Chapter Text
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
A hand fumbles blindly out from the fortress of blankets, smacking the nightstand with all the coordination of a drunk cat.
“Five more minutes,” comes the muffled plea.
The alarm continues its relentless BEEP BEEP BEEP, echoing through the dim room as a single green eye squints open beneath the riot of curly green hair. The owner of said hair — a lanky teen sprawled dramatically across the bed — groans again and rolls onto their back, staring at the ceiling like it has personally betrayed them.
A dramatic sigh.
They reach out again, finally finding the clock and silencing it with a lazy smack.
A slightly louder groan follows as they drag themselves upright, limbs moving on pure autopilot. The blankets slide off the All Might-themed bed in a dramatic heap, the bold red-and-blue comforter crumpled around their feet like a fallen cape.
Izuku Midoriya shuffles to the mirror.
The reflection staring back is… tragic.
Half-asleep eyes. Faint pillow marks on his cheek. A wild explosion of green curls defying gravity in at least seven different directions.
“C’mon, Izuku,” he mutters to himself, voice raspy with sleep. “You can do this.”
The pep talk is weak. The yawn that follows is not.
He moves through his usual morning routine in a blur — shower running a little too hot, uniform tugged on with sluggish precision, tie adjusted twice (then a third time for good measure). He brushes his teeth while staring blankly at the wall, nearly walking into the doorframe on his way out.
By the time he heads downstairs, he looks mostly functional — though still operating at about 60% capacity.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Izuku blinks.
Silence.
No distant explosions. No arguing. No television blaring at an unreasonable volume. No familiar voice yelling about “extras” from somewhere in the building.
Just… quiet.
Utter, unnatural quiet.
He stands frozen in the doorway of the Class 1-A common room, backpack hanging limply from one shoulder.
“…Huh?”
The air feels wrong. Too still. Too empty.
Slowly, cautiously, he steps forward like he’s entering a crime scene. The couches are perfectly arranged. The coffee table is spotless. Not a single scorch mark in sight.
That’s when he sees it.
A single sheet of paper sitting neatly on the counter.
With his name on it.
Midoriya.
His stomach drops.
He approaches it as if it might explode — which, given his classmates, is not entirely outside the realm of possibility. He glances around once more before carefully picking it up.
It’s definitely addressed to him.
His mind immediately spirals.
Did I forget something? Is today an exam? A surprise combat assessment? Did I miss a memo? Did All Might say something and I was too distracted taking notes and—
He stops himself, inhaling sharply.
“…Okay. Calm down.”
He unfolds the note.
And begins to read.