She was a horrible mother.
The thought sat, cold and sharp, in her chest.
It filled every corner of her mind, just as it had years ago when she'd held her four-year-old son, sobbing as his world collapsed around him.
A horrible mother who couldn't give him the power this world demanded.
A horrible mother who couldn't support the dream he craved.
And now—
she had put that same hollow look back in his eyes.
Not because the world had told him he was powerless, but because she, his mother, had begged him to surrender the power he'd been given.
The memory of that fading light haunted her more than any villain ever could.
It was a small mercy that the emptiness in his gaze had since been replaced by weary resolve.
But the fear remained—a cold whisper threading through every thought.
It spoke of ancient evils and demon lords, of wars passed down like a curse.
And of her sweet, selfless boy standing squarely in the crosshairs.
The door clicked open.
Izuku stood there, dressed in his usual clothes, looking small and impossibly young.
Recovery Girl had cleared him. "Okay enough to leave," she'd said, with a stern reminder about biweekly checkups.
The physical wounds were healing.
The others… Inko wasn't sure.
She'd seen the visitors—the heroes who were once just faces on screens.
Ingenium, all earnest politeness.
Principal Nezu, terrifyingly intelligent yet unexpectedly kind.
They saw something in her son she had been too afraid to name.
And then there was him.
Toshinori Yagi—All Might—had found her while she packed Izuku's few belongings.
His skeletal frame seemed to fold in on itself with apology.
"Madam Midoriya," he began, voice a gravelly rasp. "I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But… please. Allow me a chance. A chance to set things right, even in this small way. Let me escort you home."
Her first instinct was a sharp, no.
The image of Izuku's fragile smile—his "I just have to do my best"—warred against the memory of his convulsing body.
But then she looked at the man. Really looked.
This was the strongest man in the world—the man who had knelt on this very floor for her son.
Who had sacrificed his own dwindling power to save him.
He had given Izuku a cursed power, yes—but also his dream.
And he was the only other adult who had looked at her boy and seen not a problem to manage, but a person worth breaking himself for.
After a long, wordless moment heavy with everything unsaid, she gave a single, tight nod.
Now, she sat in the passenger seat of his modest truck.
Izuku sat in the back beside the compact, grouchy form of the old hero, Gran Torino.
Yagi was at the wheel, his large hands oddly delicate on the leather.
Silence filled the cab—thick, almost tangible—broken only by the steady rumble of the engine.
Torino shattered it first, voice like grinding stone.
"So, Toshinori. Spill it out . How'd you find the kid? And don't give me some polished Symbol of Peace speech. The specifics."
Yagi flinched, knuckles tightening on the wheel.
"Well... it was… a day of great personal failure—"
"He met you during the Sludge Villain incident."
Inko's voice was calm, but it cut through the cab like a blade.
Izuku jolted, wide-eyed.
"M–Mom? H–how—"
"I'm not stupid, Izuku," she said, gaze fixed ahead. She couldn't look at him. Not for this.
"The news said All Might saved Katsuki. Mitsuki told me about rumors of another boy who ran in. Given everything… I put it together."
She finally looked at him in the rearview mirror.
"I know you. You'd jump in to save anyone. Even if it wasn't a childhood friend."
'Turned Bully' remained unsaid.
"Yes," All Might said, his voice firming with resolve. "That was the day I met him. But it wasn't our first encounter. Before that—"
"The Sludge Villain attacked me first!" Izuku blurted, guilt spilling fast.
"All Might saved me then too! I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Mom—I just didn't want to worry you! I'm sorry!"
"Didn't want to worry me?" Inko's voice broke, the wires of restraint finally snapping.
"Izuku, I'm your mother! I'm always worried! Finding out now—now—that you were attacked by a villain and said nothing—!"
She drew a shuddering breath.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then Yagi spoke, voice grave, the same as when he'd confessed everything in the infirmary.
"After I saved him the first time," he said, eyes on the road, "Young Midoriya asked me a question. He asked if he could become a hero… even though he was quirkless."
The air in the truck went still.
"I told him no."
Silence.
Absolute.
Izuku shrank into himself.
Inko's throat closed.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Give back this quirk.
She had done the same. She had no right to judge.
Thwack!
Gran Torino's cane cracked against the back of Yagi's head. The Symbol of Peace didn't flinch.
"Fool," Torino grunted.
"I know, Sensei."
Thwack!
"Imbecile."
"I know, Sensei."
Thwack!
"Hypocrite."
This time, Yagi's voice was barely a whisper.
"I know I was, Sensei."
Inko frowned at that last word. Izuku just stared, torn between awe and terror.
Reaching for solid ground, Inko seized on something tangible.
"How… how did the villain take Katsuki hostage if you'd already captured it?"
"It… slipped my grasp," Yagi admitted, shame coloring his voice.
"It was my fault!" Izuku cried. "I distracted him—I was clinging to his leg—"
"The responsibility was mine," Yagi said, regaining a fraction of his heroic tone. "I was the pro."
"But if I hadn't been there—"
"Arrogant."
Torino's single word silenced them both. Not cruel—just matter-of-fact.
"With all the heroes in the city, and the Symbol of Peace himself on scene, it's arrogant for a civilian teen to think he was the linchpin. The failure was systemic. Toshinori's was just the biggest."
Quiet settled again, this time reflective.
"So, Toshinori," Torino said finally, softer now. "What changed your mind? Seeing him rush in?"
Yagi drew a deep, shuddering breath.
"Yes. When I saw that quirkless boy, whose dream I'd just crushed, move when no one else did… when he acted more heroically than any pro there… something resonated."
"Resonated?" Inko's voice sharpened—anger for her son burning bright— justifiable fury that wasn't undercut by her own guilt.
"You crushed his dream, and that's what made you change your mind? A reckless act born of despair you caused? What do you mean he inspired you? Wouldn't you have saved Katsuki anyway?"
Izuku tried to interject, All-Might began to accept the blame, accepting every blow.
"Enough of the self-flagellation, Toshinori," Torino cut in. "They deserve the full truth. We told you about the wound he carries from the Demon Lord. But not the price."
He looked at Inko, eyes grim.
"The oaf can only hold his muscle form for a limited time each day."
The words hit like a blow.
The world's pillar… was on a timer.
"And that limit," Torino added quietly, "shrunk even more after saving your boy."
He winced. Too late. The words had already landed.
They'd agreed not to tell Izuku.
Inko saw her son's eyes widen in the mirror—horror dawning.
She scrambled for control.
"My other question," she said quickly, voice trembling. "About Katsuki. If you were inspired—if you went 'beyond'—what does that mean?"
Torino answered before Yagi could.
"It resonated, didn't it?"
Yagi nodded, a wistful smile flickering across his gaunt face.
"One For All… my master told me it had a mental, emotional aspect. I'd felt it before. And now, with young Midoriya speaking to the Vestiges, it makes sense."
He met Izuku's eyes in the mirror.
"My boy, you're aware—of the deep connection between emotion and quirk."
Izuku nodded silently. Heightened emotions boosting output was a well-documented phenomenon.
"This connection is apparently more tangible and seems to run deeper, for One For All," Yagi continued, his voice softening. "My master always told me to 'remember my origin'—who I was at my core—especially when I was at my limit. I thought it was metaphorical. Now… I think it was also literal.".
"Seeing him that day," Yagi said softly, "something in his spirit called out to something in mine. It let me go beyond what I thought was my limit."
"Why?" Inko asked, her voice gentler now but still searching. "Why would he resonate with you?"
Torino answered, the usual bite gone from his tone.
"Because it probably reminded him of his own origin," he said quietly, eyes on the passing city.
"A quirkless boy from the boonies trying to fight off a pack of villains with nothing but a flimsy pipe and a death wish."
The world stopped.
Inko's breath caught.
Izuku's mind went blank, every thought erased.
Their voices—mother and son—merged into one, disbelieving whisper:
"You… / You were… quirkless?"
---
The news was pissing Mitsuki off.
"Atmospheric discharge," some plastic-faced anchor chirped. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Just a fancy way of saying nothing.
The house was too quiet. The wrong kind of quiet—the kind that meant Katsuki wasn't home blasting his music or yelling at some video game.
Her thumb stabbed the speed-dial.
"You in that station mess?" she barked.
Static, then a familiar tch. "No. Stuck on a damn train."
Click. Typical.
The knot in her chest tightened. She remembered Inko, just days ago, talking about Izuku taking the U.A. exam.
Cold dread pooled in her stomach.
The Midoriya landline just rang. And rang.
The silence after was a physical weight.
Then, her cell buzzed. Inko's number.
One ring. Two.
"Mitsuki?"
The voice was fragile, worn thin.
"Inko. The hell's going on? Is Izuku okay?"
A shuddering breath. "He's in a high-care facility. He ran to save others when it happened."
A beat of silence.
"Damn idiot," Mitsuki muttered—the curse cracking under its own relief that he was, at least, alive.
From his armchair, Masaru looked up, face creased. "A high-care facility? Was it that bad?"
Mitsuki waved a hand, focus locked on the phone. "Which one? Is he conscious?"
"It's… a private one," Inko said, voice evasive. "U.A. is covering the costs. Liability."
Flimsy, but it was all she was given. For now, it was enough.
Over the next two days, her calls were short, practical.
"He eating?"
"Need anything?"
During one call, a crash and a roar erupted down the hall.
"THE HELL IS THIS 'QUIRK DESCRIPTION' CRAP? SINCE WHEN DO WE HAVE TO WRITE ESSAYS?!"
"SHUT THE HELL UP, I'M ON THE PHONE!" Mitsuki bellowed back.
In the background, Masaru's placating murmur rose and fell.
The day after Izuku's discharge, she called again.
"He still in one piece?"
"He's home. Sleeping. The color's back in his cheeks."
"Good. Tell him Auntie says don't do that again."
As she hung up, Masaru gave a small, relieved nod. "Thank goodness."
Katsuki stormed past, pulling on his shoes.
"Where you going?"
"Training." He didn't stop.
Mitsuki eyed him. "You hear that? Izuku's home from the hospital."
He froze for half a second—backs to her. A flicker of tension in his shoulders, gone so fast she might've imagined it. Then he spun, face a mask of fury.
"So?" he snapped. "He got himself hurt playing hero. Not my problem. The only thing that matters is the damn exam!"
The front door slammed. A gunshot in the quiet.
Her mind, against her will, started connecting the dots.
Izuku's. Running into danger.
Katsuki's. That split-second freeze. The explosive denial. Not my problem.
The sludge villain. His stubborn silence. The same damn pattern.
She didn't just see a angry, prideful brat anymore. She saw her son—terrified of being seen as weak, desperate to burn out any spark of kindness before someone else could see it.
He cared enough to be angry, and that was somehow worse.
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me," she muttered to the empty room, the truth settling not as anger, but as a profound, weary sadness.
She redialed Inko's number. No preamble.
"That sludge villain thing. The kid who ran in before All Might. That was Izuku, wasn't it?"
The silence was confirmation enough.
"Damn it," Mitsuki breathed. "Of course it was."
She hung up. Masaru watched her, understanding dawning.
"It was him back then, too?"
Mitsuki just nodded, the truth sitting in her gut like a stone.
Her son had the flashy quirk, but the quiet one had all the guts & hearts.
The silence didn't feel heavy anymore.
It just felt clear.
---
"Spill it, everything about that damn sludge villain crap."
Aunt Mitsuki's insistence was a live wire in the quiet house. She'd shown up the next day, Uncle Masaru a worried shadow at her back.
A part of him wanted to tell her everything. The words rose, but died before they could form. To confess to Katsuki's parents felt like betrayal—both of the unspoken rule that any apology was owed to Kacchan himself, who'd only meet it with fury, and of the far greater secret buried beneath it all: All Might's fading light. Pull one thread, and the whole tapestry would come undone.
So he gave a small, miserable shake of his head. The guilt sat in his gut like a stone, but it was his to carry.
He'd watched Aunt Mitsuki—after subjecting his cheeks to a round of "You broccoli sprout, nearly gave me a heart attack" pinching—corner his mother like a tiger circling a startled rabbit. She had saw straight through the fragile lie about a "private facility."
Watching theie complicated but undeniable frendship—Izuku felt that old familiar brew of both-rejection & resentment.
This time, though, it was distant, muffled beneath the anxious thrum of power in his chest.
When they left, his mother turned to him, her face drawn but resolute.
"Now, Izuku. Tell me everything about that day."
So he did the edited version. The sludge, the despair, the rooftop, the flicker of hope—carefully omitting the classroom, and Katsuki's words that still burned like acid.
A tense negotiation later, they reached a truce: he could go for a walk.
His feet, guided by an instinct deeper than thought, carried him away from the house. Nezu's pristine notebook was a solid weight in his hand.
The memory surfaced as he walked, unbidden.
"Yes, my time has dwindled more."
Whizz! The sound of the truck's tires on the road.
All Might's calm confession. Then, the wistful smile. The words that had changed everything.
"Yes, I was quirkless."
Answers to questions he hadn't dared to ask.
Now, under open sky, the emotions he'd held back broke loose: guilt for hastening All Might's decline; awe at their shared beginning; and something stranger—a small, defiant indignation he didn't know how to hold.
He reached the small cliff overlooking the park. The last visitors were leaving, their laughter fading into dusk.
Below him stretched the clean sweep of sand—once a junkyard, now a quiet testament to ten months of effort.
An unfamiliar pride bloomed in his chest. Here, he had forged a vessel, hoping to be worthy of the gift, to resemble his idol.
Then another voice, sharp as splintered glass.
"You're just like he was, and I don't like it."
Gran Torino's farewell words clung to him, a burr in his mind.
Is it wrong to want to be like him?
The question echoed, hollow. Why do I want to be like him?
He tried to dig through the pile of reasons—safety, hope, inspiration—his mind scrabbling past them all, reaching for the very first and purest one. The one from before. Before the diagnosis. Before the world became heavy with impossibilities.
All Might had been happy helping people. Izuku had just wanted to be that happy.
Then a quieter memory—Ingenium's question.
"What kind of hero do you want to be?"
He looked down at the notebook. The page waited, blank and expectant.
Swish! The waves against the shore.
He remembered Tensei's other words—about the clash, the floating, the guided shockwaves.
The realization came softly: he hadn't acted alone.
There were others inside him. A council of heroes, guiding and protecting.
For the first time, he could accept that moment.
It hadn't been recklessness—it had been harmony.
He found a flat rock and sat, the cool surface grounding him.
The salty wind brushed his face as he opened the notebook and uncapped his pen. The tip hovered for a heartbeat, then pressed down.
Quirk: One For All
Users:
First — Yoichi
Second — ?
Third — ?
Fourth — ?
Fifth — ?
Sixth — ?
Seventh — ?
Eighth — Toshinori Yagi
Ninth — Izuku Midoriya
He paused. The echo of that roaring vortex shivered through him. He steadied his hand.
Swish!
Uses:
1. Enhancement — A punch that changed the weather.
2. Power Discharge — Realesing surges of shockwaves.
The blank page was no longer blank.
The writing had just begun.
---
He was a terrible mentor.
The thought sat like broken glass in his stomach—sharp, undeniable, a pain as deep as his scar.
No, you can't be a hero without a quirk.
He had said it. Believed it. On that rooftop, he had taken a boy's dream and crushed it to dust, leaving behind only what he'd thought was the bitter reality.
He had extinguished the light in those young, hopeful eyes, only for that same boy to reignite it himself in an act of pure, selfless insanity moments later.
His mind's eye flashed with other ghosts: the twisting vortex above the station; Izuku's convulsions during panic attack, triggered by the very legacy he'd bestowed.
And beneath it all, the dreaded whisper that changed everything:
The Demon Lord is alive.
HONK!
A horn blared. Yagi flinched, his knuckles whitening around the steering wheel as a car sped past. He'd been drifting again, lost in memory.
"Eyes on the damn road, Toshinori," Gran Torino grunted from the passenger seat, not even opening his eyes. "Symbol of Peace causing a fender bender would be a hell of a headline."
"My apologies, Sensei," Yagi murmured automatically. He cleared his throat, the sound rough in the tense quiet. "Was your stay at my Musutafu residence… satisfactory?"
A noncommittal grunt was his only answer.
Torino had flatly refused the Tower's penthouse quarters—"too damn posh"—choosing instead to bunk in Yagi's sparse local flat. Yagi, meanwhile, had spent the previous nights at Might Tower, drowning in the paperwork and political fallout Ayumi had so deftly contained.
Today's trip was for their biweekly check-up with Recovery Girl—and a crucial strategy meeting with Nezu. Plans for the future had to be drawn.
"I… offered Madam Midoriya a ride today as well," Yagi said quietly. "She refused. Said they'd make their own way to U.A."
Torino snorted. "What did you expect, you idiot? That a car ride and a few apologies would fix it all? That she'd just forget you turned her son into a beacon for the devil she just learned exists?"
Yagi didn't answer. He didn't need to. The faint slump of his shoulders was confession enough. A naive part of him had hoped—for a forgiveness he hadn't earned.
His hand rose unconsciously, fingertips brushing the phantom heat still lingering on his cheek. Inko Midoriya's slap had been little more than a mother's reflex—a feather's touch compared to the agony of his old wound—but the guilt behind it burned like acid.
He'd deserved it. For keeping her in the dark. For letting her believe her son was safe when he'd thrown him into a war.
"I should've told her everything," he murmured, the words meant for the road. "From the start."
"Maybe," Torino grunted after a long pause. "But it's not like you had a playbook. Nana, En—every damn one before you was an adult when they got the torch. They knew what they were signing up for. This kid didn't."
He trailed off. The rest didn't need to be said.
Your case was different.
Yagi stared out the window. The cityscape rolled by—color and light blurring into a meaningless smear.
His family… was gone.
His thoughts slipped backward, into that quiet corner of memory where the years hadn't yet hardened him. A small, rural house. The smell of dry earth and rain-soaked grass. A boy with no quirk, dreaming of capes and skylines he'd never reach.
Lately, the dreams had been returning—vivid and strange. The same house, the same flower fields. But something was wrong.
The clear mountain stream that once babbled behind the property no longer shimmered with just sunlight and freshwater.
It was streaked with multicolored Stardust, whispering melody he could almost comprehend.
---
"Ah, did the... Trigger give me abs?"
Izuku muttered, curiously poking his stomach.
Beside him, Toshinori managed a weak, paternal smile. "My boy, you'd already built a rather impressive set cleaning Dagobah Beach."
"That's not what I—" Izuku began, but the brisk tap-tap-tap of a cane cut him off.
"Yes, Midoriya," Recovery Girl said without looking up from her chart. "Among other things. Your muscle density has increased by eight percent. You've also grown slightly taller, and your bone density's been recalibrated to handle new tensile stresses."
She switched to a second screen, bringing up a cascade of cellular data. "There's also a probable forty-percent increase in lung capacity. But the most fascinating change is here." She pointed her stylus at a swirling, hyper-detailed animation of a cell. "Your mitochondria. They've undergone a massive mutation—hyper-efficient, almost overclocked. That's the engine behind the metabolism that burned through a sedative dose meant for a small elephant."
Then she turned to Toshinori, her tone shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. She pulled up another chart, its lines plummeting.
"You, on the other hand, Yagi... your mitochondrial activity has decreased by nearly forty percent since your last work-up."
Izuku's analytical mind caught on the word. "Mitochondria... the powerhouse of the cell?"
Recovery Girl nodded. "Precisely. We still don't fully understand what the ember of One For All left behind in you, Yagi. It's an anomaly—functioning without a visible quirk factor. For emitter body-enhancers, mitochondrial health is u best proxy we have to measure a quirk's vitality. One For All supercharged yours for decades." She gestured between their charts. "Now, the process seems to have reversed."
The pieces fell into place with terrible clarity.
Izuku remembered All Might's words in the truck: My time has dwindled even more.
His eyes widened. "The power you passed to me... it's not just your limit you're losing. You're losing the energy to even be you, aren't you?"
Toshinori's mind drifted to the multicolored stream from his dreams—a silent current against this sterile reality. He said nothing, only offered a sad, worn-out smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Then a calm, sharp voice cut through the quiet. "And the tests on the quirk factor itself?"
All eyes turned to Nezu, perched on a stool, flanked by a bored-looking Torino and an Inko Midoriya whose patience was hanging by a thread.
Recovery Girl sighed, pulling up a final, chaotic chart. "The blood work is... incomprehensible. Energy signatures are off the scale, but Plus Alpha elements markers—the building blocks of a quirk factor—are paradoxically low. It's completely divergent from any known quirk genetics."
Nezu steepled his paws, eyes gleaming. "'Higher than a quirk factor,' wasn't that what the First User said?" He looked at Izuku, who was struggling to keep up. "If conventional tests can't measure it, we may be witnessing a theoretical evolutionary stage in quirk science. Something beyond the Plus Alpha elements. What the literature calls Ultima."
"Ultima?" Izuku echoed.
"It's a hypothetical point where a quirk's model diverges entirely from its origin," Recovery Girl explained. "It could become purely energetic... or something else entirely. Most consider it science fiction."
"Enough."
Inko's voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like a blade. She stood, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. "Yagi-san. I need to speak with you. Privately."
Gran Torino snorted. "I know what this is about. Say your piece here. The boy deserves to hear it, too. And we are involved in this now"
Inko drew a long, trembling breath and stepped closer. "You left my son alone on a rooftop," she said, her voice trembling but steady. "Right after you told him his dream was impossible. You... of all people... were quirkless. How could you?"
"I...I researched, after Izuku's diagnosis. I know the statistics. I know how many of them… just… disappear."
The air turned cold. The unspoken word hung between them like smoke.
"Mom, wait!" Izuku cried. "He apologized! So many times during training!"
Toshinori raised a hand, stopping Izuku before he could speak.
"She's right to ask," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on Inko, accepting her judgment without protest. "I knew about the declining quirkless population, but the specific thought—the consequence of my words... it never truly crossed my mind."
"It couldn't have," Nezu interjected, his tone calm but pointed. "As a symbol, Yagi couldn't afford to engage with political or social divides. Any public association with a specific demographic would have caused catastrophic, unintended ripple effects."
He folded his paws neatly, eyes narrowing in thought. "Besides, it wasn't nearly as disproportionate in Yagi's generation. And much of his early hero work took place in the United States—where the percentage of quirkless citizens was significantly higher. His frame of reference was, by nature, skewed."
Then Nezu's gaze shifted, sharp and assessing, toward Izuku. "For your generation, the national percentage has dropped below five. But in a place like Musutafu—the so-called Cradle of Heroes—the social pressure, the stigma surrounding a quirkless child dreaming of heroism... would be exponentially worse."
Izuku flinched, as if struck. The principal's brutal accuracy had just given a name to his entire childhood of suffering.
Nezu looked back to Toshinori. "You never saw that prejudice, Yagi. Japan was in chaos then. Society's focus was on surviving the chaos of rampant villains and ineffective heroes. Prejudice was a quiet cruelty, overshadowed by louder crises. And that chaos," his gaze softened, "was ultimately quelled by you, Yagi. Single-handedly."
Toshinori let out a bitter laugh. "So, the reason I couldn't see his pain... is because of the peace I created. It's all my fault."
Inko looked at him—this titan of hope, this legend now stripped bare—and a storm of emotion crossed her face: anger and pity, sorrow and reluctant understanding, all warring in silence.
Izuku felt a faint thrum in his chest. A ghostly whisper. Toshi...
Then: Thwack!
Toshinori yelped as Torino's thrown cane struck his skull.
"Enough of this pity party," the old hero barked. "Explain. The real reason for your hypocrisy that day—the one I had to beat out of you after we dropped them off."
"They'd just be excuses," Toshinori said wearily.
"Not excuses. Context," Torino shot back. "So they know you weren't part of the system that hurt him. Just a damned fool staring down his own doom."
Seeing Toshinori's continued hesitation, Nezu spoke up. "It was the Sludge Villain day, wasn't it? You came to see me to finally discuss a successor."
Recovery Girl nodded, her expression uncharacteristically soft. "And I had just given you your monthly checkup. The numbers were… declining faster."
Toshinori sagged. "Yes," he whispered. "I had come to see Nezu. The topic was succession. And let's just say... I had some complicated thoughts in mind; I was running out of time, in every sense, when I met young Midoriya."
He didn't mention the true source of that thoughts—his friend and former sidekick, who had deemed himself more qualified to choose and train the next bearer of his quirk.
He didn't mention Mirai Sasaki, or the prophecy of his death. Those were his burdens.
Inko's voice softened to a broken whisper, frayed at the edges. "Then why? Why deny his dream? You could've just... just..." She couldn't finish. She was no longer sure who she was even asking.
"I was probably projecting my own failure onto him," Yagi confessed. In his mind, he saw Mirai's grim face. 'You will die if you continue this path.' "The reason I couldn't affirm his dream in that moment... is that—it would have been a lie."
A stunned silence filled the room.
"I could have given him a placating answer about the hero in everyone's heart—and I do believe that. But the one who answered him wasn't All Might. It was Toshinori Yagi." He placed a hand over his ruined side. "Young Midoriya asked if he could become a hero like me. A Symbol of Peace. Maybe I should have lied. But I found myself incapable of it."
He finally made eye contact with Izuku, his gaze unwavering. "I denied your dream because you had just seen the broken form of the 'strongest hero.' Worn down, bleeding, reduced to a secret. If I had given you false hope, wouldn't you have eventually realized the truth? That the path to becoming like me leads... here?"
Ah. Izuku understood. Yes, he would have. The idealism would have shattered against the reality of the cost.
Yet, something else nagged at him, a deeper hurt he'd never had the courage to name. That thrum in his chest gave him the strength.
"The smile," Izuku said, his voice quiet.
All Might's own words echoed in his mind: 'I smile to hide the fear inside.'
"Is your smile... really just a facade? A lie?"
The room went perfectly still. Toshinori's breath hitched, realizing the true nature of the wound he'd inflicted. It wasn't just the dream he'd crushed; it was the symbol.
After a long, heavy beat, Toshinori moved. He knelt by the bed, resting one large, skeletal hand on Izuku's knee.
"My master taught me," he said, his voice thick with memory, "that those who always smile, no matter what, are the strongest."
Izuku looked down at his own hands, at the power thrumming within them. "So... it's a matter of strength."
Toshinori started to correct him, but Inko, who had moved to her son's side, spoke first, her voice soft with a mother's intuition. "I think it's about the strength of the heart, not the body. Isn't that right, Yagi-san?"
Stunned for a moment, Toshinori looked from mother to son, then nodded, a genuine light finally returning to his sunken eyes. "Yes. A strength of heart that can always form a smile, no matter how you feel inside."
Izuku looked at his mentor, and true understanding finally washed over him, healing a wound he hadn't known was still bleeding.
"Strength of heart..." he murmured, the words settling deep within him. "I see."
The room was quiet, the tension finally broken. On the faces of both mentor and student rested small, identical smiles.
Smile smudged with hope.
---
"So... you want to take me as a student?"
Izuku's words came out awkward and rushed as he fidgeted in the chair opposite Principal Nezu.
The headmaster had invited him for a "chat about his future educational endeavors" while the adults handled their own discussions. His mother, after receiving a polite "I am the principal, madam," had reluctantly given her permission—though her worry still hung thick in the air.
Nezu chuckled, a soft, pleasant sound. "Well, you'll be my student when you join U.A., in the same sense all students are."
Izuku flushed, suddenly feeling foolish. He'd only said it because All Might had hinted at the possibility—but even then, he couldn't tell if his mentor had been thrilled or terrified by the idea.
His spiraling thoughts cut short as Nezu finished pouring tea for them both.
"I don't take personal students," the principal said lightly. "As the head of the academy, it would be... unfair of me to choose just one. However," he added, his black eyes glinting with amusement, "I do take on conversation partners—people I can learn from."
Izuku blinked. "L-learn? What could someone as smart as you possibly learn from me?"
Nezu's whiskers twitched. "Let's see... my last interlocutor taught me about humans."
"Humans?" Izuku echoed.
"Yes. She possessed remarkable emotional intelligence. Quite the contrast to my usual circles."
Izuku tilted his head, intrigued but unsure where this was going. "Even so... what could you learn from me?"
"Quirk analysis, of course," Nezu replied without hesitation.
Izuku blinked again.
"Your systematic deconstruction of quirk mechanics, cross-referenced with an extensive database of hero knowledge," Nezu continued. "It's a fascinating methodology."
Izuku's mind short-circuited. "But... you could probably do better analysis than me!"
"Hmm. I'm adequate at reconstructing quirk use from a crime scene," Nezu mused, sipping his tea. "But let's say I have... personal reservations about deep quirk deconstruction." His tone was mild, yet final—an elegant wall against curiosity.
Izuku stared, confused, before his brain did what it always did: turned on him.
"E-Eraser Head's analysis," he blurted suddenly. "You praised my deduction of his capture weapon's material, but anyone could see from its elasticity it was a mix of carbon nanofiber and a special memory-retention alloy! I mean, he's not the only hero who uses capture weapons. I couldn't even identify the exact alloy compound! I just had some leaked combat footage from the Villain-Factory incident—"
He stopped, breath slightly ragged from the outburst.
Nezu chuckled softly and gestured toward the teacup. Izuku obeyed, taking a shaky sip.
"So," Nezu summarized, "you hunted down restricted footage, analyzed insufficient clues, and still produced a working theory. Tell me, Midoriya—if you'd managed to identify his custom alloy from a video, what do you think Power Loader would've done?"
Izuku blinked "Well.."
"He'd perish from professional shame."
Izuku managed a weak laugh at the image. But the old, ingrained shame quickly resurfaced as he glanced down. "But... other people call it creepy," he murmured. "My in-depth analysis—my need to understand—it makes people uncomfortable."
Nezu regarded him quietly for a moment. "Quirks represent individuality," he said. "Do you know who first proposed that idea?"
Izuku perked up automatically. "Daruma Ujiko. He framed it in his theory of quirk singularity."
"'Theoretical,' you say," Nezu murmured. His smile thinned. "And how theoretical is One For All, really?"
Izuku froze. The answer pulsed in his chest before he could speak.
Nezu continued smoothly, "Perhaps it's true for some, false for others—but many people tie their entire sense of self to their quirk. When you dissect that, Midoriya, they don't see analysis. They see intrusion. To them, you're not studying their quirk—you're dissecting them."
Izuku's eyes widened. He had never considered it that way. How could he? He'd never had a quirk to feel possessive of.
Yet the idea struck deep. At Aldera, everyone had fought to be unique. And him? He had been the statistical anomaly—the outlier. The only quirkless student.
The silence between them turned contemplative.
Finally, Nezu broke it with a faint smile. "Did you bring the new notebook, as I requested?"
Izuku nodded and pulled it from his bag. The cover read simply: Hero Analysis. "H-here, sir."
Nezu accepted it with a gracious nod. "Thank you."
As he set it aside, Izuku's mind, forever connecting threads, snagged on an earlier comment. If Power Loader built Eraser Head's gear, and Power Loader worked at U.A., then—
"Wait," Izuku blurted. "Does Eraser Head work here too?"
Nezu's eyes gleamed. "Quite the deduction. Yes. He might even become your homeroom teacher."
Izuku lit up instantly. "Then—do you know how his capture weapon floats? I've been trying to figure it out! His hair floats, too, but his quirk isn't gravity-based—"
Nezu chuckled, delighted. "Now, wouldn't you rather uncover that mystery yourself?"
Izuku flushed, realizing he was rambling. "Y-yes, sir."
"It seems you're quite interested in Eraser Head," Nezu noted.
"Well... he fights almost quirkless," Izuku said, and Nezu nodded, understanding the resonance. "But what really fascinates me is his quirk—it erases others. That's rare. Something that directly affect other quirks is almost unheard of."
Nezu's smile sharpened. "Almost?"
Izuku's hand went to his chest instinctively. "...One For All." A breath later, quieter: "And All For One."
Nezu's fur bristled—barely perceptible, but there. Then he calmly set down his cup.
Izuku quickly took another sip of his own tea to fill the silence.
When Nezu spoke again, his tone was as smooth as before. "Yes, One For All is quite fascinating. You've already grasped an essential component—continous discharge. Yagi only reached similar resonance in his final years, and only under exceptional stress."
Izuku shuddered at the memory of splintering bones and roaring air.
Nezu gestured to the notebook. "Your quirk analysis is progressing well. But I notice it's all about One for all. There's very little about Izuku Midoriya himself."
Izuku scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "I... I suppose not."
"Progress is still progress," Nezu said warmly.
Their conversation wound down soon after, interrupted by the return of the adults ready to discuss matters above his level of clearance. As Izuku stood, Nezu called after him.
"About becoming my student," the principal said, voice thoughtful. "It's still possible—if you truly wish it."
Izuku turned, eyes wide.
Nezu's whiskers twitched in amusement. "Don't worry—it wouldn't be favoritism. You wouldn't be the first. I've had others in their second or third years who intrigued me enough to offer... mentorship."
Izuku's mind spun uselessly, still processing.
"The task is simple," Nezu continued, his tone brightening. "A question I ask every conversation partner—one I've even slipped into a few exam papers." He leaned forward, eyes alight with mischief and meaning.
"The question I already asked you once, and for which I expect a fuller answer next time."
A pause. Then, softly but clearly:
"What am I?"
---
The journey back home was quiet.
Not the suffocating kind — but the comforting sort, where silence settles like a soft blanket over tired minds.
His mother had accepted All Might's offer to drive them this time. Unlike that morning, when she'd refused too politely on the phone.
Izuku sat in the passenger seat, hands folded over his knees, watching the scenery drift by.
He thought of everything that had happened — the principal's questions, the words that still lingered in the corners of his mind, and the strange changes in his body.
His senses had sharpened lately — one of the more noticeable effects. Heightened hearing, sight, even smell.
It reminded him of All Might's "mighty senses," though that comparison still felt surreal.
Because of it, he caught pieces of the adults' conversation from the front seats.
Disjointed fragments that piqued his curiosity:
Safest stronghold… exam reformations… hidden bases… Shattered Skull…
Each phrase was a hook begging for context — but before he could think too much on it, Recovery Girl had called him away for another round of quirk-factor tests.
By the time they reached home, the city's edge was bathed in the faint orange of evening.
As All Might parked by the curb and they got out of the truck, Izuku finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been sitting in his chest all day.
"All Might… the name," he began softly. "Your master's."
For a moment, the man's smile turned wistful.
"Her name is Nana Shimura."
Silence filled the car again, gentler this time. Then All Might chuckled faintly.
"Come to think of it, your mother and she… resemble each other."
"Huh?" Izuku blinked.
All Might gestured vaguely toward his own hair. "Their hairstyle. That familiar ponytail curl."
"Oh," Izuku said, a little sheepishly.
The older man rubbed his cheek. Maybe embarrassed by his own comment, but Izuku didn't mind.
Even the Symbol of Peace had ghosts he smiled through.
The old hero, Gran Torino, offered his own farewell.
It hadn't been a criticism this time, just a simple statement. Yet it had both thrilled and terrified him.
"Hmph. Too soft. But I can hammer that out of ya.."
Izuku could still hear the smirk behind those words.
And why is All-Might shivering.
The rest of the evening passed quietly.
Dinner — katsudon, of course — was warm and familiar. Conversation was minimal, but the silence felt companionable, not strained.
For once, neither felt the need to fill it.
Later, as Izuku lay half-reclined on the couch, full and content, his mother spoke.
"Izuku…" Inko's voice was soft, hesitant. "This… strength of heart. It'll be heavy."
He looked at her for a long moment, searching for what she meant.
Then, simply, he said, "It'll be fine."
Her brows knitted. "How?"
Izuku smiled faintly. "Because I have… we have others to help now. Heroes."
Inko studied his face in silence, as though searching for the boy she used to know — and finding, instead, someone both different and familiar at the same time.
She opened her mouth, perhaps to say something, then thought better of it.
After a moment, she only nodded.
The quiet returned — gentle, unspoken, and full.
---
"Yo."
That was the first thing Izuku heard as he woke by the stream bordering the small island crowned with nine thrones.
He blinked, the air shimmering like liquid light.
Yoichi stood before him, hand raised in greeting. Behind him, the other vestiges waved as well — their shapes clearer now, almost tangible within the flame that wove through the mist.
The amber flame waved with enthusiasm. Two others — jade and amethyst — offered simpler gestures.
The azure and crimson figures remained still,shrouded deeper in their fire.
Then his gaze caught on a softer hue— rose flame, waving gently, smiling kindly.
And beside her,golden fire. That smile he recognized instantly. His breath hitched.
Nana Shimura… and All Might.
Before he could speak, Yoichi said, "They wanted to say hello. Now that they can move, as their quirks' containment is nearly complete."
Izuku opened his mouth to ask something, but Yoichi answered before the question formed.
"No," he said, voice gentle. "You can't talk to them yet. You aren't truly here, Izuku."
Izuku frowned. "What do you mean? I'm standing right here. I can feel the... the everything." He gestured around at the star-dusted landscape.
Yoichi smiled faintly. "What's here is only a projection of your consciousness, not the consciousness itself. To truly stand among us, you'd need to sit upon a throne — willingly."
Izuku hesitated, but Yoichi continued,
"That's one reason the other quirks haven't been passed to you yet.Even with your reconstructed body, the evolved forms would strain it beyond limit."
Izuku took that in slowly. "But I can talk to you, right?"
"Well," Yoichi chuckled, "as the original wielder, I'm allowed a little leeway."
Izuku nodded, then asked the question that had been at the back of his mind. "About… the reconstruction of my body?"
Yoichi's tone turned thoughtful. "Ah, yes. Quite the phenomenon. The mutations seem to mirror the complementary traits of the other quirks — or perhaps the evolved forms of those traits. They likely stem from the genetic codes stored in One For All's core. You may have others yet to discover."
Izuku's eyes widened. He had suspected as much, but confirmation made it real.
His muttering began to spill before he could stop it:
"The vestibular system— recalibrated for aerial balance, that must come from Float.
The enhanced nervous system for manifesting and controlling the Black energy tendrils.
Lung capacity expansion— maybe tied to the Smoke's generation, or another mutation…
But what about neural pulse acceleration?What quirk could that be for…?"
He stopped abruptly, realizing Yoichi was smiling at him, patient and amused.
"Sorry," Izuku said quickly, rubbing his neck. "It's a habit. I tend to… ramble."
Yoichi laughed softly. "It's fine. We all have our quirks."
Then he added, "As for the neural enhancement — that's from Danger Sense. It's a heightened instinct. Simply put, it feels danger before thought can."
Izuku's curiosity sharpened. "Does that relate to All Might's Mighty Sense?"
Yoichi shook his head. "No. The others' quirks manifest only once One For All approaches singularity. Toshinori's heightened senses came from the quirk amplifying his natural body — nothing more."
Izuku nodded, thoughtful.
Yoichi went on,"Your growth — muscle, bone, reflexes — may come from his enhanced physical blueprint, stockpiled within the Quirk. Just as One For All stockpiles his Vestige, even though he was 'truly quirkless,' it may have stockpiled the genetic code of its longest-held ultimate vessel."
Izuku's eyes flicked toward the golden figure. Something in Yoichi's phrasing caught him.
"'Truly quirkless'?" he echoed.
"Ah," Yoichi said, "unlike me — who had an invisible quirk — or you, who inherited quirk genes but no factor, Toshinori had neither. His genome lacked the quirk marker entirely."
Izuku tilted his head. "So… like someone from before the Quirk Era?"
"Exactly," Yoichi said. "A body unaltered, a vessel empty enough to deepen integration. As he was the longest to carry the quirk, his continuous training and use increased it, in return strengthening him more, creating a positive feedback loop; which continued until both reached their limits — the peak human physique and the edge of singularity."
Izuku processed that, connecting it with what he knew.
All Might's"muscle form" — his real form, before the wound — the shrinking body that followed.
If his own transformation echoed that pattern, perhaps the mutation in his mitochondria acted as a kind of muscle memory, channeling the stored energy through his body to restore that form.
If the mitochondria truly worked in tandem with his nervous system,maybe they weren't just energy sources… but conduits.
He stared at his hands, feeling the faint warmth under the skin. The thought brushed the edge of something larger, but the shape of it still eluded him.
He looked up. Yoichi was watching quietly, letting him think.
The word mitochondria stirred another question.
"Can you tell me anything," Izuku asked, "about the ultima element Principal Nezu mentioned?"
Yoichi's expression shifted — half curiosity, half amusement.
"That Nezu fellow,"he murmured. "An interesting being indeed."
Izuku blinked, startled by his tone.
Yoichi waved it off. "Ah, never mind that. About the ultima element — judging by One For All's current state, it's not a new emergence. More like a deepening connection."
"Between what?" Izuku asked.
Yoichi gestured broadly, from Izuku to the glowing horizon. "Between quirk factor… and quirk consciousness. The will that resides within power."
He paused, as if listening to something unseen. "That's all I can intuit. Other quirks may go beyond singularity in their own ways."
They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the stream steady around them.
Izuku's gaze drifted to the inactive thrones— the faint figures shrouded within the azure and crimson flames.
"About them," he said quietly. "The others."
"Oh, them?" Yoichi sighed. "They're just a bit miffed at our last talk."
Izuku blinked. "Why?"
"My telling you that you don't have to walk our path," Yoichi said. "They took it as me lying to you."
Izuku looked at the silent figures.
He could feel their eyes now— not angry, just distant. Indifferent, with a thin undertone of rejection.
A familiar feeling.One he'd lived with for most of his life.
Yoichi followed his gaze. "Don't mind them. To them, even Toshinori was naïve. They...we lived through harsher times — war, persecution"
Izuku nodded quietly, breathing slowly. There would always be people who doubted him.
He could live with that.
A warm hand rested on his head. Yoichi's voice softened.
"Don't worry," he said.
The words carried meanings unspoken — comfort, promise, and patience all at once.
"When you're ready, we'll be here."
---
The boy was All Might's successor.
That was the conclusion Ayumi Amatsuki had reached—and her conclusions were rarely wrong.
Managing the containment of the boy's identity had given her the information profile: one Izuku Midoriya, a resident of Musutafu, son of a retired nurse and an absent father abroad.
And handling the compensation for the U.A. Station incident granted her the character profile—Reckless, selfless, heroic. Someone who, while lying in pain, would ask after others' well-being.
Of course, the man would choose someone mirroring his Stubborn reckless heroism.
It explained Toshinori's almost daily visits to Musutafu. She had even connected him to the Sludge Villain incident. That must have been their first meeting.
Her background check had flagged an anomaly: traces of the boy being registered as Quirkless. Ayumi hadn't gone further—hadn't hacked any official servers. She knew better than to leave a trail that could draw unwanted attention to the boy.
Still, the discrepancy gnawed at her. The file said Quirkless; the footage from Nezu showed a vortex of raw, destructive power. Her mind, trained to find patterns in chaos, supplied an image she didn't want to see:
The Supervillain who had crippled All Might.
—The Quirk Stealer.
She dismissed it immediately. Toshinori would never involve himself with someone tied to that monster. And—
All For One is dead.
"Ma'am, this area's ready!"
The technician's voice pulled her back. Ayumi glanced across the training floor—the once-silent gym deep inside Might Tower, dormant for years since its owner's injury—now alive with activity as her team ran final diagnostics.
She gave a crisp nod, issued a few closing instructions, and checked her watch. Toshinori had called earlier, asking her to prepare the facility. He was bringing guests.
It has to be the Successor.
Her expectations, however, did not include the domestic awkwardness that followed.
It was the boy—but he wasn't alone. He came with his mother, Inko Midoriya, who looked one nervous breath away from fainting. The boy mirrored her tension, fidgeting and bursting with anxious energy as he peppered questions at Toshinori—currently in his shrunken form—who answered with patient, genuine smiles.
Trailing behind them was the elderly hero she recognized instantly: All Might's former teacher, Gran Torino.
"Tch," the old man grumbled, voice echoing through the gym. "Wouldn't my place have done just fine?"
"Ah, Sorahiko, the Tower has the best monitoring systems," Toshinori replied, trying for diplomacy.
"The kid doesn't need monitoring," Torino shot back. "He needs someone who won't coddle him."
By the time Ayumi approached, Toshinori had already spotted her.
"Sir," she greeted with a small bow. "The gymnasium is ready."
"Thank you, Ayumi. Excellent work, as always." He turned to the guests. "Midoriya-san, Young Midoriya—this is my Chief of Staff, Ayumi Amatsuki. She keeps the entire agency running."
Ayumi shook hands with both Midoriyas, offering a polite, professional smile. It was always odd, meeting civilians whose lives she had already meticulously pieced together. She reminded herself not to blurt out their names, or more.
She wasn't like that self-proclaimed no. 1 fan, that dunderhead with no subtlety for information management.
Gran Torino gave her a brief, appraising look. "How are you, lass?"
"Fine, sir. It's an honor."
He grunted and turned back to the boy. "Alright, zygote. Let's see what you're made of."
As the boy scurried after the old hero, Ayumi nodded to Toshinori and Inko before leaving. She had work to finish.
When she returned hours later, tablet in hand, the gym echoed with a heavy thud and Gran Torino's gravelly voice.
"The power's still not coming out, kid? It's all in your head."
Her eyes fell on the boy. He was sprawled on the mats, drenched in sweat and looking impossibly broken for his age. He pushed himself into a sitting position and stared at his right hand, which had begun to shake violently. He clamped his other hand down on it, as if trying to physically restrain a disobedient animal. Looking up at the old hero, he just gave a simple, jerky shake of his head.
Ayumi's mind immediately started cataloguing: tremors, dissociation, panic response, physical avoidance—classic PTSD.
She'd seen it before, in heroes who'd burned out or broken under pressure. She recognised the signs.
If this boy really had been at the center of that vortex …the cause for profound mental stress was obvious.
And if the old hero was talking about "power," it was likely about the boy's newly manifested quirk.
She'd inferred that, if the boy hadn't made deals with the DEVIL, he was likely a late bloomer, his power awakened by the Trigger in the midst of that chaos. No wonder he was having problems
Across the gym, Inko Midoriya clutched a half-empty box of tissues. Beside her, Toshinori watched his student with an expression that mixed pride, guilt, and helplessness.
She approached Toshinori. "Sir."
He startled slightly. "Ah, Ayumi—apologies. I was… distracted."
"The sponsorship proposals," she said, handing him the tablet. Might Tower's backing of U.A.'s request to I-Island had opened new pipelines, and various connected parties were already reaching out.
As he scrolled through, she couldn't help but to ponder.
Why? Why would the Symbol of Peace choose a boy who was, for all intents and purposes, Quirkless to be his successor?
Then she remembered a tidbit, a single line from his own personnel file—one of the highest classified documents in the nation, which she, as his secretary, had clearance to access. Toshinori Yagi. Quirk: Unregistered. Manifestation: Late Adolescence.
Ah, she thought. He was a late-bloomer, too. He must have seen a latent power in the boy.
"Ah, Miss Amatsuki?"
The reedy voice broke her from her thoughts. She turned to find the boy—Midoriya—standing there, having clearly been given a break. He was holding a charred, damp-looking notebook. The defeated expression was gone, replaced by a familiar, nervous shine in his eyes—a vibrant curiosity buried beneath a mountain of social anxiety.
"C-could I… Could I ask you somethings?"
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Go ahead."
"Ah! Thank you! I've always been fascinated by the behind-the-scenes management work of heroics! How long have you been working at Might Tower, Miss Amatsuki? Did you work at other agencies before this, or was this your first? I-I have so many other questions, but… but what is your Quirk, Miss Amatsuki? Is it an intelligence type? Or information analysis?"
Ayumi found herself almost charmed. The rapid-fire, fanboy interrogation was an adorable contrast to the terrifying vortex of energy he'd unleashed.
"Yes, it is hard for the management team to clean up the messes," she said dryly, giving him a searching look.
He was just waiting, bright-eyed and eager. He hadn't been told of her involvement in his case. Good.
"I've been at Might Tower for nine years," She answered his questions methodically. "And I worked at one other agency before this, in America, where I used to live." She took a small breath as the boy scribbled frantically in his notebook. "And about my Quirk…"
She paused, then said simply, "I'm Quirkless."
The effect was instantaneous. The boy's mind seemed to short-circuit. His breath hitched, becoming rapid and shallow. He was hyperventilating.
"But... you're... you're the chief of... then... how can ... quirkless? It doesn't...it doesn't make sense."
The voice was almost a whisper, his eyes wide with a kind of desperate confusion. It wasn't an accusation of incompetence; it was the sound of a core belief shattering.
"Izuku!" Inko was instantly behind him, hands on his shoulders, trying to ground him. She looked at Ayumi, her face a mask of apology. "Ah... I'm so sorry! He isn't questioning your capabilities, it's just… he is Quirkless, too. Or, was quirkless, but...but"
Ayumi could tell the woman was doing her best to explain the situation and comfort her son. She didn't have the heart to tell her she had already figured out most of it.
Looking at the mother and son, she felt an old, familiar longing. She shook it off. She was a divorcee married to her work now, and her last attempt at dating had been a disaster.
All Might spoke up, his voice calm but firm. "Ah, yes. Young Midoriya was wrongly diagnosed and possesses a dormant accumulation-type quirk. As for his reaction… it's likely his experience meeting other quirkless people has been sparse, or non-existent."
After a deep breath, he revealed the truth he knew she'd already deduced.
"He is my successor."
She listened, then nodded once. At least he respected her ability enough to know she would have discovered it on her own eventually.
She looked back at the boy, who was slowly calming down, though he still looked utterly lost. The atmosphere was painfully awkward.
Then, she spotted the notebook still clutched in his hand. Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13.
A common ground.
"You do analysis, Midoriya-kun?" she asked, pointing at the book.
He looked unsure for a moment, then nodded, his face flushing crimson.
"May I?"
He hesitated, then handed it over. As she flipped through the pages, all she could think was incredible. The level of detail, the tactical breakdowns, the predictive modeling—it was staggering for a fifteen-year-old. She recognized the familiar, relentless hunger to know.
"Amazing, isn't he?" All Might said from the side, sounding exactly like a bragging father. "Nezu himself seemed very interested in his analytical abilities."
Ayumi was genuinely surprised to hear that. She looked up from a detailed breakdown of Eraser Head's combat style and met Izuku's nervous gaze.
"Yes," she said, her voice sincere. "This is very good."
She offered a small chuckle as the boy's blush deepened. "Sir," she said to Toshinori, "if you hadn't chosen him as your successor, I would have recruited him for my department."
The boy's eyes widened in shock.
Ayumi approached him, handing back the charred notebook. She looked at him, really looked at him, and asked a question. "So you lived as Quirkless for almost your entire life?"
He looked both confused and pained, but answered. "...Yes."
"Then that makes you an honorary Quirkless, doesn't it?" A small, rare smile touched her lips. "You know, you're living a dream many of us had."
His eyes widened even further, if it were possible.
"You're the successor to the Number One Hero," Ayumi continued, her voice soft but firm. "You're on the road to becoming a hero, with all the power you could ever want."
She reached out, and in a gesture that surprised even herself, put a hand on his head and ruffled his messy green hair.
"So make us proud."
---
"Izuku, honey... Izuku?"
His mother's voice snapped him out of it, pulling him from the echo of the words spoken by the beautiful, black-haired woman.
He looked up to see Inko's worried expression. She gestured to the plate in front of him. "Don't get lost in your thoughts, dear. Eat your food."
He nodded, fumbling with his chopsticks. They were in the Might Tower cafeteria on the third floor, sitting by a wide window that overlooked the bustle of the city below.
In front of him sat All Might, quietly chewing his own food, and Gran Torino, who had already demolished the bento his mother had insisted on preparing.
His mind was still replaying the day: his inability to use One For All, the memory of screaming bones and tearing muscle that slammed a mental door shut every time he tried. Gran Torino had called it a mental block.
So they had come to the tower. And after hours of an ass-kicking that proved his enhanced body and senses meant nothing when he knew nothing about how to fight, he still couldn't activate the Quirk.
But then… "Well, I am quirkless."
The words from Ayumi Amatsuki, the Chief of Staff of Might Tower, had shocked him to his core.
She had said he was living a dream many of them shared. In a way though, she was the living embodiment of the other dreams he'd contemplated in the margins of his analysis notebooks—a path behind the scenes, where a sharp mind could still support heroes.
It was ironic. The years of jeers and discouragement had been enough to crush those fleeting spark of ephemeral dreams. But they had been utterly unable to extinguish his fiercely burning, illogical core desire to be a hero.
Maybe that's why her compliments on his analysis felt so different. So heavy. Etched. He could tell they weren't mere platitudes.
"So Make us proud."
His heart was still thrumming from those words, a warm, steady beat.
And this time,it wasn't the resonance of One For All.
Later, back in the gym, Izuku immediately grabbed his Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13.
He didn't bring the new, pristine notebook Nezu had given him; that one contained the secrets of One For All. This was for something else.
A conclusion had been teasing the edges of his mind, but it kept deluding him. So he'd turned to his notebooks, as he always did.
He remembered Nezu's words—you still haven't analyzed yourself.
Then Miss Ayumi's voice echoed... "Then that makes you an honorary quirkless, doesn't it?"
It gave him the push he needed. He wasn't analyzing a Quirk. He was analyzing himself. He opened to a new page and wrote.
Name: Izuku Midoriya
He paused at the Quirk section. He remembered handing his notebook to Miss Amatsuki, the risk of it being seen. He needed a pseudonym. The word Nezu had used in the infirmary came to mind.
Quirk: Ultima
He looked at it. It didn't feel right, but it was a placeholder. He continued, listing the changes Recovery Girl had found.
Mutation:
—Enhanced Neural Pathways
—Accelerated Neural Pulse
—Recalibrated Vestibular System
—Augmented Respiratory System
—Strengthened Musculoskeletal Structure
—Hyper-Efficient Mitochondria
Resulting Abilities:
—Heightened Senses
—Increased Stamina & Metabolism
He stared at the list. Hyper-Efficient Mitochondria. The powerhouse of the cell. A mutation stemming from the "blueprint" left by All Might, as the First User had said. And the heightened senses... they shared those.
He looked up. "Toshinori-sensei?"
Toshinori, who was talking quietly with Inko, turned. "Yes, Young Midoriya?"
"Do you… do you still possess heightened senses, even after passing on the Quirk?"
Toshinori looked surprised. "Ah. Yes, as a matter of fact. They're massively weakened, of course, but in my muscle form, my senses are still far sharper than normal. It's how I scan my surroundings so quickly."
Izuku nodded, a frantic energy building behind his eyes. He started muttering. "Mitochondrial dysfunction often leads to sensory loss... because sensory organs are one of the most energy-draining parts of the body... so it stands to reason..."
"Spit it out, kid," Gran Torino called from where he was stretching. "Did you figure something out?"
Izuku's head snapped up. "Maybe! The mutated mitochondria—the energy source for the cells—they could be the source of the heightened senses!"
"And?" Yagi pressed, leaning in, his own curiosity piqued. Inko watched her son, her anxiety momentarily forgotten.
"And if you only possess those senses in your 'ember' form, but my senses are always heightened... then it's possible that I also have something akin to that ember! When the Trigger and One For All caused the singularity, it didn't just mutate my body; it infused it. It etched the energy of the Quirk into my cells as they were being rewritten!"
He was pacing now, his voice gaining strength. "It's the same enhancement process you went through for forty years, but all at once. It's the stockpiling effect, but... but structured. My body was adapted to the ember as it was being created!"
His sudden enthusiasm, however, began to dampen as the reality of his other problem set in.
"What is it, Young Midoriya?" All Might asked, his voice laced with worry.
Izuku slumped. "Well... this is all just a theory. And even if it's true, this structured 'ember' would just be the ambient power. It would act as a limiter, a foundation, because my body is adapted to it. It still doesn't solve the problem of my mental block. I still can't access the core energy pool."
He was still lamenting when Gran Torino's foot slammed into his face, sending him tumbling back onto the mat.
"Ouch!"
"Don't be arrogant, kid," the old hero snarled, looming over him. "You just figured out you might be able to crawl, and you're already complaining you can't sprint. You didn't even have legs a few weeks ago. Stop whining and test your new theory."
Izuku rubbed his cheek, but the old man's words hit home. He was being arrogant. He was so focused on the ultimate goal that he was ignoring the first step.
He nodded and scrambled to his feet. The three adults surrounded him, watching.
Izuku closed his eyes. He didn't know what to do. He didn't try to access One For All. He didn't think about the vestiges or the crushing power.
He thought about what he'd written. He thought about the thrum in his chest from Miss Ayumi's words. He tightened his muscles, reaching inward for that quiet, steady hum.
For a moment, nothing. He concentrated deeper.
His mind drifted, as if half-asleep, and suddenly he was in the Vestige Realm.
It was blurred, like smoke over water. He crossed the stream and made straight for the empty throne. The other vestiges, even Yoichi, seemed still—suspended in silence.
He didn't sit.He only reached out and touched the throne.
Swoosh.
A soundless rush of energy flooded his senses.
Izuku's eyes snapped open. He was back in the gym. His mother, All Might, and Gran Torino were staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
He looked down at his hand.
Tiny, brilliant green sparks, like fireflies, were crawling across his skin, tracing the lines of his veins. A quiet, electric crackle filled the air. After a moment, the sparks subsided, sinking back beneath his skin as if they had always belonged there.
He could still feel it.
That quiet hum.
That weight of power, at last alive within him.
---
" The tensile strength of the alloy... it must be incredible"
Izuku's voice was full of awe as he stared at the giant, reinforced gate that dominated the wall. They were on the top floor of Might Tower, a private hangar and observation deck.
Behind him, his mother and Miss Amatsuki were chatting quietly, a comfortable rapport having clearly formed between them. Following the group was the silent duo of All Might and Gran Torino, observing.
"That's the Might Gate," Ayumi explained, her voice professional but warm. "It's All Might's private access, keyed exclusively to his biometrics, reinforced to withstand a direct assault."
Izuku nodded. He had known about it, but seeing it was different.
He had wanted to show the person who'd inspired him what he could finally do—but even with his heightened stamina, the ember enhancement drained him fast. His body still ached from Gran Torino's earlier "training."
Ayumi then pointed up. "And that roof is fully retractable for his direct landings."
As she spoke, Izuku could feel the deep, bone-weary fatigue finally starting to lessen.
Maybe... maybe I can use it again.
After some careful testing post-breakthrough, they had figured it out. Accessing the ember was far more mentally and physically draining than a normal Quirk. It required constant, pinpoint focus.
"I'll open it," Ayumi said, tapping the screen of her tablet. With a low hydraulic hiss, the massive panels of the roof slid apart, revealing a stunning twilight sky, the colors bleeding from deep orange to indigo.
As the cool evening air washed over the floor, Izuku felt it. His body crackled, a soft hum, and the green sparks returned, settling over his skin.
He looked down at his hands, awed by the sight. The energy was soft, almost smokey, a stark contrast to the raging, world-ending tsunami of power he could hazily remember from the station.
It was weak, they had measured. Comparatively. Around 5% of All Might's current full power. He guessed that along with his own mental block, the vestiges themselves were containing the true, dense core of One For All, leaving him with only this airy, manageable ember.
"Miss Amatsuki."
She turned, her eyes widening slightly as she saw the soft green lightning sparking from his hands and dancing in his hair.
He didn't try to explain how much her words— So make us proud —had meant. He didn't have to. He just bowed deeply.
"Thank you," he said, his voice thick with genuine gratitude. "For earlier."
The other adults simply watched, a quiet understanding passing between them.
Ayumi, however, was slightly startled by the formal gesture. "Midoriya-kun, that was all your own effort."
Izuku just smiled, straightening up.
She glanced at the dying sparks as he relaxed. "Is that… your Quirk?"
He nodded, then hesitated. "Well, something like that. It's... akin to a complementary mutation. A different mode."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Have you named it?"
"Ah, no, not yet…"
"How about Green Cowl?" All Might chimed in, trying to be helpful. "Or Lightning Cowl!"
Izuku pondered the suggestions just as Ayumi spoke again, her voice softer. "How about Aurora?"
Toshinori's eyes lit up. "Hmm. Aurora Cowl… That has a nice ring to it."
Ayumi smiled at Izuku. "It's your first time truly controlling it, isn't it?"
He nodded, the last of the sparks fading.
"Aurora," she repeated, looking out at the fading light.
"It means —
The first light of day."
---
Swoosh!
The sound of wind and waves rolled across the empty evening beach.
All Might lowered his arm, the fading trail of sand settling around them. He shrank back into his slimmer form, watching Izuku, who stood a few paces away, lost in thought.
Today was supposed to be a rest day.
But since Yagi had business at U.A., they had decided to meet. He'd promised to teach Izuku the basics of boxing.
Before Toshinori could say anything, Izuku asked,
"Sensei, are you still able to discharge energy?"
Toshinori was quiet for a moment. "It's difficult, my boy," he admitted. "I can, I think, but the cost is higher than it used to be. It would weaken the ember and shorten my remaining time even further. Why do you ask?"
"Just thinking about the mechanics of One For All's ember," Izuku said. "Even though the main energy was transferred, your strength—while not at its peak—remains abnormally high."
Toshinori's brows lifted. "So, did you figure something out?"
"It's not about quantity," Izuku said slowly, "but quality—specifically, density. The ember left behind in previous users probably condensed over long use. That density may be what gives it permanence."
Toshinori smiled and placed a large hand on Izuku's head, ruffling his hair. "A sharp mind, as always. But you have a long way to go before you need to worry about density."
He settled into a classic boxer's stance, his thin frame surprisingly solid. "Now, you wanted to learn how to throw a proper punch. Let's start with your footing."
--
"C'mon, Mom, you can do it!" Izuku encouraged, jogging backward on the pavement.
Inko Midoriya, flushed but determined, huffed as she kept pace. "I'm trying, Izuku! Ayumi-san's routine is brutal!"
They were on their morning jog, something his mother had insisted on joining. He was happy, seeing her this energized. She and Ayumi-san had truly connected.
He hadn't meant to overhear her late-night call with Ayumi-san , but his sharpened senses didn't care about boundaries. They'd bonded over was their shared status as divorcees. It hadn't surprised him.
He might be little naive, but he wasn't a fool. His mother had tried to hide the strain of his father's long-term absence for years, but he had seen it.
When they reached the park, Izuku handed her a water bottle, and they collapsed onto a bench.
"She's a wonderful woman," Inko said, fanning her face. "So strong."
Izuku nodded, thinking of the Quirkless Chief of Staff. "Yeah, Mom. She really is."
After a moment, Inko stood, her determination renewed. "Alright, break's over. Race you to the corner!"
He grinned, following at her pace.
--
Thud!
Izuku hit the training mat for what felt like the hundredth time that day.
"Use your legs, zygote!" Gran Torino barked, darting across the room like a bullet. "You wanted to focus on kicks? Then kick!"
Izuku groaned, face-down on the mat. After All Might's boxing lessons, legwork had seemed like a logical next step. He hadn't realized how merciless Torino's version of logic was.
"You're leaking energy every time you move," the old hero snapped. "That 'Aurora Cowl' of yours—it's sloppy!"
Izuku struggled to his knees. "Y-yes, sir."
Torino crossed his arms. "And, if you ever want to use Float properly, you need to learn aerial movement, as well as the leverages of flight abilities.
Izuku just nodded, sweat dripping from his chin. He'd wanted strength; instead, he was learning humility.
--
"Wrong answer."
Izuku slumped in his chair, head hanging.
It was probably the tenth time he'd failed to answer Nezu's question: What am I?
He'd been meeting the principal during his biweekly checkups with Recovery Girl.
So far, he'd met only one other hero—Hound Dog, who, uncharacteristically calm, had made Izuku suspect Nezu had warned him beforehand.
The principal adjusted his tiny glasses. "So," he said, "you can now surf in the vestige realm after touching the throne?"
Izuku nodded, still slouched.
"Hmm… fascinating," Nezu mused. "Vestige world, vestiges themselves—emanations of quirks."
Izuku nodded again, more deeply this time.
Nezu smiled. "Nervous for the exam next week?"
"Very much so," Izuku admitted.
"It'll be fine," Nezu said lightly, gesturing at the scattered papers filled with scenario analyses and written responses.
Izuku's eyes drifted toward a separate page—one scribbled full of animal species, his futile attempts to answer the principal's impossible question.
Nezu followed his gaze and chuckled.
"Don't worry about the riddle. There's no time limit."
---
"Now arriving at U.A. High School Station. Please watch your step as you disembark."
The crisp, mechanical voice echoed through the carriage as the train glided to a smooth halt. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Izuku Midoriya stepped out—immediately swallowed by the tide of anxious examinees.
He drew a slow, steadying breath. His heart thudded, not from fear, but from memory. His mother had insisted for him to take another transport, worried that returning here might trigger a relapse.
But he'd come anyway. Some quiet, stubborn part of him needed to face this place—the station where his world had shattered… and been remade.
Beyond the bustle, the U.A. campus rose on the horizon, the iconic H-shaped building gleaming like a symbol carved into the sky. His goal. His future.
He began to walk.
He moved with the current of examinees, swept along by their nervous chatter. His sharpened senses picked up every flicker of emotion, every tremor in their voices—arguments about robot's involvement, the new testing system, strategy debates.
Anxiety. Determination. Fear.
It was everywhere, alive in the air like static.
Izuku felt it too—but his unease ran deeper. Beneath the surface panic churned a cold, steady undercurrent: the whispering pulse of One For All.
Ever since touching the throne, the connection to the Vestige Realm had changed.
It was deeper now, but fractured—like a transmission through fog. When he tried to reach it, all he found was static, the Vestiges trapped and distant, their outlines blurred by interference.
Yoichi's words echoed in his memory: To truly stand among us, you'd need to sit upon a throne — willingly
He hadn't dared to. Not yet. The memory of that pain—his body splintering under the weight of a power too vast—was still etched into every nerve.
Now, standing among the crowd, the whispers returned. Not words—just presence. Overlapping voices, layered and restless, brushing against the edges of his mind like ghostly fingertips.
He stopped walking.
The flow of bodies parted around him, the crowd moving on as if he were a stone in the river. Eyes closed, he centered his breathing. Focus. Contain it.
And the world fell away.
He was back in that impossible space—the Vestige Realm. A vast, glassy expanse stretched beneath his feet, reflecting a dim, fractured light. Before him loomed the throne, black and cracked, pulsing faintly with the echo of sleeping power.
He reached out, fingertips brushing the cold surface.
"Yoichi-san? Can you hear me?"
No answer. Only the deep, resonant hum of the realm itself. Of course. This half-conscious intrusion was direct but weaker. To truly connect, he would need to take that final step—to sit on the throne willingly.
But his body remembered the agony. His resolve faltered.
Then—
"Hey, are you okay?"
Izuku startled, his body jolting with a sudden, reflexive jump. But his feet didn't come back down..
A dizzy, weightless sensation swept over him, and suddenly he was drifting upward, hovering above the station pavement.
"Eep! Sorry—sorry! That's my Quirk!"
A hand shot out and caught the strap of his yellow backpack, tugging him gently back toward solid ground.
Izuku blinked in confusion, following the motion down—into a pair of bright, warm brown eyes. The girl holding his strap looked just as startled as he felt, her cheeks flushed pink beneath soft brown hair that bounced with every nervous movement.
For a heartbeat, the world went still.
Those round eyes, that sunlight-in-a-storm presence—it was like stepping into warmth after days of cold.
"Don't worry!" she said quickly, her voice small but sincere.
"I'll hold on so you don't float away."
--x--