The first day of elementary school carried with it that strange mixture of nerves and excitement that seemed to cling to every kid in the hallway. Tiny sneakers squeaked against freshly polished floors, the smell of new books and sharpened pencils hanging in the air.
Izuku Midoriya sat in the middle row, hands folded neatly on his desk. He wasn't nervous about bullies or making friends—no, what occupied his mind was whether he'd be able to finish the schematic he'd been sketching the night before without his teacher catching on.
In the corner of his bag sat a small leather notebook labeled Project Archive #1. To anyone else, it looked like a regular kid's doodle pad. In truth, each page was a meticulous diagram—energy converters, biomechanical enhancements, formulas for protein synthesis—all masked under childish drawings of robots and capes.
He didn't need to stand out too much. His earlier display at age five—when the doctors confirmed he did have a "quirk"—had already put him on the radar. The public story was that he had enhanced strength, durability, speed, and limited flight. That was it. The rest… the true powers lurking beneath his calm demeanor… those would remain his secret.
Year 1 – Learning the Game
Izuku learned early that information was more valuable than anything. Science class became his kingdom. While other kids groaned about experiments, he'd hang on every word, always asking questions that seemed a little too advanced for his age.
"Mr. Midoriya, I appreciate your curiosity, but maybe we can save that discussion about carbon nanotube conductivity for… uh… high school?" his teacher would say with an awkward chuckle.
Izuku would just smile, jotting down notes that his classmates wouldn't understand even if they peeked.
At home, the kitchen became his second laboratory. His mother, Inko, would watch with a mix of confusion and pride as her young son experimented with ingredients, sometimes creating surprisingly delicious meals, other times producing… questionable results.
"Sweetie… why is this soup glowing?" she asked once, looking at a faintly luminescent bowl of miso.
"Energy-rich microalgae, Mom. It's perfectly safe—actually, it's probably healthier than spinach!"
She'd sigh, shake her head, and smile. "You're going to give me gray hairs before I'm thirty-five."
Years 2 – Investments in the Future
By age seven, Izuku's projects had expanded beyond the classroom and the kitchen. With carefully hidden laptop use and a few clever disguises online, he began funneling his allowance—and later, small sums he "acquired" through perfectly legal side hustles—into investments.
Back then, platforms like YouTube were in their infancy. Facebook was a startup. Instagram, TikTok, even Windows' next big move… all of them were potential gold mines to someone who knew the future.
Every transaction was carefully logged, every account hidden behind layers of encryption even professional hackers would have trouble cracking. Inko never suspected a thing; she thought her son's "computer projects" were just harmless coding games.
He didn't tell her… not yet. The surprise would be worth it.
Year 3 – The Breakthrough
It was during the summer of his 3rd year that Izuku made his first real leap forward.
The Super Soldier Serum.
He'd been studying its theory for years—not the fictional versions from comics, but a perfected, real-world adaptation. Using advanced biochemistry knowledge (some of it borrowed from his… otherworldly memories, some from direct blueprints from scientist who shall not be named since he forgot his name), he synthesized a formula that would safely rewrite genetic coding, strengthen musculature, enhance neural connections, and push the human body far beyond natural limits—all without the fatal instability or mental side effects that plagued every attempt in history.
He didn't plan to use it on himself. He didn't need to.
Instead, he walked into the kitchen one night, vial in hand, and placed it gently on the counter in front of his mother.
Mom… I made something for you," he said quietly.
She looked at the vial, then at him. "Izuku… what is this?"
"It's a serum. I know it looks strange, but… it's going to make you stronger. Faster. Healthier. It's going to keep you safe."
Her brow furrowed, worry flashing in her eyes. "Izuku… you're eight. You can't—"
"I can. And I did," he interrupted, his voice firm but still full of warmth. "I wouldn't give you anything unless I was absolutely certain it was safe. You trust me, right?"
She hesitated, the maternal instinct to protect her son battling with the realization that he had never been wrong about his experiments. Finally, she sighed. "…I trust you."
The process was quick and painless. By the next morning, Inko's transformation was undeniable. Her once frail body was now lean and powerful, her posture straighter, her skin healthier. Even her quirk—previously limited to pulling small objects toward her—now allowed her to manipulate heavy furniture as if it weighed nothing.
Tears welled in her eyes as she hugged her son. "You… you've given me a gift I can never repay."
"You already have, Mom," he whispered into her shoulder. "You believed in me before anyone else."
Years 5 – Building the Mask
For the next several years, Izuku lived two lives.
At school, he was the brilliant, slightly odd boy who excelled at science and home economics. Teachers adored him, classmates respected him, and he never flaunted his physical abilities—at least not enough to draw dangerous attention.
At home, his projects grew ever more ambitious. Hidden beneath their modest apartment was a reinforced basement filled with lab equipment, cooking stations, and a wall of servers quietly running simulations and monitoring his investments.
The numbers were staggering—his early investments had already multiplied several times over. In a few more years, he'd have the capital to fund anything.
His relationship with his mother deepened, built on trust and shared secrets. Inko never told anyone about the serum. She understood what it meant to keep certain cards close to the chest.
On the eve of his ninth school year, Izuku sat at his desk, flipping through a notebook filled with blueprints—suits, weapons, augmentations. He glanced toward the kitchen, where his mother was humming as she prepared dinner, her movements still impossibly graceful thanks to the serum.
He smiled to himself.
The world had no idea what was coming.