Chapter Text
Innocence floated above them, laughing with a bright, crystalline joy that contrasted cruelly with the carnage below. The floating spires of Mount Gulg glittered beneath his radiant wings, and the blinding ocean of Light poured from him in waves that seemed to swallow the sky itself.
At the front of the charge stood his nemesis, the Warrior of Darkness: Izazu Izazalu, a Dwarf (no wait, he'd called himself a Lalafell) with wild green curls and bright eyes that always seemed to shine with a hidden fire. His shield flashed as he deflected blow after blow, and his sword carved through beams of searing Light with a stubbornness that surprised even Innocence. The companions behind him fought with desperate determination, each one pushing themselves as far as their bodies allowed, but Izazu bore the heaviest weight. Every breath from him came strained and shallow, and Izazu knew, deep down, why.
The Light inside him was too much.
Sin Eaters dissolved into aether as they fell, their cries drowned out by the roar of clashing magic. Innocence striking again and again, gathering Light with every movement, his voice ringing like burning glass as he unleashed more waves of brilliance that would have obliterated anyone but these heroes who dared to defy him.
***
Circling high above them, Feo Ul hovered in their Titania form, weaving protective magic around the massive talos that carried the party upward. Their wings shimmered with frantic energy, each beat pushing them harder as they struggled to shield them from the radiance pouring down like falling stars.
They watched Izazu’s movements carefully, sensing through the remnants of their bond how much he strained under the pressure. He had taken in too much Light already. Their stomach tightened with dread each time he staggered, and every time his blade faltered, they lifted their hand, ready to intervene. They knew the precautions they had taken would never withstand something like this. They had hoped, desperately, but hope was rarely enough against a flood.
The final clash burst across the mountain like a silent explosion. Izazu’s blade pierced Innocence’s core, and the resulting surge of aether washed over the battlefield, tearing apart the Lightwarden’s form in a shower of dissolving brilliance. The white-scorched sky flickered, dimmed, and slowly began to break open as Izazu absorbed the light, revealing the faint and trembling stars hidden behind it for so long.
Izazu collapsed. Feo Ul dove without hesitation, catching him before he hit the ground.
His skin shimmered with a dangerous glow. His breath was shallow, ragged. His eyes, bright even now, tried to focus on their face.
“Feo… Ul…? Did… we win?” They could not answer him. They only held him tighter, wings trembling with fear and exhaustion, and carried him away from the ruins of Mount Gulg as quickly as they could. The stars above seemed to watch silently as they brought him home.
***
Feo Ul laid him gently upon the moss of Il Mheg, the cool air carrying the first true night breezes in decades. It had failed, the frantic ritual to make him into a fae like them, using their bond as a starting point. Instead, it had only bound them tighter.
Izazu looked up at the sky as though seeing it for the very first time. He described the stars to them in a soft, wavering voice, pointing out shapes that didn’t truly exist but were beautiful enough that they pretended to see them too.
They stayed by him, every second weighed with dread, listening to the slow decline of his breathing. Even as the Light burned him from within, his eyes remained gentle, fixed on the sky he had fought so hard to restore.
He never surrendered to the Light.
No new Lightwarden rose from his body.
But when the last breath left him, the world fell quiet.
Their Sapling was gone.
***
Feo Ul carried him into Il Mheg’s palace with the care one uses for a fading dream. They shaped a crystal coffin with magic that strained against the grief in their chest, its polished surface smooth as clear water, its edges outlined by silver vines that glowed faintly in the dark. They placed Izazu inside, arranging him as if he were merely resting from a long battle, his hands folded around his sword, his face peaceful and still.
The fae of Il Mheg visited him daily. Pixies left garlands of shimmering petals. Nu Mou offered charms and whispered prayers. Even the amaro bowed their heads in silent respect. But Feo Ul felt none of it. They moved through the palace like a figure carved from pale glass, their light dimmed to the faintest embers. The spark of mischief and life that once defined them seemed to have dissolved with the Light of the final battle.
Every night they returned to the coffin, touching the cold glass, whispering stories or promises that never found an answer. The halls felt too large, too quiet, and the throne behind them felt like a weight they could no longer bear.
***
Feo Ul wasn’t sure how long it had actually been, but the day everything changed was in spring. As they sat on their throne, listening to the sounds of their realm, something flickered deep inside their chest. It was faint — a tiny vibration, like the distant ringing of a bell — but it sent their head snapping upward. They pressed a hand over their heart, closing their eyes until they felt it again.
A soul-echo.
A sliver of him.
Not here, not now, but somewhere beyond.
The failed ritual had left its mark. It had not saved him, but it had tethered a part of them to whatever path his soul chose next. Feo Ul returned to the coffin one final time. They rested their hand on the glass and whispered a soft, trembling promise. “I’m going to find you. However long it takes. My darling Sapling.”
They removed the crown of Titania from their brow, its glow foreign to them now, and placed it gently upon the coffin above his hands. Il Mheg would choose a new ruler. Their place was no longer here. Feo Ul walked across their realm, their steps slow but resolute, until they reached the furthest boundary where the land dissolved into drifting mist. They felt the faint tug of the echo and moved toward it without hesitation.
They stepped into the space between worlds.
***
The veiled lands between worlds stretched around Feo Ul like drifting currents of half-formed thought, each fragment of possibility glowing faintly with aetheric life. Even here, in the strange places where realms bled into one another, they could draw breath without pain. The familiar pulse of aether hummed through them like blood through a vein, answering their magic and sustaining their dwindling reserves as they followed the faint soul-echo they had coaxed into being the night Izazu died.
But as the echo grew stronger, leading them toward a particular fold in the drifting fabric of creation, Feo Ul felt something else: a steady thinning, a slow, unsettling silence ahead of them.
They paused once, testing the edge of the fold with a spark of glamour. The spell flickered, then sputtered outright.
The space before them tasted barren, like stepping toward a field of ash where a forest should have stood. No ambient aether drifted in the currents. No invisible winds of magic moved through the void. Only a hollow stillness greeted them, empty and cold. Feo Ul frowned, pressing a hand over their sternum. their own aether swirled quietly beneath their palm, but without an outside flow to replenish or answer it, the sensation was strangely claustrophobic — like breathing in a sealed room.
“I dislike this already,” they murmured, though their voice held more worry than irritation. “Sapling, wherever you’ve landed… it is far poorer in magic than any realm has right to be.”
They could have turned back. They could have waited, rested, gathered strength. But the echo pulsed again, strong enough to make their vision blur for a heartbeat, as if the soul they sought had cried out in fear.
Feo Ul stepped forward.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the full weight of the world hit them.
their wings faltered.
their breath hitched sharply as though they had plunged into freezing water.
Aether, normally drifting everywhere like invisible mist, simply wasn’t there. The world felt dry and echoing, full of strange energies they didn’t recognize — muddled, rigid, and painfully artificial things that twisted the fabric of life in ways their senses couldn’t easily parse. they sank to one knee, clutching their chest. “So little… how does this world survive with so little…?”
Their personal reserves thrummed uneasily. They had power left, enough to last decades if they rationed it, but here in this aether-starved world they felt suddenly mortal, acutely aware that every spell cast, every barrier raised, would drain them with nothing to refill the well.
But the echo called to them again, steady and bright, like a lantern shining across a barren plain.
Feo Ul forced themself upright, steadied their wings, and followed.
The path wound through an unfamiliar city of towering metal and humming lights, each step guided by the echo’s gentle pull. The world’s strange energy signatures, Quirks, as they would later learn, flickered around them like distorted shadows, impossible to read and uncomfortable to touch. They were powerful, yes, but brittle and unnaturally shaped, as though life itself had been forced into molds that did not match its nature.
But then the echo flared sharply, so close it nearly knocked them off course.
Feo Ul turned, drifted through a narrow corridor, passed through a wall in a shimmer of strained magic, and found themself inside a small, brightly lit medical office.
And the moment they saw the child sitting on the exam table, their knees nearly gave out a second time, not from the aether starvation, not from exhaustion, but from the shock of recognition.
The soul was unmistakable. Smaller, quieter, fragile as a new leaf.
Their Sapling.
***
Izuku Midoriya sat hunched on the examination table, green curls drooping over his red-rimmed eyes, his little hands twisted in the hem of his shirt as though trying to hold himself together. His mother hovered nearby, a shaking hand pressed over their mouth.
Across from them stood Dr. Tsubasa, a broad man with round goggles and a bristling mustache that twitched nervously. He cleared his throat, avoiding their eyes as he held the results.
“I’m very sorry,” he said, and even though he softened his tone, the words still struck with the heaviness of final judgment. “There is no detectable Quirk factor. Your son… he’s Quirkless.” Izuku’s breath hitched sharply. Inko let out a small cry. Dr. Tsubasa adjusted his goggles in a helpless, apologetic gesture. Feo Ul felt something inside themself snap.
They slowed time with barely a flicker of magic, the effort heavier than normal in this aether-dry realm, and moved to the boy’s side. They studied the room, the charts, the machines, the posters, absorbing their meaning in the space between heartbeats. “Quirks,” they murmured to themself. “This world’s strange, artificial way of pushing power where little should exist.” They felt the child’s despair like a cold wind across their tether.
They would not let him suffer that.
They let time resume, gently, so no one would notice, and stepped into view with a shimmer of faerie light that cost more aether than they liked, but the look in Izuku’s eyes when he saw them made every drop worth spending.
The doctor stumbled back, knocking a clipboard against the counter.
Inko gasped and clutched her chest.
Izuku froze, mouth open, tears still clinging to his lashes.
Feo Ul floated before him, wings spreading softly, their voice steady and warm. “I am your Quirk,” they said, letting each word fall with the weight of truth he needed. “Bound to you by a pact deeper than anything this world can measure.”
Dr. Tsubasa sputtered behind his mustache. “A— a— sentient—? But the scans— that isn’t— I don’t—”
Feo Ul raised a hand gently, not even bothering to look at him.
“Izuku Midoriya is not Quirkless,” they said, their tone letting no room for argument. “His power simply rests in me, and our bond is called Aetherpact.”
Izuku wiped his eyes, voice breaking with hope he barely dared trust. “S-so… I really… I really do have a Quirk?”
Feo Ul leaned closer, letting their glow brush softly against his cheek, their own heart swelling with something painfully tender. “Of course you do. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
***
Izuku woke earlier than usual, the soft morning light spilling through his curtains and warming his face. For a moment he lay still, blinking up at the ceiling, wondering if yesterday had been a dream, some wishful imagining born from heartbreak and exhaustion.
Then a small warm glow gathered above his pillow.
“Good morning, little Sapling,” Feo Ul murmured, stretching lazily in midair, their wings shimmering with a gentle pulse. “Up with you. You start your hero training today, I believe?”
Izuku sat upright so fast he nearly toppled off the bed. “It’s not hero training! It’s… it’s just school.”
Feo Ul tapped their chin thoughtfully. “Then you’ll simply be the most heroic student there.”
Izuku blushed, but his grin stretched all the way to his ears. The moment Inko dropped him off, the atmosphere in the small, brightly colored classroom changed. Preschoolers were not subtle creatures, and neither were their parents. Word had already spread.
A sentient Quirk.
A Quirk that could talk.
A Quirk that appeared in sparkles of glowing color.
By the time the first bell chimed, every teacher in the building had found an excuse to peek through the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse. Feo Ul perched primly on Izuku’s shoulder, pretending not to notice the teachers whispering to each other like startled birds.
“He really does have one,” a teacher murmured.
“A sentient support-type Quirk? At his age?”
“That’s… incredible.”
Feo Ul smirked, crossing their ankles delicately. “I should hope so.”
Izuku coughed softly and tugged at his sleeve. “F-Feo Ul… you shouldn’t brag…”
“But I am a remarkable discovery, Sapling,” they said. “And they should take appropriate delight in knowing me.”
“Please don’t make this weird,” he whispered.
“No promises.”
***
It was during recess that things changed.
The teachers stood together near the fence, still murmuring about Izuku’s Quirk. The younger kids watched him with wide curiosity, whispering questions he was too shy to answer. Feo Ul hovered near his head, commenting softly whenever a child asked something particularly strange. But a small group of older kids — maybe six or seven years old — lingered near the jungle gym, watching him with narrowed eyes. There was a way they whispered among themselves that Feo Ul instantly disliked.
Izuku didn’t notice at first. He simply followed the painted hopscotch path with gentle concentration, humming under his breath. Then one of the older boys called out.
“Hey! Midoriya!”
Izuku froze.
The older kids approached, tall enough to tower over him. Their leader had a smug tilt to his chin and a scratchy bandage across his cheek, as though he’d gotten himself into trouble recently.
“So this is the new Quirk everyone’s talking about,” he said, giving Feo Ul a once-over. “A glittery fairy? Seriously?”
“They're’s not glittery…” Izuku murmured.
“She looks like something for babies,” another boy snickered. “Or girls.”
The leader leaned down until his face was close enough that Izuku could smell his breath. “If that’s your Quirk, then you must be a girl too, right?”
A small ripple of laughter followed. Izuku felt his cheeks flush hot. His throat tightened. Feo Ul slowly descended until they floated at eye level with the older boy, their wings going very still. “This is the best insult you can craft? Truly, your mind is a barren garden.”
The boy blinked. “...What?”
Feo Ul leaned closer. “If you intend to be cruel, at least be clever, child. Otherwise, you will embarrass yourself before you ever manage to embarrass him.”
Izuku tugged urgently at their arm. “Feo Ul, please don’t—”
They placed a tiny hand on his hair, soothing. “Do not fear, Sapling. I am educating him.”
One of the older boys snorted. “Wow, it even talks like a girl’s cartoon.”
Izuku felt a sick twist in his stomach. He wanted to speak up, to defend himself, but the words stuck behind his teeth. His breath came shallow, eyes stinging. Feo Ul saw it.
Their expression softened instantly. They drifted back to his side and placed a tiny hand on his cheek. “Look at me,” they said quietly. “Are you harmed?” He shook his head slowly, though his eyes glistened. “Then their words have no power,” they said. “Only the meaning you grant them.” The older kids scoffed and wandered away, muttering things they thought sounded clever but contained little real venom. They seemed unsettled, though — as if they weren’t entirely sure whether Feo Ul was a Quirk or a particularly small adult with wings.
When they were out of earshot, Izuku sniffed. “Why… why did they say that?” he asked, voice trembling. “Why does it matter if my Quirk looks… different?”
Feo Ul settled on his shoulder again, wings folding softly around him like a shawl of light.
“It matters only to people who do not understand power when it stands before them,” they said. “They see softness and mistake it for weakness. They see beauty and assume it is fragile.” They touched his cheek gently. “You and I will teach them otherwise.”
Izuku wiped his eyes, breathing a little deeper. “Really…?”
“Of course.” Their smile was warm, but there was steel beneath it. “You will show them the strength of someone who is kind. And when the time is right… you will show them more than that.”
Izuku nodded slowly, a glimmer of confidence settling into place.
Recess continued.
The other children returned to their games.
But Izuku walked a little taller now, Feo Ul glowing faintly beside him.
***
The next two years unfolded with a rhythm that felt strangely peaceful to Feo Ul, even within this aether-poor world. Izuku grew, little by little, into a boy who still startled easily but learned how to stand up straight after each stumble. They didn’t push him — they simply hovered beside him, steady and constant, offering sharp words when necessary and quiet warmth when nothing else would do.
Katsuki Bakugo — Katsuki, whose fierce grin had once been something Izuku chased after — drifted, slowly at first and then with an uncomfortable lurch, from friend to tormentor. It started with small things: eye rolls, scoffs, little shoves meant to test boundaries. His Quirk, a growing crackle of sparks in his palms, made him reckless and proud, and Izuku’s new “fairy quirk” had given Katsuki something he didn’t know how to process.
Feo Ul caught his intentions long before Izuku did.
One afternoon, when Katsuki tried to corner Izuku behind the schoolyard shed, Feo Ul shimmered into view between them, wings glowing with an annoyed luminescence.
“Your face,” they announced, “is far too smug for someone who has accomplished so little in life.”
Katsuki blinked. “What—?!”
“If you lay a single finger on my Sapling,” they continued, voice smooth as silk and twice as sharp, “I will turn you into shrubbery.”
Izuku gasped. “Feo Ul!”
They placed a tiny hand on their chest. “A respectable shrubbery. Perhaps with little flowers.”
Katsuki backed up two full steps. “Y-you can’t do that!”
Feo Ul smiled. It was not reassuring. “Children can be pruned. Consider this a warning.”
From that day on, Katsuki never tried to bully Izuku directly again. He still glowered and threw insults over his shoulder, but something in Feo Ul’s tone had sunk deep under his skin. He never admitted it, but he kept a cautious eye on every tree and bush for months.
***
Izuku, meanwhile, began carrying a small green notebook everywhere. “Hero Analysis — Volume One” he wrote on the cover with serious concentration. Feo Ul watched him scribble down observations about teachers, students, small-time neighborhood heroes, and even Katsuki’s explosions. They hovered over his shoulder, offering commentary that wandered between helpful, confusing, and biting.
“That man’s cape is too long,” they said once, pointing at a hero on TV. “He will trip during a dramatic moment and die of embarrassment.”
Izuku dutifully wrote: Note: capes dangerous in wind. (Coincidentally, that hero did just that a few days later, while meeting with some government official. They both fell down a long flight of stairs, and suffered multiple broken bones. Feo Ul laughed about it for weeks.)
“Pixton Hero Agency hires solely based on fashion,” they said another time, flipping through an online article. “Their safety protocols are imaginary.”
Izuku wrote: Check if ‘fashion-first hiring’ is a real thing???
And when they added, “That woman’s battle mask is held on by hope,” he almost choked laughing.
He didn’t fully understand all their commentary, but he began annotating his observations in a more critical way — learning to identify flaws, anticipate problems, and analyze people with an eye sharper than most adults.
***
Older kids still picked on him sometimes, because kids rarely understood nuance. They called him soft, weird, fairy-boy — any insult they could twist into a weapon. Izuku still felt each one like a small bruise, but he didn’t cry nearly as often. He had learned something else instead.
“Your opinions matter less than chalk drawings in the rain,” he told one boy who mocked him for drawing heroes during art time.
Another child made fun of his green hair; Izuku calmly replied, “At least mine doesn’t look like a dusty mop someone stepped on.”
Feo Ul, watching from a nearby bookshelf, clapped proudly. “Such progress.”
Izuku smiled shyly, but he also straightened a little, shoulders no longer curled in on themselves.
***
While he went to school, Feo Ul, who could teleport to him in a moment, spent much of their downtime perched atop Inko’s bookshelf, reading through legal practice manuals with intense curiosity. They flipped through them faster than any human could, absorbing civil rights protections, anti-discrimination clauses, educational regulations, and social expectation frameworks.
“Inko,” they said one evening, “your legal system is held together by optimism and glue.”
Inko blinked. “Feo Ul, sweetheart, maybe slow down—”
“Did you know children have rights?” Feo Ul said, flipping pages. “Fascinating. I intend to use these, aggressively.”
Inko paled slightly.
***
It happened on an ordinary afternoon, during a moment that should have been nothing special, in the middle of a school day that felt no different from any other.
Izuku was six years old. He heard the cries before he saw the chaos.
And Feo Ul, perched on his shoulder, felt the first deep pulse of aether roll through him like a breath finally taken.
***
Recess had been peaceful that day, the kind of easy midmorning warmth that made the playground feel bright and gentle. Izuku sat in the grass with two classmates, showing them the drawings he’d made of a neighborhood hero. The children listened with wide eyes, curious, impressed, and pleasantly oblivious to the larger dramas of their young world. Feo Ul hovered lazily above them, basking in a thin patch of sunlight. They looked half-asleep, wings flicking idly, but their attention was always sharp. They had learned quickly that this school required constant vigilance.
That was why they heard the cries even before Izuku did.
A short, sharp yelp. A second, pained and fearful. Then the heavy thump of someone being shoved against the dirt. Izuku jerked upright. “Did you hear that?” he asked, voice thin.
Feo Ul’s wings snapped open. “Trouble.” Izuku didn’t think. He just ran.
His small shoes slapped across the pavement as he sprinted toward the jungle gym. Several children had already backed away, forming a loose half-circle around the source of the shouting. And in the middle of it—
Katsuki Bakugo stood with a wild grin on his face, palms smoking from recent blasts. His two cronies flanked him like eager shadows, each wearing the smug expression of children who had convinced themselves they were untouchable. On the ground knelt a boy named Hori, small and pale, clutching his arm. Shards of ice scattered around him, melting in the dirt. His hand trembled — the remnants of his quirk’s defensive reflex — but he looked terrified. “See?” Katsuki crowed. “Told you ice is nothing! My explosions beat everything!”
One of his friends laughed. “Bakugo’s the best!”
Izuku felt something hot spark in his chest. Before he could think, he shoved himself between Katsuki and the whimpering Hori, arms outspread like a shield. “K-Kacchan, stop it!” he cried. “You’re hurting him!” Katsuki skidded to a halt, his grin freezing in place. The sight of Izuku standing there — tiny, shaking, with his arms spread wide — seemed to confuse him more than anything. Izuku trembled, but he held firm. “Hori wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Izuku said, voice shaking but loud enough to carry. “You can’t attack someone just because you want to prove you’re strong! That’s… that’s what villains do!”
The playground seemed to still. Even the breeze paused.
Katsuki blinked once. Then again. Something flickered in his expression — an abrupt, startled moment of clarity, as if someone had yanked a record needle across the vinyl in his brain. “Villain?” he repeated quietly, confusion twisting his face. “I’m not a villain.”
Izuku’s heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Then don’t act like one.”
Katsuki stared at him. Really stared. And for the first time in a long while, there was no smugness, no anger, no superiority. Only shock and something that looked uncomfortably like doubt.
Feo Ul, hovering nearby, raised a brow. “Interesting. Growth. Unexpected, but welcome.”
Izuku swallowed and turned toward Hori and the two other kids he’d glimpsed earlier — both bruised, one sniffling quietly.
He dropped to his knees. “Oh no, oh no, oh no, you’re hurt! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what to do!” His hands shook violently. His breath came fast.
Feo Ul darted close, expression suddenly sharp. “Sapling, slow down—”
But Izuku didn’t hear them. He wanted to help so badly it burned inside him, a fierce, desperate need that pushed through his fear and panic. His heartbeat roared in his ears. Then something opened.
Not outside him — within.
A flash of light erupted around him, bright but gentle, like the first breath of dawn through a windowpane. The air shimmered. Magic crackled. Feo Ul’s eyes widened as they felt a surge of aether pulse through him like a heartbeat. When the light faded, Izuku was no longer kneeling in his school clothes. He wore long navy robes trimmed in gold, fabric flowing softly around his legs. His boots and gloves gleamed with small armored plates designed for movement and spellcraft. Upon his head sat a strange flat-topped cap, its edge marked by ancient runes he did not recognize but somehow understood. His notebook — once worn and soft-edged — now felt solid and heavy in his hand, wrapped in leather that thrummed with silent power. Arcane glyphs glowed faintly across its cover. Izuku gasped. “Wh-what…?”
Feo Ul whispered, awestruck. “Sapling… you manifested a Job.”
The notebook flipped open as if guiding him. His eyes fell on a page titled with characters he’d never seen before.
Succor.
The spell caught in his throat like a remembered song.
Izuku raised his hand. A gentle, rippling barrier spread outward, soft green and blue light washing across the injured children. The air hummed with quiet power. Cuts sealed. Bruises faded. Hori’s shaking eased. One of the younger kids blinked in wonder and let out a relieved sob.
The spell ended with a soft pulse.
Silence swept the playground.
Every child stared.
Even Katsuki’s mouth hung open, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and something that looked dangerously like awe.
Feo Ul floated close to Izuku’s ear, their voice full of breathless relief. “Oh, thank the stars,” they murmured. “You’re making aether. Fresh, bright, beautiful aether.” They closed their eyes for a moment, letting the wave of energy wash through their depleted reserves. “And I can finally breathe again.”
Izuku held the grimoire to his chest, robes fluttering faintly in the light breeze. Katsuki took one hesitant step forward. “Izuku… what… what did you just do?”
Izuku swallowed hard, heart thundering. “I… I think… I healed them.”
Feo Ul smiled, wings flaring with pride. “Yes, Sapling. You most certainly did.”
Notes:
Izuku's Scholar gear is the Orator's set, dyed navy blue. His Grimoire is the King's Codex
1/19/26 EDIT: Feo Ul's gender is correctly non binary. Mostly. If i missed any, let me know.
Chapter 2: Where Laughter Leaves it's Mark
Notes:
So this and the last chapter, while important, are meant to get through the young years touching on the main points. Chapter three will start at 14. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. Please be aware, i am on a writing high, and i will likely pump out several chapters this week and the next, before settling into a more sustainable schedule. I'll let you know what that is when i get there.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Katsuki stood rooted to the spot long after the green light faded from the playground. His classmates crowded around Izuku and the other kids he’d healed, teachers rushing in with frantic urgency, voices overlapping in a messy chorus of shock and praise.
He didn’t move.
Not because he was scared.
Not because of the strange robe Izuku suddenly wore.
Not even because the fairy-thing that hovered behind him looked like it might set him on fire if he breathed wrong.
It was the words.
That’s what villains do.
At first Katsuki hadn’t understood. The accusation had slammed into him so fast his brain couldn’t process it. Him? A villain? Katsuki Bakugo? The strongest kid in their class? Villains were weak. Villains were cowards. Villains hurt people who couldn’t fight back.
And he—
His stomach twisted painfully.
Izuku had stood there, tiny and shaking, but brave enough to throw himself in front of someone weaker. Someone crying. Someone Katsuki had hurt on purpose. Not by accident. Not in training. Not in a spar.
Just… because he could.
He wiped his sleeve across his eyes in a sharp, angry motion, but the tears kept gathering anyway, hot and embarrassing. He hated how his chest felt tight and sour, like something heavy and sharp was stuck inside it.
Everyone was crowded around Izuku now — even the kids who normally avoided him. They ooh’d and aah’d over the robes, the magic, the glowing notebook, and Katsuki felt small for the first time in his life.
He glanced down at his hands. Soot stained the creases of his palms where he’d fired off explosions earlier.
I… did that.
For the first time, the thought didn’t make him feel strong. It made him feel sick.
He turned slowly, searching the playground until he spotted a small, pale figure sitting alone on the edge of the sandbox. Hori’s friends had run off after the healing, leaving him to pick at the melted remnants of ice still clinging to his sleeve. Katsuki’s feet carried him forward before he even made a choice. He stopped in front of Hori and stared down at him, the words tangling up in his chest. They didn’t come easily. They weren’t loud. They didn’t feel like him.
He knelt.
Hori startled, eyes going wide. Katsuki almost stood back up immediately, discomfort crawling across his skin, but he forced himself to stay put. “I…” Katsuki swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.” Hori blinked as if Katsuki had spoken in another language. “For the… explosions,” Katsuki said, voice cracking on the last word. “And for hitting you. And for the other stuff.”
Hori shifted uncomfortably, glancing over Katsuki’s shoulder as if checking for a trick. “Why… why are you apologizing…?”
Katsuki frowned, staring at the dirt. “Because I was… wrong.” The admission tasted strange, like swallowing warm metal.
Hori’s mouth opened slightly. He didn’t look relieved or happy or grateful. He looked confused, because the mean kid never apologized, and certainly never cried, and absolutely never knelt in the sandbox to do it. Finally, Hori whispered, “O-okay,” grabbed his backpack with clumsy urgency, and ran off across the playground without looking back.
Katsuki stared after him for a long moment, unsure whether the hollow feeling in his chest was better or worse than the tight, sharp one from before. He wasn’t used to feeling like this. He wiped his face again, sniffed hard, and pushed himself to his feet. Izuku was still surrounded by other kids, the fairy perched on his shoulder like some kind of royal guardian. Katsuki watched Izuku for a long, silent moment.
“I’m not a villain,” he whispered, as if trying to convince the wind.
***
The ash blonde boy stood there, staring at the empty space where the boy had been. His fists clenched and unclenched, small sparks popping and fading in his palms, each one weaker than the last. The weight in his chest didn’t lighten. If anything, it settled deeper. He didn’t notice the soft shimmer of light until Feo Ul settled onto his shoulder like a feather brushing down. Katsuki flinched. “What— hey— why are you on me?”
Feo Ul’s wings folded neatly behind them as they studied his expression. He expected mockery, but what he found instead was something almost gentle. “You look very lost for someone who tries so hard to be so sure of himself,” they said.
Katsuki stared ahead, jaw tight. “I’m not lost.”
“Mmm. A lie, and not even a convincing one,” Feo Ul replied softly. “Your heart is loud today.”
He swallowed hard, eyes stinging again. “I’m not a villain,” he whispered. “I’m not. I just… I thought… I didn’t mean for it to get that bad.”
Feo Ul nodded, resting their hands lightly atop their knees. “There were, in my world,” they began, their voice soft but steady, “men and women who carried more anger in their souls than fire in a furnace. They burned hot, just like you. They were called monks.” Katsuki blinked, caught off guard by the story. “But instead of letting their rage lash out blindly, they shaped it. Honed it. They treated anger as a whetstone. Pain became focus. Pride became discipline. Their fury, sharpened properly, allowed them to defend others with strength no ordinary person could touch.”
Katsuki swallowed, more confused than before. “You’re saying being angry is good?”
“I’m saying it is powerful,” Feo Ul corrected him. “And power needs direction. You are not a bad child. You simply made bad choices. Choices can change. Hearts can grow. You have not ruined yourself.”
Katsuki’s lip trembled again. “I hurt him.”
“Yes,” Feo Ul said calmly. “And you apologized.”
He looked away, ashamed. “It didn’t fix it.”
“No,” they agreed. “But it was a beginning.”
Katsuki stood quiet, letting their words settle. Slowly, like a flame lowering itself to embers, he exhaled. “What do I do now?” he asked.
Feo Ul smiled, small but real. “Become someone who will never make the same mistake again.”
He didn’t argue. He only nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before shoving his hands into his pockets in embarrassment. When the bell rang and children began lining up to return inside, Katsuki lingered for a moment longer. Feo Ul lifted off his shoulder in a soft drift of light, returning to Izuku’s side with a flutter of wings.
Katsuki watched their go, then turned toward home with a heavy but determined step.
***
Masaru Bakugo nearly dropped his coffee when Katsuki burst through the front door in the middle of the school day.
“Dad,” Katsuki choked out, blinking hard, “Old Hag… uh, mom...”
Mitsuki poked their head out of the kitchen. “What now— Katsuki? Why are you crying?”
Katsuki stomped his foot, frustrated with himself. “I... need help.”
Mitsuki blinked. Then blinked again. Masaru approached slowly, concern softening his features. “Help with what, buddy?”
Katsuki sniffed hard, wiping angrily at his face. “I’ve been… I was being a jerk. A big one. A villain. Izuku said so. And Feo Ul said I should… sharpen myself.” He frowned. “Like monks.” Masaru’s eyebrows went up. Mitsuki looked torn between confusion and impressed pride. “I don’t want to be like this,” Katsuki said, the admission rising in a rush. “I want to get better.”
There was a brief silence before Mitsuki knelt down, pulling him into a rough hug he pretended to hate but didn’t pull away from. “You want to work on your temper?” she asked.
He nodded. “And my… choices.”
His father scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “You know, there’s a tai chi class at the community center. Gentle movement. Breathing. Balance. Lots of grown-ups use it to help with emotional control.”
Katsuki looked up, eyes brightening through the tears. “Would that… help me not blow up on people?”
Mitsuki snorted softly. “It might help you stop punching kids.”
The young blonde nodded, more determined than ever. “I’ll do it.”
Mitsuki ruffled his hair. “Good.”
Masaru added, “I’ll go with you.”
Katsuki blinked up in surprise. “Really?”
“Of course,” Masaru said gently. “We’ll learn it together.”
***
Katsuki didn’t sleep well that night. Not because he was scared of Feo Ul turning him into a shrubbery—though he still eyed every houseplant suspiciously—but because every time he closed his eyes, he saw Izuku standing in front of Hori, shaking, frightened, and still refusing to move. He saw the robes, the light, the healing. He saw the look on Izuku’s face—not proud, not smug—just determined and worried for everyone else.
When morning came, Katsuki hurried to school faster than he ever had before, his stomach tight and fluttering in a way he didn’t like. He wasn’t good at apologizing. He especially wasn’t good at apologizing to Izuku. But when Izuku arrived, small backpack bouncing, Feo Ul perched neatly on his shoulder, Katsuki walked directly toward him. Izuku saw him coming and froze. Feo Ul raised a brow. Katsuki stopped inches away. His throat tightened. His palms sparked once before he forced them still. “Izuku,” he began, voice low and rough, “I was… I’ve been… a jerk.”
Izuku blinked in surprise. “K-Kacchan…?”
“I hurt people,” Katsuki continued. “Just ’cause I could. And yesterday you… you called me a villain. And you were right.”
Izuku’s breath hitched. Feo Ul nodded approvingly. “Continue. You’re doing well.”
Katsuki shot their a glare—but it had no heat. He looked back at Izuku. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of it. For everything.”
Izuku swallowed hard. “Kacchan… I… thank you.”
Katsuki’s shoulders loosened, like a rope had been cut.
Before either of them could say more, a shout rang across the playground. “There he is! The fairy boy!” Three older kids marched toward them, the leader carrying a kendo shinai from the gym. Izuku stiffened. Katsuki’s eyes narrowed.
“Let’s see your little glitter quirk now,” one jeered.
Katsuki looked them up and down. "Or what? You gonna actually use that thing?"
The three older boys stopped a few paces away, exchanging looks that were more uncertain than they wanted to appear. It was obvious they hadn’t planned much beyond “look tough and hope it works.”
“W-We just wanna see it again,” the leader said, forcing his voice lower. “Your sparkle thing. Do it.”
Izuku shook his head. “I… I can’t just… make it happen.”
“That’s what a liar would say,” another boy muttered, though he stared more at Feo Ul than at Izuku. “Show us or… or we’ll… we’ll make you!”
Katsuki stepped forward, growling. “Try it.”
The leader swallowed, then shifted his grip on the bamboo sword. He didn’t swing, just held it awkwardly, like he thought having it made him braver.
“Everyone’s talking about you,” he said, cheeks red with a mix of jealousy and embarrassment. “We just wanna see if it’s real. That’s all.”
Izuku shook his head quickly. “Please, I don’t want any trouble—”
“That’s too bad,” the leader said, but his voice wavered. Still, he took another step, more because the other boys were watching than because he wanted to.
Katsuki moved with him, blocking the path.
“I said back off.”
The boys faltered — then the leader, desperate not to lose face, swung the shinai at Izuku—
Katsuki moved. He stepped in front of Izuku, taking the blow clean across his shoulder. The crack echoed across the yard, and he staggered, wincing. Izuku gasped. “Kacchan!”
But Katsuki didn’t back away. He bared his teeth, gritting through the pain as his arm hung limply. “Touch him,” he growled, “and I’ll—”
Izuku didn’t let him finish.
His grimoire appeared in his hands in a burst of light—easy, instinctive this time. Pages flipped, glowing faintly. His eyes hardened, not with anger, but certainty, and with an angry frown, Izuku raised his hand. A sphere of swirling green aether formed at his fingertips, humming with restrained force. The bullies blinked, confused—then Izuku flicked his wrist and Ruin blasted outward in a controlled, concussive burst. The three boys were knocked backward off their feet and landed in a sprawl in the grass, the shinai flying from their leader's hands.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Not even Katsuki.
Izuku stared down at his hand, trembling. “I… I didn’t know it would do that! I hope I didn't hurt them too much…”
“You didn’t,” Feo Ul said. “Just enough.”
Katsuki huffed a breath that was half a laugh, half pained grunt. “Izu… since when can you do that?”
Izuku shook his head, crouching beside him. “Kacchan, are you okay? That hit looked really bad—let me—let me try—”
His grimoire flipped again. Soft light bloomed around them.
Katsuki’s shoulder warmed, then cooled, the joint giving a loud pop, the pain fading until it was nothing.
A long silence passed between them before Katsuki finally reached out his hand, fist curled, facing Izuku.
Izuku hesitated. Feo Ul nudged him forward. He gently tapped his knuckles against Katsuki’s. Just like that, something that had been broken between them slid quietly back into place.
***
The next few days passed in a strange daze of awkwardness. Katsuki hovered near Izuku in class—not protectively, but purposefully—like he was testing out the shape of their renewed friendship. Izuku kept glancing at him. Feo Ul kept announcing loudly to anyone within fifty feet that “their Sapling was now properly guarded by a suitable explosion-child,” which earned her many confused looks and at least one complaint to the teacher.
By the weekend, Katsuki arrived at Izuku’s apartment building with his backpack slung over one shoulder and determination set into every line of his face. “Come on."
Izuku blinked. “W-where?”
Katsuki’s grin was sharp and bright. “Training.”
Feo Ul clapped their hands. “Yes! Destroy something. But responsibly.”
***
They found an abandoned warehouse near the edge of Dagobah Beach—half-collapsed roof, rusted metal beams, enough open space they didn’t have to worry about damaging something expensive. Dust motes drifted through shafts of sunlight slicing down from the broken rafters.
It was perfect.
They fell into a rhythm quickly:
Katsuki practiced shaping his explosions—learning to narrow them, widen them, soften them, sharpen them.
Izuku practiced his basic spells: Ruin and Physick.
Feo Ul darted between them, correcting posture, scolding recklessness, clapping enthusiastically whenever something didn’t result in unintended fire.
Hours passed this way.
Sweat. Laughter. Yelps. Scattered aether sparks drifting through the dusty air.
***
They didn’t realize someone was watching them.
A soft creak echoed from the roof beam above. Katsuki froze. “Did you hear—?”
A voice interrupted him from somewhere overhead.
“Well, well, well. Look what the tide dragged in.” Izuku yelped. Katsuki swore loudly. Feo Ul hissed like an offended teakettle. A figure hopped down from a broken window ledge—green curls pulled back, bright orange goggles resting on her forehead, boots scuffed from rooftop patrol routes. Her grin was wide, but her eyes were sharp and professional, scanning the boys and the wrecked warehouse with practiced efficiency. “Two kids,” she said cheerfully, “with dangerous quirks. Unsupervised. In a condemned building. That sounds like the start of a joke even I would find bad.”
Katsuki bristled. “Who the hell are you?”
The woman pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Wow. Harsh. I work this patrol route, thank you very much.”
Izuku gasped. His whole face lit up. He took a stumbling step forward. “I-I know you!”
Katsuki blinked. “Izu, what—?”
Izuku clasped his hands together, vibrating with the intensity of someone who had two espressos too much.
“You’re Ms. Joke! The underground hero who resolved the Shizuoka Specter case three years ago! The one with the- with the- the laughter-based quirk! I read about it in Hero Watch International! It wasn’t in Japanese- n-none of the local articles mentioned you, b-but the English one did and—” He sucked in a breath too big for his lungs.
Ms. Joke just stared. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face — not her usual playful one, but something softer, warmer, almost startled. “Well,” she said, scratching her cheek, “isn’t that something?”
Katsuki looked between them, bewildered. “What the hell are you two talking about?”
Izuku whispered reverently, “Kacchan, she’s really cool.”
Ms. Joke pointed at Izuku with both hands. “This kid gets it.”
Feo Ul crossed their arms. “Yes yes, very impressive mortals admiring each other’s mortaldom.”
Ms. Joke blinked at the fairy. “Your quirk talks. Cute.”
Feo Ul bristled. “I am NOT—”
“Anyway!” Ms. Joke clapped her hands, ignoring the indignant pixie. “Point is: I came because this warehouse is on my patrol route. And you two”—she gestured broadly at the scorch marks, the dented pillars, Katsuki’s smoking palms—“are a disaster waiting to happen.”
“We’re training,” Katsuki snapped.
“Yeah, badly. Gimme a second.” Ms. Joke circled Katsuki and Izuku like a cat deciding whether to adopt two very stupid kittens. “Alright,” she said, tapping her chin, “Explosion-boy, let’s start with you.” Katsuki straightened immediately. Breath steady. Shoulders relaxed. Feet grounded in a stance that spoke of hours of slow, deliberate Tai Chi practice. Ms. Joke’s eyebrows rose. “Huh. You’ve got breath control. And decent lower-body grounding. That’s rare for your age.”
Katsuki puffed up just a bit. “Yeah. I—I do Tai Chi with my dad.”
“Good,” she said. “It’s helping you keep your temper from turning you into a walking landmine.”
Izuku nodded vigorously. “Kacchan’s gotten a lot calmer!”
“Shut up, nerd.”
Ms. Joke smirked. “See? Balanced aggression. Nice.”
She motioned at his stance. “But here’s the problem: Tai Chi is soft. Flowing. It wants you to redirect energy.”
Katsuki blinked. “Yeah. So?”
She tapped his wrist—lightly, but with purpose. “Your quirk doesn’t redirect energy.
Your quirk is energy.”
Katsuki opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Ms. Joke grinned. “Explosion-based quirks hit hardest with forward momentum, firm planting, and aggressive motion. You want to use Tai Chi? Great. It’ll keep your mind clean. But if you want your attacks to work, you need a striker’s stance.”
Izuku’s eyes widened. “L-like Kyokushin…?”
Ms. Joke snapped her fingers. “Exactly. Hard style. Forward intention. A stance that meets force with force.”
She nudged Katsuki’s foot wider. Adjusted his hips. Tapped his shoulder to align his strike angle. “Try blasting like this.”
Katsuki threw out a hand—
BOOM
—but this time the recoil didn’t knock him off balance. His body stayed aligned. Grounded. Directed.
Katsuki stared at his own arm in disbelief. “That— that felt… good.”
Ms. Joke grinned triumphantly. “Told you. Your quirk wants a martial art with a spine.”
Katsuki’s eyes blazed. “Teach me.”
“Oh, I will,” she said, “but only the basics. If you want the real deal, you’ll need a dojo.”
Feo Ul rested their chin on their hand. “Ah, yes. My Sapling has his healing magic, and the explosion-child shall become a tiny volcano with footwork.”
Ms. Joke burst out laughing. “Sparkles, that’s the best description I’ve heard all week.”
Feo Ul hovered indignantly. “I am not sparkles.”
Izuku whispered, “She’s kind of sparkles…”
Feo Ul gasped.
Ms. Joke patted Izuku’s shoulder. “And you. Your quirk—whatever it is—is draining your stamina too fast.”
“It… it does?”
“Energy-output quirks always do. So you need to get stronger physically. More running. More core strength. More stamina drills.”
Izuku nodded quickly, absorbing every word.
Ms. Joke stood and stretched. “Hero rule number one: body first, quirk second. A strong body prevents sloppy accidents.”
Izuku straightened. “I’ll do my best!”
“Bet I’ll improve faster.”
“N-no way!”
Ms. Joke grinned. “Ah. Healthy rivalry. My favorite training fuel.” She clapped her hands sharply. “Alright! Lesson one: Explosion-boy, striker stance. Support-kid, posture and conditioning. Lesson two: don’t die. Lesson three: no setting abandoned warehouses on fire.”
Katsuki muttered, “That happened one time—”
“Once is enough,” she said brightly.
***
The boys gaped at Dagobah Beach.
Or what was left of it.
The sand was buried under piles of trash: rusted appliances, broken furniture, bags spilled open from years of storms, shattered glass scattered like cruel glitter.
Izuku’s heart cracked. “W-why is it like this…?”
Katsuki wrinkled his nose. “This is disgusting.”
Feo Ul hovered over a sunken washing machine. “Did a war happen here? Or a curse?”
Ms. Joke appeared from behind a rusted fridge so abruptly Izuku almost fainted.
“Oh good—you found Musutafu’s saddest secret.”
Katsuki groaned. “Stop doing that!”
She ignored him. “Dagobah used to be a popular beach. Not anymore.”
Izuku looked around with wide, pained eyes. “I wish… I wish someone would fix it.”
Ms. Joke’s expression softened.
“Heroes do that,” she said gently. “Not all of them. But the good ones? They help where they can, even if no one’s watching.” Izuku blinked up at her. Katsuki’s frown turned thoughtful. “You guys could work on it. You don’t have to fix the whole thing,” she continued. “Not today. Not ever. Just do what you can, safely, at your own pace. Every piece you move makes the world a little better.”
Izuku felt something warm spark behind his ribs. “Kacchan… this could be training.”
Ms. Joke laughed. “Just don’t cut yourselves on rusted metal, don’t drown, don’t get crushed under a refrigerator—basic stuff.”
Izuku saluted. “Y-yes ma’am!”
“Good.” She waved casually. “I’ll stop by now and then. Just to see how you’re doing.”
And then she vanished down the boardwalk, leaving them at the shoreline.
Izuku took a breath. “Let’s start.”
Katsuki cracked his knuckles. “Race you to that washing machine.”
“It’s a refrigerator—”
“Whatever! GO!”
***
Days turned into weeks.
After school, after homework, after training at the warehouse, the boys ran to the beach to haul bags of trash, break down debris, and slowly reclaim the sand from its prison of garbage.
Izuku kept a meticulous Dagobah Restoration Log.
Katsuki used controlled explosions to break apart unsafe metal pieces.
Feo Ul directed them to areas that were safer for them with the air of a stern, tiny foreman.
Sometimes Ms. Joke came by with drinks. Sometimes she helped. Sometimes she just watched, a quiet smile on her face. “You’re doing good,” she said once. “This? This matters.”
And Izuku believed her.
Katsuki did too.
***
Though the boys were determined to get the beach clean, they didn’t let that take up all their time.
Izuku began volunteering at various community events, working at the first aid stations with Feo Ul to heal and tend the ill and injured. He was still only a child—barely seven when he started—so most people assumed he was just helping by handing out bandages or water bottles.
But the volunteers learned quickly.
Little Midoriya Izuku had a way of making people walk away feeling better than when they arrived.
“Hold still, please,” Izuku murmured to a boy with a twisted ankle as Feo Ul hovered at his shoulder, wings humming.
The grimoire flickered into existence.
A soft glow—barely visible, gentle as morning light—flowed from his palm.
The boy blinked, startled. “It… it doesn’t hurt anymore!”
Izuku flushed.
Feo Ul scoffed proudly. “You’re welcome.”
Word spread quietly, without fanfare—only whispers passed from one parent to another, from volunteers to event organizers.
The Midoriya kid is good with injuries.
He’s careful. Kind. Precise.
He has a steady hand.
His quirk is small, but helpful.
Izuku never healed anything major—nothing bone-deep or life-threatening—but scrapes, bruises, mild sprains, heat exhaustion, headaches, dehydration? Those he handled with a small smile and soft determination. Feo Ul monitored every pulse of aether, eyes sharp. She kept him from overextending, taught him to read subtle signs of fatigue, nudged his hand when his focus wavered. “Gentle, Sapling,” they whispered as he healed a girl’s scraped palms. “Magic is like water—let it flow, don’t force it.”
“I-I’m trying,” Izuku whispered back.
“You’re doing wonderfully.”
And he was.
***
Katsuki didn’t volunteer with him—not at first. He hovered nearby, arms crossed, feet tapping impatiently, pretending he had no interest in minor injuries and whiny strangers.
But he watched.
He watched the way Izuku’s whole face focused when someone came in hurt. He watched the steady glow of the grimoire. He watched Feo Ul’s quiet mentoring.
And once in a while, when Izuku treated a sprained wrist or knot of muscle, Katsuki muttered, “Tch. Not bad, nerd.”
Izuku beamed every time.
***
As the months passed, Izuku learned more than how to heal. He learned how to speak kindly to someone frightened. How to steady his hands even when his heart raced. How to recognize when someone needed a smile more than a bandage.
Feo Ul took notes in the air like they were etching them into the wind. “You have good instincts,” they told him one hot summer afternoon. “Better than many grown healers I've known.”
Izuku flushed bright pink. “I just want to help…”
“And you do.” She tapped his temple. “Because your heart moves before your fear.”
Katsuki, sitting on a crate and working through breathing drills they forced on him, scoffed. “He’s a crybaby with magic. Of course he helps.”
Izuku laughed. Feo Ul laughed harder. “Do not mock the gentle child,” they intoned dramatically. “He may heal your future emotional wounds one day.”
Katsuki sputtered.
***
But not every moment was perfect.
One afternoon, Izuku misjudged his limits.
He tried to heal too many people too quickly during a crowded sports festival, and his legs folded beneath him. A panicked volunteer reached for him, but Feo Ul beat them there—fluttering down with the force of a stern, worried mother. “Enough for today,” they whispered, pressing a hand of shimmering light to his cheek. “Sapling, you mustn’t give more than you have.”
Izuku blinked blearily. “S-sorry… I didn’t want anyone to hurt…”
Katsuki appeared at his side in an instant, glaring at the volunteers like they were personally responsible.
“He’s done,” Katsuki snapped. “Back off.”
Feo Ul nodded. “Yes. My explosion-child speaks truth.”
Izuku was carried to a shady tent, and Katsuki sat beside him the entire time—grumbling, but not leaving.
“Nerd,” Katsuki muttered, “you’ve gotta stop trying to fix everyone at once.”
“I know,” Izuku whispered. “I just… when people are hurting, I want to help.”
Katsuki huffed. “Yeah, well… help yourself too, idiot.”
***
Katsuki didn’t announce he was going to try Kyokushin.
He just marched up to Izuku’s apartment one Saturday morning, banged twice on the door with the confidence of someone who owned the building, and declared:
“I’m going to a dojo. Come watch me not suck.”
Izuku blinked at him, toothbrush still in his mouth.
Feo Ul floated beside him, wings fluttering. “The explosion-child seeks discipline? Delightful.”
Katsuki scowled. “It’s not discipline. It’s— it’s combat science.”
Izuku spat into the sink. “C-combat science?”
“Shut up and get your shoes.”
***
The dojo was small, tucked between a laundromat and a stationery shop. The moment they stepped inside, the smell of tatami mats, sweat, and disinfectant wrapped around them. Students moved in synchronized lines, fists cutting through the air with crisp intention.
A tall, stern-looking instructor noticed the newcomers and stepped over.
“You here to observe?” he asked politely. Izuku nodded.
Katsuki stepped forward. “I’m here to join.”
Izuku nearly tripped over his own feet. “R-really?!”
Katsuki’s cheeks pinked. “Yeah. Ms. Joke said I need a striker’s discipline.”
Feo Ul nodded sagely. “Indeed. Structure shall tame the volcano within.”
Katsuki glared. “Stop calling me volcano.”
“You prefer ‘eruption hazard’?” the pixie asked, an eye brow quirked upward. Izuku giggled. Katsuki stomped on his foot. Izuku apologized twice.
The instructor watched all of this with the mild patience of someone who had seen weirder. He gestured for Katsuki to step forward.
“Kyokushin requires spirit as much as strength. Can you show me your stance?”
Katsuki inhaled slowly—Tai Chi breath control steadying him—and planted his feet in the striker’s posture Ms. Joke had shown him. Hips square. Shoulders firm. Center low.
The instructor’s eyes sharpened. “Good foundation,” he murmured. “You’ve trained before?”
“Not like this,” Katsuki said. “But I want to.”
A beat.
A nod.
“Welcome to the dojo.”
Katsuki’s fists clenched—not in aggression this time, but excitement that almost bubbled over.
Training began immediately.
Izuku sat off to the side with Feo Ul perched on his knee, watching Katsuki learn the basics—stances, punches, the rhythm of full-contact striking. Katsuki threw himself into it with the same intensity he brought to everything. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breath was steady. His strikes echoed across the room with a level of focus Izuku had rarely seen.
Feo Ul hummed. “He learns quickly.”
Izuku nodded. “Kacchan’s always been good at physical stuff.”
The duo watched the boy move, watched the controlled power behind each strike, watched the instructor correct his form gently but firmly. Feo Ul sighed. “Growth is a curious thing. Some mortals reach for strength because they fear weakness. But your explosion-child reaches because he wishes to protect.”
Izuku flushed. “K-Kacchan’s always been like that… deep down.”
***
Training wrapped with a sharp clap from the instructor. Katsuki bowed, sweat dripping from his hair, fire still burning in his eyes. Izuku hurried over, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Kacchan! That was incredible! Your roundhouse was so clean, and the way you kept your guard up—”
“Damn right it was,” Katsuki said, chest puffing a little.
Feo Ul floated above them, wings flickering in mild amusement. “He shows promise, for one who tries to punch the world into submission.”
Katsuki glared. “I don’t try to punch the world. Just the parts that annoy me.”
“So… all of it?” Izuku asked himself, quietly.
“DON’T AGREE WITH HER.”
Izuku laughed, which only made Katsuki scowl harder.
The instructor approached with a towel and a bottle of water. “You did good work today, Bakugo. Strong foundation. We’ll build from here. Who taught you your basics?”
"Ms. Joke. She's a local hero."
"I see. Keep up the hard work, and you'll advance in no time."
Katsuki took the towel, nodding with unusual seriousness. “Thank you, sensei.”
“You’ll need patience,” the instructor added. “Strength is easy. Control is harder.”
Katsuki huffed. “I’m working on it.”
The sensei smiled, the kind of smile adults gave children when they were proud but trying not to show it too much, and dismissed them for the day.
***
On the walk home, Katsuki was an electric storm barely held together. He kicked a pebble so hard it skipped three times across the pavement.
Izuku beamed beside him. “So you’re gonna keep going, right?”
“Obviously,” Katsuki said. “Tai Chi helps me not explode. Karate helps me explode better.”
Feo Ul pinched the bridge of their tiny nose. “That is not— I do not think that is the lesson—”
Katsuki smirked. “Too late. I already decided.”
Izuku laughed, bright and warm. “You looked really happy, Kacchan.”
Katsuki slowed just a little. “…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I was. I am.”
He didn’t look at Izuku when he said it, but Izuku still noticed.
Feo Ul drifted above them, a soft hum in their wings. “You two mortals continue to grow in strange ways. I suppose I must keep watch.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, fairy babysitter, whatever.”
She stuck out their tongue. “Watch yourself, explosion-child. I can still turn you into a shrubbery.”
Izuku clapped his hands. “No shrubbery! Let’s just… go home?”
They stopped bickering long enough to glance at him.
Then both looked away with identical muttered,
“Fine…”
***
The Dagobah shore was…
beautiful.
That was the first shock.
Five years ago, it had been a junkyard pretending to be a coastline — mountains of appliances, broken car parts jutting out like metal ribs, wave-worn garbage tangled in the sand. A place where dreams came to die in rust and salt. But now? Now the sand gleamed pale gold under the late afternoon sun, smooth and clean. The water lapped gently, clear enough to see stones beneath the surface. Wildflowers had crept back along the edges of the path. Seagulls circled overhead like they’d been waiting for permission to return. Ms. Joke stood at the edge of the boardwalk, arms folded, and let out a long, low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
She hadn’t been here in months — patrol shifts, consulting cases, and the government’s latest paperwork nightmare had kept her too busy to visit. She expected the boys to still be working on it.
Not… this.
The place looked alive again. Vibrant. Hopeful.
And her stupid heart did a stupid, warm, achy thing in her chest.
“They really did it.”
A soft chiming buzzed beside her ear.
“Of course they did it,” a voice said, as smug as glitter in a school carpet. “They are my Sapling and his explosive appendage. Great things follow them. There was a community drive to get some of the bigger things out of the way, and everyone helped out a little.”
Ms. Joke did not startle — she’d grown used to Izuku’s fairy over the years — but she did side-eye the tiny creature now hovering at her shoulder.
“Explosive appendage?” she repeated. “That’s what you’re calling Katsuki today?”
“It fits,” Feo Ul sniffed.
Ms. Joke barked a laugh, crossing her arms. “Well, he definitely fits the ‘explosive’ part.”
“And the ‘appendage,’” Feo Ul added primly.
“Oh? Why’s that?”
Feo Ul looked unbearably pleased with themself. “He follows my Sapling everywhere, of course.”
Ms. Joke groaned into her hands. “Oh, they are going to be so adorable when they start dating.”
“Let's revisit that prediction when they are somewhat older,” Feo Ul said, their wings glittering with mischief.
Ms. Joke took a final sweeping look at the beach.
Five years.
Five years of showing up after patrol to give two determined little gremlins advice on stance, breathing, strategy. Five years of reminding them not to overdo it, of cheering their progress, of trying and failing not to be overly fond of them.
And now she had to tell them she was leaving.
Her stomach twisted.
Right on cue, she heard them before she saw them — two sets of pounding footsteps, one light and frantic, one heavier with righteous confidence.
“Ms. Joke!!” Izuku waved both arms as he sprinted down the boardwalk, curls bouncing, cheeks flushed with excitement. Katsuki followed behind, not running so much as storming toward her like gravity had offended him personally. Ms. Joke smiled despite herself.
“There they are,” she said softly. “My disaster children.”
When they reached her, Izuku nearly collided with her legs. “Ms. Joke!!! You came— we weren’t expecting— did you see the beach—? How was patrol—? Are you hungry—? Do you—?”
“Izuku,” she said, patting his head. “Breathe in between words.”
He sucked in air like a vacuum cleaner. “S-sorry!”
Katsuki crossed his arms, pretending he hadn’t run at all. “’Bout time you showed up, old lady.”
Ms. Joke raised an eyebrow. “Old?”
Katsuki immediately reconsidered his life choices. “I–I meant- older than us- which everybody is- so technically- um-”
Izuku whispered, “Kacchan, abort!”
“Shut up, nerd.”
Feo Ul cackled overhead.
Ms. Joke shook her head, warmth blooming behind her ribs. These idiots. Her idiots. But now the hard part. She exhaled. “Boys… I actually came because I need to tell you something.” Izuku’s smile faltered. Katsuki straightened, sensing tension. Ms. Joke rubbed the back of her neck. “I, uh… well. I’ve accepted a position at Ketsubutsu Academy. Teaching. Starting next month.” Izuku froze. Katsuki’s jaw tightened. Feo Ul’s wings paused mid-flutter. Ms. Joke continued gently, “It’s a big opportunity. And they need more underground-style heroes to help train the next batch of kids. It’s… important work.”
Izuku’s voice trembled. “So… you won’t be able to come here anymore?”
Ms. Joke crouched down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Izuku, listen. You two don’t need me anymore. You’ve learned how to listen and how to learn.”
Katsuki swallowed hard and looked away, pretending something very interesting was happening in the sand. “Tch. Whatever. We’ll just get better without you.”
Izuku blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. “W-we’ll miss you.”
Ms. Joke ruffled his hair. “I’ll miss you too. Both of you.”
Feo Ul drifted closer, unusually soft. “You have been… tolerable. Occasionally wise. Mildly amusing.”
Ms. Joke burst out laughing. “Wow. High praise.”
Izuku let out a watery giggle.
Katsuki snorted despite himself.
The three of them stood there a moment—
the hero, the martial artist, and the budding healer—
on a beach returned to life.
Ms. Joke took one last look around. “Promise me something, okay?”
Izuku nodded instantly. “Anything!”
“Keep going,” she said. “Keep growing. Don’t stop just because I’m not right behind you anymore.”
Katsuki straightened, eyes fierce. “Like hell we’d stop.”
Izuku chimed, “We’ll make you proud!”
“You already have,” she said.
And for once, Ms. Joke didn’t crack a joke.
Notes:
1/19/26: Feo Ul's gender updated to non binary.
Chapter Text
Time didn’t leap so much as stretch, a long soft ribbon of days winding forward from the moment Ms. Joke departed Musutafu.
She left with her usual crooked grin and an awkward salute, boots clacking on the boardwalk as she promised—half sincerely, half dramatically—to visit “before the city crumbles without her dazzling humor.” Izuku waved so hard he nearly fell over. Katsuki muttered something under his breath that might have been take care if you squinted at it sideways. Feo Ul hovered above them, making no comment at all; their wings beat too slowly for that, as if they were thinking something they didn’t want the boys to read.
Dagobah Beach stayed exactly as they’d shaped it: clean sand, clean water, clean horizon. The tide still spit up debris now and then—busted floats, torn nets, half-rotten boards from some distant storm—but the boys handled it with the kind of steady rhythm that made the work feel less like a chore and more like a habit stitched into the fabric of their lives. Katsuki blasted apart big pieces before they became hazards; Izuku sorted and hauled; Feo Ul offered stern commentary about currents and erosion as though the shoreline took orders from them.
***
School threaded itself through their days. Izuku grew into his limbs a little more, his curls refusing to be tamed, his notebooks multiplying like small, hopeful creatures. He wrote constantly—spell theory, hero notes, training logs, half-thought sketches of new Job mechanics. Teachers learned quickly that if a kid showed up with a sprain or a bad headache, sending them to “Midoriya and his support quirk” was faster than waiting for the nurse.
Katsuki threw himself into Kyokushin classes with a determination that startled even his instructors. Tai Chi had taught him breath; now he learned how to strike without losing himself in the impact. He grew stronger, sharper, more controlled—not the explosive wildfire of his childhood, but a focused burn, steady enough that Izuku sometimes caught himself staring in quiet awe.
Feo Ul, meanwhile, adapted. This world still felt wrong in ways they couldn’t put into neat categories—its energy too rigid, too artificially patterned—but Izuku’s constant spell-work fed them in a way ambient aether never could. They perched on his shoulder with bright wings, no longer flickering, no longer starved. If anything, they grew more expressive: flicking his ear when he slouched over his notes, tugging Katsuki by the hair when he let frustration chew holes in his breathing pattern.
Their friendships, their training, their rhythms—none of it happened in sharp turns or dramatic leaps. It accumulated, layer upon layer, the way confidence does when no one is trying to measure it. Even weekends blurred pleasantly: dojo trips, volunteer shifts at community events, rooftop evenings where they talked about heroes in low voices as if the city lights might overhear.
Four years passed like that—quietly, steadily, without announcing itself.
The days simply kept going.
***
They were the last two students left in the Aldera third-year classroom.
The sun hung low and gold through the dusty windows, painting long rectangles across the battered desks. Most kids had sprinted out the instant the bell rang, desperate to escape another day of mediocre teachers and peeling bulletin boards.
Katsuki Bakugo, however, sat with one knee bouncing under his desk, a crisp packet of papers clenched so tightly in his hand it had begun to crinkle.
Izuku glanced over, nervous energy radiating off him like steam. “K-Kacchan… are you sure you want to fill these out now? We could do it at home, or— or tomorrow—”
“No,” Katsuki grunted. “If I don’t do it now, I’ll overthink it and it’ll piss me off.”
Feo Ul floated lazily above Izuku’s shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with themself. “Ah yes. Delaying destiny through emotional turbulence. A common mortal flaw.”
Katsuki shot them a glare. “Don’t start.”
Izuku swallowed, smoothing the edges of his own application packet—Hinode Preparatory Academy, white paper, bold blue lettering, too official-looking for his trembling hands.
“I know Kacchan can get in,” Izuku murmured. “I just… I’m not sure about me.”
Katsuki turned so fast Izuku flinched. “Izu. Look at me.”
Izuku did.
“You healed half the city before you were a teenager. You train harder than anyone in this dump. You learn more in a week than our teachers have taught us in three years.” He tapped the packet. “You’re getting in.”
Izuku’s ears went pink.
Feo Ul nodded stately. “My Sapling will gain admission. I shall allow no other outcome.”
“You have zero say in this,” Katsuki muttered.
“I have infinite psychological influence,” they countered.
Izuku tried not to laugh.
They bent over their applications together, two heads of messy hair nearly touching as they filled out the long, intimidating forms:
• Academic history
• Quirk description
• Hero aspirations
• Personal statement
Izuku agonized over every line. Katsuki wrote like his pen was in a fistfight but with surprising clarity. When Izuku hesitated on the “describe your future goals” prompt, Katsuki nudged his elbow.
“Write what you always write,” he said. “You wanna help people. Say that. It’s who you are.”
Izuku exhaled shakily and did.
When they sealed their envelopes, Katsuki let out a long breath like he’d been holding it for months. “Okay. That’s it. They’re done.”
Izuku held his envelope against his chest like it was fragile. “It feels… big.”
“It is,” Katsuki said simply.
Feo Ul perched atop the stack of textbooks like a smug gargoyle. “Two boys. One future. Destinies diverging from mediocrity at last.”
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “We’re just going to a better school. Stop being dramatic.”
“This school is a rotting onion of disappointment,” Feo Ul declared. “Dramatics are all I have left here.”
Izuku let out a breathless laugh.
The bell for after-school cleaning duty rang faintly somewhere down the hall. Katsuki stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Let’s mail them on the way home.”
Izuku nodded. “Yeah. Let’s… let’s really do this.”
Side by side, they walked through the empty corridors, their steps echoing softly. They had trained for years, fought bullies, rebuilt a beach, survived growing pains and misunderstandings and terrifying close calls.
Now they were preparing to leave Aldera behind.
A red postbox waited near the corner outside the school gates. Katsuki popped his envelope in with the decisive shove of someone throwing a punch. Izuku followed with a gentler motion, almost reverent.
Both envelopes slid out of sight.
Katsuki smirked. “That’s it. Too late to chicken out.”
Izuku inhaled, exhaled, and felt something in his chest expand.
“Right,” he said softly. “No turning back now.”
Feo Ul looped once overhead, scattering faint motes of light. “Onward, little Sapling. You step toward the life you seek.”
***
The trouble really started because Izuku Midoriya was too polite for his own survival.
Classes had barely let out when a knot of girls from the second-year wing spotted him in the hallway and descended like brightly dressed birds.
“There he is! Midoriya-kun—wait, wait—can you show us your fairy again?”
“What’s her name? Does she grant wishes?”
“Can she say something? Anything? Please?”
Feo Ul basked in the attention at first, hands on their hips, wings shimmering in a showy ripple. “At last, proper appreciation. You mortals are learning.”
Izuku turned the color of a ripe tomato. “F-Feo Ul, please don’t— I mean— they’re not— I’m not—”
“You are doing terribly,” Feo Ul informed him, patting his hair like they was comforting a much younger child. “Smile. But not that way. Less teeth. Gods, Sapling—less panic.”
It did not help.
Two more girls joined. Then three more. Someone asked if Feo Ul could cast a spell. Someone wanted a picture. Someone asked if Izuku could make “the fairy glow.”
Izuku apologized roughly every four seconds until an opening appeared, and he bowled his way through it with a bow so frantic it nearly toppled him. By the time he reached the front gate, the train he normally caught was already sliding away down the rails in a storm of brakes and metallic groans.
He stood on the platform, panting, clutching his backpack straps.
Feo Ul lounged on his shoulder with one leg crossed over the other, unimpressed. “Mortals are exhausting.”
He nodded weakly. “I-I guess I’ll walk home today…”
Katsuki had left an hour earlier for club practice, shouting over his shoulder that he’d “see the nerd later,” which meant Izuku wasn’t expected anywhere on time. The walk wasn’t bad. Sometimes he liked it. It gave him space to think.
He slipped onto the quieter streets, away from the clusters of students pouring toward the bus lines. Feo Ul kept up a soft commentary about the indignities of fame for magical beings, which Izuku mostly tuned out while he scribbled a note about structural vulnerabilities in front-line rescue teams.
He turned under an overpass and hesitated as his pencil scratched to a halt.
Something wet scraped along concrete behind him.
Feo Ul’s wings went rigid.
“Sapling,” they whispered, “move.”
Izuku turned, expecting a stray cat or maybe a raccoon—
The villain erupted from a drainage opening in a surge of green sludge and sharp, reeking breath, lunging for him with a shapeless roar.
Izuku didn’t think.
Eight years of training burned through his veins faster than panic could. His hand snapped upward, fingers curling just so, aether pooling in his chest with that familiar Scholar warmth, grimoire manifesting a flash—
Adloquium flared around him in a blossom of bright, translucent light.
The sludge hit the barrier with a splattering, sucking whump, flattening itself uselessly against the curved shield. Izuku stumbled backward inside the bubble, eyes wide, breath locked in his chest. The barrier trembled but held firm, shining faintly with the green-gold hue that marked his healing magic.
“Good!” Feo Ul barked, circling him like a furious hummingbird. “Now walk, Izuku—shield yourself and walk!”
Izuku tried—he really did—but the villain, denied its usual method of suffocation, began to wrap around the outside of the barrier, smearing across the surface, blocking sight and sound until the world shrank to a dim, shaking sphere of light.
He couldn’t breathe. The barrier held, but his lungs didn’t seem to understand that he was safe.
He backed into a wall. Hard. The spell flickered.
A shadow dropped across the alley mouth.
“Never fear!” a booming voice declared, “for I am—”
Air pressure slammed forward as a single punch detonated the sludge creature into scattered, dripping fragments. Izuku’s barrier burst in a pop of aether as the shockwave washed over him, leaving him gasping, knees shaking.
All Might strode into view, larger than life even in the cramped space, steam curling from his shoulders as he surveyed the remains.
“Oh!” he said brightly, as if he’d found a misplaced lunchbox. “There he is!”
Izuku stared. Then the tears hit—hot, immediate, overwhelming.
“I—I’m s-sorry—I—he—he almost— I didn’t—” He couldn’t string thoughts into words. He barely remembered dropping the barrier. Feo Ul hovered right beside his ear, both hands pressed to his cheek, voice sharp with worry.
All Might, unbothered by the emotional collapse, grabbed a pair of empty two-liter bottles from a nearby recycling bag, scooped the sludge remains into them with blinding efficiency, and capped them with a flourish.
“You handled yourself quite well, young man!” he said, tucking both bottles into a cargo pocket. “Quick reflexes! Excellent quirk utilization!”
Izuku’s breath stuttered. “R-really? Can I ask something? Do you-”
“Sorry, no time!” All Might boomed, giving a thumbs-up big enough to block half the alley. “Keep training, though! A strong support hero is the backbone of any front-line team! Absolutely indispensable!”
Izuku’s knees nearly gave out as he received his idol's approval. He nodded, tears streaming, chest aching with something too tangled to name.
“All right, young man!” All Might said, oblivious to the emotional wreckage behind him. “I must deliver this villain to the police.”
He struck a pose too fast for Izuku to brace himself for.
“Go BEYOND! PLUS ULTRA!”
And then he jumped.
Wind roared down the alley, rattling loose trash and tugging Izuku’s curls forward over his eyes. Feo Ul steadied themself midair with a hiss, wings flattened against the gale.
When the dust finally settled, the alley felt cavernous and empty. Izuku stayed where he was, one hand pressed hard over his mouth, tears dripping silently onto the concrete.
Feo Ul drifted close enough to touch his cheek, their voice softer than the air.
“Sapling,” they whispered, “breathe.”
He tried.
He really tried.
Eventually he nodded, wiped his eyes, gathered his bag, and stepped back onto the street with movements that felt borrowed from someone else’s body. The city sounds swelled around him without meaning.
Somewhere ahead, distant but growing louder, sirens wailed.
Izuku looked toward them without thinking and followed the noise down the street.
***
Izuku didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks started to ache.
He pressed both hands to them, trying—and failing—to push the grin back into something reasonable. But the happiness wouldn’t fit inside his face anymore. It spilled out in soft, breathless giggles that kept catching in his throat.
“He said it,” Izuku whispered to himself, voice cracking with sheer disbelief. “He really—he actually said it—support heroes are indispensable, they’re essential on the front lines, I could actually—”
“Careful, Sapling,” Feo Ul murmured, placing a tiny hand on the side of his head to steer him away from a streetlamp. “Your joy is radiant, but you are seconds away from injuring yourself on mundane architecture.”
Izuku redirected without missing a syllable.
“All Might told me—All Might told me I could be a hero—me, Feo Ul, he said I could really do it—I could help people, I could stand with the other pros, I could be—”
“Left,” Feo Ul said gently.
Izuku veered left just before he walked directly into a mailbox.
“I could be on the front lines,” he whispered, breath hitching with awe. “People rely on healers—support units keep everyone going—he called me vital—vital, Feo Ul—indispensable—!”
Feo Ul drifted around to face him, wings fluttering with delicate amusement. “If you begin glowing any brighter, I shall have to acquire sunglasses to prevent blindness.”
Izuku’s eyes watered with how deeply, completely happy he felt. His chest felt too small to contain it. The alleyway air seemed full of morning light even though it was late afternoon.
A passing couple stared as he walked by muttering to himself:
“Vital—indispensable—he said support heroes were indispensable, which means—oh no I’m going to cry again—”
Feo Ul gently pushed his chin up before he could drift into a crosswalk on a red light.
“One moment, darling. Cars exist in this realm.”
Izuku squeaked and stopped just in time, bouncing lightly in place as he waited for the signal. His feet couldn’t stay still. His entire body vibrated with the need to move, to do something, to chase this feeling to the ends of the city.
When the light changed, he jogged forward, practically tiptoeing with giddy energy.
Feo Ul hovered just above his shoulder, trailing him like an indulgent, exasperated guardian. “I will admit,” they said softly, “it is pleasant, seeing you like this.”
Izuku made a noise so bright it barely counted as human.
He kept walking—no, drifting—down the sloping street, replaying All Might’s words again and again, each repetition lighting him up from the inside.
He barely noticed the first curl of smoke rising over the rooftops.
Barely noticed the far-off hum of sirens.
Barely noticed the way the air began to warm around him.
His heart was too full. Too hopeful.
But the world ahead was changing.
Heat shimmered off the pavement.
Voices rose. People gathered in clusters.
Izuku took a step toward them—
—and the world slammed sideways.
He saw Katsuki, walking with two boys from the karate club.
A bottle fell—thump.
Katsuki caught it.
A flash of irritation—sparks—
A small pop of an explosion—
The bottle burst.
Green sludge erupted and swallowed him whole.
The boys ran.
Katsuki disappeared.
Izuku blinked, and he was back, mid-step, heat from the burning street hitting his face as if nothing had happened.
Only a half-heartbeat had passed.
Ahead, in the real world, Katsuki was already engulfed in the sludge villain, thrashing for breath exactly as Izuku had just seen.
Izuku inhaled sharply.
Feo Ul startled as he broke into a sprint so sharply that they had to jerk backward to avoid being thrown off his shoulder, their wings buzzing with alarm.
“Sapling—!”
But he was already moving faster than thought.
Aether surged up his spine in a brilliant rush—instinctive, practiced, automatic.
His Scholar robes snapped into place in a flare of green-gold light, appearing over his school uniform in a seamless ripple of aether.
His grimoire materialized in his hand a half-second later, warm and heavy, as he vaulted the police barricade and hit the street at full speed.
“Kid, stop!”
“Where are his parents—?!”
“Someone grab him—!”
Izuku’s palm shot forward. “Ruin!” A trio of emerald bolts fired with perfect form—clean spell-work., tight control, absolutely no hesitation.
They hit, and the sludge villain shuddered.
A chunk of its mass hissed and sloughed off, sizzling as it struck the pavement.
The creature recoiled with a wet, annoyed gurgle, not hurt, but irritated.
Ruin wasn’t nothing. It just wasn’t enough. Feo Ul hissed through their teeth. “Disgusting sewer bavarois. You Ruin does not seem to be as effective. DODGE!”
A sludge tendril whipped toward Izuku—
He jumped back, barrier flaring as it absorbed the blow and sent a jolt up his arms.
He skidded across the pavement, boots scraping hard enough to throw sparks.
Then his eyes met Katsuki’s.
Barely visible through the shifting green mass—
but visible enough.
Izuku saw the terror.
The fury.
The helplessness.
The way Katsuki’s sparks died before they ever lit.
Something inside Izuku snapped tight—
and then burst.
The aether that had always obeyed him suddenly surged upward, cracking through his Scholar stance like a second heartbeat fighting to be born. Green-gold light shattered into spirals of crimson and white that wrapped around his limbs, his chest, his throat, until he felt like he was standing inside a storm made of his own magic.
"Izuku—!" Feo Ul cried, startled, but he barely heard them.
The light tore through his robes, unraveling them into glowing threads that rewove themselves in a flash into something sharper, sleeker—a long, deep-red coat swept down around him, fitted over red slacks and black heeled boots, a crisp white shirt beneath a dark cravat, and a wide-brimmed red hat crowned with a white plume that flared behind him like a banner caught in the heat of the burning street.
His stance changed without conscious thought.
He now stood balanced on the balls of his feet, blade-arm angled forward in perfect Red Mage form, as though he’d practiced it for years.
A glittering rapier, Talekeeper, Feo Ul would later tell him, coalesced into his right hand with a clear, ringing hum. A red crystal spun above his left palm like a captured star.
Izuku ran his palm along the flat of the blade—
Manafication erupted in a brilliant explosion of red-white aether.
He launched forward like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Corps-a-Corps carried him straight into the villain with blinding speed.
"Riposte!"
The blade cut a clean arc through the sludge, carving a line that hissed and steamed.
"Zwerchhau!"
He pivoted sharply, slicing upward through the creature’s mass; sludge sheared off in long strips.
"Redoublement!"
The final strike hit with enough force to stagger the villain fully backward, its grip on Katsuki faltering.
Izuku didn’t hesitate.
He dove into the gap, seized Katsuki around the torso.
"Hold on—!"
The world spun. Red aether whirled around their bodies as Displacement detonated beneath his feet, flinging them both in a spiraling arc away from the villain. They hit the pavement hard and rolled until Izuku braced one boot and dragged them to a stop.
Katsuki coughed, choking on air and sludge, struggling upright.
Izuku rose beside him, trembling. Talekeeper and the crystal snapped together in his hand, reforming into a sleek, pulsing staff. Red aether spiraled upward in a cyclone.
His voice cracked as he cast the spell.
"Verflare!"
The burst bloomed in a storming explosion, blasting the sludge villain off its feet and scattering it across the street in a smoking, stunned heap.
Izuku exhaled shakily, knees threatening to buckle as the street fell eerily quiet around them.
***
The world rang faintly, a thin metallic hum that clung to the air after the Verflare faded. Smoke drifted upward from scattered puddles of sludge. A distant car alarm chirped once and gave up. The street was suddenly too quiet.
Izuku let out a shaking breath. His knees buckled, and the staff dissolved into harmless sparks as the last of the Red Mage aether slipped away. He dropped into a kneel without meaning to, the red coat settling heavily around him.
“Kacchan,” he managed, voice breaking. “Kacchan, I’m sorry, I wasn’t fast enough, I should have reacted sooner, are you hurt, did I throw you too hard, I didn’t mean to scare you, I—”
Katsuki was coughing on his hands and knees, dragging in air like it hurt. Sludge streaked down his jaw and shirt, clung to his hair, and dripped from one sleeve. A weak spark flickered across his palm before dying.
Izuku reached toward him, panic rising quick and hot. “Please talk to me. Are you alright? Kacchan, please.”
Katsuki’s head snapped up.
“Izu.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t sharp. It was raw, his voice stripped down to something fragile and furious and frightened all at once.
Izuku froze.
Katsuki didn’t look at him right away. His jaw trembled. His hands curled against the pavement, shaking hard enough that the grit scraped his knuckles. He swallowed, a tight, painful sound.
Then he grabbed the front of Izuku’s coat and pulled him in.
The kiss landed with all the force of a punch.
There was nothing gentle about it. Katsuki’s hands were shaking, his breath still ragged, his mouth too hard and too desperate against Izuku’s. It was terror and relief and fury tangled together, an entire collapse of emotion pressed into a single moment.
Izuku’s eyes flew wide. He made a startled sound, something soft and helpless, and caught himself against Katsuki’s shoulders because his balance had vanished. His mind wasn’t keeping up with any of it. He could barely breathe.
Katsuki pulled back only when he needed air. He didn’t move far. His forehead rested against Izuku’s, breaths shaking through him as though each one cost effort.
“You reckless idiot,” he whispered, voice unsteady. “Izu, don’t ever do that again. You hear me? Don’t ever…”
Izuku couldn’t speak. His pulse hammered in his ears. His cheeks felt hot enough to glow. His hands stayed braced on Katsuki’s shoulders because letting go didn’t feel possible. He looked stunned and breathless and completely overwhelmed.
Feo Ul hovered above them, both hands over their mouth, wings trembling with delighted shock. They didn’t say a word. They didn’t dare break whatever this was.
The boys barely noticed the world around them at all.
For a moment, it was only the two of them, alive and breathing in the wreckage of what almost happened.
***
The moment between the boys fractured at the sound of approaching boots.
Death Arms came in hot, pointing at Izuku like he’d just kicked over a crime scene. “That kind of quirk usage in a live rescue zone is illegal. You could have made everything worse.”
Mt. Lady followed, brushing sludge off her heel. “Minors interfering in hero operations is a chargeable offense. Your parents are going to hear about this.”
Kamui Woods stiffened like he was about to deliver a lecture. “We’ll need to file a report. Unauthorized combat, reckless endangerment, obstruction—”
Izuku flinched. His armor flickered, fading away from his body, leaving him small, exhausted, and blotched with soot. He opened his mouth to apologize, because of course he did.
He never got the chance.
Katsuki shoved in front of him, still shaking, eyes bright with fury. “Back off. He saved me while you stood here arguing about angles.”
“Watch your tone,” Kamui Woods snapped.
“No,” Katsuki growled, “watch your jobs.”
That was when Feo Ul darted forward.
They hovered between Katsuki’s shoulder and Death Arms’ chest, barely the size of an open hand, but their presence pulled the street taut. Her wings folded back with the slow, deliberate grace of someone about to deliver a eulogy or a threat.
“Since we are discussing jobs,” Feo Ul said, “let us review yours.”
The heroes blinked, caught off guard.
Feo Ul tilted their head, the picture of polite inquiry. “Section Three, Subpart C of the National Hero Conduct Codex requires immediate intervention when a civilian is in imminent mortal danger. That boy”—they pointed to Katsuki, still coughing—“was suffocating. You did not intervene.”
Death Arms bristled. “We were assessing risk—”
“Section Seven, Clause D,” Feo Ul continued, “states that excessive hesitation in the face of an active, time-sensitive threat constitutes procedural negligence. Particularly when the endangered party is a minor who cannot free himself.”
Kamui Woods opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Feo Ul went on, their voice pleasant. “Section Nine, Subsection E outlines that prioritizing your personal motives over the life of a civilian is dereliction of duty. I saw no efforts whatsoever to retrieve the hostage. I did, however, hear posing for cameras.”
Mt. Lady’s face went white.
“And let us not forget,” Feo Ul said, “Section Twelve, Part A, which prohibits obstruction of capable civilians when said civilians attempt life-saving measures that heroes have failed to initiate. You shouted at Izuku to stop, yet made no move to rescue the drowning child yourselves.”
Death Arms muttered, “He could have been hurt.”
“Section Fourteen, Sub-clause F,” Feo Ul replied, “specifically protects civilians who render emergency aid under duress. This is called the Standardized Good Samaritan Provision, in case any of you ever decide to read the laws governing your profession.”
Kamui Woods bristled. “You don’t have the authority to interpret hero law.”
Feo Ul smiled. It was not a kind smile. “Interpret? There is no interpretation. I am quoting it verbatim.”
Silence.
They drifted a little closer, voice softening into something almost sympathetic. “Now, we arrive at the delightful gem known as Section Fifteen, Subsection B. This one governs compensation. Should a civilian, minor or adult, perform the meaningful portion of a rescue due to hero inaction… the credit for that rescue, the monetary reward, and any associated commendations are legally awarded to the civilian performer.”
Mt. Lady choked out a noise.
Feo Ul tapped their chin. “In this case, Izuku neutralized the threat sufficiently for the hostage to be freed, extracted the hostage, and prevented further civilian casualties. He is therefore the rightful claimant for the standard payout and may be nominated for a meritorious commendation.”
Death Arms sputtered, “That’s— That can’t— That law is ancient!”
“Oh, indeed,” Feo Ul said lightly. “Established seventy-eight years ago, under Regulation Revision Forty-One. Overlooked by most heroes because they assume no civilian would ever outshine them.”
Kamui Woods actually took a step back.
Feo Ul wasn’t finished.
Her voice lowered, almost affectionate in its cruelty. “And now, my personal favorite. Section Twenty-Two, Addendum K. An obscure rarity. It states that if a hero fails to act in a timely manner during a Class Four or higher urban incident, and another party resolves the critical element of the crisis, the attending heroes’ pay for that incident may be withheld at the discretion of municipal oversight.”
Mt. Lady’s jaw dropped.
Death Arms swore under his breath.
Even Backdraft, still working behind them, winced.
Feo Ul gave a gentle shrug. “Which, if Musutafu chooses, means you are not being paid for this mistake.”
They let that sit in the air a moment, like a stone dropped into still water.
Then they added, “And Izuku is. Oh, and Backdraft. He did a splendid job.”
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Izuku’s eyes went wide. Katsuki started laughing, a sharp incredulous sound, still breathless but vindicated.
Feo Ul turned away from the heroes like they were no more interesting than trash on the curb. “We are done here. Reflect on your performance, or lack thereof.”
They floated back to Izuku’s shoulder.
“Come along, Sapling,” they said. “You have already done their work for them.”
Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s hand without thinking, and the two boys slipped away down the nearest side street, leaving three devastated pros in their wake.
***
UA’s principal office was quiet except for the glow of the monitor bank throwing shifting light across Nedzu’s pristine desk. He sat perched on the edge of his chair, paws folded, eyes bright with interest as the shaky civilian livestream played across three screens at once.
Smoke blurred the edges of the frame. The phone camera picked up cheering, screaming, and someone yelling oh my god as a blast of red light tore through the street.
The boy on the screen stood in the center of it with a gleaming rapier in one hand and something like a crystallized spell focus in the other. His coat drifted behind him in the heat, the fabric moving as though charged with its own energy.
Nedzu lifted a cup of tea toward his whiskers.
“My, my… that is not a quirk I recognize.”
The child’s casting sequence replayed in slow motion: the snap of his stance, the shift of his aura, the burst of crimson followed by an elegant, rapid sequence of movements that looked half swordsmanship, half spellcasting.
“Spell-blade combat,” Nedzu murmured. “Fascinating.”
Another screen flickered open. This one showed a different angle, capturing Katsuki’s extraction and the flare of red energy that finished the fight.
A livestream chat scroll surged into view:
Holy hell what was that
That red kid is insane
Is that even a quirk
Dude pulled off an anime finisher
Sword magic? spell combat? I don’t know but it was sick
Who IS he???????
Crimson Savior just saved that hostage
Someone give that kid a license
Crimson Savior! Crimson Savior! Crimson Savior!
Nedzu’s whiskers twitched in amusement.
“Human creativity never sleeps,” he said. “A nickname already.”
He rewound the footage. The boy moved with a precision that was almost ceremonial. His energy wasn’t like emitter quirks or hard-light constructs. It bent in patterns, arcs, structured flows.
“That is not a trained technique,” Nedzu murmured. “That is instinct. How curious, indeed.”
A new notification popped up. Someone had clipped Feo Ul’s tirade and uploaded it directly to Herotube.
The clip title read:
Tiny Fairy Lawyer DESTROYS Pro Heroes LIVE
Nedzu leaned in.
Feo Ul’s voice blared over the speakers, rattling off subsection after subsection of the Hero Codex with surgical precision. Nedzu’s ears perked.
“Oh dear… they remember Addendum K. Most heroes don’t.”
The chat exploded again:
lol tiny lawyer fairy is brutal
that kid’s gonna get a commendation watch
Fairy said “you don’t get paid for this” I died
Crimson Savior’s team is wild
Someone stop them no actually don’t
Nedzu took a thoughtful sip of tea.
“A child with structured spellcasting. A companion with encyclopedic legal memory. And absolutely no hesitation running into danger to save a friend.”
Another line in the chat caught his eye:
Crimson Savior Midoriya saves hostage
LOOK AT HIM
SOMEONE SPONSOR THIS KID
Nedzu’s tail curled with satisfaction.
“Well,” he said softly, “that escalated quickly.”
He tapped a key, freezing the feed on Izuku’s face as the boy turned down the alley with Katsuki at his side, the last flickers of red still dimming around him.
“I believe,” Nedzu murmured, “that I should meet this child before the world makes its own decisions about him.”
The phone buzzed on his desk.
UA Legal.
“Ah,” he said, answering. “Yes. Popping up fast, yes. I saw. No, don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”
He hung up and returned his attention to the screen.
***
They didn’t talk again until the alleys opened up into quieter streets, the noise of the scene thinning into distant sirens and the fading crackle of fire. Katsuki slowed first. Izuku slowed with him.
Katsuki scrubbed a hand through his hair, winced when he hit a patch of drying sludge, and made a sound that was equal parts growl and exhausted sigh.
“Izu,” he said, not looking at him, “we… need to talk.” His voice still shook a little, though he tried hard to hide it. “Not here. Tomorrow. After we’ve both calmed down.”
Izuku nodded quickly. “Tomorrow. Yes. That’s… probably better.”
Neither boy quite stepped closer, though neither stepped away.
Feo Ul lifted their chin with dignified briskness. “That settles that. My Darling Sapling needs rest before his mind melts out of his ears. It’s not a pretty sight, believe me.”
Katsuki opened his mouth, almost protested, then shut it again. “Just… text me when you’re home.”
“I will,” Izuku said, and they separated at the old corner fence, Katsuki peeling off toward his neighborhood with one last glance over his shoulder before turning away.
Izuku walked the rest of the way on autopilot. His feet carried him home without input from his brain. His heart hadn’t slowed since the street. His mouth still tingled where Katsuki had kissed him. His hands trembled every time he looked at them.
He reached the apartment, slipped inside quietly, and sagged against the door for a long moment, finally letting out a breath that had nowhere to go.
Feo Ul landed lightly on his shoulder. “I am proud of you, Sapling.”
Izuku almost cried again.
He pushed off the door, set his bag down, and reached for his phone to text Katsuki—
The screen nearly blinded him.
Notifications flooded every corner of his display, cascading so fast he couldn’t swipe them away.
Live stream tags.
News alerts.
Social feeds exploding with unfamiliar handles.
Messages from classmates.
Fan edits made within minutes of the fight.
And the trending tag at the top:
Crimson Savior debuts? New Hero in Musutafu
Izuku made a strangled noise. “No, no, no, no, that’s not—I’m not—what is this—”
Feo Ul leaned in. “Ah. Mortals have discovered you. Wonderful! Now they will also understand your greatness, my Sapling.”
Izuku scrolled, horrified.
There were sketches. Digital art. A dozen badly animated GIFs of him casting spells. Someone had clipped his Manafication ignition and set it to dubstep. Another had looped him catching Katsuki in Displacement with a pink heart filter.
But worse were the ads.
Bootleg merch had sprung up like invasive weeds.
Red coat hoodies with mismatched colors.
Terrible resin swords labeled “Magic Boy Blade”.
A T-shirt that had just been a picture of Alucard from that old anime Hellsing, but with Izuku’s hair badly drawn over it and a sword added at the wrong angle.
A mug that read Crimson Savior but spelled Savior wrong. Twice.
Izuku covered his face with both hands. “Why is that one wearing a monocle, I don’t even wear a monocle…”
Feo Ul, perched on his shoulder, clicked their tongue. “I warned you, humans are absurd.”
He scrolled further.
Two pieces made him pause.
One was a key-chain of Feo Ul styled like an old Phoenix Wright lawyer in a sharp suit, slamming a tiny desk with a speech bubble that read OBJECTION in bright red text. The artist had caught their wings perfectly.
Feo Ul gasped in pure delight. “Look how they adore your beautiful branch, Sapling. These mortals understand my true beauty and capture it so excellently!”
The other was a plush. A round, soft Feo Ul with embroidered wings and a little scowl. Izuku pressed a hand to his mouth to choke back a laugh. “You’re… adorable.”
“I am fear incarnate,” they snapped, then softened. “But yes. I approve.”
A new notification pinged. An email.
The header read:
LEGAL RIGHTS MANAGEMENT SUPPORT — COPYRIGHT & MERCHANDISING DEFENSE
Izuku blinked, confused, and opened it.
Dear Mr. Midoriya,
We represent a small independent firm specializing in unauthorized merchandise takedowns. Given the current surge in content using your likeness, we would like to offer complimentary protection services as a courtesy on request of a benefactor. Attached is the list of items flagged for removal. Please confirm which you approve.
Izuku stared at it.
Feo Ul hovered over the screen, eyes narrowing. “This smells of the mouse.”
“The what?” Izuku asked.
“Dean Nedzu,” they said. “Shrewd, meddlesome, fond of puppeteering bureaucracies. I do do my research, dear Sapling. Say yes.”
Izuku clicked through the list. Hundreds of items flagged. He selected all except two. The Phoenix Wright-style Feo Ul keychain. And the Feo Ul plush.
He hit confirm.
A moment later, half the merch links on his feed vanished in a blink.
Izuku sagged onto his bed, utterly spent.
Feo Ul drifted into his hair. “Tomorrow,” they said softly, “will be very interesting.”
Izuku was still staring at the disappearing merch links when his phone chimed again.
A new email slid into view.
Subject: Licensing Alternatives to Takedowns
Dear Mr. Midoriya,
Following your takedown confirmations, we have evaluated those vendors you left unchecked, and whose work may be suitable for licensing rather than removal. This strategy can reduce unauthorized reproductions and establish your legal rights as the originator of the likeness in question.
Attached are digital contracts offering limited permission to design, produce, and sell items bearing the likeness of your familiar in exchange for an above standard royalty rate. Please review.
Izuku scrolled.
Each attached file was a neatly formatted contract proposal with the seller’s handle, their product images, profit projections, and a proposed royalty percentage.
He squinted at one line.
Royalty rate: Forty-five percent payable monthly to IZUKU MIDORIYA.
He froze.
Forty-five percent.
Not four or five.
Forty-five.
“Feo Ul,” Izuku whispered, voice cracking. “Forty-five percent is a lot, right”
Feo Ul nearly keeled over laughing. “I haven’t the slightest clue, but based on your reaction and the law books I’ve persused, yes, yes it is.”
Izuku scrolled further. Each approved seller had a contract waiting. The email clarified that only those whose designs Izuku had explicitly not removed would be contacted for licensing. Which meant the artist of the courtroom Feo Ul keychain and the creator of the Feo Ul plush had already been flagged as eligible, but only for those designs.
He opened one of their drafts.
It was shockingly simple.
The artist kept the rights to their original art.
Izuku kept the rights to his likeness and Feo Ul’s image.
The shop got to keep selling.
Izuku received 45 percent of every sale, deposited automatically.
Izuku swallowed hard. “Is this normal”
Feo Ul shook their head with theatrical gravity. “Nothing about today is normal. Sign it anyway.”
Izuku hesitated. “Shouldn’t I ask mom first?”
Feo Ul flicked his ear. “Your mother will be delighted her son is being paid fairly. And the mouse is behind this, it is most assuredly airtight.”
He clicked the first signature field. His full name autofilled neatly. A small confirmation ping rang out. The keychain artist received a license. He signed the plush contract next. Another pleasant chime. Another finalized agreement. Izuku sat back, dazed in a completely different way from earlier.
“People are going to buy this,” he whispered. “And I’m getting paid for it.”
Feo Ul straightened proudly. “As you should. Hero work deserves compensation, especially when performed by a minor who ended up saving the day despite professional incompetence.”
Izuku covered his face with both hands, half laughing, half overwhelmed.
This morning he was a regular fourteen year old school kid walking home from school.
Tonight he was apparently a trending viral sensation with royalty contracts.
Notes:
Izuku's new gear is the Duelist's Artifact Armor, with the Roseblood Hat. He wields the Talekeeper rapier.
Feo Ul is nothing if not thorough, and their legal knowledge will come up again.
EDIT 1/19/26: Feo Ul's Gender is correctly represented as Non Binary.
Chapter Text
Toshinori Yagi barely made it to the rooftop.
The moment his boots touched concrete, his muscle form vanished in a violent burst of steam. He staggered, thin frame collapsing against the rusted guard rail, lungs rattling like broken glass. Below, the street was a storm of lights and shouting—heroes scrambling, sludge sealed in containment canisters, civilians buzzing with confusion.
But Toshinori saw none of it.
His mind replayed only one thing:
A boy, glowing red and white, clothes reshaping into unfamiliar patterns, a blade appearing in his hand as if conjured from thin air. A quirk unlike anything he had ever encountered.
Midoriya Izuku.
Toshinori pressed a shaking hand to his ribs, breath shallow and uneven. He coughed, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hand.
“That power…” he whispered. “I don’t understand it. Not at all.”
Energy projection? Transformation quirk? Hybrid emitter-type?
It didn’t fit any known category. Not even obscure ones he’d seen in the early days of his career.
But it wasn’t the mystery that hurt him. It was the instinct.
The moment the boy moved, Toshinori had seen it— the same reckless, selfless drive Nana once carried, the spark of someone who chose others over himself without a heartbeat’s hesitation. The kind of boy who runs toward a dying friend even when every adult nearby freezes.
The kind of boy who would have been the ideal successor. If only—
Toshinori shut his eyes, grief tightening in his throat.
“If only you were quirkless,” he whispered.
His research, years of quiet digging into old medical logs, hero comission records, chasing every lead he could pertaining to the previous wielders, had led him to one brutal conclusion:
One For All could only safely reside in an empty vessel.
Someone without a quirk.
Someone like he had been.
Someone who wouldn’t be torn apart by OFA’s accumulated power.
But Midoriya Izuku… Izuku had something inside him already. Something powerful. Something unknown.
And Toshinori would never gamble a child’s life on hope. He dragged in a trembling breath.
“You would have been perfect,” he said, voice barely audible over the wind. “You’re everything I ever wished to find.”
He sagged onto an old ventilation unit, exhaustion flooding his limbs.
He stared down at the empty street where Izuku had stood minutes earlier.
A blade of conjured steel in his hands. Terror in his eyes. And yet… courage in every step. Toshinori swallowed hard. “Today proved that I can’t afford to wait any longer.”
His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone.
Flipping it open, he scrolled through the contacts until one shone on the page.
David Shield
His thumb hovered, then pressed CALL.
***
Izuku woke slowly, the way someone wakes after a fever dream. His eyes cracked open to the faint morning light spilling across his ceiling. For a brief, wonderful second, he thought none of yesterday had happened.
Then Feo Ul yawned somewhere near his ear and muttered, “If your phone chirps one more time, Sapling, I will hex the device into another dimension.” He jolted upright. His phone was vibrating nonstop on the bedside table. Notifications still poured in, though fewer than last night. People were posting edits of his spellwork. A new tag, Crimson Savior Saves the Day, had joined the trending list. Someone had uploaded a slowed-down analysis of how his red energy reacted to impact, claiming it was proof of a hybrid quirk.
Izuku covered his face and flopped back onto the pillow. “Oh no.”
“Yes,” Feo Ul said flatly. “Welcome to mild celebrity, my child.”
His ringtone chimed again, a name flashed across the screen:
Musutafu Public Safety Department
Captain Kojo Suriname
Izuku stared at it. Feo Ul shoved his arm. “Answer it.”
He fumbled the phone. “H-hello? This is Izuku Midoriya speaking.”
A calm, authoritative voice answered. “Midoriya. This is Captain Suriname, Musutafu Police. I assume you’re safe at home?”
“Yes, ma’am?” Izuku squeaked.
“Good. I’ll keep this brief.” The captain’s tone softened. “Yesterday, you performed an act of extraordinary bravery. You engaged a villain other heroes had trouble with, executed a hostage extraction under dangerous conditions, and prevented further casualties. We’ve confirmed all this through civilian footage.”
Izuku sat up straighter. His heart hammered so loudly he almost missed the next words.
“In accordance with Japanese law,” Suriname continued, “and based on the evaluation and recommendation by a qualified hero, you qualify for a meritorious commendation and a civilian rescue payout.”
Izuku’s voice cracked in surprise. “I qualify for— You mean I’m getting—?”
“You’ve more than earned it. The ceremony is scheduled for three days from now. Attendance isn’t mandatory, but it is strongly encouraged. Hard to present an award to a recipient that doesn't show.”
“I’ll be there,” Izuku said immediately.
Suriname sounded amused. “Thought you might. Also, regarding compensation, the stipend for a C-tier hostage recovery is substantial. Your mother will be receiving the formal documentation today. Congratulations, Midoriya.”
Izuku’s breath caught. He didn’t know what to say. “Th-thank you, ma’am.”
“Keep your head up,” the captain said. “A lot of people are proud of you.”
The call ended.
Izuku sat there in stunned silence.
Feo Ul brushed their wings against his cheek. “I told you. Proper hero work deserves a proper hero’s reward.”
Before Izuku could reply, his phone buzzed again. This time with a text.
Kacchan:
We talk today.
Meet at Dagobah after lunch.
Don’t ghost me.
Another message came half a second later.
Kacchan:
And eat breakfast. You forget when you’re overwhelmed.
Izuku felt heat rush up his neck.
Feo Ul floated lazily onto his pillow. “He is smitten,” they announced. “This will be entertaining.”
Izuku buried his burning face in the blanket and groaned.
***
Dagobah was quiet except for the low rush of waves and the distant hum of traffic. Katsuki stood near the shoreline with his hands deep in his pockets, shoulders tense in a way Izuku recognized immediately. Not anger. Not anymore. Just someone holding too many emotions without instructions.
Izuku approached slowly. Feo Ul perched on his shoulder, unusually hushed.
Katsuki glanced up. “You actually ate.”
Izuku blinked. “You can tell?”
Katsuki shrugged. “You’re not shaking. And you’re not doing that thing where you forget how to breathe.”
Izuku’s ears flushed. Feo Ul snickered.
They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that feels like it’s waiting for someone to poke it before it pops. Katsuki let out a breath. “Izu… yesterday. I thought I was done for.”
Izuku’s hands twisted together. “I know.”
“No,” Katsuki said quietly. “You don’t. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I thought, great, this is it. Then you came barreling in with that… whatever that red coat sword spark thing was, and all I could think was, now he’s gonna die too.”
Izuku flinched. “I’m sorry. I just— I couldn’t let you—”
“I didn’t say it was bad.” Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I’m alive because you showed up.”
The wind shifted, pushing the smell of brine across the sand. Izuku swallowed. “Kacchan… you kissed me.”
Katsuki’s ears went red immediately. “Yeah. I know. It just— I thought I was dying and then I wasn’t and you were there and it just… happened.”
Izuku’s voice dropped. “I didn’t hate it.”
Katsuki made a strangled sound that wasn’t quite a scoff.
Izuku inhaled shakily. “There’s something else I need to tell you. Two things, actually.”
Katsuki’s posture shifted. “Alright. Say it.”
Izuku looked down at the sand. “I’m pan. Has been that way forever. I just… like people. No pattern to it.”
Katsuki nodded once. “Okay.”
“And…” Izuku hesitated, then forced the words out. “I don’t think monogamy is for me. I’ve seen what it did to my mom. I don’t want a relationship where everything rests on one person. I’m scared of it.”
Katsuki was quiet for a long moment. Izuku braced for anger, hurt, anything sharp.
Instead, Katsuki sighed and nudged a shell with his shoe. “Izu, I’m bi. And I don’t give a damn what shape a relationship takes, as long as I’m not lied to. If you want me, then I want you. If you crush on other people, that’s your business. Just be honest.”
Izuku blinked rapidly. “I will. I always will.”
“Good.” Katsuki’s voice softened. “Just don’t scare me again.”
Izuku laughed under his breath. “I’ll try.”
Feo Ul floated a small celebratory loop. “Mortals. So dramatic. So exhausting. So rewarding.”
They started walking without discussing it, drifting down the beach shoulder-to-shoulder until Katsuki’s hand brushed Izuku’s. Izuku didn’t pull away.
Katsuki didn’t either.
A few steps later, their fingers laced together on instinct alone.
Izuku’s heartbeat did a small somersault.
Several minutes passed in comfortable silence before Izuku suddenly gasped. “Oh! I forgot to tell you something.”
Katsuki shot him a look. “What now. Did Feo Ul get invited to the bar association?”
“No! Well… not yet?” Izuku laughed, cheeks going pink. “Captain Suriname, with Musutafu PD, called this morning. She said I’m… I’m getting a commendation. Like, a real one. With a ceremony. I guess it’s for the rescue?”
Katsuki stopped walking. “You’re getting a medal?”
Izuku fidgeted. “I think so? She said I qualified and there’s a ceremony in three days and I totally forgot to mention it because everything else was happening and—”
Katsuki jabbed a finger into Izuku’s chest. “You idiot. Of course you’re getting a damn medal. You saved me. You saved a hostage. You did all the work.”
He rolled his eyes. “Tell me when it is. I’m going.”
Izuku’s eyes widened. “You… want to come?”
Katsuki looked at him like the question was personal offense. “Izu, if you think I’m not showing up to brag that my boyfriend got a medal, you’re literally an idiot.”
Izuku’s brain blue-screened. “B-boyfriend?”
Katsuki’s ears went bright red. “Shut up. You know what I meant.”
Feo Ul clapped in delight. “Labels acquired. Progress made.”
Izuku couldn’t stop smiling even if his life depended on it.
***
Izuku stared at his reflection, tie crooked, hair stubborn, heart pounding. Inko fussed with his collar, trying not to cry again. Feo Ul preened on his shoulder like a proud stage mom.
His phone buzzed.
Kacchan:
Don’t trip
Seriously
I’m at the ceremony already
Eat something
Izuku’s grin stretched wide.
He took a deep breath and stepped toward the door.
***
The Musutafu Municipal Hall hummed with the soft rustle of uniforms and whispered conversation. Blue-and-silver banners hung from the rafters. A modest stage stood at the front, lined with folding chairs and a podium that looked far more official than it had any right to be.
Izuku waited behind the curtain, fingers tangled together so tightly Feo Ul had to pry them apart twice. “You look like you’re preparing for execution,” they said. “Stand up straight. You’re being given an award. Don’t slouch. Stand tall my Sapling.”
Izuku squeaked something unintelligible.
He stole a glance out at the audience. His mom sat in the second row, tissues already on standby. Katsuki was one row behind her, slouched in his seat, arms crossed, trying and failing to look unimpressed, even though he’d actually dressed up for the event. The moment he saw Izuku peeking, his expression softened in a way that made Izuku’s stomach do flips.
The microphone crackled.
Captain Kojo Suriname stepped up to the podium, her uniform crisp, her jaw set in its usual unyielding line. She scanned the room once, assessing everything and everyone, then began. “Good afternoon. Three days ago, Musutafu experienced a Class Four urban incident involving a sludge-based villain. During this event, a civilian minor intervened with remarkable effectiveness, executing a hostage extraction and disabling the threat long enough for bystanders to reach safety.”
A few heroes in the audience shifted uncomfortably.
Suriname continued without a flicker of sympathy. “His quick thinking and decisive action directly saved a life. Therefore, we are here to formally recognize Izuku Midoriya.”
Izuku’s breath caught.
“Midoriya,” Suriname said. “Front and center.”
He nearly tripped walking out, heat crawling up his neck. He’d braced for a medal, maybe some fancy ribbon.
Suriname did not hand him a medal.
Instead, she held out a neatly framed certificate with both hands. “This is your commendation. Official recognition for a job well done. Don’t drop it.”
Izuku accepted it carefully. The frame felt heavier than it looked.
Then Suriname reached into the navy folder under her arm and drew out a crisp envelope. “And this is your check for the rescue operation. It’s for four hundred thousand yen. Try not to blow it all on action figures and statues.”
A few people laughed. Izuku stared at the envelope as if it contained plutonium.
“F-four hundred thousand…?”
Suriname raised an eyebrow. “You earned it. And frankly, you did work certain licensed heroes on scene failed to do.”
Her gaze slid toward the back rows. Several heroes pretended to study their shoes.
Izuku bowed stiffly, mortified and glowing and overwhelmed all at once.
The applause that followed wasn’t enormous, but it was heartfelt. His mom clapped with both hands, tears slipping down her cheeks. Katsuki’s clapping was sharp and aggressive, the sort of applause that didn’t care who saw him care.
Feo Ul hovered by Izuku’s cheek, very smug. “You see, Sapling? Bureaucracy occasionally rewards competence.”
Suriname stepped forward again. “Midoriya, say something.”
Izuku almost fainted. “I— um— I didn’t prepare anything—”
“Good,” Suriname replied. “Prepared speeches are dull. Speak from your spine.”
Izuku faced the crowd, pulse hammering. “I just… I saw my best friend in danger and moved. I didn’t think about anything else. I’m just glad he’s alive. That’s all.”
It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t heroic.
It was honest.
Suriname gave him a short nod. “That’ll do.”
More applause. More warmth. Izuku stepped back, dizzy with relief.
As the hall began emptying, Katsuki shoved past a pair of officers and stopped in front of him.
He eyed the framed certificate and the envelope. “Shoulda been a medal, or a ribbon, at least.”
Izuku flushed. “K-Kacchan—”
Katsuki scoffed lightly. “Come on. Let’s get food. And you’re not paying. You saved my life. Least I can do is buy you lunch.”
A beat.
“And don’t think that certificate makes you cooler than me. It doesn’t.”
Feo Ul cackled. Izuku nearly floated off the ground.
***
The hallways of Aldera were loud, bright, and buzzing with the kind of gossip that traveled faster than Wi-Fi. Izuku kept his eyes down and tried to breathe normally. Feo Ul perched on his shoulder, faintly amused.
“They talk as though you cannot hear them,” they murmured.
Izuku sighed.
That was when Katsuki shoved his way through the doorway behind him, radiating protective irritation like a live current. The hallway parted instinctively.
But not everyone parted.
Three basketball jocks planted themselves directly in their path.
Their grins weren’t friendly. The tallest one looked Katsuki up and down, then let his gaze slide to Izuku with open disdain. “So it’s true. You two were sucking face on camera.”
Izuku froze, heart punching his ribs.
Katsuki’s expression darkened immediately. “Watch your mouth.”
Another jock stepped forward, sneer twisted. “Didn’t think you swung that way, Bakugo. Thought you had standards.”
Izuku flinched as though struck.
The third boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Figures. Quiet little Midoriya gets himself a hero moment, suddenly you both think you can do whatever you want. It’s disgusting.”
Izuku’s throat closed. He stared at the floor, breathing uneven.
Feo Ul rose into the air, wings rigid. “You will stop speaking.”
They ignored them.
The tallest boy leaned in closer, lowering his voice but not enough. “No wonder you never dated anyone, Bakugo. Guess you were too busy eyeing your little—”
That was as far as he got.
Katsuki stepped into his space with the kind of poised, explosive fury that made even trained fighters take a step back. “Say one more thing about him and I swear to god—”
“Problem here?”
Ito Mizuki, captain of the Karate Club, approached with half the club behind her. Calm. Sharp. Dangerous. She moved like someone who already knew the outcome of the confrontation and found it tiresome.
She looked the jocks over, one by one. “You’re blocking my vice-captain.”
The boys stiffened.
Before they could form an excuse, another group arrived from the opposite side of the hall: the Cross Country team.
Takeda Ryuu, tall and lean, stepped beside Izuku. “Midoriya doesn’t walk alone. Anyone who wants to run their mouth can take a lap with us.”
The jocks hesitated now. Cornered from both sides. Not nearly as brave as their bitterness wanted them to be.
The tallest one scoffed weakly. “Whatever. Enjoy your freak show.”
Ito took one step forward.
Just one.
Her voice was calm. “Leave.”
This time, they obeyed.
They pushed off the wall, muttering under their breath as they retreated down the hall. Izuku caught a few phrases — “gross,” “attention seeking,” “figures” — and tried not to shrink in on himself.
Katsuki’s fists crackled at his sides.
Takeda exhaled. “Idiots. Ignore them.”
Ito nodded. “We’ve got your back.”
Izuku stared at them, overwhelmed in a completely different way than he’d expected. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Katsuki glared after the retreating jocks. “Cowards.”
Feo Ul perched lightly atop Izuku’s head, wings softening. “Small minds fear what they cannot name in themselves.”
The bell rang. Students scattered.
Katsuki nudged Izuku’s shoulder. “Come on. Homeroom.”
Izuku nodded, heart still pounding, but the fear had loosened, replaced by something steadier.
***
Principal Yorikawa’s office smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and desperation. His too-bright smile strained under the overhead lights.
“Boys, boys, please,” he said, gesturing grandly. “You must understand how extraordinary this opportunity is. A commendation for a junior high student, heroic footage trending online, a fairy companion with an encyclopedic mastery of the Hero Codex! Aldera has never shone so brightly!”
Izuku shrank into his chair. Katsuki looked two seconds away from leaving. Feo Ul settled on Izuku’s shoulder, their tiny arms crossed.
Principal Yorikawa clasped his hands together. “Imagine this. A school fundraiser, a festival. Games, booths, performances. A raffle, of course. And our star attractions— you two!”
Izuku blinked. “Attractions?”
“Yes!” Yorikawa beamed. “With your newfound visibility, the school could raise millions of yen. Think of the publicity. The prestige.”
Katsuki snorted. “So you want us to stand around while people buy tickets to stare at us.”
The principal’s smile twitched. “In… essence. You could give interviews on the main stage.”
Izuku hesitated, uncomfortable. “I don’t know, sir. That sounds—”
And the world snapped sideways.
For a heartbeat he wasn’t in the office at all. Everything faded to greyscale.
He saw Yorikawa alone at his desk, phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes, yes, the fundraiser totals will be easy to… adjust. Enough for the boat deposit at least. Oh, they’ll never notice. Kids this age don’t question numbers.”
A loud laugh.
A picture on a magazine spread: sleek fishing boat, glossy finish, ocean-blue trim.
A hand circling the price.
Then—
Izuku gasped, blinking back into the office. Color returned to the world. Only an instant had passed.
Katsuki leaned toward him. “You okay?”
Izuku swallowed. “Yeah. I just—” He turned to the principal, voice hardened. “No. We’re not doing it.”
Yorikawa froze mid-grin. “Pardon?”
Izuku’s voice was soft but firm. “We won’t be participating in the fundraiser.”
Katsuki didn’t hesitate. “Same. Find someone else.”
The principal blinked, then forced a chuckle. “Boys, I don’t think you understand. This event will bring enormous attention to Aldera, which will reflect quite favorably on your— ahem— academic records. It would be… unfortunate if your cooperation didn’t align with your aspirations.”
Izuku frowned. “What do you mean?”
Yorikawa leaned back, folding his hands like a man about to deliver a threat wrapped in velvet. “Hinode Prep Academy is highly selective. A recommendation from your current principal can be… influential.”
Katsuki scoffed so loudly it made the windows rattle.
“We already got in,” he said.
Yorikawa’s smile cracked. “What?”
Izuku nodded. “We applied the day before the incident, almost two weeks ago. Our acceptance letters arrived this morning. So… we won’t be doing your event.”
The principal’s face twisted, the first hint of panic slipping through. “Now hold on— boys, let’s not be hasty. I can still help shape the narrative here. Public image is delicate. One wrong step and—”
Katsuki held up his hand.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Principal Yorikawa paled.
“I… I see,” he stammered. “N-no need to escalate. If you boys don’t wish to participate, I won’t press the matter.”
Katsuki smirked. “Smart.”
Yorikawa stumbled back into his seat. “Well, then. Enjoy the rest of your semester.”
Katsuki stood, jerking his chin toward the door. “Come on, Izu. We’re done here.”
Izuku nodded and followed. Feo Ul perched proudly atop his shoulder like a victorious queen.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Katsuki muttered, “Why’d we say no?”
Izuku swallowed. “He was planning on skimming money from the fundraiser to buy a boat.”
Feo Ul hummed. “Dishonesty tends to have a scent.”
Izuku choked on a laugh.
Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets. “If he tries anything again, tell me first. I’ll handle it.”
Izuku smiled shyly. “Okay.”
They walked back toward class together.
More united than ever. More certain where their loyalties lay. And very, very uninterested in helping anyone buy a fishing boat.
***
The moment the door closed behind Izuku and Katsuki, Principal Yorikawa sagged in his chair and rubbed his temples.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Impossible to work with these children. No sense of cooperation.”
A soft chime sounded on his computer.
He blinked, confused. Not expecting any call. He clicked the notification.
The screen shifted to a small video window. Dean Nezu of U.A. University looked back at him. Bright eyes. Calm posture. A small porcelain teacup held effortlessly in both paws. “Good morning, Principal Yorikawa.”
Yorikawa went stiff. “D–Dean Nezu! What an honor. I wasn’t aware that—”
“I know,” Nezu said pleasantly. “This is not a scheduled meeting. But I felt a brief conversation would be beneficial. For clarity.”
Yorikawa swallowed. “Y-yes. Of course.”
Nezu’s smile remained polite. “I understand you recently met with two of Aldera’s third-years. Midoriya and Bakugo.”
Yorikawa forced a smile. “Two very promising students. I was simply encouraging them to participate in a school event that would be mutually beneficial.”
Nezu’s ears tilted forward slightly. It was a small change. And yet Yorikawa suddenly felt as though a spotlight had been trained on him. “Is that so,” Nezu said softly.
Yorikawa nodded quickly. “Absolutely. Just an opportunity for them to shine and for Aldera to—”
“To increase its publicity?” Nezu suggested, still smiling.
The temperature in the room felt like it dropped.
Yorikawa’s throat bobbed. “With respect, Dean Nezu, I assure you I had no ulterior—”
“I do not deal in assurances,” Nezu interrupted gently. He lifted his teacup and took a small sip. “I deal in patterns. Behavior. Consequences.”
The principal swallowed again.
Nezu continued in the same soft, academic tone one might use to discuss weather patterns.
“I must remind you, Principal Yorikawa, that U.A. has a vested interest in protecting the educational environment of any prospective hero candidate. Even those still in junior high.”
He set down his cup. “Threatening a student’s academic future is not something to be taken lightly.”
Yorikawa stiffened. “I— I wasn’t threatening them. I was merely explaining that cooperation can reflect well on—”
“On their applications?” Nezu supplied helpfully.
Yorikawa froze.
Nezu leaned a fraction closer to the camera. The movement was subtle, almost absent-minded, yet Yorikawa felt his skin prickle.
“I would very much dislike to hear that a school administrator attempted to coerce minors by implying control over their futures,” Nezu said. “Especially when those students have already received scholarship-based early acceptance offers.”
A pause.
“Offers which your institution has no influence over.”
The principal’s palms grew damp.
Nezu smiled again. The same friendly, academic smile. The same warmth. But his eyes remained perfectly still, bright and unreadable.
“Of course,” Nezu added, “I am certain this was all a misunderstanding. A one-time lapse. You will not attempt anything similar again. Yes?”
Yorikawa nodded quickly. “Y-yes. Absolutely. Without question.”
“Wonderful,” Nezu said.
He lifted his teacup once more.
“One more thing, Principal.”
Yorikawa held his breath.
Nezu’s voice softened, but the air in the room seemed to tighten. “Do remember. The development of future heroes is… a delicate matter. It would be terrible if a misstep on your part invited unnecessary scrutiny from the Commission. Or the Ministry Board.”
Yorikawa nearly slid out of his chair. “There won’t be any missteps. I swear it.”
“No need to swear,” Nezu replied. “Just behave accordingly.”
The call ended.
The screen went dark.
Yorikawa stared at his reflection in the black glass, pale and sweating, unable to move for several seconds.
***
Hinode Prep Academy felt different from Aldera before Izuku even stepped inside. The campus sat on a slope overlooking the river, framed by tall cedars and old stone buildings that looked more like a university than a junior high’s extension program.
Students moved through the courtyard at a steady, unhurried pace. No cliques clogging the walkway. No shouting. No hallway chaos.
Izuku slowed, almost disbelieving. “It’s… quiet.”
Katsuki grunted. “Creepy quiet.”
Feo Ul perched on Izuku’s shoulder, surveying the grounds like an inspector. “Not creepy. Orderly. A respectable nest of academia. I approve.”
They reached their building. A small screen near the door displayed morning announcements and class assignments.
“Homeroom is 1-B,” Izuku murmured.
Katsuki nudged him. “Then let’s go.”
Inside, the classroom was bright and airy. Students filed in with normal curiosity, giving them a look or two — mostly directed at Izuku, whose Crimson Savior footage had circulated everywhere by then — but no one crowded them. No one whispered loudly. No one made a spectacle.
Their homeroom teacher, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a stack of color-coded folders, looked up from her desk.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said. “Find a seat anywhere. We’ll begin shortly.”
That was it. No speeches. No comments. No reminders of reputation or expectations. Izuku exhaled with relief as he slid into a desk near the window.
Katsuki dropped into the chair beside him. “This is weird,” he muttered, glancing around. “Nobody’s acting like idiots.”
Izuku smiled faintly. “I think… they’re just focused.”
Feo Ul settled primly on top of Izuku’s bag. “Imagine. A school where learning is valued. Astonishing.”
And just like that, their life at Hinode Prep began — not with fanfare, but with quiet.
A kind of quiet Izuku realized he needed more than he ever understood
***
High school at Hinode Prep settled into a quiet rhythm so quickly it startled Izuku. After years of navigating Aldera’s chaos, the calm felt surreal, like stepping into a world that ran on different physics.
Teachers taught. Students studied. Nobody shoved anyone into lockers or shouted in the halls.
The most dramatic thing that happened all semester was someone spilling curry on their uniform during lunch.
Izuku almost cried from relief more than once.
Katsuki adapted just as fast, slotting himself into the martial electives and quickly earning the grudging respect of Hinode’s kendo and karate students. He trained hard, competed harder, and somehow managed to avoid starting fights. Mostly.
Izuku, for his part, thrived in the advanced support theory courses and battlefield analysis classes. He learned to balance scholar-mode reflexes with delicate quirk control. His teachers praised him for his focus, and Feo Ul preened every time they were acknowledged as a legitimate aetheric familiar.
Even the merchandise situation calmed into something stable. No longer bootleg, the officially licensed Feo Ul keychains, stickers, and plushies sold steadily. Izuku never flaunted the income, but he couldn’t deny that the monthly deposits made life easier. Sometimes he bought dinner for Katsuki. Each week, he quietly slipped a little extra into his mom’s grocery budget.
Life felt good.
It felt… normal.
***
Kimi arrived in their life like a sparkler in motion.
Fast on the track. Fast to smile. Fast to tease Izuku until he dissolved into stammering nonsense. She liked Katsuki too, mostly because he glared at her the way some people glared at bright lights.
They became a trio almost immediately: studying together, eating lunch together, walking to the train station together.
One crisp autumn afternoon, under a tree full of gold leaves, she stopped them under the big willow on campus. “So, this is weird, but… want to go out? Both of you?”
Izuku nearly passed out. Katsuki muttered something like “sure whatever” but didn’t move away, which was rare enough to translate as a yes.
Dating Kimi was warm and easy. She held both their hands without hesitation. She dragged them to festivals and bought matching charms because “it’ll be cute, shut up and take it.”
Then, one winter afternoon, the day after they shared their first kiss, she sat them down at the track field’s empty bleachers.
“I adore you both,” she said, voice gentle. “But I’ve realized something about myself. I’m into girls. Only girls. I kept wondering if it was flexible, but it’s not. I’m sorry.”
Izuku hugged her instantly. Katsuki gave her a nod that said he respected her more for being honest. They stayed close friends.
Feo Ul later remarked, “A woman of fine taste. And sensible boundaries.”
***
Izuku’s next relationship was… not the same.
Daroi Musukabe was an upper-year: handsome, charismatic, and practiced at flattering people. He approached Izuku with easy confidence and a dazzling smile.
Izuku, still inexperienced with romantic attention from outsiders, said yes.
Katsuki tolerated him at first — for Izuku’s sake.
But Daroi never tried to include Katsuki.
Never acknowledged him except as an obstacle.
Never asked whether Katsuki wanted to be part of anything.
He wanted Izuku alone, and more importantly…
He wanted Izuku’s name.
Feo Ul noticed first. “He circles like a vulture,” they whispered once.
Katsuki noticed next. “He only talks to you about your clips,” he’d mutter. “Doesn’t care about you. Just what you can do.”
Izuku didn’t want to believe it.
Until Katsuki cornered Daroi behind the gym after school and demanded answers.
Daroi broke immediately. “Fine! Yes! Of course dating him helps me! He’s trending! Everyone wants a piece of that! Why shouldn’t I get something too?” Izuku, coming around the building after tracking Katsuki’s phone, heard everything, and felt something inside him fold. Not shatter — just… fold. He ended the relationship quietly. No yelling. No dramatics. Just a soft, “This isn’t real for you, is it?” And walking away before Daroi could answer. Katsuki walked home at his side.
Feo Ul floated close, unusually gentle.
Kimi showed up the next day with homemade mochi and a glare sharp enough to peel paint.
Izuku was loved.
And he knew it.
***
Two more years passed.
Quiet, steady, uncomplicated.
Izuku and Katsuki grew stronger together.
Their relationship deepened, scarred and strengthened by what they had been through.
Feo Ul found new ways to boss them both around.
And finally, the morning came.
***
The gates of U.A. High rose ahead of them like a steel archway into a new world. Students streamed toward the campus in clusters, buzzing with nervous excitement.
Izuku swallowed hard. “Okay. Okay. We can do this.”
Katsuki nudged him. “You can do this. I’m right here with you, Izu.”
Feo Ul hovered above them, unimpressed. “The building design is acceptable, though overly rigid. Aether flow will be atrocious inside.”
Izuku wasn’t listening. His hands were shaking. He wiped them on his pants, and took a deep, steadying, breath.
Izuku stepped forward, stumbled over absolutely nothing, and felt himself lift into the air.
A warm hand closed around his wrist.
“Oops! Sorry! Gotcha!”
Izuku blinked upward at a smiling girl with round cheeks, big brown eyes, and a pink flush of embarrassment.
Katsuki strode up beside them, arms crossed. “The hell did you do to him?”
“Oh!” She quickly pressed her fingertips together, releasing the quirk. Izuku dropped the last inch to the ground.
“Sorry! Sorry! I just used my Zero Gravity so he wouldn’t face-plant.”
Izuku bowed so fast he almost fell again. “Thank you! Really! Thank you!”
She laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m Ochako, by the way. Ochako Uraraka.”
“I-I’m Izuku!” he squeaked. “This is—”
“Katsuki,” Katsuki said, eyeing her like he was evaluating a sparring partner. “And that’s the fairy.”
Feo Ul landed on Izuku’s shoulder. “I have a name. Feo Ul, at your service.”
Ochako’s eyes sparkled. “She’s adorable.”
Feo Ul straightened proudly. “They/them, please. And yes, I am.”
A loudspeaker crackled overhead. “All exam candidates, please proceed to the main auditorium.”
Ochako waved, already jogging backward. “See you inside! Good luck!”
Izuku watched her go, still pink.
Katsuki bumped his shoulder. “Try not to float off next time.”
Feo Ul chimed, “This one carries interesting potential.”
Izuku had no idea what that meant, but he followed his partners through the gates, heart pounding, ready for whatever came next.
***
The written exam had drained the soul out of most applicants, and the auditorium buzzed with low, exhausted chatter. Students drifted to their assigned seats, slumping like they’d just crawled out of a battlefield.
Izuku and Katsuki took a pair of seats near the center. Izuku immediately leaned sideways, resting lightly against Katsuki’s shoulder, sketchbook propped on his knees. Katsuki angled slightly toward him, sharing the page as Izuku doodled a rough, shaky drawing of a mechanized robot.
Feo Ul hovered above them, kicking their feet idly, more entertained by the doodling than the impending briefing.
Present Mic wasn’t onstage yet, so most students talked quietly or tried to shake off test nerves.
Izuku whispered, “I don’t know if I messed up the essay section.”
Katsuki scoffed, low. “You didn’t. You wrote too much, but you didn’t mess up.”
Izuku puffed his cheeks. “Rude.”
“You love me.”
Izuku turned very pink and returned to his doodle. “…Yeah.”
Which was exactly the moment Tenya Iida appeared at the end of their row, posture straight, expression scandalized.
“Excuse me,” he said sharply, glasses flashing. “I must object to your conduct.”
Izuku blinked up. “Huh?”
“You two,” Iida said, chopping the air with his hand, “are engaging in lascivious and lewd behavior in an academic setting! Leaning on each other, displaying affection, behaving improperly—it is disruptive and inappropriate for a professional examination environment!”
Izuku squeaked. Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched violently.
Before either boy could speak, Feo Ul descended like a judgmental moonbeam.
“Incorrect,” they said crisply.
Iida blinked. “Pardon?”
Feo Ul held out one tiny finger, as if flipping through imaginary pages. “U.A. University, Admissions Division, Candidate Handbook. Section Three, Subsection Eight: ‘Physical contact between examinees is not prohibited unless it hinders safety, obstructs visibility, or interferes with instruction.’”
Iida’s mouth opened, then closed.
Feo Ul continued, wings shimmering with righteous satisfaction. “Subsection Nine: ‘Demonstrations of mutual support or grounding behavior are recognized as normal stress responses and are not considered misconduct.’”
Izuku stared at them. “When did you read the handbook?”
Feo Ul turned and gave him a bright, innocent smile. “Last week.”
Katsuki smirked. “Of course they did.”
Feo Ul wasn’t finished. “Furthermore. Section Five, Code of Conduct, Clause Twelve: ‘Accusations of impropriety must be grounded in observed policy violation, not personal discomfort or assumption.’ In short, young man, your objection is without merit.”
The entire row behind them went silent.
Izuku whispered, “Feo, maybe don’t destroy people for no reason…”
Iida’s face turned crimson. “I—I only wished to uphold proper conduct—”
“Oh my god,” someone whispered from two rows back. “It’s Fairy Lawyer.”
A girl leaned forward, holding up a Feo Ul keychain attached to her bag—one of the official ones, showing Feo Ul in their tiny prosecutor outfit pointing dramatically.
“Um,” the girl said shyly, “could you… sign this?”
Feo Ul froze.
Then straightened their back, proud as a queen. “Of course. Bring it here, young jurist.”
Students around them snickered as the girl passed the keychain forward. Feo Ul pressed a faint shimmer of aether against the corner, leaving a tiny glowing sigil that faded into a silver mark.
The girl squealed softly. “Thank you!”
Izuku covered his face. “They're going to get popular, aren’t they?”
“They already are,” Katsuki muttered.
Iida, now thoroughly overwhelmed, bowed stiffly. “I apologize for my misunderstanding. I meant no disrespect.”
Izuku waved his hands. “Oh no, it’s okay, really, don’t worry about—”
Present Mic’s amplified voice boomed through the auditorium.
“ARE YOU READY, EXAM CANDIDATES?!”
Half the room jumped out of their seats.
Present Mic strode onto the stage, and struck pose. “LET’S GET THIS EXAM BRIEFING ROLLING!”
Feo Ul hovered back to their usual perch. “At last. Clarity.”
Katsuki cracked his knuckles.
Izuku swallowed hard, doodle forgotten.
The real test was about to begin.
***
Battleground B’s staging area buzzed with controlled tension. These weren’t kids fresh out of middle school. These were seventeen-year-olds trained in sports clubs, martial arts programs, support tracks, rescue electives—every one of them aiming for the Heroics Division of U.A. University.
Izuku adjusted his compression shirt and track pants, trying not to overthink how exposed he felt. Feo Ul hovered above him, analyzing the battlefield with the air of a proud, tiny general.
Something rattled by his foot—
A medication bottle.
He scooped it up just as a familiar face hurried over, pale and clutching her stomach.
“Oh— Midoriya! Thank goodness,” Ochako sighed, taking the bottle. “I get really motion-sick when I use my quirk too much. These help.”
Izuku smiled. “I’m glad I spotted it.”
Tenya Iida appeared with perfect posture and palpable disapproval. “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU! PERFORMANCE ENHANCING DRUGS! U.A WOULD NEV—”
Feo Ul floated in front of him with a stare sharp enough to cut steel.
“Your objection has no basis in truth,” they said. “The medication clearly has her name on it, and states its purpose. U.A. University Candidate Handbook, Section Two, Clause Four: ‘Returning lost property does not constitute improper assistance.’ Kindly refrain from interrupting.”
Iida froze. “I… see.”
Ochako snickered. “They're amazing.”
Izuku rubbed his neck. “They're… very thorough.”
“Correct,” Feo Ul said.
Ochako popped a tablet under her tongue, then looked Izuku over. Compression shirt. Track pants. A stance that said he knew exactly what he was doing. “You look ready,” she said.
Izuku pinked. “I—I hope so.”
Before anything else could be said, the gate began to rumble.
Present Mic’s voice blasted across the courtyard.
“ALRIGHT, EXAM CANDIDATES—TIME TO SHOW US WHAT YOU’VE GOT! GO! GO! GO!”
The steel shutters began rising.
Izuku didn’t wait.
Red aether flared up his spine. His coat snapped into place, rapier forming in one hand, crystal in the other. Students gasped.
Ochako’s breath hitched. “Wait— that’s— that’s the Crimson Savior!”
Izuku launched forward with Corps-a-Corps, crossing the threshold before the gate was even fully open.
Feo Ul shot after him, laughing. “Show them, my Spaling! Show them our superiority! Show them why we will be the greatest hero of all time!”
Iida stared, stunned.
Ochako watched with wide eyes, awe blooming across her face.
Izuku Midoriya was already deep inside Battleground B while most examinees were still taking their first step.
***
Izuku tore through Battleground B like a streak of red and white fire.
A spin—Corps-a-Corps—clean hit, three points.
Pivot—Dualcast Jolt/Veraero—bot explodes into scrap.
Shift to Scholar long enough to throw a barrier over a fallen examinee.
Then straight back into Red Mage, slicing through another two-pointer with elegant precision.
He didn’t think. He didn’t plan. He just moved.
Feo Ul zipped circles around him, counting with glee.
“That’s sixty-three! Sixty-eight! Seventy-two—Izuku, you delightful force of nature—seventy-eight!”
Izuku staggered mid-run. “S-seventy-eight?! Already?!”
“Yes,” Feo Ul said, beaming. “Which means you may stop panicking. You are outperforming ninety-seven percent of this battlefield.”
“Oh god,” Izuku squeaked.
“Correct.”
The clock hit 03:00 remaining.
Izuku slowed—first from shock, then from exhaustion. His legs trembled from rapid-shifting between Red Mage bursts and Scholar stabilization. His breathing came fast, uneven. Sweat dripped down his neck and stung his eyes.
He braced against a broken wall, sucking air into burning lungs.
Feo Ul hovered close. “Sapling, breathe. I can hear your pulse from here.”
Izuku gulped. “Do you think I did okay?”
“You are magnificent,” they said fondly. “Now get up.”
Izuku managed a small, breathless smile.
***
The observation room hummed with quiet tension, screens lining every wall. Each one displayed a different camera angle from Battlegrounds A through E. Teachers leaned forward over their desks, murmuring as scores climbed and robots fell.
But Nezu watched only one screen.
A tablet rested comfortably between his paws, showing a single examinee slicing through the simulated cityscape in streaks of red and white and green and gold.
Izuku Midoriya.
Nezu’s eyes glimmered with analytical delight. “Fascinating. His acceleration curve is unusually sharp. And that multi-track modal transformation… exceedingly rare.”
All Might folded his arms, watching the feed over Nezu’s shoulder. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That boy. I knew I recognized that stance. He’s the one from the sludge villain incident.”
Kan, hovering over another monitor, let out a low whistle. “He’s fast. And that style-switching? No hesitation. That’s discipline, not luck.”
Aizawa didn’t bother looking up from his screen. “His mobility’s impressive. But it’s the decision-making that’s interesting. Very few examinees can shift priorities mid-fight without losing efficiency.”
Kan shot him a flat look. “Don’t you start. Do not call dibs on the strongest candidate five minutes in.”
Aizawa finally looked up. “Its been four minutes. Dibs.”
Kan slammed his fist against the table. “You always do this! Every year! I swear, you have radar for problem children—”
“High-performing problem children,” Aizawa corrected.
Present Mic cackled in his seat. “Shouta, you’re gonna give Kan an ulcer!”
Kan jabbed a finger toward Izuku’s projected score. “He’s not even done yet!”
Aizawa shrugged. “I know.”
Nezu sipped his tea calmly. “To be fair, Kan, Shouta does have an eye for potential.”
Kan groaned dramatically. “Then I want the blonde with the explosive martial arts!”
Nedzu shook his head. “I believe ha and Midoriya are a package deal.” Kan growled.
Midoriya darted across another camera angle, dualcasting a perfect Jolt–Verthunder sequence that tore through a three-pointer. Feo Ul zipped in and out of frame like a tiny, furious lawyer.
Nezu’s whiskers twitched. “Such elegant control under stress. He’s balancing two entirely distinct magical disciplines while tracking enemy placement and assisting other examinees. I’m very curious to see how he handles dynamic threat escalation.”
All Might raised a brow. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Nezu tapped a small control on his console, grinning.
On one of the observation screens, deep beneath Battleground B, machinery stirred.
“Releasing the Zero Pointer,” Nezu said pleasantly.
Kan groaned louder. “This is unnecessary, Nezu! The kids are already dying of exhaustion out there!”
Aizawa leaned back. “If he panics, he wasn’t the right pick.”
All Might’s eyes gleamed. “But if he doesn’t…”
Nezu smiled.
The rumbling began.
***
A deep, seismic tremor rolled across the street. Dust sifted from crumbling rooftops. Metal groaned from somewhere ahead, the sound like a creature dragging itself awake.
Feo Ul stopped dead mid-air. “Oh absolutely not.”
The pavement twenty meters away erupted upward as a colossal machine rose from the earth—towering over the ruins, casting a shadow that swallowed entire blocks.
The Zero Pointer. Fifty meters of metal and electronics.
Izuku’s breath caught.
A scream rang out.
High. Terrified. Close.
Izuku snapped into motion before his mind caught up. Scholar robes burst around him in a flash of green and gold. His grimoire appeared in his hand, pages already glowing as he sprinted toward the sound.
He vaulted rubble, skidded around a broken wall—
And his breath caught in his chest.
Ochako Uraraka lay pinned beneath a slab of concrete, legs trapped, chest rising and falling in panicked, shallow breaths.
The Zero Pointer loomed above her, massive arm beginning to descend.
“I can’t reach the slab,” she gasped, voice trembling. “You have to go. Please. Just run. Leave me—”
“No,” Izuku said. “NO!”
He raised his hand. “Ruin!” Three emerald bolts slammed into the Zero Pointer’s wrist.
Nothing.
He switched instantly, aether rushing along his limbs—Red Mage form snapping into place with a crack of crimson light. Coat, rapier, crystal.
“Jolt! Veraero!” then “Jolt! Verthunder!” followed by “Fleche!”
Explosions sparkled against the machine’s armor. Spears of Aether tried to pierce the metal shell of the monstrosity.
Still nothing.
Izuku’s pulse slammed like thunder. Panic clawed its way up his throat. Ochako stared at him with terrified resignation.
“You have to leave me,” Ochako whispered, voice shaking. “It’s over for me anyway. Don’t stay. Please… just go.”
Izuku’s heart felt like it was breaking. “No. I refuse to let you die for nothing!” The panic settled into a tension in his chest, building.
Izuku stepped between Ochako and the falling fist. His heart hammered. His breath stuttered.
But he did not move. He felt the pressure in his chest swell.
Time seemed to narrow into a single burning thread.
The Zero Pointer’s arm dropped.
The impact hit like a meteor.
A deafening boom shook the arena. Dust blasted outward in a choking wave. The street buckled. Debris rained down.
For a moment, nothing existed but dust and silence. Then…
Light.
A burst of brilliant golden radiance tore through the dust cloud, sweeping it aside in a shimmering wave.
Izuku Midoriya stood in the center of the crater.
No red coat. No navy robes.
But clad instead in radiant white-gold plate armor, every surface etched with luminous filigree. In his right hand, a shining longsword, blazing with blue aether. In his left, a gleaming kite shield pressed firmly against the Zero Pointer’s massive fist.
He stood unmoving, braced against impact, light pouring from every line of his armor.
Behind him, light like massive pixie wings shielded the trapped woman behind him.
Ochako stared up at him, breath caught, eyes wide in awe and disbelief.
The battlefield held still.
Notes:
Izuku just manifested his third job. These things are popping up at an alarming rate, aren't they?
Izuku's new armor is the Paladin's Reverence Artifact armor, dyed Pearl White. He's weilding the Laws Order Bastard Sword and Shield.
1/19/2026: Chapter 4 now properly genders Feo Ul.
Chapter Text
Metal crashed against radiant steel with a sound like thunder hitting a wall. Cracks spiderwebbed through the pavement beneath his boots, but Izuku held firm—shield braced, armor flaring gold, the force of the blow roaring past him in a tornado of debris.
He didn’t move an inch.
“Someone—!” His voice strained against the grinding metal. “Please—anyone—help her!”
No footsteps came.
No voices answered.
They were all stunned by the impossible sight before them.
Only Ochako’s faint, pained breaths under the rubble behind him.
Izuku drew a shuddering breath. Fear tightened in his throat—but something brighter pressed up against it. He grit his teeth.
“Fine. I'll do it myself.”
He shifted his weight and slammed the shield upward with every scrap of strength he had.
“SHIELD BASH!”
Light detonated across the shield’s surface. The Zero Pointer’s massive fist jerked back, its arm thrown off balance by the explosive burst of force.
The opening was small. Izuku didn’t hesitate.
His sword was already in his hand. He thrust it skyward in a brilliant arc, gold spiraling along the blade.
“Confiteor!”
The street erupted.
A colossal sword of pure, radiant light speared upward from the ground beneath the Zero Pointer—an enormous holy blade mirroring Izuku’s upward thrust, rising like a divine verdict. It cleaved straight through the robot’s torso.
The Zero Pointer didn’t fall.
It simply froze—bisected, silent, its systems stunned and flickering. It teetered back and forth, as if unsure of what it was supposed to do next.
Izuku was already running, his sword sheathed at his hip, his shield stowed on his back.
He dropped beside the rubble where Ochako lay trapped. Dust streaked her hair; pain flickered across her eyes as she tried to meet his gaze.
“You have to—” she whispered, voice breaking in panic. “Go. Please. You did enough—just… go.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
His hands dug into the broken concrete. He pushed. Hard. His arms trembled. His breath hitched. The stone didn’t move.
He tightened his grip. “Come on—!” Nothing. His strength buckled, his knees shaking under him—
“Please—leave! What if it falls on you?!”
"I'm NOT leaving you!"
A spark.
A rush.
A snap of power deep in his chest—
***
With a thunderous crash, the Zero Pointer collapsed, releasing a cloud of dust on impact.
A group of examinees stood frozen at the edges of the ruined street, staring at the toppled remains.
Someone whispered, “Is anyone still in there…? Did the guy in the armor get out?”
The dust thickened. Shadows shifted. A soft glow emerged.
Slowly, a silhouette stepped through the swirling haze.
The green-haired examinee, armor dimming from battle-bright gold to a steady warm sheen,walked forward with calm, steady steps. His shield was strapped to his back, his sword sheathed at his hip.
And in his arms, held gently against his chest, was the brunette woman he'd been defending.
She blinked weakly, conscious. Safe.
Gasps rippled through the watching students as he carried her out of the settling cloud.
Behind him, the Zero Pointer lay in two perfect halves, cut cleanly in two at the waist.
***
The observation deck had gone silent.
Dust churned across the monitors, swallowing half the exam zone.
Power Loader pointed weakly at the bisected Zero Pointer. “Th-that’s… the reinforced chassis… how did he even—?”
Aizawa wasn’t listening. He’d rewound the footage and was scrubbing frame by frame. One moment: Midoriya in a black compression shirt and green track pants, sprinting toward the trapped girl. The next: a burst of blinding gold light, and suddenly he was armored head-to-toe. Gleaming armor, flowing blue cape, and a shining sword and shield conjured out of nothing.
“That’s not equipment,” Aizawa muttered. “He wasn’t carrying anything. Is his quirk some kind of instantaneous generation?”
Thirteen leaned in. “He went straight on the defensive. He prioritized the rescue, but he didn’t ignore the threat. That’s rare.”
Kan tore his eyes from the feed. “We’ve seen him switch forms all day. Shields, ranged blasts, sword techniques—but this—this is a whole new form. Did we just witness a quirk awakening?”
Nedzu’s ears twitched. “An interesting hypothesis,” he said lightly. “But not quite.”
Kan glared. “Then how do you explain a brand new style exactly when he needs it?!”
Nedzu didn’t explain.
He opened a pair of archive files instead.
A small neighborhood school, the playground. A cluster of crying kids with injuries. A tiny Midoriya steps between a blast-happy young Bakugo and two other boys.
The transcript snippet flickered at the bottom:
“You can’t attack someone just because you want to prove you’re strong. That’s what villains do.”
Bakugo’s face twisted in confusion.
Izuku dropped beside the wounded kids, panicked—
—and light erupted around him.
A shimmering barrier of green-blue energy burst outward. His clothing became flowing robes, a glowing spellbook manifesting at his side, the pixie glowing gold as they flew toward him.
The clip ended on Izuku casting his first healing shield.
Aizawa muttered, “So his quirk took a support-oriented form first…”
The second clip was much more dramatic, and one most of the heroes knew. Burning street. Sludge villain. A boy trapped.
Young Midoriya dashed into frame, energy whipping around him as his first form shifted—exploding into red-white light and restructuring itself into a completely different outfit and weapon set.
Long coat. Wide-brimmed hat. Rapier. Focus crystal. In the background, the Pixie, glowing red and white.
A high-speed, magically infused combat stance.
Aizawa exhaled. “And then a completely different mode manifested years later.”
Nedzu closed the clips.
Kan stared at the now-blank screen, then at the dust cloud on the main monitor. “So… today was manifestation number three?”
Nezu smiled. “As far as we are aware, that is a fair interpretation.”
Power Loader slumped. “My robot…”
The dust on-screen finally began to thin.
A silhouette stepped forward—small but steady, armor glowing faintly gold.
Izuku Midoriya emerged from the haze, carrying Ochako Uraraka securely in his arms. Armor dimmed, shield strapped to his back, sword sheathed neatly.
Midnight gasped and put a hand to her cheek. “Ohhh, that is adorable. Princess carry, the ultimate carry of love!”
Thirteen was impressed. “That slab had to have weighed seven hundred pounds, but he got her out... That’s a hell of a feat!”
Aizawa sighed. “Problem child.”
Power Loader whimpered, “My robot…”
Nezu’s tail flicked. “Fascinating.”
They watched dust drift like ash behind the young man as he carried the rescued girl across the ruined street.
All Might said nothing, his eyes watching a different screen.
***
The med tent hummed with quiet urgency—fabric rustling, carts rolling, healers murmuring instructions. After the battlefield chaos, the slower, less chaotic pace of this safe space was inviting.
Izuku stepped inside carrying Ochako, and half the staff froze.
He was still armored. Still glowing. Still radiating the fading edge of the power that had torn a Zero Pointer apart.
Recovery Girl hobbled over and squinted up at him like she was inspecting faulty equipment. “Put her down, dearie. Carefully now.”
Izuku nearly tripped over his own boots as he lowered Ochako onto the cot. “Y-yes ma’am!”
Ochako tried to smile through the lingering pain. “I’m okay. Really. Thanks to you.”
Izuku bowed so quickly his armor rang. “I’m so sorry you got hurt! I should’ve—I mean, someone should’ve been there sooner, and I—”
“Breathe,” Recovery Girl snapped, though not unkindly.
Izuku sucked in a breath. Then another. Then he noticed his hands were trembling.
Recovery Girl saw it instantly. “Good grief. Sit before you fall over.”
“But—I can help heal—I have a Job that lets me—”
“Sit,” she repeated, tapping his shin with her cane.
Izuku sat. Feo Ul drifted beside him, wings dimming with concern. They pressed a tiny hand to his cheek. “Sweet Sapling… you’re shaking worse than the girl you carried.” Their tone softened. “Release the armor. It’s safe now.”
Izuku blinked. “…Oh. Right. Sorry.” A soft pulse of light swept over him. The armor unraveled into drifting gold motes that winked out one by one. Without it, he looked smaller—paler—like someone who had run far past his reserves.
His knees wobbled. Recovery Girl handed him a sports drink and ahandful of gummies with the authority of someone who had healed three generations of idiots. “Drink, and eat these.”
Izuku obeyed instantly, chugging half the bottle in three seconds, before munching on the gummies, swallowing thickly. He gasped. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”
“You just saved another student while a fifty meter robot tried to kill you,” Recovery Girl said briskly. “Stop apologizing and hydrate.”
Feo Ul settled on his shoulder, wings brushing his jaw. “You did well, sweetling. But collapsing in front of mortals tends to frighten them.” They gave him a small, proud smile. “Rest before you topple like the machine you just carved in half.”
Izuku flushed. “I—I wasn’t going to collapse…” He swayed.
Recovery Girl caught him with her cane. “Yes, you were.”
He sagged against the cot, breathing slowly as the tremors finally eased. Izuku exhaled, letting his shoulders slump.
For the first time since the fist fell, he let himself feel tired.
***
He sat on the edge of a cot, sports drink in hand, hands still trembling slightly despite Feo Ul’s gentle scolding and Recovery Girl’s stern fussing.
Across the room, Ochako stared at him.
Her breath caught in her throat. The image replayed over and over in her mind: the dust storm, the radiant armor, the sword of light splitting the Zero Pointer in two, and Izuku stepping forward through the haze with her cradled in his arms.
The Crimson Savior. She’d spent hours watching that video of the sludge incident, read dozens of forums threads about his quirk.
He was smaller up close, softer, his breaths shaky, cheeks warm with exhaustion—but none of that diminished the awe settling in her chest.
She walked toward him slowly.
Izuku blinked at her approach. “O-Ochako? You should be lying down. You were hurt, and—”
She lifted her hands, cupped his face gently—
And kissed him.
A deep, full, breath-stealing kiss. Tongue brushing his lower lip before she realized what she was doing. Relief and shock and gratitude poured into it all at once.
Izuku froze for a heartbeat. Then leaned into it. One hand found her waist. The other slid to her hip. He pulled her close, kissing her back with soft, steady certainty born of past experience.
Ochako made a tiny startled sound at the confidence of it, but didn’t pull away.
Which was exactly when the curtain swished open.
Katsuki stepped into the tent, and stopped dead, mid-step.
Izuku kissing Ochako. Ochako kissing him back. Feo Ul hovering nearby like they were taking notes for a gossip column.
Katsuki’s jaw clicked shut.
Then opened again, a wicked grin stretched slowly across his face.
“Well,” he drawled, folding his arms, “isn’t this interesting.”
Ochako jerked back, hands flying to her mouth.
Izuku didn’t let go though. He held on, half-laughing. "I didn’t know she was gonna kiss me like that. Besides, you’re just jealous.”
Katsuki shrugged. “Maybe yeah. But I thought you’d at least tell me when you picked up another partner. Fucking rude.”
“Never agreed to that!”
Katsuki smirked. “Well, at least she’s got a nice—”
“KACCHAN!"
“—face.”
***
The cafeteria had emptied out just enough that the noise wasn’t overwhelming—clusters of examinees eating, whispering about the test, replaying their victories or lamenting their mistakes over the free Lunch Rush meal offered by the university.
Izuku carried his tray with both hands, still a little shaky from the adrenaline. Katsuki walked beside him, pretending not to keep an eye on him. Ochako followed, feeling like she was floating more than walking.
Izuku gestured awkwardly. “Um… if you don’t have any other plans, would you like to eat with us?”
Ochako brightened. “I’d love to!”
They found a relatively quiet table near the wall. Izuku sat stiffly. Katsuki sprawled with calculated nonchalance. Ochako took the seat across from them and tried very hard not to replay the kiss on loop in her brain. Izuku sipped his sports drink, still trying to calm his nerves. Katsuki nudged his shoulder lightly. “You good?”
The nudge was gentle. Familiar. Too familiar. Ochako blinked.
W-wait.
Izuku leaned closer without noticing, their shoulders brushing. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little… worn out.”
Feo Ul perked up, hovering near his head. “Of course you’re tired, my Sapling. You manifested a new job today! And a glorious one indeed! Paladin! The defender of the weak, sworn to an oath of protection!”
Katsuki’s expression softened, before turning to Izuku. “Yeah. I saw the video. Someone had a Technopathy quirk in your area. They uploaded a video of your “Golden Emergence” to HeroTube. That was a hell of a stunt you pulled.”
“Thanks,” Izuku murmured, ducking his head, before looking up quickly. “Wait, HeroTube? Oh no...”
Ochako stared. Not at Izuku. Not at Katsuki. At them together.
They weren’t acting like bros. Not like normal bros. Katsuki’s tone was too soft. Izuku leaned into him too naturally. Their knees brushed under the table and neither reacted. And when Izuku smiled tiredly, Katsuki smiled back—just a little, but enough to make Ochako’s heart do something strange and warm and dangerous.
Oh. Oh no. Oh yes? Her face heated. Her pulse fluttered. Her nose tickled... Oh no. A tiny dribble of blood slid from her nostril. Izuku noticed immediately.
“O-Ochako! You’re bleeding! Did something happen? Did you hit your—?!”
Katsuki leaned across the table, squinting. “You good?”
Ochako jolted upright, waving her hands frantically.
“I’M FINE!! It’s nothing!! Just—um—low blood sugar!? Or the heat!? Uhhh—salt?!” She grabbed a rice ball to justify her words. “Eating! Eating now!”
Izuku panicked. “Do you need a medic—?”
“Nope! No medics! All good!” She shoved rice in her mouth. “Mmmphf! See?!”
Katsuki raised one eyebrow. Izuku looked concerned.
Feo Ul hovered above Izuku’s head, tilting their tiny face with mischievous curiosity. “Interesting reaction, sweet Sapling,” they murmured to him. “You might have overwhelmed her.”
Izuku turned pink.
Ochako nearly died internally. She was shoving another bite of rice into her mouth when Izuku’s attention suddenly shifted past her shoulder.
“Huh…?” He leaned sideways for a better look.
Across the cafeteria, a blonde girl sat alone at the end of a long table—blue eyes downcast, posture stiff. She ate slowly, almost absentmindedly, pausing every few bites to flex her right arm like it ached.
She looked lost.
She looked like she was trying not to be seen.
She looked… familiar.
Feo Ul’s wings stilled. They turned toward the girl, expression sharpening with intrigue.
Izuku squinted, and his breath caught. “Is that… Melissa Shield?”
Ochako turned to look.
Katsuki frowned, recognizing the name.
***
Feo Ul slipped off Izuku’s shoulder without warning, drifting across the cafeteria with a deliberate, quiet glide. Their wings dimmed to a soft, curious shimmer as they moved toward something only they seemed able to sense. Izuku reached out helplessly. “Feo—wai—no no no—!”
Feo Ul ignored him completely.
At the far end of the room, Melissa Shield had been eating alone—slow, methodical bites, her posture tight as she flexed her right arm between mouthfuls. She didn’t look up until a gold-winged blur floated directly into her peripheral vision.
Her fork hit the tray with a sharp clink. “Oh my gosh—!” Feo Ul hovered inches from her face, eyes bright with interest. Melissa’s breath caught. “You’re—you’re Feo Ul. You’re really Feo Ul.” A few nearby examinees turned at the excitement in her voice.
Feo Ul blinked serenely. “Yes.”
Melissa’s hands flew to her mouth. “I’ve read so many articles about you—quirk autonomy papers, projection theory threads, that entire legal debacle—this is incredible—!”
Feo Ul tilted their head. “They call me many things.” A smile, sly and quiet.“Most of them are wrong.”
Melissa made a delighted noise that came dangerously close to a squeal. Feo Ul drifted backward, gesturing toward Izuku’s table. “Come. My Sapling is working up the courage to breathe again.”
Melissa blinked—and then laughed, bright and startled at the same time. “Okay. Yeah. Sure.”
She gathered her tray and followed.
Izuku was already half-standing, face flushing. “Hi—um—sorry—Feo Ul likes to wander, they're uh—they're friendly—hi.”
Melissa grinned. “Hi! Izuku Midoriya, right? I’m Melissa. Melissa Shield—but just Melissa’s fine.”
Ochako nodded enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you, Melissa!”
Katsuki gave her a once over. “OK, yeah. Hi, or whatever.”
The blonde woman sat with them, setting her tray down carefully. Feo Ul settled onto Izuku’s backpack, wings flickering with quiet satisfaction. “I cannot believe I’m actually seeing them in person. There are entire threads debating whether they're a construct or a new form of quirk cognition—some people think you’re generating an avatar, others think they're a fully independent being—”
Izuku choked on his water. “Th-they're, um… complicated.”
Feo Ul smiled like they were keeping twelve secrets. “A pleasant misunderstanding.”
Melissa’s eyes glimmered with science-brain excitement, but she didn’t push.
Katsuki nodded toward Melissa’s right arm. “That strain from something?”
Melissa reflexively flexed it and winced. “Ah—yeah. Pushed myself too hard earlier. I’m okay, I promise. Just some quirk backlash.”
Izuku frowned. “If it keeps hurting, you should really see Recovery Girl.”
“I will,” Melissa said softly. “Thank you.”
Ochako watched her carefully—her brightness, her nerves, the way Izuku softened when speaking to her. She wasn’t jealous… exactly. But she definitely understood the appeal.
Feo Ul’s wings hummed faintly as they studied Melissa with an expression too ancient for their tiny frame. “Your energy is… familiar.”
Melissa blinked. “Familiar how?”
Before Feo Ul could elaborate, Izuku felt the world tilt.
That sideways sensation he’d felt before, his vision going grey as the world around him was replaced with something from another time.
A workshop on I-Island.
Fourteen-year-old Melissa stood across from Toshinori Yagi, not the Symbol of Peace, but the gaunt man beneath the smile.
She looked scared.
He looked tired.
Both looked like they wished time would slow down.
“You don’t have to do this,” Melissa whispered. “You can still—”
“No,” Toshinori said gently. “My time is shortening faster than I hoped. I’m already down to less than 6 hours a day.”
Melissa’s hands shook. “So why me?”
“Because,” he said softly, “you‘re the only one it could be.” He sat next to her, letting her cry into his shirt. He’d shown her the research, explained it again and again. It was a lot for a teenaged girl to take in.
She swallowed hard.
He rested a hand on her shoulder.
“The next three years are going to be hard. You’ll work harder than you likely ever had to before this. If you aren’t strong enough, the backlash of the quirk could seriously hurt you. I won’t let that happen.”
The memory washed out, fading to reveal a small training room.
Seventeen-year-old Melissa stood ready, stronger, steadier, built from three years of discipline and preparation.
Toshinori held out a single strand of hair. His voice trembled, not from fear, but from hope. “It’s time.”
She took it without hesitation. Yagi buffed up, smiling.
“As my master passed it to me, I give it to you. One for All is your quirk now.”
The vision broke.
Izuku blinked. A half second had passed.
Melissa was still sitting there, flexing her right arm absently as she talked to Ochako. Katsuki was chewing. Ochako was mid-nod.
Feo Ul hovered near Izuku’s shoulder, tilting their head. “Sapling?” they asked softly. “Your aether… flickered. Just for a moment.” Their tone held curiosity and concern, nothing more.
Izuku swallowed, forcing his breath even.
Melissa looked up and smiled at him, unaware her past had flashed across his mind like a perfectly preserved memory.
Izuku looked back down at his tray. He realized he’d learned something he probably shouldn’t have.
***
Lunch had settled into a comfortable rhythm, the pleasant awkwardness of people who had survived something together.
Melissa laughed at Katsuki’s dry commentary.
Ochako relaxed enough to joke about nearly tripping during her initial sprint.
Izuku felt himself slowly unclench.
Even Feo Ul quieted, perched on his shoulder like a small lantern observing new constellations.
It was… nice.
Then the cafeteria doors slammed open.
“MELLIIIIIIIIIEEEEE!” The shout cut through the room like a thrown wrench.
Melissa turned, waiting for something. “Right on time.”
Before Izuku could ask, a pink-haired missile barreled between tables, scattering chairs, nearly knocking over three trays, aiming directly at Melissa with laser precision.
“MELLIE! THERE YOU ARE!”
Izuku yelped. Ochako squeaked. Katsuki grabbed his drink before it toppled. Feo Ul darted to Izuku and nestled into his hair.
Melissa stood just in time for Mei Hatsume to collide with her in a hug that was part affection, part kinetic explosion.
“I was searching EVERYWHERE,” Mei rattled off without taking a breath. “You weren’t in the lobby—weren’t in the hallway—”
“Mei,” Melissa said gently, steadying her with both hands. “Breathing.”
Mei inhaled sharply, then grinned so brightly it was almost a physical force.
“Hi Mellie. I missed you.”
Melissa flushed, but smiled. “I missed you too.”
Mei nuzzled her cheek once, then finally seemed to register the existence of other humans at the table. Her goggles whirred twice.
“OH. PEOPLE.”
Izuku stiffened. Ochako sat up straighter. Katsuki raised a brow.
Mei blinked, startled. “You have a bug in your hair.”
“No,” Izuku said gently. “I’m—I’m Izuku Midoriya.” He pointed to the pixie untangling themself from his locks. “This is my quirk partner, Feo Ul. Uh… hi.”
Mei leaned in close—too close—studying him with pure analytical curiosity. “I was watching the heroics exam. You generated an energy barrier during the exam. And a cutting phenomenon. Both were BEAUTIFUL. Do it again.”
Izuku choked. “N-not here!”
Katsuki snorted. “He’s not a trained dog, weirdo.”
Mei’s goggles refocused on him. “Explosion boy. You were really efficient in your movements.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Got it. Explosion man.”
“NO—”
Melissa stepped in, lightly touching Mei’s arm. “Mei, these are my… new friends. We just met. Please be gentle.”
Mei reeled her volume back by half a decibel. “Oh! Okay! Sorry! Hi! I’m Hatsume Mei—Support Course applicant—and Mellie’s partner.”
Ochako’s eyes went wide. “Partner like… dating?”
Mei brightened. “Yes! Also, I'm on the spectrum. I'm not great with non-verbal social cues, So feel free to be direct with me. I'm very much not offended by bluntness. Thanks!”
Melissa turned redder. “Mei…”
“What?”
Izuku tried not to smile—it was hard to tell if he was amused, overwhelmed, or both.
Feo Ul floated a little closer, studying Mei like one might study an unstable lightning crystal. “This one is… vibrant.”
Mei perked at the tiny voice. “Hi! I’ve never met an autonomous, sentient quirk construct! Why did you choose a pixie? Was it an unconscious choice by Greenie at initial quirk expression? Or did you self determine this shape as your best option? Can you take other forms?”
Melissa groaned softly. Feo Ul preened at all the attention, their wings shimmering in delight. “I chose this form as I was manifesting, and scared my darling Sapling’s quirk doctor to boot! I’ve never tried taking other forms, though sometimes I dream I’m ten meters tall!”
Mei clapped her hands with a delighted squeal. “YOU CAN DREAM?! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!”
Izuku had no idea what to do with all this energy. Ochako was quietly giggling. Katsuki looked like he’d been hit with a stun grenade. Melissa squeezed Mei’s hand—reassuring, grounding.
***
Izuku flopped face-first onto his bed with the exhausted groan of someone who had sprinted, fought, transformed, carried, panicked, bonded—all in the same day.
His room was dim except for the soft blue glow of the TV.
Feo Ul lounged in midair like a tiny queen reclining on invisible cushions, chin in their hands, kicking their feet as they watched HeroTube on autoplay.
From the screen, a dramatic voiceover declared:
“This week, on Who Wants To Marry Rock Lock,
three contestants face the ultimate compatibility challenge—
unlocking his heart!”
Izuku muffled a laugh into his pillow. “I can’t believe that show exists.”
“It lasted three episodes, dear Sapling. It was canceled because two contestants attempted to throw chairs at each other, and Rock Lock was discovered to be sleeping with the third.” Feo Ul said it with the weary wisdom of someone who had watched the downfall of empires and trash reality TV.
Izuku rolled onto his back with a sigh. “Today was… a lot.”
Feo Ul floated down and landed lightly on his chest, tapping their foot against his sternum. “Something bothers you. Talk to your beautiful branch, let me help.”
He hesitated.
Not because he didn’t want to tell them, but because the visions… felt invasive.
“I… saw something today,” Izuku whispered. “A couple of times, actually. Not just today. It happened before, when I saw Katsuki trapped in the sludge villain. And… with the Aldera principal.”
Feo Ul blinked, expression shifting from relaxed to intent.
Izuku swallowed and continued.
“It’s like—my vision slides sideways for half a second. Everything goes greyscale, and I see… someone else’s memory. Like I’m watching a video.”
Feo Ul slowly floated upward, eyes narrowing in thought.
“What did you see today?” they asked softly.
Izuku exhaled. “Melissa Shield. When she was fourteen… All Might told her she’d inherit his quirk, called One For All, someday. And then when she was seventeen… he gave it to her. I saw him literally give her a quirk. I mean—I saw it. Like I was in the room. Except I wasn’t.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t understand it, Feo. And I—I didn’t tell anyone else. Not even Katsuki.”
Feo Ul hovered in silence. That alone told him this was serious. Finally, they placed their hand against his cheek—cool, gentle, grounding.
“Little Sapling,” they murmured, “the thing you describe… is special. It is something older. Something that belonged to the heroes of my world, and only a scant few at that.”
Izuku’s breath caught. “Do you know what it is?”
Feo Ul nodded once, slowly.
“It is called the Echo.”
The name felt heavy. Ancient. Like a word carved into stone long before quirks existed.
Izuku whispered it back. “...The Echo.”
“It grants you sight into truth,” Feo Ul said softly. “Into moments that shaped a soul. Into the turning points that forged a path. Those touched by the Echo do not merely see memory—they witness the emotion, the truth beneath it.”
Izuku stared at them.
“So… it’s real? I’m not… imagining this?”
“Quite real,” Feo Ul said. “And quite rare. Truly, I have an exceptional Sapling.”
Their wings fluttered with something like pride—and worry.
“You are reaching into the weave of another’s past without meaning to. That means your aether is awakening further.”
Izuku felt his stomach drop. “That sounds… bad.”
“It is not bad,” they corrected. “It simply means your strength is growing, and cannot wait to see what you do.”
They settled beside his cheek, curling their legs beneath them like a small child settling on a cushion.
“Tell me every vision you have had,” they said gently. “We will learn together, you and I.”
Izuku let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
And he began.
Telling them about Katsuki.
About Aldera.
About Melissa.
Feo Ul listened in complete stillness, the TV continuing to babble nonsense in the background (“Rock Lock chooses… NONE of them?!”).
When he finished, they placed one hand over his heart.
“You are growing, my darling Sapling,” they murmured. “Faster than you know. Faster than this world knows. But don’t fret, your gorgeous, marvelous branch is by your side, and always will be.”
Izuku looked up at the ceiling, overwhelmed but oddly comforted by that.
Feo Ul floated upward, dimming the TV with a tap.
“Rest now,” they said. “Tomorrow will bring its own truths.”
Izuku nodded, closing his eyes.
The room settled into quiet.
***
Ochako lay sprawled across her mattress, still in her exam-day workout clothes, hair damp from a long shower meant to calm her nerves.
It didn’t work.
Her brain kept replaying the Zero Pointer. The princess carry. The kiss. The sudden realization that Izuku and Katsuki were… not just friends. And that she maybe, possibly, probably, sort of, didn’t mind that?
She groaned, dragging a pillow over her face. “Why am I like this…?”
Her phone buzzed at her side. She jolted, wrestled the pillow off, and grabbed it. A new video from a HeroTube channel.
She hesitated.
It wasn’t weird to make a group chat, right? They’d all gotten along. Mostly. And Melissa and Mei seemed nice. And Izuku and Katsuki didn’t seem like they’d mind. Hopefully. Ochako took a breath, typed, deleted, retyped, deleted again, then finally settled on:
“U.A. Exam Survivors!”
Ochako:
Hi!! It was so nice meeting all of you today!
Thank you for making everything less scary.
Hope you’re all resting up!
Melissa:
Aww, Ochako, that’s so sweet!!
It was great meeting you too!
Mei:
HELLO NEW FRIEND I REALLY LIKED YOUR SHOES TODAY
ALSO YOU ARE VERY LIGHT HAS ANYONE TOLD YOU THAT???
Ochako:
W–what?? 😳
Melissa:
Mei. Please stop weighing people with your eyes.
Mei:
SORRY MELLIE I WILL BEHAVE (for now)
Katsuki:
…how did I get added to this?
Melissa:
Because you’re part of the friend group now??
Whether you like it or not??
Katsuki:
Fine. I guess.
Izuku:
Hi everyone!!!
It was really nice meeting you!
Um… sorry I didn’t talk much at lunch.
Mei:
YOU WERE GREAT GREENIE I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS ABOUT YOUR ENERGY OUTPUT RIGHT NOW
Izuku:
oh no
Ochako:
😂😂😂
Ochako laughed, warmth blooming in her chest.
This felt… nice.
Like something beginning.
But that wasn’t the message she really wanted to send.
Her eyes drifted to Katsuki’s name.
Then Izuku’s.
Her stomach flipped.
Okay. She could do this. Probably.
She backed out of the group chat and opened a new one with just the two boys.
“um hi???”
Ochako:
Um
Hi
It’s Ochako
She cringed immediately.
Ochako:
Sorry I don’t know why I typed that like it wasn’t obvious
I just
I wanted to say
Typing…
Stopping…
Typing…
Ochako:
Thank you
For everything today
Both of you
She stared at the screen, heart pounding.
Sent another before she could lose nerve:
Ochako:
I’m really glad we met
She hovered, worrying she’d said too much, but Katsuki replied almost instantly:
Katsuki:
same
Ochako’s heart did a somersault.
Izuku’s typing bubble appeared… disappeared… appeared again… and finally:
Izuku:
Me too
Really
I’m glad you’re safe
Ochako pressed her phone to her chest and kicked her feet involuntarily.
She didn’t send anything else.
Didn’t need to.
Two simple lines from two boys she’d only known one day had somehow made her whole week.
***
Morning light filtered through the Midoriya living room, warm and unhurried, illuminating dust motes drifting like they had nowhere better to be.
Izuku sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, a mug of tea cooling between his hands. His muscles still ached from the exam — not painfully, just enough to remind him that yesterday had been real.
Feo Ul hovered upside-down in front of the television, utterly absorbed.
The front door opened without warning.
“Katsuki!” Inko called from the kitchen. “Shoes!”
“I KN- I know,” Katsuki started to bark back before correcting his tone, already kicking them off with practiced ease. His mom might take his shit, Inko wouldn't. He stalked into the living room, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair rumpled, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He looked like someone who had absolutely stayed up too late and was pretending he hadn’t.
Izuku smiled. “Morning.”
Katsuki grunted. “Don’t start.”
Feo Ul righted themself midair, then sniffed. “You smell of sleep deprivation and poor life choices.”
“Yeah? You smell like glitter and bad opinions,” Katsuki shot back, collapsing onto the couch. Feo Ul feigned hurt, the huffed, and drifted off to the kitchen.
Izuku set his mug aside. “You didn’t have to come over this early.”
Katsuki shrugged. “Didn’t want to sit around my place doing nothing.”
That… tracked. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only came from years of shared space, shared history, shared quiet.
“No results for a week,” Izuku said finally. “That feels… wrong.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki muttered. “Like waiting for a punch that never comes.” He stared at the ceiling, then added, almost casually,“We should take a break.”
Izuku blinked. Once. Twice. Then a third time. “A what? Are you breaking up with me?”
"No Idiot. A vacation. Something not training or studying or getting almost killed.” Katsuki glanced at him. “We’ve been at this since we were kids. One damn week isn’t gonna ruin us.”
Feo Ul drifted in from the kitchen, a cookie in their hands. “Ah, the classic Anime Beach Episode !”
Izuku laughed softly, moment of panic passed. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Before Izuku could respond, his phone buzzed. Ochako. He opened the message, shoulders relaxing as he read.
Ochako:
um so this might be kind of random
but since results take a week
do you want to visit Mie?
I live near the beach
totally okay if not!!
Katsuki reading it on his own phone, snorted. “Beach. Yeah. That works.”
Izuku typed back.
Izuku:
That sounds really nice. We were thinking of taking a week off anyways.
Is... is a whole week okay?
The reply came almost instantly.
Ochako:
YES
I mean—yes!
There’s a quiet part of the coast nearby!
Izuku hesitated only a second before saying, “We should rent a place. Give her family space.”
“Good call,” Katsuki said immediately.
Izuku scrolled through listings. Nothing extravagant. Nothing tiny either.
“I can cover it,” he said. “I’ve got some money saved.”
Katsuki glanced at him, then nodded once. No argument. No pride games. “Alright. Then I’m picking my room.”
Feo Ul clapped their tiny hands. “A seaside retreat! Sun! Sand! Mortals slowly realizing they forgot sunscreen!”
Izuku smiled as he bookmarked a house with wide windows and a short walk to the water, then sent a link to Ochako with the comment "Rented for a week, starting tomorrow!"
His phone buzzed again.
Ochako:
thank you
really
I’m excited
Katsuki leaned back, stretching. “A week,” he muttered. “Huh.”
Izuku felt the same strange thing he’d felt earlier — a lightness he wasn’t used to yet.
A pause. A breath.
A week where nothing was chasing them.
Notes:
Bonus points if you can guess what Izuku did to lift the slab. Don't think in game mechanics, think in terms of how that mechanic would translate to a non-game situation.
1/19/2026 EDIT: Chapter 5 should be gender corrected now!
Chapter Text
The train slowed with a gentle sigh, metal wheels humming down into quiet.
Izuku stepped onto the platform—and immediately felt Feo Ul drift closer to his shoulder, wings humming softly as they peered around with bright, appraising eyes. “Oh,” they said, delighted. “This place is small.”
Izuku smiled despite himself. The station was little more than a single platform with a wooden overhang, sun-bleached and tidy. No crowds pressed in, no rush of bodies and noise. Just a handful of locals, a couple of tourists with beach bags, and the distant cry of gulls riding the air.
Daku.
The name felt light.
Behind him, Katsuki jumped down from the train with his usual impatience, scowling as he adjusted his bag. “We here or what?”
“Yes,” Feo Ul answered immediately, floating a slow circle around him. “You have arrived at your destination. Congratulations on not missing it.”
“Don’t start,” Katsuki snapped.
Izuku glanced at the station sign to be sure. “Yeah. This is it.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue, looking around. “Huh. Thought it’d be louder.”
“So did I,” Izuku admitted. The air smelled like salt and sun-warmed wood instead of concrete and exhaust. Even the sounds were spaced out, like the world here knew how to leave room between moments.
Feo Ul inhaled deeply—then coughed theatrically. “The ocean is attempting to kill me.” Izuku simply shrugged, smiling. Feo Ul acted affronted, and stamped their foot like that fairy in the old animated movie they’d found, before spotting a group of seagulls (Winged Rats!) and dive bombing them.
Their Sapling was just starting to relax into it when another train rolled in on the opposite track. The doors slid open. Ochako stepped out. Izuku’s attention snapped to her instantly—not because he’d doubted she’d arrive, but because seeing her here felt different. Casual clothes, small backpack, hair loosely tied back. She looked lighter somehow, like the place had already agreed with her. She spotted them almost at once.
“Oh! Midoriya! Bakugo!” She waved, bright and open, weaving through the thinning crowd. “You made it!”
“Barely,” Katsuki said. “This nerd kept checking the schedule like it was gonna change,” he muttered, gently bumping Izuku’s shoulder.
“I just wanted to be sure,” the verdanette said, flushing. “Transfers can be—”
“Stressful,” Ochako finished with a grin. “I know. My train was late by three minutes and I thought I’d messed everything up.”
Feo Ul drifted forward, arms folded, inspecting her critically. “You appear rested. That is new.”
Ochako grinned. “Beach air helps.”
“I will permit this location,” Feo Ul decided.
“High praise,” Ochako said cheerfully.
They stood together for a moment, the simple fact of being reunited settling in.
No exams. No expectations. No urgency beyond being here.
“So,” Ochako said at last, rocking back on her heels. “The beach is a little ways out. We could walk, but it’s… kind of a lot with bags.”
“There are conveyances outside,” Feo Ul announced. “Pedaled by mortals. With wheels. I disapprove on principle.”
Katsuki squinted. “A what.”
Ochako grinned. “Jinrikisha! Bike taxis!”
***
The bike taxi was exactly as advertised: a sturdy bicycle with a small two-seat carriage attached in front, shaded by a canvas awning. The driver grinned as if this was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Izuku and Ochako took the carriage. Katsuki tried to walk alongside for ten seconds before being told—firmly—to sit or stop complaining.
Feo Ul hovered just above the awning, narrating. “We are moving at an unacceptable speed,” they said. “If danger approaches, I will—”
“Nothing is approaching,” Izuku said gently. Feo Ul hesitated, then settled on top of the awning.
Daku slipped past them as they rolled forward. Low buildings. Open windows. Laundry lines fluttering in the breeze. People waved as they passed, not because they knew them—but because that was simply what you did. Izuku leaned back slightly, watching town give way to dunes, then to open sky.
For the first time in days, his thoughts had space.
“So this,” Feo Ul said thoughtfully, “is what you call rest.”
“I think so,” Izuku murmured.
Katsuki snorted. “You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I do not,” Izuku said, then paused. “…Okay, maybe a little.”
Ochako smiled, kind enough not to tease him.
***
The beach house came into view as the road curved closer to the shore. Izuku blinked. Then blinked again. “That’s… bigger than the listing,” he said slowly. The house sat just back from the sand, weathered wood, wide windows facing the ocean. Not luxurious, but solid. And unmistakably larger than advertised, with a newer side wing extending off to one end.
Ochako tilted her head. “Huh. You’re right.”
Katsuki crossed his arms. “This the wrong place, Zuku?”
“I triple-checked,” Izuku said quickly. “Same address.”
The driver laughed as he helped unload. “Owner added on last year, then promptly moved to Shizuoka for his kid to go to school,” he said. “Rents better now.”
“Oh,” Izuku said, relieved.
He paid—still a little awkward about dipping into the royalty account—and thanked the driver as the bike rolled away. Feo Ul drifted ahead, inspecting the structure. “It is acceptable. Slightly asymmetrical. But the ocean proximity compensates.”
Inside, the house was cool and quiet. Wood-paneled walls, wide windows, the faint smell of salt and old pine. The main room opened toward a deck overlooking the sea. The kitchen was compact but functional.
The newer wing was obvious—lighter floors, cleaner lines.
“Oh,” Ochako said. “More rooms.”
They split naturally. Katsuki claimed the first room without ceremony. Izuku took the next. Ochako noticed—glanced between the doors—but said nothing, heading down the newer hallway instead.
Feo Ul observed this silently, eyes bright.
Unpacking was uneven.
Izuku was quick and methodical. Katsuki dumped and declared it done. Ochako took her time, humming as she rearranged things that didn’t strictly need rearranging.
By the time Izuku stepped back out, Katsuki was already on the deck, sprawled on a small outdoor loveseat. Izuku joined him.
Feo Ul hovered nearby, feet resting briefly on Izuku’s shoulder before they hopped down to the railing. “I will tolerate this location,” they declared.
Waves rolled in steadily.
Footsteps approached.
Ochako emerged last, paused when she saw them—and then, instead of choosing a chair, simply flopped sideways onto the loveseat, draping herself across both their laps.
“Oof—!” Katsuki protested.
“Comfy,” Ochako announced, eyes closed.
Izuku froze for half a second—then adjusted instinctively so she wouldn’t slide. Katsuki huffed, but didn’t push her away. Feo Ul beamed. “Oh,” they said brightly. “Yes. This configuration pleases me.”
The three of them sat there—warm, close, unguarded—the ocean stretching endlessly before them.
For the first time since the exams, Izuku felt it fully:
They were safe. They were together. That was enough.
***
Morning arrived with sunlight spilling through the windows and Feo Ul declaring—loudly—that mortals should not be awake before noon if they expected to function properly. Katsuki ignored them. Izuku made breakfast. Ochako wandered in halfway through wearing an oversized hoodie and socks that didn’t match.
By the time they were dressed and outside again, someone—Izuku, probably—mentioned the boardwalk offhandedly. “Oh,” Ochako said, brightening. “Yeah, there’s a little beach park there. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s fun.”
“That’s fine,” Izuku said quickly. “Fun sounds good.”
Katsuki shrugged. “Better than sitting around.”
Feo Ul clapped once. “An outing. Excellent. I shall judge it thoroughly.”
***
The boardwalk was small. Wooden planks warmed by the sun. Food stalls with handwritten menus. An arcade that looked like it hadn’t updated its machines since before Izuku was born. A ferris wheel that creaked ominously but turned anyway.
It felt… normal. Simple.
Ochako walked a little ahead, pointing things out—not like a tour guide, just someone familiar enough to know where things were. Katsuki immediately zeroed in on the games. Izuku drifted between them, taking it all in.
They shared fries. Ochako stole more than her share. Katsuki pretended not to notice.
Feo Ul hovered near the cotton candy stand, watching the machine spin.
“It must be magic, dear Sapling!” they announced. “Sugar should not behave like clouds.”
Izuku bought one anyway. Ochako laughed and thanked him, tearing off a piece and offering it to Katsuki without thinking. He took it without comment.
It wasn’t a date.
But it also kind of was.
They wandered. They stopped when something caught their interest. No one checked the time. At some point, they ended up leaning against the railing at the end of the pier, watching the water churn below. The breeze was stronger there, tugging at Ochako’s hair. She was quiet longer than usual.
Izuku noticed first. Katsuki noticed second. Feo Ul busied themself tormenting seagulls. They’d already decided they were on par with beavers for how vile they were.
“So,” Ochako said eventually, staring out at the waves. “Can I ask something?”
Izuku nodded. “Of course.”
Katsuki glanced at her. “You’re already asking.”
She laughed softly, then turned to face them. Not nervous—just thoughtful.
“You two are together,” she said. “Right?”
Izuku nodded. “Yeah.”
“And what kind of together?”
Izuku answered honestly. “I’m pan. And poly.”
Katsuki didn’t hesitate. “Bi. Poly.”
Ochako stared at them for half a second.
Her face went red instantly.
“Oh—!” She turned abruptly. “Hold on. Sorry.”
She disappeared down the pier, stepping into a nearby restroom.
Izuku blinked. “Did we—”
“No,” Katsuki said. “She’s fine.”
A minute later, Ochako came back, one nostril neatly plugged, eyes bright despite herself. “Okay,” she said, waving it off. “I’m fine.”
Feo Ul tilted their head. “Your blood attempted rebellion.”
“Yeah,” Ochako said. “It does that.” She took a breath, steadied herself, and looked at both of them.
“So,” she said, calmer now. “If I asked you both out—like, properly—would that be okay?”
Izuku’s answer was immediate. “Yes.”
Katsuki nodded. “Yeah.”
Ochako smiled, relief and excitement mixing easily. “Okay. Cool.”
***
They drifted farther down the boardwalk, the noise thickening into a low, cheerful din—bells, laughter, the clatter of games resetting themselves. Ochako slowed, then stopped. Her eyes locked onto a familiar sight: a ball-throwing game, three shelves of bottles stacked in a neat pyramid, cheap prizes hanging behind the counter. “Oh,” she said softly.
Katsuki followed her gaze. “You wanna give it a go, My treat.”
She shook her head smiling ruefully, hands clasped behind her back. “Yeah, no. I was never any good at those.”
Izuku tilted his head. “Really?”
Ochako laughed a little, sheepish. “Yeah. I always have to keep a finger off the ball so I don’t—” She made a small floating gesture. “You know. And it throws my aim off. Everything comes out weird.”
Feo Ul hovered closer to the stall, peering critically at the bottles.
“They are balanced poorly, yet the challenge seems far harder than it should be. There must be some unseen aspect to conflate the level of difficulty.”
“That’s what I said!” Ochako pointed at her. “I’ve got lucky hits before and only one or two dropped.”
Katsuki snorted. “Sounds rigged. That’s stupid.” Then he glanced at her hands. “You don’t need to do that, you know.”
She looked at him. “What?”
“Keep a finger off,” he said. “They make gloves that only cover one or two fingers. Zuku has some for when he’s using his drawing monitor.” Then, without another word, he reached into his pocket and slapped some coins onto the counter. “One round.”
“Hey—!” Ochako started.
The attendant barely looked up. “Three throws.”
Katsuki stepped forward, rolling one of the balls in his palm.
No explosions, no theatrics, just posture.
Izuku recognized it immediately—the same grounded stance Katsuki used in training, weight settled, shoulder relaxed, breath controlled. Martial discipline, not brute force.
The first throw snapped forward.
Clack. Clank. Clatter.
Every bottle on the bottom row went down at once, the rest collapsing in a neat, ridiculous cascade. Silence. Then the bell rang. The attendant hustled over, his face angry. “Hey! No quirks! You can’t use a strength quirk like that!”
“Feh, what the fuck, old man! I didn’t use a quirk! Besides, my quirk is explosions, and that ball is clean!”
The attendant blinked, then checked a ball, then glanced at the pedestal, then at the back of the counter. “Oh… Uh… Pick a prize.” Katsuki leaned against the bench, nodding for her to pick. Ochako stared.
“Wait—what?”
Katsuki jerked his chin toward the wall. “Go on.”
She stepped closer, scanning the prizes—and then froze.
A terrible quality plushie of Thirteen hung just out of reach. Big helmet. Stubby limbs. Slightly lopsided smile stitched into the fabric. Large anime eyes sewn on the surface of the helmet. It was actually pretty hideous. Her face lit up. She had to have it. “No way,” she breathed. “They have Thirteen?”
The attendant handed it over, and Ochako took it like it might vanish if she blinked.
“This is my favorite hero,” she said, hugging it once, tight. “Like—ever.”
She looked at Katsuki.
And then, without thinking, she leaned in and kissed him.
It was quick. Natural. Entirely unplanned.
Just lips, a heartbeat, and gone.
Katsuki froze for exactly half a second.
Then he exhaled sharply. “Uh.”
Ochako blinked, clearly realizing what she’d done.
“Oh-! I- sorry, I just-”
Izuku watched the whole thing like his brain was lagging behind reality.
His face went hot, and before he could stop himself: “Wow. That was hot.”
Silence.
Ochako’s head snapped toward him.
Katsuki slowly turned.
Feo Ul clapped once, delighted. “Excellent honesty. Poor timing.”
Izuku clamped a hand over his mouth, mortified.
Ochako stared for half a second, then burst out laughing, clutching the Thirteen plush to her chest.
“Oh my god,” she said between laughs. “Midoriya.”
Katsuki groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
“I hate all of you.”
“No, he does not!” Feo Ul piped up immediately. “I’ve skimmed his journals. He’s quite smitten with both of you.”
Katsuki went ramrod straight, staring at the sky, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground.
Ochako laughed harder. Izuku’s face was on fire, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
“I am going to throw you into the ocean,” Katsuki muttered.
“You cannot,” Feo Ul said cheerfully. “I can fly.”
The last two balls sat there on the counter, un-needed.
***
They didn’t linger on it. Katsuki eventually relaxed, shoulders loosening a fraction as the laughter faded. The boardwalk noise swelled back in—bells ringing, voices overlapping, the ocean crashing beyond the pier. Someone suggested food.
They ended up at the far end of the pier, where the boards narrowed and the crowd thinned. Grease-stained paper trays piled up between them: fried dough dusted with sugar, skewers dripping sauce, cups of soda sweating in the warm air.
Feo Ul hovered triumphantly over a stick of cotton candy nearly as big as they were.
They took one bite.
Froze.
Their wings fluttered. “…I rescind my previous objections,” they announced solemnly. “This is a masterpiece.”
They ate, trading bites without thinking. Ochako offered Izuku a piece of fried dough; he took it. Katsuki stole a skewer from her plate; she pretended not to notice.
The ocean breathed beneath them, darkening as the sun dipped lower, lights along the pier flickering on one by one.
***
They walked back to the house together, slower than they came.
The boardwalk lights faded behind them, replaced by the hush of waves and the soft crunch of sand underfoot. Feo Ul drifted overhead, still faintly sticky with cotton candy and humming. Inside, the night settled naturally. Shoes by the door. The day’s energy ebbed into something softer. Ochako lingered near the bottom of the stairs.
“So,” she said quietly. “Before we go to bed.”
Izuku looked up immediately. Katsuki turned more slowly, but he was listening.
“I’ve felt a connection with you both,” Ochako said. “For a while now. And it’s not like anything I’ve felt before.” She smiled, small but sincere. “Would it be okay if we all dated? Like—officially?”
“Yes,” Izuku said, looking to Katsuki, who was nodding.
Ochako’s relief was instant.
Katsuki stepped in first and kissed her gently.
Izuku cupped her cheek and kissed her too—soft, grounding.
Then Izuku glanced sideways. Katsuki smirked. They leaned in and kissed each other—slow, deliberate, absolutely on purpose.
Ochako squeaked. Her hands flew up to her face. “You—! That’s—!”
She spun and bolted up the stairs, laughter trailing behind her, bedroom door clicking shut. Izuku laughed, breathless. Katsuki exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Worth it.”
Feo Ul laughed outright, delighted.
***
Sunlight crept through the windows, pale and unhurried, the ocean audible but distant. Izuku came back from an early swim with salt still clinging to his skin, hair damp and curling at the ends, towel slung over one shoulder. He felt loose in a way he rarely did—lungs clear, thoughts unknotted.
Katsuki was already in the kitchen when he walked in.
Fresh from the shower. Hair still wet. Shirtless, a towel hanging low around his hips as he poured himself a glass of water like this was his house and not a rented beach place he was technically a guest in.
They paused when they noticed each other. “Tch,” Katsuki said, glancing at Izuku’s wet hair. “You go swimming already?”
“Yeah,” Izuku said. “Water’s calm this morning.”
Feo Ul hovered above the counter, peering into a bowl of fruit. “You are both damp,” they observed. “Not in the fun way that is described on the internet.” Katsuki promptly sprayed the wall with his water, sputtering. Izuku laughed, used to Feo Ul’s antics.
That was when Ochako walked in. She took exactly one step into the kitchen. Stopped. Her eyes flicked from Izuku, wet hair, bare shoulders, skin still warm from the sun, to Katsuki, relaxed posture, water still beading at his collarbone, towel slung carelessly low.
Her brain shut off.
“Oh—!” She spun halfway around, clapped a hand over her face, then froze like she couldn’t decide whether fleeing or dissolving was the correct response. “I—I’m—sorry—I didn’t—!” Her face went red instantly.
Izuku stared at her for half a second, then laughed. Not sharp. Not embarrassed. Just warm and surprised, the sound slipping out of him before he could think better of it. “Ochako,” he said, still smiling. “It’s okay.”
She peeked through her fingers, mortified. “It’s really not—!”
“We’re dating,” Izuku said gently. “All of us. You don’t have to pretend we don’t exist.” Her fingers lowered a fraction. “If you want to look,” he added, teasing but sincere, “you’re allowed.” There was a beat. Ochako lowered her hand completely.
She looked.
Then immediately made a very small, very helpless sound. “Oh my god,” she whispered.
Katsuki snorted. “Told you.”
Her face went even redder. “You are both unfair.”
Izuku’s smile softened. He shifted his towel more securely over his shoulder and felt something steady in his chest.
Feo Ul clapped her hands, delighted, while Ochako pressed her palms to her cheeks, took a breath, and finally laughed—bright, a little breathless, but real. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’m good. I just—wasn’t ready.”
“That’s fair,” Izuku said.
Katsuki took a long drink of water. “You’ll live.”
She smiled at both of them, eyes still warm despite the embarrassment. “Yeah. I will.”
The moment passed.
Izuku grabbed a shirt, tugging it on without urgency. Katsuki followed suit, slower than necessary, just to be irritating.
From the deck, the ocean kept rolling in.
***
Izuku sat on the steps with a plate balanced on his knee, watching the beach beyond the house. Families wandered past. Teens kicked a ball. Someone farther down the shore wiped out spectacularly on a skimboard and came up laughing anyway. He slipped into the habit without meaning to. Watching how people interacted with the world, the way their minor mutations gave away their quirks like reading a book.
Ochako noticed. She leaned closer, peering at him. “What’re you doing?”
Izuku blinked, then smiled a little. “Sorry. Evaluating.”
“Evaluating what?”
“People,” he said. “Quirks. Just… out of habit.”
Katsuki snorted softly from the grill, flipping a skewer. “He does that.”
Ochako’s eyes lit up. “Okay, wait—do me. What would my quirk look like if you didn’t know me?”
Izuku considered her for half a second. “Localized mass manipulation. High precision, low margin for error. You compensate with body awareness instead of raw output.”
She stared. “That’s… uncomfortably accurate.”
Katsuki huffed, fond. “Told you.”
Ochako pointed down the beach. “Alright. Him.”
Izuku followed her finger to a guy laughing as he smacked a beach ball too hard, a faint crackle popping when it made contact. “Electrical discharge. Probably involuntary. Output spikes with emotion.”
Ochako giggled. “That sounds like trouble.”
“He’ll grow out of it,” Katsuki said easily.
She pointed again. “What about her?”
A woman farther down the shore waded into the surf, the water around her calves smoothing unnaturally. Izuku tilted his head. “Passive effect. Water cohesion or pressure control. She’s not even thinking about it.”
Ochako scanned again, clearly enjoying herself now. “Okay—two kids on the climbing wall, the one with the hat.”
Izuku watched them for a moment longer. “Enhanced grip or adhesion. He’s climbing too easily. The other one’s compensating—maybe balance or spatial awareness.”
“That’s so cool! You’re really good at that,” Ochako said, delighted.
Katsuki just shook his head, handing her a skewer.
She took it with a grin.
Izuku’s gaze drifted farther out, slower now. A jogger with an uneven stride. A couple arguing quietly. A man sitting alone near the dunes, sand shifting subtly around his feet when he shifted his weight.
Ochako watched him watch the world and smiled, something thoughtful in her expression. “You never really turn it off, do you?”
Izuku shook his head. “Not completely.”
She bumped her shoulder lightly against his. “I think that’s okay.”
Katsuki glanced over at them, then back to the grill, snorting under his breath. “It’s annoying.” They ate slowly. Talked. Let the afternoon stretch without asking it for anything.
***
Later that night, the beach crowds thinned, families and couples making their ways home. The last of the day’s noise faded with the sun, leaving the hush of waves and the low murmur of distant voices farther down the shore. The air cooled enough to be comfortable, carrying salt and the faint trace of smoke from earlier grills.
They brought blankets out to the sand. Izuku lay on his back with his hands folded over his stomach, eyes tracing the sky as it deepened from blue to ink. Stars emerged slowly, one by one, no longer drowned out by city light.
Ochako lay beside him, shoulder pressed lightly to his, Thirteen plush tucked under one arm. Katsuki sat on the other side, knees bent, forearms resting loosely on them, gaze tilted upward. He didn’t speak, but he was relaxed in a way Izuku had learned to recognize.
Feo Ul hovered above them. They wasn’t joking tonight.
Their wings glimmered faintly as they drifted higher, eyes fixed on the sky with careful attention. They turned slowly in the air, tracing invisible lines between stars, pausing, adjusting, starting again. Izuku watched them longer than the others did.
They wasn’t searching wildly. They were comparing.
“That one,” Feo Ul said at last, pointing. “No… that is close, but not quite.”
Ochako followed their finger. “It looks like a spoon.”
Feo Ul considered this gravely. “An inelegant utensil, if not useful. Soup would be difficult to consume without one.” Katsuki snorted softly, the sound warm. Feo Ul ignored him completely and waved their hand again, drawing a new shape between unrelated points of light.
Izuku smiled faintly. They continued like that for a while—testing patterns, discarding them, inventing new ones with quiet satisfaction. It wasn’t restless. It was focused. Intentional.
“Oh,” Ochako breathed. Izuku followed her gaze just in time to see it: a thin, bright streak cutting across the sky, brief and clean, gone almost before it registered. Ochako gasped and squeezed her eyes shut immediately, hands clasped tight in front of her chest.
Katsuki tilted his head toward her, voice low and fond. “You saw it.”
“Don’t talk,” she whispered. “I’m wishing.”
Feo Ul stilled. They didn’t comment. Didn’t correct. They simply watched the place where the light had vanished, wings unmoving for a long heartbeat before they resumed their gentle hovering.
Ochako finished her wish and opened her eyes again, expression softer, steadier. “I hope it works,” she murmured. Feo Ul glanced at her, then back at the stars. “Some things,” they said quietly, “are the same, no matter where you are.”
Izuku looked up again, letting the quiet settle.
***
Izuku lounged in his beach chair, one leg stretched out, the other bent as he turned pages at an unhurried pace. The sun was blisteringly hot today, the kind of heat that pressed down instead of shimmering, and he was quietly grateful for the umbrella he’d staked into the sand beside him. Its shade carved out a narrow pocket of cool over his shoulders and the book in his hands.
The paperback was worn soft with age. The cover showed a lone woman standing knee-deep in snow, sword planted before her, a storm curling at the horizon. He’d read it before—more than once. A story about a young warrior called home when an unnatural winter crept across her homeland. About duty, distance, and the ache of returning changed. About finding, at the end of it all, that the woman she’d loved before she left was still there, waiting.
Izuku smiled faintly at a familiar passage and turned the page.
A few yards away, Ochako lay stretched out on her towel, soaking in the sun like she belonged to it. Today’s bikini was nothing like the sensible one-piece she’d worn earlier in the week—this one was brighter, cut to show more skin, unapologetic. She shifted occasionally, adjusting her towel, completely at ease.
Izuku tried not to stare. He mostly succeeded.
Farther down the beach, Katsuki was playing volleyball with a loose cluster of beachgoers. Sand kicked up around his ankles as he moved, quick and sure, calling for the ball without raising his voice. Someone laughed when a rally broke, and Katsuki shook his head, already resetting for the next serve.
The afternoon drifted on—waves breaking, distant laughter, the soft thump of the volleyball hitting sand.
Then the sound changed.
Izuku looked up from his book, eyes tracking instinctively toward the water. Farther out, a small sightseeing cruise drifted along the horizon, its white hull bright against the blue.
It wasn’t moving.
Izuku frowned.
The boat tilted—just enough that someone on deck grabbed the rail. Then it lurched harder. Shouts carried faintly over the water. A figure stumbled and vanished over the side.
The angle worsened.
The vessel rolled.
Screams cut across the beach as passengers spilled into the sea, the boat capsizing in a violent churn of foam and debris.
Izuku was on his feet before the splash finished echoing, Scholar robes snapping into existence as his grimoire materialized.
“Ochako,” he said, already moving. She was upright instantly, sunglasses abandoned in the sand, eyes locked on the chaos offshore. Katsuki had stopped mid-rally, the volleyball dropping forgotten at his feet.
Then Izuku felt it, a wrongness in the air. A figure burst up near the overturned hull, moving through the waves instead of with them, the sea bending unnaturally around their limbs.
“Villain,” Katsuki said, already running.
Izuku didn’t hesitate. “We help.”
Katsuki hit the shoreline at a sprint and launched.
The blast lifted him cleanly, angled and controlled, momentum rolling smoothly into flight. Years of training showed in the way he stabilized without thought, banking out over the water and scanning for survivors.
Ochako saw him go and acted. She slapped her palm against her chest. Gravity vanished. She sprinted straight toward the waves, feet striking the surface in short, bounding steps, spray kicking outward with every impact. She reached the first victim and tagged them—then another—hands quick and sure.
“Ready!” she shouted.
Katsuki swept in, scooped the weightless victim onto his back without slowing, and arced back toward shore. That was his plan: swoop, scoop, drop and repeat.
Izuku was already setting triage.
“Blankets here!” he called. “If they’re conscious, sit them upright. If not, on their sides, incase they spit up water. We don’t want them choking. Please, clear space—don’t crowd.”
People moved.
He didn’t stop talking, didn’t stop watching. He pointed out who looked steady enough to help, who needed to stay put. Someone handed him towels. Someone else brought water.
“Breathing first. Then pulse. Call out if anything changes.”
A splash cut through the noise as the local hero arrived—The Starfish bursting from the surf in a spray of foam.
“A villain capsized the boat. Motive unsure!”
A victim that was still conscious spoke up. “He robbed everyone on board and tipped the boat with his quirk, controlled the water.”
The Starfish nodded. “Got it! You keep up triage, young man. Excellent work!” Then he dove back into the water.
The rhythm locked in.
Ochako ran the surface, tagging victims and sending them drifting toward Katsuki’s approach vectors. Katsuki ferried them back in clean arcs, setting people down gently before turning back out. Izuku kept count without realizing he was doing it.
Twenty-four. Twenty-four people on shore.
“My son and his wife!” someone yelled. “They were below deck!” Izuku’s stomach tightened. Ochako was already turning.
With a massive lunge, she jetted across the water, activating and releasing her quirk for maximum momentum. As she reached the hull, she released her quirk once again.
Gravity slammed back into place all at once. She hit the water hard, gasping, and kicked to stay afloat as the weight returned. She swam hard toward the overturned hull, arms burning.
She reached it, slapped a hand against the exposed side.
The boat lurched violently as its mass disappeared. Water boiled around the hull as it shifted.
“Katsuki—now!” Ochako shouted. Katsuki grabbed onto the keel with one hand, blasting with the other. As it rolled upright, they saw The Starfish latched to one of the rails, pushing water from the soles of his feet, pushing it along its way. The trapped passengers surfaced coughing as the interior flooded clear. Ochako held the effect, jaw clenched, arms shaking.
Once they were free, she released. Gravity crashed back into the boat. Ochako rolled onto her back, gasping, then turned and began swimming for shore, exhaustion hitting all at once.
Above her, Katsuki and The Starfish finished righting the vessel.
The villain burst from the water and sprinted for shore, claws scraping against wet sand as they made for the steps leading up toward the city.
“Get him!” Katsuki yelled to The Starfish. “I’ve got this!”
The hero broke off instantly.
***
Kirishima had been frozen.
Not scared, just... overwhelmed.
He’d watched the rescue unfold, the coordination, the calm, the way they moved like chaos was something you could organize.
Then the villain hit the beach. That snapped him back.
The villain staggered toward the stairs, movements wild and uncoordinated, like he wasn’t suited to the land.
Kirishima grabbed a length of rusted pipe from near the dunes and moved. Feet planted. Shoulders squared. Pipe angled across his body like a blade. The villain lunged. Claws raked across Kirishima’s chest with a shriek of metal on stone, but he didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t give ground.
The next strike glanced off hardened skin. Kirishima shoved back with the pipe, holding the line with everything he had, swinging the pipe like a sword, not to hurt, but to cut off angles the villain tried to use. Kirishima breathed a sigh of relief as The Starfish slammed into the villain a heartbeat later, stretchy limbs snapping tight and pinning them in place.
“Got you!” the hero shouted. Sirens wailed closer.
Kirishima staggered back, breathing hard, pipe slipping from his hands as the villain was restrained.
Only then did he realize his legs were shaking.
Notes:
Woo! This was a good one! lots of fluff! and even some action!
As for last chapter! Everyone had some good ideas, but I went in a slightly different direction! In game, Fight-or-Flight is a direct damage boost. That means more strength. That's what he used. But Alistor! It was so heavy! Yep, but my story, my call!
Daku is not just a random name. In Star Wars Legends, Dacu was an ocean planet.
Edit: Sorry this took a few days, I was in the process of editing and publishing my first ever book on Amazon and i took a few night off from writing. You can expect this high paced writing to slow down to likely weekly updates, on Thursday or Friday.
1/19/2026 EDIT; Chapter 6 should be properly Gendered now!
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.
Notes:
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! This will likely be the last Chapter until after the New Year!
Poor Aizawa. He was not ready for that. Wonder how Nedzu will respond to it once he watches the footage?
1/20/2026 Chapter 7 is updated with proper gender for Feo Ul.
Chapter 8: Classes Begin!
Notes:
Ok, so it's been a while. I'm done with my holidays and important days of the start of the year, so I'll be back to posting on fridays. Every other is the goal. I might do more, It might be less. Such is life.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
1-A made their way inside, not quite sure what to do with the rest of their class time.
They hadn’t made it ten steps into the building before Midnight appeared, a coy smile on her face. She informed them that they’d be changing venues and heading to Gym Gamma for a quirk demonstration. No one argued. They followed.
Gym Gamma was a massive concrete space, empty by design, the walls and floor bearing the signs of frequent reconstruction. It was built so Cementoss could shape it as needed, which meant it could survive most things without complaint.
The demonstrations went smoothly.
Some students kept things restrained. Others took advantage of the space. Izuku watched more than he acted, habit guiding his attention without much thought behind it. Izuku himself cycled through his three forms, noticing for the first time that Feo Ul’s sparkles changed from their usual rainbow colors to match his form, green for Scholar, carmine for Red Mage, and golden for Paladin. Once he was done, he made a note in his heroics notebook.
Next, Melissa’s turn. Lightning crackled across her skin, golden-bright and controlled. She wasn’t using it the same as All Might — but she wasn’t All Might. The name was interesting.
Aegis Force.
Izuku looked thoughtful. “Aegis… I think it’s an old Greek word for shield. Heh. Clever.”
Katsuki glanced over at him, caught the quiet mumbling, and smiled despite himself before schooling his face back into its usual disinterested scowl.
***
Lunch was interesting that day. Izuku and Katsuki sat at a smaller table, waiting for Ochako to get her food. They were not ready for a pigtail wearing, rainbow haired missile to glomp onto Izuku from behind, plant a big kiss on his cheek, then immediately do the same to Katsuki. “My boys! I am so excited to see you here!”
Izuku flailed for a second, then recognized the voice. Katsuki blushed and wiped his cheek. “Kimi? You go to UA as well?”
Kimi, their ex-girlfriend, smiled brightly. “Yeah, I told you I was gonna be your PR and marketing girl when you went famous, and I make good on my promises! Oh, this is Chihiro! She’s my heart and soul!”
Chihiro was a short, brunette girl with rabbit ears, and a rabbit-like muzzle. She waved shyly. “Anyways! Did you know they let business course students watch the footage from the Heroics course entrance exams? I saw what you did! A new form, Izu! The minute I saw that, I called dibs, and I called Kacchan over there, too. Makima, that cow, complained, but I simply told Goro-sensei that I had a prior relationship with you guys and already had a rapport.”
“Excuse me, but why are you hanging on my boyfriends?”
The group turned to look at the source of the voice, finding Ochako standing there, a look of consternation and what might have been annoyance on her face. Izu smiled, and fidgeted. Katsuki spoke up. “Chako, this is Kimi. She’s the girl we told you about dating at Hinode. The bunny is her girlfriend.”
Chihiro perked up. “Oh, are you Ochako Uraraka? I’m Chihiro Tsukino. Officially, not we’re supposed meet until just before the sports festival, but you’re my student client! I’m so excited to be doing your marketing and PR!” Then she gasped. “Oh, you’re dating Midoriya and Bakugo? That’s a good angle, news channels love a good romance story among the heroes.”
Ochako blushed, sat quickly and began stuffing her face with rice, doing her best to avoid the suddenly animated business course student. The others just laughed.
***
That night, Feo Ul ranted for nearly an hour about the indignity of being subjected to, in their words, “that homeless, hobo-in-a-sleeping-bag, caterpillar-in-training trying to unmake my existence.”
They paced the small dorm room, incandescent and furious, sparkles flaring and dimming with every sharp turn. They called him reckless. They called him arrogant. They called him a man who thought the absence of something meant it had never mattered in the first place.
Izuku sat on his bed and listened.
He made small, noncommittal noises when it seemed necessary. He did not interrupt. He had learned, over time, that stopping Feo Ul mid-rant only made things worse.
Eventually, their pacing slowed. The sparkles softened, shifting from sharp bursts to a low, restless glow.
Izuku lay back without really meaning to, one arm over his eyes, the sound of their voice blurring into cadence rather than words. His breathing evened out.
Feo Ul noticed a few moments later.
They hovered over him, scowling, then sighed.
“…Honestly,” they muttered, dimming their glow and settling closer, curling protectively near his chest. “You mortals fall asleep at the most inconvenient times.”
Izuku slept through the rest.
***
The next day passed normally.
Breakfast, lectures, the quiet shuffle of students moving between buildings. The university settled back into its rhythms without ceremony.
Laws and Legalities opened the day, a dense overview of hero jurisdiction, liability, and the many ways saving a life could still land you in court. Izuku filled pages with notes, underlining reasonable force and collateral mitigation until the words began to blur.
Modern Heroics Art followed, less about creativity and more about messaging. Costume silhouettes. Color psychology. How a hero could look reassuring or threatening without ever throwing a punch.
Physics was a relief. Momentum transfer. Stress tolerances. Structural failure points. Izuku recognized more than a few concepts that lined up neatly with spell casting theory and wrote himself a reminder to revisit them later.
Anatomy was clinical and thorough. Where bodies bent. Where they broke. How to incapacitate without doing lasting damage. Izuku listened carefully and did not look at Katsuki.
Political Science framed hero work as infrastructure. Public trust as currency. Heroes as stabilizing forces, whether they wanted that responsibility or not.
English for Heroics closed out the day, focused on communication. Press statements. Interview discipline. How a single sentence, taken out of context, could undo weeks of good work.
Izuku wrote that down twice.
By the time the final lecture ended, his notebook was full, his brain pleasantly tired, and the day felt complete in a way the previous one hadn’t.
***
The next morning, Aizawa sat in the classroom at his desk, waiting for them. 1-A quieted down immediately, and waited. They hadn’t seen him at all they day before.
“Good job on your quirk demonstrations the other day. A few notes. Todoroki, stop fucking around. You have an entire aspect of your quirk you’re neglecting. You need to start using your fire. Mineta, I had two complaints against you yesterday and the day before. We’ll be sitting down with Dean Nedzu later today.” His eyes flickered to Izuku, then to the pixie net to him. “Midoriya. Feo Ul. Apologies.”
Izuku looked at Feo Ul, gauging their response. Feo Ul simply nodded. “I accept your apology, hobo-sensei.” Then their voice went cold. “Be warned, if you attempt to unmake me again, I shall make you into a shrubbery, and give you to a certain prankster hero.”
Aizawa watched her, then shuddered. He drank a jelly pack, then spoke again. “1-A, your fight is far from over. You’ll need to select your class representatives. I don’t care how.”
Iida suggested a democratic vote, and passed out slips of paper to everyone. At the end, he collected all the papers, and gave them to Aizawa, who counted them.
“With eight votes, your rep is Midoriya Izuku,” Aizawa said before he continued. “Your vice rep is Yaoyorozu Momo. Three votes.”
Momo straightened, eyes wide for half a second before composure snapped neatly into place.
“That’s it,” Aizawa said. “You’ll coordinate when needed. Don’t let it interfere with your training.”
He picked up his coffee at last. “Class dismissed.”
The room broke into noise almost immediately.
“Hold on!” Mina called, half out of her seat already. “You can’t just drop that on us and not let him say anything.”
A few voices chimed in agreement.
“Yeah,” Kaminari added. “C’mon, Midoriya. Speech.”
Izuku blinked.
For a split second, everyone seemed to expect him to flail. To stammer. To apologize for existing.
Instead, he took a breath.
It wasn’t the nervous kind. It was the kind he used in triage, when too many people were talking and someone needed to take control before things got worse. The room faded at the edges as he stood, posture straightening without effort.
“Uh—” He stopped himself, then started again. “Okay.”
The noise died down.
“I didn’t expect this,” Izuku said plainly. “But… I think I understand it.”
He looked around the room, really looked. Familiar faces. Different strengths. Different fears.
“We’re all here because we want to be heroes,” he continued. “Not because we’re perfect at it yet. Yesterday didn’t go the way anyone planned. That’s not a failure. That’s experience.” A few people shifted, listening.
“If you voted for me because you think I have answers,” he said, “I don’t. But I’m good at listening. I’m good at noticing when someone needs help and doesn’t say it out loud. And if something goes wrong, I won’t freeze.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Katsuki, then to Ochako, then back to the room.
“We don’t have to be the loudest class. Or the flashiest. We just have to have each other’s backs. If you’ve got a problem, bring it to us. If someone’s falling behind, we pull them up.”
He paused, then gave a small, earnest smile.
“That’s all I’ve got. I’ll do my best.”
For a heartbeat, the room was quiet.
Then Kirishima whooped. Mina clapped loudly. Someone started a chant that died halfway through when Aizawa cleared his throat.
“That’s enough,” he said, though there was no bite to it. “Out.”
Izuku sat back down, pulse steady, only then realizing how tightly his hands had been clenched.
Katsuki glanced over at him, expression unreadable.
“…Didn’t suck,” he muttered.
***
After that, the day resumed.
People filtered out of the lecture hall in small groups, schedules diverging almost immediately. Different tracks, different requirements, the class scattering into the broader machinery of the university.
Izuku’s first lecture was Foundational Tax Law for Contractors.
Income classification. Expense deductions. Jurisdictional thresholds. The difference between hero work performed under agency contract versus independent action. The professor spoke with the calm authority of someone who had watched promising careers collapse under the weight of unpaid filings.
Izuku filled pages with notes. Katsuki scowled through most of it. Ochako whispered questions under her breath and wrote the answers down anyway.
Accounting and Bookkeeping 101 followed.
Ledgers. Cash flow. Equipment depreciation. Medical expenses. The long-tail cost of hero work done repeatedly without rest or restraint. It was less abstract than Izuku had expected, numbers tied directly to sustainability rather than theory.
“Dumb heroes don’t retire,” the professor said flatly. “They burn out or go bankrupt. Usually both.”
Izuku underlined that.
By the time the morning blocks ended, notebooks were heavier and conversations quieter, everyone drifting toward lunch on habit more than hunger.
***
The gate was never meant to be subtle. It was meant to be loud, flashy and a statement, one made clear when a reporter tried to get onto the grounds that morning, and almost lost a foot.
A meter of reinforced steel, layered and bolted into place, thick enough that you felt it more than saw it when you passed through. It had survived quirks, impacts, attempted breaches, and more than one idiot with something to prove.
A man stood before it, shoulders hunched, hands tucked into the pockets of a ratty black hoodie.
He tilted his head, studying the metal the way one might consider an old bruise.
He pulled his hands from his pockets, and removed an artists two fingered glove from his right hand. Then he reached out.
Five fingers touched the surface.
There was no sound at first. No impact. No bending or tearing. The steel simply… failed. Not all at once, but in a spreading bloom beneath his hand, the structure losing cohesion as bolts softened, plates sloughed inward, and the gate collapsed under its own sudden age.
Metal fell to pieces, each chunk hitting the ground with a dull metallic thud before breaking into nothingness.
What remained crumbled, edges dissolving into fine gray dust that pooled at his feet.
Alarms began to howl across campus.
The figure stepped back, watching the ruin for a moment longer, as if committing the effect to memory.
Then he turned.
He didn’t cross the threshold.
Instead, he broke into an uneven run, vanishing down the street and into the city beyond as security systems screamed and cameras struggled to track him.
***
Lunch was loud.
Trays clattered. Chairs scraped. Conversations overlapped in the easy chaos of a full cafeteria. Izuku sat with Katsuki and Ochako, Kirishima across from them, Jirou half-turned in her seat, Momo nearby with Melissa and Mei already mid-argument about something mechanical.
Then the sound changed.
A low, resonant tone rolled through the room, deep enough to vibrate in Izuku’s chest. Screens flickered. Lights shifted.
LEVEL THREE SECURITY BREACH.
Red text pulsed across every display.
Izuku didn’t think.
The world narrowed, snapped into alignment, and his aether flared in golden white light.
Golden light erupted outward as armor manifested in a heartbeat, shield forming as he stepped forward, instinct pulling power through him without hesitation.
“Behind me!”
That same skill from the entrance exam, the radiant wings of light that guarded those around him flared to life. Passage of Arms, as Feo Ul named it. The barrier locked into place around Katsuki, Ochako, Kirishima, Jirou, Momo, Melissa, and Mei just as the press of panicking bodies threatened to crush them against the windows.
Students shouted. Faculty moved. The building groaned.
Mei blinked, glanced out the windows, facing the gate, and then laughed. “Oh,” she said brightly. “That’s not villains. That’s the press.”
Izuku faltered for half a second. “What?”
“They busted the gate,” Mei continued, delighted. “Didn’t expect them to go straight through steel. Bold move! Terrible plan, though.” The alarm continued to wail.
“Momo,” Izuku said quickly. “Announcement. Press breach.”
She nodded once.
Light flared as the megaphone formed in her hands, already raised before it finished cooling.
“Attention, everyone,” Yaoyorozu said, her voice carrying cleanly across the cafeteria. “This is not a hostile attack. Unauthorized media personnel have breached the campus perimeter. Please remain calm and follow faculty instructions.”
Order began to reassert itself in small ways. Faculty directed students away from exits. People stopped pushing toward windows. Panic gave way to confusion, then to waiting.
Izuku felt Feo Ul’s attention shift.
One moment they were there at the edge of the shield, glow steady and focused, and the next they were gone, leaving only a brief fall of sparkles that faded almost immediately.
Izuku didn’t turn. Feo Ul knew what they were doing.
***
Feo Ul reappeared near the ruined gate in a soft cascade of light.
Nedzu was already present, perched easily on Snipe’s shoulder, eyes sharp as he surveyed the damage. Power Loader knelt amid the debris, scanners humming softly as security teams secured the area.
The thing that had destroyed the gate was gone.
Camera feeds showed it clearly now, a hunched figure retreating into the city at an uneven lope, never once turning back. The breach had not been an entry point. It had been a statement.
Feo Ul and Nedzu spoke.
Their exchange slipped between English and something else entirely, a rapid chittering cadence that unsettled everyone close enough to hear it. It wasn’t loud, but it was precise, the sound of thought stripped down to intent. With a laugh, Nedzu nodded, and shook their tiny hand. The staff were nervous, for many reasons.
Power Loader frowned, attention fixed on the remains.
“This wasn’t caused by an impact,” he said slowly. “No shear lines. No deformation. Nothing was forced or torn.”
He lifted a fragment of steel. It crumbled in his hand, collapsing into fine dust.
“It looks like time,” he continued. “Like centuries of exposure all at once.”
Feo Ul drifted closer, examining the powder as it sifted through their fingers.
“Not rust,” they said. “Rust is lazy.”
The dust shimmered faintly, still silver, still metallic.
“This is not corrosion,” they went on. “The metal remembers what it was. It simply cannot remain so.”
Power Loader checked his readouts again. “Oxidation levels are negligible,” he muttered. “Still metallic.”
“Unnatural decay,” Feo Ul said.
Nedzu watched the empty street beyond the shattered gate, silent and intent.
***
The classroom was quiet by the time they arrived. Twenty seats. Twenty desks. No extras. The Heroics Course didn’t share its foundational classes with anyone else, and it showed. The room felt intentional in a way the larger lecture halls didn’t. There was nowhere to fade into the background.
1-A filed in and took their seats.
Mina leaned forward, chin in her hands. Kaminari bounced once before forcing himself still. Katsuki slouched back, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Ochako sat upright, attentive. Jirou rested one elbow on the desk, earjacks loose.
Izuku opened his notebook and waited.
They felt it more than anything else, before the door opened. “I am entering the room, like a normal person!”
Clad in the red, blue, white, and yellow of his Silver Age suit, All Might slid in, to the quiet awe of nearly every single student. All Might was not just a hero, he was The Hero. This was the first time many of them had seen him in person. It was… momentous. Someone quietly whispered “That’s his Silver Age suit. It’s so retro!”
All Might’s smile widened at the whisper, clearly having heard it anyway.
“Ah! I see there are some keen eyes among you!” he said, planting his hands on his hips. “Yes, this is indeed my Silver Age suit! Comfortable, breathable, and built to last!”
A few students laughed, tension easing just a fraction.
“But before we go any further,” All Might continued, the grin softening into something more earnest, “I want to address this morning.”
The room stilled.
“I’ve been briefed,” he said. “And I want to be very clear: you all handled yourselves admirably. No one panicked. No one rushed toward danger unnecessarily. You listened to instructions and protected one another.”
His gaze moved across the class, lingering just long enough on Izuku to register without calling attention to it.
“That,” All Might said, nodding once, “is heroism at its foundation.”
A few shoulders straightened.
“Now!” he boomed suddenly, clapping his hands together and snapping the room back to attention. “Foundational Heroics 101 is not a class you learn by sitting still.”
He reached beneath the podium and pressed a button.
With a series of mechanical clicks, compartments slid open along the walls of the classroom. One by one, sleek metal cases emerged, each marked with a student’s number.
Murmurs rippled through the room.
“These,” All Might announced proudly, “are your costumes!”
The cacophany of excited noises could only be described as exuberantly discordant. All Might clapped to grab their attention.
“Take these and get changed in the locker rooms, then prepare for a battle trial. You’ll have plenty of time to evaluate and make adjustments later,” All Might said, wagging a finger with mock severity. “No costume ever survives initial design and conception! Not even mine!”
The cases opened with a soft hiss.
Armor gleamed beneath internal lights. Fabric folded and unfurled. Colors and silhouettes filled the room as students crowded closer, voices rising in excitement and disbelief.
Izuku’s case was different.
It was the smallest one along the wall. Slim, narrow, almost understated beside the bulkier containers around it. He stepped closer as the lid lifted automatically.
Inside was no elaborate harness or layered rig. No over-sized gauntlets or external plating.
Just a sleek black bodysuit, matte and seamless, cut close to the body. Reinforced panels traced the ribs and shoulders, subtle enough to disappear at a glance. Insulated. Flexible. Built for movement.
At the bottom of the case sat his boots. Red. Familiar.
Katsuki glanced over from his own open case, snorted, then looked again.
“…Those are basically pajamas,” he said. Then, quieter, almost grudging, “Bet they make your ass look stupid good.”
Izuku made a noise that might have been a protest and very deliberately closed the case, staring at his boyfriend.
“I said what I said,” Katsuki replied, already turning back to his own gear.
Ochako bit her lip, shoulders shaking, and looked anywhere but at Izuku.
Around them, cases snapped shut one by one as students took mental inventory. Fingers traced armor edges. Clasps were tested and left untouched. Anticipation built without release.
All Might clapped his hands once, sharp and cheerful.
“Excellent!” he said gesturing broadly toward the exit, cape swaying behind him. “Gym Beta awaits! A fully realized urban environment designed to test awareness, coordination, and restraint.”
He paused at the door and glanced back, smile bright and knowing.
“Try not to level a building on your first day.”
Laughter followed him into the hall as the class gathered their things and moved as one, twenty heroes-in-training heading toward the city-scape beyond.
***
When they arrived from the locker rooms, All Might was waiting there, hands on his hips, cape swaying in the breeze. “Look at you, you zygotes! They say the clothes make the man, and boy, do you all look sharp!”
Izuku glanced around at his classmates costumes. Katsuki had on the costume they’d designed back in middle school. Izuku looked away blushing. He looked good. His eyes settled on Ochako and he had to turn away again. Her outfit accentuated her curves, and the pink, black and white design was absolutely her. His eyes found Eijiro, who was topless save for some sort of armor. Izuku sighed. “Oh, come on.” Feo Ul just laughed hovering nearby.
“Oh, my poor Sapling. Nowhere is safe for your eyes today.”
“I’m gonna die.” He glanced around again, before settling on staring straight at the ceiling. “What a way to go, though.”
Nearby, Jirou’s eyes widened, and she struggled to hold in a laugh. “Nice suit, Green. Kinda plain though.”
Izuku looked down, pulling at the padded fabric. “Yeah. Since I create my own armor based on which power-set I’m using, this was the cleanest way to not have any interference.”
“So, how do the different powers work? Do you have to, I dunno, design and build them through your quirk or something?”
Feo Ul flitted over. “No! My Sapling’s powers are an expression of his soul! They develop when he needs them the most and not a moment sooner!”
“Feo Ul, while being a little dramatic, is right. I don’t develop or train these new powers, they arrive when needed. Like when I saved Ochako.”
Kaminari, listening nearby, raised his hand, then lowered it, sheepish. “So do you have to practice with the new powers?”
Izuku made a noncommittal gesture. “When they first manifest, it’s like there’s something guiding me, directing my movements and showing me how the aether flows. No, not something, someone. Anyways, after that, I have to practice to get to the same level of proficiency.”
Any other questions were put on hold as All Might called for attention.
“All right everyone! Eyes up!” All Might’s voice boomed across Gym Beta, snapping the lingering chatter into order. The students turned as one, attention locking onto him as the massive space around them hummed faintly with dormant systems.
“This will be your first official Battle Trial,” he announced. “Unlike your entrance exam, this is not an individual evaluation.” He raised two fingers. “You will be operating in pairs.”
A ripple of interest passed through the group.
“All matches will be conducted one at a time,” All Might continued, forestalling the chatter before it could start. “You will observe from the control deck when you are not participating. Learning does not end when you are not on the field.”
He gestured upward. Above the city-scape, a glass-walled observation level slid into view, monitors already lighting up with schematic overlays.
“This also means,” he added, smiling, “that you will all see each other’s mistakes.”
A few students groaned.
“All right,” All Might said briskly. “Match One.”
The board behind him shifted. Names scrolled past quickly, before four settled on screen.
He was partnered with Jirou on offense, against Sero and Kaminari.
“Offense, you need to capture an objective, a bomb, that defense will be guarding.” He pointed to the monitor showing a building. “This is the building your trial will take place in.” Turning back, he held up a small roll of white tape. “This is capture tape, wrap it around an opponent, be it wrist, waist, or ankle, then they are considered captured, and no longer part of the exercise. In order to win, you must capture or incapacitate the other team, or complete your objective. These are going to be ten minute matches.”
Izuku felt Jirou glance at him again, this time sharper.
“…Guess we’re partners,” she said, tone neutral but curious.
“I—yeah,” Izuku replied, then caught himself. “Um. Hi.”
She smirked faintly. “Relax, Green. I don’t bite.”
Feo Ul hovered between them, hands clasped behind their back. “Yet.”
Jirou snorted despite herself.
Kaminari pumped a fist. “Oh hell yes! This is my kind of match.”
Sero grinned, stretching one tape-dispensing elbow experimentally. “We’ve got range and crowd control. This’ll be easy.”
All Might clapped once. “Offense, you will deploy first. Defense, you will have five minutes to prepare.”
A timer appeared.
Jirou tilted her head toward Izuku as they stepped toward the gate. “So. Any plans, Leader?”
Izuku shook his head quickly. “No— I mean, yes. Just— give me a second.” The city unfolded ahead of them: a three-story office building, windows dark, alleys tight, plenty of anchor points for tape and sound reflection alike.
“Okay,” Izuku said, breathing in. “They’ll probably fortify the interior stairwells. Sero’s tape gives them vertical control. Kaminari will try to zone with electricity. They’ll probably trap everything from the second floor down, since they assume we lack the mobility for an upper floor assault.”
Jirou nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
“Well, I have an answer for that. Now, your quirk’s great for reconnaissance. If you can listen through the structure—”
“Already planning on it,” Jirou said. She crouched, one earjack sliding free and plugging into the pavement. Her eyes unfocused slightly.
Izuku watched, fascinated despite himself.
“Okay,” she said after a beat. “They’re on the second floor. Sero’s webbing the stairwell. Kaminari’s pacing. He’s nervous.”
Feo Ul smiled. “It makes sense. He’s like a beacon of energy, always flowing. I wonder if he has ever sat still?”
Izuku nodded. “I’ll be the diversion. You find a way into the bomb room, and take the win.”
The horn sounded.
“Begin!”
Izuku’s aether flared to life, coalescing into the comfortable weight of Red Mage.
He looked up.
Three stories. Reinforced concrete. Windows staggered, uneven. Sero’s tape would dominate stairwells, doors, corners. Kaminari would flood choke points with electricity and dare anyone to push.
They’d expect a ground approach.
Izuku felt the familiar readiness settle into his limbs. Red Mage answered, aether humming into alignment. He flexed his fingers once, checking the flow.
Corps-à-corps, he thought. Two charges.
He smiled.
Izuku took a single step back.
Then vanished.
The displacement was instantaneous, a sharp crack of compressed air as Corps-à-corps snapped him straight up the building’s face, aether locking onto empty space above him and dragging him there by force. He reappeared just below the roof line, hanging in midair, his aether suspending him for a short moment.
As he suspected. No alarms, no tape, no electricity above the second floor.
He pivoted in midair, sighted a darkened third-floor window, and burned his second charge.
Corps-à-corps fired again, horizontal this time, punching him clean through the glass in a spray of fragments and into an empty office. He hit the floor in a roll, came up low and balanced, already moving.
Jirou’s voice in his ear crackled to life. “Nice entry. I’ll take the back left stairwell.”
Izuku stepped back into view of the hallway and fired, his job as the distraction clear.
A compact aether bolt slammed into the far wall, detonating with enough force to rattle desks and announce his presence without collapsing anything important.
“Crap nuggets! Third floor!” Kaminari shouted. “He’s inside!”
The response was immediate. Izuku ducked back inside as he heard Sero come swinging up the stairwell. Tape snapped and whined as it deployed, firing blind at first, then with intent. Izuku didn’t stay to trade shots. He ducked back into his entry point, boots pounding, letting the noise carry, letting them commit to the wrong vector.
Behind him, the sound changed.
Not pursuit. Construction.
By the time Izuku came out of the room again, the building had been rewritten.
He stopped. The hallway ahead of him was no longer a hallway.
Tape layered the space in deliberate construction. Nets crisscrossed from wall to wall. Strips anchored the ceiling. Lines ran low across the floor at ankle height, tensioned and overlapping. Sero hadn’t just blocked the path. He’d engineered it—built to catch a charging threat that never came.
Izuku took it in at a glance. “…Wow,” he murmured. “That’s a lot.”
Sero’s voice echoed from somewhere above, unseen. “Yeah. Learned from the entrance exam. You don’t beat power head-on. You box it in.”
Izuku nodded once. Then he shifted.
Gold flared.
The air thickened as Paladin answered, armor manifesting in clean, radiant lines. Weight settled onto his shoulders, familiar and steady. The shield formed first, locking into his left arm with a solid, reassuring presence. Feo Ul turned a glittering gold.
Then Izuku drew his sword. Law’s Order cleared the sheath in a smooth motion, its blade already humming faintly, runes along the fuller emitting a bright blue light.
“This isn’t power,” Izuku said calmly. “It’s inevitability.”
He stepped forward. Up above, Sero swallowed hard.
The first net hit the blade and parted.
Not snapped. Not torn. Separated.
Law’s Order cut through the tape as if it were a suggestion rather than a barrier, the enchantment enforcing a simple truth: obstacles yielded when faced directly. Strands fell away in clean segments, edges sealed, no recoil, no backlash.
More tape fired.
Izuku advanced anyway.
He cut high, then low, shield raised to intercept a lateral line that slapped uselessly against its surface. Another sweep of the blade cleared the ceiling anchors, the net collapsing in on itself in a harmless tangle at his feet.
Sero dropped from above, landing behind the remaining layers. “That’s cheating!”
Izuku didn’t answer.
He surged forward, Intervention transitioning into Shield Bash to clear the netting, and deal with the threat.
Sero slammed back into the wall, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp as the impact rattled through him. Tape fired reflexively, but Izuku was already inside its range.
Law’s Order flashed once more, severing the last line between them.
Izuku closed the distance in two steps and wrapped capture tape around Sero’s wrist and torso in one practiced motion, yanking tight and pinning him before he could recover.
“Sero has been captured!” All Might’s voice rang out over the PA.
Sero sagged against the wall, blinking. “…Man. That sword’s unfair.”
Izuku sheathed Law’s Order. The golden glow softened, armor settling back into stillness.
***
Kaminari was pacing.
Not guarding the bomb so much as orbiting it, electricity crackling along his arms in uneven pulses. He kept glancing toward the stairwell, listening for Sero, listening to the sounds of the fight outside, fingers twitching with nervous energy.
He never heard Jirou.
She came up behind him through the side corridor, steps measured, breath controlled. One earjack trailed behind her, but the other was already rerouted, plugged cleanly into the speaker port at the top of her boot.
She stopped three meters behind him, planted her feet, and whistled a sharp note.
Kaminari turned just in time to open his mouth.
Jirou stomped.
Her heartbeat slammed through the speakers at point-blank range, distorted and amplified, a concussive pulse that hit his nervous system before his brain could process danger. The blast was focused.
Kaminari’s eyes rolled back as the shock hit him full in the chest. He crumpled forward, electricity sputtering out in a few weak sparks before dying completely.
Jirou didn’t look back. She stepped past him, unplugged the jack from her boot, and crossed the room in a straight line to the desk.
The bomb sat there, paper-mâché shell painted to look like a cruise missile from an old action movie.
She placed a hand on it, and counted to five. “Jirou has captured the bomb! The Offense wins!” All Might called over the PA.
Jirou exhaled slowly, shoulders loosening for the first time.
She turned and headed for extraction, expression cool and composed like it had never been in doubt.
And up on the observation deck, someone whistled low.
“That,” Mina said, impressed, “was cold.”
Katsuki folded his arms, smirk sharp. “…Yeah. And it was clean.”
***
The observation deck filled back in as the match ended.
Doors slid open along the upper level, and the competing members of 1-A filtered in from the side corridor, the residual buzz of adrenaline still clinging to them. The screens along the glass replayed the trial on silent loop. Tape nets collapsing. A sudden vertical displacement. A clean, brutal pulse that dropped Kaminari where he stood.
All Might stood at the center, arms folded, smile bright but evaluative.
“Well done!” he boomed. “A swift match, decisive action, and—most importantly—coordination. Now, let’s talk about what we just saw.”
Izuku leaned against the railing, breathing steady now. Jirou stood a few steps away, hands in her jacket pockets, posture loose in that deceptive way that meant she was still keyed in. Katsuki dropped into a chair with a thud, arms crossed. Ochako hovered near the rail, eyes locked on the replay.
“All right,” All Might continued. “If you had to name an MVP for that match—who was it?”
Mina didn’t hesitate. “Jirou.”
Jirou blinked. “Huh?”
“She straight up deleted Kaminari,” Mina said, pointing at the screen. “No warning, no chance to react. That was ice cold.”
Feo Ul drifted up near the glass, hands clasped behind their back, wings giving a slow, thoughtful flutter. “That is the correct modern phrasing, yes,” they said. “Utterly deleted.”
Kaminari groaned faintly from a medic’s chair. “I hate all of you.”
Momo nodded, eyes still on the footage, analytical rather than excited. “I was particularly impressed by her delivery method. Routing the output through her boots, braced through her legs for stability, allowed her to fire without recoil or loss of balance. That was extremely well considered.”
Feo Ul tilted their head, watching the frozen frame of Jirou mid-stomp. “She rooted herself,” they said. “Like an old wardstone. You do not cast while drifting unless you wish to fall over.”
Jirou glanced over, surprised. “…Yeah. That was the idea.”
Momo turned to her. “Is that a standard application of your quirk, or something you developed specifically for this exercise?”
Jirou shrugged. “I call it Heartbeat Distortion.”
A few heads turned.
“It’s my heartbeat,” Jirou continued, tapping the front of her boot with her toe. “Amplified and distorted through a pair of directional bass-amp speaker units mounted right here. Forward-facing. Low frequency, high impact. It hits the nervous system before the brain catches up.”
Feo Ul’s eyes lit. “Oh, I like that,” they said. “Turning a personal rhythm into a weapon. Very on-brand. Very punk.”
Momo’s expression brightened with genuine interest. “Directional emission makes far more sense. By projecting forward rather than downward, you ensured control without destabilizing your stance.”
“…Thanks,” Jirou said, rubbing the back of her neck.
“But,” Kirishima added, scratching his cheek, “none of that works if Midoriya doesn’t keep them busy.”
Ochako nodded immediately. “Yeah! They were totally locked onto him. Especially when he did that jump—straight up the building.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue. He jerked a thumb at the replay, freezing the frame on Izuku’s sudden vertical displacement. “That’s Corps à corps. It’s a closer move, let’s him get in real close, real quick. Didn’t think it worked vertically though.”
Several students looked at Izuku again, reassessing. “Uh, I can use it twice before it needs to recharge. Jirou and I knew they were on the second floor, and that the halls would likely be trapped on floors one and two. So I used Corps à corps to leap straight up, aimed myself, and used it again.”
Feo Ul floated over his shoulder, arms crossed, smirk sharp. “He realized they were thinking in hallways,” they said. “So he stopped using them.”
All Might clapped once, drawing the room back. “Exactly! Midoriya controlled the battlefield’s attention. Jirou controlled its outcome.”
He pointed between them, grin wide. “Match MVP: Joint award. Midoriya Izuku, for adaptive movement and pressure control—and Jirou Kyoka, for stealth execution and precision incapacitation!”
Applause broke out, scattered but sincere.
Jirou shot Izuku a sideways look. “…Guess we worked pretty well together.”
Izuku smiled, small and genuine. “Yeah. We did.”
Feo Ul drifted between them, hands on their hips, wings flicking with satisfaction. “Distraction and silence,” they said. “A classic combo. Honestly? Ten out of ten. As they say on the KlipTok, would deploy again.”
Izuku rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Notes:
A reader pointed out I wasn't using the proper pronouns for Feo Ul, and they were right, Chapters 1-7 are updated as of 1/20/2026, and Chapter 8 has the proper pronouns by default.
Chapter 9: Rescue Training, Invasion, and Complications
Chapter Text
Izuku was awake before his alarm.
That wasn’t unusual. He tended to surface from sleep gradually, awareness creeping in before his eyes ever opened. The dorm was quiet in that early-morning way UA had, before showers started running and doors began opening and the day began to announce itself.
He sat up, stretched, and rubbed his face, then pulled on a hoodie. His room was small but orderly, notes stacked neatly on the desk, training clothes folded over the back of the chair.
Feo Ul hovered near the window, dim in the pale light, humming to themself as they watched the sky lighten. Izuku was halfway through lacing his shoes when there was a knock at the door. Not loud, but purposeful. Feo Ul’s head snapped toward it first. “Oho?” they chirped, drifting higher. “A visitor at dawn? How scandalous.”
Izuku blinked. “It’s six-thirty.”
“Exactly,” Feo Ul replied gravely.
He frowned at the clock, then crossed the room and opened the door. Eijiro Kirishima stood in the hallway, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, red hair sticking up in every direction. He was smiling a nervous smile. Even then, there was a tight focus in his posture, like he’d already committed to something and just needed to follow through.
“Oh,” Izuku said quietly. “Hey.”
“Morning,” Kirishima said. “Uh. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Feo Ul leaned around Izuku’s shoulder, peering at Kirishima with open curiosity. “Of course he can,” they whispered loudly, before turning to whisper at Izuku at the same volume. “He looks like he is about to confess to a crime or a crush.”
Izuku flushed. “Feo—”
Kirishima blinked, then gave Feo Ul an awkward little wave. “Morning.”
Izuku stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him, Feo Ul with him, practically vibrating. “What’s up?”
Kirishima took a breath. “I’ll just say it.”
Feo Ul clasped their hands dramatically.
“I like you,” Kirishima said. Then, just as quickly, “And Katsuki. I’m not confused about that part, and I’m not trying to figure myself out as I go. I mean it.”
There was half a second of silence. Then it shattered. “I KNEW IT!” Feo Ul squealed, spinning in midair. “Oh, my sweet sapling, you are irresistible!”
Izuku covered his face. “Feo—”
Kirishima went red but held his ground.
“I know you’re already together,” Kirishima continued, powering through. “With Bakugo and Uraraka. I’m not trying to wedge myself in or mess with what you’ve got.” He met Izuku’s eyes, steady. “I just think I fit. And I think it’s worth asking instead of pretending I don’t.”
Feo Ul had drifted closer to Kirishima now, inspecting him with exaggerated seriousness.
“You are bold,” they declared. “We approve of bold.” Izuku shot them a look. “What?” Feo Ul said, scandalized. “You want us to be demure about this?”
“Have you talked to Katsuki yet?” Izuku asked, trying to steer things back on track.
“Not yet,” Kirishima said. “I wanted to talk to you first. You’re better at… the talking part.”
Feo Ul beamed. “This is true.”
Izuku almost smiled despite himself. “I don’t want to make decisions for anyone,” he said slowly. “But I appreciate you coming to me like this.”
Kirishima nodded. “So… would you be willing to talk to them with me?”
Izuku exhaled, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.”
Feo Ul clapped, a sharp, delighted sound in the quiet hallway.
“Very well!” they declared. “Let us expand the circle!” They followed the two boys down the hall, practically shimmering with excitement. When Katsuki opened his door and glared at them all, Feo Ul was already hovering over his shoulder. “Oh, this will be good,” they murmured.
Kirishima didn’t hesitate. “I want to join you. All of you. If that’s something you’d want.”
Katsuki stared at him for a long second. Then he snorted. “You’re basically part of the ‘cule already, might as well make it official.”
“Yeah,” Kirishima said. “I know.”
Katsuki looked at Izuku. “You good with this?”
Izuku nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
Feo Ul gasped dramatically. “He said yes.”
“I heard him,” Katsuki snapped, halfheartedly.
“Ochako’s gotta be on board,” Katsuki added.
“Of course,” Kirishima said immediately.
“Good.” Katsuki shrugged. “Then yeah. I’m in.”
Feo Ul shrieked with delight.
“ANOTHER!” they cried, looping joyfully through the air. “Our darling grows ever more beloved!”
“Feo,” Izuku groaned.
Kirishima blinked. “Does it always do that?”
“Yes,” Katsuki said flatly.
Feo Ul bristled in mock rage. “IT!?”
***
Breakfast was louder than usual. Ochako listened to the explanation with one brow raised, then smiled. “Oh,” she said. “That explains it.”
Katsuki scowled. “You’re not mad? He’d only be dating me and Izu.”
“Why would I be?” Ochako said. “Eijiro’s great. And it’s not like this came out of nowhere. I’ve known he had a thing for you since the beach.” She smirked. “He tripped like three times ‘cause he was staring at your ass.”
Izuku laughed. Katsuki blushed and stared at the wall.
Kirishima covered his face. “I hate all of you.”
“So…?” he tried again.
“Yeah,” Ochako said, setting her spoon down. “You’re in.” Then she squinted at the table. “But wow, this,” she said, gesturing to the three of them, “is way too much testosterone. We need a girlfriend, you guys. Maybe two.”
Feo Ul froze midair.
“Oh,” they said slowly. “Yes. Yes, you do.”
Izuku buried his face in his hands as Katsuki smirked and Kirishima grinned.
***
Aizawa was waiting for them as they filed into the 1-A hall Monday morning, looking like he’d slept exactly where he stood.
“Alright,” he said flatly. “Costumes are optional. You’ve had enough foundational sessions to know what works and what doesn’t. If your design isn’t conducive to rescue work, don’t wear it.”
A few students straightened automatically.
“That alone should tell you that today’s blocked out for rescue training,” he continued, stepping out of his sleeping bag and stretching with an audible pop of joints. “We’re taking a bus to a satellite facility on campus. About twenty minutes out. We leave in ten.”
He scanned them once, tired eyes sharp. “All Might and another instructor will meet us there. Move.”
The room exploded into motion.
***
The bus ride was louder than it had any right to be at eight in the morning.
Kaminari had already claimed the back row. Mina was half out of her seat, twisting around to talk to three different people at once. Sero was examining the emergency exit with interest that made several classmates uneasy.
Up front, Iida sat ramrod straight, hands on his knees, posture immaculate.
He looked like the bus required discipline.
The back left section, however, did not.
Kirishima had taken the window seat. Izuku ended up beside him without protest, Kirishima’s arm draped around his shoulders in an easy, unselfconscious way that suggested this had already normalized overnight.
Izuku leaned into it without thinking.
Feo Ul shimmered once, then shrank down and curled comfortably into Izuku’s curls, tiny fingers tangling in green hair as if it were a nest made just for them.
Across the aisle, Ochako had claimed a seat next to Katsuki—but she was twisted sideways, her back against his shoulder. Her legs were stretched across Izuku and Kirishima’s laps like it was the most natural arrangement in the world.
Katsuki had stiffened at first, then he’d relaxed. It looked comfortable.
Iida noticed. Of course he noticed.
His glasses flashed as he turned to stare.
Izuku caught the glare first. “Is something wrong, Iida?”
Iida adjusted his glasses sharply. “Public displays of affection during official transport are… unnecessary.”
Mina leaned forward from two rows back. “Oh my god, let them live!”
“We’re just sitting,” Kirishima said, grinning.
“Your arm is around Midoriya’s shoulders, and Uraraka’s legs are across your laps!” Iida countered.
Ochako tilted her head sweetly. “That sounds like a you problem.”
Katsuki snorted.
Iida went red. “This is a professional training exercise!”
Kaminari couldn’t help himself. “No! This is Patrick!”
Izuku tried not to laugh. Failed.
Across the aisle, Tsuyu watched with mild interest.
“Midoriya,” she said evenly. “Your quirk is weird.”
Izuku blinked. “Uh—”
“You have the fairy,” she continued calmly. “You switch powers mid-fight. And you don’t explain any of it.”
“That’s— I mean—” Izuku floundered.
Kirishima squeezed his shoulder. “It’s a cool kind of weird, man.”
Tsuyu hummed once. “Yes. Cool-weird.”
She paused, eyes drifting lazily over the four of them tangled together in the seats.
“Midoriya, I tend to be blunt,” she said. “I say what I think.”
Izuku braced instinctively.
“You guys… you’re hot.”
Silence. Then, Izuku made a strangled noise. Ochako burst out laughing. Kirishima threw his head back. “HA! See? I told you!” Katsuki went completely still, then turned to stare very hard out the window, like the passing trees had personally offended him.
Tsuyu blinked once. “Why is everyone shocked? I said so the first night. And now Kirishima joined in.” From the front of the bus, Iida made a sharp, scandalized sound. Tsuyu ignored him. “You could grate cheese on his abs,” she added thoughtfully. The polycule sat stunned for a moment, before bursting out laughing again.
The bus rolled on, sunlight flickering across their faces as the campus buildings thinned and the training sectors opened up beyond the main complex.
***
The doors folded open with a hydraulic hiss. Students spilled out into the cool morning air, chatter rising and bouncing off reinforced concrete.
Izuku stepped down last from his row, adjusting the strap of his bag as his shoes hit pavement. Feo Ul stretched lazily from where they’d been curled in his hair, then hovered just above his shoulder, eyes already scanning the horizon.
Ahead of them, the structure dominated the landscape.
It didn’t look like a single building. It looked like multiple environments sealed under one enormous dome of layered steel and glass. Panels reflected the sky in distorted fragments. Satellite structures ringed the perimeter like auxiliary organs.
Ochako stopped walking. “Whoa.” She took a few quick steps forward, craning her neck. “It’s huge. It’s like, ridiculously huge.”
Kirishima let out a low whistle. “That’s a whole city in there.”
Katsuki crossed his arms. “Looks like a playground.”
Iida stepped ahead of the group, posture snapping to attention. “Form up! This is a training site, not a sightseeing excursion! Standing around gawking is not how students of UA University should convey themselves.” A few students shuffled automatically.
Izuku stepped forward before it could solidify into formation. “Iida.” The tone wasn’t sharp, but it carried. Iida paused mid-gesture. “I understand that you are attempting to organize things, but I’m class rep,” Izuku said evenly. “And we haven’t started yet. Stop overstepping your role. Let them breathe.”
The words weren’t loud, but they were firm. A brief silence followed.
Iida adjusted his glasses. “…Understood,” he said stiffly, stepping back.
Mina grinned. “Dang, Midoriya.”
Kirishima nudged Katsuki. “Leadership looks good on him.”
Katsuki huffed. “Tch.” Then, “Yeah, it’s kind of hot.”
Ochako made a delighted noise.
Izuku’s ears went red instantly. “Kacchan—”
Feo Ul preened midair. “They have excellent taste, my precious Sapling.”
***
Inside, at the top of a large set of stairs, stood a figure in a puffy stylized space-suit, helmet smooth and reflective. Ochako’s hands flew to her face. “No way.” Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “It’s the Space Hero: Thirteen! They’re my absolute favorite!”
Thirteen raised one gloved hand in greeting. “Welcome,” their voice carried clearly despite the helmet, warm and even.
Aizawa gave a minimal nod. “They’re yours.” The scruffy teacher looked around, confused. “Where’s All Might?”
Thirteen inclined their head. “He was held up in court. He’ll be here for the latter half of the session.” They turned to the assembled students. “I have a handful of points I want to get across to you all today. I’ll explain them, but seeing them is the best way to understand them. Now, today you’ll be learning rescue operations in controlled disaster zones. Combat is one thing. Rescue is another.” The class quieted. “Many quirks,” Thirteen continued, “are capable of causing lethal harm if used without restraint. Mine is among them. I can create a black hole that will disintegrate matter down to the molecular level.”
A ripple moved through the students. Even Bakugo went still. Thirteen gestured toward the dome behind them. “This facility was designed to simulate a range of environmental catastrophes. Flood. Fire. Landslide. Structural collapse.” They stepped aside slightly. “And it is called the Unforeseen Simulation Joint.” The name settled over the class.
Izuku felt Feo Ul stiffen midair. Not dramatically. Just enough. Their small hands tightened slightly where they hovered near his collar. The air felt… dense. Feo Ul tilted their head.
“Izuku,” they murmured softly.
He glanced sideways. “What?”
They didn’t answer immediately.
***
Feo Ul heard him, but was trying to piece together what they were sensing… it was familiar, but felt dirty, shredded and torn. Then it hit them. Izazu’s aether felt this way whenever he would travel along the Aetheryte Network. This feeling was similar, but wrong. Feo Ul felt their eyes drawn to the central plaza.
"Hey, what's that!" Kaminari called "Is that part of the lesson?"
Feo Ul turned back to the class. "No, Lightning Child. This is an invasion." Feo Ul’s words had barely settled before the air over the central plaza opened.
A vertical seam split the space beneath the dome, black mist spilling downward in heavy coils. It pooled against the concrete and deepened, thickening until the darkness took shape.
A tall, pale man covered in grasping hands like some macabre twist on a hero costume stepped through first, fingers already twitching at his neck, the hand across his face shifting slightly as he rolled his shoulders. Beside him lumbered something enormous, skin as black as oil, eyes empty and vacant, with an exposed brain and a beak full of sharp teeth.
Then the rest followed.
Villains poured out around them in steady waves, boots striking stone, weapons visible, spreading outward across the plaza as the mist continued to churn behind them. When the last one stepped through, the column of smoke folded inward on itself, collapsing and condensing until only a tall, smoke-wreathed figure remained where the tear had been. Vapor curled constantly around his frame, obscuring any clear outline. For a brief moment, the glint of a metallic neck brace caught the light through the haze.
“Curious,” the smoky figure said, voice deep and resonant. “Our stolen schedule indicated that All Might would be instructing this session.”
The man covered in hands scratched at his neck with an increased fervor. “We went through all that trouble,” he muttered angrily, “and he’s not even here?” His gaze drifted lazily over the students. “That’s annoying.” He took a slow step forward. “I wonder,” he added, voice dripping with malice, “if killing a few of them would bring him out.”
At the top of the massive staircase, Aizawa’s scarf shuffled as he stepped forward. “Villains,” he said flatly. “They must be the ones who caused the riot with the newshounds last week.”
“Wait—wait—” Kaminari’s voice pitched higher than usual. “Those are actual villains?” His gaze snapped between the advancing figures and Aizawa at the top of the stairs. “This isn’t part of the lesson, right? Like, this isn’t some ultra-realistic immersion thing?”
“No,” Thirteen said quietly. The word landed heavy a weight they were all realizing the enormity of.
Momo stepped forward despite herself, posture straight even as her fingers tightened at her sides. “Why aren’t the alarms going off?” Several students turned instinctively toward the perimeter walls of the dome where emergency strobes should have begun flashing red.
Nothing.
Thirteen lifted one gauntleted hand. Small recessed panels along the wrist glowed faintly as they pressed a sequence of keys along the armored surface. “I’ve been attempting manual override,” Thirteen said, voice tightening beneath the modulation. “Primary and secondary emergency triggers.” They pressed again. Nothing responded. “No system acknowledgement,” they admitted.
A ripple moved through the class. Kirishima’s jaw set. Sero shifted his weight, tape already twitching at his elbows. Ochako’s earlier excitement had drained from her face entirely. Even Bakugo had gone still, eyes locked on the plaza below with sharp, measuring focus.
Todoroki hadn’t moved. He stood with his hands at his sides, gaze fixed forward, as if committing every variable to memory. “They selected this location deliberately,” he said at last, voice calm and even. “It’s isolated from the main campus. Minimal faculty presence. A scheduled class with All Might publicly listed as instructor.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the smoke-wreathed figure. “They stole the schedule. They knew exactly where we would be.”
Kaminari swallowed hard. “So they just… walked in?”
“They have a warp quirk, getting in was no problem,” Todoroki replied. “And they likely have someone capable of disrupting electronic signals and communications.”
Kaminari fumbled for his communicator. “I’ll check,” he called, pressing it to his ear. A piercing burst of feedback shrieked through the speaker. He yelped and jerked it away, nearly dropping it. “Yeah,” he said, grimacing. “We’re jammed.”
Mina forced a bright grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “F- folks, uh... a recommendation student!” she joked, stumbling over her words.
No one laughed.
Aizawa’s gaze swept the plaza in a single, efficient pass. Villain count. Spacing. The massive figure standing beside Shigaraki. The students behind him. He made the decision in less than a second. “Thirteen,” he said, voice low but carrying. “Get the students out. Find an opening and move.”
Thirteen hesitated only briefly before nodding. “Understood.”
Izuku stepped forward before he could stop himself. “Sensei—” Aizawa didn’t look back. “You can’t fight all of them alone,” Izuku said quickly, forcing his thoughts into order. “You’re strongest in controlled engagements. Ambush. Suppression. This is attrition.” A few heads turned toward him, but he pressed on. “They’re spread out. They have numbers. And at least one warp-capable support. If you burn through stamina now—”
Aizawa turned his head just enough for one eye to fix on him beneath the curtain of hair. “A hero,” he said evenly, “can’t be a one-trick pony.” He reached into the folds and layers of his capture weapon and slid on his goggles in one practiced motion, the tinted lenses snapping into place and obscuring his eyes. The expression beneath them vanished, unreadable. “Watch closely.”
The capture weapon around his shoulders snapped outward like a living thing. He moved before anyone could say another word. One leap carried him down the remaining steps, scarf unfurling in a fluid arc as he descended toward the nearest cluster of villains. The first thug barely had time to register what was happening before the weapon cinched tight around his throat and drove him into the concrete.
Erasure activated. Quirks died mid-ignition. Aizawa landed, pivoted, and kept moving, every motion precise and calculated as he waded into the crowd.
The class watched Eraserhead carve through the mob.
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t posture. His scarf snapped and recoiled in clean arcs, dropping one villain after another. Quirks flared and died under his gaze. Every time someone thought they had an opening, they hit the ground instead.
Izuku’s mind tracked everything.
Angle of engagement. Villain spacing. Erasure timing. The way Aizawa kept moving so no one could flank him cleanly. He’s conserving motion, Izuku realized. Not power.
Still—
There were too many of them.
Thirteen stepped forward. “Students, move. Stay together.” No one argued this time.
They turned and began moving toward the massive entrance doors at the top of the platform. The reinforced panels loomed ahead of them, sunlight spilling faintly through the upper glass.
Some students moved stiffly. Others kept glancing back at the fight below. Kirishima’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone pale. Ochako hovered close to Izuku without quite touching him. Bakugo walked backward for three steps before forcing himself to turn.
Feo Ul stiffened. Their small form jerked upright near Izuku’s shoulder. “Izuku,” they said sharply. “It’s happening again—” The lights along the upper walls flickered. The reinforced blast doors in front of them slammed shut over the exit with a heavy, echoing clang.
Students cried out, stumbling back.
The floor darkened, black mist seeping upward through the seams in the concrete directly between them and the sealed exit. It rose in a thick column, then condensed. “Salutations,” a calm voice intoned. A tall, smoke-wreathed figure stood in their path, vapor curling lazily around his form, yellow eyes floating in the dark shroud. “We are the League of Villains.”
The mist shifted faintly around the metallic glint of a neck brace. “I understand our appearance is impolite. However, we have decided to invite ourselves to this haven of justice… to say hello.” The smoke thickened.
“And to extract All Might’s dying breath.”
There was half a second of stillness.
Then Sero moved.
Tape snapped from his elbows in twin lines, lashing forward in a tight spiral aimed straight at the smoke-wreathed figure’s torso. Sero severed the lines and caught the loose ends, bracing. Kaminari stepped in beside him, grabbed the tape from him, and released everything at once. A blinding surge tore up the strands — a violent column of blue-white current racing straight towards the villain’s center mass.
The smoke rippled.
A small portal swirled open within it.
On the far side of the platform, another portal bloomed just long enough for the tape to whip through and snap tight around a metal railing.
The full charge discharged into the steel. Electricity spiderwebbed along the bars in a violent flare, sparks snapping and hissing as the current tore across the structure. The metal rang under the load. Kaminari saw the redirection instantly and cut the flow before the feedback could rebound.
The crackling died.
The villain had not moved. “You live up to your school’s reputation,” he said calmly. “Truly. Golden eggs.” The vapor shifted faintly. “But be careful. You could easily end up hurting someone else by mistake.”
Thirteen stepped forward. “Students, behind me.” One fingertip cap on their glove flipped open with a sharp mechanical click. Darkness formed at the exposed tip as their quirk, Blackhole, activated. Air warped violently toward the singularity. Dust, broken concrete, tape, everything loose on the platform ahead of Thirteen tore free and spiraled inward.
The villain did not retreat. A portal opened in front of him. The pull shifted. The airflow twisted and another portal snapped open directly behind Thirteen.
The redirected singularity struck them full in the back.
The effect was immediate.
The reinforced outer layer of their suit shredded under their own quirk, material unraveling and breaking down as if eaten from existence. Hidden armor panels tore free and disintegrated midair. The force dragged at the fabric beneath, carving through layers in seconds.
Thirteen hit the platform hard as the singularity chewed across their back. The fingertip cap snapped shut. The vacuum collapsed. Silence slammed into the space it left behind.
Where the suit had been intact seconds earlier, it now hung in torn strips, the material around the impact zone reduced to ragged edges. Smoke curled faintly from the damage.
Thirteen did not rise.
The villain’s mist thickened. “I cannot allow you to escape,” he said evenly. The black vapor began to spread across the platform. “I will scatter you across this facility… to meet my comrades.”
The smoke surged forward.
“And your deaths.”
The students stood stunned as a massive wave of dark mist curled past them, the speed blowing some of them off of their feet. Iida, in a moment of clarity, grabbed his nearest classmates, and sped to the railings, holding on to them for dear life. Koda and Sato across the platform did the same, arms wrapped around the sturdy vertical posts of the safety rail.
The mist did not slow. Portals twisted open within it, swallowing whoever lost their footing. Mina vanished with a startled shout. Kaminari disappeared an instant later, the smoke snapping shut where he had stood. Hagakure dove toward Thirteen, hooking her arms beneath the injured hero’s shoulders and dragging them clear as a portal opened where their legs had been.
The pull intensified.
Izuku felt it like pressure behind his ribs. Feo Ul shrieked, tiny fingers digging into his hair. “Izuku!” The smoke surged up around his boots. A circle of darkness twisted open at his feet. He shifted without thinking, Red Mage answering.
Aether flooded his limbs, sharp and immediate. The rapier manifested in his hand as the world seemed to narrow to angles and distance. He pivoted and launched backward, clearing the forming portal in a single, tight arc. The space he had occupied collapsed into black an instant later. There was no railing to catch.
Only open air.
Izuku dropped.
For a split second, the fall was real.
Then aether flared through his legs, cushioning the descent as he redirected the momentum. He struck the lower staircase hard but controlled, knees bending to absorb the impact as a faint red shimmer dissipated beneath his boots.
Above him, the mist recoiled. The platform was chaos. A handful of students clung to the railing. Most were gone. Below, in the plaza, Eraserhead was still moving.
***
When he landed, he was not alone. Two villains turned at the impact. One snapped a chain outward in a fast horizontal arc. The other had both palms igniting with a sputtering flame, eyes widening at Izuku’s sudden arrival. Izuku moved inside the swing.
Aether flowed through him. He pivoted past the chain, rapier flashing out in a tight thrust that struck the man’s wrist. The chain fell slack, clattering across the concrete. The second attacker lunged, flames flaring brighter.
Izuku stepped forward instead of back.
Magic surged along the blade as he cut once across the man’s forearm. Not deep — just enough to disrupt the motion. The flame guttered and died as the attacker staggered. The chain wielder recovered faster than expected and threw himself bodily at Izuku. Too slow.
Izuku twisted aside, hooked a foot behind the man’s ankle, and redirected his momentum into the plaza floor. The thug hit hard, breath punching out of him.
The second villain tried to reignite his quirk.
Izuku didn’t give him the chance. “Verthunder.” Scarlet lightning cracked between them. The strike hit clean and the man dropped, twitching, smoke curling faintly from his clothes.
Eraserhead was still fighting. And now Izuku was in it.
***
The pale villain covered in hands noticed the green light.
It was brief. A sharp pulse near Eraserhead’s shoulder. Then it was gone.
But Eraserhead didn’t blink.
The pattern had been there. The subtle settling of hair. The faint reset between engagements. Then the flash.
And the reset stopped.
His fingers scraped harder at his neck.
“…What?”
His attention shifted fully to the student at the base of the stairs.
Green hair. Rapier. Then no rapier. Now robes and a glowing book. Now a sword and shield and plate mail. The fairy at his shoulder flickered first — color shifting — and the boy’s stance changed with it. Different posture. Different tempo. Different weapon in hand.
He struck with lightning. Then re-positioned like support. Then cut through a thug like a duelist. The fairy shifted color again. That was the tell. Every change began there. His scratching grew rougher. “One person,” he muttered, “shouldn’t be covering multiple roles. That’s not how it works.”
The student pivoted, blade flashing. The fairy shimmered again. Roles changed. Again.
“You’re not supposed to do that. That’s not fair.”
The student was interfering. He tilted his head slowly. “…I hate players like you.”
Eraserhead’s hair fell again. Longer this time. He felt it, there, the gap.
He launched forward, hands outstretched, fingers spread wide as he cleared the remaining distance in a low, predatory dash. All he needed was contact. The teacher was still mid-turn, back to him.
Perfect.
Except, it wasn’t.
The light flickered again, as blue-white steel flashed into place as he appeared out of no where. One instant he was several meters away. The next he stood directly between them. Shield raised.
The villain’s palm struck it, but his quirk did not answer. The surface beneath his fingers remained solid. No cracking. No disintegration. Nothing.
For a fraction of a second, confusion cut through the irritation. Then realization.
Eraserhead. His eyes snapped toward the teacher. Hair rising again. Quirk still active, still suppressing his. He clicked his tongue sharply and sprang backward before the scarf could catch him.
“So that’s how it is.” His gaze returned to the student — shield still up, stance locked, fairy glowing a different color now. “You hide behind him.” His fingers dug at his neck. “Fine.”
He didn’t look at the creature standing idly by. He didn’t need to. “Nomu. Take out Eraserhead.” The beast, Nomu, moved. It wasn’t just fast. It was instant.
***
One moment it stood beside the villain.
The next it was across the plaza, concrete cracking under its weight.
Eraserhead barely saw it coming. Erasure activated. Nomu’s forward momentum didn’t falter. It kept coming, it’s massive fist coming in for a low punch.
The scruffy professor barely managed to redirect the strike with his capture weapon wrapped tight around the Nomu’s forearm, boots skidding across concrete as the force still drove him back several meters.
Nomu’s second strike came faster.
Izuku intercepted the follow-up, shield up again, absorbing the shockwave as the impact boomed through the plaza. The force still threw him sideways, boots tearing grooves in the ground as he fought for footing.
Behind them, the warper appeared in a swirl of mist. “Shigaraki Tomura. One of the students has escaped the facility.”
The villain, Shigaraki’s, fingers dug into his neck. “…Of course they did. If you weren’t our way out, Kurogiri, I’d turn you to dust right now.” His eyes tracked the teacher again. The hair wasn’t lifting as steadily now. Shigaraki’s irritation sharpened into something more focused. “The game’s basically over, this run is dead. Wrap it up,” he said quietly.
Nomu’s third strike drove Eraserhead to one knee. The capture weapon was still wrapped tight around the creature’s arm, but the tension had shifted. What had begun as control was becoming resistance. Nomu swung wide.
Eraserhead ducked under it, but the motion cost him. His footing slipped for half a second, boots grinding against fractured concrete, and it cost him. Nomu slammed a fist down on Eraserhead, pinning him to the ground, before slamming his face into the stone.
Shigaraki paced, scratching his neck so hard, blood began to well up. “A student escaped. Heroes are probably on the way. All Might didn’t even make an appearance. It’s game over for sure.”
He glanced at the Nomu, the various villains unconscious in the plaza and the looming threat of heroic intervention.
“Let’s go.”
Then he saw movement at the edge of the flood zone. A girl hauling herself from the water, green hair slicked back, eyes scanning the chaos. Two other students behind her. Alive. Shigaraki’s fingers dug into his neck. He tilted his head. “…Actually.” A faint smile pulled at his mouth beneath the hand on his face. “Let’s leave a couple of dead students for All Might to find.”
He broke into a sprint toward them.
***
The world had narrowed to motion, to reaction instead of action.
Izuku didn’t have the luxury of watching the whole battlefield anymore. He was reacting — intercepting stray blows, rotating between Red Mage, Scholar, and Paladin when needed, keeping Nomu’s shockwaves from throwing him off balance.
Stay upright. Stay useful. Stay alive. Then he saw her.
Tsuyu swimming across the flood zone. She hauled herself clear of the lake, water streaming from her sleeves. Mineta and Kaminari stumbled behind her, disoriented but moving.
And Shigaraki was sprinting straight at them.
Not at Eraserhead. Not at him. At Tsu.
Izuku didn’t think. He ran. The distance was wrong. Too far. He wouldn’t make it.
Faster.
His boots hammered against broken concrete.
Faster!
Aether surged under his skin, unstable, sharp at the edges.
FASTER!
Something answered.
Black and violet light flared around him in a violent burst.
The air seemed to snap.
Izuku vanished from where he was running—
—and reappeared mid-arc, body already committed to the flying kick aimed at the villain attempting to kill his classmate.
His heel slammed into Shigaraki’s ribs just as those reaching fingers stretched toward Tsuyu’s collar. The impact thundered across the plaza. Shigaraki’s body folded around the kick, breath blasting out of him as he was launched sideways, skidding across fractured concrete.
The hand on his face tore loose and clattered across the ground.
For half a second, everything paused.
Nomu leapt away from Eraserhead, leaving his broken body there to catch his master before he could get anymore injured.
Izuku landed in a low crouch between Tsuyu and the villain, black, silver and green armor settling into place around him like it had always been there.
Black lacquered plates trimmed in silver. Green accents pulsing faintly at the seams. A half-mask covered his mouth and nose, fabric dark and close-fitting. In each hand, an oversized kunai gleamed.
Tsuyu blinked behind him. “Midoriya—?”
He didn’t answer.
Villains were already converging.
Izuku’s hands moved through a sequence of hand-signs, mudra, before his conscious mind caught up. Fire answered. A massive frog manifested beneath him in a burst of smoke and embers, mouth opening wide as it exhaled a sweeping cone of flame across the advancing thugs.
Heat rolled outward in a punishing wave.
The front line scattered, screaming, driven back by the sudden wall of fire.
Izuku rose slowly from his crouch, twin blades angled downward.
Shigaraki was pushing himself upright, coughing, eyes wide with something that wasn’t pain.
It was fury.
Shigaraki staggered upright, coughing, eyes wide and furious. “Nomu!” he screamed. “Kill him! Kill the cheater!” Nomu moved. There was no wind-up. No warning.
One moment it was beside Shigaraki.
The next its fist filled Izuku’s vision.
The strike connected cleanly with his side.
The sound was wrong, deep and concussive, and Izuku felt the impact before he understood it. The world inverted as he was launched backward, body tearing through the air and slamming into the concrete wall at the base of the stairs hard enough to spiderweb the surface.
The breath left him, and his vision went black.
He hit the ground and did not rise.
***
Across the facility, three figures burst from the conflagration zone entrance.
Katsuki. Ochako. Eijiro.
They arrived in time to see Izuku crumple.
Feo Ul screamed.
The sound was not small. It tore across the plaza like glass shattering. Aether detonated outward from their tiny form in a violent shockwave that flattened dust and drove lesser villains to their knees. The fairy’s body vanished, brilliant light blazing, revealing a fifteen-foot figure stood where the familiar had been.
Flowing lavender robes, wings of autumn red and orange. Glowing ethereal staff. Eyes incandescent with rage.
Nomu had already turned back toward its target.
Feo Ul struck first.
Their staff swung low and hard, arcing upward. It connected with a violent, meaty thwack, and Nomu’s lower torso dropped to its knees as its upper half was torn free and hurled backward across the facility in a streak of shattered concrete and pulverized metal. The severed mass tumbled, already knitting itself back together mid-flight.
Behind Feo Ul, something else was happening.
The aetherwave released by Feo Ul changed something in Katsuki, Ochako and Eijiro.
Light exploded around them.
Katsuki staggered, then straightened as armored gauntlets formed along his forearms, and a red, green, and black suit of clothes wrapped tight around his frame. A simple silver circlet rested on his brow.
Eijiro roared as heavy plate manifested across his shoulders and chest, a massive greataxe forming in his grip, a heavy horned helmet settling on his head.
Ochako gasped as flowing Pink black and white robes settled around her, a planisphere blooming into existence in her hands, cards spiraling around its equator. A gorgeous hat, pointed and wide brimmed settled over her hair.
Aether pulsed from all three of them. Feo Ul felt it.
Then, they felt it, a stabbing pain in their chest. The fairy king’s towering form flickered. Shrank. Light folded inward until Feo Ul hovered once more, small and dimming fast. They drifted toward Izuku.
Ochako knelt at his side, planisphere glowing as threads of starlit magic sank into his body. Fractures sealed. Bruising faded. Breath returned. He was already stirring.
“Izuku,” she whispered, focusing on the instinctual healing magic in her mind, revival magic. His eyes fluttered open.
Feo Ul hovered just above his face, swaying.
“I used the last of my reserves, sweet sapling,” they murmured, voice thin. “I… I am…”
They yawned.
And dissolved into a scatter of fading light. Izuku’s hand shot up instinctively, panicked. “Feo—”
Then the bond pulsed. Still there. Distant. But present.
He exhaled once, steadying himself. Slowly, he rose to his feet.
Ahead of them, Nomu slammed back into the plaza floor, fully restored, muscle knitting seamlessly as it stood once more, ready to continue its previous orders.
Katsuki cracked his knuckles, aether flaring around his fists.
Eijiro shifted his grip on the axe, eyes glowing red.
Ochako’s planisphere rotated, as constellations spun along the inside.
Izuku adjusted his stance, twin kunai angled forward.
The four of them stood together.
Nomu stepped toward them.
And this time, they were ready.
Notes:
OH SNAP!
Izuku unlocks a new job! Ninja!
He's wearing a Black Green and Silver version of the Hachiya armor, and wielding the Blade's Subtlety.
Katsuki is wearing a Red, Green and Black version of the (ironically) Pacifist's Armor. The waist wrap is plain orange, not leopard printed. His weapon is Ala Mhigan Fists.
Eijiro is wearing default colored Pummeler's Armor, and is wielding a Chango.
Ochako is wearing Pink Black and White Welkin robes, and is wielding a Lunar Envoy's Astrometer.
I know it feels like I'm ragging on Iida, but there's an underlying reason, and we'll get there eventually. I promise. I actually really love Iida as a character.
Oh, also... TITANIA!