Chapter Text
The smell of burnt sugar and ozone clung to the small bedroom. It was a scent others tend to associate with sweets, but for Izuku it only meant one thing: Kacchan.
Izuku peeled the gakuran off his shoulders, wincing as the scorched fabric pulled away from the fresh, red tenderness on his arm. He shoved the uniform into the back of his closet, burying it behind his winter coat. Out of sight, but never out of mind.
He thought he was supposed to feel some sense of accomplishment, or relief, but Midoriya Izuku felt only dread. What good were those twelve days of break when the inevitable return to Aldera Junior High loomed at the end of them?
Izuku collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his All Might pillow. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of the guidance counselor’s office from that afternoon. The man hadn’t asked about Izuku’s burns. He had simply tapped a pen against his desk and warned Izuku that "provoking the other students" would lead to a black mark on his permanent record.
For a long time, he was willing to overlook these things. For a long time, he lied to himself. But there’s a point where a person in denial must choose whether to stay in it through the rest of their life or to bulldoze their way through their worldview to arrive at something new.
He had reached that point somewhere between the smell of his own burning shoulder and the counselor’s indifferent stare.
There was no point in denying his rational thoughts.
He was bullied by his classmates. He was mocked by teachers. He was baited by his first-ever friend, and when he didn't fight back, he was punished for "disrupting the peace."
Izuku rolled over and stared at the ceiling. The decision solidified in his chest. It wasn't a brave hero’s decision. It was survival.
He waited until evening. He waited until he heard the front door unlock, the rustle of grocery bags, and the hiss of the kettle.
When he walked into the kitchen, Inko Midoriya was slumped over a cup of coffee, nursing the exhaustion of a double shift. She looked up and smiled - a reflex, not a feeling - but the smile faltered when she saw him. She didn't see the boy who pretended everything was fine. She saw a child who looked like he was standing on a ledge.
"Izuku?" She set the cup down. "Honey, what’s wrong? You’re pale."
Izuku gripped the hem of his T-shirt. He tried to start with logic, but his voice betrayed him.
"I can't go back, Mom."
Inko froze. "Go back? To school? Did... did something happen with Katsuki-kun?"
"It’s not just him." Izuku’s voice was wet, trembling, but he forced the words out. He had to bulldoze through. "It’s the teachers. They watched him do it. They watched him burn me, Mom, and they told me I was being a nuisance."
Inko stood up, her chair scraping loud against the floor. "They what?"
"I tried to tell myself it was okay. I tried to think that if I just held on, I could still be a hero," Izuku choked out, tears finally spilling over, hot and fast. "But if I go back there... I won't survive it. I don't mean I’ll die, I just..." He grabbed his chest, clawing at the fabric. "I feel like the part of me that wants to try is going to break. I need to leave. Please. Put me anywhere else. Just not there."
The kitchen went silent, save for the aggressive hum of the refrigerator.
Inko looked at her son. She looked at the fresh wince as he moved his arm, the desperation in his stance. The denial she had been living in - that her son was managing, that kids will be kids - shattered.
She didn't tell him to toughen up. She didn't ask if he was exaggerating.
Inko walked around the table and pulled him into a hug so tight it almost hurt. Izuku felt her tears hit his shoulder, but when she spoke, her voice wasn't sad. It was shaking with a terrifying, protective fury.
"You aren't going back," she whispered fiercely into his ear. "I don't care what we have to do. I don't care if we have to move. You are done with that place, Izuku. I promise."
“No.”
“We won’t accept delinquents and misfits into our school.”
“According to our charter we can’t clear your son to attend our school.”
These and many other replies were plaguing Inko’s existence over the last few days. She couldn’t believe how much the Aldera’s school personnel hated her son. That was the only explanation for why they would want to lie so much in his documentation. Her eyes teared up as she regretted not nipping it in the bud, as she read through a requested copy of his files.
‘Midoriya is prone to provoking fights and commotions. His seemingly meek demeanor is a mask that obfuscates his true nature, a disruptive element of a class’
That was simply untrue.
‘His note-taking tendencies are borderline stalkerish, multiple students have brought up the issue of feeling uncomfortable under his gaze as he wrote down entries in his notebooks which are labeled as…’
Inko had read through multiple of Izuku’s notebooks, and while she didn’t know all of Izuku’s classmates' quirks or names, she was certain of one thing. The bulk of his notes were centered upon Heroes, Villains and Their Fighting Styles. Not upon their addresses, routines or real names. Which was to say, that his hobby was in no way dangerous for his classmates or stalkerish.
Inko’s hand trembled so violently the paper rattled. ‘Stalkerish.’ ‘Delinquent.’ These weren't just descriptions; they were a professional execution of her son’s future.
The phone on the table buzzed, the caller ID flashing a familiar name: Mitsuki.
Inko stared at it for three long seconds. Normally, she would pick up and vent, seeking comfort from her oldest friend. But the "protective fury" Izuku had seen earlier hadn't faded; it had simply turned into a cold, hard diamond in her chest.
She swiped the screen.
"Inko! Finally," Mitsuki’s voice boomed, though there was an uncharacteristic edge of frustration in it. "Look, Katsuki’s been in a foul mood all week, snapping at everyone. Did something happen between the boys? He won't say a word, just keeps blowing up his desk—"
"He burned him, Mitsuki."
The silence on the other end was absolute.
"What?" Mitsuki finally asked, her voice dropping an octave.
""Izuku has second-degree burns on his shoulder," Inko said, her voice terrifyingly calm. "He has bruises that match Katsuki’s palm prints. Those will scar. And do you know what the Principal told me when I went to file a report? He told me that they were tarnishing Izuku’s reputation to protect Katsuki's record. He told me they had to ‘balance the scales’ so their star student wouldn’t lose his shot at U.A."
"Inko, I-"
"I’ve spent the last three days being rejected by every middle school in the district," Inko interrupted, her voice rising. "I’ve tried the city. I’ve tried the next town over. Do you know what they say? They say Izuku is a ‘disruptive element.’ They say he’s a ‘stalker.’ They are reading the lies Aldera wrote to cover for your son’s behavior, and they are closing every door in Izuku’s face."
"I’ll talk to the school, Inko! I’ll make them fix it-"
"You can't," Inko snapped. "The Shizuoka Prefectural Board of Education has already flagged his file. It’s not just one school anymore, Mitsuki. It’s the whole system. It relies on lies from Aldera about a Quirkless bully and a boy with a ‘Heroic’ Quirk, and they’ve decided which one is worth saving."
"Inko, please, we can figure this out. Don't do anything rash-"
"I could spend the next three years and all our savings on lawyers, Mitsuki, and by the time we won, Izuku would have no education and a broken spirit. I don't have time for a slow justice."
Inko looked at the browser tab open on her laptop - the one with a slowly zooming out map of Japan.
"Izuku can’t stay in this prefecture. He can’t even stay in the city. If I want him to have a life, I have to send him somewhere they don’t care about Shizuoka’s ‘star students.’
“Where?" Mitsuki whispered. "Inko, where are you sending him?"
"Somewhere he can breathe," Inko said, and she hung up before she could hear her friend’s apology.
Inko wasn’t the one to hold the grudges, she knew that one day, be it in this month or half a year away, she would accept the apology. But for now, she wanted to let them stew. She stared at the phone’s screen for a while, almost expecting Mitsuki to call her once more. It didn’t happen. So after taking a calming breath she once again focused on her laptop.
Inko spent most of the last three days trying to find a school that would take Izuku in. The sheer multitude of pages loaded in the browser was staggering, she closed most of them, and wrote down an URL of Japan Railways Group.
Moving out so suddenly would be really hard, even if Hisashi would completely understand that decision, breaking the lease, finding a new home and furnishing it would all take time. Time that was scarce. After all, the next school year will begin in a few days. That’s why Inko started to browse affordable and fast trains Izuku could take out and into the prefecture daily. And through comparison she discovered that one such connection existed well in their budget.
“Inazuma Town.” A suburban town in Kanto Region, Northwest of Tokyo, which had its own station. Since it was a slightly shorter route on the train's way to Tokyo, the monthly ticket was cheaper, though it was still far from Musutafu, at least an hour of commute. The town had a singular middle school.
“Raimon Junior High” She read out loud. Its website was bright and pasteled with orangish yellow, similar to its logo. It was easily triple the size of Aldera’s Jr High, offered a variety of clubs and on its site was a disclaimer that it looked for enthusiasm and hard-work, much more importantly, it was their last resort.
Inko drafted an email to the school office explaining the situation and hoped for the best.
Izuku adjusted his new Raimon gakuran as he glanced through the window of the train. It was different from his old one; it wasn’t black like Aldera’s, opting for a navy blue look with yellow buttons and a lightning bolt mark on the left shoulder.
’Fitting.’ he thought, tracing the embroidery with his thumb.
He found it hard to believe the turn of events in recent days. He really despised the thought of going back to that place. And now he didn’t have to. All because he spoke up to his mom—his mom, who had spent days upon days searching for viable alternatives. He didn’t know what he would do if not for her.
He felt moved, and even though he hated seeing her cry at his behest, even thinking about it made his eyes fill up with tears. He simply couldn’t deny feeling grateful. Grateful that she fought so much to give him another chance. Granted, he didn’t know much about the new school, but it simply couldn’t be worse than Aldera.
’And yes, maybe I could have survived Aldera’s Junior High’ he told himself, watching the Shizuoka coastline vanish behind a tunnel. ’But what mental state would I be in after finishing? What kind of perspectives would I have?’
No hero school would take a "disruptive element." Probably no school at all. The fact that his best bet was to go to a faraway school he didn’t even know existed a few days ago spoke volumes about how desperate he had been.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling to the screenshot of the reply mail his mother had received. He had read it so many times he’d nearly memorized the kanji.
> From: Raimon Junior High Administration Office
> To: Midoriya Inko.
> Subject: Regarding the Transfer Application for Midoriya Izuku
> Dear Midoriya-sama,
> Thank you for your interest in Raimon Junior High. We have received your application and the supplementary explanation regarding your son’s circumstances.
> At Raimon, we believe that a student's past does not define their potential. Our school was founded on the principle of 'Rising Above,' and we take pride in fostering an environment where enthusiasm and hard work are the primary metrics of success.
> We are pleased to inform you that Midoriya Izuku’s transfer has been provisionally approved. Please have him report to the Main Office upon arrival on the first day of the semester to meet with Principal Hirai for a brief orientation.
> We look forward to seeing his spirit on our campus.
> Raimon Junior High – 'Let’s Kick Off to Tomorrow!'
Izuku gulped, rereading the part about meeting the Principal. He was always nervous around officials, even if they had already accepted him.
He didn’t know what Principal Hirai looked like, but in his mind, he pictured someone stern, someone who might order him to return the gakuran like a contestant on those cooking shows his mom watched being told to give up their apron. What if the Principal believed the files over his mom’s explanation once he saw Izuku in person? He knew from the internet that there were people blind to their children’s faults; what if the faculty at the new school spent every day looking over his shoulder, waiting for him to make the smallest mistake?
‘No. I shouldn’t be so negative.’ He shook his head, the reflection in the window mimicking the motion. ‘I don’t know these people. I don’t know my new classmates, and they don’t know me. Fresh start. Just focus on a good impression. But... not too much, or I'll stutter.’
The view behind the window slowly changed from the green countryside to a more urban setting.
Izuku reached out to catch his hero analysis notebook, which had almost slid off the tray table as the train banked into a curve. It was Volume 12, and it was almost full. He couldn’t abandon his note-taking - it was the only way he felt connected to his dream. But he thought he could be a little more open about it here. If he took notes on heroes during breaks, he could keep his phone open to a news article about that hero so it looked like research. And with a daily two-hour commute, he had more than enough time for homework and analysis alike.
He didn’t know the first thing about making friends after being alone for so many years. But he hoped, at the very least, his classmates would be less... explosive about his quirklessness.
His research on the school had been extensive. The grounds were vast, situated next to a wide river. He’d need to pass a large steel bridge each day to get there. Raimon was on the outskirts of Inazuma Town’s center, surrounded mostly by quiet residential houses. It had a history dating back to the 'Quirk Upheaval' as one of the most accepting schools, not discriminating against people born with quirks, which filled him with hope that they would adhere to their history.
He also made sure to read the charter and check the rules whether there was a rule of no loitering post lessons, which wasn’t, which was a relief, because he was sure there would be days he’d rather wait for the train home in school.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now approaching Inazuma Station,” the automated voice chimed over the speakers. “Please ensure you have all your personal belongings. Thank you for choosing to travel with the Japanese Railway Group.”
“It’s been nearly an hour already?” He mumbled underneath his nose before gathering his stuff.
He stood up, double-checking his bag. He bowed and apologized to the nice woman sitting next to him before squeezing past her and walking toward the front of the traincar.
The train decelerated with a rhythmic hiss of air brakes. When the doors slid open, Izuku stepped out onto the platform.
The air here felt different. It didn't smell like ozone or burnt sugar. It smelled like river water and freshly cut grass.
Izuku looked up. Hovering over the station's exit was a massive clock face shaped like a soccer ball, and beyond the station eaves, on a nearby hill he could see the distant, shimmering silhouette of a massive steel lightning bolt the Inazuma Tower.
He took a deep breath, adjusted the strap of his yellow backpack, and took his first step into the town that would change everything.
Izuku’s walk towards the Raimon Jr High was one assisted by a map app on his phone.
The town was different than he was used to, Musutafu had more people in it, this suburban town on the outskirts of Tokyo was much calmer and quieter. Far away from the noise of downtown Tokyo, there were hardly any Heroes that had agencies here. Far from Taito district which housed numerous agencies, or Minato district which housed All Might’s Agency, he could only name two major heroes that ever had any rumours about Inazuma Town. And by major heroes he meant heroes in the top-five-hundred.
Dustthruster’s agency was near the center, in fact he walked past it on his way to the riverbank, he was the less known ‘famous’ hero from Inazuma Town. She was Four-Hundreth and Sixty Eight Hero on the National Score Boards last year, and her quirk was an ability to expel amounts of pressurized dust from her elbows and knees, the fact that his dust was akin to dandruff and needed to be cleaned was probably why she was the less popular hero. Though her efficiency placed her on the boards. Fulguright was the more famous hero whose agency was on the other side of the Riverbank and more to the south. His quirk allowed him to create markings akin to lichtenberg scars on floors and walls which he could then spawn lightning from. Of course then there was the prominent rumour about Miruko’s agency being formally located on the outskirts of any major city but since she was roaming the country it didn’t… Where was he?
Ah yes he was comparing Inazuma Town to Musutafu. The Suburban town near Tokyo was built on the river valley so it had a lot more stairs and elevation changes, especially near the river. The river which he could now see.
Izuku walked past the street. It was clear, it was blue, it was deep, and most importantly it was a landmark that he could use as a map towards Raimon. He closed the app and put it in his pocket. It was easy to spot a Bridge, and on the other side of the river, by the bridge there was the school. He looked at the map earlier, and it was hard to miss it.
On its two sides the River was surrounded on the side by two belts of green. Which widened as he got closer to the bridge. Another thing that happened in proximity to the bridge was the noise. It wasn’t anything annoying or whatever, just something that made him curious.
And so once he was on it, he walked past the street on the bridge to see what was that loud. Looking down, there was a Park on the other side of the bridge, and more importantly near that park, was a football pitch. There were some elementary schoolers in matching shirts there, probably a part of a local team, but by the goalpost there stood a boy in Raimon Gakuran and an Orange Headband.
‘Cool, there’s a Park near the school, if I’ll have to wait for a train back home I could wait here.’ Izuku didn’t think much about it, and started to walk past the bridge.
As he neared the school Izuku once again noted its size. It was two, no three sizes bigger than Aldera, alongside with the grounds maybe four. Nothing compared to Musutafu’s pearl in the oyster which was U.A but compared to Aldera? All he could think was ‘Holy Whoa’
Izuku stepped off the bridge, his shoes clicking against the pavement. He looked up, and for a moment, his breath hitched.
If Aldera was a cramped, grey block of concrete designed to process students like a factory, Raimon Junior High was a monument.
The first thing that struck him was the sheer verticality. The school was perched on a slight rise, making it loom over the surrounding residential area. The main building was a sprawling, multi-winged structure of cream and yellow, but it was the central tower that drew the eye - a massive, stylized lightning bolt was integrated into the architecture of the roof, shimmering in the morning sun.
‘It’s not just big,’ Izuku thought, his eyes wide. ‘It’s… intentional.’ This town heavily included Lightning into its embroidery, here or on the steel tower on the hill.
As he approached the main gate, the scale became even more apparent. To his righ, he could see a massive gymnasium that looked large enough to house a professional basketball team. On the center, although slightly covered beyond a row of oak trees, was the main athletic field. It wasn't just a patch of grass; it was a groundy, sandy brown football pitch, surrounded by barriers to catch the ball.
He noticed the small details - the lightning bolt motifs on the fence posts, the way the windows seemed to catch the light, and the lack of any visible "Quirk-Reinforcement" barriers. Most schools he’d seen had heavy steel shutters or reinforced glass to prevent accidental Quirk damage during outbursts. Here, the school felt open. It felt like it didn't expect to be attacked.
But then, his analytical gaze caught something odd.
Tucked away in a behind an overpass that connected one part of the school to the other, on the road to what he assumed were clubhouses, was a small, dilapidated wooden shack. It looked like it had survived a war and lost. The roof was patched with rusted corrugated tin, the wood was weathered to a dull grey, and a crooked sign hung over the door.
‘That must be the old clubhouse,’ Izuku noted, his mind automatically cataloging the discrepancy. ‘The school has state-of-the-art facilities, yet they keep a shack on the primary grounds? Historical preservation? Or perhaps a lack of funding for the sub-tier clubs?’
The "Holy Whoa" factor only intensified as he walked through the gates. The courtyard was buzzing with students. They weren't huddled in small, tense groups like at Aldera. They were moving with a strange, high-energy purpose.
He saw a group of students in tracksuits racing toward the gym, their laughter echoing off the walls. He saw others sitting on benches, animatedly discussing something - not heroes, not rankings, but hobbies.
For a second, the old fear flared up. He expected someone to point at him. He expected a spark of an explosion, a mocking laugh, or a "Hey, look at the Quirkless kid!"
But as he navigated through the crowd toward the Main Office, something incredible happened.
A student ran past him, nearly bumping his shoulder. The boy in a pink-blue hat skidded to a halt, turned around, and gave Izuku a bright, apologetic grin. "Sorry about that! New student? Good luck today!"
And then he was gone, disappearing into the sea of navy-blue uniforms.
Izuku stood frozen for a heartbeat, his hand gripping the strap of his yellow backpack. ‘He… he just said good luck.’ Izuku knew he would be unknown here, but he completely forgot that before they would get to know him as a quirkless kid, they would just be… nice to him.
He looked up at the massive lightning bolt atop the main building once more. It felt less like a warning and more like a promise. This place was four times the size of his old school, but for the first time in his life, Izuku didn't feel like he was shrinking.
The Principal’s office was nothing like the cold, sterile room Izuku had sat in back at Aldera. It was filled with trophies, old pennants, and a slightly disorganized pile of papers on a large mahogany desk. Behind it sat a man who looked more like a friendly uncle than a high-ranking official. Principal Hirai had a round, pleasant face and eyes that crinkled when he saw Izuku.
"Ah, Midoriya-kun! Welcome, welcome!" Hirai chirped, gesturing to a chair. "The boy from Shizuoka. I trust the train ride wasn't too grueling?"
"I-It was fine, sir," Izuku managed, sitting on the very edge of the chair, his backpack clutched to his chest. "Thank you for... for having me."
Hirai hummed, leaning back. His expression shifted to something more thoughtful as he tapped a thick manila folder on his desk. Izuku’s heart plummeted. The Aldera files.
"Now, I’ll be honest with you, Midoriya-kun," Hirai began, his tone losing its goofiness and becoming more sincere. "These records we received... they are quite the read. 'Disruptive,' 'unpredictable,' and particularly 'stalkerish tendencies regarding notebooks.' It’s heavy language."
Izuku’s grip on his backpack tightened until his knuckles turned white. "Sir, I—"
"However," Hirai interrupted gently. "Your mother’s letter told a very different story. And in my experience, a mother’s intuition usually carries more weight than a school board trying to protect its ranking." He paused, leaning forward. "Would you mind showing me? One of the notebooks?"
Izuku froze. His heart hammered against his ribs. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he reached into his bag and pulled out Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 12. He handed it over like he was surrendering a weapon.
Hirai adjusted his glasses and flipped it open. The room was silent, save for the sound of paper turning. Izuku watched the Principal’s eyes dart across the sketches of Endeavor’s Tactical Positioning and Breakdown of Fat Gum’s most impressive Kinetic Storage feat so far.
"This..." Hirai muttered, a small smile playing on his lips. "This isn't a stalker's log. There are no addresses here. No personal schedules… this clearly is not stalking.” He closed the book and handed it back. “If taking notes on your passion is a crime, then more than one of our students would be criminals. Particularly the club captains.”
Izuku felt a sudden, dizzying rush of relief. He felt like he could finally breathe.
"Now," Hirai continued, his face becoming serious again. "We don't believe the drivel in these files, Midoriya-kun. But we would be fools if we didn't take precautions. For the first term, we’ll be watching you a little closer than other students - nothing intrusive, just making sure you’re adjusting well. Think of it as us having your back."
"I... I understand. Thank you, sir."
"And one more thing," Hirai said, his eyes softening. "Due to the sensitive nature of the files, I’ve instructed your homeroom teacher that your Quirk status is confidential. It’s your personal information. No student, and no teacher other than those who absolutely need to know, will be told. You’re starting here with a clean slate."
Izuku felt hot tears prickling at his eyes. He bowed his head low to hide them. "Thank you. Truly."
"None of that! We’re Raimon. It’s a bright kick off to tomorrow isn’t it?" Hirai stood up, checking a clock on the wall. "Now, you’d better head off. You’re in Room 2-A. The teacher is already aware you’re coming. I’ve told him to leave the classroom door open - just walk down the hall, and when he sees you, he’ll invite you in to introduce yourself."
Hirai walked Izuku to the door, giving him a small, encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Good luck, Midoriya-kun. I have a feeling you’re going to find a home here."
The chime of the school bell echoed through the corridors just as Izuku stepped out of the Principal’s office. It wasn’t the harsh, buzzing alarm of Aldera; it was a melodic, four-tone sequence that seemed to hum through the floorboards.
Almost instantly, the vibrant chaos of the hallways vanished. The sea of navy blue retreated into classrooms, the heavy sliding doors snapping shut in a rhythmic succession. The silence that followed wasn't heavy or oppressive - it felt like a fresh sheet of paper, waiting to be written on.
Izuku gripped the straps of his backpack, his heart doing a nervous staccato against his ribs. Room 2-A. Straight ahead. Second floor.
As he climbed the stairs, he began the mental gymnastics of his introduction.
’Hello, I’m Midoriya Izuku. I have no Quirk, please don’t hit me.’
He winced. ’No. Too defensive. Principal Hirai said I have a clean slate.’
’I’m Midoriya Izuku! I like heroes! Let’s be friends!’
He shook his head. ’Too loud. I’ll sound like I’m trying too hard.’
He stopped in front of a wide window on the landing. Outside, he could see the massive athletic field. Even from here, he could see the boy with the orange headband from earlier - the one who should have been in class - sprinting across the grass with a soccer ball at his feet.
Izuku took a deep breath, the smell of the river-breeze hitting him again. He thought back to what he’d told himself on the train. He shouldn't hide. Not entirely. If he wanted this to be different, he had to be different.
’I’m Midoriya Izuku. I’m a transfer student from Shizuoka. I’m a bit of a nerd, and my hobby is Hero Analysis. I hope we can get along.’
It was honest. It was him.
He reached the second floor and turned the corner. The hallway was long and bathed in the morning sun. Ahead, one door stood open, just as Hirai had promised. He could hear the low murmur of a teacher’s voice and the occasional scuff of a desk.
Izuku slowed his pace, his reflection in the polished linoleum floor looking steadier than he felt. He wasn't the "disruptive element" anymore. He wasn't the "stalker." He was just a student.
He reached the frame of Room 2-A and paused.
Inside, the teacher - a man with tired eyes and a kind smile - spotted him immediately. He paused his lecture and gestured with a piece of chalk. "Ah, you must be our new arrival. Come in, don't be shy."
Izuku stepped over the threshold.
The room was filled with faces he didn't recognize, but for the first time, he didn't see a single sneer. In the back row, a girl with short green hair and a friendly face gave him a small, encouraging nod. Next to her, a seat was empty - likely belonging to the boy with the headband.
Izuku walked to the front of the room, stood beside the teacher's podium, and turned to face the class. He took a breath, gripped his hands at his sides to stop them from shaking, and bowed.
"My name is Midoriya Izuku," he began, his voice surprisingly steady. "I've just transferred from Shizuoka. I... I'm a big fan of Hero Analysis, and I tend to take a lot of notes. I'm looking forward to learning with all of you."
He finished and looked up. No one laughed. No one threw a paper crane.
The teacher clapped his hands together. "Excellent. I’m Fuyukai-sensei. We’re glad to have you, Midoriya-kun. There’s an empty seat right there behind Kino-san. Why don’t you get settled?"
As Izuku walked to his desk, he felt a strange, light sensation in his chest. It was a small victory, but it was the biggest one he’d had in years. He was in. He was a student of Raimon Junior High.
Now, he just had to survive the rest of the day.
Izuku sat down, took out his pens and notebooks and tuned his ears to listen to the remainder of Fuyukai’s start of the year speech.
“So as I’ve said, this isn’t the first year of middle school, it’s the second. That means that at your age you all need to slowly begin to think about which high school you're ideally aiming for, what do you want to do in future, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not allowed to have hobbies or fun. This year once again you’re free to join any and all School Clubs…” Fuyukai stopped for a while to listen in, those who sat by the wall heard it earlier, but there were loud thumping footsteps of someone running towards the class. “…Speak of the proverbial Devil.” The teacher chuckled right before the door slid open.
No, the sliding door didn’t just slide open, it winced.
Izuku momentarily tensed, almost expecting an Explosive blond to squander his way into the class. Only reminded he wasn’t there anymore at the sight of the person in the doors.
A boy, the same boy Izuku saw earlier, in the same orange headband, practically stumbled into the room, a whirlwind of dirt, grass stains, and sheer, unadulterated energy. He was panting, his chest heaving, but he had a grin on his face that looked like it could power the school’s lightning-bolt spire. He adjusted an orange headband that was slightly askew, wiping a smudge of mud from his forehead.
"Sorry! Sorry, Fuyukai-sensei!" the boy chirped, not sounding particularly sorry at all. "The ball... it had this crazy spin on it, and it slipped right past my goalpost, straight into the river! Couldn’t leave it there! It was calling for me to fish it out!.”
Izuku couldn’t help but smile at the way the exchange defied his expectations.
Fuyukai-sensei sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Endou-kun, I trust the river didn't win the match?"
“No way! I had to get it back! ” The boy, Endou, held up a soccer ball that was brown from the dirt and mud, leaving a dark spot on the floor. “It’s a miracle it isn’t that wet anymore.”
"Sit down, Endou. Before you turn my classroom into a marsh," Fuyukai gestured toward the empty seat. "And try to pay attention. We have a new student today." At that Endou’s head snapped toward Izuku. His eyes were wide and incredibly bright, radiating a level of sincerity that Izuku found almost overwhelming.
"Whoa! New guy!" Endou beamed, marching over to the desk diagonal to Izuku’s, next to the girl ahead of him. He dropped his bag with a heavy thud and slid into the chair, oblivious to the fact that he was leaving streaks of mud on the polished wood.
The girl in front of Izuku, the teacher called her Kino-san, turned around in her seat. She looked at Endou with the tired fondness of a sister who had spent years dealing with a hyperactive puppy.
"Endou-kun, you're a mess," she whispered, handing him a tissue. "You missed the orientation. This is Midoriya-kun. He just transferred from Shizuoka."
"Shizuoka? That’s far! I'm Endou Mamoru!" Endou reached out a hand, his palm calloused and rough - the hands of someone who caught things for a living. What was unusual about it, that Endou's palms were gray in color, likely a mutation quirk. "Welcome to Raimon, Midoriya! Hope you like it here!"