could still feel the warmth from where his arm had accidentally brushed yours. Still hear the dry way he’d said “Yeah. See you,” like it was something he wanted to mean but didn’t quite know how to say properly.

Your thoughts drifted again to the sparring sessions. To how far you’d come. To how Vega Crown now felt like a second skin — a focused mental state you could switch into with surprising ease. You remembered the rush of using Grand Chariot at full strength, the way it had lit the clearing like a supernova, and how Bakugo had only grinned at the challenge.

But there was more to that fight than just spells and stamina. Something quieter. Something personal.

You sighed and set the pen down, flopping backward onto your bed. Your eyes tracked the slow turn of the ceiling fan.

Why was it getting harder to separate the people from the practice?

Bakugo. Denki. Izuku. You were starting to see more than just potential classmates or rivals in them. They were becoming… people. Real, messy, awkward, brilliant people who each stirred something different in you.

Bakugo had this strange gravitational pull — impossible to ignore, unpredictable in how it affected you. Sometimes he pushed you forward. Sometimes he shoved. But always, you responded. You didn’t always like him, but you understood him, in some weird way. And he’d stayed. That mattered.

Then there was Midoriya.

You turned your head toward your phone sitting on the side table.

Izuku had been quiet lately. You’d seen him at the beach a few times, yes — all skinny arms and fierce determination as he lugged more trash into bags than any one person reasonably should. But every time you looked closer, he seemed a little stronger than the time before. His voice steadier. Like something had changed, but he hadn’t told you what yet.

You frowned slightly, your chest tightening in a way you couldn’t quite name.

Just then, your phone buzzed.

You sat up and grabbed it — screen lighting up with a familiar name.

Midoriya Izuku – Calling.

Your stomach did a tiny, silly flip.

You swiped to answer and held it up to your ear. “Hey!”

“Hi!” His voice was a little breathless, like he’d either been running or overthinking for ten minutes before calling. “Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, you didn’t.” You leaned against your pillows, smiling without meaning to. “I was just… sitting around. What’s up?”

There was a pause. Then:

“I was wondering…” His voice pitched up, hesitant but hopeful. “Do you wanna come over for a bit? Just to hang out? My mom made too much soba and said I should invite someone, and… I thought maybe you’d wanna come?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds really nice.”

“Really?” He sounded a little surprised, which made your heart ache a bit.

“Of course,” you said softly. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Okay!” He sounded lighter instantly. “I'll text you the address. I’ll be outside waiting so you don’t get lost.”

You chuckled. “Izuku, I’ve walked past your house like five times.”

“Still!” he squeaked. “Just in case!”

You ended the call and set the phone down again, heart unexpectedly full. As you stood to grab a sweater, you glanced once more at your open journal.

No entry today.

Maybe tomorrow.

Because today, you were going to see Midoriya.

The streets were quieter in this part of town — not silent, but less cluttered. You found yourself glancing at the house numbers as you walked, a printed address open on your phone just in case.

Even though Izuku had promised to wait outside, you spotted him before he saw you — pacing nervously just outside the building’s front gate.

His hoodie sleeves were bunched up at his elbows, and he kept tugging on one of the drawstrings with anxious fingers. You smiled quietly to yourself before calling out:

“Hey, you said you’d be outside — I thought you were gonna fall asleep waiting.”

Midoriya startled and spun around, eyes wide and immediately brightening at the sight of you. “Ah! Sorry—! I-I didn’t want to be weird and like… stare at the street or something… so I was just…”

You raised a brow, amused. “Pacing?”

“…Yes,” he admitted sheepishly. Then he rubbed the back of his neck. “You came. I mean—of course you came, you said you would, but I just—uh. Hi.”

You bit back a grin. “Hi, Izuku.”

He opened the gate and held it for you. “Come in! Sorry the place is small, and my mom kinda insisted on cooking everything even though I told her it was just you, not a sports team.”

You followed him up the narrow stairs, heart fluttering more from his energy than anything else.

The apartment was tidy and warm, full of the comforting scent of soy sauce, vegetables, and sesame oil. The moment you stepped inside, a cheerful voice from the kitchen called:

“Oh! You must be the friend! Izuku, don’t be rude — give her slippers!”

“Right, sorry—!” Izuku grabbed a clean pair from the shelf and held them out to you like they were made of glass.

You toed off your shoes and accepted them. “Thanks.”

From the kitchen, a woman stepped out — short, round-faced, kind-eyed, and wearing a polka-dot apron. She smiled warmly. “Hello, sweetheart. I’m Inko Midoriya. Thank you for coming.”

You nodded politely. “Hello, im Y/N. Thank you for having me. It already smells amazing in here.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, I like her,” she said to Izuku, who turned absolutely red.

“Mom!”

“I’m just saying!”

You followed Izuku into the small dining space where a modest table had already been set with bowls, chopsticks, and small plates of various home-cooked dishes: soba noodles, pan-fried tofu, steamed vegetables, pickled radish, and grilled chicken skewers. Your stomach gave a hopeful grumble.

“You didn’t have to go all out,” you murmured as you sat down, wide-eyed.

“I didn’t,” Inko said with a smile. “This is how I always cook when Izuku’s been working hard. He told me you’ve been training too, so I figured you could both use a bit of refueling.”

Your eyes met Izuku’s, and he gave you a bashful little smile.

“She’s the best cook,” he whispered.

You leaned in. “I can tell.”

🍜 Later, After Dinner…

Midoriya’s mom had slipped back into the kitchen to do dishes — and despite your offer to help, she’d shooed you both away and said “young people need time to chat.”

Now you were sitting on a small balcony off Izuku’s room, each of you with a cold barley tea in hand. The summer sky stretched out above, full of soft, fading clouds and faint stars.

You stretched your legs out beside his. “I forgot what it’s like to sit down and not be sore.”

Midoriya laughed. “Same. I wake up like a stick figure that’s been folded in half wrong.”

You both laughed softly. A gentle breeze moved past, stirring the leaves of the potted plant beside you.

After a moment, you turned your head and asked, “Do you ever… get scared about the entrance exam?”

Izuku blinked. “All the time.”

You let out a small breath. “Good. That makes me feel a little less crazy.”

“I think being scared means we care,” he said. “I mean—if we weren’t nervous, it’d mean we didn’t want it enough.”

You considered that, tracing the rim of your cup with one finger.

“…It feels like everything I’m doing is for that one moment,” you admitted. “And sometimes I wonder if I’m really strong enough to get there.”

Midoriya looked over at you, and his eyes were steady — not panicked or flustered, but sincere.

“I think you are,” he said quietly.

You turned to meet his gaze. “Why?”

“Because…” He hesitated, cheeks coloring slightly. “I’ve seen you train. And even when you’re exhausted, even when your quirk isn’t doing what you want, you don’t stop. That’s not something everyone has. That kind of determination.”

You swallowed. The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache a little.

“Thanks,” you said, voice softer than you meant it to be.

You sat in silence for a moment. Just the wind. The distant sound of cars. The shared quiet.

Then Midoriya stood. “You wanna see something?”

You tilted your head. “Sure?”

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a small notebook — well-used, corners dog-eared and spine cracked.

You recognized it instantly. “Is that the one you keep notes in?”

He nodded. “I’ve been studying hero tactics like you know. I write down everything I see. Strategies. Power analyses. Even stuff about you.”

“…Wait, me?”

He blushed hard. “Y-Yeah! Nothing weird! Just — like how you form your constructs or how you aim midair with your wings. It’s really cool. I thought maybe one day I could make something like that.”

You stared at him — then slowly grinned. “You’re kind of a nerd, you know that?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I get that a lot.”

But you meant it with affection.

You sat together a while longer after that, sipping your drinks and trading thoughts about hero schools and dreams.

And when the time came to leave, Izuku walked you down to the gate, hands in his pockets, slightly too close but not quite touching.

“I’m really glad you came,” he said.

You smiled. “Me too.”

You stepped through the front door and kicked off your shoes with a quiet sigh. The late-summer evening had cooled slightly, but your cheeks were still warm from the conversation, the food, and the way Izuku had smiled at you at the end — almost bashfully, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was allowed to feel.

You had barely made it two steps into the hallway before—

“So?” came your mother’s voice from the kitchen, chipper and curious, like she’d been waiting with her face against the curtains for hours.

You froze. “So… what?”

She peeked around the corner, eyebrows already raised in amusement. “So,” she repeated, dragging out the syllable like a dramatic TV host, “how was dinner at the Midoriyas’? Did you have a good time with… Izuku?”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep your face neutral. “It was nice. His mom’s really kind. She made way too much food. That’s all.”

Your mother stepped out into full view now, arms crossed loosely over her T-shirt, one foot bouncing. “Mhm. That’s all, huh?”

You tried to walk past her, but she blocked the way, grinning. “So… what did you two talk about?”

“…Training. The entrance exam. School.”

“And?”

You pursed your lips. “Nothing!”

She gasped, mock-offended. “You mean to tell me you spent an entire evening alone with that sweet, freckly, earnest boy and nothing happened?”

Your face heated. “Mom—!”

“I’m just saying, honey,” she said with a wicked little smile, “he’s got those big, green puppy-dog eyes and those shy hands and the way he looks at you like you hung the stars—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I literally just got home…”

Your mother patted your shoulder affectionately. “Exactly. Prime teasing window.”

You groaned and shuffled past her toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

She called after you, sing-song: “Don’t dream about him too hard~!”

You grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it in her general direction without looking back.

“I’m just proud of you, sweetie!” she added with a laugh. “All these cute boys in your life — first Bakugo guarding you whilst you sleep, then Izuku inviting you round for dinner, and last but not least, Denki texting you like he’s auditioning for a romance manga? My daughter, the main character~”

You paused halfway up the stairs and turned around. “Wait—you’ve been checking my messages?”

She raised a brow. “No. But your smile gives everything away.”

You sprinted the rest of the way to your room in total, blushing horror.

🌙 Later That Night

You lay on your bed, hair still damp from a quick shower, scrolling through your phone and trying not to smile like an idiot at the memory of Izuku holding the gate open for you or the way he’d shyly admitted to watching your combat moves.

Your mother had long since retreated to her room — but you could still hear faint music coming from her side of the house. Probably one of those feel-good dramas she always put on to wind down.

Your phone buzzed.

[Denki Kaminari 🟡⚡]

Hey hey, you still up?

You blinked, then typed:

[You]

Yeah, why?

[Denki Kaminari 🟡⚡]

Just making sure you're not out saving the world without me
or hanging out with a guy who's not as cool as me 😏

You snorted and shook your head.

[You]

You’re literally the one who taught me how to win at skee-ball.

[Denki Kaminari 🟡⚡]

Exactly. Lifelong bond right there.
Wanna hang out again soon? I heard a new game dropped at the arcade.

You paused, then smiled to yourself.

[You]

Sure. Just not tomorrow — I’ve got training.
But maybe the day after?

[Denki Kaminari 🟡⚡]

Cool cool cool 😎

A beat later:

[Denki Kaminari 🟡⚡]

Also…
if anyone asks, I totally beat you at Pac-Man

You rolled your eyes and set your phone on your nightstand, smiling into the dark.

It had been a strange, complicated few weeks — full of training, nerves, odd encounters, and glimpses of something darker under the surface — but tonight, at least, had been quiet.

Warm.

Safe.

And right now, that was more than enough.

You were already half-asleep by the time you climbed into bed, warm from your shower, wrapped in a cotton t-shirt too big for you — one that still smelled faintly of the softener your mom used. Your limbs ached pleasantly. The ceiling above you was familiar. Comforting.

You exhaled, slow and full. Finally, rest.

Then—

Thump.

It wasn’t loud. Barely a sound at all, really.

But it wasn’t a house sound. Not the fridge shifting or the heater groaning — no, this came from just outside your bedroom door. Like… paper brushing wood. Or something dropped gently.

You sat up, your heart picking up rhythm. Listened.

Silence.

You slid off the bed, bare feet soft on the floor. Creeping. Careful.

The hallway light was still off. The soft glow of your nightlight spilled only a bit past the frame, just enough for you to make out the folded piece of black paper lying across the floor.

Not white.

Not patterned.

Black.

Something instinctual curled cold in your chest.

You picked it up slowly. The fold was precise. Crisp. A single line of red ink scrawled across the front:

“A kind girl shouldn’t be left unprotected.”

There was no name.

Inside, the paper was blank.

Your throat tightened.

No address. No sender. Just a single sentence, carved in something between concern and threat. You turned it over, once, twice, checking for seals, symbols, anything.

There was nothing.

No sound from outside. No one at the door. Your mother was still asleep in the next room, completely unaware.

You moved back into your room on stiff legs, shut the door, and locked it with trembling fingers. For the first time in weeks, your window’s curtains didn’t feel like a quiet, dreamy touch — they felt like a cover. Like someone could be watching from beyond them.

Because someone had been.

Someone still was.

And you couldn’t help the awful thought that scraped down your spine:

They think they’re helping you.

He watched from the rooftop.

A sliver of moonlight cut across the windows of your home, and through the thin, waving curtain in your room, he saw you move. Just a faint shape. You stood. You crept toward the door like something had stirred you.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t breathe.

Just watched.

The moment your door opened and you leaned down to pick up the note — the note he had folded precisely, written slowly in that same choking red ink — something in his stomach twisted.

You paused.

You were reading it.

His nails scratched unconsciously at his neck, right where the bandages left skin bare.

He hated that he felt… anything.

But he remembered the way you’d looked at him in the shop. Calm. Kind. Naive. You hadn’t flinched at his hands. You didn’t look away. You’d called him lost.

People didn’t do that.

People never did that.

You closed your door. The light disappeared. No scream. No footsteps. No call for help. Just the silence again. The acceptance.

Or maybe just confusion.

Either way, you didn’t throw the note away.

You kept it.

Shigaraki exhaled shakily, then turned from the edge of the roof, drawing his tattered hoodie up tighter. Dust crusted under his fingernails. His throat felt dry and sharp.

“She should know they can’t protect her,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Not really. They just act like they can. Like All Might’s always watching.” His teeth gritted. “He’s not. No one is but me.”

Later that night 

The lair was dim. Fluorescent light buzzed. Kurogiri was gone, likely collecting intelligence or scouting.

All For One stood where he often did — not quite still, but anchored. Shigaraki didn't know if he could truly see him from that iron-and-bone prison of a mask, but he felt the attention lock onto him.

“Tomura,” the voice said, like a shadow down a staircase. “You visited her again.”

It wasn’t a question.

Shigaraki paused. Arms crossed. “I didn’t talk to her.”

“No. You left her something.”

“…It wasn’t a threat.”

A pause. A beat. Then, softly:

“Of course it wasn’t. You care for her.”

He flinched at the word.

“I don’t— I just don’t want her to—" he snapped, teeth clenched, shoulders stiff. "They’re not going to protect her. Not really. They’ll use her up. Like they do with everyone. Like they did with— with me.”

“I understand.” All For One’s voice was smooth. Too smooth. “The world has a way of mistaking exploitation for protection. Heroes… love their symbols.”

Another pause.

“And symbols break.”

Shigaraki didn’t reply.

All For One continued, his tone silk-wrapped venom:

“She was kind to you when no one else was. Saw you without recoiling. A stranger — and yet she chose you over the system.”

“You were seen. And what’s more — you were chosen.”

Shigaraki's hands trembled slightly at his sides.

“She would never survive in their world. Too soft. She’d smile at the wrong person, help the wrong villain.”

The words echoed.

Shigaraki’s mind reeled with flashes — your easy laughter at the store counter, your awkward politeness, your way of helping without thinking of the cost. It had annoyed him at first. Now it was the only thing that grounded him.

“She’ll get herself killed,” he said aloud.

All For One’s tone darkened, shifted.

“Then help me reshape the world.”
“A world without deception. A world where you can protect what matters — where the heroes can’t hurt her, where society doesn’t chew up people like you and toss them aside.”

“Make this world safe for her. For all the ones they forgot.”

Shigaraki didn’t speak.

But his hand curled tightly over his forearm. Nails dug into the bandages.

“I wasn’t trying to scare her,” he muttered. “I just wanted her to think.”

“And you did,” All For One murmured. “Next time, perhaps she’ll be even more careful. Or maybe… more curious. Curiosity brings people closer. Let her come to you.”

A beat.

“You’ve already begun to leave an impression.”

Shigaraki’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something less. Something crooked. His thoughts were static, frayed wire and raw nerve.

But beneath all of it—

He wanted to see you again.

Not just to protect you from them.

But to see if you’d look at him the same way a third time.

A/N

Im sorry if it seems like I repeating myself with All for One and Tomura but I really want to emphasise how AFO is manipulating Tomura by using you. And how obsessed he is slowly becoming. This is not healthy behaviour btw and I don’t agree with it but this is my interpretation of how he will act when someone shows him kindness.

Also im sorry if Bakugo seems a bit OOC.

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 29: Ribbons and Red Stars

MONTH TWO- DAY TEN

You needed the quiet again.

After everything — the walk with Midoriya, the Bakugo sleepover, your mom's teasing, even the sweet energy of the arcade and the tension inducing note — your body longed for movement and your mind longed for silence.

So, as you always did, you packed your bag with water, a first-aid kit, a protein bar (just in case), and ducked out to your not so hidden training spot. The one wrapped in trees and dappled sunlight. Where the world fell away and only your breath and starlight remained.

You warmed up quickly, slipping back into practiced movements like second nature — Orion Bow drawn and released, a pulse-guided hum through your fingertips as the arrow sliced the air.

Then Aquila Wings, launching you into the air with a sharp, smooth burst, your form stable now from repetition. You landed hard — but upright.

Then the Lyra Barrier spun to life. You’d honed it well lately. The way it absorbed and echoed sound now made it not just a defense, but a punishment. You timed your movement so that the resonant pulse from your landing reverberated back, flaring out like a wave.

You panted softly. The sky above was bleeding into twilight — violet edges curling across a fading sun.

And that’s when you noticed it.

Something new at the base of the tree you always used for launching yourself.

Your water bottle had been placed carefully back in your bag after the last break, but next to it… something else had appeared.

It hadn’t been there before. You were sure of it.

It was a small paper box. Pale pink. Tied with a dark red ribbon.

At first you hesitated, your stomach flipping once. The clearing was empty. Utterly silent, except for the wind.

You approached it slowly. No name. No note this time. Just the box.

You crouched and picked it up — light, but not weightless. You glanced around again. No one. No movement.

Heart thudding, you peeled the ribbon back and lifted the lid.

Inside the box were a pair of earrings.

Not high-end jewellery — not the kind you’d wear to a fancy dinner or anything like that — but more like those fun, quirky accessories you’d see at a teen fashion store in the mall. They were shaped like stars, five-pointed, gold-edged and a little uneven, like someone had picked them for the symbolism rather than the style.

They were nestled on a small square of velvet fabric, the same deep red as the ribbon that tied the box.

A small folded piece of paper had been tucked underneath.

You hadn’t noticed it at first, but now your fingers hesitated as they brushed against it.

Your pulse thudded behind your ears.

It wasn’t a letter. Not really. Just a tiny square of notebook paper — torn at the edge, like it came from a well-worn book. The handwriting was loopy and childish.

“You looked so pretty today, especially when you trained. You shine so bright it hurts. I wanted you to have something that sparkles too. — Your friend 💖”

Your friend?

You frowned.

Your brain instantly raced back to arcade day with Denki, in the changing rooms at the mall. That girl. The strange one with the light blonde hair, wide pink eyes, and that wild energy. You’d helped her when the guards were chasing her. Hid her. Protected her.

She’d called you her best friend.

And then disappeared like smoke.

You’d chalked it up to a weird moment. A one-off. But this… this wasn’t random.

She’d found you again.

You scanned the treeline — your skin prickling now, a low static shivering over your arms. The forest was too still. Not empty, but watchful. You felt the same twisting pressure behind your ribcage as you had the last few days.

Only this time it didn’t feel like someone observing out of boredom or curiosity.

It felt like devotion.

Desperate, obsessive, and unfamiliar.

You slowly set the box back down on your gym bag, the velvet fabric making the tiniest sound as you did.

Your training high was gone now — replaced by unease that wormed into your throat like ice water.

Who was that girl?

Why was she following you?

And why did it feel like her note was the kindest thing and the most disturbing thing you’d ever received all at once?

The forest air had cooled with the evening breeze. Your body was still warm from training, but it no longer felt energizing — it felt exposed.

You wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself and cast one last look at the pink box. You didn't have the heart to throw it away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wear the earrings either.

Not yet.

You tucked them deep into your bag.

Then you looked up at the stars breaking through the canopy — the constellations you'd trained under, begged for clarity under, drawn power from. Vega. Altair. Sirius. They gleamed faintly through the branches above, silent and distant.

Always watching.

But tonight, you weren’t sure who else was.

By the time you got home, the sky had darkened into soft indigo. Streetlights blinked overhead as your shoes clicked gently against the pavement, your gym bag bumping against your side. The warmth of the day still clung to the bricks of the houses on your street, but the breeze had cooled — a breeze you were all too aware of now. Every faint rustle of tree branches made you glance over your shoulder.

But nothing followed.

No hoodie-cloaked figure.
No pink eyes watching from behind the lampposts.

Just you. The stars. And a strange, boxed memory tucked deep in your bag.

You stepped into the house with a soft “I’m home,” nudging the door closed behind you with your foot.

From the kitchen, your mom called out brightly, “Welcome back! You’re just in time — I was about to start pestering you to eat something that wasn’t trail mix and sweat.”

You couldn’t help a tired smile as you walked in, slipping off your shoes and dropping your bag in the hallway.

The light in the kitchen was warm and golden. Something savoury bubbled on the stove — curry, by the smell of it — and your mom stood in her apron, one hand on her hip and the other stirring the pot.

She turned to look at you and raised an eyebrow. “You look like you just had an existential crisis and a cardio session at the same time.”

“I kind of did,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck.

She laughed. “That bad, huh?”

You pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and sat down, letting yourself sink into the cushion like gravity had finally caught up. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your bag. For a second, you considered telling her.

About the weird girl in the mall.
The pink box.
The note.

But… you didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, you said, “Training was intense today.”

“Pushed too hard?”

You shook your head. “No. I mean, yes. But not in a bad way. I just… it felt different today. I wasn’t just testing my spells — I was testing what I’m for. You know?”

She turned the stove down, crossed the kitchen, and pressed a glass of cold water into your hands. “You sound like your dad when he used to get like this before an exhibition. All fire and no blood sugar.”

That made you chuckle, which helped. The tension in your chest eased a little.

Then she leaned on the counter and gave you that look — the one that said she was thinking too much and getting nosy about it.

“So,” she said casually, stirring the pot again, “any other ‘training partners’ today? Maybe a certain grumpy blond boy who escorted us home last week?”

You groaned and buried your face in your arms. “No. Not Bakugo.”

“Aww. He was so polite the other night. Well. Polite-ish.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And Denki?” she added with a teasing lilt. “How’s your lightning boy?”

You peeked out from your arms, face heating up. “He’s not my lightning boy.”

“Uh huh. Did he text today?”

You gave her a look. “No. He’s probably busy.”

“And Midoriya?”

That name made your smile soften.

“Not today,” you said. “I think he’s training on the beach again. We talked about the exam the other day. He’s… doing well.”

“Just ‘well’?” she asked, clearly fishing.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, “he’s nice, and thoughtful, and—Mom, why are we ranking boys right now?”

“I’m not ranking,” she said innocently. “I’m observing. Like a good parent. Who thinks her daughter might be developing some kind of feelings.”

You grumbled something unintelligible and reached for the rice cooker just to busy your hands. “I swear, if you start a fantasy league based on my love life—”

“Would you be the main character or the comic relief?”

“Mom.”

She laughed again and pulled out two bowls.

Despite your embarrassment, it helped — all of it. The sound of her voice. The bright, fragrant kitchen. The way everything smelled like turmeric and cardamom and safety.

You couldn’t feel the forest anymore. Couldn’t feel the note folded up in your bag. Just the warmth of dinner. The clatter of chopsticks. The shape of home.

But even as you ate, your thoughts kept drifting — flickering like moths back toward the tree clearing, to the starlight spells and the sense of being watched. Of being known too well by someone who shouldn’t know you at all.

You'd laugh about it if it wasn’t still sitting there, in your bag. Waiting.

After dinner, you helped your mom wash up — mostly by handing her dishes while she hummed some old pop song and rinsed the curry pot with practiced ease. The smell of spices still clung to the kitchen walls, mingling with soap suds and the comfortable creak of the floorboards under your feet.

It was nice. Familiar.

And for once, you didn’t mind staying in the quiet.

You went upstairs, showered, changed into fresh pajamas, and flopped onto your bed with your damp hair wrapped in a towel. Your constellation journal lay on the nightstand, spine creased from use. The corners of some of the pages were slightly crinkled from late nights scribbling down spell sequences and constellation notes under your blanket with a flashlight.

You reached for it automatically — but paused halfway.

Instead, you reached for your phone.

There were a few new messages. Nothing urgent. Nothing from Denki or Midoriya. A reminder from the laundry place.  A general message in the neighborhood group chat about a food market happening this weekend.

But the unread notification that caught your eye was the reminder you’d set earlier that week.

⭐ “8 months to go. Don’t burn out before the gates open.”

You stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen.

Then you dismissed it.

You leaned back on the bed and closed your eyes.

Eight months.
Three hundred days, give or take.
Every one of them filled with training, effort, sacrifice.

You’d mastered three major constellation constructs already. Orion Bow. Aquila Wings. Lyra Barrier. You’d even upgraded Lyra — turned it from a passive sound-reflecting dome into an active kinetic absorber that could retaliate with sonic blasts. You’d made it yours.

Your breathing slowed. You let your thoughts float freely for a while.

How Midoriya had looked at the beach.
How Bakugo had said “Don’t get used to it” but still jogged beside you the whole way home.
How Denki had sparked up in literal charge mode at the arcade.
How Inasa Yoarashi had practically screamed about your passion two days in a row.

And then… that girl. In the changing room.

You didn’t want to think about her, but she hovered at the edge of your thoughts anyway — like a page in your journal that had been bent and dog-eared without your permission.

The compliment.
The eyes.
The way she looked at you like you were something precious and delicious at the same time.

Your stomach turned, and you rolled onto your side, pulling your blanket up to your chin.

Maybe she was just a scared runaway.
Maybe the footsteps behind you were just coincidence.
Maybe the hoodie guy didn’t even see you.

You’d already told yourself all those things. Repeated them. Reassured yourself.
And yet, when the wind picked up and the window creaked slightly against the frame, your hand still twitched toward your nightstand. Toward your journal.

Not to write.

To use it.

You took a breath, let it out slowly, and reminded yourself: not every strange feeling means danger.
But it didn’t hurt to stay sharp either.

🕯 Later That Night

You padded down the hallway to grab some water. The house was dark and quiet — your mom had gone to bed early, and the silence was complete, broken only by the soft hum of the fridge and the creak of the floor under your bare feet.

Your bag still sat by the front door.

You eyed it.
Thought about the pink box still tucked inside it.
Thought about the note. The handwriting.

Your hand hovered over the bag for a moment — but you didn’t touch it. You turned off the kitchen light and climbed back up the stairs instead.

One more grounded day.

One more quiet breath before the stars aligned again.

A/N

 

Hope you guys liked this chapter, sorry it's a short one,  dont worry we will see denki again and get to training soon but first, we gotta build up the drama.

Who do you think her father is? Let me know your ideas.

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 30: Electric Chemistry

MONTH TWO- DAY ELEVEN

Your fingers hovered over the earring.

The crescent glint of silver still didn’t feel real. It was yesterday you’d found it quietly next to your training bag—a velvet pouch nestled between cloth and constellation notes—and you hadn’t told anyone about it. Not your mom. Not Bakugo. Not even Midoriya. The mystery of it wrapped around your thoughts like the red ribbons still fluttering in your memory from earlier that week.

You didn’t know who left it for sure, but you could guess

But you hadn’t thrown it away either.

That fact haunted you almost more than the earring itself.

So when your phone buzzed with a familiar contact—⚡Denki “Voltage” Kaminari—you were quick to pick it up.

Denki:
Yo!! 👀 You busy right now??
Wanna hang out or train or just... do anything?
I’m charged and dangerously under-supervised 💛⚡

You stared at the message for a second too long.

You should probably focus. You had new spells to refine. Drawbacks to overcome. Plans to solidify. But your mind wouldn’t stop replaying the unknown weight of someone watching you. The kindness of a stranger. The creepy shadow of it all.

So instead of drowning in your thoughts again, you typed fast:

You:
Sure. Wanna train? I could use the distraction.
I’ll text you the location.

Denki:
Awww yeah!! 😎 Let’s GO
Send it and I’ll be there faster than a static zap~

You smiled despite yourself.

You sent the pin for your usual training spot, tucked beneath a canopy of trees and shielded from too many wandering eyes. It was peaceful. Familiar. Safe—at least it always used to be.

You tucked the pouch with the earring deep into your bag, out of sight but not out of mind, and slung it over your shoulder. Stepping outside, the world felt too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl, like the world was waiting for something.

Maybe you were just being paranoid.

Maybe.

Your footsteps crunched lightly along the gravel path leading toward the woods. The sky above was a soft gold, morning giving way to afternoon, and the air held a shimmer of heat in its arms. Birds chirped overhead, but even they sounded distant. As though the trees themselves were listening.

The sound of your own breath was louder than it should be.

The earring flashed behind your eyes again.

It wasn’t just the object itself—it was the feeling that came with it. The feeling of being seen. The same creeping sensation that had started gnawing at your spine ever since those red ribbons. Since that strange, blood-sweet girl in the shop. Since the shadowed figure trailing you a few nights ago.

You shook your head hard.

No. You were imagining things.

Denki would be waiting.

And if he wasn’t already there, he’d show up soon with a laugh and a line about how you missed him. You’d spar. Talk. Let him ramble about his latest dumb idea or anime crush. He’d flirt and probably zap something by accident.

It would be normal.

Normal sounded perfect right now.

You let your hand drift over the pouch at your side again.

Then you pulled out your phone and turned the screen on—just to look at the blinking pin of your destination again.

Almost there.

You pushed forward, your pace a little faster than before, chasing the promise of laughter and lightning instead of the shadow clawing at your heels.

The wind was soft against your skin as you arrived at your usual training spot—a quiet clearing nestled between tall trees and brush that hummed faintly with the memory of magic and movement. The morning sun filtered through the leaves in dappled beams, and the air smelled like damp earth and summer grass.

You stretched your arms overhead and let out a small sigh. Today wasn’t about pushing limits or breaking barriers. It was about movement. Control. Breath.

And maybe—if he actually showed up—some mildly chaotic flirtation.

“Yo!” came a familiar voice, bright and slightly breathless.

You turned just as Denki Kaminari skidded to a halt a few feet away, grinning like he’d just discovered a secret level in a game. His lightning-streaked hair was slightly messy from the jog over, and he was already waving despite being close enough not to need to.

“Hope I’m not late! Or—y’know, more late than usual.”

You laughed. “I was about to start without you.”

“Cruel. Wounded. Betrayed,” Denki said, placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me, starlight.”

“Starlight?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, come on,” he said, flashing a grin. “You do star magic. That’s, like, objectively cool. You sparkle, I zap. Dynamic duo, if you ask me.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny the amusement tugging at your lips. “Come on, Sparky. We’ve got a few things to run through.”

He saluted dramatically, and the two of you took position in the center of the clearing.

You eased into the session with a conjuring of Lepus Mirage, calling forth a shimmer of a decoy version of yourself. The image darted to the side, then another followed—sleek outlines of light trailing behind you like stardust.

Denki clapped. “Okay, okay—that’s sick. Seriously, how do you do that?”

You tapped your temple. “Focus. Shape. Precision.”

“Sounds hard.”

“It is.”

“I’m still gonna try to impress you anyway.”

Denki held out his hands and let a few sparks crackle across his knuckles. “Okay, okay, prepare to be amazed.”

He extended a hand toward a chunk of fallen log and sent a bolt of electricity surging into it. The air sizzled and snapped as the log exploded into steaming splinters.

You blinked. “You just vaporized half a tree.”

“That’s the technical term,” he said proudly.

“Don’t forget to watch your output, though.”

“Right, right—control.” He tried again, this time creating a steady current between his fingers like a streamer of lightning ribbon.

“Not bad,” you said. “Want to try sparring? Just light contact.”

Denki lit up. “Only if you’re ready to be stunned by my technique. Pun intended.”

You stood at the center of the clearing, brushing your hands together as shimmering trails of stardust glittered across your fingertips. The residual light from your earlier constellation spells still hung in the air, fragments of celestial memory flickering like embers in wind.

Denki adjusted his stance across from you, shaking out his arms. “Alright, alright—I’m ready. But, just for the record, if I end up fried like a circuit board, you owe me a smoothie.”

You tilted your head with a smile. “If you short out, that’s on you, Sparkplug.”

He pointed at you dramatically. “Don’t tempt me—I’ve got moves today.”

Your boots shifted in the dirt. “Let’s see them.”

“Alright!” He flicked his wrist, electricity buzzing like an insect’s wings as he charged himself. “let’s gooo!”

The second he launched forward, your body reacted.

You spread your arms wide, conjuring Aquila Wings with a snap. The glowing wings of light burst from your back, constellations of glimmering gold and blue folding upward, then down, and you vaulted into the air in a low arc. Denki skidded to a halt below, startled.

“Dude—freaking wings?!” he yelled up, momentarily distracted by the shimmering avian constructs. “That’s not even fair!”

You used the height to your advantage, twisting midair and hurling a series of glowing projectiles from above using Altairis Barrage—a spread of focused starlight bolts, each pulsing to the beat of your breath.

Denki jumped back, sliding in the dirt. “I should’ve brought sunglasses!”

One of the bolts tagged his shoulder, just a light tap, but enough to sting.

He winced with a grin. “Okay! I felt that! You wanna play that way?”

Crackling electricity surged in his hands. Denki narrowed his eyes—his posture tightening with more seriousness now. He whipped his fingers forward and released a precise, short-range arc of electricity. You dipped low, wings folding tight, rolling behind a small boulder just as the charge kissed the ground behind you with a loud pop.

The ground vibrated faintly.

You peeked out, narrowed your eyes, and summoned Lepus Mirage—a shimmering decoy version of yourself sprinting in the opposite direction.

“Clones now?!” Denki shouted, tracking the mirage. “Wait—which one’s real?! That’s cheating!”

You used the distraction to conjure Cassiopeia Line, a zigzagging bolt of connected starlight darting toward him like a luminous snake. He blinked, then scrambled sideways, avoiding it by a hair.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered, panting slightly as he dodged. “Focus, Kaminari. You’ve got this.”

You readied Carina Spear, calling the piercing starlight construct to your hand with a flash. It hummed with dense, condensed power. With practiced control, you pivoted and hurled it—not at Denki directly, but into the dirt in front of him.

The spear struck the earth with a pulse.

The sound of it rippling through the soil made Denki flinch—instinctively sending a jolt of lightning into the air.

You dashed forward just as he launched a burst of electric current toward your left flank. Your Lyra Barrier flared to life, rotating harp-shaped energy lines spinning in front of you, vibrating as the electricity struck it.

The impact resonated like struck crystal.

Denki’s blast rebounded off the barrier—amplified by its sound-reactive properties—and pinged in multiple directions, startling even you as it struck a tree behind him.

“WHOA!” he yelped, jumping as the tree bark sparked. “Okay! I take it back—this is so cool but also terrifying!”

You pressed the advantage and activated Vega Crown, a halo of starlight spinning gently above your head, feeding your concentration and stabilizing your quirk's control.

Your vision narrowed.

Everything became clearer: the tremble in Denki’s fingers as he prepared another burst, the rhythm of his breath, the shift in his weight before a dodge.

You pivoted to the right and fired a rapid trio of shots from your Orion Bow, starlight humming as the arrows launched. Denki threw himself down, electricity dancing across his limbs for a short boost in speed.

The arrows sailed past—but one clipped his jacket and spun him onto his back.

“Okay—okay—you win,” he gasped from the grass, throwing up both hands. “You’re OP. You’re literal DLC. I surrender.”

You landed softly, wings flickering as they faded. You offered him a hand. “You’re getting better with your control.”

He took your hand and let you pull him up, brushing off the dirt. His smile was soft now. “You’re the one who’s insane. I mean that in the best way.”

You laughed, light and warm. “I guess we both have our sparks.”

Denki tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. “You make a habit of sounding that cool, or is it just around me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Only when you deserve it.”

As the two of you collapsed back into the grass, catching your breath, a comfortable silence fell between you—broken only by your mutual grins and the occasional lingering spark.

The spar had left your limbs pleasantly aching, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. The familiar scent of mossy earth, ozone, and the faint metallic tinge of Denki’s electricity still lingered in the air. Overhead, the canopy filtered golden shafts of late-afternoon sunlight through leaves that danced in the breeze. The usual chirps and hums of distant insects filled the quiet as the two of you trudged toward the edge of the training clearing.

You reached the small cluster of trees lining the west side of the field—the same spot you always used to rest when training solo. The branches drooped just enough to cast cool shadows, and the grass beneath was worn smooth by repetition and habit.

You collapsed back with a soft sigh, spine pressing into the gentle slope of the earth. Denki dropped beside you dramatically, arms splayed, his jacket twisted half around his waist from how fast he’d thrown it off post-spar. His hair was a static mess, golden strands stuck in every direction.

“Note to self,” he groaned, throwing an arm across his face. “Never spar with someone who can fly and shoot cosmic arrows at the same time. Seriously. You’re cracked.”

You chuckled softly, stretching your legs out as your breath evened. “You say that like you weren’t throwing voltage like a madman. I thought I was going to get turned into a human Tesla coil.”

“Tempting,” he teased from beneath his arm. “But I’d never zap you on purpose. You’re my favorite constellation girl.”

You tilted your head and gave him a playful side-eye. “You’re just saying that because I didn’t completely destroy you.”

Denki peeked out at you with one eye open and a lazy grin. “Maybe. But also because you make starlight weapons and crash down from the sky like some kind of celestial goddess. I mean, come on, you expect me not to be impressed?”

Your cheeks warmed a little at that. Not that you weren’t used to Denki’s compliments—he tossed them out as easily as lightning—but sometimes there was a faint earnestness behind them that caught you off guard.

“Okay, okay,” you muttered, looking away and brushing a few fallen leaves from your shoulder. “No need to go full flirt-mode.”

“I can’t help it. It’s a reflex,” he replied with a dramatic sigh, flopping his head to the side to look at you properly. His expression softened, though. “Besides… it’s just nice. This. Training, joking around. I used to hate doing solo training. Too quiet. But with you here…”

You met his gaze for a moment. There was something different in it now—not just playful, but… settled. Familiar. Comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward anymore; it was warm.

You let yourself lie back completely, arms out at your sides as your pulse slowed, the Lyra Barrier’s residual hum still echoing faintly in your bones. You let the world around you settle.

The leaves rustled above, casting dappled shadows across Denki’s face.

He turned his head again, eyes half-lidded as he watched the light flicker between the branches. “Hey… have you ever thought about what it’s going to be like? After we get in?”

You blinked up at the canopy. “UA?”

He nodded slowly. “I mean, it’s going to be intense. The best of the best. I know I joke around, but…” He hesitated. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m actually gonna make it through.”

You looked over, surprised. Denki rarely let vulnerability leak into his words.

“You’re strong, Denki. You’ve been pushing yourself just as much as I have. Maybe even more.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Yeah, but I still overload like a broken phone battery. You’ve seen me go full ‘bzzt’ mode.”

You laughed under your breath. “True. But even then, you’ve got so much control now. The way you dodged my attacks earlier—when did you get that good?”

He grinned, pride flickering across his face. “Maybe I’ve been inspired lately.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I mean, training with someone cool definitely helps. Someone who shoots stars out of the sky and doesn’t treat me like a joke.”

He said it lightly, but the truth underneath was clear.

You sat up slowly, propping yourself on your elbows. “I don’t think you’re a joke. I never have.”

Denki looked up at you. His eyes were softer now, more serious, gold flecks catching the sun. “Thanks.”

The breeze picked up again, brushing through the trees and rustling your hair slightly. You closed your eyes and let the moment settle.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence.

Then Denki stirred. “Hey,” he said, a little more energetic again, “wanna make it a tradition? Sparring, light training, cooldowns under these trees? We could call it... ‘StarBolt Sundays’ or something.”

You gave him a look. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Details, details,” he said, brushing it off. “The name’s catchy.”

You laughed and bumped your shoulder lightly into his. “Sure. StarBolt it is.”

He gave a triumphant little fist pump. “Let’s gooo.”

As the sun dipped lower behind the trees and the sky turned the faintest shade of rose-gold, you realized just how much lighter you felt—not just from the training, but from the company. From the laughter. From knowing you didn’t have to do all of this alone.

You glanced over at Denki again, who had already pulled out his phone and was snapping selfies of his post-spar hair.

“Hashtag: FriedButFly,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes. “Send me that. I need proof that I didn’t completely roast you.”

“Only if you send one of your constellation poses back,” he shot back, already flicking through filters.

The two of you laughed, the sound echoing beneath the leaves—light, genuine, and unguarded.

The earrings momentarily forgotten.

The last rays of sunlight glowed soft gold as you and Denki wandered down the sidewalk together, your gym bags slung over your shoulders, steps slower than usual from the sparring session. The familiar streets of your neighborhood felt quieter in the late afternoon hush, the hum of cicadas melting into the breeze.

Denki walked just half a step ahead sometimes, his gait lazy and swinging, like he had energy to spare even after training. His hands were tucked behind his head, his grin casual but undeniably proud. You caught him sneaking glances at you a few times, and each time he quickly looked forward again, like a kid who’d almost been caught peeking at the answer sheet.

"You know," he said eventually, "you’re really something."

You raised a brow. "What do you mean?"

He looked over, half-laughing. "You’ve got this whole... unstoppable, glowy space-warrior vibe, but then you’re also just—" He paused, flustered. "Y’know, nice. Kinda scary during a spar, though."

You gave him a sideways smirk. "You’re the one who called the spar ‘flirting with electrocution.’"

He groaned dramatically. "Okay, yes, that was top-tier flirting. You’re welcome."

You both laughed, the tension of the match lingering only as faint tingles in your arms. There was something about walking with Denki like this that made you feel... grounded. After the weirdness of the last few days—the sensation of being watched, the unease gnawing at your edges—this moment felt real. Safe. You were even kind of reluctant for it to end.

Unfortunately, your house loomed ahead.

You slowed slightly as you reached your front gate. Denki followed your gaze, his hands dropping to his sides.

"Well," he said, rocking on his heels, "guess this is the part where I make a terrible joke and walk off into the sunset."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "You did good today, Kaminari. Thanks for the match."

He gave you a mock salute. "Anytime, Shooting Star."

But just as you turned toward the door, the front of your house creaked open—and there stood your mom, smiling brightly, hands on her hips. Her eyes zeroed in on Denki immediately.

"Is this the Denki I’ve heard about?" she asked in that too-cheerful voice.

Your stomach dropped. "Mooom."

Denki blinked. “...She knows my name?”

"Of course I do!" your mom said, stepping aside and waving you both toward the door. “You must be the boy from the arcade. Come in, come in—I want to meet the friend my daughter talks so much about.”

Your eyes went wide. “I do not—!”

But Denki had already stepped inside, grinning like he’d just been handed a backstage pass to a concert. "Ma’am, it’s an honor. Your daughter’s a beast in combat, by the way."

Your mom beamed. "Isn’t she? Come in, dear. I’ve just made some tea!"

You cast Denki a betrayed look. He only smirked and whispered, “Tea means victory. I'm in.”

Inside, your mom ushered you both into the kitchen, where the aroma of something sweet and citrusy filled the air. Denki sat politely at the table, back straight like he was prepping for an interview.

“So,” your mom began as she poured tea into mismatched mugs, “how long have you two known each other?”

You groaned quietly, but Denki answered easily. “Not too long, actually. But she’s been kicking my butt in video games and it seems she's equally as ruthless in training.”

Your mom raised her brows. “She let you spar with her?”

Denki nodded enthusiastically. “And survived. Barely.”

You could’ve melted into your chair. “Mom, seriously—”

But she wasn’t done. “She doesn’t just spar with anyone, you know. You must be special.”

Denki’s grin stretched even wider. “Oh, I’m honored.”

You shot him a side-glare. He mouthed worth it.

Your mom leaned back, sipping her tea and watching you both with that too-knowing mom look. “So, Denki… UA?”

“Yep!” he said brightly. “Shooting for the hero course.”

“Mm-hmm,” your mom hummed, eyes flicking between you both. “And what’s your Quirk, again?”

“Electricity,” Denki said. “ Kinda hard to miss when I go full zap-mode. It fries my brain sometimes though. Like—pchooo.” He wiggled his fingers at his temples. “Instant airhead.”

She giggled. “Well, that’s honest if nothing else.”

“I’m told that’s my charm,” he said, winking.

Your mom’s smile only widened. “Oh, I like you.”

“Moooom!”

She stood, gathering the cups. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop interrogating your friend.”

“Too late!” Denki chirped.

As you walked him to the door a few minutes later, the sun had dipped lower, the sky painting the clouds orange and lilac. Denki turned at the bottom of your steps.

"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "this was nice. Not just the spar. All of it."

You nodded, still embarrassed from your mom’s antics. “Thanks for walking with me.”

He leaned back a bit on his heels. “You’re lucky. Your mom’s cool.”

“She’s going to interrogate me the second you leave,” you muttered.

He snorted. “Tell her I said she makes killer tea.”

You waved half-heartedly. “I’m not telling her anything. She’ll take it as encouragement.”

Denki grinned and started walking backward down the street. “Well, see you for StarBolt next time?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

And with a flash of his fingers and a spark that fizzled harmlessly into the air, Denki Kaminari was gone down the road, leaving you on your porch—smiling, glowing just a little bit more than before.

You leaned against the front door as it clicked shut, sighing into the wood. The house was too quiet again now, the laughter and sparring of earlier fading into the memory of the lingering sunset glow. You didn’t move for a few seconds, staring at the floor with warm cheeks and a heart that hadn’t quite returned to its resting beat.

And then—

“So…”
Your mom’s voice floated in from the kitchen like a sniper shot through the silence.

You groaned. “Please no.”

“Oh, absolutely yes,” she replied, appearing in the hallway with a dish towel over her shoulder and an eyebrow so arched it could’ve passed for a villain’s trademark. “I’m your mother. This is my constitutional right.”

You tried to walk past her.

She sidestepped expertly. “Sit.”

“I train harder than this interrogation is gonna be.”

She pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit.”

You obeyed, flopping into the seat like someone about to be judged for a crime they didn’t commit—but were definitely accused of.

Your mom took the seat across from you, folded her hands, and leaned in like she was hosting a morning talk show.

“Name: Denki Kaminari. Quirk: Electricity. Hero course hopeful. Flirts like a dork. Is he cute or is he cute?”

You stared at her, slack-jawed.

She smirked. “Because I’ll be honest, I thought Midoriya was sweet, but this one’s got a whole spark to him—pun absolutely intended.”

You buried your face in your arms. “Mom…”

“I mean, he was polite, funny, and not once did I catch him checking himself out in the reflection on the teapot. That’s a win.”

You lifted your head just slightly. “You watched him?”

“I observe,” she corrected. “Also, he called you a space-warrior and survived to tell the tale. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

“It’s not,” you muttered, still trying to melt into the table.

“Is it a crush?”

“No.”

“A tiny crush?”

You paused.

“Oh-ho! I knew it!” She stood dramatically and opened a cupboard. “This calls for ice cream.”

“There’s no way that’s part of the interrogation process.”

“I’m the mother. I make the rules.”

She returned with a tub of strawberry mochi ice cream and plopped it down with two spoons. “You’re not getting out of this. Tell me about him. Remind me Where did you meet eachother? What’s he like?”

You sighed but took a spoon anyway. “We met at the arcade, like you already know. He challenged me at Pac-Man.”

She gasped like it was a romantic drama. “And who won?”

You gave her a look and rolled your eyes. “Who do you think?”

“That’s my girl.” She popped a mochi ball into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “But seriously. He seemed like he actually listens. You were smiling when you walked in with him.”

You fiddled with your spoon. “Yeah. He’s... nice. Kind of goofy. But he really tries, y’know?”

Your mom’s gaze softened. “That matters.”

There was a short silence.

Then she leaned in again. “So where does this put our trio of charming boys?”

You groaned. “Not this again.”

She counted off on her fingers. “Midoriya, the cinnamon roll. Bakugo, the angry tomcat. Denki, the electric golden retriever. Who’s winning the race?”

“There is no race, Mom.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, unconvinced.

“I’m not even in the mood for anyone,” you argued. “I’ve been training like crazy. I’ve barely had time to sleep.”

“Doesn’t mean your heart’s asleep,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. “Even space-warriors need affection.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Maybe if someone figures out how to flirt using constellations, I’ll consider it.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up. “He did say something about your ‘glowy star-powers.’ Maybe he’s halfway there.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up. “Okay, this interrogation is done.”

But she called after you, grinning, “Just remember, I know a cute boy when I see one!”

You retreated to your room, but not before sticking your head back out and saying, “You’re embarrassing.”

“I’m a legend,” she replied.

The soft hum of nighttime cradled your house in quiet. You were nestled in bed, the cool side of the pillow brushing against your cheek, comforter tugged up to your chin. The remnants of laughter from earlier that night — your mother’s dramatic flair, Denki’s ridiculous flirtations, the unexpected warmth of your walk home — had settled like stardust at the corners of your dreams.

You were finally at peace.

And yet—

Something scratched at the edge of that comfort.

You stirred faintly in your sleep, brow twitching, a slight crease forming between your brows. The room was still, but your breathing hitched. The air shifted — not cold, not warm — just… off. Like a page in a book had been turned without your hand.

You were dreaming.

At first, you were back at your training ground, conjuring Vega Crown under a sky blotted with stars. The constellations shimmered above you in perfect formation, and you felt in tune with the heavens — like every breath matched their rhythm.

But the stars blinked.

One.

Two.

Three of them vanished.

You looked up, confused. Lyra. Altair. Sirius.

Gone.

You felt a presence behind you in the dream — not violent, but watchful. Heavy, like the world had tilted slightly and your body was playing catch-up. You turned.

No one.

Only a slow whisper on the wind, not quite words, not quite sound:

“You shine too bright for this world… but I’ll keep you safe from it.”

You jolted awake.

Gasping.

Your heart pounded in your chest, sweat at the back of your neck despite the chill in your room. Moonlight streamed through your window, casting long shadows across your floor. Everything was normal — your desk, your training journal, the stack of constellation sketches and spell notes.

But something was off.

You sat up slowly. The back of your hand brushed over the sheet—freezing. You glanced at your window.

Closed… but fogged.

You frowned. You hadn’t had the window open all day. And yet, there was a faint trace of something near the bottom edge of the glass — like a smear, barely perceptible. A mark?

You got up, heartbeat still jittering in your chest, and approached.

It wasn’t writing, not exactly.

More like… the remnants of a fingerprint drag, the way condensation breaks beneath a tracing hand. Faint lines curled like a spiral. For a split second, your mind conjured all the possibilities — wind, moisture, a trick of light.

But the unease didn’t go away.

You forced yourself to breathe. Just a dream. Just nerves. Maybe the overtraining and the late-night teasing had frayed your edges a little.

Still, you closed the curtain.

Tighter this time.

And for good measure, you locked the window. Your hand lingered on the latch longer than necessary. It wasn’t like you to spook easily. But something about the dream had clung to you like cobwebs — weightless and invisible, but undeniably there.

You turned back to your bed, giving your room one last glance before climbing in.

No footsteps.

No noise.

But the whisper still echoed somewhere in the back of your mind:

“I’ll protect you from them.”

A/N

LET ME KNOW ANY SCENERIOS YOU WOULD LIKE ME TO TRY AND INCORPERATE INTO THIS FANFIC, I CANT PROMISE ANYTHING BUT I CAN TRY  AS LONG AS MY PLOT ALLOWS IT.

HAVE AN AWESOME DAY- Artemis 

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 31: Bandages and Quiet Eyes

MONTH TWO- DAY TWELEVE

You didn’t sleep well.

The dream—no, not quite a dream—still tugged at the edge of your memory as you laced up your shoes at the door. Shadows curled where they shouldn’t. A whisper that didn’t quite sound like your own breath. 

You needed to clear your head. Again.

Jogging had always been a way to ground yourself. The steady cadence of your footfalls. The familiar path. The subtle ache in your legs warming into strength. This morning, you leaned into it with more urgency than usual, pacing through the suburbs until the path narrowed and opened into the quiet field that had become yours—your training ground. Your space. Your constellation forge.

By the time you arrived, sweat clung to your skin and your pulse thrummed in your throat. Still, the restlessness lingered. That strange chill down your spine hadn’t fully left, but you weren’t going to let fear dictate your day.

You exhaled sharply and held your arms out wide.

The stars may not be visible, but their positions lingered in your memory like second nature.

You snapped your fingers, channeling focus. “Lepus Mirage.”

A flicker of glowing starlight shimmered beside you, and then a full-body illusion leapt out—your silhouette traced in soft cosmic light, darting into the trees to distract or disorient. It was clean. Quick. Better than before.

Good.

Your heart steadied.

“Altairis Barrage.”

You slammed your foot down, and starlight gathered at your fingertips—sharp, focused bolts of energy launched toward phantom targets hovering in your vision. One—two—three strikes. Then four. Five. The sixth splintered as your concentration wavered. You cursed under your breath.

Still not perfect.

You rolled your shoulders back and began again.

This time: Carina Spear.

A pulse of breath and cosmic threads braided into the shape of a glowing javelin in your grasp. You threw it, and the spear pierced through the air with a rippling hum—before flickering, destabilizing, and bursting in a small cascade of failed light.

You winced.

The feedback stung your hand, leaving a faint burn. You’d overcompensated with energy again.

“Okay…” You sighed, walking to the shade of a nearby tree, hand pressed to your forehead.

Your quirk was beautiful. Powerful. Uniquely yours.

But it was draining.

The more you demanded from the starlight—the more you bent its form into weapons or defenses—the more the strain echoed back. The pain wasn’t always physical. Sometimes it came as static in your ears. Sometimes as a migraine sharp enough to make your vision blur. Today, it settled behind your eyes like pressure waiting to burst.

You pulled your knees to your chest and leaned back against the tree bark, letting the stillness settle in while your heart slowed.

“Drawbacks,” you muttered to yourself. “Drawbacks to every gift.”

You’d learned to pace your spells by now. Orion Bow, Aquila Wings, and Lyra Barrier had become second nature—but even Lyra Barrier, with its ability to reflect sound waves and vibrate through the air, had cost you hearing for a whole day the first time you overpowered it.

You remembered stumbling home, ears ringing like the world was underwater, and your mom asking why you weren’t answering her.

You’d gotten better since then. More precise. Smarter.

But the cost was still real.

Even now, you could feel your fingers twitch from residual starlight strain, the light prickling under your skin like it wanted to keep fighting—but your body was already pushing back.

Too much use, and your nerves flared like they were caught in static.

Too little control, and the constellations fractured.

You dragged your fingers through the grass and let yourself rest, just for a few minutes, watching the morning sky brighten.

There was still time to try again.

And maybe—maybe tomorrow, it wouldn’t feel like someone was watching you from just beyond the tree line.

Maybe the quiet would stay quiet.

But not today.

You stood again, shakily at first, and lifted your hand once more.

“Cassiopeia Line,” you whispered.

A thin glowing tether of constellation lines arced out like a whip, curving through the air with star-point precision.

It was delicate work—but you wanted to master it.

You would master it.

Because no matter what waited beyond the trees, or beneath your dreams, you refused to let fear rewrite the sky.

The grass felt cold beneath your feet as you stepped back into the clearing. You’d let yourself cool off for long enough. The ache in your hands had dulled into a distant throb—manageable. The thrum of starlight still lived in your veins, pulsing gently beneath your skin like embers that refused to die out.

You had to push further today. Not just spell after spell—but together.

That was the next step.

You stared up at the sky, lips parted slightly. The constellations might be hidden behind daylight, but you saw them in your mind, painted in silver threads across memory: Orion. Lyra. Cassiopeia. Altair. Aquila. Vega.

Your fingers flexed.

Let’s go.

You took a breath and grounded yourself with a whisper:

“Lyra Barrier.”

The starlight snapped to your side in a harp-like shimmer of rotating symbols, the shield humming softly. It reflected light off its curved edge like a piece of the night sky had been cut free and placed at your defense.

You didn’t wait.

“Orion Bow.”

In your other hand, a brilliant bow of golden energy arced into existence—celestial and crackling. A matching arrow of pure starlight drew taut across the string. You aimed.

The barrier and the bow existed together—barely—the weight of each draining your focus, but you held them.

Pulse steady.

Vision clear.

“Lepus Mirage.”

A second version of yourself flickered into life just beyond the trees, moving ahead and to the right, glowing faintly as it darted in a distracting zigzag. The mental strain of maintaining a decoy alongside offense and defense was enormous—you winced slightly, knees buckling as the phantom danced across the clearing.

But still—you held on.

Three spells at once.

Barrier. Bow. Mirage.

You moved.

Darting forward with momentum, you twisted in mid-air—“Aquila Wings!”

The wings flared out from your shoulders, pure light and motion, launching you skyward in a quick vault. You arced forward in a dive, arrow drawn back, hurtling toward your chosen target: the edge of the old stump you used for accuracy drills.

The dive gave the arrow speed—you released it.

The projectile sailed, struck the mark—and the vibration through your body made the Lyra Barrier flare. The mirrored barrier caught the echoed sound of your impact and reflected it outwards in a reverberating shockwave that cracked across the field.

The Mirage shimmered and broke apart.

You gasped, landing in a controlled slide.

Your knees hit the dirt. Arms trembling.

Four spells. Maintained simultaneously.

You did it.

For a few seconds, the only sound was your breathing—ragged and fast, but victorious.

You laughed softly to yourself, brushing hair from your face, sweat sticking to your temple.

“I’m not done yet.”

You stood again, wiped your palms against your pants.

Let’s raise the stakes.

Your lips moved without hesitation now. Words felt like second nature.

“Cassiopeia Line.”
“Carina Spear.”
“Altairis Barrage.”

The whip of light snapped into being first—Cassiopeia, like a silver line dancing through air. You flicked your wrist, and it spun outward, slicing through grass with pinpoint arcs.

At the same time, the Carina Spear formed in your other hand. This time, you didn't throw it yet—you held it, keeping it energized as a forward tool.

You whispered one more command, calling it out across the field:

“Altairis Barrage!”

Six golden bolts flared into formation above your shoulders, glittering and trembling like stars about to fall. You pushed yourself into movement.

One bolt—then two—launched out.

You dived, slashing with the whip and pivoting with the spear, rotating your position while trying to manage all three constructs in unison. It was chaos. Beautiful, glowing chaos. But the strain was intense. Sweat burned down your spine. Your left hand cramped suddenly, and the Carina Spear disintegrated mid-motion.

You cried out as the magic flared against your wrist.

The whip flickered—gone.

Only the remaining Altairis bolts hovered, unspent. You fell to one knee, hand braced against the ground.

Too fast. Too many.

You had pushed too far.

Your vision blurred slightly, heat building at the back of your eyes. There was always a cost—this time, the feedback wasn’t physical pain, but a sharp spike of emotional static. Doubt.

What if you’d need to do this in real combat?

What if you failed?

You closed your eyes.

Don’t spiral. Just breathe.

After a few long minutes, the tension bled out of your muscles. You reached for one last spell—just one.

“Vega Crown.”

A ring of glowing stars formed above your head and then slowly drifted down to rest over your brow. A pressure you hadn’t even noticed eased from your chest. Focus. Clarity. Control.

This spell… wasn’t for offense. It was for centering.

Thank you, you whispered inside your own mind, feeling the constellation hum against your skin.

You stayed there in the field for a while longer, practicing combinations—but slower, steadier now. Two spells at once. Then one. Then a break.

You were learning your limits and expanding them.

You were building something powerful—not just raw strength, but precision.

Even as shadows lingered in the edges of your life, this was yours.

And for now, it was enough.

The familiar jingle of the corner shop’s bell overhead rang out as you pushed open the glass door with one sore shoulder. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly overhead, mixing with the buzz of a nearby fridge, and the air smelled faintly of mop water and menthol cough drops.

You were just here for plasters.

That’s it. A quick stop. Then home.

Your forearms bore a few shallow cuts from practicing Cassiopeia Line and the ricochet from Lyra Barrier when your focus slipped. One of the bandages you’d already put on had peeled halfway off, blood lightly staining the edge.

You moved down the narrow aisle toward the small First Aid section. Your fingers brushed over the cheap cartoon-style bandages and reached instead for the neutral kind. Plain, beige, reliable. You sighed and let your head fall forward for a second.

Your muscles ached from the effort of the day, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, every bruise and scrape burned like a glowing reminder of your overreach. You shifted your weight onto your uninjured leg and scanned the price tag.

Not too bad.

You turned toward the counter—and froze.

He was already looking at you.

Tall. Lean. A worn black hoodie over a collared shirt, odd gloves covering his hands. That same young man from before. The one from the shop, when you were hiding. Calm but quiet in a way that made your skin itch a little under the surface. Not threatening—yet somehow still… off.

He stood beside the hygiene area, a bottle of sanitizer in his gloved hand, completely still except for his eyes. Pale gold. Sharp. Watching. Seen through the plague doctor mask.

You blinked.

And then, hesitantly:
“…Hi?”

A pause.

He didn’t smile, but he did give the barest nod, voice quiet.
“We meet again.”

You laughed softly, trying to play off your nervousness.
“Yeah… guess we do.”

You moved toward the counter, basket in hand, pretending not to notice the way he studied your every movement. You could feel his gaze on your arms, your slight limp, the tired sway in your posture.

He stepped forward.

“Training?” he asked, glancing toward the box of plasters in your hand.

You gave a sheepish shrug. “Kinda. I overdid it. Again.”

That earned a long silence.

“…You should be careful,” he said finally, tone so flat it almost didn’t sound like concern. “There’s a point where dedication becomes recklessness. Most people only realize it when they’ve already done damage they can’t undo.”

You frowned, caught off guard by the weight of his words.

“I—I know,” you muttered, suddenly unsure if you were being scolded or warned.

He didn’t move closer, but somehow his presence filled the narrow aisle like mist. His gaze wasn’t sharp anymore—it had shifted into something else. Calculating. Not unfriendly, but unsettling.

“People don’t value their time enough,” he said, idly. “They waste it chasing approval. Heroes especially.”

You stiffened a little. That was a… strange thing to say.

“I’m not doing it for approval,” you said quietly. “I just want to be ready.”

“Ready for what?”

That made you pause. His stare didn’t waver.

You reached the counter and placed the bandages on the checkout tray, heart still tapping uneasily in your chest. The cashier rang it up slowly, clearly uninterested in the quiet tension between you and the man behind you.

“I guess,” you said finally, “I want to be ready to protect people. So I don’t freeze if something happens again.”

Another long pause.

“…Admirable,” he said. “But naïve.”

His voice was soft. Almost disappointed.

You gave a small smile, tired but resolute. “Maybe. But I’d rather be naïve and try than do nothing.”

This time, he did smile—but it was strange. Not warm. Like he’d just confirmed something for himself.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

You took your receipt, offered a polite nod, and started toward the exit—but not before glancing over your shoulder at him.

“Thanks again. For the advice. Back then.”

He didn’t nod, didn’t smile again. But he did say:
“Be careful who you trust.”

The bell jingled behind you as you stepped out into the early evening, the orange-gold sun bleeding low across the pavement.

Oh, how right he was back then.

Back Outside

You exhaled a long breath once the door shut behind you.

What the hell was that?

You wrapped your fingers around the paper bag and began the walk home, your pace slow. The tension in your shoulders didn’t fade. Not entirely.

That man—whoever he was—hadn’t done anything wrong.

But something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you like he knew something, left a thread of cold uncertainty tugging at your chest.

Be careful who you trust.

You shook your head to clear it and kept walking.

KAI CHISAKI, WHO HAS MADE IT BACK TO HIS BASE.

The corridor reeked of bleach.

Kai Chisaki walked slowly, methodically, gloved hands folded behind his back, his shoes walking along the sanitized floors of the Shie Hassaikai base. Every few steps, he paused to adjust the fit of his mask, even though no one else was near him. His gold eyes, sharp as scalpels, reflected in the polished chrome panels along the wall.

The lights overhead buzzed in quiet, fluorescent hums.

Contamination was everywhere. He could feel it on his skin.

But worse than the usual filth was the mental residue still clinging to him. He hadn’t expected to see her again. That girl—the one with the tired eyes and raw kindness. He had helped her once, unprompted. Now, she limped and bled and smiled like none of it mattered.

It irritated him.

It fascinated him.

She wasn’t part of the plan. And yet, she lingered in his mind like the echo of a cough in a sealed hospital room.

She had potential—but no structure.

Power—but no direction.

Heart—but no protection.

He clicked open the door to the inner chamber with the sound of precise latex snapping against his wrist. Inside, the room was dim. Clean. White tile. Glass cabinets. Medical tools sealed in vacuum plastic. And at the center, in a reclining leather chair, sat Pops—Yakuza boss of the Hassaikai.

Kai closed the door behind him.

“Did you handle the inventory issue?” Pops asked without opening his eyes.

Kai said nothing at first. He stood there, letting silence settle like dust.

“No.”
A quiet response.
“There’s something more pressing.”

Pops opened his eyes slowly, tiredly. “…Another delay?”

Kai stepped forward.

“I saw someone today. Again.”

Pops raised a bushy brow. “The same girl from the market incident?”

Kai nodded once.

“She’s unpredictable. But she’s not reckless. She has a Quirk that mirrors constellation patterns—advanced projection. I’ve been studying her pattern recognition for weeks from afar.”

Pops looked mildly unimpressed.

“We’re not in the business of teenage strays, Overhaul.”

Kai’s jaw tensed. He lowered his eyes.

“She hides her capabilities behind sentimentality. It’s inefficient. Dangerous. But she also shows control. Enough that she’s gone this long without self-destruction. I think she could be… restructured.”

“Restructured,” Pops repeated slowly. “You mean controlled.”

“Correct.”

The elder sighed and looked away, voice raspy.

“You were always too obsessed with fixing people.”

“Because people are broken,” Kai replied immediately. “They’re rotting from within. Quirks have destroyed this society. Heroes lie about order. Villains destroy for chaos. She—”

He paused.

“She believes she’s training to protect others. That’s an illusion. Naivety dressed up as virtue. But with proper containment—she could serve something greater. If we don’t take her… someone else will.”

A beat.

“…And you care because?”

Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly behind his mask.

“I don’t care.”

That was a lie. Even he knew it.

“…But it would be a shame to waste her.”

He turned away from the chair before Pops could press further.

“Continue with our plans,” the old man said slowly. “But don’t let her distract you from the real project.”

Kai paused at the door.

“I won’t,” he said softly.
But inside, something coiled tightly.

As he left the sterile chamber and returned to the hall, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a clean, crisp notepad. He opened it with gloved hands and began sketching a constellation shape he remembered from today — one he saw glowing faintly around her hands when she reached for the bandages.

Cassiopeia. A symbol of pride, perseverance, and punishment.

He made a note beside it.

Controlled impulse. Reactive empathy. Instinctively defiant.
Potential subject: re-education necessary. Isolation recommended.
Touch-averse — no sign of awareness toward true threats.
Responds to perceived vulnerability in others.
Exploitable trait.

He closed the notebook and slid it back into his coat.

Kai Chisaki walked on, the scent of bleach following in his wake like a ghost, footsteps silent and steady. He didn’t look back. Not at Pops. Not at the decisions. Not at the splintering thoughts beginning to form fractures behind his clinical calm.

She was dangerous.

And he intended to contain her.

BACK WITH Y/N, WHO HAS JUST ARRIVED HOME

You opened the front door gently, hoping not to make too much noise. The hinges creaked anyway — betraying your arrival with a soft groan that echoed into the quiet of your home.

Your mom was probably still in the kitchen or folding laundry somewhere in the back room. It smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and the faint sweetness of baked goods that had long since cooled.

You exhaled through your nose, trying to let the tension drain from your shoulders as you stepped inside. Your bag hit the floor with a soft thud, your shoes kicked off a little too carelessly by the door.

Why were you still tense?
Nothing happened, not really. No one touched you. No one even said anything particularly threatening. Just… that man.
That voice.
That mask.

You'd only spoken to him for a few minutes. But the whole exchange had lodged itself deep in your brain like a burr in fabric. He hadn't done anything wrong. Hadn’t followed you. But the stillness in his gaze… the way his gloved hands never moved unless necessary. The way he looked at you — like you were something being measured.

You didn’t like it.

You rubbed your arms without thinking, passing through the hallway and into the living room, collapsing gently onto the sofa like your body weighed twice as much.

The quiet was too quiet.

Not peaceful. Not comforting.

Still. Heavy.

You pulled your knees up and leaned into the cushions, watching the fading light pour in through the curtains, casting shadows across the floor like a sundial slowly bleeding into evening.

Normally, you'd turn on the TV. Or text Denki. Maybe even go back through Midoriya’s quirk notes or reread something comforting.

But your fingers didn’t move to grab your phone. Your body stayed still, every breath shallow.

You thought about that hooded figure from earlier this week. The way the footsteps always matched yours until you ducked into the shop. Was it just your imagination? Some tired local just walking the same route? Maybe they weren’t even looking at you.

But then… that man showed up.

You closed your eyes and tried to reset yourself. You were being dramatic. Paranoid. It was just nerves. Overtraining. Lack of sleep. Stress.

The last few weeks had been intense — between spells, sparring, secret dreams, strange encounters, and that moment with Himiko (who you hadn’t seen since). Maybe all of it was catching up with you now. All the attention from Denki, the teasing from your mom, Bakugo’s rough concern, Midoriya’s softness…

Maybe this was your body’s way of saying “pause.”

Your phone buzzed in your hoodie pocket. You jumped slightly — more than you meant to.

Just a text from your mom:

Dinner’s almost ready, sweetheart. Want your favorite tonight?

You stared at the message.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.

Yes, I’ll be down in a minute.

You hit send and then curled tighter into the couch cushions, like if you pulled in enough, the silence would become cozy again instead of suffocating.

It didn’t.

You looked toward the window.

You couldn’t help but wonder — had he watched you walk away?
Why did it feel like someone else had been watching you, too?

You sighed and pulled out your notebook, flipping past spell sketches and movement diagrams until you reached a blank page. You wrote a single line, almost without thinking:

“Be more careful when you’re alone.”

Then below it:

“Just in case… start tracking who’s around.”

You didn’t know if you were being paranoid or just smart. But something told you it wouldn’t hurt to listen to your instincts. You were still grounded in your training, your family, your friends…

But that tether to safety?
It suddenly felt just a little thinner.

A/N 

Are you guys liking the angst and the vibe?

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Am i making y/n paranoid and skittish, yes, yes i am but dont worry it all plays a part in later chapters, just wait until training camp arc and there all your questions will be answered, if you can bare with me for that long.

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 32: Who was that?

MONTH TWO- DAY THIRTEEN

The sea air stung a little more than usual this morning.

Not unpleasantly — just sharp. The kind of cold salt breeze that filled your lungs and burned your nose in a strangely satisfying way. Your sneakers kicked up sand as you jogged the last few meters toward the rusted stairs that led down to the beach, the familiar crunch grounding you better than any morning spell routine could have.

You hadn’t slept well. Again.

The dreams weren’t outright nightmares — they were just off. Shifting shadows, unreadable whispers, faces you recognized but couldn’t trust. So today, instead of practicing spells straight away or pushing yourself through stamina circuits, you’d decided on something simple: talking to Midoriya.

You hadn't seen him in a few days — not properly, anyway. Not since that walk in the park when you noticed his arms had grown stronger, his form more upright. The boy with the green curls was changing in quiet, steady ways. It made you feel safer... and also somehow left behind.

You made your way down the beach slope, navigating around a broken vending machine and what looked like the frame of an old car half-buried in sand. Dagobah Beach still had a long way to go before it was “clean,” but there were signs of progress now. Whole patches of cleared sand where the junk used to be.

Your steps slowed as you finally spotted him — Midoriya, standing near the edge of the shoreline in that same orange jumpsuit he always wore during his cleanup training.

But he wasn’t alone.

A man stood next to him — tall, skeletal almost, draped in a heavy hoodie and sagging workout pants. His skin looked pale, almost sickly, and even from this distance, you could see the sunken lines of his face.

Your brows furrowed. Who was that?
Why did Midoriya look so—?

His head snapped up, and he froze. Wide eyes. Guilt written across his entire face.

The man beside him seemed startled too, glancing over his shoulder before tugging his hood farther down and slouching a bit more. You caught a flicker of something in his gaze — something cautious.

Not dangerous. But sharp.

“Hey! Midoriya!” you called out, slowing your steps as you approached, your voice as casual as you could manage. “Thought I’d find you here.”

He gave a strangled little laugh — one of those high-pitched “oh-no” laughs that Midoriya always tried to mask as natural.

“Ah—! H-Hey! Hahaha... yeah, totally! I mean, yep, I’m here! Definitely!”

You blinked. He was practically vibrating.

The gaunt man beside him cleared his throat, then suddenly adopted a stiff, over-pronounced posture. “Ah, yes! Yes indeed, young... uh, person! Just out here for morning... garbage removal fitness bonding! Hahaha!”

You blinked again.

Midoriya looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him.

The stranger's fake smile was... endearing, actually. Kind of awkward. You tilted your head.

“Huh... are you Midoriya’s uncle or something?” you asked, offering a half-smile to smooth over the awkwardness. “You two kind of have similar vibes.”

“I—! No! I mean—he’s—uh—” Midoriya scrambled, clearly about to combust. “He’s my trainer! Yeah! He’s been helping me build stamina!”

You looked between them, then slowly nodded. “Ohhh. Okay. That makes sense.”

The gaunt man nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! Just a humble personal trainer! Nothing to see here, ho ho ho!”

You frowned. “...Did you just ‘ho ho ho’ like a pirate or Santa?”

“I—No. Definitely not. Who does that? Silly. Very silly.”

Midoriya coughed, “We were just finishing up!”

“Right!” the man added. “We were going to, uh, separate. And go home. Separately. Not together anymore.”

The two of them stood, very much together, not moving.

You stared at them for a long beat.

“Well, I just came to see how Midoriya was doing,” you said slowly. “You’ve been training hard, huh?”

Midoriya smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah... I’m trying to be ready. You know. For U.A.”

You smiled softly, genuine now. “You will be.”

His eyes widened just a little, his mouth parting like he wanted to say something — but then the man beside him shifted slightly, and you remembered he was still there.

“Oh, I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to interrupt anything,” you added quickly.

The gaunt man waved his gloved hand. “Not at all! Always good to meet friends of my... trainee.”

Midoriya cleared his throat. “Y-Yeah. She’s... cool. She’s strong too. I mean — she has this constellation Quirk thing? It’s amazing.”

Your face warmed a little. “Midoriya…”

“Ahaha—s-sorry!”

The wind shifted a bit, brushing strands of your hair back. You noticed now the faint tremble in the man’s fingers. The way his coat seemed too big for his thin frame. And yet, he stood like someone who used to carry weight — not just physically, but responsibility.

There was something familiar about that type of posture.

You filed the thought away.

“I should probably let you finish,” you said gently, stepping back. “See you soon, Midoriya?”

He nodded too quickly. “Y-Yeah! Of course!”

You offered the strange man a nod too. “Nice meeting you.”

He bowed — awkward, low, and weirdly formal. “And you as well, young—person.”

As you walked back up the beach, you didn’t hear them speak again, but you felt their panic.
Like the tension in a room right before something important is revealed.

You had no idea you’d just met the Symbol of Peace.

BACK WITH MIDORIYA AND ALL MIGHT

 

The ocean breeze was cool, but neither of them moved for a while.

All Might — now unmistakably just Toshinori Yagi in his gaunt, skeletal form — kept one hand lightly pressed over his side, wincing only slightly as he turned his gaze to the top of the dune where you'd disappeared from sight.

“She’s perceptive,” he said, his voice low and rasping in the way it always was in this form. “You’re lucky she didn’t push harder.”

Midoriya stood with both hands gripping the hem of his hoodie, his face flushed and anxious. “I didn’t think she’d come today. She said she’d been doing more solo training lately. I just wanted to get through the cleanup…”

Toshinori sighed and took a seat on a half-buried piece of concrete. His body always ached after moving too much, even in small ways. But right now, the ache wasn’t just physical.

“I recognize that kind of girl,” he muttered, not really meaning to say it aloud. “The way she carries herself… quiet resolve, sharp eyes, too much weight on her shoulders for someone her age…”

Midoriya looked over sharply. “You do?”

All Might nodded faintly. “There’ve always been people like her, even before Quirks. The ones who shine quietly. The kind you only notice once they’ve already changed everything.”

Midoriya blinked. “You think she’s… that strong?”

The former Symbol of Peace gave him a tired smile. “Don’t you?”

“I… yeah,” Midoriya admitted softly, eyes dropping to the sand. “She’s… amazing. I mean, she has this whole celestial magic theme, right? She makes weapons out of starlight and her mind is always turning — always trying to think of new ways to help people. But…”

“But?”

Midoriya looked down, kicking at the sand. “Sometimes I think she’s trying to protect everyone so much that she forgets to protect herself.”

Toshinori didn’t speak right away. He watched a gull wheel overhead and thought about the weight of heroism — how it often fell first on the people who didn’t ask for it, or who were too kind to say no.

“You’re not wrong,” he finally said. “And that means she’s already one of us.”

Midoriya turned to him. “One of—?”

“One of the people who will run toward danger instead of away. Who’ll put someone else’s life ahead of their own without hesitation.”

He looked down at his hand — frail, brittle, trembling just slightly.

“I know we’re training you to be a vessel for One For All, but that doesn’t mean you’re the only one carrying something heavy,” All Might said quietly. “She might not have this power… but she’s still going to fight like she does. And that scares me, Midoriya.”

Midoriya swallowed thickly, shoulders tensing. “Because she could get hurt.”

“Because she will.” Toshinori met his eyes now. “People like her always do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sea.

“…Do you think I should tell her?” Midoriya asked suddenly. “About One For All? About you?”

All Might looked genuinely surprised. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Midoriya frowned.

“She’s kind, yes. Brave, yes. But there’s a difference between knowing danger and walking into it with your eyes open. She doesn’t need to carry this secret too.”

“But—”

“You’re allowed to have something of your own, Midoriya,” Toshinori said, with a rare seriousness. “You don’t need to share everything to prove your heart. Sometimes, keeping people safe means letting them keep their normal for just a little longer.”

Midoriya looked down again, silent.

“…But you like her, don’t you?”

Midoriya’s face went red in an instant. “I—! I mean—! I don’t—! I—!”

Toshinori laughed, wheezing slightly. “It’s okay. You’re young. She’s sharp. And you’ve already fought slime villains and muscle pain together. That’s practically a shōnen romance already.”

Midoriya buried his face in his hands. “Pleeease stop.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No, really. Stop.”

But Toshinori’s teasing faded as he looked up again at the place she’d stood just minutes ago.

“…You’re going to need her, Young Midoriya,” he murmured. “Maybe not in the same way she’ll need you. But one day, when things are really bad… she might be the reason you get back up.”

Midoriya glanced up from his hands, eyes wide.

Toshinori smiled softly, with something between sadness and hope.

“Keep her close. But protect her light.”

"Please, keep her safe"

The sidewalk crunched beneath your feet, the sound muted by the layers of overthinking that piled up like low-hanging clouds in your mind.

You weren’t in a rush. The day had that kind of gray calm to it—the soft kind of overcast that made time feel slower, stretched. You were wearing your usual training clothes—something light and easy, hoodie zipped halfway, earphones dangling around your neck but silent.

The wind tugged at your sleeves. You didn’t mind.

It gave you something to focus on that wasn’t… whatever this was.

You kept thinking about Midoriya.
And him.

That gaunt man beside him. The one who had looked like he was barely holding himself upright, and yet—not weak. Not at all.

Your steps echoed as you passed the small alleyway shortcut you sometimes took but avoided today. It felt like one of those days where you wanted visibility. The open street. The shops. The people.

A low murmur of conversation drifted from a group of high schoolers across the street. Someone’s phone played music from a tinny speaker. You walked on, letting it all buzz faintly in the background while your thoughts kept circling.

You hadn’t meant to panic Midoriya like that. You were just out for a jog wanting to go talk to him, and you saw him near the beach, helping move junk with some urgency. That wasn’t what struck you, though.

What stuck was the look in his eyes the second he turned around and realized you were there.

Guilt. Panic. Surprise. Hesitation.

You knew Midoriya. You knew his expressions like constellations—easy to trace once you’d memorized them. And that look? That wasn’t someone caught doing something embarrassing.

That was someone hiding something.

And for a second—just one second—you felt like you weren’t supposed to see what you did. Like he was scrambling to shove something behind a curtain and paste on a smile.

It was the man beside him that made it worse.

He hadn’t said much. Hadn’t even really moved. But his eyes…

There had been too much behind them.

Not suspicion. Not judgment.
Just weight.

You took a deep breath as you passed the bookstore. You didn’t realize until then how tight your shoulders had gotten.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Midoriya.

You did.

But it was hard not to feel the shift in the atmosphere—like something was tilting around him. Around you. Like stars realigning into a shape you couldn’t quite decipher yet.

It wasn’t dangerous, necessarily.

But it wasn’t normal, either.

By the time you reached the edge of town, the sky had started to brighten just slightly—sunlight finally pushing through the clouds in thin, gold lines. It felt out of place with how weird your headspace had gotten.

You reached the familiar row of shops, the ramen place, and finally the quiet little convenience store on the corner. A small bell dinged as you stepped inside, and the door hissed shut behind you.

And for a brief second, everything stilled.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The air conditioning hit the back of your neck. And just like that, the world grounded itself again.

You moved down the aisles with practiced ease—grabbed an egg sandwich, a bottle of peach water, a rice ball, and a microwavable curry bowl for later. Something about the routine of it helped. Normalcy had a way of settling the thoughts that tried too hard to spiral.

But that one moment still clung to you like static.

That man.
The way Midoriya’s body had subtly angled to stand between you and him.
The way the stranger’s eyes had flicked over you once—and then lingered, just long enough to register something you couldn’t name.

You stepped up to the counter, paid with quiet thank-yous, and exited with your bag crinkling softly in hand.

And still, even with lunch secured and the sun finally warming the back of your neck… you couldn’t shake the feeling that today had been important.

A thread had been pulled.
Something had shifted.

You just didn’t know what.

You weren’t in a rush.

After grabbing lunch and shaking off the fog of your earlier thoughts, you took a longer route toward your usual training spot. The sun had finally broken through the haze, and the streets were warm but not stifling. A good kind of weather. The kind that made you feel like maybe the world wasn’t so heavy after all.

Until you noticed him.

Sitting on the low concrete ledge outside a small noodle shop, half in the shade, half in the sun, was a boy who looked like he belonged in neither.

White and red hair split down the middle like a line between worlds.
A burn scar arcing over the left side of his face.
And a pair of eyes that didn’t just look cold — they were.

One hand rested over a container of cold soba noodles, untouched, while the other was curled lightly into a fist against his knee. He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t eating. Just staring, his gaze like frost sliding across the surface of a frozen lake.

You slowed.

You weren’t sure why.

You didn’t recognize him — he wasn’t from your school, not from your neighborhood, and you were fairly certain you’d remember someone with that distinct of a presence. But something about his expression made your steps falter.

It wasn’t sadness.

It wasn’t anger, either.

It was a kind of stillness that sat too heavy for someone that young.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, you found yourself walking toward him.

“…Hey.”

The word felt strange as it left your mouth, like throwing a pebble into an unmoving lake.

The boy’s eyes flicked up to yours, but his body didn’t shift. His face was unreadable.

“What?” he said flatly, not aggressive, not rude—just blunt. Efficient. Like he didn’t see the point in talking unless it served something.

You blinked, then tilted your head a little.

“I just—uh, you looked kind of… upset? I guess? Or maybe really focused on your food.”

He glanced down at the container.

“I’m not,” he said simply. His voice was quiet, low. Steady. “Upset, I mean.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t offer anything else.

You stepped a little closer, trying to keep your tone light. “Not a big cold soba fan?”

His brow twitched, and his lips moved just enough to murmur, “It’s my favorite.”

You blinked. “Really? You’ve been glaring at it like it owes you money.”

That made something flicker in his expression—almost a smile. Barely there. Gone in an instant.

“Just thinking,” he said. “That’s all.”

There was a pause. The kind of silence that was more intentional than awkward.

Then, softly, “You don’t need to worry about me.”

You shrugged, tucking your drink under your arm and letting your bag dangle from the crook of your elbow.

“Maybe not. But… I don’t know. You seemed kind of alone. And I’ve had one of those days, you know? So, figured I’d share some of my weird energy.”

His gaze returned to you—really returned this time. Something about the way you said that made him hesitate, if only for a moment.

“…I didn’t mean to look unfriendly.”

You smiled. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His mouth twitched.

Another beat.

“Are you a student?” he asked, almost abruptly.

“Sort of,” you said. “I’m prepping for the UA entrance exam. A lot of solo training. You?”

There was a pause.

“…Same.”

You raised your brows. “UA, huh? Well, small world. Or maybe not. Everyone seems to want to be a hero these days.”

“Not everyone,” he said quietly, looking down at the soba again. “Some people are… pushed into it.”

His voice wasn’t bitter. It wasn’t angry. But it carried something heavier than it should have.

Something learned early.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You didn’t know him well enough to ask what that meant. And maybe you didn’t need to. Not yet.

“Anyway,” you said gently, “I should probably get going before I lose my daylight. But it was nice meeting you, uh…”

You trailed off, unsure if he was going to offer his name.

He didn’t.

You nodded. “I’m Y/N. Hope your cold  soba stops offending you.”

To your surprise, his lips pulled into something that resembled a small smile. Just a little one. Barely there.

“…Thanks,” he said.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes following you for a moment before returning to his lunch.

Still distant.

But not untouched.

As you near your usual training spot—a quiet clearing nestled between towering trees and soft patches of grass—you can’t help but replay the encounter with the boy from earlier. The moment still feels vivid, like a flickering light you can’t quite look away from. His appearance was striking—the stark contrast of his white and red hair, the sharp scar tracing down the left side of his face. But it wasn’t just his looks that stayed with you; it was the way he carried himself.

He sat alone, focused on his cold soba noodles, his gaze sharp and distant. When you approached and asked if he was okay, his voice was calm but clipped, carrying the weight of unspoken pain and stubborn pride. There was no eagerness to chat, only a guarded honesty that somehow made the brief interaction feel honest and raw. His tone hinted at a quiet battle raging beneath the surface—one you could only guess at, but which instantly commanded respect.

You find yourself thinking about what it must be like to live with that kind of intensity. The scar, the silence, the flickers of vulnerability beneath his controlled exterior all tug at your curiosity. What drives him? What hardships has he endured? Despite his distant demeanor, there was a flicker of something human, something vulnerable.

The breeze brushes against your skin as you step into the clearing, the leaves whispering overhead. The familiar scent of earth and grass grounds you, but your mind is still swirling with thoughts of his quiet strength. You wonder if he trains here too, pouring himself into mastery as you do, fighting against his own limits and past.

Your hands instinctively reach out, fingers trembling slightly as you summon a faint shimmer of starlight—the beginning glow of the constellation spells you’ve been practicing. The constellations of Orion and Vega swirl lightly, weaving their familiar patterns around your palms. It’s a reminder of your own path, your own struggles and determination.

Despite the lingering weight of that unexpected meeting, you feel a renewed sense of purpose settle in your chest. The world of heroes is vast and complicated, filled with people carrying unseen burdens, but you’re ready to carve your own place in it. Todoroki’s quiet presence has left an imprint, a silent motivation pushing you forward.

You take a deep breath, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoing like a pulse in the night sky. As the first stars begin to twinkle faintly above, you steel yourself to continue your training—each step bringing you closer to mastering your quirk, and to understanding not just your own power, but perhaps one day the complexities of those around you too.

You exhale slowly, eyes closed, feeling the sunlight through your lashes and the pull of the constellations waiting patiently in your veins.

You don’t need to force anything. Not today.

You lift your hand, fingers tracing familiar sigils in the air. Starlight flares softly at your fingertips.

“Cassiopeia Line.”

A string of shimmering stars snaps into place around you, lines of ancient celestial geometry glowing with a subtle hum. You twist your wrist and feel the line bend to your will — not just forming, but adapting mid-flight. Before, it was linear — now, it arcs like a whip. Like instinct.

You smile.

“Carina Spear.”

You gather light in your palm, and not for the first time, the javelin forms perfectly on the first try. No shakiness. No spiraling energy. Just pure, focused form. It launches — dead center of your chosen target: a thick training log you propped up earlier. The spear bursts in a soft flash of gold, then reconstitutes at your side — a new tweak you’d been trying for days. Summon. Throw. Recall.

You can do it now.

“Lepus Mirage.”

You duck into a sidestep and cast the illusion. Not for the first time, three decoys flicker into being — one darting left, one right, one standing directly in your original path. You breathe deeply, heart steady.

They all move in time with you.

You rotate, using Aquila Wings to lift yourself off the ground in a sharp burst. Your feet barely touch the air before—

“Altairis Barrage!”

You summon not just one — but twelve tiny stars, rotating in spiral formation, each one directed with a sharp flick of your wrist. They fly. Pinpoint. Accurate. Controlled.

Not a single one collides with a tree.

The energy fizzles back into the air like gentle fireflies. You land smoothly, knees bending to absorb the impact. You’re not panting. You’re not dizzy. You trained for this. You built up to this.

Now — the core spells.

“Orion Bow.”

The weapon glows into being at your side, formed of starlight sinew and a graceful constellation frame. You nock a glowing arrow, tethered to your pulse — your will. You fire — once, twice, three times — watching as each arrow bends in mid-air to hit moving targets you set spinning earlier.

The arrows return to your hand like they were never released.

“Aquila Wings.”

You spring into the air once more, pushing higher than you ever dared before. The wings unfurl in brilliant white, trailing energy feathers as you dive — the dive controlled, deadly. You spin mid-air and roll to a landing without stumbling.

You let out a soft laugh. It’s fun now.

“Lyra Barrier.”

You spin and summon the harp-shaped shield just in time to absorb a noise burst you set off yourself — an experimental trigger you designed. The vibrations reflect outward in a cascading pulse, knocking over all nearby decoy dummies. The barrier absorbs, then retaliates. Just like you intended.

A true defense-offense hybrid.

Your hands shake a little — not with fear or weakness, but with pride.

You take a step back and look around the clearing. It’s quiet now, the last remnants of starlight fading gently into the leaves. You’re covered in sweat, but breathing evenly. There’s a calm in your chest that you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Every move today was yours. No fumbles. No second guesses.

You whisper the final spell — your strongest.

“Grand Chariot.”

The stars burst into a seven-point formation high above, glowing like a heavenly wheel, each one resonating with power you’d only barely tapped before. You raise your hand — and it descends.

Not in a reckless surge. Not in wild chaos.

It rains like judgment.

Controlled. Power. Beauty. Grace.

You kneel slowly in the grass as the dust settles. Not from exhaustion, but from respect for what you’ve just accomplished. Every spell you struggled with, honed, bled for… it’s yours now.

You mastered them all.

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 33: Eyes in the corners

MONTH TWO- DAY FOURTEEN

The morning light hit your face too early.

It wasn’t harsh—just soft, filtering through the curtain like spun gold—but it stirred you from a restless sleep. You’d been tossing and turning all night. You didn’t remember the dream clearly, only the feeling it left behind. Like something had been standing over you.

Watching.

You jolted upright, heart skipping a beat.

No one was there.

Your eyes scanned your bedroom. The door was closed. The curtains drawn. Your training gear still stacked neatly in the corner, bag tucked beneath the desk, the velvet pouch—that pouch—shoved deep behind your spell journals. You hadn’t touched the earrings again, but its weight clung to your thoughts like static.

Breathing shallow, you sat in bed for a moment.

The stillness buzzed in your ears.

"Okay..." you whispered to yourself, brushing back your hair and forcing your heartbeat to slow. "You’re just tired. Overtrained. That’s all."

But even your own voice felt like a lie.

You padded quietly into the hallway and made your way toward the kitchen. Your mom was already there, humming and slicing fruit at the counter, her robe tied loosely, her hair pinned up in a lazy bun.

She turned when she heard your steps. “Morning, starlight.”

You gave her a slow blink and a weak smile.

She noticed.

“Did you not sleep well again?” she asked, brow furrowing.

You hesitated. “Just... weird dreams. Nothing major.”

She studied you for a moment, her eyes flickering down to the subtle tension in your shoulders and the way your fingers kept twitching by your side.

“Well, no rest for the brilliant,” she said, trying for a cheerier tone. “The Bakugos are coming for dinner tonight. It's out turn to host, remember? So we need to make sure we have everything. I was going to go myself, but—” she flicked a hand, “—my knee’s acting up. Could you pop down to the shop and grab a few things?”

It hit like a shockwave.

You froze.

The world tilted slightly. The shops. The memory of walking past the aisles, clutching your bag too tightly. The figure in the hoodie trailing you from a distance. The way your heart had raced. The way you’d ducked into a store—any store—to escape. The way you’d lied when that man asked if you were okay, not because he felt dangerous (he did), but because something about that entire moment felt off.

Your mom had said a name just now.

Bakugo.

Dinner.

Going outside.

You blinked hard and realized your throat was tight. “...You want me to go to the shop?”

She gave you a look, teasing. “Don’t act like I asked you to climb a mountain.”

“No—I mean, yeah, of course. I just—” You scrambled to cover your tone. “Sorry, yeah. I just remembered something I was supposed to check.”

You turned your back to the counter, suddenly needing to lean against it. Your eyes darted to the window above the sink. The glass shimmered in the sunlight, but the outside beyond it felt cold. Unwelcoming.

Your mom narrowed her eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“It’s just been a busy week.”

“You’ve been running yourself into the ground, training like a pro hero already—and now you’re acting like I asked you to walk into a battlefield just because I need bell peppers.”

You gave a weak laugh. “It’s not the peppers.”

She folded her arms. “Talk to me.”

You turned toward her. “Do you ever feel like... someone’s following you? Like, not physically maybe, but emotionally. Like someone’s watching you through cracks in the world and you don’t know what they want yet.”

She blinked. “That’s a little more dramatic than I was expecting.”

You swallowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound crazy.”

“Sweetheart.” Her tone softened. “You’re not crazy.”

You looked at her then. Really looked. Her eyes were warm, concerned. Familiar. And suddenly you felt twelve again, and safe again. But that only made the crawling sensation under your skin more unbearable—like the world had been tilted, and you were the only one who could feel it shifting.

“I’ll go get the peppers,” you muttered.

She hesitated before nodding, gently placing a list into your hands. “And maybe, after dinner tonight, we can talk a little more? You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

You gave a single nod and turned before she could see your expression crack.

As you pulled on your jacket and grabbed your bag, you felt your hand brush the edge of something soft—the pouch again.

You zipped it shut quickly.

Outside, the street was bright. Loud. Children were already playing across the road. The same familiar route stretched before you. But the hairs on your arms wouldn’t go down.

Something was out there.

And it was still watching.

The bell above the door gave its familiar ding as you stepped into the shop, and a welcome rush of chilled air brushed your face. Familiar. Artificial. Safe, maybe.

Maybe.

You stood just inside the entrance for a second, adjusting to the difference in light. The early afternoon sun filtering through the windows made long shadows between the aisles. The shop was the kind you’d walked through a hundred times: narrow, packed shelves of dry goods and produce, a bakery corner that always smelled better than it tasted, and an old radio playing fuzzy J-Pop through a speaker nailed above the counter.

You moved to grab a basket, the wire handle cool in your fingers.

Your footsteps felt loud against the tile. You told yourself they weren’t. That your heart wasn’t thudding quite so hard in your ears. You reminded yourself you’d just gone out yesterday. You’d trained for hours. Laughed. You’d been fine.

You weren’t fine now.

You drifted toward the produce section first. Your mother’s handwriting was still crumpled in your pocket, but you already knew the list: bell peppers, onions, a box of those crispy garlic snacks she loved, and—if you could swing it—a treat for dessert. She liked it when you added your own ideas.

You reached for a bag of green peppers and placed them gently in the basket.

Crunch.

You froze.

The sound wasn’t yours.

You turned quickly, your hand still on the wire handle—but there was no one behind you. No shopper, no creaking cart. Just the end of the aisle and a stack of canned tomatoes.

Your chest felt tight.

It was nothing. Just a shelf settling. A shopper a few rows away. It wasn’t even that loud.

Still, your eyes flicked to the mirrored dome of the security camera in the ceiling corner. A distortion of the store played in its glass. For a moment, you thought you saw—

Nothing. Just your own reflection, blurry and fish-eyed.

You moved down the next aisle, forcing your feet to stay steady. It was just a store. The same one you’d gone to your whole life. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed gently as you passed under them, giving everything that sterile, slightly too-yellow hue that made the shadows beneath your eyes seem darker.

You passed the snack aisle—grabbed the garlic crisps—and headed for the freezer section.

You’d stopped scanning the shelves when a low, sharp clink echoed from a few aisles over. Like glass against metal. Soft, but deliberate.

Someone else is here.

That wasn’t unusual, obviously. It was a shop.

But you hadn’t seen them.

And that was the part that needled at your nerves. You hadn't seen anyone yet.

You quickened your pace, tossing a frozen dessert into your basket at random. Something with chocolate. You’d read the box later.

As you rounded the endcap, a display of brightly colored mochi packs caught your eye—only because one had been knocked over, out of its tidy row, sitting at an odd angle.

There was no one around.

No cart.

No child who might’ve grabbed it.

Your hand drifted to your pocket unconsciously—where you kept the small emergency charm you’d brought years ago. A star-shaped ward, woven from soft threads and hardened under moonlight. A minor protection charm, it was supposed to be. One you’d almost never needed.

But today...

Your fingers hovered near it.

And then, a voice. Calm. Male. Close enough to make your pulse jolt.

"Are you alright?"

You whirled around, startled—

—and met eyes with a man you didn’t recognize.

He stood a few feet behind you, hands in the pockets of a long dark coat. Older than you, but only just. Nineteen? Twenty, maybe. White hair. Blue eyes. A white mask hung loosely around his neck, and for some reason, your mind flashed briefly back to that man from days ago—also quiet, composed, dressed too formally.

You straightened. “I—sorry. I didn’t hear you.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. His voice was measured, polite. “You looked... anxious.”

You blinked. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

He looked at you for a moment longer. “Strange things seem to be happening lately,” he said conversationally. “It’s wise to be cautious.”

You gave a small, polite laugh, unsure why your skin prickled at the way he said wise.

“Yeah. Cautious is good,” you said, voice light. “Anyway, I should—get going. Dinner plans.”

You took a step back.

He didn’t follow.

Just inclined his head slightly. “Have a peaceful afternoon.”

You gave a stiff nod and hurried to the counter.

You didn’t glance back.

You paid for your things and stepped outside, blinking as the sunlight hit you full-force. The sky had deepened slightly—early evening clouds beginning to roll in—and the warmth on your skin felt like a sudden release.

You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders had been until they finally dropped.

You clutched the bag tightly as you walked, taking the long way again without thinking. You crossed an extra street just to give yourself more time in open air. More room. Less shadow.

The whole way home, you kept expecting to hear footsteps behind you.

But no one followed.

Not this time.

You stepped through the front door and closed it gently behind you, letting the sound of the latch clicking shut anchor you to something solid.

Safe. Inside. Home.

The rustle of the plastic bag in your hand seemed louder than usual as you slipped off your shoes and stepped onto the warm wood floors of the entryway. Your mom’s humming floated faintly from the kitchen, a soft melody you didn’t recognize—probably something she made up while stirring a pot. It should’ve comforted you.

It mostly did.

But not entirely.

You walked straight to the kitchen, dropping the bag onto the counter with a soft thump. “I got everything,” you said, trying to keep your voice normal.

Your mom turned from the stove, brushing a curl from her face with the back of her hand. “Perfect, sweetheart. Just in time. The Bakugos will be here in about thirty minutes. Can you go wash up?”

You nodded and offered her a quick smile, one that felt more like an echo than a real expression. “Sure.”

She didn’t press. Not yet.

You made your way to your room, the hallway feeling a little too long. The kind of long that only existed when you were stuck in your own head.

Once inside, you closed your door softly and let out the breath you’d been holding. Your shoulders slumped as you crossed to your bed and sat down heavily. The mattress dipped under your weight, creaking faintly. You set the bag down by your feet and stared at your hands.

You’d been gripping the plastic so tightly, your knuckles were stiff. Your palms still had faint red marks from the handles.

You flexed your fingers.

That man in the shop—he hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t followed you. His tone had been calm. Polite, even.

So why had your instincts been screaming?

You sat still for a long moment, letting your gaze drift to the window. The sky was dimming to a softer gold, the sunlight pooling on your bedroom floor like spilled honey. It should’ve felt cozy. But instead you kept thinking of how narrow the aisles had felt. How quiet it had been in there. How that voice had just... appeared behind you.

“Strange things seem to be happening lately.”

You shivered, arms wrapping around your middle. That phrase. It hadn’t just been conversational. It had felt pointed, like a comment aimed directly at you—like he knew something.

Maybe it was just your imagination. You’d been training so hard. You were more aware now. Hyper-alert, even. Between the spell overloads and recent close calls, maybe your brain was inventing threats where there weren’t any.

But still… it didn’t sit right.

You looked down at your hands again and let them rest on your lap, fingertips brushing the soft fabric of your clothes.

Focus, you told yourself. Ground yourself.

You glanced to the side of your room where a few of your training sketches were pinned to a corkboard. Notes in your own handwriting: Vega Crown stabilizer variations. The red ink star that marked the moment you’d finally landed Grand Chariot. The constellation diagrams you’d memorized so well, they lived behind your eyelids now.

You stood, slowly.

Walked to the mirror over your dresser.

Your reflection looked tired.

Not just physically. Something else. That slow-brewing kind of fatigue that lives behind the eyes.

You reached up to touch your earring—simple, delicate, with a soft glint—and paused halfway. The chill you felt at the shop drifted back over your shoulders like a breeze through an open window.

You dropped your hand.

Focus.

You went to wash up, moving slowly. The warm water helped, and when you looked at yourself again afterward, your face had a bit more color. Still quieter than usual. But steadier.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, your mom had already set the table.

“You okay?” she asked casually, glancing up as she stirred the pot again. “You looked a little pale earlier.”

You hesitated. Then offered her a small, honest shrug.

“Just… tired, I guess. Long week.”

She didn’t push further. Just smiled gently, eyes softening as she handed you a tray of dishes. “Well, you’re going to feel a lot better after this meal. It smells so good, even Katsuki’s going to have to admit it.”

You laughed at that—short and genuine—and felt something in your chest loosen.

And went upstairs to get dressed.

The aroma of simmering spices still clung to the air when your mom’s voice echoed up the staircase.

“Sweetheart! They’re here!”

You jolted slightly from where you’d been sitting on the edge of your bed, fingertips still grazing the edge of your sketchbook where you'd been idly redrawing the Lyra constellation. Your stomach flipped—not in fear, not really—but in that nervous anticipation you couldn’t quite shake.

You stood, smoothed out your clothes, and did a quick mental check.

Face washed. Hair fine. Clothes decent. Earring still in.

You exhaled and left your room.

As you padded down the stairs, you could already hear Katsuki Bakugo’s voice—a low, vaguely irritated mutter that still somehow managed to carry through walls. Your mother’s gentle, practiced hostess voice countered it like sugar against spice.

And then there was the unmistakable sound of her.

Mitsuki Bakugo’s laugh practically rattled the windows.

You rounded the corner into the living room and saw them: Mitsuki, arms flung wide as she laughed at something your mom had said; Masaru, smiling politely, a little hunched under the weight of his wife's energy; and Katsuki, standing awkwardly near the doorway, his hands shoved into the pockets of a nice hoodie that clearly wasn’t his first pick. His eyes snapped to you the second you stepped in.

For a split second, you both just stood there.

Then your mom clapped her hands together. “There she is! I swear, this girl would hole up in her room and train herself into the grave if I didn’t drag her down.”

Mitsuki raised a brow, giving you an appraising once-over. “That so? Guess I gotta thank her for sparing my gremlin long enough for dinner. Hey kid—” She turned her laser gaze to Katsuki. “Don’t just stand there. Say hi like a civilized person.”

Katsuki grunted. “Yeah, hey.”

You tried not to smile. “Hey.”

Your mom gently nudged your back. “Go ahead and take Katsuki up to your room for a bit until dinner’s ready.”

You blinked. “What?”

Mitsuki chimed in, “Yeah, go ‘hang out’ or whatever you kids call it. Just no funny business or I will sense it through the walls.”

You spluttered. “We’re not—!”

“Jeez, relax,” Katsuki snapped, cheeks already starting to tint red. “She’s the one makin’ it weird.”

But your mom and Mitsuki were already cackling together like old witches at a bonfire.

Masaru chuckled under his breath. “Let’s maybe ease up on the threats for now, huh?”

Katsuki groaned under his breath, jerking his chin toward the stairs. “C’mon.”

You followed him, heart still beating a little fast, the quiet thud of his boots on the steps in front of you grounding you in the moment.

Once you reached your room, he stepped inside first, paused, and glanced around.

“…Still looks the same,” he muttered.

You arched a brow. “What were you expecting, shrine walls covered in constellation maps?”

He turned and gave you a dry look. “No. Just… I dunno. More weird star shit or somethin’.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “They’re not weird. They’re intricate.”

“Tch.”

He flopped unceremoniously onto the beanbag near your desk, legs sprawling slightly. You remained standing for a second, watching the way his fingers fidgeted with a seam on his sleeve—then decided not to comment.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” he said suddenly, voice quieter than you expected.

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t look at you as he said it, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

You sat down slowly on the edge of your bed. “Thanks… I’ve been trying.”

“I know.” His jaw tensed. “I saw.”

You tilted your head slightly. “The last spar?”

He nodded once.

There was a pause—just long enough to stretch a little uncomfortably—before you said, “You’ve improved too.”

“I know,” he shot back quickly. “But… I’ve been watchin’ you train, you know?”

That surprised you. Is he the one you have been feeling? “You have?”

“Not like a creep or somethin’—just, when I run into you,” he muttered, flushing. “You’re… serious about it. You don’t half-ass it.”

You softened. “Neither do you.”

Katsuki shrugged. But the compliment clearly landed, because his posture relaxed by a millimeter.

There was a knock at the door—your mom, no doubt.

“Dinner’s ready!” she called.

Katsuki pushed himself up and dusted off his pants. “Let’s go before our moms get any more ideas.”

“Too late for that.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

As you headed back down, shoulder to shoulder, you felt a tiny shift between you both. Something just a little more comfortable. Less guarded.

The quiet beat between you held not tension, but something warmer. Something that just might have been the start of a real friendship again—after all the rough patches, fights, and unspoken apologies.

Your stomach rumbled quietly, and Katsuki smirked. “Hope your mom can cook as good as mine.”

You bumped him lightly with your shoulder. "Your mom taught my mom, remember?”

“…Shit. Right.”

You paused just outside the dining room archway, fingertips trailing the corner of the wall. Your mom’s laughter blended with Mitsuki’s louder cackle, the two of them already deep in conversation like old war generals reuniting after years apart. Their voices filled the house with ease, but you didn’t step forward yet.

You turned slightly, catching Katsuki’s profile beside you—hands shoved into his hoodie pockets again, jaw set in what looked like habitual irritation… but not anger. Just intensity. His foot tapped lightly against the floor, not impatient, but charged, like he was holding something back.

His words from earlier—"You’ve gotten stronger"—echoed in your head.

It wasn’t the kind of thing Katsuki Bakugo said lightly. Praise wasn’t in his vocabulary unless you earned it. You had. You knew you had. But hearing it from him felt… different. He hadn't needed to say it. He'd wanted to.

You glanced at him again, catching the faint crease in his brow. He wasn’t looking at you—he was staring somewhere just past the dining room threshold, expression unreadable.

“...You okay?” you asked.

He glanced over. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“I just—” he said, then stopped, shoulders rising like he was trying to shake something off. “Forget it.”

You raised a brow. “No, c’mon. What were you gonna say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, with a sigh like he was dragging the words out of his ribs, he muttered, “I’m not… great at this crap.”

“What, socializing?”

His eye twitched. “No.”

You tilted your head. “Then what?”

He hesitated again. “...Nothing, just drop it.”

That stilled you.

The silence between you lengthened, but this time, it was uncomfortable. It was fragile. Honest. Like if either of you spoke too fast, it would break apart.

His gaze met yours—sharp, searching. Like he was trying to say something more, but didn’t know how.

So instead, you said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He snorted softly. “You won’t be when my mom starts talking about baby photos.”

You laughed. “Yours or mine?”

“God, both probably.”

You smiled wider and let yourself lean back against the wall, letting the warmth of that moment fill your chest. The unease from the past few days—those strange lingering stares, the foreign energy at your training spot, the paranoia gripping you in quiet moments—faded just slightly.

Katsuki may not have been perfect. He might still have rough edges, sharp words, and that endless storm of competitive pride… but he was uniquely himself

“Let’s get in there,” you said, pushing off the wall.

“Right behind you,” he replied, but his voice was low, almost softer than it had any right to be.

You both turned and stepped through the archway. As your mothers lit up like Christmas trees at the sight of you together, you caught Katsuki glance sideways at you one last time, a subtle expression flickering across his face.

It wasn’t quite a smile.

But it was close.

As you and Bakugo stepped into the dining room, a quiet rhythm settled between you—like the hush before a storm, except warmer. Softer.

The table had already been set. Plates and cutlery neatly arranged, steam rising from a spread of home-cooked food. Your mom bustled between the kitchen and the table, her sleeves rolled up, cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of cooking. Mitsuki Bakugo sat at the table with a drink in hand and a smirk that spelled danger.

You hesitated by the doorway, fingers brushing your wrist as you cast a brief glance at Katsuki beside you.

He didn’t meet your eyes. His gaze flicked across the room, pausing for a fraction of a second on his mom, then on yours—then back to you.

You realized, not for the first time, how unreadable Bakugo could be when he chose to be. But there was something subtle in his posture now, something less defensive than usual. Not relaxed, exactly—but unguarded in a way that made your stomach do something odd.

He’d noticed your progress. He’d told you so.

He didn’t do things like that. Not unless he meant them.

You looked away quickly, brushing invisible dust from your sleeve, trying to focus on the smell of dinner and the warmth of the room and the tiny hum in your chest that didn’t quite settle.

“Come sit,” your mom said brightly. “Before it gets cold!”

You moved first, sitting beside her. Bakugo took the chair opposite you, arms crossed loosely as he slouched a little, like he always did when he didn’t want to seem like he cared too much. His foot tapped under the table.

Mitsuki raised a brow at the two of you as she sipped from her glass. “You both look like you just got caught doing something bad.”

“Mum—” you began, flushing immediately.

“What?” she asked innocently. “I’m just sayin’. Look at the two of you—guilty expressions, awkward silences. You’d think I walked in on you making out.”

Katsuki choked slightly. “WHAT THE FUCK?! No!”

Your mom blinked. “Katsuki. Language.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

You buried your face in your hands. “Can we not start this?”

“Fine, fine,” Mitsuki drawled, clearly enjoying herself. “Just teasing. Mostly.”

She and your mom shared a look—that mom look. That ancient, teasing, knowing look that communicated a thousand embarrassing assumptions without saying a word.

You peeked up at Bakugo. He looked like he was trying to disappear into the floor.

And yet… you kind of couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

It was the first time in days the air had felt a little lighter.

Plates clinked, food passed from hand to hand as the initial awkwardness began to fade under the comforting weight of a shared meal.

Your mom beamed as she ladled stew into Mitsuki’s bowl. “It’s been way too long since we did this. We used to cook together every week, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” Mitsuki said, grinning. “You were the only one who could get Katsuki to eat carrots without a fight.”

Bakugo gave an irritated grunt. “I was five.”

You snorted softly. “So what changed?”

He shot you a look, fork midair. “I like carrots now.”

“Do you, though?” you teased, pointing to the very untouched portion on his plate.

“Oi—!” he began, but your mom cut in.

“So,” she said, far too casually, “how’s training been for you both lately?”

Mitsuki leaned forward. “Yeah. Word on the street is you’ve been getting real intense with it.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Both of you,” Mitsuki clarified, nodding toward her son. “This one won’t shut up about quirks and explosions at home lately. I swear the damn laundry room smells like ozone.”

“I don’t—” Bakugo started, but your mom jumped in.

“You should see my girl,” she said proudly. “Out at the crack of dawn some days, flinging stars across the sky like fireworks. Half the time I worry she’s gonna burn herself out before the UA entrance exam even rolls around.”

“She’s got drive,” Mitsuki acknowledged. “And she’s got guts.”

You glanced down at your plate, trying not to flush. “I’ve still got a long way to go.”

Bakugo, of all people, spoke next. “Not that long.”

Everyone went still for a moment.

You looked up.

He wasn’t looking at anyone. Just stabbing a piece of carrot with more force than necessary.

You smiled faintly.

Mitsuki tilted her head at the two of you, smirking behind her glass.

Your mom chuckled. “They’re more alike than they think.”

Masaru spoke up gently for the first time. “It’s good. Having someone to train with. Keeps you both sharp.”

“Or at each other’s throats,” Mitsuki quipped.

You and Katsuki spoke at the same time:

“I don’t—”

“We’re not—”

A beat.

Then laughter erupted around the table again.

By the time the plates were cleared and dessert was served (your mom’s special super spicy buns that Katsuki secretly liked more than anything Mitsuki made), the tension had almost melted entirely.

The moms eventually drifted to the kitchen to gossip over tea, Masaru trailing behind to help clean up.

You and Katsuki sat back at the table, letting the sugar settle.

You glanced over at him. “Thanks for walking us home earlier that week.”

He grunted. “Tch. Not like I had a choice.”

You smiled. “Still. It was nice.”

A long pause.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “It kinda was.”

The front door closes behind the Bakugo family with a solid clunk, the sound of Mrs. Bakugo’s boisterous laughter still echoing faintly from the pavement as they head off down the street. You’re still standing awkwardly in the hallway, arms crossed and cheeks a little too warm for your liking. Your mom closes the door slowly, turns, and then—

“Oh sweetheart,” she sings, her grin wide and knowing, “it’s a good thing we have air conditioning, or your face might catch fire from how red you’ve been tonight.”

You groan, already turning to flee, but she isn’t done.

“Now tell me,” she continues, strolling back into the kitchen with a theatrical sigh. “Whose side am I supposed to be on now? Because I’m starting to lose track. First, there was Midoriya who kept nervously fixing his sleeves all through lunch those weeks ago like you were the sun incarnate”

You shuffle after her despite yourself, muttering, “It’s not like that.”

She ignores your protest with a knowing hum and continues listing names, holding up her fingers dramatically. “Then we’ve got Bakugo, the volcano next door who sat at your side like some sort of overly tense guard dog. And don’t think I didn’t notice how he kept trying to get the last word in whenever we spoke.”

You bury your face in your hands, muffling your voice. “Mom, please.”

“Oh, and then—” she snaps her fingers, as if just remembering, “Denki,  Blonde streaks, flirty smile, very catching. You came back from that outing with him practically glowing. Honestly if only i was as young as you starlight, the things i would change. You could have your own little harem of boys.” She claps her hands and points at you like it was a great suggestion.

You groan again, dropping your head on the kitchen counter. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

Your mom pours herself a cup of tea with a grin. “I can’t believe you’re this oblivious. At this point, I might start a betting pool. And judging by how Bakugo nearly melted when you passed him the rice bowl, I know who he’s rooting for.”

“Mom.”

She waves the kettle at you like a wand. “Sweetie, I’m just saying. You’ve got a lovely little league of boys all orbiting around you, and I’m here watching this romantic drama unfold like it’s the best prime-time show of the year. You better start taking notes so I can keep up. Eventually you're going to have too many boys and not enough days in the year. ”

You try to form a retort but end up just mumbling something incoherent into your arms. Your mom chuckles, a soft, affectionate sound, and reaches over to brush some of your hair back.

“In all seriousness,” she says more gently, “I’m proud of you. 

Her words settle quietly in the air between you, replacing the teasing with something warm and steady.

“…Thanks, Mom,” you murmur, finally lifting your head.

She smiles, eyes crinkling. “Now go get changed into your pajamas. Your face needs time to cool off.”

You laugh despite yourself, heart lighter than it had been when the evening started. You rise from your seat, heading upstairs, her voice chasing after you:

“Oh, and if Denki texts tonight, don’t stay up too late flirting!”

“MOM!”

She only cackles.

The house quiets slowly, but your thoughts don’t. As you change and settle into bed, the earlier tension—those uneasy feelings that someone’s been watching—return in the corners of your mind. But they’re momentarily pushed aside by the warmth of laughter, of companionship, and the distant memory of Bakugo’s awkward almost-smile at the door.

Still, as your eyes flutter shut, you can’t help but wonder—what race is your heart really running? And is someone—or something—else quietly waiting at the finish line?

The night outside is quiet.

But something is always watching.

A/N

Hope you enjoy this chapter and the mental distress our MC is going through, dont worry its all apart of the master plan.

P.S did you guess who that mystery man was at the shops and i wonder what he was doing there?

HAVE A GREAT DAY- Artemis

discord.gg/hKW2Gq9Hu3

Chapter 34: Shattered Constellations

Timeskip 5 months later

 

Kurono slouched beside Chisaki in his dark coat, eyes narrowed behind his mask. “You’re really gonna go through with it now?”

Chisaki’s gloved hands were tucked in his pockets, footsteps slow and deliberate as they walked through the edge of the city.

“She’s reached her potential,” Chisaki said quietly, voice filtered and calm beneath his plague mask. “The girl’s purity… the naivety. It’s not just her quirk that’s valuable. It’s her entire presence. The way people react to her.”

Kurono tilted his head. “So she’s bait.”

“No.” Chisaki’s tone sharpened. “She’s hope. And when we take that away, the world will see the truth.”

The quiet of the alley stretched out before them. And then, ahead — a silhouette. Just past the intersection. Familiar.

“It’s her,” Chisaki said, his voice laced with that unsettling calm.

Kurono sighed. “You always have the worst timing.”

The day had started quietly, and the cool wind weaving through the overcast sky seemed like a welcome break after weeks of intense training. You were heading home after picking up groceries, your bag crinkling with the weight of your mother's list. The streets were nearly empty, the world dull and grey — yet you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Not again.

Your pace quickened.

The sound of your shoes on the pavement echoed off the brick walls of the alley-lined street. Then, a sharp scrape. Another step that wasn’t yours. You stopped. So did they.

You turned.

Two men stood behind you at the mouth of a narrowing alley.

One tall and clad in black, a mask obscuring most of his face — Kurono but you didnt know that. His gaze was cold, unreadable.

The other, with a heavy coat, gloves and plague docter mask — Kai Chisaki. You didn’t know his name, but the sight of him turned your stomach. The same man from the shops with the all-knowing eyes and dark whispers. There was something calculated in his steps, something predatory in his posture. He looked like he was judging your very existence.

"You've got good instincts," Kurono said, voice dry like a knife scraping across glass.

"What do you want?" you asked, voice firm but heart racing.

Chisaki sighed, stepping forward, the sound of his shoes echoing far too loud. "It’s not about what we want. It’s about what you are. What you represent.”

Your grip on the grocery bag tightened. You could feel your Quirk pulsing under your skin — starlight stirring in your blood.

"I don’t know who you are exactly aside from men that i have seen and spoken to in shops, but you need to leave me alone.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “That’s the thing. You don’t know. You don’t understand your value.”

Kurono moved to block your retreat as Chisaki advanced slowly.

You activated Aquila Wings, starlight bursting behind you with a hiss of energy. “I’m warning you.”

“Then warn me,” Chisaki whispered a smirk crawling onto his face, not that you could see it.

You launched backward, wings flaring, a single flap sending you into the air. You tried Lepus Mirage, casting out three dazzling afterimages as you twisted toward the skyline of the alley — only for Kurono to whip out a short blade of compressed energy, slashing straight through the illusions.

Chisaki slammed a hand into the alley wall. The concrete exploded, debris flying as you twisted in the air to avoid it. You fired Orion Bow — a sharp trio of starlight arrows — only for Chisaki to rebuild the wall with a wave of his hand, as if reality bent to him.

He was manipulating matter. Deconstructing and reconstructing.

You spun and fired Carina Spear, launching it forward — it whistled with light and split the air. It hit his shoulder, almost, but Chisaki’s glove crumbled and rebuilt in an instant, mutating flesh and cloth in grotesque harmony.

"You're a bright one," Chisaki murmured. “But starlight burns out, eventually.”

He lunged.

You countered with Lyra Barrier, the rotating harp of sound catching the concussive slam of his hand against it. The shockwave rattled your bones — but you pushed through it. You flared your wings again, fired Altairis Barrage in tight succession, lighting up the alley with comet-trails of celestial force.

Still, he kept coming.

You were breathing hard now, your focus slipping. Sweat stung your eyes. You threw out Cassiopeia Line, a constellation net to bind him, but Chisaki let it strike, only to detonate the air around him with a single hand swipe, unraveling your light.

A cough. Your chest throbbed. You tried to retreat — but Kurono was suddenly behind you.

You turned—too late.

Chisaki was there, too close. His gloved hand grasped your wrist.

You screamed.

The pain was immediate.

Not searing. Not sharp. Not slicing. Destruction.

Bone, blood, muscle — your arm ceased to exist past the elbow.

Your screams echoed through the alley.

You stumbled back, crashing into crates, disoriented, mouth open in a silent scream now that the air was gone from your lungs.

Chisaki stepped forward and grabbed your shoulder.

"You're not like them," he said softly. "You're still clean. Untouched by their lies. This world doesn’t deserve you.”

"Stay... away..." you choked, tears blinding your vision.

But your body wasn’t listening anymore. You tried to summon Vega Crown — but the spell faltered, dimmed, blinking out like a dying star.

"You’ll be safer with us," Kurono muttered.

And you collapsed forward into darkness as the world fell away — stars gone, sky dark, pain all-encompassing.

The air inside the base was too sterile. Too clean. The scent of bleach and disinfectant hung heavy in the air, almost suffocating compared to the acrid stench of dust, blood, and broken pavement that still clung to her torn clothes. Every footstep Chisaki took echoed off whitewashed walls like a scalpel against porcelain—sharp, clinical, final.

You weren't walking anymore.

You couldn't.

One of his men—Kurono, that shadow of a man who had watched everything without lifting a finger—carried you. You had only woken up a couple of seconds ago, in agony and defeated. Slumped over his shoulder, body limp with shock and exhaustion, you barely made a sound. Not a whimper. Not a breath heavier than needed. The pain in you ruined arm had long passed the threshold of screaming; it had settled into something darker—an ache so deep it stole even the will to cry.

You blood had soaked through your jacket. It left a trail behind them. Dripping. A red breadcrumb path marking every corridor, every twist and turn into whatever hell you had been dragged into.

Chisaki walked ahead, gloves freshly replaced, his gold mask gleaming with a quiet finality under the fluorescent lights.

Kurono’s voice was low and unreadable. “Still alive. Barely.”

“Of course she is,” Chisaki replied without looking back. “I was precise.”

Kurono made a small sound—an acknowledgement or a judgment, it wasn’t clear. He set you gently on the metal exam table at the center of the sterile operating room. Your good hand twitched against the cool surface, the only sign of life.

Your destroyed arm… wasn’t even there anymore. Chisaki had obliterated it with a single touch. One second it was part of you—alive, real, yours—and the next, it had dissolved into ash and air. The shock of that moment still hadn’t caught up to you fully. It hovered, just beyond the veil of your awareness, waiting to pounce.

You couldn’t stop shaking.

Your eyes, wide and unblinking, stared up at the buzzing ceiling light.

No words. Not even when Chisaki approached again.

Not even when he touched your jaw and turned your face toward him with a clinical detachment, as if inspecting a lab rat after a vivisection.

“So fragile,” he murmured, voice smooth and low. “It’s a shame you were born into this society.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away.

“Look what it did to you. All that idealism, all that purity, trying to shine in a world full of rot… and it devoured you. You wanted nothing more than to be a hero. 

His thumb brushed away a smudge of dirt and blood from your cheek like a caretaker tending to a child.

“You thought kindness and heroes would protect you.” He tilted his head. “How naïve.”

Finally—finally—your lips parted. Not to scream. Not to sob.

“…why…”

A single, breathless whisper.

Chisaki didn’t answer.

Instead, he turned away and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. The snap of rubber echoed in the hollow chamber.

 

DUH, DUH, DUUUHHH!!!

Whats going to happen?

Just to let everyone know in the next 3 or 4 chapters the UA entrance exam is going to happen, sorry it was taking a while to get there but i was debating how to write it, i had to rewatch the episode around 4-5 times to try and make a chapter.

Anyway, let me know what you thought, part two coming tomorrow or monday and sorry this chapter is short.

Have a great day- Artemis

discord.gg/TbyGpMHuEv