Chapter Text
By the time the last passenger was accounted for, the beach no longer felt like the edge of a disaster. Lights still flashed farther down the shore, red and blue bleeding across wet sand, but the shouting had thinned into something manageable. Stretchers moved at a walking pace now. Names were checked off. Blankets were draped over shoulders. Someone pressed bottled water into shaking hands as if that alone could finish the job.
Izuku stood with his shoes dangling from one hand, toes dug into the sand, and watched it all settle. He hadn’t realized how loud everything had been until it wasn’t.
The Starfish moved through the responders with easy confidence, exchanging quick words, clapping shoulders, thanking people like it was routine. When he reached Izuku, he paused just long enough to meet his eyes. “Good work,” he said simply. “All of you. You responded better than a lot of heroes I’ve worked with. I’m assuming you’re going for a hero school?” He didn’t wait for a response, continuing his speech. “The worlds gonna be in good hands, I can tell.” Then he was gone again, already turning back to the scene.
Katsuki paced a shallow line near the water, boots scuffing damp sand. He hadn’t stopped moving since they’d come ashore, energy still buzzing under his skin. Not angry. Just wound tight, like a fuse that hadn’t finished burning.
Ochako sat on a cooler someone had dragged up from the tide line, wrapped in a towel that did very little to hide how exhausted she was. Her shoulders sagged now that she didn’t have to hold anyone afloat. When Izuku glanced her way, she smiled anyway—small, steady, reassuring him when she probably shouldn’t have had to.
Feo Ul hovered near Izuku’s shoulder, wings still, eyes sharp. They was not watching the rescue. That part was done. They was watching the people. The way responders’ gazes slid toward them and then away. The way one officer hesitated before addressing them, then visibly recalibrated when they answered him directly.
“Yes. My name is Feo Ul.”
“Yes, I am sentient.”
“Yes, I assisted in the rescue.”
They catalogued reactions as they happened—curiosity, acceptance, discomfort—filed them away, and moved on. The world was learning. Slowly, but it was learning.
When the questions turned back to the others, Feo Ul drifted away from Izuku and settled lightly on the edge of the cooler beside Ochako. The towel stirred in their wake. “You did well, Tiny Comet,” they said softly.
Ochako blinked, then let out a small, breathless laugh. “I was just… getting people out of the water for Katsuki.”
“Yes,” Feo Ul agreed. “That is much more impressive and important than you make it sound. You did wonderfully.”
Katsuki stalked past them, scowl aimed at nothing in particular. Feo Ul reached out as he passed and flicked the back of his wrist—just enough to make him stop. “Breathe, my Sparkling,” they murmured. “You are allowed to stop moving now. They’re all safe. One of the EMT’s said there were no fatalities, and no major casualties because of your quick thinking.” He huffed, shoulders jerking once, but he did stop. Just for a second. Then another.
Police statements came next. Routine questions. Where were you standing? What did you see first? Did you notice anyone fall overboard? Izuku answered automatically, voice steady even as his thoughts lagged behind. Positions. Timing. Actions.
Feo Ul stayed close while he spoke—not hovering, just present. When he stumbled over a word, they supplied it quietly. When an officer glanced between them, they met the look calmly and waited. By the time they were cleared to leave, the sky had darkened into a bruised purple, the air heavy with salt and cooling pavement.
The walk back to the beach house was quiet. Inside, the lights were already on. Takeout cartons crowded the counter, cold from last night. Katsuki kicked his shoes off by the door and went straight to the sink. Ochako collapsed onto the couch with a soft, boneless sound and didn’t move again. Izuku lingered in the doorway. Only then did his hands start to shake. Feo Ul noticed immediately. They always did. They drifted close enough that their presence brushed his sleeve, grounding without crowding.
“You are safe, my Sapling,” they said, not as praise, but as fact. “You did wonderfully, and no one was lost because of it.”
He nodded.
Take out arrived, and they ate in near silence. No one pushed conversation. No one needed to. Later, as the house settled and the ocean murmured beyond the open windows, sleep took them one by one—heavy and unresistable, a cuddle pile on the living room floor.
Feo Ul remained awake a little longer, perched on the back of the couch, wings folded neatly. They watched their saplings breathe, counted the steady rise and fall of their chests, and listened to the world outside continue as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all.
***
It was early the next morning when someone knocked on the door. Not sharp. Not demanding. Just a solid, uncertain knock, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure they were welcome but figured they ought to try anyway.
Katsuki glanced up from the counter. Ochako shifted under her blanket, eyes sleepy as she turned to see what was going on. Izuku paused mid-sip. Feo Ul tilted their head.
“Oh,” they said mildly. “We have acquired a visitor.”
Izuku set his drink down and went to answer.
The boy on the other side of the door stood squarely, feet planted like he was bracing against something that wasn’t there anymore. Red hair, spiked and wind-tousled. Broad shoulders wrapped in a borrowed hoodie. One hand still bore a faint red mark, like he’d been gripping something hard for longer than was comfortable.
“Hey,” he said. “Uh. Sorry to bother you. I was—” He stopped, then tried again. “You guys were at the rescue, right?”
Izuku blinked, then nodded. “Yeah.”
The boy let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “Okay. Good. I thought so.”
Katsuki appeared at Izuku’s shoulder, eyes sharp, assessing. Ochako pushed herself upright, curiosity lighting her face.
“I’m Kirishima,” the boy said quickly. “Kirishima Eijiro. I was down on the sand. When the boat went over.” His jaw tightened, just a little. “The guy tried to make a run for it. Thought he could slip out while everyone was focused on the water.” He lifted his hand, flexed it. “There was a busted pipe sticking out of one of the beach barriers, so I just… kinda planted myself there.”
Feo Ul drifted closer, interest sharpening.
“And did he escape?” they asked.
Kirishima shook his head, a grin breaking through. “Nope. Not a chance. He wasn’t getting past me.” Something about the way he said it wasn’t boastful. Just certain.
Izuku stepped aside. “Did you want to come in? We’re about to make breakfast.”
Kirishima hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Inside, he glanced around once, then his gaze snapped back to the three of them, something clicking into place almost immediately. His eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out. “Man,” he said. “You guys are a super manly team.”
There was a beat. Katsuki puffed up instantly. “Damn right.”
Izuku laughed, surprised by how easy it felt.
Ochako tilted her head, brows knitting. “…Manly?”
Kirishima froze. “Oh—! I mean—sorry, I didn’t—”
Feo Ul waved a hand, delighted. “Please,” they said. “Continue. I am very interested.”
Kirishima straightened, visibly relieved to be allowed to explain. “No, okay. So—manly isn’t, like, a gender thing. It’s a mindset.” He gestured vaguely, then steadied himself. “It’s honor. Courage when you’re scared. Standing your ground when backing down would be easier.” He glanced at Ochako, then Katsuki, then Izuku. “It’s not letting someone hurt people who can’t fight back. Even if it means you’re gonna take the hit yourself. Especially then.”
The room went quiet.
Ochako looked down at her hands, then nodded slowly. “…Okay. Yeah. I can get behind that.”
Katsuki crossed his arms, smirk sharp but approving. “You’ve got decent instincts, Pipe Guy.”
Kirishima laughed, unbothered. “I’ll take it!”
Izuku felt something settle in his chest, warm and solid. Recognition, more than pride.
Feo Ul smiled, wings fluttering once. “Well,” they said, “it appears you defended your post admirably. A very manly application of leverage and resolve.” Kirishima blinked, then beamed. “Thanks! Uh—ma’am?”
***
The rest of the week blurred together gently.
Sun and salt and the quiet uncoiling of tension none of them had quite named. Meals drifted in and out of focus. Sand stayed everywhere no matter how often Katsuki swept. Laughter came easier, less guarded.
One evening, the living room glowed blue with the light of the television.
Kirishima and Ochako sat side by side on the couch, knees almost touching, a single oversized bowl of popcorn balanced between them. Every time one of them shifted, the kernels rustled, and they both laughed under their breath like they’d been caught doing something illicit.
Izuku hovered near the doorway with a drink, pretending not to watch. Katsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, absolutely watching.
On the screen, the crowd roared as two wrestlers squared off in the ring.
“Okay, okay,” Kirishima said, pointing. “That’s Shining Shogun Takeshi. He’s my favorite.”
Ochako nodded, eyes bright. “He looks really strong.”
“He is,” Kirishima said, grinning. “But smart strong. Watch his footwork.”
The other wrestler stepped into frame, imposing and theatrical, face painted dark, movements heavy and deliberate. The mask was modeled to look like an old japanese demon. “Ooooh,” Ochako breathed. “He’s so scary.”
“That’s the Black Oni,” Kirishima said, suddenly leaning forward. “No one knows who’s under the mask yet.”
The bell rang. They fell silent together as the match unfolded, reacting in unison to every hit and near-miss. Ochako gasped when Takeshi was driven into the corner. Kirishima hissed through his teeth when the Oni absorbed a blow that should have dropped him.
Popcorn sat forgotten as the pace quickened.
“Come on,” Kirishima muttered. “Get up. Get up—”
Takeshi staggered, barely keeping his footing as the Oni pressed in, relentless. The crowd noise swelled, tension coiling tight.
Ochako’s hand clenched reflexively in the popcorn bowl. “He’s not done,” she said, almost pleading.
Then—an opening.
Takeshi moved.
The world seemed to tilt as he hooked the Oni’s arm, twisted, lifting him vertically over his head in a textbook vertical suplex and slammed him down into the mat with bone-rattling force, before spinning over him, trapping his arm behind his back and pinning him down.
“OH! IT’S THE SHINING SHOGUN SLAM!” the announcer screamed.
Kirishima and Ochako jumped to their feet at the same time.
“Yes!” Kirishima shouted.
“He did it!” Ochako yelled, laughing as popcorn went everywhere, bouncing off the couch and skittering across the floor.
The referee slid into place.
“One! Two! Three!” The bell rang. On screen, Takeshi stood there breathing hard as the Black Oni lay still, the mask cracked, paint smeared. The crowd’s roar shifted, confused, expectant. The Oni stirred. With struggling, tight movements, he sat up. Then convulsed, back arching, body contorting until he stood straight up, head tilted back as a black mist was expelled from his mouth up into the air. The arena stood still, and the Black Oni sank to his knees. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached for his mask.
Ochako froze. “Wait—”
The mask came off.
The arena exploded.
Kirishima sucked in a sharp breath. “No way.”
On the screen, the man underneath looked nothing like the monster he’d been moments before. Familiar. Vulnerable. The announcers were shouting over each other now, scrambling.
“Who is that?” Ochako asked, completely absorbed.
“Blue Ronin Hideki,” Kirishima finished softly. “That’s Takeshi’s brother. Everyone thought he retired a year and a half ago, cause he just stopped showing up.”
They stood there, popcorn forgotten, watching as Takeshi crossed the ring and pulled his brother into a fierce, shaking hug. The crowd thundered approval, chanting as if they’d been holding their breath the whole match.
Ochako laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Oh my god. That’s—”
“Manly,” Kirishima said, voice thick with awe.
She nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”
Behind them, Katsuki clicked his tongue and glanced at the popcorn everywhere. “You’re cleaning that up.”
Izuku smiled, warm and quiet.
Feo Ul hovered above the couch, wings flickering as they took in the scene: the shared bowl, the shared shock, the shared joy. “Ah,” they said thoughtfully. “Who knew ritual combat could be so compelling?”
They glanced at Ochako and Kirishima, still buzzing with adrenaline.
“A most effective bonding exercise.”
The night wound down from there, easy and unhurried, the house settling back into its borrowed rhythm.
***
The last morning was all chaos.
Cleaning supplies came out. Windows were opened. Towels got shaken free of sand and hung wherever they would fit. Katsuki took over the kitchen with the intensity of a military operation, muttering about people who didn’t rinse things properly. Kirishima helped enthusiastically and incorrectly. Ochako wiped down surfaces and kept finding forgotten cups in odd places. Izuku gathered trash, checked rooms, counted keys twice.
Feo Ul supervised from the ceiling, offering commentary on human rental rituals and reminding them, pointedly, that yes, the couch cushions mattered. When it was done, the house looked the way it had when they arrived.
They stood on the porch with bags at their feet while Izuku keyed in the lockbox code. The keys went in. The lid clicked shut. That was that.
Phones came out next. Numbers were exchanged without fuss. Names already saved. Kirishima added a star next to all of theirs. Ochako pretended not to notice and then did the same. Katsuki rolled his eyes and made sure the contact saved anyway. Then one bike taxi trip later, it was over.
Izuku and Katsuki boarded the train back toward Musutafu. Ochako waved from farther down the platform, her line heading up the coast. Kirishima shouldered his bag and headed the other way, bound for Chiba City.
No big speeches. Just nods, quick grins, and a promise to text that everyone knew would be kept.
***
The envelope was waiting on the table when Izuku woke the next day. It was heavier than it had any right to be, thick with paper and something denser than that besides. Feo Ul hovered above it, wings humming softly, hands clasped behind their back with barely contained anticipation.
“Sapling,” they said brightly. “The appointed hour has passed. The truth arrives.”
Izuku set his bag down and stared at the envelope for a moment longer than necessary. This was a big moment. Everyone would be opening theirs now, wherever they were. He broke the seal. The silver holo-disk slid free, struck the table once, and flared to life.
Aizawa’s image resolved first, hair tied back, expression flat and uncompromising. Nezu perched beside him, eyes bright with interest.
“Midoriya Izuku,” Aizawa said. “Your entrance exam results have been finalized.”
Nezu folded his paws together. “This year’s applicant pool performed at an unusually high level. Rankings at the top were extremely close.”
Aizawa continued without pause. “First and second place were separated by a single point. Third place followed twenty points behind. The remainder of the top ten fell within a narrow spread.”
Light unfolded in the air.
Not a class list.
A ranked board.
At the top:
1. Midoriya Izuku — 138 points
Combat: 78 Rescue: 60
Izuku’s breath left him slowly. Seeing it displayed like this carried a different weight than hearing it spoken.
Just beneath:
2. Bakugo Katsuki — 137 points
Combat: 97 Rescue: 40
One point. That felt right.
3. Uraraka Ochako — 118 points
Combat: 40 Rescue: 78
Izuku smiled, small and involuntary.
His eyes kept moving, not searching, just reading, and then paused.
5. Kirishima Eijiro — 89 points
Combat: 45 Rescue: 44
The list continued, names he didn’t recognize, scores tapering gradually rather than falling off. Strong performances. People who had done well, even if they wouldn’t all end up in the same lecture hall.
Aizawa’s voice cut back in. “These rankings do not correspond directly to class placement. Recommendation students and specialty admits are assessed separately.”
Nezu smiled, just a little wider, holding his paw towards the camera. “Welcome to your Hero Academia, young Midoriya, and you as well, Feo Ul.”
The projection dimmed. The board vanished. The disk went inert.
Izuku sat there for a long moment, hands resting flat on the table, the quiet pressing in around him.
Feo Ul drifted down beside him, peering at the empty air where the rankings had been. “Oh, my Sapling shines brightest amongst so many brightly shining stars! A glorious day indeed!” Then after a moment. “I do appreciate that he also invited me. It is nice to be recognized.”
Outside, a car passed. Somewhere down the street, someone laughed. The world kept moving, unchanged by the numbers that had just rearranged his future.
***
The days after the results didn’t rush. They moved at a sedate, relaxed pace, like the universe was acknowledging that they’d done it, and they deserved a break.
Messages came and went in uneven clusters. Izuku read more than he typed, letting plans for a Tokyo weekend take shape without needing his constant input. Feo Ul hovered nearby, occasionally commenting on the inefficiency of human calendars.
He really did enjoy the match between Shining Shogun Takeshi and Blue Ronin Hideki, facing off against the Spirit of the Black Oni. The title match between Sadako and White Oracle was pretty good too. He did get a little (a lot) excited when he recognized Miruko across the ring. It was all he could talk about for a few days.
Over the next week, his room changed gradually.
Books were sorted, then resorted. Clothes folded, unfolded, and folded again. Things he’d thought were essential were set aside. Things he’d forgotten about found their way into boxes. The space thinned out without ever quite feeling empty.
There were errands. Paperwork. Forms he read twice before signing. A quiet visit to the tailor for measurements. A list taped to the wall that got shorter day by day.
Katsuki checked in once, briefly, to confirm move-in day and nothing else. Ochako sent a picture of her room, filled with boxes. Kirishima asked if dorm beds were usually sturdy. Then, suddenly, it was time.
The morning of move-in came clear and bright.
Izuku locked the door behind him, keys heavier in his hand than they had ever been before, and stepped into the street with his bag over his shoulder. At the gates of U.A., Katsuki was already there, leaning against the rail, one strap of his bag slung over his shoulder, expression set like he’d been waiting for something to start for a long time.
“You ready?” Katsuki asked.
Izuku glanced up at the campus beyond the gates, then back at him.
“Yeah,” he said.
***
The building assigned to Heroics Track 1-A rose clean and modern against the morning sky, glass and steel catching the light in a way that felt more corporate headquarters than student housing. Izuku slowed as they approached, craning his neck despite himself. Katsuki didn’t. He just snorted. “Of course they’d go all out.”
Feo Ul drifted higher, wings humming faintly as they surveyed the structure. “The edifice is impressive, but the building was definitely designed for function over form,” they said. “This is…” they trailed off, not sure what to say about the squared glass and concrete structures.
Izuku and Katsuki checked in quickly. Being locals helped. No flustered parents, no luggage towers, just carts, keycards, and a smooth handoff that suggested UA had been doing this a long time.
The first surprise came with the room assignments. Izuku stared at the tablet, then read it again. “…Co-ed?”
Katsuki leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Huh.”
Feo Ul smiled, sharp and knowing. “Ah.”
They took the elevator up together, silence stretching just long enough to become awkward. The doors opened onto a bright hallway with wide windows and clean lines. West wing. Top floor. Izuku’s room was on the left.
Katsuki’s on the right.
And between them, Ochako’s.
Izuku laughed, startled. Katsuki barked out a sound that might have been amusement.
Feo Ul inhaled deeply, then exhaled through their nose. “Oh, I smell it,” they said. “Administrative fingers all over this.”
“You think this was on purpose?” Izuku asked.
They hummed. “I would stake a crown on it, Sapling. This was the dean’s work.”
They’d barely set their bags down when Ochako arrived, wheeling a cart piled with boxes, hair pulled back, eyes bright with a mix of nerves and excitement.
They stopped short when they saw the doors. “…No way.” Izuku grinned. Katsuki was already reaching for the top box.
Katsuki took the heavy stuff. Izuku grabbed what he could carry comfortably. Ochako unlocked her door, stepping aside to let them in like this was the most natural arrangement in the world. They moved easily around one another, passing boxes, commenting on room size, on the view, on how absurdly nice the building was. There was laughter, quiet touches, comfort born of familiarity rather than performance.
Feo Ul hovered in the doorway, watching it all with a satisfied tilt of their head. “Yes,” they murmured. “Very deliberate.”
***
The common area was impossible to ignore. It stretched across most of the ground floor, ceilings high, furniture modular and expensive, walls designed to absorb sound without killing it. Screens, consoles, tables meant for both studying and loitering. A space meant to be lived in.
People were already there when the trio arrived.
Some in clusters, some alone, some mid-conversation.
Izuku spotted Melissa Shield almost immediately. “Melissa,” he said, lifting a hand.
She turned, surprised, then smiled. “Hey. It’s good to see you all again! Congrats on the three top spots!”
Ochako looked around. “Where’s Mei?”
Melissa opened her mouth—
Thump. “…Uh oh.” Bang.
A door at the far end of the common room burst open, and Mei Hatsume spilled halfway out, goggles askew, hair wild, smoke curling lazily from somewhere behind her.
“HI,” she said brightly, waving at the room at large. “EVERYONE’S ALIVE, SO THAT’S A WIN.”
She caught sight of Izuku and beamed. “Oh hey! Greenie! CAN YOU SHOW ME YOUR BARRIER NOW?”
Izuku stuttered for a half a second, before Melissa piped in.
“Mei, what have we talked about?”
A pause… then, “We don’t treat people like experimental components.”
Then, without waiting for an answer of any kind, she vanished back inside. The door slammed shut.
Silence lingered for a beat.
Melissa sighed. “That’s our workshop.”
“Your what?” someone, a guy with blond hair with a black lightning bolt streak, asked.
“Workshop and lab. Purpose-built,” Melissa said. “Support and Heroics. Uh, I’m a dual major.” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “Please don’t go in there unless you want to sign paperwork.”
That settled that. The loose clusters shifted, drawing closer without anyone calling for it.
“Guess I’ll go,” the blonde with the streak said said, raising a hand. “Kaminari Denki. My quirk is Electrification. I generate electricity.”
“You overload things,” a girl with violet hair, and aux cords for earlobes said.
He grinned. “Sometimes. Not as much as when I was in highschool.”
The violette straightened slightly. “Jirou Kyoka. My quirk is Earphone Jack.” She tugged one of the jacks hanging from her earlobe. “I can plug into objects and channel my heartbeat through them.”
A pinkskinned woman with short horns leaned over the back of a couch, eyes bright as she looked around. “Hi! I’m Mina Ashido. My quirk is Acid. I can control how corrosive it is, the viscosity, and its solubility.” Her gaze flicked to Kirishima. “Nice to see you Kiri! The beach looks good on you!”
Kirishima laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I’m Kirishima Eijiro. My quirk is Hardening. Basically makes me a tank like no other!”
A tall boy with glasses stepped forward, posture precise. “Greetings and salutations! I am Iida Tenya. My quirk is Engine. I hope to uphold my family hopnor, and stand proudly side by side—”
“Kero.” A girl with long dark hair raised two fingers, cutting off what seemed to be a long winded speech from Iida. “Asui Tsuyu. My quirk is Frog. I can do most things a frog can do.”
Next was the shortest member of the class. He leaned forward eagerly. “Mineta Minoru. My quirk is Pop Off. I can pull these balls off my head, and they stick to everything except me. They work better after a healthy dump.” The girls near him scooted away, creeped out by his staring and oversharing.
Near the wall, a young man with a black feathered bird head nodded softly. “I am called Tokoyami Fumikage. My quirk is Dark Shadow. May we all revel in the darkness.”
A gorgeous woman with long black hair stepped forward next, hands folded neatly. “Yaoyorozu Momo. My quirk is Creation.” She nodded politely toward another student. “It’s good to see you again, Todoroki.”
The man in question, his hair split between red and white, inclined his head to her first. “Yaoyorozu.” Then he turned to the room. “Todoroki Shoto. My quirk is Half-Cold Half-Hot.”
Next was a man with large, strangely proportioned elbows. He lifted a hand from where he was lounging, scrolling on his phone. “Sero Hanta. My quirk is Tape.”
Ochako waved. “Uraraka Ochako. My quirk is Zero Gravity.”
“Bakugo Katsuki,” Katsuki said flatly. “Explosion.”
Izuku took a breath. “Midoriya Izuku. My quirk is Aetherpact. It gives me a sentient quirk partner, and a host of other abilities based around a unique energy I generate, called Aether.”
Feo Ul drifted slightly forward, wings rustling softly. “I’m Feo Ul.”
Mina squee’d. “I’ve never seen a mutation quirk like yours! You’re so cute!”
Feo Ul laughed while Izuku rubbed his head sheepishly. “Uh, sorry, I thought it was evident. Feo Ul is my quirk partner.”
A girl shimmered into view nearby, waving cheerfully. “Wow! That’s actually really amazing!” she said, before suddenly vanishing again, “Right! Hi! I’m Hagakure Toru. My quirk is Invisibility. I’ve been practicing turning it on and off.”
Mina’s gaze had drifted back to the trio without her noticing. She blinked. Midoriya and Katsuki were holding hands on the back of the couch, and Uraraka was laying across both their laps, far too comfortable. Then it clicked. “Oh,” she said, quietly. “You’re a polycule.”
The room went quiet.
Mina’s eyes widened. “Oh—! Sorry. That just—came out. I thought I was quieter than that...”
Ochako laughed softly. “It’s okay.”
Tsuyu looked at the three of them again. “I tend to speak my mind,” she said calmly. “You’re hot. Together, you’re hotter.”
Something in the room tightened.
Mineta went rigid. Dark red tears spilled from his eyes as his face twisted with frustration. “IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME.” He dropped to his knees, fists clenched.
At the edge of the room, Tokoyami stiffened. “Oh?” Dark Shadow murmured, sliding free of his shadow, wings unfolding lazily as she took in the charged air. “That’s… really cool. So, like, how did you meet?”
“Dark Shadow,” Tokoyami said quietly.
She leaned closer anyway, eyes bright. “What? Its probably juicy, and I wanna know, Fumi!” Feo Ul smiled. “You’re quite different.” Dark Shadow studied them for a long moment, then grinned. “You too! I like you.”
Tokoyami sighed. “Please don’t encourage her.”
“I see it is finally time for moi to shine!” The voice belonged to a blonde man, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest, the other glittering as it caught the light. His smile was radiant, practiced, unapologetic. “Aoyama Yuga,” he announced. “My quirk is Navel Laser. I shine, therefore I am.” He struck a pose. No one stopped him.
In the corner of the room, some one shifted. “Um,” came a quiet voice. “Koda Koji. My quirk is Anivoice.” He didn’t stand. He didn’t look up. He was holding a rabbit against his chest, large, white, and remarkably calm.
Iida straightened immediately. “Excuse me,” he said, chopping the air with one hand. “Animals are not permitted in—”
The rabbit turned its head. It looked at Iida. Then, very deliberately, it stuck out its tongue. “Nerd.”
Koda flinched. “S-sorry. I have a support license. For quirked animals. This is Yuwai-chan.”
The rabbit thumped once, proud. “Hi! My name Yuwai!”
“And,” Koda added softly, “he’s… very smart.”
Feo Ul drifted closer, eyes bright. “How smart?”
Koda hesitated. “Like… around the level of a three year old? And he’ll get smarter.”
The rabbit nodded. "Am smart!"
Iida froze, recalculating. “…I see. Then. Please forgive the interruption.”
He bowed.
Koda relaxed by a fraction.
Near the window, a grey haired teen sat alone at a table, six-armed and utterly unconcerned with the room’s energy. Three sudoku puzzles lay before him, nearly complete. He didn’t look up. One arm raised up, an eye on the end, before it switched to a mouth with a small squelch. “Shoji Mezo,” it said calmly. “My quirk is Dupli-Arms.”
A pen moved. A number was filled in.
Across the room, a large, muscular man in an apron smiled sheepishly, holding up a tray. “Sato Rikido. My quirk is Sugar Rush. I made macarons.”
Kirishima’s eyes lit up. “That’s manly.”
Sato beamed.
Melissa glanced toward the workshop door as it thudded again. “For the record,” she added evenly, “Mei’s support track. She just stays close to me. Its a comfort thing, part of our routine.”
“Routine is a wonderfully grounding factor for those like her,” Feo Ul said approvingly.
Mei’s voice echoed faintly from behind the door. “I HEARD THAT AND I AGREE.”
***
Morning came faster than expected.
Izuku was halfway through pulling on his jacket when Feo Ul froze midair, wings twitching. “Oh,” they said, sharply pleased. “We are behind. I can help!”
Katsuki glanced at the clock and swore under his breath. Ochako groaned, burying her face briefly in her hands.
“I knew I should’ve set two alarms,” Ochako muttered.
“No time,” Feo Ul said, already moving. They darted down the hall toward the kitchenette at the end of the floor, motion crisp and purposeful. Izuku, Katsuki, and Ochako followed out of reflex, skidding to a stop as Feo Ul went to work.
The toaster clicked down.
The kettle hissed.
Three mugs floated up from the rack, aligned neatly in the air. Coffee crystals measured themselves. Water poured without spilling a drop.
Feo Ul hummed, pleased, multitasking with ease.
“My Sparkling,” they said, nudging a mug toward Katsuki the moment it was filled. “Strong, and black. No sugar. A dash of cayenne for that kick you like.”
“Fuck yeah,” Katsuki said, already taking it.
“Tiny Comet,” they continued, sliding a mug and two pieces of toast toward Ochako. “Sugar and cream. Eat the toast, it has jam.”
Ochako blinked, then smiled. “Thanks.”
Finally, they turned to Izuku, hovering close as they passed him his mug and toast. “Sapling. Drink. Carefully, but quickly.”
He did, warmth grounding him immediately.
By the time Izuku noticed they weren’t alone, it was already too late.
Half the dorm had stopped. Students stood frozen with bags half-shouldered, watching the scene unfold with open disbelief. A quirk that cooked. That planned. That prioritized. That noticed.
Kaminari’s jaw hung open. “Is— is that allowed?”
Jirou stared, jacks twitching slightly. “That’s fucking cool.”
Melissa watched with open interest, eyes flicking between Feo Ul’s movements and the appliances they never touched directly. She’d known about Feo Ul’s independence, but wasn’t aware of the degree. It was absolutely fascinating. The manipulation of the area and items around them was something else too.
Feo Ul glanced up at them, unbothered. “We are running even later now,” they observed, urgently. “Eat and go!” No one argued.
They joined the flow of students heading down through the building, the energy different from the night before. Less loose. More intent. Bags slung over shoulders. Conversations clipped and speculative.
***
The lecture hall assigned to Heroics Track 1-A was large, tiered, and already filling when they arrived. No uniformed seating. No assigned rows. People spread out instinctively, gravitating toward familiar faces or claiming space where it felt right.
Izuku slid into a seat with Katsuki on one side and Ochako on the other. Around them, the class settled in with a low murmur of voices. Jirou dropped into a seat a few rows down, stretching. Mina leaned across the aisle to say something to Kirishima that made him laugh. Tokoyami sat straight-backed near the wall, shadow pooled quietly at his feet.
Feo Ul drifted slowly along the aisle, eyes bright, taking everything in.
Then they stopped. Their wings stilled. “Oh,” they said softly.
Izuku glanced up. “What is it?”
“Sapling,” Feo Ul murmured, drifting closer to Izuku. “Tiny Comet. Sparkling.” They all stiffened, almost imperceptibly. “Something approaches.”
They glanced at each other and took their seats, setting their badges into the slots in the surface. Classmates around them noticed them and began to follow suit.
They were only halfway settled when the feel of the room changed.
Not abruptly. Not loudly.
A soft, irregular rasp echoed through the room, like fabric being pulled against concrete in the wrong way. Heads turned in stages. Conversation thinned, then stopped altogether.
From the open doorway at the front of the lecture hall, a shape began to crawl inside. It was a sleeping bag. Not folded. Not carried. It moved under its own momentum, bunching and unbunching as it inched forward, lumpy and misshapen, like a caterpillar that had no business existing indoors. The fabric scraped against the floor as it advanced, slow and deliberate.
Someone near the back swallowed audibly.
The sleeping bag reached the center aisle and stopped.
Then it shifted.
A zipper opened partway. A tired eye appeared, bloodshot and unimpressed, scanning the room with surgical disinterest.
A man unfolded himself from within the bag with minimal effort, rising just enough to sit. Unwashed hair hung loose around his face. A scarf was already wrapped at his neck.
No introduction. No greeting. Just a long, measuring stare that made the air feel heavier by the second.
Izuku felt it immediately. The pressure at the edge of his awareness sharpened, like someone testing a blade.
Feo Ul went very still. “Oh,” they murmured, delighted and wary all at once. “That one watches.”
Aizawa’s gaze swept the room again. Chairs creaked as students straightened unconsciously. Conversations died without being asked to.
Finally, he spoke.
“You took five seconds to get settled down.” he said flatly, though his eyes flicked to the clock with obvious indifference. “Not the worst I’ve seen. Not the best either. Time is lives.” He stood fully then, rolling his shoulders like someone waking from a nap rather than stepping into a lecture. “My name is Shouta Aizawa,” he continued. “I’ll be leading your homeroom. Do not call me Professor.” His eyes settled on Izuku for just a fraction of a second longer than the rest. Recognition, maybe. Or assessment.
His gaze lingered on the room for another second, long enough to make several people wonder if they’d already failed something. Then he spoke again. “Grab your bags,” he said. “Head to the locker rooms for 1-A. Change into your training gear.”
He turned, already dragging the sleeping bag behind him. “Meet me at training Field 1,” he added over his shoulder. “You have ten minutes.”
The zipper rasped as the bag followed, scraping softly across the floor as he disappeared back through the doors. No one laughed. Chairs scraped back all at once. Conversations burst out in a rush, sharp and nervous and suddenly energized.
Feo Ul drifted closer to Izuku’s shoulder, wings humming. “Well,” they said lightly.
***
Everyone arrived within the ten minutes.
Aizawa stood near the equipment rack, tablet in hand.
“We’ll be doing a Quirk Apprehension Test,” he said. “Eight exercises.” He listed them without emphasis. “Fifty-meter dash. Grip strength. Standing long jump. Repeated side steps. Endurance run. Ball throw. Sit-ups. Seated toe touch.”
When he finished, he looked up. “Midoriya. Step forward.” Izuku did. “You had the highest score in the entrance exam,” Aizawa said. “You’ll throw first. Get in the ring.”
He tossed the softball. Izuku caught it and stepped into the circle, eyes flicking to the painted boundary and back. “What are the rules?” he asked.
“Stay in the circle.”
Izuku nodded. He looked at Feo Ul.
They nodded back.
Izuku threw the ball straight up, no more than three meters.
Feo Ul caught it and took off.
They accelerated instantly, a sharp streak of motion accompanied by a sharper crack that tore skyward and vanished over the field wall in seconds. Aizawa’s gaze followed them without hesitation. His tablet began to beep as the distance counter climbed faster than it should reasonably track.
Minutes passed.
When Feo Ul returned, they did so empty-handed, hovering in front of Izuku with a smug, satisfied grin. “The ball,” they said, “is now fifteen kilometers away.”
Aizawa didn’t respond. He was staring at them. At Izuku.
The tablet continued to beep, ignored.
That was when Izuku noticed Aizawa’s eyes.
They were glowing red.
Eraserhead.
Aizawa blinked once. Confusion crossed his face, followed by something tighter. Concern.
“I was staring at your construct the entire time they were flying away,” he said slowly. “And again once they returned.” His voice hardened. “My quirk didn’t erase them. Why?” He looked directly at Izuku. “Midoriya, you better explain what’s going on, or—”
“Oh,” Feo Ul said, cutting in. Their smile vanished. “That was your null-type energy bothering me?”
Izuku sucked in a breath. “Feo—that’s Eraserhead. His quirk negates other quirks.”
Feo Ul went very still. “…Wait,” they said quietly. “He tried to separate me from you, my darling Sapling?” They turned fully to face Aizawa. Their eyes were hard now. Focused. “So that’s what you were doing,” they said. “Trying to erase me. Unmake me.” The air felt tighter, heavier.
“Good thing I ignored your quirk,” Feo Ul continued calmly. “Isn’t it... Shouta... Aizawa?”
For a heartbeat, Aizawa looked genuinely afraid.
Then he sat down on the nearby bench, movement stiff, automatic.
“…Class dismissed,” he said. “Go back to the classroom. Wait for your other classes.”
No one moved right away.
Aizawa didn’t look at them again.
He sat there, eyes unfocused, fixed in a dead, thousand-meter stare, while the field remained untouched, the test unfinished.