It was a Saturday morning, the kind that most students spent tangled in their blankets, buried in dreams or screens.
Izuku Midoriya was already awake.
He had been awake for hours.
He always was.
Sleep, to him, was a necessity—never a luxury. He made sure to get precisely eight hours every night. No more. No less. His body was a tool, and tools worked best when properly maintained.
He rose from his bed in silence, his mind already cataloguing the day's schedule, objectives, and contingencies. He dressed himself in casual clothes—dark jeans, a simple but well-fitted shirt, sneakers that looked worn enough to be unremarkable but clean enough to suggest care. Everything about him was deliberately average. Approachable. Safe.
Downstairs, he heard his mother's voice.
"Mm-hmm, yes… I know, Mitsuki… boys will be boys," she laughed softly.
He didn't even have to guess who she was talking to. Katsuki Bakugo's mother.
The irony never failed to amuse him. He could picture the woman, cigarette in hand, complaining about her explosive son while his own mother laughed and nodded like an old friend. It was almost poetic.
He stepped into the hallway, pulling on his shoes.
"Hey, Mom. I'll be meeting up with some friends today. Might come back late, okay?"
He pitched his tone perfectly—warm, sincere, the kind of voice that made people instinctively trust him. His eyes were soft, his smile genuine-looking, even though the feeling behind it was hollow. He didn't feel joy. He didn't feel guilt. He felt nothing.
"Sure thing, sweetie! Have fun!"
She said it absently, hand still holding the phone to her ear.
Most sons might have felt something—sadness, resentment, anger. Izuku felt nothing at all. He was a shell, a carefully reconstructed vessel, moving according to plans and predictions. If she died today, he would feel mild inconvenience. Maybe even irritation, since her death would disrupt his structure. Nothing more.
"Goodbye, Mom."
And the mask slipped the moment the door shut behind him.
The smile vanished.
His face relaxed into its natural neutrality—a calm, emotionless expression that would have unsettled anyone who looked closely enough.
He adjusted his backpack and began walking down the quiet streets of Musutafu, the morning air cold against his skin. The streets were calm, dotted with old shops and street stalls. He wasn't heading to school—it was Saturday, after all—and that meant he could focus entirely on her.
Mei Hatsume.
He had studied her for days. Her routines, her haunts, her speech patterns. He knew she bought her screws from a specific shop every Saturday morning. She called it her "lucky store." She even said the screws from that shop were "spiritually conductive."
Perfect.
He reached the shop early and waited. When she finally appeared—pink hair bouncing in its usual disarray, goggles perched on her head, humming a tune under her breath—he felt that small flicker of satisfaction that came when a plan aligned.
She exited the store with a small paper bag in hand.
Time to begin.
Izuku adjusted his step, walking toward her, and at just the right moment—
bump.
The bag slipped from her hand, hit the ground, and with a cruel twist of fate (or well-placed calculation), the screws scattered and rolled straight into a street drain.
"WHAT—NOOO! WHYYY!"
Mei dropped to her knees, reaching helplessly toward the drain. Her expression twisted between frustration and disbelief. She turned on him immediately.
"Why did you do that?! I have to wait a whole week for another order!"
Izuku blinked, raising his hands in faux guilt. His voice came out soft, apologetic, perfectly calculated.
"I'm so sorry—I wasn't looking where I was going. Please, let me make it up to you somehow."
Mei crossed her arms and puffed out her chest, fuming.
"Not unless you've got some screws in your pockets, no."
Then she looked at him properly—really looked.
And the anger faltered.
He was handsome. Not movie-star handsome, but that quiet, unassuming kind that drew people in. His eyes, green and sharp, softened just the right amount when he smiled. Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, butterflies stirring in her stomach.
"Well… ugh…" she stammered, looking away.
Izuku tilted his head slightly, tone still soft, disarming.
"I actually do have a few spare screws at my place. Same brand, too. I bought them here last week to tinker with some old parts in my garage. I could give them to you—if you'd like."
Her eyes widened slightly. "Really? You'd do that?"
"Of course," he said with that perfect little chuckle that made it sound like kindness came naturally to him.
"It's my fault anyway. Let me at least make it right."
Mei hesitated for only a second before sighing dramatically.
"Fine. Lead the way then!"
He nodded, turning toward the street.
"It's a bit of a walk, though. There's an ice cream shop nearby if you want to grab something first. My treat, obviously."
Her eyes brightened immediately. "Ice cream?! Okay, yeah! But I'm getting the biggest one they've got!"
"Deal," he said with an easy grin.
---
The ice cream shop was small, painted in pastel colors with an old-fashioned charm. They sat by the window, sunlight spilling over the table. Mei ordered a triple scoop—strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate all stacked precariously high. Izuku chose a simple vanilla cone, more prop than pleasure.
"So, what's your name, mister mystery mechanic?" she teased between licks of her ice cream.
"Izuku," he said. "Izuku Midoriya."
"Midoriya, huh? Don't think I've seen you around U.A."
He smiled faintly, stirring his melted ice cream with a spoon.
"I'm not a hero student. Just… someone who likes building things, I guess. Support gear fascinates me."
That caught her attention immediately. She leaned forward, eyes sparkling.
"Really? You like support gear too? That's awesome! Everyone at U.A. thinks I'm crazy, but I swear, technology's the future of hero work! You can make anyone strong if you give them the right tools!"
Exactly the response he wanted.
He nodded earnestly, leaning forward just slightly. "That's what I believe too. Power isn't about quirks—it's about what you create with your own hands."
Her lips parted, her expression softening. "Yeah… exactly!"
They talked for another half hour, Mei rambling excitedly about her latest failed prototypes while Izuku listened intently, inserting the right words at the right times—little affirmations, small smiles, tiny laughs that made her cheeks flush. He complimented her creativity, her determination, her "spark." He let her talk about herself, because people always fell in love faster when they felt seen.
When they finally left the shop, she was walking closer to him than before. Every time he glanced at her, she looked away quickly, pretending to be interested in the passing cars.
---
They reached his neighborhood after another twenty minutes of idle conversation.
His garage sat behind the small apartment complex, looking perfectly mundane from the outside. But inside, it was neat, organized, and filled with half-built gadgets—props from past plans that made the place look convincingly like a tinkerer's den.
Mei's eyes widened as soon as she stepped inside.
"Whoa! You actually build stuff! This place is awesome!"
Izuku laughed softly. "Yeah. I like to keep busy."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a small plastic container, filled with shiny silver screws—the exact brand she used.
"These the ones you needed?"
Her eyes sparkled. "YES! You're a lifesaver!"
She took the box from him, brushing her fingers lightly against his hand. He didn't move, just gave a warm, reassuring smile.
"Happy to help."
Mei smiled shyly, her earlier anger forgotten entirely. She lingered in the garage, asking about the various tools and devices scattered around. Every question was another opportunity for him to praise her intelligence, her curiosity. Every compliment another string tightening around her.
By the time she left, the sun was setting. She looked back at him from the gate, cheeks pink.
"Hey, Izuku?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks… for today."
He smiled again, the perfect imitation of warmth.
"Anytime, Mei."
When she finally disappeared down the street, Izuku closed the door and exhaled softly.
Another piece on the board had begun to move.