Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya was really tired.

Actually, he was completely fucking exhausted.

He had been training with All Might for 10 months and tomorrow was the U.A High Entrance Exam.

He was finally going to get a quirk: One For All.

But right now, he desperately needed to sleep.

Izuku Midoriya's eyelids weighed more than All Might’s dumbbells probably did, his limbs jelly from the grueling ten months of hauling trash across Dagobah Beach. The thought of a soft bed sent waves of relief through his aching body as he finally went to sleep.

But soon came along the second body.

"Ugh, I must have slept wrong. Wait, was the ceiling always this low?"

Izuku groaned, rolling off his futon—except his shoulder didn't slam into the tatami mat like usual. His hands hit hardwood, his legs tangled in silk sheets that definitely weren't threadbare All Might-themed pajamas. And when he sat up, the room spun. Not from exhaustion—because his head was *higher* than it should be.

He scrambled to the bathroom to see the mirror.

The boy staring back had sharp cheekbones, clear skin, and *no diamond patterned freckles*. His hair was still green, but thicker, styled effortlessly. His shoulders were broader, his waist just narrow enough—everything perfectly proportioned. Izuku pinched his own enlarged bicep.

Solid.

Then he looked out of the bathroom and saw someone in his bed.

"Who the heck is that person? Wait... It's me."

Izuku's whisper cracked like a dry twig. The sleeping lump in *his* All Might pajamas, sprawled face-down in *his* futon, with *his* freckled cheeks smushed against the pillow—was him. Original Recipe Izuku. Meanwhile, he (the *other* body him, the inexplicably taller, sharper, unfairly photogenic him) was standing there like some Greek statue that had wandered into a discount bedding aisle.

"Okay. Okay. Deep breaths—or wait, *can* I hyperventilate in this body?" He clutched the bathroom counter (which was suddenly lower than he remembered, because *everything* was lower now, including the ceiling fan that he absolutely *could* decapitate himself on if he jumped). The mirror reflected back a stranger with cheekbones that could cut glass and eyelashes long enough to trip over. "I—I look like someone who would be in the modeling industry..."

He quietly ran back to his room so as not to wake his mother, "Uh, excuse me. Wait, I'm speaking so politely to myself. Excuse me. Hey!"

Then he blacked out.

And woke right back up in his bed.

"Was it all a dream? It was a strange but happy dream," Izuku joked to himself before seeing the other body on the floor, "... I wasn't dreaming. Wh... What happened? Hey! Hey?!"

Then he blacked out yet again

And woke right back up on the floor.

"Huh? Huh? Did I just get switched back? What is going on? Did I actually have a quirk all of these years?! Wait a second. Ah, ah, ah. Huh? My voice has changed too."

Izuku's hands flew to his throat—firm, smooth, with an Adam's apple that hadn't existed none minutes ago—just as his other body groaned from the bed, rolling onto its back. The freckled version of his body scrunched its nose mid-snore.

Izuku nearly screamed.

But he stopped himself.

Barely.

He had too.

His mother had work in the morning.

"I've... I've always had a quirk? I've never been quirkless? The applications of this quirk need to be reserached!" Izuku whisper-yelped, scrambling for his notebook and his pen.

And he started theorizing a writing speed that would make his wrist combust.

Pages flipped—no, *teleported*—under Izuku's pen as he scribbled wild hypotheses, his two bodies sprawled across his bedroom like a crime scene where the victim was also somehow the perpetrator.

**Hypothesis #1:** He had *always* had a quirk, lying dormant until puberty hit harder than All Might’s Detroit Smash.

**Hypothesis #2:** This was a cosmic prank. A shapeshifting villain had broken in just to give him the most baffling existential crisis of his life before vanishing without explanation.

**Hypothesis #3 (whispered):** He’d actually died hauling refrigerators on Dagobah Beach, and the afterlife was *this*—alternating between his old, noodle-armed self and some god-tier Graminsta model version of himself who probably had perfect teeth and *never* had to Google "how to stop sweating so much."

But now began the quirk testing phase.

Izuku Midoriya then proceeded to concentrate on staying awake as he woke up his original body by shaking it violently. "Hey! Wake up already!"

The original Izuku groaned as he rubbed his eyes and lifted his head slightly—only to freeze upon seeing his second body now fast asleep halfway on top of him. "H-Huh?! Oh no, oh no, oh no—why am *I* now on *me*?! This is—this is—*is this technically incest?!* W-Wait, no! That's not—that's not the right question! AAAAAAAAAH!"

He scrambled backward, his socked feet slipping on a discarded hero notebook, sending him crashing into his All Might poster—which, honestly, *how dare it betray him like this*—before he finally managed to squirm free. Meanwhile, his second body—long limbs sprawled elegantly, unfairly photogenic face smushed into the pillow—merely sighed in its sleep, as if the universe hadn't just flipped Izuku's entire existence like a particularly aggressive omelet.

Izuku pressed his fingers against his temples. "Okay. *Okay.* Deep breaths. So—so my quirk is *what*, exactly? Temporary body-swapping? Cloning? Some kind of—of *glitch in the matrix*?! Wait, no, that's not a quirk, that's just existential dread—"

He took a big breath.

And released slowly.

And tested the quirk applications seven more times before having a solid understanding now:

1. He has to be unconscious to change bodies.

2. If one body is forcefully awakened, the other body will go to sleep.

3. He is now conscious at all times (he can no longer have dreams).

4. The sleeping body seems to experience all physiological phenomena normal bodies do.

The realization hit him like a freight train. His original body—the one currently drooling onto his All Might pillow—had just released an embarrassingly loud stomach gurgle.

"Oh no. Oh no no no. If it gets hungry... does it starve?" Izuku whispered, clutching his newly chiseled jaw in horror. The implications were catastrophic. He was now responsible for feeding *himself*—twice. His mom’s grocery bill would skyrocket faster than Endeavor’s blood pressure at the mention of All Might.

Then he remembered.

All Might was giving him One For All Tomorrow.

Right before the U.A. High Entrance Exam.

And he had spent at least thirty minutes awake trying to solve this when he should have been resting for tomorrow's exam.

"Oh my god."

Izuku’s fingers curled into his—admittedly much silkier—hair as the realization hit like a truck loaded with existential dread. "I have to get back to sleep but—"

He stopped himself as he realized something:

This second body was bigger, bulkier, more flexible, and just seemed over all better.

The whole reason he and All Might had him train for those ten months was because his body wasn't a proper vessel yet.

But this body sure seemed like it was!

So what if he stayed awake in his original body then got All For One and took the U.A. High Entrance Exam in his second body?

"Holy *crap* this is insane," Izuku breathed lowly.

He then woke up his first body a final time.

Then he blacked out once again.

And woke right back up in his bed yet again.

"Now I can study all night!" Izuku gasped, staring at his second body—currently snoring softly on the floor—like it was a cheat code sent from the universe itself. His sleep-deprived original body wobbled as he frantically flipped through his notebook. "Wait... if *this* body sleeps while *that* body stays awake..." The implications exploded in his brain like All Might’s United States of Smash. "I COULD TECHNICALLY STUDY FOR *TWO EXAMS AT ONCE*"

As you can imagine, he practically flew to his desk and got out some books—because being awake and having two bodies at once is cheating and he's totally going to exploit it!

Although 'exploit' was probably the wrong word in this case...

Chapter Text

The hours quickly went by, and dawn crept in through the blinds—but not before Izuku had fully lost his mind.

His second body lay sprawled on the bed, (Izuku had put it there between study breaks) drooling slightly onto a pillowcase that smelled vaguely of detergent and existential dread. Izuku—in the *original* body—sat hunched over his desk, fingers twitching like over-caffeinated spiders as he scribbled so fast his notebook developed third-degree friction burns. He was running on pure, unfiltered panic, the kind that made his nerves feel like they’d been replaced with live wires.

"Okay. Okay. *Okay.* If I am a hero in the case of a domestic dispute—which, technically, that would classify as—then the first step is de-escalation!" Izuku whisper-screamed at the unconscious version of himself sprawled across his bed, his hands flapping like startled pigeons.

The second body snored.

Izuku looked at the time and realized he had spent the entire night studying—well, technically, *his* bodies had shared the workload, like some kind of unholy, sleep-deprived tag team. Outside his window, the first blush of dawn painted the skyline in shades of orange and regret. His second body—currently sprawled across his bed in a way that made it look like it had been dropped from a great height—hadn’t moved since he’d switched back around 12 AM.

Meanwhile, Izuku in his original flavor body was vibrating at approximately the same frequency as a microwave left on too long. His second body—now dubbed "Deluxe Edition Izuku" in his frantic notes—lay perfectly still on the bed like a clinically depressed mannequin.

He slapped his other body awake.

He had to get to All Might before going to U.A. High for the entrance exam.

**But first**—Izuku stared at his second body, currently sprawled across his bed like a discarded action figure, the morning light catching unfairly on its stupidly perfect jawline. "Okay. Okay. *Okay.* If I leave Original Me here asleep, and Deluxe Edition Me goes to meet All Might..." His hands fluttered in front of him as if trying to physically wrangle the logic into place. "*Technically* that’s fraud? *Morally* that’s—that’s *also* fraud? But *quirk-technically*—!"

He decided to bite the bullet.

Then he blacked out once again.

And woke right back up in his bed yet again.

"Okay. Okay. *Okay.*" Izuku whispered to himself, clenching and unclenching his hands—both sets of them—as he sat up in his futon. His second body got out of bed alongside his first body, then slipped on a stray hero journal and face planted onto the tatami mat with a muffled *thump*.

Izuku froze.

Then groaned into his hands.

"I just tripped *myself*."

Sunlight streamed through his blinds as he got up and realized something:

None of his clothes would fit him in this body!

Izuku then got his phone and began texting All Might:

*"Uh, hey, All Might! I need bigger clothes now. Like, uh, *really* big ones. Like, uh, not *fat* big—just, uh, *tall* big? Also, I think I actually do have a quirk?!"*

Izuku's thumbs hovered over the screen, trembling like over-caffeinated ants. His first body—currently slumped against the wall like a discarded mannequin—let out a snore so loud it rattled the All Might figurines on his shelf. "Oh no. Oh *no*. What if All Might thinks this is a prank? What if he *revokes* One For All before even giving it to me?! What if—"

His second body's stomach growled with the ferocity of a Top Ten Pro Hero denied fast food. Izuku clamped a hand over his own (currently chiseled) abs in horror. "N-no no no—if *that* version of me starves, do *I* die?!" His whisper-shriek cracked halfway through like a middle schooler's voice.

Across the room, his Original Flavor Body hiccuped mid-snore, one socked foot twitching like a dying cockroach. Meanwhile, Izuku in his Deluxe Edition Body—currently modeling what appeared to be two dish towels safety-pinned into a makeshift toga—was having a silent meltdown in front of his bedroom as he picked his other body up to but it in bed so his mom wouldn't notice that something was wrong.

"Okay," he whispered to his original unconscious freckled body, "I need to take a shower, eat, and get to All Might—but *you* can't shower because *I* would have to shower twice—and *I* would have to eat twice—and *I* would have to—OH NO."

Izuku’s newly sculpted jaw dropped as the horror dawned on him. His first body—currently now tucked under his bed like contraband—was still in its All Might pajamas, snoring softly while drool pooled on the pillow. Meanwhile, his second body—the Adonis version of himself, currently wrapped in a bedsheet toga that would make even Kacchan raise an eyebrow—stood frozen in front of his closet.

Well, none of his clothes would fit him so he might as well just wear whatever he could find—which turned out to be his dad's old jogging pants (still about two inches too short) and an oversized hoodie that expanded in the laundry to resemble a potato sack. The ensemble was completed by mismatched socks and the grim realization that he was possibly *technically* committing identity fraud against *himself*.

"Okay," Izuku whispered to his reflection—which, *wow*, did *not* fully look like him—"just... just walk normally. Like a normal person. Not like someone who’s secretly committing tax evasion against *themselves*."

His second body—now dubbed "Deluxe Edition Me" in his spiraling mental notes—stood frozen in the alleyway beside Dagobah Beach, hyperventilating into All Might-branded paper bag. The paper bag ripped. Izuku wheezed louder.

"Breathe. *Breathe*. Oh god, I’m *technically* committing fraud against *myself*," he whispered to a seagull that was judging him harder than Kacchan ever had. The bird pecked at his shoelace—which, *oh no*, was now untied because his second body’s feet were *bigger*—as Izuku wobbled toward Dagobah Beach like a newborn deer piloting a mech suit made of pure, unfiltered panic.

All Might stood waiting—tall, golden, and *oh god he was already staring*—as Izuku’s second body tripped over *nothing* and face-planted into the sand.

"YOUNG MIDORIYA?" All Might’s voice boomed like a foghorn dipped in steroids.

Izuku popped up like a startled meerkat, sand clinging to his unfairly sculpted cheekbones. "I-IT’S STILL ME! JUST—JUST *MORE* ME! WHICH IS *LESS* ME TECHNICALLY BECAUSE—" His voice cracked.

The seagull sighed.

All Might blinked. Then squinted. Then leaned in until his skeletal shadow swallowed him.

And then vomited a ton of blood and transformed back into his skinny form.

"Y-young Midoriya," All Might coughed, his skeletal face somehow even gaunter, "What the *actuаl hell* happened to you?"

Izuku's second body—currently resembling a Greek god who'd been dressed by a blindfolded toddler—flailed like a startled octopus. "I-I think I have a quirk?! And it's having two bodies?! Please don't revoke One For All before giving it to me, sir!"

Sand sprayed violently as Izuku's second body scrambled backward while All Might coughed up another spectacular arc of blood onto the beach in suprise.

"No no no NO—it's not what it looks like! Well, it *is* what it looks like—which is *me but taller*—but I swear I didn't mean to commit quirk fraud against myself before inheriting your quirk sir please don't take One For All away before giving it to me—!"

All Might blinked. Then squinted. Then leaned forward until his skeletal nose nearly brushed Izuku's newly chiseled jawline. "...Young Midoriya," he rasped, voice drier than the Sahara, "did you really think I'd do something like that? Revoking One For All before giving it to you? That's like... like taking away someone's birthday cake before they've even blown out the candles!" He coughed violently into his fist.

"Also, please stop screaming. My ears haven't bled this much since that time Endeavor was forced to try karaoke fifteen years ago."

Izuku's second body—now officially christened "Deluxe Disaster Midoriya" in his spiraling notes—stood frozen in front of All Might, acutely aware that his borrowed jogging pants were riding up his calves like budget capris. The morning sun glinted off All Might’s skeletal cheekbones as the man rubbed his temples, muttering about "quirk manifestation horror stories" and "why did I think mentoring a teenager was a good idea again?"

A seagull stole Izuku’s unattended protein bar.

"SO!" All Might clapped his hands together with the force of a small detonation, sending Izuku’s second body stumbling backward into a rusted refrigerator. "Let me get this straight—you’ve *always* had a quirk that swaps you between Original Flavor and... *this*?" He gestured vaguely at Izuku’s unfairly sculpted jawline.

"Y-yes! But also no! See, I only discovered it *last night*—"

"After ten months of hauling trash."

"...Yes."

All Might’s eye twitched. "And *now*, on the *day of your exam*—"

"—I can technically take the practical in *this* body which is already muscle-conditioned—"

"—while your original body stays home asleep."

"...Yes?" Izuku squeaked, his voice cracking like a dropped vase.

All Might stared at the sky like it owed him money. Then he sighed so hard his ribs visibly deflated. "Well then... EAT THIS!" He screamed as he transformed back into his buff form.

"H-huh?"

Chapter Text

All Might had taken out one of his hairs—which, under normal circumstances, Izuku would have treasured like a sacred relic—but currently, he was too busy panicking about the logistics of eating All Might's hair to get One For All were.

"It doesn't really matter in the end what it is as long as you take in my DNA."

"It's way too different from what I imagined this to be!"

"Come on, there's no time! You'll be late for the exam! Come, come, come! And you still have to change into the clothes I got you!"

Izuku—now trapped inside his unfairly photogenic Deluxe Edition body—stared at the gym uniform All Might had just thrust into his hands like it was a live grenade. The fabric was *blue*. Not even All Might-branded. Just... *blue*.

Izuku then took the hair... and ate it.

"Hurk—" His second body gagged violently, clutching its unfairly sculpted throat like All Might had just fed him a live grenade instead of a single strand of blonde hair. "T-this tastes like... like *regret* and expensive hair gel—"

"IT'S SYMBOLIC!" All Might bellowed, already mid-air leap towards U.A. High, leaving Izuku to make his own way there so as not to arouse suspicion.

He did make it...

But in the end, he didn't have time to test out the power he received from All Might.

"Outta my way, Broccoli Head!"

Izuku's spine straightened like a soldier spotting a landmine—except the landmine was Bakugou Katsuki’s voice, and the soldier was actually a trembling, usually freckled teenager who had spent the last decade perfecting the art of shrinking into his own collar.

"Kac-" Izuku then immediately stopped himself. Katsuki had called him Broccoli Head instead of Deku.

In other words Katsuki didn't recognize him.

"Don't stand in front of me. I'll kill you." He barked in front of him.

"Good M-Morning!" Izuku all but squeaked, "L-Let's both do our best...!"

"Hey, isn't that Bakugou Katsuki? The one with the sludge villain?"

"Forget about him, who's that guy?" A girl's voice cut through the crowd going up the steps to the entrance exam, followed by a series of murmurs and sudden silence—the kind that usually preceded a natural disaster or Katsuki exploding a desk across a classroom.

Izuku—currently inhabiting his Deluxe Edition Disaster Body™—instantly froze mid-step, his borrowed gym uniform stretching dangerously tight across shoulders that hadn't existed yesterday. His peripheral vision registered at least two dozen heads heads swiveling toward him like sunflowers tracking a nuclear explosion. Someone dropped their pencil case. It sounded like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

"Uh," said Izuku's unfairly deep new voice, cracking like a dropped vase. His hands fluttered near his clavicles (which were *visible* now, what the *hell*) in an aborted attempt to vanish into his own collar—except his neck was too broad. His fingers twitched like startled spiders. The entire crowd of examinees had gone silent, staring at him like he'd just descended from Mount Olympus in gym pants.

A boy near the front dropped his pencil case. It shattered like Izuku’s sanity. Another girl—pink skin, horns, the kind of person who looked like she’d never been startled in her life—whispered, “Holy *shit*, is that a pro hero transferring in?”

Izuku’s borrowed gym pants rode up his ankles like ill-fitting capris. His neck—*why was his neck so visible*—burned under the weight of what was now at least fifty staring examinees.

Someone then snapped a photo.

The flash nearly blinded him.

But he had to remember that he was different from before!

He had to remember those past ten months!

To take the first step...

...to being a hero!

And he tripped.

Of course he tripped—because Izuku Midoriya's existence was a cosmic joke wrapped in disaster foil, and the universe *loved* its punchlines. His newly elongated limbs tangled mid-step as he was about to crash face first onto solid concrete when-

"A-are you all right sir? It's just my Quirk. Sorry for using it without asking first and without a license. But it'd be bad luck if you fell, right Are you nervous?"

The girl who'd caught him—no, *floated* him—hovered inches above the pavement in her gravity-defying grip had round cheeks, big eyes, and a nervous smile that mirrored Izuku's own internal screaming. Her hands were pressed together in apology, fingers twitching like startled butterflies.

Izuku's Deluxe Disaster Body hung mid-air, limbs splayed like a starfish, gym shirt riding up to expose the unfairly sculpted abs he'd *definitely* hadn't earned yet. The crowd murmured. Someone wolf-whistled. Another whispered, "Is that a new pro hero intern?"

"Uh," said Izuku's unfairly deep voice, cracking like dropped pottery. His borrowed gym pants—now stretched taut over thighs that hadn't existed yesterday—threatened to split at the seams. "Th-thanks? But I-I'm hoping to be a student actually..."

The girl blinked. Then stared. Then turned pinker than he did when embarrassed. "O-oh! You're not a teacher?"

Izuku's second body flailed like a beached whale attempting sign language. "N-no! Just a—a regular guy! With—with regular bones! And—and *skin*!"

A beat.

Uraraka's eyes flickered to his exposed collarbones (which were, frankly, *criminal*), then snapped back to his face—or rather, where his face *should* be, if it wasn't currently buried in his hands as Izuku attempted to physically fold himself into a less conspicuous shape. "Oh! S-sorry!" She released her quirk abruptly, sending him tumbling onto the concrete in an ungainly heap of limbs and existential dread.

"Well let's just do our best. S-see ya!"

Izuku Midoriya finally did it.

He talked to a girl!

He quickly got up and with new resolve made his way to his exam room.

He managed to find it just in time as Present Mic had begun.

"For all you examinee listeners tuning in, welcome to my show today! Can everybody say 'hey'!"

Silence.

Utter, suffocating silence.

Izuku's Deluxe Edition body sat frozen in his assigned seat (row E, seat 12—he'd counted three times to be sure), hands clamped over his knees like they might bolt away if released. The written exam hadn't even started yet, and already his borrowed gym uniform was strangling him in places he didn't know could *be* strangled.

Two rows ahead, Katsuki's spiky blonde head twitched like he could somehow still *smell* Midoriya's panic.

"What a refined response. Then I'll just quickly present to you the rundown on the practical exam! Are you ready?

"Yeah!"

"It's the Voice Hero, Present Mic! Wow...!"

"I listen to him every week on the radio."

"I'm so moved right now!"

"I'm almost hard!"

"All the teachers at U.A. are pro heroes!"

"Shut up."

"Anyways, as it says in the application requirements, you listeners will be conducting ten minute mock urban battles after this! You can bring whatever you want with you. After the presentation, you'll head to the specified battle center, okay?

"Okay?!"

"In other words, they won't let you work with your friends, huh?"

"Y-You're right."

"Even though our examinee numbers are consecutive, we're assigned to different battle centers." Izuku mumbled to himself as Katsuki glared up at him.

"Three different types of faux villains are stationed in each battle center. You earn points for each of them based on their level of difficulty. Your goal, dear listeners, is to use your Quirks to earn points by immobilizing the faux villains. Of course, attacking other examinees and any other unheroic actions are prohibited!"

"May I ask a question sir?"

"Okay! Shoot little listener!"

"On the printout, there are four types of villains. If that is a misprint, then U.A. High, the most prominent school in Japan, should be ashamed of that foolish mistake. We examinees are here in this place because we wish to be molded into exemplary heroes. In addition, you over there with the curly hair and the pleasant face! You've been muttering this whole time. It's distracting! If you're here on a pleasure trip, then you should leave immediately!

"I'm sorry..." Izuku mumbled as he tried and failed to shrink in even further onto himself.

And failed to yet again.

"Okay, okay, Examinee. Thanks for the great message. The fourth type of villain is actually worth zero points. That guy's an obstacle, so to speak. There's one in every battle center. It's an obstacle that will go crazy in narrow spaces. It's not impossible to defeat, but there's no reason to defeat it, either. I recommend that you listeners try to avoid it."

"Thank you very much! Please excuse the interruption I caused!" The kid with glasses screamed as he perfectly bowed.

"I see, It's like the obstacles you avoid in videos games, huh? The whole thing is like a video game..." Izuku realized—though he didn't say it aloud—fully.

Maybe.

"But that's all from me folks! Finally, I'll give you listeners a present—our school motto! The hero Napoleon Bonaparte once said: 'A true hero is someone who overcomes life's misfortunes.' So go beyond. Plus Ultra! Now, everyone, good luck suffering!"

"I-It's time to do it. It's time to give everything I got from my training with All Might these past ten months. I will become the hero I always dreamed of being!" Izuku told himself as he waited for his written exam to reach him so he could start.

He could do this!

He could do this!

He studied all night for this!

Chapter Text

Soon he finished the test.

Thanks to studying literally all night and constantly before then he had luckily recognized most of the questions and answers on the written exam—his fingers cramped from scribbling at inhuman speed while his mind raced through the ten months of All Might’s brutal conditioning of his other body.

The moment Present Mic dismissed them, Izuku bolted for the bathroom like a startled deer, barely avoiding collision with a purple haired examinee who muttered something about "pretty boys getting special treatment." He practically blitzed towards to the mirror.

This body was attractive.

He realized that last night.

But he didn't think about how everyone else would react to it.

He just focused on how this body was as if he ate perfectly and worked out perfectly from birth.

Impossible perfection, to but it one way.

Izuku’s fingernails dug crescents into his palms as he stared at his reflection—this stranger with his eyes but none of his scars, this stolen godhood wrapped in borrowed gym clothes. The bathroom fluorescents highlighted every impossible angle of this face that wasn’t his. A boy with too-white teeth and too-smooth skin blinked back at him from the mirror, and when he experimentally raised a hand to touch his own cheekbone, the motion looked like something from a cologne commercial.

"Y-You got this Izuku! W-Who cares if everyone's staring at you like you're some kind of Greek statue come to life?! Who cares if three separate people have already asked for your autograph thinking you're the lovechild of Mountain Lady and Best Jeanist?! This is *fine*!"

Izuku then heard the announcement for the practical exam—and promptly choked on his own spit. The sound came out as an undignified *glurk* that echoed in the empty bathroom stall. His unfairly sculpted Adam's apple bobbed violently as he hacked into his unfairly large hands.

Soon he made his way to his testing grounds.

"What is this?"

"It's like a city!"

"They have more than one of these on the school grounds?"

"U.A.'s amazing!"

Suddenly Present Mic appeared with his usual flair, "As it says in the application requirements, you listeners will be conducting ten-minute mock urban battles after this! Three different types of faux villains are stationed in each battle center! You earn points for each of them based on their level of difficulty! Your goal, dear listeners, is to use your Quirks to earn points by immobilizing the faux villains!

"Mock battles... How can everyone be so confident? Aren't they also nervous? They even have equipment to go with their Quirks..." Izuku murmured, leaning over as always before seeing a girl

"Oh, it's the person I met at the school gates! The nice person! She was assigned to the same battle center, huh? What a coincidence!"

Then he felt a strange surge inside of him.

Huh, weird, "Oh yeah, I have to thank her for earlier. He's here, too?" It was the blue haired kid with glasses. Then...

"That girl appears to be trying to focus! What are you even doing here?! Are you taking the entrance exam to interfere with everyone else?!" The glasses boy accused, finger jabbing at Izuku's unfairly sculpted chest—which was now heaving in panic because *oh god someone was touching him* and *oh god his borrowed gym shirt was stretching dangerously tight across shoulders he didn't earn*.

Izuku's second body backpedaled so fast his borrowed sneakers screeched against the pavement. "N-N-No, of course not..."

All eyes quickly became on them.

Or more specifically him.

Again.

"That guy's, like so hot!"

"I wonder if that's his quirk?"

"Dude, no way—that jawline's *natural*."

The whispers hit Izuku's Deluxe Disaster Ears™ like stray bullets as he shuffled toward Battle Center B, his borrowed gym shoes squeaking against the pavement with every hesitant step. His unfairly broad shoulders kept brushing against other examinees, each accidental contact sending tiny nuclear explosions of panic through his nervous system. A girl with vine-like hair actually *gasped* when he apologized for bumping her, clutching her chest like she'd been shot by Cupid's bastard cousin.

"Uh," said Izuku's unfairly smooth voice, cracking like an overtaxed cello string. His hands fluttered near his ribcage (visible through the stretched-thin fabric, *why was everything so tight*) in an aborted attempt to vanish into his own collar—except his neck was now too thick to properly hide in. "S-sorry! I'll just—"

Suddenly Present Mic called out from above, "Okay, start! What's wrong?! There are no countdowns in real fights! Run, run, run! The die has been cast, you know!"

"Huh?"

"Huh?!"

Huuuuh?! What?!"

Everyone else shot forward, "I... I'm behind already! I'm behind. Calm down, calm down. It's fine. It's fine! I have All Might with me, and I already feel different!"

Izuku clenched his unfairly sculpted fists—the veins standing out in perfect definition like some Michelangelo statue come to life—and promptly charged forward into the mock city streets. His borrowed gym shoes squeaked against the pavement in protest as he careened past other examinees who were already dismantling one-pointer robots with almost practiced ease.

Yet he was outrunning most of them.

And he was pretty sure that he wasn't even using One For All yet!

"Okay, okay, okay," he muttered to himself as he continued running strangely fast—too fast—his borrowed gym shoes squeaking against the pavement like a chorus of distressed mice.

Then it hit him.

Not metaphorically.

Literally.

A two-pointer's metal fist collided with his unfairly sculpted jaw in a shower of sparks, sending him skidding across the asphalt like a discarded action figure. His borrowed gym shirt rode up to reveal abs so perfectly defined they could've been used as a trigonometry teaching aid. A collective gasp rippled through nearby examinees—some from concern, most from aesthetic appreciation.

"WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?" Izuku screamed internally, scrambling upright with limbs that moved with perplexing grace despite his total lack of coordination. His Deluxe Edition body—currently performing like a sports car piloted by a panicked squirrel—automatically pivoted into a textbook perfect crouch without any conscious input from his terrified brain.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Izuku demanded of his own traitorous physique as his body—moving entirely on autopilot—executed a flawless shoulder roll under another two-pointer's swinging arm. His borrowed sneakers (now more duct tape than fabric) squeaked indignantly as he rebounded off the pavement with unnatural poise, landing in a stance that made several nearby examinees audibly swoon.

"STOP SHOWBOATING!" he mentally shrieked at himself while his unfairly photogenic face remained locked in what bystanders would describe as "smoldering determination" but was actually just "existential dread with good bone structure."

Then his body—still operating on some mysterious second-body autopilot—leaped five feet straight up to drive an elbow drop through the two pointer's cranial casing with enough precision to make pro-heroes weep. The robot exploded in a shower of sparks that framed Izuku's Deluxe Edition Disaster Body™ in slow-motion like the protagonist of a terrible shoujo manga. His stolen godhood silhouette landed in a crouch so aesthetically perfect that nearby examinees actually *applauded*.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" Izuku screamed internally, staring at his own traitorous hands like they'd sprouted extra fingers. "I DIDN'T EVEN TRY TO—WHY DOES THIS BODY MOVE LIKE IT'S DIRECTED BY A STUNT COORDINATOR?!"

"I-it's," he stammered aloud, legs carrying him forward with liquid grace while his mind short-circuited, "j-just like All Might said! Channel the power through your whole body evenly—"

A three pointer's laser beam scorched past his unfairly chiseled nose—close enough to singe eyelashes he hadn't even known could *be* singed—and his second body reacted by grabbing a loose manhole cover to shield himself *and* the pink-skinned girl behind him in one fluid motion. The metal pinged against the energy blast with a reverberating *clang* that made Izuku's unfairly perfect teeth vibrate.

"DUDE THAT WAS SO MANLY!" screamed a black haired boy from across the street, visibly moved to tears by the accidental display of chivalry.

Izuku's stolen face burned hotter than the three pointer's overheating circuits. "N-NO IT WASN'T! IT WAS JUST—JUST BASIC PHYSICS AND—AND—" His unfairly deep voice cracked into dolphin frequencies as he scrambled backwards, accidentally flexing in a way that made his gym shirt cling to every unfairly sculpted abdominal ridge.

Then he realized.

He did do that.

He had One For All.

And his limbs almost felt like they were on fire.

The three pointer's wreckage smoked behind Izuku as twelve different examinees simultaneously whipped out their phones to photograph his unfairly heroic landing pose—knees bent, one hand braced against the pavement, the other clutching the manhole cover like some sort of discount Captain Canada.

His borrowed gym shirt had torn diagonally across his torso in a way that somehow looked intentional—like the world itself was conspiring to frame his unfairly sculpted pectorals in dramatic lighting. Izuku's Deluxe Edition Disaster Body™ stood frozen mid-combat stance, one hand still outstretched from having *somehow* karate-chopped through steel plating like it was birthday cake fondant. The three-pointer robot's sparking wreckage slid apart with a wet *clang*, revealing—

"Oh my god," whispered an examinee with octopus tentacles for hair, "his *collarbone*."

Izuku's stolen godhood silhouette did not—could not—react appropriately to this declaration, primarily because his brain had short-circuited somewhere between "HOW DID I DO THAT" and "WHY IS MY SHIRT GONE." His second body's autonomic nervous system had apparently decided this was an excellent time to demonstrate its flawless muscle control by maintaining perfect posture despite his total mental collapse—chin slightly raised, shoulders squared, abs flexing involuntarily in the afternoon sun like a dissected frog in a high school biology lab.

But he couldn't stop any long.

He had to keep going.

No matter what stood in his way

Chapter Text

Izuku's new legs pumped beneath him like well-oiled pistons—too smooth, too easy, like his joints were greased with divine intervention. His second body moved with the kind of effortless athleticism that made Olympic sprinters reconsider their life choices. Ahead, a cluster of examinees were tangling with a two-pointer, their Quirks flashing in disjointed harmony.

"Excuse me!" he squeaked, already cringing at how his unfairly resonant voice carried across the battlefield like a Shakespearean actor overdosing on enthusiasm.

Then his body did something unforgivable.

Without permission, his Deluxe Disaster Legs™ executed a parkour leap off a crumpled one-pointer's shoulder—flipping midair in a way that should've dislocated his spine—before landing in a crouch so aesthetically perfect it made nearby birds pause mid-flight to weep at the sheer artistry.

His gym pants, already strained to their limits, gave one final despairing squeak before the seam split with a sound like Velcro in church.

Izuku froze mid-kick—leg extended in a textbook perfect roundhouse that had somehow redirected an incoming robot's laser blast into the stratosphere—as suddenly, *violently* liberated air kissed places no U.A. High uniform had ever dared to touch. A passing wind chose that exact moment to lovingly caress his newly exposed thigh, sending his borrowed boxers (All Might-themed, *oh god*) fluttering like a surrender flag.

But he didn't care (almost).

He had to keep going to get more points.

He had to prove to All Might he didn't chose wrong.

After a while Izuku had racked up about 39 points—enough to pass, theoretically, but he couldn’t stop now. Not when his borrowed gym pants were flapping around his unfairly sculpted thighs like a surrender flag halfway up his Deluxe Edition Disaster Legs™.

A four-pointer lunged at him from an alleyway, its massive frame barely squeezing through the narrow space—and then the ground beneath it *rumbled*.

Izuku barely had time to process the sound before the asphalt *exploded* upward in a spray of concrete chunks, revealing—

"Zero-pointer!" someone shrieked, their voice cracking like a pubescent foghorn.

The robot was *massive*. Towering over the mock city like some kind of mechanical godzilla, its single red eye scanned the battlefield with cold, calculating menace.

"Welp," mumbled a nearby examinee with a mushroom quirk, immediately turning on his heel to sprint in the opposite direction.

Izuku’s brain short-circuited so hard his vision pixelated. The zero-pointer’s shadow swallowed entire buildings whole—its hydraulic limbs groaning like a dying constellation. His stolen-godhood legs *should’ve* frozen. His Deluxe Disaster Body™ *should’ve* crumpled into a fetal position.

But he heard someone screaming.

:::::::::::::::::

"It's first-come, first-served! The number of enemies is decreasing fast! Oh no!"

"In this practical exam, the examinees have not been informed of the number of villains or their locations. They have a limited amount of time in a vast area. They have to draw the villains out from there. Information gathering ability to understand the situation before anyone else.

"Mobility that can be used in many different circumstances. Discernment to be able to stay calm in any situation. And pure combat ability.These basic abilities needed to keep the peace in the streets are turned into points in this test."

"Doesn't this year's group look promising? Well, we can't know for sure yet. Their true test is still to come. An obstacle that will go crazy in narrow spaces.

"I recommend that you listeners try to avoid it!"

"Isn't it a little too big? An overwhelming threat.
How people act after they have seen this shows their true nature."

"Less than two minutes left!"

:::::::::::::::::

"Two minutes?!" Izuku screamed over Present Mic's announcement—his borrowed gym pants flapping around his Deluxe Edition Disaster Legs™ like tattered flags of surrender. The zero-pointer's shadow swallowed entire city blocks as its hydraulic limbs groaned like a dying constellation. Somewhere beneath the mechanical monstrosity, a familiar pink-cheeked girl was trapped under rubble—the one who'd saved him from face-planting earlier.

His stolen-godhood legs moved before his brain caught up, sprinting toward certain doom with the grace of a main character who'd skipped the tutorial level entirely. "WHY AM I RUNNING TOWARD IT?!" Izuku's internal monologue shrieked as his Deluxe Disaster Body™ vaulted over debris with Olympic precision—each accidental flex of his unfairly sculpted thighs sending concrete chunks flying like an aftershave commercial gone horribly wrong.

"Excuse me! Coming through!" he yelped, dodging a flying robot arm that would've decapitated lesser mortals.

'The conditions are the same as when I tried to save Kacchan. But it's different. This time—'

"One minute left!"

Izuku didn't need to be told twice.

And so he leaped as high as he could with One For All and punched the Zero Pointer's face with all his might, screaming "SMAAAAAAAAASH!" at the top of his lungs—only for his All Might underwear to finally surrender completely to physics, ripping apart mid-air like the last vestiges of his dignity.

The zero-pointer's head exploded in a shower of sparks that framed Izuku's Deluxe Disaster Body™ in slow motion—completely pantsless now, legs splayed in what bystanders would later describe as "the single most heroic crotch-shot in U.A. history." His unfairly sculpted thighs flexed with the grace of a Greek god while his stolen-godhood face contorted into what could only be described as "existential despair with good bone structure."

"WHY AM I NAKED?!" Izuku's internal monologue shrieked as he hurtled toward certain doom—only for the gravity girl to slap her hands on his descending torso mid-air, sending him floating safely upward while simultaneously short-circuiting almost every female examinee (and a lot of male ones) within a five-block radius.

His unfairly sculpted limbs flailed in zero gravity like an overturned tortoise, All Might-themed boxers drifting lazily away like patriotic space debris. Izuku's stolen-godhood face burned hotter than Endeavor's left nostril as he spun slowly midair, the girls face had achieved nuclear fusion levels of redness while simultaneously trying to catch the torn remnants of his gym uniform with her Quirk.

'Both my legs and my right arm are heavily sprained I think. Still that gravity girl saved me Is she all right? She looks uninjured, at least...?I'm so glad... And...'

"...thank you!"

Soon they landed—or rather, *collided*—with the rubble-strewn street in a tangle of limbs and torn fabric. The gravity girl was still clutching fistfuls of his ruined gym shirt like a lifeline, her face roughly the color of a nuclear reactor meltdown. Izuku's Deluxe Edition Disaster Body™ sprawled nearby her in the least dignified pose imaginable—one unfairly sculpted leg twisted beneath him, the other skyward like he was attempting ballet via seizure. His All Might-themed boxers had somehow migrated to his forehead like some sort of patriotic bandana.

Izuku's stolen-godhood mouth opened—intending to apologize—but what came out instead was a noise comparable to a malfunctioning air horn. The pink-cheeked gravity girl blinked at him, her fingers still tangled in the shredded remains of his gym shirt, her face now achieving temperatures previously only theorized in quantum physics experiments.

"Y-Y-You're—" he stammered, his unfairly deep voice cracking like a teenager discovering autotune for the first time, "—I mean, I'm—" His hands fluttered near his exposed torso (now glistening with sweat and existential dread) before his Deluxe Disaster Brain™ remembered nudity protocols and promptly attempted to fold his entire new about 6'3" frame into the size of a lunchbox.

Yet again.

Suddenly he heard the voices of nearby contestants.

"What was that sexy guy?"

"He suddenly jumped at the obstacle."

"He seemed to have a reinforcement-type Quirk..."

"...but that was so unusual..."

"But if he had such an amazing Quirk and looks, what kind of life did he live that made him so jumpy?"

"Maybe he was acting to trick others?"

"But it doesn't look like he gained anything from doing so."

"Anyway, there's no mistaking that he's an amazing guy."

Meanwhile he saw the glasses kid staring at him again, but this time, it was sheer confusion, 'They're missing the point. Didn't they see? He jumped out to save that girl. He was aware of the remaining time, his own safety, and the points he needed to pass... And even so, he did not hesitate at all! If we had not been in an exam...of course, I would have done the same!'

'Right?'

Chapter Text

Wait a minute.

"Exam...?"

"Oh of course ...?"

"Wait just a second..."

"Okay, good work to you. Good work to you, good work to you. Here you go there. Here are some gummies for you. Please eat these gummies." A short elderly woman in a hero suit and a doctor's coat covered on it called to them a few feet away.

"Y-yeah, Th-Thanks."

"Yes, yes, you, too."

"Thanks..."

"Wait a second, that mademoiselle... ...is the backbone of U.A.

"Oh dear... you were hurt this much by your own Quirk It's as if you went slightly too far..."

*Smooooooch...!*

"Old lady!"

"Wh-What was that?"

"U.A. High's licensed school nurse the uthful Heroine, Recovery Girl! Her Quirk is the super-activation of healing ability. U. A. High can only go through with such a reckless entrance exam because of her. Let's finish this quickly. Is anyone else injured?"

And when somebody else raised their hand a bit in the distance, she went walking away.

Meanwhile Tenya Iida was still thinking about what just happened, 'I see! If this exam is set up like that... Then he's... so much better than me.' He adjusted his glasses, 'He saw through the true nature of the exam with just a glance! While I only noticed the surface-level intentions! What a terrifying opponent!'

Soon they all got up and Izuku got some new clothes—somehow, he was given new gym clothes—and soon they were all on thier separate ways home.

Later, a few days later, Izuku, who was in his original body again was in his own world.

"Izuku...? Izuku? Izuku?! Hey, are you all right?Why are you smiling at the fish?"

Oh, I'm sorry! I'm fine! Really!" But he was still thinking about the two tests he had taken.

'From self-scoring, I know that I just more than passed the written exam, I very likely aced it. But the practical exam had those giant robots, and I had no idea how many points I earned. I lost track at 30. And ever since the entrance exam, I hadn't been able to contact All Might.
The results should arrive today or tomorrow, right? Yeah...

"Jeez, I think it's amazing that you even applied to U.A. High!"

"Yeah... it was."

'I didn't even tell my mother about what had happened with All Might. I kept that secret so he could continue being the Symbol of Peace. There was no way I could tell anyone, not even my family. All Might! After you saw potential in me, I'm sorry I didn't live up to it! I possibly cheated my way there with my new quirk! But I did what I thought was right. All Might, you...'

Suddenly he heard his mother running towards his room.

"Izu-lzu-lzu...! Izu-lzu-lzu... I-I-I-Izuku! It's here! It finally came! It's here! The letter!"

Izuku's chopsticks froze mid-air, a single grain of rice tumbling off in slow motion as his mother skidded into the kitchen like a derailed train, waving a thick envelope marked with U.A. High's unmistakable seal—the same seal currently imprinting itself onto her forehead from how desperately she'd been clutching it against her face.

"Sweet merciful Buddha," Inko whispered into the linoleum where she'd tripped, "we're either about celebrate with katsudon or mourn with ice cream straight from the tub."

That was much too true.

The envelope trembled in Izuku's hands like a live grenade with worse implications. His mother had already retreated to the kitchen—ostensibly to start boiling water for either celebratory soba or despair-ramen—but really to avoid witnessing her son's imminent nervous breakdown. The U.A. High crest gleamed mockingly under the fluorescent lights as Izuku's fingers left sweaty streaks across its surface.

"Okay. Okay okay okay," Izuku whispered to the envelope as he went to his room for privacy—or possibly to contain the inevitable explosion of either joy or despair. His hands shook as he peeled back the U.A. seal with the delicacy of a bomb technician defusing a nuclear warhead wrapped in All Might merch. Inside, a small metallic disc clattered onto his All Might-themed bedsheets before projecting a flickering hologram of—

"I AM HERE AS A PROJECTION!" All Might's holographic torso materialized with such explosive enthusiasm that Izuku's second-hand All Might figurines toppled off their shelves in respectful terror. The boy himself nearly fainted backwards into his All Might-themed trashcan—only saved by the fact that his socks were currently fused to the floor via sheer panic sweat.

"All Might?! Wait, this is from U.A. High, right...?What?

"I HAD TO DO SOME PAPERWORK THAT TOOK SOME TIME, SO I COULDN'T CONTACT YOU! I'M SORRY! ACTUALLY, I CAME TO THIS TOWN TO WORK AT U.A. HIGH!"

"All Might is working at U.A.?" Izuku's vocal cords produced a sound somewhere between a tea kettle whistle and a dying fax machine as his fingers convulsed around the holographic projector. The metallic disc rolled off his All Might-branded sheets like it feared collateral damage, projecting the Symbol of Peace's glowing torso at an angle that made it appear he was doing crunches mid-air.

"HM? WHAT HM? WHAT WAS THAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN WRAP IT UP? BUT THERE IS SOMETHING I SIMPLY MUST TALK TO HIM ABOUT...! WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS GOING TO PUSH EVERYTHING ELSE BACK?! ALRIGHT THEN! OKAY THEN! YOU MORE THAN PASSED THE WRITTEN EXAM AND GOT 39 POINTS ON THE PRACTICAL EXAM! OF COURSE THAT MEANS YOU PASS!"

"O-oh, that good... yeah."

Then he heard All Might snicker.

Which he never thought he would of.

"THAT IS, IF THAT WAS ALL THERE IS TO IT! I AM ALSO AN ENTERTAINER AS WELL! FIRST, TAKE A LOOK AT THIS VIDEO!" And so a recording began:

"Erm, excuse me..."

Izuku was indeed surprised, it was the nice person?

She came to negotiate directly in person after the exam!

"SHE CAME TO NEGOTIATE WITH US DIRECTLY IN PERSON RIGHT AFTER THE EXAM! 'NEGOTIATE WHAT?' YOU MIGHT ASK?KEEP WATCHING TO FIND OUT!

"Um... the person with curly hair... and that was really tall... Do you know who I'm talking about?
Um... he was kind of hot looking..."

'It's me! Or well, my second body!' Izuku realized with a massive blush, watching his own holographic projection from Recovery Girl's office camera footage—his Deluxe Disaster Body™ frozen mid-air in glorious 4K slow motion, All Might underwear fluttering like a war banner as he punched the zero-pointer's face clean off its mechanical shoulders. The video somehow managed to capture every unfairly sculpted ab flexing in perfect synchronization while his borrowed gym pants disintegrated like they'd been hit by a disintegration Quirk specifically designed for dignity annihilation.

His original body—smaller, freckled, mercifully clothed—promptly folded inward like a malfunctioning lawn chair, his hands clamping over his mouth to stifle a scream that sounded suspiciously like a dying dolphin. "NONONONONONONO—"

"YES, YES, YES, YES, YES!" All Might's hologram coincidentally boomed, accidentally shaking loose several more All Might figurines from Izuku's shelves. "THE GRAVITY GIRL CAMPAIGNED TO GIVE YOU SOME OF HER OWN POINTS AFTER YOU SAVED HER! SHE ARGUED THAT YOUR SELFLESS ACT WAS THE ESSENCE OF WHAT A HERO SHOULD BE!"

Izuku's face achieved nuclear fusion levels of heat. "She... she saw me naked."

"AND YOU LOOKED *FANTASTIC* DOING IT!" All Might's projection flexed enthusiastically, completely missing the point like a blindfolded archer at a dart tournament. "THE JUDGES AWARDED YOU *60* RESCUE POINTS ALONE!"

Izuku made a noise comparable to a fax machine giving birth. "Sixty points?! But I thought that I only got thirty-nine points—"

"MAKING YOUR TOTAL *99* POINTS, YOUNG MIDORIYA!" All Might's holographic eyes somehow managed to twinkle with *even more* enthusiasm. "THE HIGHEST ENTRANCE EXAM SCORE!"

Izuku's soul briefly evacuated his body. Somewhere in the distance, he could almost hear Katsuki screaming "DEKU?!" at a pitch capable of shattering crystal. His original form—small, freckled, and currently leaking tears like a defective sprinkler—wobbled in place as All Might's hologram cheerfully displayed U.A.'s acceptance letter beside slow-motion footage of his Deluxe Disaster Body™ punching a robot into orbit while simultaneously losing a fight with basic human decency.

"CONGRATULATIONS, YOUNG MIDORIYA!" All Might boomed yet again, completely oblivious to the way his successor's soul had momentarily exited through his ears. The hologram flickered as it zoomed in unnecessarily on slow-motion footage of Izuku's Deluxe Disaster Body™ mid-zero-pointer punch—specifically the frame where his All Might underwear had achieved orbit, leaving very little to the imagination. "YOU'RE OFFICIALLY THE FIRST STUDENT IN U.A. HISTORY TO EARN RESCUE POINTS FOR ACCIDENTAL PUBLIC INDECENCY!"

Izuku's original body—small, freckled, and currently resembling a tomato with anxiety—promptly folded sideways into his All Might-themed laundry hamper. His muffled scream sounded suspiciously like a kazoo being stepped on.

'This is just too crazy...' Izuku thought as he curled further into himself than he had in about a year since the Sludge Villain Incident.

"COME, YOUNG MIDORIYA THIS IS YOUR HERO ACADEMIA!

"Yes, sir!"

Izuku nearly stood up like a shoulder at that moment from that message—his knee bumped against the table at that, 'After receiving a lot of help and luck my life changed and will continue to change. And now my dream high school life is about to finally begin!'

He quickly ran back into the kitchen to tell his mother the good news, but before he could even open his mouth she promptly burst into tears—because of course she did—and so Izuku Midoriya's entire evening was now dedicated to calming down his much-too-emotional mother while trying not to lose his composure himself—but failing miserably as you can imagine.

Chapter Text

The night after I opened my acceptance letter that person contacted me and I went onto the beach were I first trained my original body in well...

My original body, "All Might!"

All Might, now in his skinny form eyes then drastically widened as two people on the pier overhead, "All Might?!"

"No way! Where is he!?"

All Might then looked back over at Izuku as he covered Izuku's mouth before whispering, "Repeat after me: "I had the wrong person."

"O-oh l, I-I-I had the wrong person!" Izuku stammered out, his voice cracking like a puberty-stricken violin.

After hearing that, the couple on the pier visibly saddened as they started to walk away, "Aw, what the hell? And here I was hoping to see him..."

All Might waited until they turned the corner before exhaling sharply—a sound like a deflating whoopee cushion—and released Izuku's face. The boy gasped for air, his freckles practically vibrating from residual panic.

"Congrats on getting accepted," All Might whispered, somehow managing to sound both sincere and like he was narrating a nature documentary about particularly enthusiastic grasshoppers.

"Th-Th-Th-Thank you very much All Might Sensei!" Izuku squeaked, bowing so low his forehead nearly collided with his kneecaps. His spine popped in three places—a symphony of panic and poor posture.

Across the training beach, All Might's deflated form wheezed like a broken air conditioner, clutching a bento box between skeletal fingers, "Just so you know, I didn't tell the school about my connection to you. Also having two bodies isn't technically against the rules from what I've learned. You're the type that would think that's cheating, right? I also wasn't one of the judges."

Izuku's original body nearly collapsed out of gratitude, "Th-Thank you for your concern All Might Sensei! But I was surprised to find out that you were a teacher at U.A. High. So that's why you came here, huh? I mean, your agency is in Roppongi in Minato, Tokyo at—"

All Might's skeletal hand clamped over Izuku's mouth again with surprising speed, "Stop that!" His sunken eyes darted toward the pier like a paranoid meerkat surveying for predators. "I couldn't tell anyone before the school announced it. I just happened to be offered a job from U.A. High when I was searching for a successor."

Izuku nodded a bit sadly, 'I see. All Might was originally planning on choosing one of the students. One of the students gifted with an amazing Quirk. My quirk only actually bothered to activate when I was already being mentored under him. And all it does is give me another, better, body.'

"Wait, All Might did you know that would happen?!"

Izuku's voice cracked spectacularly mid-sentence—a sound like a pubescent giraffe being stepped on—as his original body flailed wildly in the sand. His flailing limbs accidentally smacked his own face three times in quick succession.

Across from him, All Might's deflated form wheezed like a dying accordion, skeletal fingers tapping against a bento box with rhythmic uncertainty. "Well, there wasn't any time to explain. But it turned out all right. In fact it turned out just "all might"!" He joked before continuing onwards, "Right now, you're either at a hundred percent or zero. But once you can control it, you'll be able to adjust to what your body can handle without nearly breaking."

"Control?!" Izuku squeaked—his voice cracking mid-syllable like a dropped vinyl record—as his original form flailed wildly in the sand. His flailing limbs accidentally smacked his own face twice in quick succession yet again. "How am I supposed to control this when I don't even understand why I have two bodies in the first place?!"

"You see Young Midoriya, the more you train a vessel, the more you'll be able to move the power freely. Like your second body, and lIKE THIS!" He finished as he transformed again into his muscular form—only to immediately cough up blood and revert back before he continued once more, "The flame I passed on to you is still small right now, but in the future, it'll be exposed to wind and rain and grow even bigger. And then, I will slowly become weaker and then disappear, and I will have finished my job."

"Yeah, that's really deep."

Later in his second body in the early morning, which he was showing to his mother for the first time on his first day to U.A. High, "S-sooo... this is me...?" Izuku whispered—his voice cracking like a glacier splitting apart—as his sleek, towering form towered awkwardly in their cramped apartment hallway.

Inko Midoriya clutched her teacup like a lifeline, her trembling hands causing the liquid inside to slosh violently—the tea performing an impromptu tidal wave simulation across the porcelain surface. "My baby is... a supermodel now," she wheezed, pupils dilating to the size of dinner plates.

Izuku's second body emitted an aura so unfairly attractive that even the hallway mirror fogged up slightly—earning a scandalized squeak from Inko as she fanned herself with a nearby grocery flyer. The sheer cosmic injustice of his accidental charisma made the potted fern in the corner wilt in defeat.

"Mom! Please don't faint—I don't know how to carry you in this body yet!" Izuku panicked—his new baritone voice somehow making the panic sound like a romantic confession—while accidentally leaning against the wall with such effortless grace that a passing neighbor spontaneously developed a crush through the thin apartment walls.

Five minutes later Inko had recovered (mostly), "Izuku, do you have tissue?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And your handkerchief? What about your handkerchief? Your hanky?"

"I have it!"

"I don't have time, I'm going to be late."

"Izuku!"

"What is it?!"

"You're really cool."

That was the beginning of his high school career.

"I'm off!"

The words barely left Izuku's lips before his second body—his *Deluxe Edition* body—tripped over the apartment threshold, sending him sprawling face-first into the hallway wall. The sound was like a church bell ringing for the dawn of his high school career.

Three floors below, an elderly neighbor clutched her chest. "Such a handsome young man... and yet so *clumsy*," she whispered to her poodle, who whimpered in agreement.

Izuku scrambled up, cheeks burning hotter than Endeavor's sideburns as he made his way to U.A. High.

'The acceptance rate for U.A. High's hero course is less than one in three hundred every year. Other than the four people admitted through recommendations, are admitted through the regular exam. Those are split into only two classes, with two usually in each.'

"Let's see, Class -A... -A... This place is way too big..." Izuku's Deluxe Edition body muttered under its unfairly handsome breath, the words resonating with a timbre that made nearby doors vibrate sympathetically. His original form would've seemed tiny in this large body, but the way he hunched his shoulders inward still screamed "please don't notice me" despite being over six feet of sculpted perfection.

A passing third-year from 3-B spontaneously proposed marriage when Izuku—in his Deluxe Edition body—tripped over air in the U.A. courtyard. The love letter hit his forehead with the precision of a sniper round just as his original consciousness screamed internally about the physics of existing in two places simultaneously.

Meanwhile, his second body's autonomic reflexes caught the letter mid-air with the effortless precision of an Olympic fencer—only for Izuku's consciousness to short-circuit at the sight of his own chiseled fingers moving without permission. The Deluxe Edition body smirked independently (a smirk so devastating it made three nearby cherry blossoms spontaneously bloom out of season) while Izuku's mind screamed internally: *STOP SMILING LIKE THAT, WE DIDN'T AUTHORIZE THAT EXPRESSION!*

Turns out he was now at the door to Class 1-A by pure chance, "There it is and the door's huge!"

Izuku’s Deluxe Edition body froze mid-step—one sculpted hand hovering near the handle, "Is the size for accessibility...? The elite chosen from the huge number at the exam... I hope I'm not in the same class as the scary peopl—"

And it was.

Because we need conflict in this story to drive the plot along, bit by bit.

First off, everyone was shorter than him.

The differences in height and perspective always threw him off still

"Don't you dare put your feet on the desk!" It was the glasses kid yelling and staring at the hot head Katsuki Bakugo himself, "Huh? The fuck..."

"Don't you think that's rude to the U.A. High upperclassmen and the people who made the desk?!"

The entire classroom froze as Tenya Iida's robotic like arm-chop motion sliced through the air like a guillotine, pointing accusingly at Katsuki's boots propped disrespectfully on the desk. For half a second, Izuku's Deluxe Edition body instinctively sucked in a breath—muscles tensing beneath the crisp U.A. High uniform—before realizing with dawning horror that his upgraded lungs had inhaled so sharply they vacuum-sealed his shirt against his pectorals with an audible *fwump*.

"Nope! I don't!"

Chapter Text

"Anyways, what junior high did you go to, you side character?! The top two?" Katsuki Bakugo smirked maniacally.

Iida dramitically scoffed at that, "I attended Somei Private Academy! And my name is Iida Tenya!"

"Fucking Somei?! So you're a god damn elite, huh? Looks like I'll have fun crushing you too!

""Crushing"? That's so cruel. You're terrible! Do you truly aim to be a hero?! You're..." Then out the sides of his eyes, he and Katsuki Bakugo both notice Izuku Midoriya.

"Oh, um... Good morning! I am from Somei Private Academy. My name is—"

"It's fine, I heard! I'm Midoriya! Nice to meet you, Iida!"

Iida then nearly ran over to him, "Midoriya, you realized there was something more to that practical exam, didn't you?"

"I truly had no idea..."

"Still, I misjudged you! I do hate to admit it, but you are better than me.

"I'm Sorry, but I actually didn't realize anything..."

"Oh, that curly hair! You're the ho- nice looking one! You passed, just like Present Mic said!"

'It's the nice person! She looks good in a uniform...' He began to think before mentally slapping himself to stop.

"But of course you did! Your punch was amazing! Break! Break! Break! Break! Bre—"

"O-oh, well, um, it was thanks to you going to speak with him directly that I, uh..."

"Huh? How did you know about that?"

"Oh, uh, that's because..."

Meanwhile in his seat, Katsuki Bakugo had his feet off the desk, but not because of what Tenya Iida said.

Obviously.

He was staring at Izuku's second body (not that he knew that) and was nearly seething at him when he heard his last name, thinking back to a few months ago:

"I can't believe we have two students from our school matriculating into U.A. High! Especially you, Midoriya it's a miracle of miracles!" Thier principal had told them both.

Later after school he had cornered him in an alleyway nearby the school, "What dirty tricks did you use to get in, huh?! I didn't even fucking see you there! 'The first student from his school to go to U.A. High' My future plan has already been torn to pieces. I thought I fucking told you to go somewhere else!"

Midoriya Izuku—in his original, freckled, shorter body (again, not that Katsuki Bakugo knew that)—flinched as he pressed against the brick wall, "K-Kacchan, I didn't—"

"Didn't what?! Didn't cheat? Didn't lie?!" Katsuki's palms popped with tiny explosions against the alley bricks, casting flickering orange light across Izuku's terrified freckled face. The stench of burnt sugar filled the air. "Listen here, Deku—"

"N-no Kacchan. Someone told me... "You can become a hero"... That it was because of my own effort... Th-That's why... I'm going...!"

Inside Class 1-A, Bakugou Katsuki didn’t explode. Not outwardly like usually. His hands twitched once, twice—tiny pops of nitroglycerin sweat fizzling against his palms—before he slowly leaned back in his seat, crimson eyes tracking every nervous twitch of Midoriya’s Deluxe Edition form. The silence stretched three seconds too long.

'I know I saw this extra at the exams! Did Deku dare defy me?! Some shit is definitely up here...' Katsuki Bakugo's thoughts snarled internally while outwardly maintaining a terrifying stillness. His crimson eyes tracked the way Midoriya's Deluxe Edition body moved—too fluid, too precise—as he awkwardly interacted with the recently dubbed Round Face and Four Eyes.

The sexy bastard even had the audacity to blush prettily when complimented, sunlight hitting his stupidly symmetrical cheekbones at just the right angle to make his eyelashes cast delicate shadows. Katsuki's left eye twitched violently as Glasses and Round Face fawned over someone who was possibly Deku's upgraded packaging—because that's all this had to be, right? Some bullshit plastic surgery after their last confrontation where he'd—

But that didn't make sense. This Midoriya was taller, he didn't have freckles, and he saw Deku after the exam at Aldera Junior High, and yet here this extra was with Deku's last name, his same damn nervous energy, and worst of all—the same exact *smell* of cheap cherry blossom shampoo that Deku's mom always bought in bulk.

Katsuki's pencil snapped between his fingers. The sound—sharp as a gunshot—made half the class flinch, but Izuku's Deluxe Edition body didn't so much as twitch. That was the third pencil this period.

And it hadn't even officially began yet.

"I wonder what our teacher's like?"

Izuku's Deluxe Edition fingers twitched against his thigh—the involuntary flex making the fabric of his U.A. High uniform pants strain against his quadriceps in a way that caused Uraraka Ochako to choke on her own saliva as she continued to lean in, 'S-So close!'

Safe to say, they both were blushing now.

"A-aren't you nervous?"

The question slipped out before Izuku could stop it—his Deluxe Edition vocal cords somehow making his nervous stammer sound like a sultry whisper. Uraraka's face turned the same shade as her ideal hero costume's pink highlights as she clutched her book bag like a lifeline, knuckles whitening.

"What the hell?" Katsuki's voice cracked mid-snarl as a yellow caterpillar unzipped itself from the floor, revealing a disheveled man with eye bags deeper than Izuku's self-doubt. The entire class froze—except for Izuku's Deluxe Edition body, which executed a perfect backflip undertake the desk purely on autonomic reflex, landing in a crouch that made Uraraka's pencil case explode from spontaneous gravitational failure.

"Homeroom teacher," the human sleeping bag grunted, peeling a protein bar wrapper off his cheek. "Aizawa Shouta. Orientation's cancelled." His bloodshot eyes locked onto Izuku's enhanced form still frozen mid-crouch. "Put this on." He tossed a gym uniform with alarming accuracy—the fabric slapped against Izuku's face with a wet *thwack* before sliding down to reveal his Deluxe Edition features now dusted pink.

Uraraka made a noise like a deflating balloon.

From his desk, Katsuki's palms sparked involuntarily as Izuku's stupidly sculpted jawline flexed under the gym shirt's collar—his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard enough to make the tendons stand out. The bastard wasn't even *trying* to be distracting, which made it worse.

What if he was Deku?

"Go somewhere else if you want to play at being friends. This is the hero course." Aizawa droned, watching Izuku's enhanced fingers fumble with the gym uniform buttons—each tremble somehow making his collarbones look like they'd been sculpted by Renaissance artists. Uraraka's face had progressed from pink to concerning plum as she mouthed 'S-Something's here?!' at nothing, while Iida chopped the air violently enough to generate wind resistance.

Katsuki didn't blink. He was too busy dissecting the way Deku—no, Not-Deku, this couldn't be Deku—adjusted his wrist tape with the exact same habitual flick of the thumb that shitty nerd used to do during Aldera's PE classes. The bastard even chewed his lower left lip when nervous.

"S-Something's here?!" Izuku's Deluxe Edition voice cracked mid-whisper, making three girls in the back row clutch their chests in sync. His enhanced pupils dilated as Aizawa tossed a softball with the energy of a man throwing evidence into a river.

"Okay, it took eight seconds before you were quiet." Aizawa's goggles reflected Katsuki's twitching eye. "Time is limited. You kids are not rational enough."

Izuku's original body would've been sweating through his shirt by now. His upgraded version just stood there looking like a shampoo commercial, sunlight catching on his stupidly perfect eyelashes as Aizawa continued, "Depending on the homeroom teacher, even the first day can be..."

"A Quirk assessment test?!" Iida squawked, arms rigid at 90-degree angles.

"It's kind of sudden, but put these on and go out onto the field. The U.A. High system does not always follow the beaten path."

"But what about the entrance ceremony?"

"Or what about the orientation?"

Aizawa just sighed again, "If you're going to become a hero, you don't have time for such leisurely events. U.A. High's selling point is how unrestricted its school traditions are. That's also how all the teachers here run their classes. You kids have been doing these since junior high, too, right? Physical fitness tests where you weren't allowed to use your Quirks.
The country still uses averages taken from results from students not using their Quirks. It's just not rational. Well, the Ministry of Education is procrastinating as it always does. Now then, go to the locker rooms and get dressed."

As Izuku and the rest of the class shuffled off towards the locker rooms, Katsuki stayed right behind Izuku, watching his every move with an intensity that would make most serial killers blush.

Inside the locker room, Izuku stood frozen in front of his locker, hyper-aware of Katsuki hovering just a few feet away. His Deluxe Edition fingers fumbled with the combination lock—twice entering the wrong numbers before finally managing to open it.

Just as he reached for his gym shirt, Katsuki slammed the locker next to his open with enough force to make the metal doors shake. "Oi," Katsuki growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Izuku's enhanced reflexes kicked in—his body twisting gracefully out of the way before he even processed Katsuki moving. His Deluxe Edition spine arched like a startled cat, muscles taut beneath his uniform sleeves as he instinctively put space between them.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, "The hell was that? You move like you've been training for years."

Izuku's enhanced vocal cords betrayed him—his stammer came out sounding suspiciously like a flirtatious murmur, "I-I just—"

"Shut up," Katsuki snarled, stepping closer. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply—searching for that familiar ester-reek of Deku's sweat—but all he got was the crisp ozone scent of Izuku's upgraded pheromones. It pissed him off. "Who the fuck are you really? Because I know damn well Deku didn’t have some secret twin."

Izuku's Deluxe Edition pupils dilated—beautifully, infuriatingly—as his enhanced brain short-circuited between fight-or-flight and the mortifying realization that Kacchan was close enough to count his eyelashes.

So Izuku just winged it, "W-who a-are you talking about exactly?"

Chapter Text

Katsuki just growled at Izuku's response, "Forget about it you oversized extra..."

After that, everyone else in the locker room stopped staring in the incident, they all got dressed and left to the field.

"Nine minutes, it took all of you nine minutes for the last of you to reach the field." Aizawa Shota's voice dripped with disapproval as he stood before Class 1-A, his yellow sleeping bag discarded at his feet.

Izuku's Deluxe Edition form stood at attention—perfect posture, perfect muscle definition visible through the gym uniform, even his sweat looked like it had been applied with an airbrush.

"Midoriya, you finished at the top of the practical exam this year, right?"

The softball rolled from Aizawa's palm with the lethargy of a dying star. Izuku's Deluxe Edition fingers twitched—not from nerves, but because his autonomic nervous system had already calculated seventeen optimal throwing trajectories based on wind resistance, gravitational pull, and the disturbing number of classmates currently holding their breath.

"Y-yes sir!" Izuku yelped in attention, his Deluxe Edition voice cracking like a cello string. The softball slipped through his fingers—only to be caught mid-air by his autonomic reflexes—his upgraded trapezius muscles flexing in a way that made three girls gasp and one boy drop his water bottle.

"In your junior high, what was your best result for the softball throw?" Aizawa's deadpan voice and question cut through the tension like a scalpel.

Izuku's Deluxe Edition fingers twitched—not from nerves, but because his autonomic nervous system had already calculated seventeen optimal throwing trajectories based on wind resistance, gravitational pull, and the disturbing number of classmates currently holding their breath.

"37 meters, sir!" he squeaked—his upgraded vocal cords somehow making even that sound like a pop idol hitting a high note. The softball rolled from Aizawa's palm with the lethargy of a dying star. Izuku's Deluxe Edition fingers twitched—not from nerves, but because his autonomic nervous system had already calculated seventeen optimal throwing trajectories based on wind resistance, gravitational pull, and the disturbing number of classmates currently holding their breath.

"Now try with your Quirk." Aizawa's scarf fluttered as he stepped back. "Stay in the circle."

Izuku's enhanced knees locked. *This* was why his original body had been hyperventilating into a paper bag last night. One For All still crackled through him like a live wire—unpredictable, explosive. His upgraded palms were sweating diamond-shaped droplets蜻 perfectly symmetrical, absurdly aesthetic.

"Uh," he said intelligently.

The softball slipped from his fingers again.

Katsuki's scoff sounded like a grenade pin being pulled. "The fuck you waiting unleashed, ya oversized extra!? A fucking invitation?!"

Izuku's autonomic reflexes kicked in—his Deluxe Edition spine arched into a hero pose straight off a billboard, glowing with the kind of radiant health that made photosynthesis jealous. The softball balanced perfectly between his fingers, his upgraded sweat glands producing diamond-shaped droplets that refracted sunlight into accidental rainbows across the field.

He bot ready to through the ball, quirk activating, and his body already beginning to strain under it and—

He heard a quirk activate.

And then he blacked out yet again.

And woke right back up in his bed once more in his original body.

"O-oh f-fuck—" Izuku's original body shot upright in bed with all the elegance of a startled jellyfish, limbs flailing as he tangled himself in All Might-themed bedsheets. His freckled face collided with a poorly placed All Might figurine on the nightstand. "E-Everyone saw me black out! They saw—he saw—" His whisper-shriek scaled octaves higher as he hyperventilated into his own palms, fingers digging into his cheeks hard enough to leave moon-shaped indents.

Meanwhile back at U.A. High, it was safe to say everyone was confused—especially Katsuki Bakugou, whose left eye had developed a concerning twitch.

"Did he just... pass out?" Kirishima whispered, pointing at Izuku's towering Deluxe Edition form—which was now laying on the ground like a fallen Greek statue, one sculpted hand still clutching the softball mid-throw. His golden-green hair fanned out dramatically, eyelashes casting shadows sharper than Katsuki's temper.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!" Katsuki's scream atomized three nearby sparrows. His palms sparked like a malfunctioning fireworks Britney Spears concert.

Aizawa Shota didn't want to admit it but he agreed with Katsuki Bakugo, he wanted to teach a lesson on the fact that the first place examinee had injured himself for no reason in the exam.

Never had him using his Erasure quirk made someone else black out like that, like he simply was turned off and de-powered.

Honestly Izuku Midoriya confused him already in general, when he saw his profile; Tall, easy on the eyes (apparently he had a growth spurt since his original height had him at five foot six), powerful quirk, and had scored the highest in the Entrance Exam—a mere ninety-nine points.

He expected to have to deal with someone full of themselves, someone cocky, someone proud, someone swearing up and down that they were the next All Might—but not *this.*

Aizawa Shouta stared down at the unconscious—*ridiculously* unconscious—form of Midoriya Izuku, his sculpted jaw slack, his unfairly symmetrical eyelashes fluttering as if he were starring in some tragic shoujo manga death scene. The softball remained clasped in his hand like an artifact of divine comedy.

Simply put, Izuku Midoriya was the exact opposite of what he expected.

Aizawa Shota had seen his fair share of prodigies—arrogant kids who thought their Quirks made them invincible, who strutted around like they already owned the title of "hero." But Midoriya? Midoriya was... strange.

He stammered, he constantly leaned over to make himself seem smaller than he actually was, his quirk hurt him when he used it, and he was almost constantly mumbling about something.

And that still didn't answer why he blacked out, and still was when his quirk was deactivated.

He walked up to Midoriya and used his scarf to slap him awake.

"Midoriya."

Izuku's Deluxe Edition body spasmed violently—legs kicking out in a perfect ballet arch, golden-green hair cascading like a shampoo commercial—before his upgraded eyelids fluttered open. A single diamond-shaped tear rolled down his cheekbone. It refracted sunlight directly into Aizawa's retinas with the precision of a tactical laser.

"Y-yes sir?! I’m awake?!" His voice cracked mid-sentence, the acoustics somehow making it echo across the field like a bad voiceover in a nature documentary. Izuku’s Deluxe Edition form scrambled upright with the elegance of a startled deer—if deer had biceps that could make Michelangelo’s David weep. The softball rolled from his palm with a tragic thud.

Aizawa’s scarf twitched like a displeased serpent. "Explain. Now."

"U-um! So! You see—" Izuku’s upgraded hands flailed in syncopated jazz hands. His autonomic reflexes manifested as accidental poses straight from All Might’s Agency brochures—biceps flexing, hair catching sunlight at mathematically perfect angles. Nearby, Mineta’s nose started bleeding just from witnessing the collateral hotness. "It’s—my Quirk has a, uh,... well honestly sir, I don't really know why...?"

Aizawa just sighed at that, this was going to be a very long year,... "Fine, but you're going to be tested later." He helped Midoriya up and turned to the class, "Now then. Throw."

Izuku was thrown into a panic, he couldn't control One For All without spraining! But, then he remembered what All Might told him: focus the power into one part of his body—just one finger—that would minimize the injury while maximizing the power!

Izuku took a deep breath and wound up his throw, focusing all of One For All into his index finger—he could feel the power surging through him—just a little more—and then—!

***CRACK.***

A deafening explosion ripped through the air as the softball launched like a bullet, trailing emerald lightning. Everyone instinctively ducked—except Katsuki, who stood frozen, his eyes widening in disbelief as the ball *just kept fucking going.*

"Uncountable meters," Aizawa muttered, lowering his distance tracker. His scarf twitched as the weather began to change from the throw.

The silence that followed Izuku's throw wasn't just silence—it was the kind of quiet that made atoms question their life choices. Even the wind held its breath, watching the softball shrink into a green-tinged speck against the blue sky. Then—

**CRACK.**

Not from the ball. From Katsuki's left eye twitch.

"WHAT," he enunciated slowly, with the precision of a nuclear warhead being armed, "THE ACTUAL FUCK."

Izuku's Deluxe Edition form stood frozen mid-follow-through, his sculpted arm still extended from the throw like a Renaissance statue of Apollo caught mid-divine tantrum. The diamond-shaped sweat droplets on his forehead refracted sunlight into accidental disco lights across the field. Inside his head, eighteen different panic threads unraveled simultaneously:

*1) Did I just break the sound barrier with a softball?!

2) Why is Kacchan's left eyebrow doing the Macarena?!

3) I think I just heard the short purple guy faint—oh no he's foaming at the mouth—*

Izuku's mental spreadsheet crashed harder than Windows 98 as his Deluxe Edition body remained frozen mid-throw, fingers still curled around the now-absent softball like a bad freeze-frame. The silence lasted exactly 1.8 seconds—precisely how long it took Katsuki's left eyebrow to ascend to stratospheric heights usually reserved for All Might's hairline.

"UNCOUNTABLE METERS?!" Katsuki's voice cracked with the fury of a thousand suns going supernova simultaneously. His palms popped with tiny explosions that somehow conveyed more raw emotion than most Shakespearean monologues. "WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT QUIRK JUST—JUST—" He gestured wildly at the still-smoking trajectory path in the air, where birds were now actively changing flight paths to avoid the residual emerald lightning.

Izuku.exe attempted to reboot. His upgraded vocal cords produced a sound somewhere between a deflating económ and a dial-up modem.

"FUCK THIS SHIT! I'M SO GOING NEXT!"

Chapter Text

Katsuki Bakugo got the next ball (there was twenty in all, one for each student), 'If that giant extra can do it so can I! I'll add a blast to the pitch, "DIE!"

"Die...?" Everyone else whispered in concern to some level.

And with that Katsuki Bakugo threw the softball with all his might, adding an explosion at the end to propel it forward—it soared through the air, leaving a trail of smoke behind it. 'That's got to be more than Deku's throw!' He thought smugly, only for his face to fall as Aizawa-sensei announced, "705.2 meters."

SUMMARY^1: Katsuki’s explosive throw falls significantly short of Izuku’s record-breaking attempt, fueling his rage despite surpassing normal human limits. His competitive fury contrasts sharply with the class’s nervous whispers, while Izuku remains frozen in stunned silence—his body still mid-pose from the throw that redefined U.A.’s athletic standards.

"ONLY SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIVE POINT TWO FUCKING METERS?!" Katsuki's voice cracked like a teenager going through puberty, his palms popping off sparks that singed his own eyebrows.

"Still, this looks fun! We can finally use our Quirks as much as we want! As expected from U.A High's hero course!" Mina beemed, bouncing on her toes with excitement.

Izuku—now standing awkwardly with both hands clasped behind his back—felt sweat drip down his temple as he watched Katsuki's eye twitch violently in his direction. His autonomic reflexes had already kicked in, subtly adjusting his posture into something effortlessly elegant—something that made Momo unconsciously smooth her own uniform collar in comparison.

Aizawa Shoto nearly laughed, but he settled on just smiling like a maniac, "'It looks fun,' huh? You all have three years to become a hero. Do you truly think that you will have an attitude like that the whole time?" He started dry giggling, "All right then... For 'fun', how about whoever comes in last place in all eight tests will be judged to have no potential and will be punished with expulsion from U.A. High."

The entire class froze.

Izuku Midoriya felt his Deluxe Edition body freeze autonomously, his enhanced reflexes locking up like a deer in headlights—which was unfortunate, because Katsuki Bakugo was currently staring at him with the intensity of a predator who’d just spotted his prey twitch.

"Huh?!"

"EXPELLED?!" shrieked Mina Ashido, her pink skin nearly flushing neon, "Punished with expulsion?!"

Izuku's autonomic nervous system—now permanently tuned to 'soap opera protagonist'—had him dramatically clutch his chest, golden-green lightning flickering through his immaculate uniform. His Deluxe Edition jawline could've cut glass as it trembled. "N-Not expelled...!"

'Oh no... This could be bad... In all eight tests? I can only use One For All at either a hundred or zero percent. I can't control it yet without spraining, and that's only in short bursts...' Izuku thought as his Deluxe Edition form stood frozen like a Greek statue—the kind that made tourists faint upon seeing it.

His autonomic system had already arranged his Deluxe Edition posture into something resembling a Renaissance painting—shoulders angled just so, biceps flexing at mathematically perfect intervals, sweat glistening like special effects in a shoujo anime. Which would've been fine if Katsuki wasn't currently vibrating with enough rage to power a small city.

Aizawa then continued, conviently after Izuku began panicking, "You see kids, we teachers are completely free to do what we want about the circumstances of our students. And with that, I welcome all of to U.A. High's hero course! But first, a huge test on your first day of school!"

Izuku Midoriya's enhanced body did not react well to stress—something his autonomic nervous system was currently demonstrating by making his Deluxe Edition form sparkle faintly under the fluorescent lights like a discount vampire from a teen romance novel, 'What am I going to do?! Last place will be expelled?! But it's the first day of school! No, even if it wasn't the first day of school, this is too unfair! What if my body can't take using One For All for that long!?'

"You see kids, natural disasters, big accidents, and selfish villains. Calamities whose time or place can't be predicted. Japan and the wider world as a whole is covered with unfairness. Heroes are the ones who usually reverse those situations. If you wanted to go talk with your friends at Mickey D's after school, too bad. Because for the next three years, U.A. will do all it can to give you one hardship after another. S at least try to 'Go Beyond. Plus Ultra, can you?Overcome it with all you have got."

Izuku was starting to (relatively) calm down, 'This is far too serious to be simple hazing. However, this is the best of the best. And so, I have no choice but to do it! This isn't all I've got. No yet!'

Unbeknownst to Izuku Midoriya, he loudly mumbled that last part...

"All right then, demonstration's over. The real thing starts now. On your mark... Get set... GO!!!"

And so the twenty of them were all off...

First (or well second after the Softball Throw) was the meter race;

'For meters, I can only go up to third gear...' Tenya Iida realized as he couldn't go full speed.

'I've got to lighten up my clothes and shoes so they don't slow me down!'

'If I shoot for more than a second, I get a stomachache...'

"EXPLOSIVE AS FUCK SPEED GO!" 'When I use both hands, the force disperses a little...'

'There are seven more tests. I'm sure everyone will use their Quirks to produce some extraordinary results. On the other hand, I have this power that will bruise my body if I use it once, and it already kind of is. I need control... Control... Even if I have the image in my head, when I have to actually use it... The trick to controlling... it is... feeling!' Izuku thought as his Deluxe Edition form stood at the starting line, his autonomic nervous system having already positioned him into a textbook-perfect runner's stance—the kind that made Olympic coaches weep with envy. Which would've been fine if his brain wasn't currently screaming like a tea kettle left on too long.

The starting pistol fired.

Izuku's autonomic reflexes launched him forward like a coiled spring—his Deluxe Edition form cutting through the air with aerodynamic precision that defied physics. Halfway through the sprint, his conscious mind finally caught up to his body's actions and promptly blue-screened as his legs began to sprain from using One For All at full output (not that he had any control over that)

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH—wait I'm winning?! WAIT HOW AM I WINNING?!" His scream echoed across the track as he crossed the finish line in 3.02 seconds—just 0.3 seconds faster than Iida's Quirk-assisted dash—before his legs gave out entirely. He faceplanted into the dirt with all the grace of a falling redwood tree, his autonomic system having prioritized speed over structural integrity.

Aizawa blinked once. Twice. Then sighed into his capture scarf as Recovery Girl's distant scream of "AGAIN?!" carried from the infirmary window.

Izuku barely managed to get up, because of his quick speed his face was actually more injured than his legs. Yet even with that, his face still looked handsome as ever. Some of the girls and boys around him couldn't help but stare, whispering to each other about how cool he looked even when he was flailing.

"It's not fucking fair...!" Minoru Mineta whinned seeing some of the girls (and ignoring the boys) still staring at Izuku as Recovery Girl walked over to heal him, "He's got the looks, the quirk, the height, the muscles—why couldn't I have been born like that?!"

Izuku didn't hear any of that. He was way too busy internally screaming as he was kissed by Recovery Girl again.

'What has my life become at this point...' was all one Izuku Midoriya could think at this moment as he lay sprawled out on the dirt track like some sort of discarded Greek statue as always, 'I wanted to be a hero since I figured out what they were, I realized I didn't have a quirk, I got attacked by the Sludge Villain, All Might crushed my dreams, I still went after him, I still tried to save Kacchan, All Might told me I could be a hero, I trained my butt off to get One For All, and just before I get One For All, it turns out I had a quirk the entire time that gave me a second body that somehow looks like a romance novel protagonist?!'

"Midoriya, are you alive or do I need to get Recovery Girl again?" Aizawa asked, looking down at the boy.

Izuku shot up like a startled deer, his autonomic reflexes making him stand in perfect posture instantly before his conscious mind caught up, "H-Hai, Aizawa-sensei!"

"Then stop lying around and get ready for the next test," Aizawa said flatly before turning away and walking off.

Izuku internally sighed, 'At least he didn't threaten to expel me again...' And so he got up, ready to start slowly walking to the next test...

Chapter Text

"Okay, I'll just quickly tell you all the results you got. The total is simply the entity of marks you got from each test. It's a waste of time to explain verbally, so I'll show you the results all at once." Aizawa said with his usual monotone voice.

Izuku gulped as he saw the holographic screen appear in front of them all. He didn't do well in most tests, his fingers still throbbing from the ball throw. His autonomic reflexes had saved him from complete embarrassment, but—

"Midoriya..." Aizawa's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife.

Izuku's spine straightened instantly, his autonomic response kicking in before his brain could process the terror. "Y-Yes, Aizawa-sensei?!"

"You placed first place, congratulations."

The words left Aizawa's mouth like a lead balloon. Izuku blinked—once, twice—his autonomic reflexes keeping his jaw from dropping, but his mind short-circuited entirely. First? *First?!* That couldn’t be right. He’d face-planted into the dirt halfway through the sprint, his fingers were still swollen sausages from the ball throw, and he was *fairly* certain he’d accidentally somersaulted during the sit-ups because his stupid autonomic reflexes had misread "flexibility test" as "gymnastics routine."

Katsuki’s explosion quirk popped off next to him—literally. "WHAT THE HELL, YOU OVERSIZED EXTRA?!" The sound was less a question and more a declaration of war, complete with crackling palms and a vein throbbing in his forehead.

Meanwhile the last place was bawling his eyes out as he wiped his nose on his sleeve, "W-What?! No, no, no—I can't be expelled on the FIRST DAY!"

Aizawa blinked, slow and unimpressed. "Mineta, I literally just said the expulsion threat was a lie, I just wanted you all to push yourselves to your limits."

Mineta paused mid-sniffle. "...So I'm not expelled?"

"No."

"...And my dignity?"

"It seems to be long since gone."

Izuku, meanwhile, was still trying to reboot his brain.

He got first place.

First fucking *place*.

The words ricocheted inside Izuku’s skull like a pinball made of pure panic. His autonomic reflexes kept his face perfectly neutral—chiseled jawline relaxed, sculpted brows slightly raised in polite confusion—while internally, his thoughts were a nuclear meltdown. *How?! I face-planted! I exploded my own fingers! I did the sit-ups like a drunk circus acrobat!*

Katsuki’s hands sparked again, the smell of burnt sugar thick in the air. "The hell kinda bullshit scoring is this?! That damn nerd’s Quirk is *glitching*, not winning!" His voice cracked on the last word, which only made him angrier.

Meanwhile, Mineta had transitioned from sobbing to suspiciously eyeing Izuku’s biceps, which were currently straining against his gym uniform sleeves like overstuffed dumplings. "Dude, what’s your workout routine? Is it, like, illegal? Can I do it?"

Izuku opened his mouth—to apologize? Explain? Spontaneously combust?—when Uraraka materialized at his elbow like a cheerful ghost. "Wow, Izuku! First place is *crazy*!" She beamed up at him, and Izuku’s autonomic reflexes kicked in again, flashing her a smile so dazzling it should’ve come with a sunglasses warning.

"T-Thanks!" he squeaked, voice an octave higher than intended. His second body’s vocal cords were smoother, deeper—meant for confident proclamations, not rodent-like squeaking—but trauma overrode genetics.

Aizawa sighed, long-suffering. "Moving on. Tomorrow’s combat training will be indoors. Villains versus heroes. Try not to destroy the building—or each other." His gaze lingered on Katsuki, whose palms were still smoking. "Especially you, Bakugou."

Izuku’s autonomic reflexes snapped him into a textbook-perfect bow. "Y-Yes, sensei!" His enhanced physique made the motion effortlessly elegant—like a ballet dancer mid-performance—while his actual brain short-circuited over the logistics. *Wait, combat training? With* teams? *What if I accidentally punt Kacchan through a wall?!*

Katsuki, meanwhile, was vibrating with barely contained rage. "Tch. Whatever. Just put me against *him*." He jabbed a finger at Izuku, whose autonomic reflexes smoothly sidestepped—leaving Katsuki pointing at Mineta instead.

The tiny grape-haired boy blinked.

"Uh. Sup?"

Izuku and the others went back to the locker rooms to change back and go back home.

"Midoriya."

Izuku turned around to see Iida approaching him with a stern look on his face.

"Y-Yes?" Izuku stammered, his autonomic reflexes making him stand up straighter while his brain screamed *Why does Iida always look so serious?! Did I do something wrong?!*

"I noticed something peculiar," Iida said, adjusting his glasses. "Your performance today was... inconsistent. At times, you moved with flawless precision, and other times, you seemed completely unaware of your own limbs."

Izuku’s autonomic reflexes straightened his posture further—chin up, shoulders back, the very image of effortless confidence—while internally, his thoughts spiraled into panic. *Why is Iida scrutinizing me like I’m a malfunctioning robot?! Did my left leg twitch weirdly during the sprint?!* His enhanced body, sculpted and radiant under the gym lights, betrayed none of his turmoil.

"Still bro, your quirk was so awesome and manly out there!" Kirishima's shouted across the locker room, flashing a sharp-toothed grin while vigorously toweling off his spiky red hair. His gaze lingered on Izuku's enhanced physique—the way his uniform clung just right to broad shoulders, the effortless grace as he adjusted his tie—before adding, "Seriously, you gotta teach me those moves sometime!"

Izuku's autonomic reflexes responded with a photogenic smile, one hand casually brushing through his flawlessly curly hair, while internally he short-circuited. *Why am I always the center of attention?! This is worse than the time my pants got vacuum-sealed during the agility test!* Kirishima's admiration—and the way half the locker room was subtly glancing at his abs—made his ears burn hotter than Katsuki’s explosions.

"Th-Thanks, man!" he stammered, his enhanced voice naturally resonant, like a disgraced prince in a daytime drama. His second body’s sheer charisma betrayed him again—even his *nervous laughter* sounded like a J-pop idol’s greeting. Across the room, Katsuki slammed his locker shut so hard the metal dented.

"Still it's not fair, you're already getting all the girls without even trying!" Kaminari whined, shaking Izuku by the shoulders as Mineta nodded in agreement with him.

"G-getting g-girls?!" Izuku squeaked, his enhanced vocal cords somehow making even his panic sound like a radio-friendly ballad. His second body's autonomic reflexes kicked in—one hand sweeping his flawlessly tousled hair back while the other clutched his chest in panic, "I-I've never even held hands romantically unless you count that time Recovery Girl took my pulse with both hands after I exploded nearly my femur during—"

"How can you be so blind at our age man?! Look at yourself!" Kaminari gestured wildly at Izuku's reflection in the locker room mirror—where his second body's stupidly perfect bone structure caught the fluorescent light at just the right angle to make his panicked expression look like a magazine cover titled *Anxiety Chic*. "You're literally glowing. Like, physically. Is that a Quirk thing or do you just moisturize with liquid gold?!"

Izuku's autonomic reflexes chose that moment to flip his sweat-damp hair in a way that sent droplets sparkling through the air like a shampoo commercial. "I-I use the same 600-yen drugstore brand as everyone else—*ah!*" His attempt to cover his face only resulted in his sleeve riding up to showcase forearms that looked sculpted by some deity with a vendetta against his social life.

Behind them, Mineta whimpered into his own type of action, "All my life girls have told me that I'm just a short and ugly weirdo with a just as weird quirk... and now I'm finally at U.A. High and I'm STILL losing to a guy who's hotter than me!" He dramatically collapsed onto his knees, even further.

Katsuki looked down at him with a snarl. "Shut the hell up, grape stain!"

"Bakugo, language! This is a school—" Iida's robotic reprimand died in his throat as Katsuki kicked a locker hard enough to leave a dent shaped like his temper. The metallic *clang* echoed through the changing room, punctuated by Mineta's whimper as he clutched his grape-like balls in sympathetic terror.

Safe to say Izuku Midoriya began dressing faster...

Soon he was back at the gates of U.A. High, "Hey! You two!"

Izuku's autonomic reflexes kicked in before his brain could process the voice—his taller body pivoting with the effortless grace of a martial arts demo reel, sending his uniform jacket flaring dramatically. The motion accidentally smacked Iida in the face with the sleeve.

"Apologies! My limbs are treasonous today!" Izuku squeaked, bowing so fast his forehead nearly collided with his kneecaps.

Uraraka giggled behind her hand. "Midoriya, you're like a windmill made of anxiety."

A sneaker squeaked against polished linoleum—the sound of Izuku Midoriya’s autonomic reflexes betraying him again. His enhanced body had just executed a flawless sidestep to avoid colliding with a third-year student.

"Anyways, I'm Uraraka Ochako. U-um, you're Iida Tenya, and you're Midoriya Izuku, right?" The girl with the rosy cheeks tilted her head, her fingers tapping together nervously.

Izuku froze mid-step—his autonomic reflexes kicking in before his brain could catch up—and pivoted sharply, accidentally launching his bento box into the stratosphere before looking back down at the two of them. "A-ah! Y-yes! That's me!" he stammered, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly kissed the pavement.

"Well our first day was... interesting," Uraraka chirped, swinging her arms as they walked toward the station. The setting sun cast golden streaks across U.A. High's towering gates—gates Izuku had dreamed of passing through his entire life, though he'd never imagined doing it with *two bodies* and barely any control over a quirk given to him by All Might himself.

Life was weird like that it seems.

Soon they had to go there separate ways and Izuku was alone walking back home, he was nervous about tomorrow's combat training, but his thoughts were interrupted by a loud booming voice. "OVERSIZED EXTRA!"

Izuku's autonomic reflexes had him pivoting smoothly—too smoothly—his second body's stupidly perfect posture making the motion look choreographed. Which, of course, meant his actual brain was five seconds behind, still processing the fact that Katsuki Bakugou had just materialized behind him like a grenade with legs.

"K-Kacc-Katsuki?!" Izuku squeaked, barely correcting himself in time—his autonomic reflexes making his taller frame stiffen into something resembling a startled giraffe mid-sneeze. His second body's stupidly perfect jawline clenched visibly, which only made Katsuki's eye twitch harder.

Smoke curled from Katsuki's palms as he stomped forward, his voice dropping to a growl that could curdle milk. "The hell kinda game you playing? What are you doing here?" He jabbed a finger at Izuku's chest—or tried to, except the angle was wrong now, his fingertip bouncing off the solar plexus of someone suddenly taller than him. Katsuki's eye twitched violently.

Izuku's autonomic reflexes made him straighten like a soldier at inspection—chin lifted, shoulders squared—while internally he was a screaming firework of panic. His second body's stupidly perfect posture made him look arrogant instead of terrified, which was objectively the worst possible outcome when facing down an explosive human grenade.

Then he realized why Kacchan stopped him.

He was going to his house.

In his second body.

When as far as Kacchan was supposed to know he was just somebody else named Izuku Midoriya...

Fuuuuccccckkkkk.

"O-oh I-I I'm just visiting a family member?" Izuku squeaked—his autonomic reflexes making his taller body lean back smoothly in perfect evasion, while his actual brain short-circuited. Katsuki’s nostrils flared like a bull spotting red.

The one problem?

His second body’s stupidly perfect voice made it sound like a *question* instead of a lie, which—objectively—was the worst possible tone when lying to a human lie detector wired with nitroglycerin sweat.

Katsuki’s palm sparked with a sound like popping bubble wrap, his glare sharp enough to puncture steel. "Family member? The *fuck* you mean, ‘family member’? You think I don’t know every God damn extra in this neighborhood?" His teeth ground audibly as Izuku’s autonomic reflexes—damn them—made his taller body tilt its head slightly, like a confused golden retriever.

"Uhhh..."

Chapter Text

The sunlight caught his jawline at an angle that made two passing girls on the sidewalk clutch each other and squeak.

Katsuki’s eye twitched again—harder this time, like his entire face was trying to reboot. The girls on the sidewalk were now openly filming Izuku’s second body with whispered screams of *"Is that a new hero?!"* and *"His jawline could cut steel!"*—which was objectively the worst possible audience for this conversation. Izuku’s autonomic reflexes made his taller form blink slowly, lashes casting delicate shadows, while his actual brain screamed incoherently in the void.

"Listen here, Deku, I know it's you," Katsuki snarled, stepping forward—only for Izuku's autonomic reflexes to swing his second body's arm up in a flawless, accidental hero pose. The motion sent his sleeve fluttering dramatically, revealing a forearm so sculpted it made Katsuki involuntarily hesitate.

"W-who's D-deku? I'm—uh—just also Izuku Midoriya! Izuku's... cousin? Our dads are brothers?" The lie tumbled out of Izuku's second body in a smooth baritone that somehow made the girls filming them gasp louder. His autonomic reflexes chose that exact moment to flip his hair—just once—in a way that sent sunlight scattering dramatically across his perfect cheekbones. One of the girls fainted. The other started sobbing into her phone about "sculpted Greek tragedy vibes."

Katsuki's left eyelid developed a full-body twitch. "Bull. *Shit.* Deku." His fingers flexed, sweat popping audibly between them. The fangirls' phones clicked like a swarm of deranged cicadas—each flash capturing Izuku's autonomic reflexes forcing his second body into a series of magazine-cover poses. His taller form leaned casually against a lamp post (graceful), flipped hair from his eyes (artful), then somehow managed to catch a falling cherry blossom petal between two fingers (absurdly cinematic).

"Ah—! That's not—!" Izuku's real voice squeaked internally while his second body's flawless vocal cords hummed, "Hm?" at a pitch that made nearby pigeons coo in unison. His autonomic reflexes chose that moment to roll up his sleeves—revealing forearms so unfairly sculpted that Katsuki's own tendons visibly spasmed in protest.

"Do you think I'm a fucking dumbass Deku?!" Katsuki snarled, sparks crackling between his fingers as the fangirls' camera flashes turned the alley into a strobe-lit nightmare. Izuku's autonomic reflexes chose that exact moment to flex his second body's pectorals—which rippled visibly through the suddenly too-tight school uniform.

Three more girls collapsed against the chain-link fence. One whispered "holy grail thighs" before passing out entirely.

Inside his own skull, Izuku Midoriya was screaming. His second body—currently posing mid-stride like a runway model caught in a wind machine—had just autographed a girl's notebook with "All Might Jr." in perfect cursive. The girl fainted before the pen even left the paper. Katsuki's expression suggested he might start breathing fire.

"Okay," Izuku's second body said smoothly—completely without his permission—as another student snapped a photo that would later go viral under #UAHigh'sGreekGod. "Let's both just—"

"Let's both just nothing Deku" Katsuki's hands clamped around Izuku's second body's throat—except his autonomic reflexes made his taller form's neck muscles flex so dramatically that Katsuki's fingers slipped right off. A stray camera flash immortalized the moment Izuku's adam's apple glistened under afternoon sunlight like a sculpted marble. Someone in the growing crowd whispered "holy trachea."

"K-Kacchan—!" The sound came out as a velvety baritone rasp as Katsuki's eye twitched so hard it audibly creaked. "You don't get to call me that with *that* face." He swung a right hook—Izuku's autonomic reflexes ducked with balletic grace, his taller body's hair fluttering in slow motion like a shampoo commercial.

The alleyway had officially become a crime scene. Izuku's second body rolled mid-air—unbidden—landing in a perfect three-point stance that made his uniform sleeves burst at the seams. Katsuki's punch hit the brick wall instead, cracking mortar as Izuku's autonomic nervous system chose that exact moment to flip his sweat-damp biceps into cinematic slow-motion.

"Who the *hell* taught you parkour, Deku?" Katsuki spat, but the crowd forming at the alley's entrance wasn't listening. Phones flashed as Izuku's taller form inadvertently arched his back against a dumpster—his pecs straining against the gakuran buttons in what photographers would later call "The Shot of the Decade."

'How am I fighting so well?!' Izuku's panicked scream was trapped inside his throat as he continued on autopilot—his second body pirouetting away from Katsuki's explosions with the effortless grace of a figure skater. His cheeks burned scarlet beneath flawless skin, freckle-free and glowing under the afternoon sun like some unholy cross between a romance novel cover and All Might's dental commercial.

"T-that's not me! I mean—it IS me, but not voluntarily!" Izuku squeaked from his original body currently asleep in his house, while his second body's autonomic reflexes sent him into a perfect backflip over Katsuki's explosion—his uniform jacket billowing open to reveal abs so sculpted they made the gathering crowd collectively wheeze.

Katsuki's fist froze mid-swing—not because Izuku dodged (again), but because his second body's autonomic reflexes chose that exact moment to sneeze. Not a normal sneeze. A cinematic, slow-motion sneeze where sunlight refracted through airborne droplets like diamond dust, his eyelashes fluttering against unfairly high cheekbones in 4K resolution. Three more students fainted. Someone's phone recorded the sound—a delicate "chu!"—which would later trend as the #ASMRTriggerOfTheYear.

"W-wait, Kacchan, I swear I didn’t mean to—!" Izuku's second body yelped—velvet baritone cracking mid-sentence as his autonomic reflexes executed a textbook-perfect judo throw. The movement was so fluid, so *heroic*, that Katsuki Bakugou went airborne in a perfect 360-degree arc before faceplanting into a conveniently placed pile of discarded gym recruitment pamphlets.

The glossy knock off All Might brochures softened the impact just enough for Katsuki to bounce—once—before rolling onto his back, his uniform jacket singed and his ego shattered like tempered glass. Izuku's autonomic reflexes froze mid-heroic pose, his second body's sculpted fingers still outstretched from the accidental judo toss.

A single bead of sweat—artfully lit by the golden hour sun—rolled down Izuku's second body's temple as Katsuki groaned face-down in the pamphlets. The crowd's collective inhale sounded like a vacuum seal. Then, chaos:

"OHMYGOD HE KNOCKED OUT THE EXPLOSION GUY WITH ONE THROW—"

"THAT'S NOT A STUDENT THAT'S A SCULPTURE COME TO LIFE—"

"HE SNEEZED LIKE A DISNEY PRINCE AND THEN DID A BACKFLIP?!"

Izuku's autonomic reflexes chose this exact moment to kneel beside Katsuki with textbook-perfect first-aid form, his second body's hands hovering above Katsuki's shoulders in what bystanders would later describe as "a Michelangelo painting of concern."

As you can imagine, Izuku was panicking even more than he usually was—which was saying something, considering his default state was "perpetual existential crisis with extra tears." His original body was currently asleep back home, limbs tangled in All Might bedsheets, while his second body—taller, sculpted, and currently the unwilling star of an impromptu alleyway photoshoot—was moving entirely on autonomic reflex.

Izuku's second body blinked—slowly, dramatically—as another camera flash went off. The golden-hour sunlight caught his eyelashes at just the right angle to cast delicate shadows across his unfairly symmetrical cheekbones. Someone in the crowd whispered, "Is that a new pro hero?" while another muttered, "No way, that’s definitely a vampire."

Izuku's autonomic nervous system, completely detached from his conscious control, responded by adjusting his tie with a fluid motion that made his Adam’s apple bob in slow motion. The alleyway crowd gasped—some fainted. His second body’s fingers—long, tapered, and unfairly elegant—lingered near his collarbone in what fashion magazines would later call *The Most Photographed Neck Adjustment in History*.

Izuku them grabbed Katsuki's body.

And ran like hell, Katsuki held above him, as he went as fast as he could without using One For All.

Chapter Text

As I'm sure you readers can imagine, Izuku was freaking the fuck out. Like, seriously—his autonomic reflexes had just turned him into a fighting master and (besides being quirk target practice before the Sludge Villain Incident) he had never been in a fight before, much less through a punch, dodged a punch, or thrown someone before—but here he was, carrying Bakugou Katsuki while he was knocked out bridal style through the streets of Mustafu, his second body's sculpted arms effortlessly supporting Kacchan's weight while his brain short circuited like a malfunctioning toaster.

"WHATAMIDOINGWHATAMIDOINGWHATAMIDOING—" he whispered rapidly, his original body's freckled face subconsciously buried in his hands back in his bedroom, curled into the fetal position under his All Might comforter while still asleep.

Meanwhile, his second body—all sharp jawlines and effortless charisma—was currently standing in the middle of a rapidly forming crowd, holding Katsuki Bakugou like a disgruntled bride. A stray breeze ruffled his perfect hair. Someone in the crowd sighed dreamily. Another fainted dramatically into their friend’s arms. A third whipped out their phone to livestream the entire thing with the caption:

*IS THIS A NEW PRO HERO OR A ROMANCE MANGA PROTAGONIST?!*

Izuku’s autonomic reflexes, still fully offline from his brain’s meltdown, decided now was the perfect time to adjust Katsuki’s limp form into a more *aesthetically pleasing* position—one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back, Katsuki’s head lolling against Izuku’s unfairly sculpted collarbone. The crowd collectively swooned. Someone’s phone camera flash went off. Izuku’s second body, still running entirely on instinct, *smiled politely*—like a goddamn Disney prince—and began walking.

Where to? You may ask?

Izuku didn't know at first, but then he realized:

Kacchan's house.

Izuku’s autonomic reflexes had apparently memorized Katsuki’s address from sheer childhood trauma osmosis, because his second body was already turning the corner onto the Bakugou family’s street with the precision of a homing missile. The unconscious blond in his arms twitched—whether from the indignity or the scent of Izuku’s new body smell (he always smelled good when he sweated for some reason) was unclear.

The neighborhood aunties watering their hydrangeas froze mid-sprinkle, their hoses dripping forgotten puddles as they gaped at the spectacle: a towering, unfairly handsome stranger cradling the local explosive menace like a disgruntled bride. Izuku’s autonomic reflexes—completely divorced from his sleeping consciousness—smiled photogenically at Mrs. Mitsuki Bakugou as she opened the front door, her grocery bags hitting the porch with a muffled *thump*.

“Oh,” she said, blinking at the unconscious Katsuki draped in her son’s rival’s arms. Then, louder: *“Oh shit.”*

Izuku’s second body bowed smoothly—somehow making the motion looks like a magazine spread—before depositing Katsuki into his mother’s slack-jointed grip. “W-we had a fight and I accidentally k-knocked him out, I'm so sorry M-mrs. Bakugou,” he stammered, except his autonomic voice box made it sound like a suave confession in a rom-com. Mitsuki blinked, then squinted.

“Kid,” she said slowly, adjusting Katsuki’s dead weight in her arms, “you look like if All Might and a shampoo commercial had a baby. Who *are* you?”

Izuku’s autonomic reflexes responded before his panic could: a flawless, camera-ready smile. “Midoriya Izuku.”

Silence.

Mitsuki’s grocery bag rolled off the porch.

"Little 'Zuku?" Mitsuki Bakugou nearly whispered to Izuku's second body was standing now. The grocery bag's celery rolled pathetically against her sandal.

"Uh, well," he remembered what he told Katsuki, and decided to tell the same lie to his mother, "I'm actually his cousin from... Hosu."

"Huh, I didn't know Izuku had a cousin," Mitsuki muttered, adjusting Katsuki's limp form in her arms like a sack of particularly volatile potatoes. The unconscious boy twitched, his eyelid fluttering in what was either a concussion or a prelude to nuclear rage. Izuku's autonomic reflexes—still firmly in control—stepped forward to help, his photogenic biceps flexing under his borrowed shirt. Mitsuki's eyes lingered. Then narrowed.

Izuku's borrowed spine straightened—his taller frame towering unintentionally—as his actual consciousness screamed internally from wherever it had been shoved during this autonomic hijacking. "Well our dads were brothers who had a falling out and our family's recently just reconnected!"

Mitsuki just laughed, "I'll be honest, I thought your uncle was just a deadbeat who left Japan because his son was quirkless, guess I was wrong." She shifted Katsuki's weight, sniffing him once before wrinkling her nose. "Damn brat reeks like sweat and nitroglycerin—did you dunk him in a vat of his own quirk or something?"

Izuku's autonomic reflexes bowed politely at Mitsuki Bakugou—an elegant 15-degree angle straight out of a commercial for high-end department store etiquette—before his second body turned on its heel with runway-model precision. The crowd of neighbors erupted into applause.

Someone’s grandmother fainted.

Izuku was just going down a mental spiral, 'She really thinks that I'm Izuku's cousin. Does that mean I'll have to come up with a fake name for this body? What if someone asks for my ID? What if—Actually, she thinks my dad (who I have to now pretend is my uncle)... abandoned me because I was quirkless?' His autonomic reflexes—still fully in control—let out a perfect, photogenic sigh, the kind that belonged on the cover of a romance novel. A stray cherry blossom petal fluttered onto his shoulder.

Someone in the crowd gasped. Another whispered, *"He even sighs like a protagonist!"*

Meanwhile, in his original body, Izuku was still curled into a tight ball under his All Might blanket, muttering incoherently in his sleep. His freckled cheeks burned red as his subconscious replayed Katsuki’s earlier words: *"You damn nerd!"* His fingers twitched, gripping the blanket tighter at that part.

Meanwhile while Izuku was in his second body, he of course defended his father's honor despite it being technically himself.

"Um well actually I wouldn't say he was a deadbeat, he is just working abroad ma'am." Izuku's autonomic reflexes responded, his perfect posture and sculpted jawline making the lie sound like a noble sacrifice.

Mitsuki just paused then smiled, "Still, you managed to knock my dumbass son the fuck out—that's gotta count for something." Her grin was sharp, sharklike, as she leaned in. "So, kid. Where’d you learn to fight? Because Katsuki’s never lost a brawl before. Not once."

Izuku's autonomic reflexes—still in full control—flashed a dazzling, camera-ready smile. "Oh, uh, self-taught?" The lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly in his second body's deep, smooth voice, the kind that made cashiers accidentally hand him free samples. A passing cyclist swerved into a lamppost staring at him.

Mitsuki squinted. "Self fucking taught," she repeated flatly, crossing her arms. Behind her, Katsuki groaned into the pavement, twitching like a beetle flipped on its back. Izuku's autonomic body—unfazed—adjusted its collar with cinematic precision, the motion somehow making sunlight refract more attractively off his jawline.

"Young man," Mitsuki jabbed a finger at his pectorals, which flexed involuntarily in response, "you move like a goddamn shampoo commercial. Katsuki trains six hours a day at least. Nobody 'self teaches' that kinda—"

The autonomic body interrupted Mitsuki’s interrogation with yet another lie, "W-well it's just part of my quirk I guess?"—just as Katsuki’s twitching escalated into full-body explosions, singeing the pavement beneath him. His second body instinctively pivoted with the elegance of a martial arts demo reel, dodging the blast radius while somehow catching a stray grocery bag mid-air.

Mitsuki blinked.

The bag contained eggs.

None broke.

Somehow

Izuku’s autonomic reflexes then bowed—deep enough to be respectful, but angled just right for a stray sunbeam to highlight his unfairly symmetrical cheekbones—and Mitsuki’s eyebrow twitched. "Kid," she said, voice dangerously sweet, "I'll pay you to keep beating the hell out of my kid at this rate, he needs to be knocked out a few pegs honestly"

Meanwhile, Katsuki’s twitching escalated into full-body fireworks, sending a stray explosion toward the grocery bag still balanced perfectly atop Izuku’s autonomic form’s head.

The eggs inside jiggled mockingly.

"I-I'll have to decline your offer Mrs. Bakugou, and I must be going, I was meant to be visiting my cousin and aunt and,..." He thought for a moment, he would always be going back to the same house, and Kacchan would see him again eventually....

Then he got yet another idea.

Or well, another lie.

SUMMARY^1: Izuku’s autonomic body deflects Mitsuki’s interrogation with a quirk-based lie while dodging Katsuki’s explosions with cinematic grace—catching a grocery bag mid-air without breaking the eggs inside. Mitsuki offers payment for continued humiliation of her son just as Katsuki’s tantrum escalates into fireworks aimed at the still-balanced groceries. Izuku’s autonomic reflexes decline politely with protagonist-tier aesthetics before concocting another escape-plan lie.

"...As long as I'm at U.A. High I'm going to be living with them!" Izuku's autonomic body announced with the effortless charm of a shampoo commercial protagonist, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon as if summoning a fictional dormitory into existence. The grocery bag teetered precariously—eggs still intact—until his reflexes adjusted it with the precision of a circus juggler.

Mitsuki sighed, rubbing her temples as her son's Quirk finally calmed down, leaving scorch marks on the sidewalk. "You—" She jabbed a finger at Izuku's autonomic form, which stood frozen in a pose so effortlessly heroic that sunlight seemed to bend around him like a spotlight. "—are *so* full of shit. I know for a fucking fact it's you 'Zuku."

The autonomic body blinked, its eyelashes casting shadows sharp enough to cut glass. "I—um."

A pause.

Then, with the grace of a deer realizing it’s being hunted, he conceded defeat. "I—uh—" Izuku's autonomic body stammered, its magazine-cover jawline twitching, "—Y-yeah, but p-please don't tell Kacchan? He’ll literally explode me into orbit." The admission came out so fast it sounded like a malfunctioning voice actor. Mitsuki smirked, cracking her knuckles with the glee of someone about to weaponize blackmail for the next three years.

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya continued to stare down (the perspective change between his two bodies was still throwing him off) at Mitsuki Bakugo with the kind of deer-in-headlights horror usually reserved for hostage situations. His autonomic body—currently holding the grocery bag with the effortless poise of a Michelin-star waiter—twitched under her knowing smirk. The eggs inside remained unharmed.

Somehow.

"I-You know I-It's me?" The autonomic Izuku squeaked, his magazine-cover jawline twitching like a malfunctioning animatronic. His taller form—currently holding Mitsuki's groceries with the effortless grace of a runway model—suddenly hunched into a posture so comically Midoriya-like that three passing salary women gasped at the "tragic loss of aesthetic perfection." One fainted directly into a convenience store display of Pocari Sweat.

Mitsuki snorted, flicking Izuku's autonomic forehead with a precision Katsuki had clearly inherited. "Kid, you're the only nerd who stutters in like that. Also—" She gestured at his towering form currently cradling her groceries like a newborn, "—your 'calm cool and chill guy' act vanishes the second you panic. Which is always."

The autonomic Izuku's jaw dropped in perfect synchronization with the original Izuku jolting awake back home—sweating through his All Might pajamas as if he'd run a marathon. His pillow was halfway across the room, victim of another unconscious reflex from ten months of training.

"You—You still won't tell Kac-Kacchan though right?!" The autonomic Izuku whisper-screamed, his magazine-perfect eyebrows twitching asymmetrically in panic as Mitsuki calmly plucked her groceries from his Michelangelo-sculpture arms. A passing cyclist swerved into a lamppost, too distracted by the sight of Japan's most beautiful fifteen year old high schooler.

"Relax Izuku, I know it's not in your vocabulary but relax," Mitsuki Bakugo drawled, rolling her eyes, "But as much as my brat is a pain in the ass, he isn't a dumbass, he will connect the dots, but I won't ruin this for you myself." She leaned in, flicking the autonomic Izuku's forehead—an action that sent his perfect posture into a full-body flinch, knees knocking together audibly.

"W-well he already has k-kinda catches on..." The autonomic Izuku stammered as always, "B-but maybe you could lie to him for me? Please I would be so thankful?!" He begged, but his autonomic body leaned forward slightly, its golden-green eyes gleaming for mercy.

Mitsuki grinned—a predatory flash of teeth that would make lesser men whimper—and ruffled his autonomic form's perfect hair. It immediately bounced back into immaculate waves, because of course it did. "Kid, I've been lying to that brat about bigger shit than this for years! So yeah kid, I'll help ya. But—" She jabbed a finger into his autonomic chest, watching with satisfaction as his sculpted torso tensed like marble under siege. "You're gonna owe me. Big time."

The autonomic Izuku blinked—slow, golden lashes fluttering like a disoriented butterfly—before his brain caught up. "A-anything! I'll do anything! Just please don't tell Kacchan—" His autonomic voice cracked mid-plea, somehow still melodic.

Mitsuki snorted. "Relax Little 'Zuku, I won't tell the brat." Her grin turned wicked as she leaned against the lamppost—the same one currently hosting a dazed cyclist who'd crashed while gawking at Izuku's autonomic form. "But I *will* enjoy watching him lose his damn mind trying to figure out why 'some pretty boy extras' keeps stealing his spotlight, consider that your payment, beating his sorry ass!" She leaned up and ruffled his perfect dark forest green locks (which seemed a shade brighter? Maybe it was just the angle and the lighting and shading)—which somehow still fell back into flawless waves.

"Now how about you go on home and tell your 'auntie' I said hi for me will you?" Mitsuki grinned, poking Izuku's autonomic forehead with the kind of sadistic glee usually reserved for freshly opened presents—or Katsuki mid-tantrum.

The autonomic Izuku—taller, broader, and somehow still *glowing* under the dingy outdoor lamp fluorescents—visibly short-circuited. "Y-yes ma'am—" His golden-green eyes flickered between panic and static confusion before realizing...

He said his second was his first body's cousin.

Meaning in this body his mother was supposed to be his aunt.

Yeah that sounded way, way, way worse In his head.

"Yes ma'am, I will, tell Kac-Katsuki, I'm still sorry—" The autonomic Izuku's perfect baritone voice hitched mid-sentence as his second body's reflexes bowed deeply—too deeply—forehead nearly clipping the sidewalk while his stupidly sculpted rear end jutted skyward in a mortifying ninety-degree angle.

Mitsuki cackled, wiping tears from her eyes as she flicked Izuku's head again, "Fine, I'll fucking tell him whenever he finally wakes the fuck up! See you Big 'Zuku!" She sauntered off whistling—leaving Izuku’s autonomic body frozen mid-bow like a malfunctioning animatronic. His sculpted cheeks burned crimson as he slowly made his way back home.

It was close midnight when Izuku’s original body jolted awake in his bedroom—heart somehow still pounding—as he got ready for his evening routine.

What, did you think he only studied when he was in his original body?

Izuku did not spend ten months getting jacked just for it all to go to waste right after he finally got results.

"Okay first studying, then quirk notes, then to the gym!" Izuku’s muttered again as he looked at his resting second body who's lying on the futon, right next to his desk, and ran a hand through his messy curls before glancing back at his reflection in the window—still waiting for that moment when he'd wake up and realize all of this was some insane fever dream brought on by pre-U.A. High Entrance Exam jitters.

His second body's breathing remained perfectly steady, unnervingly serene, while Izuku's original form hyperventilated into his All Might-themed pillowcase. "It's fine," he wheezed to nobody, knees knocking against his desk. "Totally fine! Just a normal Tuesday where I accidentally bowed so hard my autonomic spine impersonated a question mark in front of Kacchan's mom—WHY AM I LIKE THIS?!"

He then immediately clamped his hand over his mouth when he realized what time it was and the fact that his mother was asleep, after a very pregnant pause when he made sure he hadn't woken her up, he began to study again.

While they were let out early today from U.A High since it was only the first day, Izuku believed in being prepared for tomorrow—especially after today's disaster. He glanced nervously at his autonomic body sprawled gracefully on the futon, its sculpted fingers twitching occasionally like a sleeping panther's.

His original form, meanwhile, was currently mid-crisis, hunched over his notebook with sweat dripping onto the pages as he scribbled furiously while watching YouTube Neo videos on various subjects such as English and Math, occasionally glancing at his autonomic body—which was currently lying peacefully on the futon, looking like a goddamn Renaissance painting with how effortlessly perfect it was even while unconscious.

Soon he left to write different notes; those about the oddities of his second body, especially after today.

"Let's see—excessive sweat production when stressed: check. Inability to maintain eye contact with Katsuki for more than 1.3 seconds: check. Autonomic body's habit of posing like a cologne advertisement mid-panic attack: VERY check—" Izuku's pencil snapped as his original form hunched further over his analysis notebook, his All Might nightshirt riding up to expose the stark contrast between his first body which while decently buff paled in comparison of his second body which was built like Endeavor (okay maybe an exaggeration but his point still stands!)—a fact that made his current hunched posture even more ridiculous.

There was also the fact of his second body fighting like it did with Katsuki—like it knew exactly the best counter move to him, and all without using his quirk! It was like it was trained in combat! How did it even know how to do that?!

The more he learned about his second body, the stranger it seemed—and the more he freaked out about it. Because honestly, what kind of **bullshit** was this?!

His second body couldn't be his ideal body because then it would basically be All Might's physique—but no, this was something else entirely. It was as if his subconscious had cobbled together every impossible standard society shoved down his throat: symmetrical jawline, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, eyelashes thick enough to cast shadows. Even the way his uniform draped on him looked like a high-end fashion ad.

Meanwhile, his original form was currently eating instant noodles over his notebook, sauce dribbling down his chin because his motor control evaporated under stress. The duality was embarrassing.

"And I'm getting jealous of myself.." he suddenly realized, looking at the time again, 3:00 am, he better be getting to the gym now...

Chapter Text

It was 3:19 am when he made it to the gym in his original body—smaller, frazzled, and still wiping teriyaki sauce off his chin. The automatic doors hissed open, and Midoriya Izuku went to his usual place: the back corner, behind the treadmills, where the rusty dumbbells gathered dust. No one ever looked at him here.

Which was good.

Because he had gotten fucking exhausted at being the center of attention in his second body.

But as long as he was in his first body he was just a muscular plain looking fifteen year old boy who gets nervous when girls talk to him and he gets scared easily when he realizes that he has accidentally bumped into Kacchan (his childhood bully who also has the power to explode sweat from his hands).

Izuku clenched the rusted dumbbell with trembling fingers, acutely aware of how his noodle-thin arms shook under its weight. Sweat pooled under his bangs—his real bangs, the ones that didn’t magically feather perfectly in every breeze like his other body’s hair. A fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting his shadow against the cracked gym wall:

Small, hunched, utterly forgettable.

Exactly how he preferred it right now.

Izuku curled his fingers around the dumbbell's peeling grip tape, elbows wobbling like overcooked udon noodles as he attempted a bicep curl. A bead of sweat (or possibly leftover teriyaki) slid down his nose.

Perfect.

He looked at his muscular arms and breathed in and out slowly—this body was strong and capable, and yet...

His other body was just so much better.

Izuku stared at the gym mirror—his original reflection staring back with the kind of messy, sleep-deprived exhaustion that could only come from secretly living two lives. His second body was probably asleep right now, sprawled across his bed like some renaissance painting of perfection, effortlessly stealing the spotlight even in unconsciousness.

Meanwhile, here he was, hunched over like a startled hermit crab, wiping soy sauce off his shirt with a napkin that was definitely not meant for teriyaki emergencies.

The unfairness of it all hit him like a freight train.

That body didn’t snort when it laughed. That body didn’t trip over air, and when it did it was gracefully. That body could sneeze and somehow look like it belonged in a cologne commercial.

Already he questioned why he was working out in this body—his original body—when his second form existed. The dumbbell slipped from his fingers, clattering against the rubber gym mat with a noise that echoed like judgment. Across the room, a trainer glanced over, then did a double take, squinting at Izuku like he couldn’t believe someone so... regular was alive past midnight.

Meanwhile, his other body was probably sleeping like a Disney prince, one arm draped artfully over his forehead, lips slightly parted—because even unconscious, it had to be photogenic.

Izuku groaned, pressing his forehead against the cold metal of the bench press. "I bet it doesn’t even drool," he muttered.

Soon it was 5:44 am, and Izuku, sweaty as ever, finished up and left to go back home. On his way, he passed by a few pedestrians, who, as usual, ignored him completely—his original form was practically invisible to society.

Meanwhile, his second body had strangers stopping mid-conversation just to admire the way sunlight hit its jawline at a perfect fourty five degree angle at all times.

Izuku exhaled sharply as he reached his apartment, quietly slipping inside so as not to wake his mother. His second body lay sprawled on his bed, one arm draped elegantly over the pillow like it was posing for a marble statue commission.

Even in sleep, his second body was a masterpiece.

Izuku then slapped his second body awake.

Then he blacked out yet again.

And he woke right back up on the floor in his second body, awake and ready to get ready for his second day at U.A High.

Izuku Midoriya blinked—or rather, his second body blinked—at the ceiling with the kind of effortless grace that made even *existing* look like a magazine spread. Sunlight filtered through the blinds in perfect golden stripes across his sculpted jawline, as if the universe itself had signed off on this aesthetic. He sat up slowly, running a hand through thick, tousled hair that somehow fell into artful disarray without any effort, and let out a sigh that probably smelled like mint and unattainable standards.

Meanwhile, his original body was now passed out on his bedroom floor—sprawled like a discarded noodle wrapper—while his autonomic form blinked awake in perfect synchronization with his alarm clock’s first beep. The pillow didn’t even have the decency to muss his hair. It just—**cooperated**, as if the universe had decreed, *Yes, this jawline deserves optimal lighting at 6:03 AM.*

"Ghk—!" Izuku choked on air (elegantly) as his autonomic reflexes kicked in, rolling him upright in one fluid motion that somehow made his bedframe look like a prop from a superhero drama. His second body’s fingers flexed, tendons shifting under flawless skin like some Michelangelo sculpture come to life. A stray sunbeam hit his collarbone at *just* the right angle to make it glow. Even his *shadow* was photogenic.

Soon he was about to leave when his mother was at the front door, "Congrats on getting into U.A. High! I might have jumped to conclusions, though..."

"A jumpsuit?!" Izuku's autonomic body blurted—voice impossibly smooth, like someone had autotuned his panic—as Inko Midoriya unfolded the costume she'd secretly commissioned. The fabric shimmered under the kitchen lights with the audacity of a disco ball at a funeral. His original body, still crumpled near the door like a discarded shopping list, twitched in unconscious protest. "Y-You saw my notebook designs?! When I was—when I—*oh no*, the one with the All Might doodles in the margins—*the embarrassing ones*—?!"

Inko wiped her eyes with a sleeve, grinning through tears. "You'd fallen asleep on page 37 of 'Hero Suit Aerodynamics for Dummies.' I thought—*well*—if my son could analyze cape drape viscosity at 2 AM, I could at least bribe a seamstress!" She thrust the outfit forward with the gravitas of someone presenting Excalibur. The sleeves had *actual* torque-resistant stitching.

Izuku's autonomic form was now clutching the jumpsuit to his (sculpted, unfairly proportioned) chest, eyes wide enough to reflect the entire kitchen like twin fisheye lenses. The costume was *green*—not just any green, but the kind of green that made traffic lights jealous, with accents so white they practically emitted their own light pollution. "M-Mom, there are *cables*," he squeaked, dangling a strap that looked like it belonged on a high-voltage power line. "And—and *pockets*?!"

"The terrible thing I said kept bothering me and I gave up back then—but you didn't!" Inko sniffled into her sleeve, accidentally smearing mascara across Izuku's autonomic body's pristine white shoulder seam. He stiffened like a deer spotting headlights, torn between hugging her and fleeing the emotional whiplash, "You kept chasing your dream, didn't you? I'm so sorry, Izuku—oh!" She recoiled mid-sob, staring at his autonomic form's collarbone. "Did I just... *ruin* the fabric?!"

Izuku's autonomic hands fluttered in panic, "No you didn't mom it's—" The protest died when his fingers brushed the mascara smear, triggering a cascade of autonomic responses. His borrowed body executed a flawless triple backflip to the kitchen sink, where slender fingers snatched dish soap with balletic precision—just as his panicked voice finished squeaking "—fine!"

Across town, Katsuki's phone pinged with a trending video titled "U.A. High Mystery Hottie BEATS THE SHIT OUT OF CLASSMATE WITHOUT USING HIS QUIRK"—the thumbnail showed Izuku's autonomic body mid-backflip, its sculpted abdomen visible through the torn uniform as Katsuki's own furious face blurred in the background. "That fucking Deku's FAKING IT!" Katsuki roared, accidentally igniting his lunch tray into molten plastic slag that dripped onto the kitchen floor.

"Katsuki you dumb ass—stop igniting things in the house!" Mitsuki called out as she heard the familiar sound of scorching plastic. Katsuki didn't respond, his fingers twitching around his phone screen as he watched the video of Izuku—no, *that thing* wearing Izuku's face—flip effortlessly through the air like some kind of goddamn acrobat. His teeth ground together hard enough to crack enamel.

Meanwhile, Izuku's autonomic body was currently mid-crisis in the Midoriya household. Inko stood frozen, clutching the dish soap he'd snatched from her hands with inhuman speed. "Izuku," she whispered, eyes wide, "since when can you *do that*?"

Izuku's autonomic form straightened up—posture perfect, shoulders squared—before his actual consciousness caught up and flooded the body with panic. "I—uh—gymnastics?" he squeaked, voice cracking. His autonomic hands betrayed him again, signing *"I am lying"* in fluent JSL before he physically wrestled them into his pockets.

Across the room, Inko blinked slowly. Then, with the terrifying calm of a woman who had endured years of her son's muttering and sudden crying jags, she picked up the remote and turned on the news. "You know," she said lightly, "if you *were* secretly a professional acrobat, I'd be *very* supportive. Still, I'll support you openly with everything I've got from now on!"

After Izuku hugged and said goodbye to his mother—his autonomic body's reflexes smoothing out the motion into something effortlessly graceful—and soon he was in English Class:

"Which of these English sentences is wrong?" Present Mic’s voice boomed through the classroom, his neon-yellow hair bouncing with every syllable. Izuku’s autonomic body sat upright—spine aligned like a ruler, fingers poised mid-note-taking as he remembered it from studying last night as rose his hand.

"Okay, Midoriya, come on!" Present Mic’s voice cracked like a whip, snapping Izuku’s autonomic body to attention—his pencil hovering over the desk like a god damn hummingbird mid-sip. His original body, slumped in the back row with dark circles under its eyes, twitched violently as if electrocuted by sheer proximity to competence.

"T-The relative pronoun is misplaced in sentence six!" Izuku's autonomic body announced—voice somehow both resonant and trembling—as Present Mic's eyebrows shot up like startled birds. Across the classroom, Momo Yaoyorozu's pen froze mid-air, her lips parting in quiet astonishment at the flawless British inflection coloring his vowels.

Then the lunch bell rang—or rather, exploded, courtesy of Present Mic's Quirk—and Izuku's autonomic body startled so gracefully it looked choreographed. His pencil flipped twice in midair before landing perfectly behind his ear as he stood, movements fluid as poured mercury as he outran Kacchan, hoping to dodge any incoming questions.

"White rice is great comfort food, isn't it?" Uraraka chirped, chopsticks hovering mid-air as Izuku’s autonomic body nodded with the precision of a metronome—his jawline catching sunlight in a way that made three first-years at the next table drop their miso soup simultaneously. His original body, slumped against the cafeteria wall like a deflated balloon, twitched when a noodle slid off its fork unnoticed.

Katsuki’s tray cracked under his grip three tables away. "The hell’s Deku doing with his *posture* today?" he snarled, watching Izuku’s autonomic form sip miso broth without a single drop staining his uniform.

"Who's Deku?" Kirishima, the only other person at the table with him.

"A fucking nobody, or he should be," Katsuki spat, crushing his juice box with a sound like a small animal dying. At the neighboring table, Izuku’s autonomic form—currently nibbling a rice ball with the precision of a surgeon—flinched so gracefully it looked choreographed.
The contrast was almost artistic:

One Izuku glowing under cafeteria lights like a Renaissance painting, the other blending into the wall like a sad coat rack.

And then, in the afternoon, they finally had...

"HERO BASIC TRAINING" All Might's voice boomed through the hallways as he came into the classroom, "I AM... COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!" His cape fluttered dramatically despite there being no wind, causing Izuku's autonomic body to instinctively catch a falling vase with ballet-like precision.

Across the room, Katsuki was still seething...

"It's All Might!"

"Wow, he really is a teacher!"

"Hey, that's a costume from the Silver Age, isn't it?"

"It's style is so different, it's giving me goose bumps..."Izuku's autonomic body murmured, staring at All Might's Silver Age costume that was right in front of him with the kind of reverence normally reserved for religious artifacts.

But it was All Might so is anyone really surprised at this?

Chapter Text

"I TEACH HERO BASIC TRAINING!" All Might's voice ricocheted off the walls like a cannon blast, his cape billowing despite the hermetically sealed classroom.

Izuku's autonomic body instinctively straightened—vertebrae aligning with the precision of a Swiss watch—just as All Might continued, "AS YOU ALL MIGHT KNOW, HERO BASIC TRAINING IS A SUBJECT WHERE YOU TRAIN IN DIFFERENT WAYS TO LEARN THE BASICS OF BEING A HERO!" His biceps flexed mid-sentence, casting shadows that temporarily blinded three students in the front row.

"YOU'LL TAKE THE MOST UNITS OF THIS SUBJECT! LET'S GET RIGHT TO IT!" All Might's declaration shook dust from the ceiling tiles as he slammed a button—costume cases erupted from the floor with a pneumatic hiss. "THIS IS WHAT WE'RE DOING TODAY: COMBAT TRAINING! AND TO GO WITH THAT THEMING ARE THESE: COSTUMES MADE BASED ON YOUR QUIRK REGISTRATIONS AND REQUESTS YOU SENT IN BEFORE SCHOOL STARTED! AFTER YOU ALL CHANGE, GATHER IN GROUND BETA!"

"Yes sir!" The class somehow yelled symotanously—except for Katsuki, who just growled through clenched teeth.

"THEY SAW CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN, YOUNG MEN AND LADIES!" All Might's cape snapped like a whip as he gestured toward the costume cases. "BE FULLY AWARE... FROM NOW ON..." His shadow engulfed the front row. "...YOU ARE HEROES NOW!"

And so they went to get dressed.

Izuku's autonomic body moved with unnatural precision—each step calibrated, each adjustment effortless—while his consciousness remained split between two forms. The locker room hummed with excitement as classmates compared costumes, but Katsuki's glare burned holes into the back of his skull.

Yeah, this was going to be hell.

Somehow they all managed to get dressed without incident and went to Ground Beta.

"Oh, Izuku?"

"Uraraka!"

Izuku's autonomic body stumbled backward as her gloved fingers brushed his forearm—not because she pushed him, but because his own nervous system short circuited at human contact.

"That hero suit looks so cool! Really down to earth, you know? I probably should have written what I wanted... Mine ended up being a skintight bodysuit. It's just so embarrassing..."

Izuku's autonomic body flinched when Uraraka's fingers accidentally brushed his wrist—not out of discomfort, but because his flawless reflexes overcorrected, making him stumble backward like a startled cat. His cheeks burned crimson beneath the helmet's visor, which was currently fogging up from nervous breathing.

Katsuki's grenade gauntlet clanked as he slammed his locker shut. "Stop fucking flirting, Round Face. We've got combat training, not a damn photoshoot." His eyes flicked to Izuku's autonomic form—taller, broader, unfairly symmetrical—and his jaw tightened. "And you. Quit fucking standing there like some mannequin. It's creepy as hell."

"I-I swear that I'm not flirting with him!" Uraraka squeaked, her cheeks puffing up like overripe peaches as she flailed her hands in panic—her Zero Gravity quirk accidentally sending a stray glove spiraling into Iida's helmet with a *thwonk*. The taller boy stiffened like a malfunctioning robot, his armored costume clanking as he turned with eerie precision. "UNACCEPTABLE FLIRTATION IN A TRAINING FACILITY! THIS IS A PLACE OF SERIOUS HEROIC—"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, FOUR EYES!" Katsuki's explosion quirk crackled between his fingers as Iida's helmet wobbled from Uraraka's accidental glove attack.

Then All Might decided to (somewhat) interviene, "NOW THEN, I DO INDEED BELIEVE THAT IT IS TIME FOR COMBAT TRAINING TO BEGIN!" He took out his signature smile, "REMEMBER THAT THIS IS YOUR FIRST TIME IN YOUR COSTUMES, SO GET A FEEL FOR THEM!"

"Teacher! This is a battle center from the entrance exam, so will we be conducting urban battles again?" Iida's armored arms chopped through the air like malfunctioning pistons, nearly decapitating a passing Mineta.

The tiny grape haired on shape and in color boy yelped and ducked, his oversized helmet slipping over his eyes as he crashed into Momo's thigh—prompting an involuntary creation of a steel chastity belt that clattered to the floor with ominous finality.

All Might just chuckled, "NO YOUNG IIDA, TODAY WE ARE GOING TO MOVE AHEAD TO STEPS! MOST OF THE TIME, FIGHTING VILLAINS TAKES PLACE OUTSIDE, BUT TRULY INTELLIGENT VILLAINS HIDE IN THE SHADOWS!" His biceps flexed, straining the seams of his Silver Age costume before he continued, "IF YOU LOOK AT THE TOTAL NUMBERS IN JAPAN, MOST ATROCIOUS VILLAINS APPEAR INDOORS—HOUSE ARRESTS, BACKROOM DEALS—IN THIS SOCIETY FILLED WITH HEROES! SO FOR THIS CLASS, YOU'LL BE SPLIT INTO VILLAINS AND HEROES FOR VARIOUS 2 ON 2 INDOOR BATTLES!"

"But without any basic training?" Uraraka's protest died in her throat as All Might's grin widened impossibly further, the fluorescent lights catching on his teeth, "THIS IS YOUR REAL FIRST BATTLE TO UNDERSTAND THOSE BASICS! HOWEVER, THE KEY THIS TIME IS THAT THERE'S NO ROBOT YOU CAN JUST BEAT UP!"

"But how will wins and losses be determined?" Momo's gloved hand shot up with textbook precision, her costume's tactical belt clinking as she shifted her weight.

All Might's grin didn't waver. "EXCELLENT QUESTION, YOUNG YAOYOROZU! THE VILLAINS MUST PROTECT A NUCLEAR WEAPON—" He hefted a comically oversized papier mâché bomb— "FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES. HEROES WIN BY SECURING IT OR CAPTURING BOTH VILLAINS!" The prop wobbled dangerously as he set it down.

"TEAMS WILL BE CHOSEN BY A LOTTERY!" All Might brandished a garish golden box that definitely hadn't existed three seconds ago, his cape fluttering despite the stagnant air conditioning. Izuku's autonomic body stood frozen mid-step, one polished shoe hovering above the concrete.

Soon All Might put his hand on the garish golden box to begin picking teams.

"TEAM A!" All Might boomed, extracting two balls with a flourish.

"MIDORIYA AND BACKUGOU—HERO TEAM!" All Might's announcement made Izuku's autonomic body's blood run cold. A bead of sweat rolled down his perfectly sculpted temple—his original form, still slumped unconscious in his bedroom at home, twitched as if sensing the impending disaster.

Across the room, Katsuki's palms popped with tiny explosions—his glare locked onto Izuku's autonomic form with manic intensity. The autonomic body straightened its tie with unconscious precision, fingers moving like a surgeon's—too fluid, too perfect. Uraraka blinked. "Huh. Midoriya, you never slouch, do you?"

"UM, SORRY?" The autonomic Izuku flinched, knocking over a desk with reflexive grace—catching it midair before it could clatter. Everyone stared. Aoyama gasped. "C'est magnifique! Like a ballet of steel!"

Meanwhile All Might called out the other eleven teams while Izuku’s autonomic body stood rigid as a statue—until Katsuki’s knuckles cracked audibly behind him. "Look at me when I’m plotting your funeral, shitty Deku." The autonomic form whipped around with unnatural speed—too fast, too smooth—and accidentally performed a flawless pirouette that sent his tie fluttering like a ribbon dancer’s silk. Mineta swooned. "Teach me your ways, god of aesthetics!"

"Who's Deku?" Izuku said, much more confidently this time.

Katsuki just stomped over to him, "I don't care what you or my old hag says, I know it's you, Deku." His voice was low, dangerous, like a fuse burning down to the powder keg. The autonomic Izuku blinked—too slow, too deliberate—before responding with flawless diction, "Apologies, but I do believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else."

Then the autonomic body *smiled*.

It wasn’t Izuku’s usual wobbly, anxious grin. It was the kind of smile that made the fluorescent lights dim in shame—too symmetrical, too radiant, like someone had programmed it into a supercomputer designed to weaponize charm. Katsuki’s eye twitched. The autonomic Izuku tilted his head—*click*, a perfect 22.5 degree angle—and asked, "Would you prefer to strategize verbally or via interpretive dance?" His voice was velvet coated titanium.

As you could imagine, Katsuki was very, very, very fucking confused.

His eyes narrowed into slits, his hands crackling with barely contained fury. "The hell kinda joke is this?" He grabbed the autonomic Izuku's collar—only for his fingers to slip off the immaculate fabric as if repelled by some unseen forcefield.

The autonomic body didn't even flinch, just blinked those unfairly long lashes in polite confusion while Izuku's own mind was racing, how was he doing this, why was he doing this?

HOW THE FUCK WAS HE DOING THIS!

"Listen here you plastic faced bastard—" He jabbed a smoking palm at autonomic-Izuku's chest—only for his wrist to be caught mid-strike by fingers moving faster than humanly possible. Not aggressively. Just... there. Like a door politely blocking a hurricane.

"WHOA THERE YOUNG BAKUGOU!" All Might's voice boomed through the comms as the autonomic body tilted its head—the sunlight hitting its jawline in a way that made three separate classmates audibly sigh. "VIOLENCE BEFORE THE MATCH STARTS AND WITH YOUR OWN TEAM MATE IS—"

"Unprofessional," Iida chopped the air robotically from the observation room, glasses flashing.

The autonomic body opened its mouth.

Izuku panicked.

"—Perhaps we could diffuse tension through collaborative origami?" It suggested in a voice like melted caramel. Someone's pencil snapped. Katsuki's eye twitched.

Then the five minute prep timer beeped.

Time to get going.

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya and Bakugo Katsuki made there way into the building for the five minute prep time.

And it was going about as well as you could imagine.

Izuku’s autonomic body—pristine, effortless, glowing under the fluorescent lights—stood frozen in the hallway of the mock villain hide out, fingers twitching at its sides like a puppet with cut strings.

"I would try to strategize against the Hero Team, but because of you I don't know exactly who we're facing so we're kind of screwed Kacchan!"

The autonomic body's lips moved perfectly around the words while its fingers tapped a disjointed rhythm against its thigh—like a pianist playing two different songs with each hand. Katsuki's left eye developed a concerning twitch as he looked up at Izuku.

Looked up.

At fucking Deku.

The supposedly scrawny quirkless pebble Katsuki had spent a decade crushing underfoot now loomed over him—not with Deku's usual hunched shoulders and anxious stutter, but with the effortless poise of some goddamn underwear model. Katsuki's fingers sparked involuntarily as he thought about what exactly Deku's quirk could be.

"You staring at me like I'm some kinda circus freak, Kacchan?" The autonomic Izuku tilted his head—not just a normal tilt, but a mathematically perfect 32 degree angle that made his glossy hair catch the light in a way that made him seem like the very few villains people would simp over on Tok Tok—before blinking slowly, lashes fluttering like some goddamn Disney princess. Katsuki's eye twitched harder.

This wasn't Deku.

Not fully.

Deku tripped over fucking air.

Deku mumbled into his own collarbone—a habit Katsuki recognized from their childhood—except now it looked staged, like some goddamn shampoo commercial where the model pretended to be shy. The autonomic body’s fingers twitched again, this time adjusting an invisible cufflink on his U.A. uniform sleeve. The motion was so polished it made Katsuki’s teeth ache.

"THE VILLAIN TEAM SHOULD BE FORMULATING A DEFENSE STRATEGY BY NOW!" All Might’s voice boomed through the building’s intercom, rattling the overhead lights.

"But we still don't know who we're facing, based on us being the top two in the class, seriously how on earth did we get out up on the same team, and if it really was by completely pure chance than why didn't All Might just redraw it?"

All Might sweated silently, he... didn't actually think of that idea.

Oh well, fuck it.

Time to wing it...

"But the strongest besides us is Todoroki, but for the other team to have a fair chance there needs to be someone else that could also match our power besides Todoroki himself?" Izuku pondered, speaking with a voice smoother than silk—his autonomic body's vocal cords resonating like a goddamn audiobook narrator.

Katsuki's eye twitched again

"Perhaps Yaoyorozu or Tokoyami?" the autonomic Izuku mused, tapping a single manicured finger against his chin.

"How about you transform back Deku?" Katsuki growled silently under his breath so only Izuku himself could hear—his fingers twitching with sparks, eyes locked onto the autonomic body's flawless jawline—"Show me your damn freckles." The overhead fluorescents flickered as Izuku’s autonomic form tilted its head exactly 37 degrees—the same unnatural angle as before—while his original body remained slumped against the nurse’s office cot three floors above them, sweat drenched curls plastered to feverish skin.

Izuku Midoriya nearly blue screened at that in confusion, "T-transform? Kacchan, I don't know what you mean—"

Katsuki saw red.

That bastard Deku had the audacity to lie to his face with those stupid Bambi eyes—the ones he didn’t even have in this stupid perfect model form—while pretending to be confused. Like he hadn’t been pulling this freaky Jekyll and Hyde shit since they were four.

He had to be.

Nobody just suddenly got a quirk like that right before the U.A. High Entrance Exams.

Like Katsuki hadn’t seen his scrawny ass passed out behind the gym last month while this Adonis version waltzed right here, right now—taller, smoother, freckles less, and glowing like some damn toothpaste commercial. The overhead fluorescents caught the autonomic Deku’s eyelashes—unfairly long, unfairly perfect—as they fluttered in confusion. "Kacchan," he said, voice softer than the original body's stammer but sharper somehow, like velvet over steel, "I assure you, my quirk is simply—"

"SHUT IT," Katsuki snarled, palm sparking. His nostrils flared at the scent of ozone and—goddamn it—was that vanilla?

Since when did Deku smell like a fucking bakery?

The autonomic body didn’t even blink, just adjusted its tie with robotic precision while Katsuki’s brain short circuited.

Transformation quirks more extreme than this did exist—Katsuki knew that—but none of them came with this eerie, uncanny perfection. The autonomic Deku didn’t just *stand* there; he occupied space like a goddamn marble statue commissioned by a Renaissance sculptor with too much time and a fetish for symmetry.

That had to be it, the Deku he was looking at right now was just a transformation.

And transformation queiks had timers.

They could only be activated continuously for so long before needing to recharge—that was basic quirk physiology. Katsuki grinned, teeth gleaming under the flickering fluorescents as his fingers twitched with sparks. This wasn’t just combat training anymore; this was a fucking countdown.

"Oi, Plastic Face Deku," he growled, rolling his shoulders like a predator circling prey. "How long can you keep this up, huh?" His fingers crackled—pop pop pop—between them like a string of firecrackers shoved in a tin can. The autonomic Izuku blinked—slow, deliberate, unnervingly symmetrical—before tilting his head exactly 27.3 degrees to the left. A textbook-perfect angle. Katsuki’s eye twitched harder.

Izuku sighed.

Yeah there was no fucking way Kacchan could possibly ever buy his lie.

"K-Kacchan, I—"

"SHUT IT." The explosion quirk user’s palms popped with tiny detonations, his crimson eyes narrowing into slits. "You think I don’t know transformation quirks have time limits? That perfect face of yours is gonna crack like cheap makeup once your damn timer runs out."

The autonomic Izuku blinked.

Wait.

Transformation quirk?

He thought for a second.

Then he suddenly realized what Kacchan meant.

**Katsuki Bakugou's Current Working Theory:**
① Transformation quirks have time limits (see: Manual, Chapter 4, *Quirk Physiology*)
② Deku's unnaturally symmetrical posture & poreless skin scream "activated ability"
③ Ergo—wait for the inevitable crash when timer expires

**Reality:**
① Izuku Midoriya is currently operating two (2) bodies one at each time
② Original body: freckled, nervous, easily injured
③ Autonomic body: flawless symmetry, reflexive grace, unnervingly photogenic, possible slight personality change

**Katsuki Bakugou's Delusion:**
① "Deku's using a transformation quirk with an unknown time limit"
② "That plastic faced bastard's gonna melt into his usual shitty self soon"
③ *Aggressively checks wristwatch*

Kacchan thought his quirk was a transformation type instead of...

Emitter type?

Mutation type?

Actually what type of quirk did having two bodies that makes it to where mentally you're never asleep possibly classify as?

He'd never realized that blinking could be so terrifying until now. The autonomic Izuku didn't even twitch—just stood there with that infuriatingly symmetrical face, arms loose at his sides, while Katsuki's sweat damp palms sparked against his will. The bastard wasn't even breathing hard.

"Tick tock, Plastic Face Deku," Katsuki snarled, shifting his weight onto his left foot—the tell Izuku's original body had memorized across twelve years of playground beatings. But his autonomic form didn't react until All Might screamed,"HERO TEAM D: SHOTO TODOROKI AND MOMO YAOYOROZU NOW ENTER!"—the sudden decibel spike triggering an instinctive combat stance.

Oh, fuck.

Izuku Midoriya had at best half of a plan combined at best counting this or if it was going to be Shoto Todoroki and Fumikage Tokoyami instead.

Welp, time to wing it.

Chapter Text

**Katsuki's Internal Monologue:**
① Transformation quirks expire (see: *Quirk Theory Vol. 3*, page. 47)
② Deku's porcelain doll face screams "time limited."
③ Wait for disintegration → exploit weakness → victory → return to normalcy

**In Reality:**
① Izuku's autonomic body doesn't have an OFF switch, excluding falling unconscious
② Freckles: 0 | Symmetry: 100% | Social Awareness: -∞
③ Katsuki's sanity: crumbling if not completely gone

Izuku ran to the fake bomb to defend it—his autonomic body moving with eerie precision—when Katsuki’s explosion sent him skidding back. The autonomic form landed in a crouch, fingers splayed against the concrete, head tilted exactly 17 degrees to the left.

"FUCKING TIMER'S GOTTA RUN OUT SOON," Katsuki roared, sweat dripping down his temples. His eyes darted to the clock—13:23 remaining.

The secondary body of Izuku blinked once.

Slow.

Yet not deliberate.

Just confused.

It was like looking at a malfunctioning animatronic.

"KACCHAN, CAN YOU PLEASE WAIT TO DO THIS UNTIL WE DEAL WITH TODOROKI AND YAOYOROZU FIRST?!" Izuku's autonomic body shouted in panic at the unexpected (but it probably should have been) attack.

Katsuki didn’t answer.

He never did when he was convinced he was right.

Explosions cracked against the concrete as he surged forward again, teeth bared, pupils blown wide with the manic focus of someone who had already solved the puzzle in his head and was now furious that reality refused to follow the script. His boots scorched the floor with every step. The echo of his blast reverberated through the mock facility like thunder trapped indoors.

Then ice.

And then the ice was suddenly everywhere around them.

Todoroki was likely trying to freeze them from the outside.

And Katsuki's explosions were actually keeping them warm and slowing down the freezing, ironically enough.

Izuku—still crouched—blinked again, this time at the creeping frost crystallizing across his sneakers.

He had to convince Katsuki to see reason.

Or, more realistically, get him to see red at Todoroki, and not Izuku himself.

Izuku shifted his weight—just enough to avoid Katsuki's next explosion but not enough to trigger his usual reflexive evasion. His taller frame cast a crisp shadow against the encroaching frost.

"Kacchan," he said, voice smooth like polished steel, "Todoroki's freezing the entire building." A pause—just long enough for Katsuki's sweat to sizzle against his own skin. "You're literally the only one who can melt his ice right now."

Katsuki's nostrils flared. "SHUT UP PLASTIC FACE DEKU!"

"THEN DO YOU WANT TO LOSE TO SOMEONE IN A FIGHT THAT YOU AREN'T EVEN CLOSE TO?!" Izuku roared—his autonomic body's voice resonating unnaturally through the frozen hallways—just as Todoroki's ice crawled up Katsuki's boots. The explosive boy snarled, blasting himself free, but his eyes never left Izuku’s uncanny stillness.

Barely any sweat.

Barely any twitches.

Just somehow perfect posture for the situation, like a mannequin programmed for war.

"YOU’RE QUIRK IS ON A TIMER, SO I CAN JUST DEAL WITH YOU'RE WORTHLESS ASS LATER!" Katsuki seemingly reasoned(?) as he blasted forward—his palms popping with sweat drenched fury—while Izuku’s autonomic body didn’t even blink. The explosive trajectory should’ve knocked *any* transformation quirk user off balance—textbook physics—but Izuku’s frame absorbed the shockwave like rubber against pavement.

Too smooth.

Too still.

For Izuku Midoriya at least.

Todoroki’s ice was growing now as Katsuki started focusing his explosions on it instead.

Good.

But that left one question left:

Where was Yaoyorozu during all of this?

It turns out that the answer was solved very quickly because it had arrived in the form of a steel cable snapping taut around Katsuki’s ankle.

He didn’t even fully see it happen.

One second he was mid-blast, palms flaring as he carved a molten path through Todoroki’s expanding glacier. The next, his leg yanked sideways, momentum hijacked, body slammed into the floor hard enough to knock the breath clean out of his lungs.

“What—?!”

The cable retracted with surgical efficiency, dragging him backward toward the shadows near the stairwell.

Yaoyorozu then stepped into view, clearly cold but composed, gripping the cable line with gloves she'd just created. Her breath misted in the frozen air as she stared down at Katsuki, who writhed against the restraint. "Apologies, Bakugou," she said, polite as ever, "but teamwork *is* part of the exercise All Might Sensei has given us."

Behind her, Todoroki emerged from the frost laden shadows—half his face obscured by creeping ice—just as Katsuki's palms sparked in protest. "DON'T YOU DARE TEAM UP ON ME YOU HALF AND HALF BASTARD! ACTUALLY, EVEN IF YOU DO IT WON'T MATTER BECAUSE—"

The cable yanked again, sending Katsuki skidding across the frozen floor like a human hockey puck. His palms sparked—once, twice—before fizzling out against the frost slick tiles. "CHEAP TRICKS DON'T FUCKING WORK ON ME!"

Izuku had to do something.

And do something he quickly did.

His autonomic form—currently positioned on the third floor landing—wasn't supposed to hum. Yet there it stood, vibrating faintly like an overclocked refrigerator while Todoroki's glacial advance turned the stairwell into Antarctica's somehow even less hospitable cousin.

It was time to copy another one of All Might's moves.

And somehow incorporate it with his strange ability to fight like an expert.

The humming stopped.

Not because Izuku willed it to—his autonomic body didn’t will things the way people expected—but because something inside him had reached a decision threshold, the way machines did when variables finally aligned.

He bent his knees.

Just slightly.

The stairwell exploded.

And Izuku felt a bone at least strain, if not fracture.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, voice pitched apologetic despite the crater at his feet. “I think I might have overdid it a little.”

Todoroki’s visible eye widened.

Yaoyorozu blinked.

Bakugou’s eye twitched.

Well, it twitched even more than usual.

Not the normal, frustrated kind of twitch—the kind that made his left eyelid spasm like a dying moth trapped under his skin. Because Plastic Face Deku *still* hadn’t collapsed into a sweaty, quirk exhausted heap like every goddamn transformation type user *should* after twelve straight minutes of combat. The bastard wasn’t even breathing hard. Just standing there, pristine, one finger raised like he was politely asking for a timeout in the middle of a warzone.

But his leg did look worse for wear.

Meanwhile, Todoroki’s and Yaoyorozu's attentions were now both on Izuku. That left Katsuki—sprawled on the frost-bitten floor—with a clear shot at the bomb room. His palms popped once, twice, as he propelled himself upright, skidding toward the objective with teeth bared.

"NOT SO FAST, YOUNG BAKUGOU!"

All Might’s voice boomed from the ceiling speakers like divine intervention. Katsuki’s teeth ground together—somehow louder than the ice cracking underfoot. "YOU HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED DUE TO BEING SUBDUED. PLEASE EXIT THE BUILDING AS SAFELY AS POSSIBLE!"

If Katsuki was seeing red before, now he was seeing infrared—the kind of heat haze that warps reality into something unrecognizable.

Yeah, you readers already know that this isn't going to end well.

Katsuki Bakugou did not exit the building safely.

He exited violently.

The door at the far end of the corridor exploded outward in a bloom of smoke, sparks, and righteous fury, leaving behind a scorched outline of a hero student-shaped hole and a very angry teenager skidding across the training field outside. Snow from Todoroki’s quirk drifted down lazily, settling on Bakugou’s shoulders like mockery.

He slammed a fist into the concrete outside.

Hard.

“BULLSHIT,” he snarled, chest heaving. “THAT WAS BULLSHIT.”

Inside the mock facility, silence followed All Might’s announcement like an aftershock.

The hum of emergency systems replaced the chaos. Ice crackled. Steam rose in pale ribbons where heat and frost had kissed too hard.

Izuku’s autonomic body stood near the ruined stairwell, one leg slightly bent in a way that suggested it was operating on borrowed tolerance. The fabric at his knee had torn, revealing bruising already blooming beneath the skin. He stared at it with mild concern, like someone noticing a scratch on a borrowed car.

“Oh,” he murmured. “Well, that’s… not great.”

Yaoyorozu rushed forward first. “Midoriya! You’re injured—!”

“I’m okay,” Izuku replied automatically, raising a hand. Too quickly. Too precisely. “I mean—probably. I think. My pain response is delayed sometimes.”

That sentence hung in the air, profoundly unhelpful.

But Izuku didn't care, he had two opponents, One For All, a second body that's an amazing fighter, and a possible broken leg.

He could do this...

Hopefully.

Chapter Text

The silence inside the mock facility did not feel earned.

It felt temporary.

Like the pause between thunder and the sound of something collapsing three blocks away.

Steam drifted upward in lazy coils, clinging to the ceiling lights and distorting them into hazy halos.

The ice Todoroki had conjured continued to creep outward in slow, crystalline veins, cracking faintly as residual heat from Bakugou’s detonations fought a losing battle against cold geometry. The smell was wrong—burnt concrete, scorched rubber, frostbite metal, and the faint ozone sting that always followed Izuku’s autonomic movements, even though nobody could ever pinpoint why.

Izuku Midoriya stood near the shattered stairwell, weight shifted carefully onto his uninjured side, posture still eerily correct despite the obvious damage. His knee throbbed now—pain finally deciding to RSVP after being fashionably late.

But he ignored it.

Just barely.

He tried to replicate the feeling of when he first fought Kacchan, but with using his quirk this time.

The autonomic Izuku didn’t so much *move* as it *occurred*—one moment standing near the ruined stairwell, the next materializing beside Yaoyorozu with the abruptness of a glitch in reality. She startled backward, gloved hands already conjuring another steel cable, but his autonomic body didn’t react. Just tilted its head—precisely fifteen degrees—while its voice box emitted a sound like a rewinding cassette tape.

“Apologies,” he said, not sounding worried at all. “But your failure ensures my success in this exercise All Might has given us.” Todoroki blinked. Something was off—Izuku’s voice lacked breath. No exertion. No strain. Just words formed neatly in the air like he was reading them off a script taped to the ceiling.

Yaoyorozu’s fingers twitched toward another cable. “Midoriya, you’re *bleeding*—”

“Irrelevant,” Izuku replied, right before his autonomic knee buckled sideways with a wet *pop*.

Silence.

"It is my job right now to play the villain in this exercise, and right now I am a cornered villain that is willing to take two heroes down with him out of spite."

Izuku’s autonomic form didn’t so much kneel as it *folded*—one leg collapsing like a snapped umbrella while the other remained ramrod straight, defying physics with the same effortless defiance as a cat mid-air. Blood pooled beneath his kneecap in a perfect circle, as if someone had carefully measured it.

"VILLAINS DO INDEED GET TO MONOLOGUE, YOUNG MIDORIYA!" All Might’s voice boomed through the comms like a malfunctioning PA system. "BUT ALSO—"

Izuku’s autonomic form lunged before he could finish. Not forward—*up*. Straight through the ceiling in a spray of plaster, vanishing into the floor above. Yaoyorozu’s cable lashed empty air. Todoroki’s ice spike impaled nothing but dust motes.

Then the *entire floor* dropped on their heads.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF PLUS ULTRA—?!"

The building groaned as Izuku’s autonomic body seemingly defied gravity to malfunction with how gracefully he jumped. Chunks of concrete falling down ayickly. One particularly large slab smacked Yaoyorozu in the back with the precision of a vengeful poltergeist.

Now the fight was on.

Todoroki’s ice surged forward in jagged waves—only for Izuku’s autonomic form to *sidestep* like he was avoiding sidewalk cracks, leaving frozen spikes to spear empty air. Yaoyorozu’s cannon misfired, blasting a hole in the wall where Izuku *hadn’t* been, and All Might’s voice crackled through comms: "YOUNG TODOROKI, STOP TRYING TO FREEZE THE ENTIRE CITY BLOCK! THIS IS A *CONTROLLED* EXERCISE!"

Izuku’s autonomic body moved *wrong*—knees bending backward for a millisecond to dodge Yaoyorozu’s net, fingers twitching mid-air to flick debris at Todoroki’s blind spot. The building groaned as plaster rained down. A support beam collapse.

Right onto Momo's cannon, Izuku's autonomic form twisted mid-air—not dodging, but redirecting. The recoil sent him spinning straight into Todoroki's next ice wave, which he rode like a deranged surfer before kicking off into a crumbling support pillar. The entire structure groaned. Plaster rained down in chunks the size of dinner plates.

"YOU'RE GONNA BURY YOU ALL ALIVE, VILLAIN MIDORIYA!" All Might bellowed over comms as another support beam shattered like a dry noodle.

Izuku's autonomic body—currently operating on what appeared to be sheer spite and faulty physics—twisted mid-air to avoid Yaoyorozu’s hastily-conjured net. The motion sent him *through* a crumbling wall instead of over it, leaving a vaguely person-shaped hole. Todoroki, ever the pragmatist, took this as his cue to flash-freeze the entire hallway.

"Strategic," Izuku’s autonomic voice noted, while his *actual* consciousness screamed internally from inside.

His second body landed in a crouch—just as the ceiling caved in precisely where Todoroki had *been*. Plaster dust rained down like confetti at the world's worst party. Across the collapsing room, Uraraka screamed something about structural integrity.

He had two minutes left at this point, otherwise Todoroki and Yaoyorozu would win by default—but the building wasn’t going to last thirty seconds. Cement dust filled Izuku’s nostrils as his autonomic form *rolled* under a falling beam, rebounding off the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.

Across the collapsing room, Todoroki’s ice surged forward—not in attack, but in sheer structural panic—as Yaoyorozu’s hastily-assembled grappling hook whizzed past Izuku’s autonomic ear. The hook embedded itself in a groaning support beam, which promptly snapped like a toothpick. "GREAT JOB, YOUNG YAOYOROZU!" All Might’s voice boomed through the comms. "NOW THE BUILDING HAS A NEW SKYLIGHT!"

Izuku’s autonomic form pivoted mid-air, using the falling debris as stepping stones. He landed—barely—on a tilting chunk of ceiling, fingers digging into the plaster as the floor beneath him dissolved into rubble. Across the chaos, Todoroki's right side seemed to be overloading with ice.

Izuku saw a gateway to victory now: Make Todoroki use more ice.

The autonomic body pivoted—not toward the bomb, but toward Todoroki’s left side. The boy flinched, mistaking the movement for an attack.

Wrong.

Izuku needed him to *overload*.

One For All crackled through Izuku's autonomic limbs like a live wire—except he wasn’t the one controlling it. The second body moved before *he* even registered the command, ducking under Todoroki’s ice spear with the casual precision of a dancer avoiding raindrops.

And then he saw it.

Ice covered Todoroki's left side now.

And Todoroki was shivering the most out of the three of them.

Only one minute left now.

The entire third floor of Ground Beta groaned like a dying animal as Izuku’s autonomic form *leaned* into Todoroki’s next ice surge—letting it skate him backward through a half collapsed wall instead of resisting. The impact sent debris flying straight into Yaoyorozu’s hastily assembled tripwire net, tangling it uselessly around a fractured pipe.

And it was done.

Todoroki had now overloaded himself.

He was now stuck in place, ice covering his left side.

Leaving only Yaoyorozu and him left and about thirty seconds to beat her.

His autonomic body—acting on instincts Izuku didn't even know he had—darted forward with a speed that made the air crackle. Yaoyorozu barely had time to gasp before it snatched a loose pipe from the rubble and *twisted*, sending it spiraling toward her like a makeshift boomerang.

She ducked, but the distraction was enough—Izuku's autonomic body blurred past her.

And knocked her out.

"VILLAIN TEAM... WINS BY TOUCH! AND ALL WITH THREE SECONDS TO SPARE AS WELL!" All Might's voice boomed through the crumbling arena, his cape flapping dramatically despite being indoors. The autonomic Izuku stood frozen mid-stride—one outstretched palm hovering an inch from the bomb dummy—while Yaoyorozu groaned into a pile of insulation foam.

He held his hand out to her, despite the adrenaline wearing off and the pain in his body becoming more and more obvious every passing second.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Yaoyorozu-san," he stuttered out, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean—"

"It's fine Midoriya," Yaoyorozu groaned, rubbing her temple as the autonomic Izuku helped her up with unsettlingly precise movements—like a puppet master adjusting strings she couldn't see. The way his fingers *twitched* midair before correcting her balance made her stomach flip. "Though I'd appreciate it if your quirk didn't treat my spine like a joystick next time."

And of course, Aizawa was watching it all from the shadows in his yellow sleeping bag (it was his 'planning period', even more confused by Izuku Midoriya than he was beforehand.

Chapter Text

It was after school, long past the point where most of U.A. had gone quiet.

The training grounds were empty now, scrubbed clean of scorch marks and shattered concrete, but Aizawa Shouta sat in the dim glow of the faculty monitoring room as if the battle were still ongoing. His capture weapon lay coiled beside him, untouched. His eyes—bloodshot, dry, unblinking—were fixed on the screen.

He replayed the footage again.

Pause.

Rewind three seconds.

Play at half speed.

Pause again.

On the screen, Midoriya Izuku faced Bakugou Katsuki in the aftermath of a simulated urban combat drill. Bakugou’s palms crackled with nitroglycerin sweat, sparks jumping like impatient insects. Midoriya stood opposite him, shoulders hunched, knees slightly bent, hands half-raised in a posture that suggested both readiness and terror.

Aizawa zoomed in.

There.

One frame before Bakugou’s right shoulder tensed. One frame before the first spark popped.

Midoriya’s left foot shifted.

Not consciously. No preparatory muscle tension in the shoulders. No visible cue of intention. The foot simply… moved. Pivoted inward by a few centimeters, adjusting his center of gravity just enough.

The explosion followed.

Midoriya’s body was already gone from where it should have been.

Aizawa exhaled slowly through his nose and paused the footage again.

Across the room, Present Mic slurped loudly on a juice box, the straw making an obscene sucking noise as he leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the console. “YO, ERASER! YOU GONNA STARE AT THAT MIDORIYA KID’S WEIRD TWITCHY FEET ALL NIGHT OR—”

Aizawa didn’t look away from the screen. “Don’t.”

Mic grinned wider and slurped again, louder this time, deliberately so. “I’M JUST SAYIN’, MAN. YOU’VE BEEN DOING THE FREEZE-FRAME THING FOR LIKE—WHAT—TWENTY MINUTES? AT THIS POINT YOU OWE THAT KID DINNER.”

Aizawa’s fingers tightened around the remote. He rewound the footage, frame by frame now, Bakugou’s explosion reduced to a stuttering flicker of light and smoke.

Midoriya’s body moved before the blast.

Then—two frames later—his shoulders jerked, his head ducking reflexively as if startled by a loud noise.

The timing was wrong.

Not sloppy. Not slow.

Wrong.

His lower body anticipated. His upper body reacted.

Like two different systems operating on incompatible clocks.

Present Mic squinted at the screen, finally paying attention. “Huh. That is funky.”

“Watch this,” Aizawa muttered.

He skipped ahead.

Another exchange. Bakugou feinted left. Midoriya’s torso flinched hard, arms coming up in a defensive curl, his expression flashing pure panic—

—but his legs didn’t follow the feint.

They slid right instead, smooth and economical, carrying him out of the line of attack that Bakugou actually committed to half a second later.

Aizawa paused the footage on the moment Midoriya’s spine snapped straight.

It was uncanny.

One instant he looked like a startled animal—rounded shoulders, hunched neck, limbs pulled inward.

The next, his posture aligned perfectly. Spine straightened. Shoulders squared. Head lifted just enough to level his gaze.

Like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been yanked taut.

Present Mic popped the straw from his mouth with a wet sound. “OKAY, THAT’S… NOT NORMAL.”

“No,” Aizawa agreed.

Mic leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping from its usual bombast to something closer to genuine curiosity. “So what, you think he’s predicting attacks? Some kinda pre-cog thing?”

Aizawa shook his head. “Too inconsistent.”

He let the footage play again, this time at normal speed.

Midoriya dodged three attacks flawlessly, movements crisp and efficient. Then he stumbled over his own feet while retreating, windmilling his arms, barely catching himself before falling flat.

“That,” Aizawa said, jabbing the screen with his finger, “is not how precognition works.”

Mic frowned. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Aizawa admitted.

The word tasted strange in his mouth.

He’d been teaching at U.A. long enough to recognize patterns. Quirks manifested in predictable ways, even when they were unusual. Mutant, Emitter, Transformation—there were rules. There were tells. Even the strangest abilities had an internal logic.

Midoriya’s movements didn’t.

The kid moved like he had a second brain operating his limbs independently—fluid when he wasn’t thinking, stiff as a board when he was. Like instinct and intellect were fighting for custody of the same body.

Aizawa scrubbed a hand over his face.

He had seen nervous students before. Plenty of them. Kids who overthought every step, who froze under pressure, who flailed when plans went out the window.

Midoriya was different.

Because sometimes, when the pressure peaked—when there was no time to think—he was brilliant.

And then, the moment he realized he’d done something impressive, he’d fall apart.

Present Mic tore open a bag of jellybeans and tossed one into his mouth. “SO, WHAT, YOU THINK HE’S GOT SOME KIND OF DISSOCIATIVE THING GOING ON? LIKE, BRAIN GOES ‘NOPE’ AND AUTOPILOT TAKES OVER?”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked back to the screen.

Autopilot.

He replayed the clip where Midoriya ran up a collapsing wall, rebounded off the ceiling, and drop-kicked Bakugou out of midair—only to land and immediately apologize to the floor for scuffing it.

His jaw tightened.

“That’s not dissociation,” he said quietly. “That’s compartmentalization.”

Mic blinked. “Come again?”

“Something in him is acting separately from his conscious decision-making,” Aizawa said. “Like his body knows what to do before his mind catches up. Or… despite it.”

Mic’s eyes widened. “DUDE.”

Before he could elaborate, the screen jumped as Aizawa pulled up another recording—this one from earlier that day, during cooldown.

All Might stood in the center of the training field, arms crossed, chest puffed out, beaming like the human embodiment of encouragement.

“THAT WAS SOME IMPRESSIVE WORK, YOUNG MIDORIYA!” All Might boomed. “BUT NEXT TIME, TRY NOT TO USE THE CEILING AS A SPRINGBOARD. THE SCHOOL BUDGET CAN’T HANDLE ANOTHER ‘STRUCTURAL REVISION.’”

On-screen, Midoriya snapped into a bow.

Not a normal bow. Not the slightly awkward bend most students gave teachers.

This one was sharp. Precise. Spine straight, arms locked to his sides, head dipping at a perfect angle before returning to neutral in a single smooth motion.

Aizawa paused it mid-bow.

“That,” he said, “is muscle memory taken too far.”

Present Mic tilted his head. “OR… hear me out… secret government experiment?”

Aizawa shot him a look.

Mic held up his hands. “KIDDING. MOSTLY.”

The footage resumed.

Midoriya’s autonomic body—because Aizawa had started thinking of it that way, whether he liked it or not—completed the bow and straightened.

His face, however, lagged behind.

A breath hitched. His shoulders sagged. His hands flew to his knees as he wheezed.

“S-sorry! I didn’t—I mean, it didn’t—wait, I didn’t mean to—”

Aizawa paused again.

“There,” he said. “Did you hear that?”

Mic leaned closer. “He corrected himself.”

“He didn’t just correct himself,” Aizawa replied. “He changed subjects.”

Mic’s grin slowly crept back. “OH. OHHHH.”

On-screen, Midoriya’s body caught a falling pencil without looking—fingers closing around it neatly, reflexively.

Then his foot caught on nothing.

He pitched forward, arms flailing, and slammed face-first into Kirishima’s chest.

The camera caught Bakugou in the background, staring.

His eye twitched.

“The hell is this,” Bakugou muttered. “Is he mocking me?!”

Aizawa watched Bakugou’s posture carefully. The anger was there, sharp and immediate—but beneath it, something else.

Unease.

“N-no! Kacchan, I swear—”

“SWEAR ON WHAT? YOUR SECRET SECOND BODY?!”

The room on-screen went dead silent.

Midoriya’s autonomic form froze.

Not metaphorically.

Actually froze.

Every muscle locked in place, his posture still half-collapsed from the fall. His eyes stared forward, unfocused.

His face drained of color.

Aizawa leaned forward despite himself.

“What happens next?” Mic whispered, unusually quiet.

They watched.

Midoriya swallowed.

Then laughed.

It was thin. Strained. Too fast.

“H-haha, what? D-don’t be ridiculous, I don’t have— I mean, that’s not—”

Behind the stammering, his fingers twitched.

Once.

Twice.

Like he was trying to send a signal and getting no response.

Present Mic, on-screen, inhaled mid-sip and immediately regretted it.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

The footage ended in chaos—Kirishima panicking, Uraraka hovering, Bakugou shouting, All Might desperately trying to restore order.

Aizawa leaned back in his chair and stared at the darkened screen.

The room hummed softly with the sound of electronics and fluorescent lights.

“Well,” Present Mic said finally, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes, “THAT EXPLAINS THE VIBES.”

Aizawa didn’t respond.

His mind was already racing ahead, assembling possibilities and discarding them just as quickly.

Quirk evolution? Unlikely. Too clean in some places, too messy in others.

Trauma response? Maybe. But that kind of split-function behavior usually came with memory gaps. Midoriya remembered everything. Too much, if anything.

A secondary quirk? No precedent for one that operated like this without conscious awareness.

Unless…

He pulled up Midoriya’s file.

Quirk: Power Up

Yet he looked at the date it was registered.

And his confusion only grew further.

Chapter Text

Izuku Midoriya's quirk was registered the same day as the U.A. High Entrance Exam—a bureaucratic oversight so glaring even Nezu's tail twitched when he noticed it. The timestamp blinked innocently on Aizawa's screen: **04/16/XXXX- 09:37 AM.** Thirty seven minutes before the written test began. Thirty seven minutes before Izuku Midoriya should've been panicking over kanji radicals instead of rewriting his genetic destiny in ballpoint pen on a government form.

He decided to see what the quirk 'Power Up', entailed.

Despite what his gut told him, there was still the chance that it would explain everything.

Quirk: Power Up

- This quirk allows the user to temporarily enhance their physical capabilities beyond normal human limits for short bursts. Strength, speed, and durability increase exponentially during activation.

- Drawbacks include severe muscular strain, potential bone fractures, and exhaustion proportional to usage duration.

- Maximum output remains untested due to user's self imposed limitations following initial incident resulting in right arm spiral fractures.

- Quirk appears to also have a latent mutation quality with change of body before and after initial quirk activation.

- Further investigation needed but initial hypothesis suggests potential quirk awakening.

- Advised to continue monitoring subject for anomalous behavior patterns.

Aizawa then reread the forth point again, more specifically the 'change of body' part. He quickly looked up 'Izuku Midoriya' on the UA database, and sure enough, there were two pictures of him—one labeled "Pre-Quirk" and the other "Post Quirk Activation." The first showed a less buff (yet still muscular), shorter (yet about average height), freckled kid with messy green hair and hunched shoulders, while the second... was... just objectively better.

It was perfectly muscular, proportionally flawless—like someone had taken Midoriya’s original design and upgraded every feature in a lab. His shoulders were broader, his jawline sharper, he lacked any freckles (that was just, really random all things considered), his hair was still messy but to where it looked intentional as well as a bit longer in length, he was taller, (originally five foot five to six foot three), his eyes looked just a bit more alive—like someone had dialed the saturation up on his irises—and even his damn posture had improved.

"THAT'S THE SAME KID?" Present Mic screeched, knocking his chair over. "HE LOOKS LIKE HE GOT REPLACED BY A GREEK STATUE!"

Aizawa scowled at the screen, fingers twitching around his capture weapon.

He also knew that Katsuki Backugou and Izuku Midoriya both went to Aldera Middle, even the exact same class.

It was why they had different testing grounds after all.

But Katsuki Bakugou and Izuku Midoriya didn't seem to know each other at first.

Despite being in the same class at least once every single year since they both first started school.

Aizawa had overlooked it at first, it was odd to him yes, but those type of this happened sometimes.

But today had changed that.

It seems that Izuku Midoriya did know who Katsuki Bakugou was the entire time.

And Katsuki Bakugou had only just now recognized him.

He decided to finally turn off the computer.

He didn't get paid enough for half of this shit.

---------

[The Next Day (PoV: Izuku Midoriya)]

Izuku Midoriya was just trying to get to class.

Or at least onto U.A. High grounds.

But reporters were being reporters.

"Hey, you handsome! How are All Might's classes?!" Another asked while shoving a microphone into his face—as if they expected him to answer coherently while simultaneously dodging camera flashes. Izuku's autonomic reflexes tilted his head just enough to avoid collision, his primary consciousness still halfway groggy.

"Uh, excuse me, I have to—" His legs moved before his mouth caught up, weaving through the crowd with unnatural precision while his arms flailed like overcooked noodles. A reporter's elbow clipped his ribs, and for a glorious half second, Izuku Midoriya experienced the surreal sensation of his autonomic body pivoting on one heel while his conscious mind screamed internally about rib fractures.

"What do you think of All Might as a teacher?!" a reporter barked, shoving a mic so close Izuku’s autonomic reflexes made him lick it—like a goddamn lizard—before his conscious mind registered the horror. His primary body recoiled, tripping backward, but his autonomic legs twisted midair, flipping him into a flawless three point landing atop a trash can.

"UM," Izuku squeaked, clinging to the lid like a startled gecko—legs splayed in textbook perfect form while his arms flapped in panic. His autonomic reflexes had apparently decided trash can acrobatics were acceptable, but his conscious mind was currently drafting a resignation letter to gravity. Below him, reporters blinked up in unison, microphones tilting like sunflowers tracking a very confused solar event.

One journalist squinted. "Did... did All Might teach you that?"

"VERY MUSCULAR!" Izuku's autonomic body bellowed suddenly, "He made me recognize anew that I attend an educational institution that is the best of the best. Of course, his dignity and character go without saying, but we students are constantly able to see his humorous side. It is a unique opportunity to learn about being a top hero directly from one!"

He lept over the wall the second he saw Katsuki Bakugou coming.

"Excuse me!" He heard a reporter ask Katsuki, who was already charging forward with explosions popping in his palms, "Can you tell me about All Migh— Oh? You're the one who was caught by the sludge villain..."

"STOP IT!" Katsuki roared—his face twisted in fury—as Izuku's autonomic body smoothly backflipped onto a street lamp, legs coiled like springs while his upper body wobbled like a drunk giraffe. His conscious mind screamed internally: *Why are we PARKOURING?!*

The news that All Might had been hired as a teacher at U.A. High surprised the nation... and the media descended on the school and caused a commotion for days.

Everyone knew about it.

Yeah... everyone.

Soon everyone managed to make it to class (only about five minutes late on average).

"Good work on yesterday's combat training. I saw the video and results," Aizawa began, eyeing the class like a sleep deprived hawk. He paused—just long enough for Katsuki Bakugou to twitch—before adding, "Bakugou, you're talented, so don't act like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum."

He then peered over at Izuku Midoriya, "And Midoriya..." He sighed, 'You settled it by breaking your leg. Even if your quirk seems to help you heal better, control your Quirk before it controls you.'

"YES, SIR!"

Yeah, that was another weird part of this body, even with taking Recovery Girl's quirk into account, Izuku's leg had already mostly healed already.

Even if it still ached like hell.

"Now let's get down to homeroom business." Aizawa began to drone again, "Sorry about the late notice, but today, I'll have you..."

Then everyone began interrupting again:

"TAKE ANOTHER SPECIAL TEST?!"

"...decide on a class representative." Aizawa finished, annoyed as ever.

"IT'S ACTUALLY A NORMAL SCHOOL ACTIVITY!"

"I want to be class rep! Pick me!"

"Me too!"

"I want to do it, too."

"It's a job made for m—"

"I'll be the leader!"

In a normal class, it's about taking on daily duties, so this wouldn't happen.

In a normal class, students might feel like they're just taking on daily duties, and this wouldn't happen.

"Let me do it! Me!"

But here in the hero course,

it's a role that allows one to practice being a top hero by leading a group.

"Silence, please!" Tenya Iida began, "It is a job with the serious responsibility of leading others! It is not a job for just anyone who wants to do it! It is a calling that requires the trust of those around you! If we want to use democracy to decide on a true leader... then we should hold an election to choose one!"

"YOUR HAND IS RAISED THE HIGHEST!"

Izuku blinked.

"Why did you suggest that?"

"We haven't known each other for that long, so how can we have trust or anything?"

"If that's the case, and everyone votes for themselves..."

"Don't you think that is precisely why whoever receives multiple votes here can be truly considered the most suitable person?!"

"What do you think, Mr. Aizawa?!"

He just sighed, "I don't care, as long as you decide before homeroom is over..."

"Thank you very much!"

And thus the voting finally began.

Chapter Text

“I got seven votes?!”

Izuku Midoriya had meant for that to stay inside his head.

Unfortunately, his vocal cords seemed to have disagreed.

The words burst out of him at a pitch normally reserved for tea kettles and small mammals. Several heads snapped in his direction. A pencil rolled off someone’s desk in the stunned quiet that followed.

“Why Deku?!” Bakugou barked instantly, as if the universe had personally offended him. “Who voted for him?!”

His voice detonated across the classroom. It wasn’t shouting. It was an artillery demonstration.

“Well,” Kaminari muttered, leaning back in his chair with the energy of someone poking a tiger with a stick, “it’s better than voting for you.”

The silence that followed was so complete that Mineta’s nervous sweating became acoustically relevant.

Plip.

Katsuki Bakugou’s left eye twitched.

Not subtly. Not poetically. It twitched with the ominous rhythm of a countdown timer.

Kirishima, reading the atmospheric pressure like an experienced sailor spotting a typhoon, slowly nudged his desk backward by exactly three inches.

Izuku’s autonomic body—traitorously competent—straightened his posture without permission. Shoulders squared. Spine aligned. Hands folded neatly on his desk like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment.

His conscious mind, meanwhile, was sprinting in circles screaming:

*WHO THREW ME UNDER THE BUS AND WHY IS IT ON FIRE?!*

Uraraka coughed delicately into her fist.

“Ahem. I, uh… thought Midoriya would be… responsible?” Her voice cracked on the last word like it had stepped on black ice.

Kaminari snorted. “Dude literally broke his own leg to win yesterday.”

“S-S-Seriously?” Izuku stammered.

His autonomic fingers began tapping a perfectly even rhythm against the desk—steady, controlled. His conscious hands spasmed like they’d just been unplugged from a faulty outlet.

Across the room, Bakugou’s eye tremor intensified. The kind that precedes either volcanic eruption or very loud vocabulary.

Yaoyorozu tilted her head thoughtfully. “Midoriya did exhibit… unconventional leadership tendencies during combat training.”

Her tone carried the delicate academic intrigue of someone who had observed a raccoon successfully operate heavy machinery. Impressive. Questionable. Technically valid.

Meanwhile, Iida sat rigid in his chair, hands clasped.

“Zero votes…” he muttered, staring forward with solemn dignity. “I anticipated such an outcome. It aligns with statistical probability.”

“You voted for someone else, huh?” Kaminari leaned over. “But you wanted it too, didn’t you? What’s your deal, Iida?”

Iida inhaled sharply, pushing his glasses up with dramatic precision. “Wanting to lead and being the optimal choice to lead are separate variables. I acted according to my judgment.”

Before the philosophical debate could evolve into interpretive dance, Aizawa’s voice cut through the room like a scalpel.

“The class rep is Midoriya. Deputy class rep is Yaoyorozu.”

The decision landed with bureaucratic finality.

“S-S-Seriously?” Izuku repeated, because apparently that was the only sentence his brain had left.

His autonomic posture remained immaculate.

His conscious fingers carved microscopic trenches into the desk’s surface.

Bakugou’s eyebrow climbed higher, registering on an invisible seismic scale labeled *Impending Detonation.*

“After all’s said and done, Midoriya gets fired up when it counts,” Kirishima added.

“And Yaoyorozu was super calm during the results review!” someone else chimed in.

The bell rang.

Its clean metallic chime synchronized perfectly with Bakugou’s fist punching through several sheets of notebook paper.

“DEKU’S AUTONOMIC ASS CHEATED AGAIN.”

Across the room, Izuku’s autonomic body had already stood up, collected his things, and exited with suspicious efficiency.

---

And soon it was lunch time.

The cafeteria buzzed like an ecosystem.

“There are a lot of people today, too!” Uraraka observed, craning her neck.

“That’s because everyone in the hero course, support course, and management course eats here,” Iida explained.

Noise layered over noise—trays sliding, chairs scraping, laughter ricocheting off high ceilings. The smell of rice, miso, and fried food blended into something aggressively comforting.

“The rice is so delicious!” Uraraka announced with her cheeks inflated to near-hamster proportions.

Izuku stared down at his tray.

*Seven votes.*

The number replayed like a broken audio loop.

“Even though I’ve been chosen as class rep,” he began carefully, “I don’t know if I’m qualified for it.”

“You are,” Iida said without hesitation. “Your judgment during critical moments demonstrates courage and adaptability. Those are leadership traits.”

“That’s why I voted for you,” Uraraka added brightly, giving him a thumbs-up.

Izuku blinked.

His autonomic body sat perfectly still.

His conscious brain short-circuited.

“Wait… *you* voted for me?!”

“Obviously,” she said. “Who else would I vote for? Bakugou?”

Across the cafeteria, Bakugou’s spoon bent mid-bite.

Metal surrendered with a soft squeal.

“But didn’t you want to be class rep too, Iida?” Uraraka continued, blissfully unaware of conversational landmines. “I mean, you’ve got the glasses and everything.”

*She just says things,* Izuku thought, watching his autonomic hand stack empty dishes with geometric precision while his conscious self fumbled a pudding cup onto his lap.

Iida’s chopsticks froze.

“Wanting a role and being suited to it are distinct concerns,” he replied evenly. “I voted according to merit.”

“Oh, that’s…” Izuku attempted agreement. What emerged instead was a sound resembling a vacuum cleaner choking on fabric.

Uraraka leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve been wondering… are you a rich boy, Iida?”

“Rich—?!” Iida nearly snapped his utensils in half. His glasses flashed dramatically. “I adjusted my manner of speaking to avoid that label. However… yes. My family has produced heroes for generations. I am the second son.”

“WHAT?! WOW!”

“Do you know the Turbo Hero, Ingenium?”

“Of course! He’s super famous!”

*No way…*

“He is my elder brother.”

*He just said it.*

“That’s amazing!” Uraraka nearly launched her rice bowl across the table in excitement.

“I aim to become a hero like my brother,” Iida admitted, posture softening slightly. “However, I do not believe I am ready to lead others yet. Midoriya understood the objective of the practical entrance exam in a way I did not.”

Izuku stiffened.

His autonomic body sat up straighter.

Across the table, Bakugou’s tray cracked under pressure. Sauce seeped between his fingers like molten lava seeking escape.

“This might be the first time I’ve seen you smile, Iida,” Uraraka said.

“I smile,” Iida insisted, touching his face in mild confusion.

At that exact moment, Bakugou’s tray snapped in half. Fried shrimp scattered outward in all directions.

Without looking, Izuku’s autonomic body reached out and caught a flying carrot stick midair.

He stared into the distance.

*Ingenium is to Iida what All Might is to me.*

That understanding felt heavy. Familiar. Motivating.

*I should tell him about the entrance exam…*

He imagined explaining it—the zero-pointer, the instinct, the moment he moved without thinking.

Then—

“AN ALARM?!”

The sound tore through the cafeteria.

Not a polite signal. Not a drill tone.

A sharp, slicing wail that bypassed thought and went straight to instinct.

Conversations shattered mid-sentence.

Trays clattered.

Chairs screeched.

Just then, the intercom crackled.

“There has been a Level security breach.”

The word *breach* rippled through the room like a dropped stone in still water.

“What the—?” Kirishima froze, miso soup dripping onto his lap.

“All students please evacuate outdoors promptly. I repeat…”

Chairs scraped back in unison.

Noise swelled instantly—fear layered over confusion layered over adrenaline.

Okay.

This might be really bad.

Strike that.

This almost certainly was.

Chapter Text

"What's 'Level security'!?" Kirishima yelled over the din of clattering trays, his voice cracking mid-sentence like a pubescent foghorn.

"IT MEANS SOMEONE IS TRESPASSING ON SCHOOL GROUNDS!" Tenya bellowed, his arm chops generating enough wind pressure to send a stray napkin airborne. Across the cafeteria, Izuku's autonomic body was already vaulting over tables in perfect parkour arcs—while his conscious mind screamed internally about violating at least seventeen school regulations.

"I've never seen anything like this in the three years I've been here!" One of the third years called out as Izuku's autonomic form twisted midair.

He had to take action.

This wasn't a drill.

While it was unlikely, somebody could get hurt... or even die.

Meanwhile, he was in a whole other body, meaning that if anything happened to this body he'd be fine in his original.

Sad, defeated, and effectively Quirkless again, but alive.

So he had the courage to do this, "You should hurry, too! Don't push!" He called out, his voice cracking halfway through.

"Wait, I'm falling!" The other student called out just as Izuku's autonomic body snatched him mid-collapse with one hand with surprising ease for not using his Quirk.

Yet.

Kaminari blinked at the physics defying split screen absurdity unfolding: "Dude's literally just built different than us." His fingers twitched toward his phone camera—Izuku's autonomic form spun midair to catch a tray from falling on another student.

"What's going on all of a sudden?" Kirishima shouted, accidentally hardening his elbow into a classmate's ribs. The cafeteria dissolved into pandemonium—trays clattered, milk cartons exploded underfoot, and somewhere in the chaos, Mineta was using terrified students as human stepping stones.

"As expected of the best of the best. Everyone reacts quickly in a crisis!" Iida complemented, as he ran behind them all.

"They're so quick that it's causing a panic!" Izuku realized, as he looked over to make sure nobody was getting trampled.

Then they heard fast footsteps from the other direction coming up.

It was the intruders.

"Midoriya!"

"Deku!"

"Who in the world trespassed?" Kirishima yelled, accidentally hardening his fingers around a lunch tray—which Izuku's autonomic body caught mid-spin before it could brain Kaminari. The second body didn’t even glance at the projectile, already pivoting to stabilize Uraraka as she tripped over a spilled pudding cup. Meanwhile, Izuku's primary consciousness was busy screaming internally about the logistics of cafeteria evacuation routes.

"That’s... the press!?" Izuku answered confused as he got a good look at the incoming crowd.

"Give us All Might!" a reporter yelled.

"We told you, he's not here!" Kirishima shouted back.

"If you just give us one brief comment, we'll leave!" Another reporter barged in.

Just then, Aizawa and Eraser Mic had finally arrived and where both pissed.

"They're illegal trespassers, you know. You could call them villains. You think we can beat 'em up?" Present Mic leaned over and whispered to Aizawa.

"Don't do it, Mic. They'll write up a bunch of half truths about you. Let's wait for the police." Aizawa responded in his usual monotone annoyance.

'I wondered what it was, but it's just the media.' Izuku thought as he let out a sigh of relief, until his autonomic body suddenly reacted without warning. 'Wait, someone fell! Don't push!'

"Uraraka!" He called out instinctively.

"Midoriya?" She replied with confusion.

"Iida!" He called next.

"What?" Iida responded.

'What Midoriya or my brother would do?!' He thought frantically.

"Uraraka! Make me... Make me float, Uraraka!" He shouted with sudden determination.

She hesitated only a second before tapping him, sending his primary body weightless. His autonomic reflexes kicked in, launching him skyward.

"A place in everyone's line of sight...!" He muttered.

"Engine boost!" Iida suddenly activated his quirk, rocketing upwards.

"Iida...!" Izuku gasped as his autonomic body twisted midair, landing perfectly atop Iida's shoulders.

"Be concise... clear... and bold!" He reminded himself, taking a deep breath before shouting down at the panicked crowd. "Everyone, everything is fine! It is just the media! There is nothing to panic about! Everything is fine! This is U.A. High School! Let us act in a way befitting the best of the best!"

The students slowly began calming, looking up at the unlikely duo with awe.

"The police are here!" Someone shouted from below.

"Oh good..." Izuku sighed in relief.

"Goodbye bad mass media!" Present Mic cheered dramatically.

"Come on, class rep." Aizawa said dryly, gesturing for them to come down.

As they descended, Kirishima nudged Kaminari. "Dude, did you see how Midoriya just... did that? Like some kinda acrobat ninja?"

"I know right? Freaky. But manly!" Kirishima agreed.

"He's so cool!" Mineta called out randomly.

Bakugou meanwhile was fuming silently in the corner, fists clenched so tight his palms bled. "Deku... you damn nerd... showing off again..."

Elsewhere, hidden among the press, a shadowy figure smirked behind their camera. "Interesting. Very interesting indeed..." They muttered before slipping away unnoticed.

Meanwhile, All Might was still stuck in the lounge, exhausted from hero work earlier. "DAMN IT! I SHOULD BE OUT THERE PROTECTING MY STUDENTS!" He shouted at no one in particular, before suddenly deflating back into his skinny form with a cough. "Oh... that's not good. After I gave young Midoriya One For All, my powers have been weakening. On top of that after forcing myself that time, the time I can spend in this form has gotten even shorter than before."

He let out a long, pained sigh.

He would have at best, the end of Young Midoriya's first year here.

Then his embers would be worn out.

But it was fine, he trusted Young Midoriya.

The press had been handled, students were calming down, and Iida's Emergency Exit theatrics had somehow worked—despite looking like a living fire safety diagram mid-crisis.

"The future is in good hands, it seems."

But back to Izuku Midoriya and friends.

**Scene: Class 1-A Classroom**

"You’re really doing great already, Midobro!" Kirishima slapped Izuku’s back—his autonomic body didn’t even flinch while his real spine nearly crumpled like a soda can.

"Y-yeah! Amazing!" Uraraka cheered, thumbs up trembling as she eyed Izuku’s autonomic body effortlessly stacking chairs one-handed while his primary form fumbled a textbook. "You didn’t even blink when we all thought the reporters where actual villains!"

Indeed! This is why I voted for you as Class Representative!" Iida chopped the air with robotic precision, oblivious to Izuku's autonomic body subtly catching the tea cup his trembling primary form nearly knocked over. "Your crisis management instincts are—pardon my language—stupidly effective!"

Jirou snorted, earphone jack twitching. "Dude's got a super strong quirk and can move like a true dancer all the same. Cheat code much?"

'But it wasn't just me who helped calm everyone down, Iida also did, but it seems like even he's forgotten about it.' Izuku thought as he couldn't muster up the courage to say anything, 'Iida actually put himself in harms way, my quirk let's me have an automatic second chance, but he has only one body—'

A sudden smack to his back snaps him out of his thoughts, "Midoriya, you're literally built different!" Kirishima grins, flexing his hardening Quirk in admiration. "Man, even Bakugou couldn't rattle you!"

Across the room, Bakugou’s eye twitches violently as he grips his desk hard enough to leave scorch marks. Kirishima leans back with a chuckle—his sharp teeth gleaming—while Jirou casually twirls an earphone jack around her finger. "Dude," Sero stage whispers, "Midoriya’s basically got cheat codes installed. Did you SEE how he balanced on Iida’s shoulders like it was nothing?"

Izuku thought about giving his position of Class 1-A's Representative to Iida for a moment. But then he realized—a good Class Representative puts himself last and the needs of others first.

Which meant he'd have to *keep* the position.

"Damn it..," Izuku muttered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Bakugou was busy staring at him with the kind of intensity usually reserved for arsonists and tax auditors. "WHAT ARE YOU MUMBLING ABOUT, DEKU?" he barked, fingers twitching like malfunctioning sparklers.

"Uh," Izuku said as eloquently as always.

Which was another way of saying, not at all.

Because Kirishima—bless his eternally-sunny disposition—had just blurted out the question currently ricocheting through Class 1-A's collective consciousness:

"Wait, hold up," Kirishima jabbed a hardened finger toward Bakugou, who was currently attempting to set Izuku's uniform on fire with sheer willpower. "Why have you been calling Midobro 'Deku' lately Katsuki?"

'Oh... SHIT!'

Chapter Text

“Yeah, man, in fact you’ve been treating Midoriya weirdly ever since day one,” Kaminari said, leaning so far forward in his chair that it balanced precariously on only two legs, “and then all of a sudden you started calling him *Deku*, so yeah—what gives?”

The chair wobbled.

Before gravity could finish filing the paperwork, Izuku’s autonomic body casually nudged one of the chair’s legs with the side of his foot, restoring perfect balance without even turning his head.

Kaminari didn’t notice.

Nobody did.

Except Aoyama—whose sparkles dimmed noticeably as his brain tried, and failed, to reconcile what he’d just witnessed.

“Oui…?” Aoyama murmured, hand to chest. “Was that… choreography?”

“Yeah!” Uraraka chimed in, tilting her head with genuine curiosity, lips pursed in that way that made her look harmless enough to walk into a minefield without triggering suspicion. “Like… are you trying to say *Dekiru* maybe?”

The classroom froze.

Not metaphorically.

Not dramatically.

It *froze*.

Bakugou’s twitching eyelid stopped mid-spasm, as if reality itself had slammed the pause button. Kaminari’s fingers—still faintly sparking—hovered in the air like malfunctioning Christmas lights. Mineta slowly lowered himself back into his chair, sensing danger in the air the way small animals sense earthquakes.

Izuku’s autonomic body remained perfectly upright.

His primary body, meanwhile, began sweating bullets in terrifying synchrony in it's sleep, his heart pounding loud enough that he was certain Jirou could hear it from across the prefecture somehow.

*No.*

*No no no no no.*

*She didn’t just—*

“SHUT THE HELL UP, ROUND FACE!”

Bakugou exploded.

Literally.

The blast cracked like overcooked popcorn kernels detonating all at once, scorching the air and nearly singeing his own eyebrows as he spun on his heel.

The intercom crackled to life at exactly the wrong moment, announcing that the incident would be investigated further—how the intruders had broken in, where security had failed, procedures going forward—

Bakugou didn’t listen.

He was already storming toward the door, hands clenched so tight his palms smoked.

The door slammed shut behind him hard enough to rattle the windows.

Silence rushed in to fill the vacuum.

Every head turned.

Every pair of eyes locked onto Izuku Midoriya.

The pressure hit him all at once.

“Dude,” Sero said slowly, resting an elbow on Izuku’s broad left shoulder like he was settling in for a long story, “what was *that* about?”

Izuku swallowed.

He looked around.

Kirishima’s curiosity was written openly on his face, brows raised but friendly. Jirou leaned back in her chair, one earphone jack twitching with interest. Yaoyorozu watched quietly, analytical but gentle. Even a few students who had been pretending not to care were now very obviously caring.

They were all thinking the same thing.

*Something is going on.*

He absolutely, categorically, *definitely* could not tell them everything.

He could not explain alternate bodies, fractured consciousness, One For All, or the fact that the boy they knew as Izuku Midoriya was—depending on the metric—either the same Deku Bakugou had known all his life or was slowly becoming something else entirely wearing his skin.

But…

He could tell a *slightly altered* version.

A version shaped like the truth, but sanded down so it wouldn’t cut anyone.

Izuku took a breath.

“Kac-Katsuki and I went to the same school our entire lives,” he began, voice cautious, measured. “I… went through a bit of a growth spurt right before U.A. High started.”

That part wasn’t even a lie.

“We… had a bit of a falling out a long time ago,” he continued, eyes flicking briefly to the door Bakugou had exited through, “but he didn’t recognize me when this school year first started. So… yeah.”

The words sounded awkward as soon as they left his mouth, like they didn’t quite fit together right.

For a split second, Izuku worried someone would call him on it.

Then—

“Huh,” Sero said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Dude. That’s insane. You’re telling me you and Bakugou went to the same school?”

Izuku nodded.

A little too fast.

His autonomic reflexes twitched, just barely visible, before settling again.

Kirishima let out a low whistle, glancing back toward the closed door. “That actually explains a lot. No wonder he’s always barking at you like a dog that got its tail stepped on.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the room.

Not cruel.

Not mocking.

Just relieved, tension-breaking laughter.

Izuku smiled.

It felt slightly brittle.

Like glass pretending to be warm.

His autonomic body stayed still—unnervingly so—while his primary fingers curled into nervous fists under the desk.

“So,” Jirou said after a beat, tapping her desk with one finger, “Class Rep.”

Izuku flinched internally.

“What’s your first order of business before we all head home?”

Before he could answer—

“Oooh! A group chat!”

Tooru Hagakure’s voice popped up from somewhere near the back of the room, accompanied by the unsettling sight of a floating U.A. uniform sleeve waving enthusiastically. A phone hovered in midair, screen glowing.

“We can call it ‘Class 1-A’s Improbable Survival Squad’ since we all lived through Bakugou’s rage tantrum and those creepy news reporters!”

“That’s… actually not terrible,” Kirishima admitted.

“Yeah!” Kaminari grinned, sparks flickering between his fingers like faulty wiring. “But we can make it cooler! Like—‘1-A’s Thunderdome’ or—”

“NO.”

Jirou slammed her earphone jack into her desk with surgical precision.

“We are *not* naming it ‘Thunderdome.’ I refuse to live in a world where Kaminari gets to make electric puns in a group chat at three in the morning.”

“Aww, c’mon—”

A collective groan rose, half agreement, half protest, as Sero casually slapped a strip of tape over Denki’s sparking palms.

“Dude,” he said dryly, “you’re gonna short-circuit someone’s phone before we even add contacts.”

“DEMOCRACY!”

Mineta suddenly vaulted onto a chair, arms spread wide like a tiny, unhinged messiah addressing the masses.

“Let’s vote! Majority rules!”

Izuku’s autonomic body blinked.

Once.

Slow.

Then he lurched forward out of his seat and toward the front of the classroom.

“Uh! W-we could—maybe—list options first?” he stammered, voice cracking like a failing engine. “So it’s fair?”

He turned, facing the class.

“Since it seems like we’re all in agreement on a group chat,” he continued, forcing himself to project confidence, “we need to vote on a name. All in favor?”

“DEMOCRACY!” Mineta screamed again, vibrating with manic energy.

“DEMOCRACY!” Kirishima echoed enthusiastically, slamming his hardened fist onto his desk—

Which snapped clean in half.

Wood splintered.

The desk collapsed.

Kirishima froze.

“…Oops.”

As splinters rained down, more and more hands shot into the air, voices rising, overlapping, the chant spreading like wildfire.

“DEMOCRACY!”

“DEMOCRACY!”

“DEMOCRACY!”

Izuku stared at the chaos he had accidentally unleashed.

“O-oh… okay then,” he said weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. “L-let’s vote on this like we voted for class representatives then.”

And so—

With desks broken, voices raised, and absolutely no sense of restraint—

The second vote of Class 1-A began.

-------

"And the winner is... 1-A+!" Izuku announced, holding up a scrap of notebook paper with exactly 7 tally marks after the third round of voting.

Kirishima groaned. "Bruh. That's barely better than Thunderdome."

Jirou smirked. "Still better than 'Man's Paradise.'"

"OBJECTION!" The grape-haired gremlin shrieked, launching himself onto Kirishima's shattered desk like a deranged prosecutor. "I DEMAND A RECOUNT! 'MAN'S PARADISE' CLEARLY GOT ROBBED!" His tiny fists shook at the heavens as if the voting scandal personally offended his ancestors.

Izuku's autonomic hand twitched—microscopically—to catch Mineta's sliding sock before gravity noticed, "I-I swear it was fair! Hero in training's Honor!"

And so everyone there put there name in the group chat, some had nicknames, some had their first, some had their last and some put their full name:

- Yuga Aoyama (Twinkle King)
- Momo Yaoyorozu (Yaoyorozu)
- Denki Kaminari (THE Charger)
- Eijiro Kirishima (Mr. Manly)
- Mina Ashido (Pinky)
- Tsuyu Asui (Froppy)
- Ochaco Uraraka (Zero-Gs)
- Kyoka Jiro (Earjack)
- Toru Hagakure (Invisibae)
- Mezo Shoji (Shoji)
- Mashirao Ojiro (Tailz)
- Koji Koda (Animal Whisperer)
- Rikido Sato (Sugary Hulk)
- Hanta Sero (Tape Man)
- Fumikage Tokoyami (The Dhadow)
- Shoto Todoroki (???)
- Izuku Midoriya (Izuku)
- Tenya Iida (Iida)
- Minoru Mineta (Big Grape)

"Wait—where’s Todoroki?" Kaminari blinked at the scrolling list, finger hovering over the glowing screen. The class huddled around his phone, their faces illuminated by the pale blue glow of the freshly minted "1-A+" group chat. Outside, the afternoon sun painted the hallway in gold—but inside, the atmosphere crackled with the kind of chaotic energy only nineteen teenagers could generate.

Shoto Todoroki had already vanished down the corridor, his footsteps silent as frost creeping over pavement. Nobody noticed—except Izuku’s autonomic form, which tracked the retreating figure with eerie precision while his primary body stammered excuses. "H-he probably just forgot his phone—"

"OR," Mina interjected, draping herself over Kirishima’s shoulder with a grin sharp enough to cut steel, "Mr. Mysterious Ice Prince is allergic to FUN. Bet you five yen his contact name is 'Emergency Exit Only' in his own phone."

Jirou snorted, plugging her jack into Kaminari’s speaker. "Dude’s got the social skills of a brick wall. Remember when we asked his opinion on lunch and he just *stared* at his soba like it insulted his ancestors?"

The class erupted—laughter bouncing off lockers, Mina’s cackle loud enough to startle birds from the courtyard trees. Izuku’s autonomic body didn’t react, standing statue-still beside Uraraka, who was too busy wheezing to notice its unnatural poise.

Midoriya smiled again.

It was more genuine now.

Was this what having friends was like?

Chapter Text

[The Next Day]

"For today's hero basic training, it's turned into a class with three instructors, All Might and me, and one more person." Aizawa announced with all the enthusiasm of a wet sock.

"Turned into?" Kaminari whispered, glancing at Jirou. "I wonder if it's a special case?"

"Excuse me! What will we be doing?" Iida's hand shot up like a rocket-propelled question mark, nearly clipping Kirishima's jaw.

Aizawa sighed—the sound of a man who'd just realized he left his coffee in another dimension. "Disasters, shipwrecks, and everything in between. It's rescue training. Try not to drown each other."

Kirishima flexed, biceps rippling like overcooked sausages. "MY ARMS ARE READY TO RUMBLE!"

"Nobody can beat me in water, ribbit," Tsuyu deadpanned, blinking at him with amphibious serenity.

"Except maybe a toaster," Kaminari added, grinning when Kirishima's face crumpled like a rejected love letter.

Izuku's autonomic body shifted—microscopic—tilting its head toward the bus before Aizawa even finished speaking while he also fumbled with his notebook, ink smudging as he muttered, "Rescue protocols... aquatic Quirks... oh no, what if someone drowns because I—"

"DEKU." Bakugou's palm crackled against his temple, shoving him into the seat. "SHUT UP BEFORE I RESCUE YOUR FACE FROM YOUR SKULL."

Izuku just stared at him.

For some reason, he always felt like a different person whenever Katsuki spoke.

"Hey, I'm not done. You can decide if you want to wear your costume or not this time. Because there are probably costumes that limit your abilities, too. The training will take place off-campus, so we're taking a bus. That is all. Start getting ready." Aizawa’s monotone announcement barely registered as Izuku’s autonomic body was already in a bus seat and began thinking, 'Rescue training... What I've admired... It's training to get another step closer to being the greatest hero. I'll do my best!' He concluded with a smile on his face.

"Huh? Izuku, you're wearing your P.E. clothes. Where's your costume?" Kirishima blinked as the bus doors hissed shut behind them.

Izuku looked back up at him, "Oh! It got ripped up during the combat training... so I'm waiting for the support company to fix it."

"There was no point, huh? I say whatever comes to mind. Midoriya..." Tsuyu began, fingers tapping her chin as Kirishima snorted into his elbow.

"Um, yes, Asui." Izuku’s autonomic body adjusted its posture—fluid, poised—while his primary form flinched, fingers twitching toward a phantom notebook. Tsuyu blinked, unimpressed. "Call me Tsu." The bus lurched forward, and Kirishima’s elbow jabbed Kaminari’s ribs. "Dude, your ‘hardening’ looks like a bad spray tan."

"IT’S CALLED MANLINESS, SPARKY!" Kirishima flexed, veins popping.

"Anyways," Tsuyu began again, peering away from the other two, "Your Quirk is like All Might's."

Izuku’s autonomic body froze mid-sip from a water bottle—water dribbled down his chin, "H-H-Huh, Y-Y-You really think so?"

Yeah, Izuku was panicking now, "But... I'm... uh..." Yeah, he wasn't the best of fully lieing on the spot.

Luckily he didn't need to, Rikido Sato unknowingly did it for him, "Wait a sec, Tsu, All Might doesn't get hurt when he uses his at full power. They just kind of look the same. But it's nice to have a simple augmenting-type Quirk. You can do lots of flashy stuff!" He then at a bit of sugar and flexed.

Kirishima then jumped back in their conversation again, "Yeah, my Hardening's strong against others, but unfortunately, it doesn't look like much." He flexed as well, posing.

Izuku’s autonomic body nodded while blushing a little bit, "W-Well then, I think it's really cool! It's a Quirk that can definitely pass as a pro's!" He gave a thumbs up in reassurance—it seems like Kirishima's enthusiasm really did need it.

"A pro's, huh Midobro?" Kririshima smiled again, much softer now.

Now it was Aoyama's turn to join in, "But you have to think about popularity as a hero, too, you know. My Navel Laser is pro-level in both flashiness and strength. But it's not great that it gives you a stomachache. Sacrifices for beauty, non?"

"Y-yes?" Izuku asked a bit confused on why he was blushing so much now.

Tsuyu decided to speak brutally plainly again, "Well, if you're talking about flashy and strong, it's gotta be Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugou, though, huh? Bakugou's always mad, so he doesn't seem like he'll be popular, though. Ribbit."

"WHAT THE HELL?! YOU WANNA FIGHT?!" Bakugou's explosion-quirked palms crackled like overcooked popcorn as he lunged toward Tsuyu—only for Izuku's autonomic body to intercept midair, twisting them both into an accidental tango that sent Bakugou pirouetting into Kaminari's lap. The blonde yelped, "Dude, I’m flattered, but buy me dinner first—"

"See? We haven't known each other that long, so it's amazing that everyone already knows his personality is crap steeped in sewage." Tsuyu observed dryly.

"WHAT'S WITH THAT VOCABULARY, BASTARD?! I'LL KILL YOU!"

'Katsuki's being teased... I can't believe what I'm seeing! That's U.A. High for you!'

"What a vulgar conversation. But I like stuff like this, too!" Iida chopped the air violently—just as Kirishima accidentally elbowed a seatbelt release mid-turn, sending Kaminari flying backward into Jirou’s lap. She jammed her earphone jack into his thigh instinctively. "OW! What am I, a USB port?!"

"We're finally here. Stop messing around." Aizawa groaned from the front of the bus as it shuddered to a halt, the abrupt stop launching Mineta airborne—only for Izuku’s autonomic body to snatch him midair by the scalp like a basketball dunk. "Thanks man," he said simply.

"Of course, no problem."

The bus doors hissed open, revealing the USJ’s domed silhouette against the midday sun—its shadow stretching like a sleeping titan. Aizawa’s sigh carried the weight of unpaid overtime as they all walked out of the bus as they came up to a platform inside.

"Everyone, I have been waiting for you." The voice boomed across the USJ like divine thunder, making Kirishima drop his protein bar into a puddle. Thirteen's space helmet gleamed ominously as she raised four fingers.

"It's the Space Hero, Thirteen! The gentlemanly heroine who has rescued tons of people from disasters! Oh, I love Thirteen! Let's go inside without delay." Uraraka’s whisper-shout echoed off the USJ’s curved walls.

"I look forward to working with you all! A shipwreck... a landslide... a fire... a windstorm... et cetera. It is a training ground that I made with different types of accidents and disasters. It's called the "Unforeseen Simulation Joint," or "USJ" for short!" Thirteen spread her arms wide—her padded fingers wiggling like overcaffeinated starfish.

Kirishima squinted. "Wait, USJ? Like Universal Studios Japan?"

Mineta sniffed. "False advertising. Where are the rollercoasters?"

"Thirteen, where's All Might? He was supposed to meet us here." Aizawa walked over and whispered to Thirteen.

"Oh, uh, it looks like he did too much hero work on his way to work and ran out of time... so he's resting in the lounge. Sorry..." Thirteen sheepishly rubbed her helmet.

"That's the height of irrationality. Well, we took precautions just in case... It can't be helped. Shall we begin?" Thirteen adjusted her gloves with an audible squeak after Aizawa's reply before launching into a lecture about Quirk ethics, "Let's see... Before we begin, let me say one thing, or two... three... four... five... six... seven..."

'It's increasing!'

"Everyone, I am sure you are aware of my Quirk, Black Hole. I can suck up anything and turn it to dust." Thirteen's gloves squeaked as she gestured dramatically.

"You have been able to use that Quirk to save people from all kinds of disasters, right?" Uraraka asked with stars in her eyes, floating slightly off the ground until Tsuyu tugged her sleeve down.

"Yes," Thirteen said, her helmet tilting ominously. "But it is a power that can kill easily." The vacuum-sealed squeak of her gloves punctuated the silence as Midoriya's autonomic body twitched—its fingers spasming against his thigh like a metronome counting down to something none of them understood. Across the plaza, the fountain's water shuddered.

"Some of you also have Quirks like that, right?" She continued, "In a superhuman society, personal Quirks have been certified and stringently regulated, so that doesn't seem to be a problem at first glance. However, please do not forget... that there are many Quirks that can easily kill with one wrong step."

Midoriya's autonomic body exhaled sharply at that last part.

Then Thirteen continued after letting the moment become pregnant, "With Aizawa's physical fitness test, you found out about the possibility of your own hidden powers. And with All Might's person-to-person combat training, I think you experienced the danger of using those powers against others. This class is a fresh start. You shall learn how to use your Quirks to save people's lives. You do not have powers so you can harm others. I hope you leave here with the understanding that you have powers in order to help others." She bowed deeply, her helmet squeaking again as the tension in the air dissolved.

Midoriya's autonomic body twitched again—this time his fingers curling into fists before relaxing. Across the plaza, the fountain's water rippled unnaturally as if disturbed by an unseen force.

Kirishima nudged him with an elbow. "Midobro, you okay? You're spacing out."

"Yeah... I'm just fine."

'I sure hope so, at least.'

Chapter Text

"Thirteen's so cool!" Uraraka nearly screeched, bouncing on her toes until Tsuyu's tongue slapped over her mouth like a organic muzzle.

"That is all. Thank you for listening." Thirteen's helmet squeaked like a dog toy as she bowed.

"That was wonderful! Bravo! Bravo!" Kirishima clapped with shark-tooth enthusiasm as Thirteen's helmet squeaked one final time, "All right then, first—"

Then it happened.

The fountain was still echoing from Thirteen’s bow when the air *folded*.

Not tore—*folded*, like reality briefly forgot how to behave.

A black portal yawned open above the plaza, spilling fog that smelled wrong. Ozone and burnt sugar, like a lightning strike inside a candy factory.

Villains poured out.

Not charging.

Not screaming.

Wel okay, some of them were but that's not the point.

Just… arriving.

Tsuyu’s tongue snapped out on instinct, yanking Kirishima backward as a blade whispered through where his ribs had been a heartbeat earlier.

“Ribbit,” she said calmly, eyes wide. “We’re being assassinated.”

“Gather together and don’t move!” Thirteen ordered. “Protect the students!”

Izuku Midoriya heard someone—maybe Uraraka—say, “What’s that? Is this like the entrance exam where the losers already started?”

His second body moved before his thoughts caught up.

Not adrenaline. Not training.

Something *automatic*.

The sensation was familiar now: a clean disconnect. Like slipping into a glove already shaped to his hand. Somewhere far away—his real body lay safe, asleep, breathing. If this one broke, he wouldn’t die.

He’d just wake up in his original body.

That fact should have been comforting.

It wasn’t at all really.

“Don’t move!” Aizawa barked. “Those are villains.”

The stitched man stepped forward through the fog, hands buried in his pockets like this was a casual stroll. His voice was thin, scraping, but carried easily.

“Thirteen… and Eraser Head, huh?”
He tilted his head, curious. “The teacher’s schedule we received the other day said that All Might was also supposed to be here.”

Izuku’s borrowed body *twitched*.

Not fear. Recognition.

'The trespassing the other day…'

'This was them.'

The man scratched his neck. Hard. Skin flaked away under his fingers.

“The trouble I went through to bring this whole crowd…” He sighed. “All Might. The Symbol of Peace.” His gaze swept the students. “And he’s not even here?”

Something inside Izuku snapped into clarity so sharp it hurt.

'They’re disappointed.'

“I wonder,” the man continued lightly, “if he’ll come if we kill some kids?”

That was when Izuku’s second body lunged.

Not with One For All.

Not with strategy.

Just movement.

Aizawa was already moving too—goggles snapping into place as he blurred forward, capture weapon singing through the air. The villains fired—guns jammed mid-click, Quirks stuttering into nothing.

“Idiots!” someone shouted. “He can erase Quirks just by looking!”

Izuku skidded to a halt beside Thirteen as Aizawa crashed into the mob like a wrecking ball held together by spite and tape.

The stitched man watched, unimpressed.

“What pro heroes fight against,” he murmured, “and what they face… is extraordinary evil.”

Then the fog surged.

“Nice to meet you,” the man said as the world *broke apart*. We are the League of Villains.”

Space twisted.

Izuku felt the sensation before he understood it—like falling sideways through a door that hadn’t existed a second earlier.

His body vanished.

Then, water.

It was cold.

It was heavy.

Izuku slammed into it chest-first, air punching out of him. A tongue wrapped around his torso instantly and *yanked*.

“Ribbit! Don’t panic!” Tsuyu said, hauling him onto wreckage.

Mineta flailed nearby, screaming incoherently.

Izuku lay there gasping, heart hammering—not from fear of death, but from something worse.

'If this body sinks… I’ll just wake up.'

And that meant everyone else would still be here.

Still drowning.

Still dying.

The stitched man’s voice echoed in his head.

'Has there been some kind of change?'

Yes.

There had.

Izuku pushed himself upright, water streaming from his borrowed hands.

If the villains had planned for All Might…

If they had a way to kill him…

Then waiting wasn’t bravery.

It was surrender.

And surrender was something Izuku Midoriya—no matter *which body he was in*—had never been good at.

Alright. Same rails. Same stops. No skipping stations.

The water heaved.

Metal groaned beneath them as the wrecked ship shifted, listing like it might finally give up and sink for good.

Izuku coughed, rolling onto his side as Tsuyu released him. His chest burned—not pain, exactly, but the *memory* of it. His second body didn’t panic the way his real one would have. It registered danger clinically, like a diagnostic readout.

Alive and functional.

But damp and cold.

Mineta clung to a floating beam, sobbing at a volume that suggested the ocean itself had wronged him personally.

“There’s—there’s a ton of them!” he screamed. “They’re everywhere!”

Villains ringed the water, standing on debris, clinging to broken hulls, pacing along floating platforms. Too many. All watching. All waiting.

Tsuyu scanned them, eyes unblinking. “Ribbit. They’re not attacking yet.”

Izuku followed her gaze.

They were circling.

Not rushing. Not testing. Herding.

*They want us in the water.*

His stomach dropped—not fear, but understanding.

“Those guys…” Izuku muttered. “They’re assuming we’ll fight in the water, right?”

Mineta whipped toward him. “Are you ignoring me?!”

Tsuyu nodded slowly. “That seems likely. Ribbit.”

Izuku’s mind started moving faster than his heart. Faster than it ever had before. Being in this body did something strange—it stripped away the background noise of fear. He still felt it, but it no longer drowned everything else.

“They knew what was in these facilities,” he said. “The zones. The layout. They separated us on purpose.”

Mineta hugged himself. “That just means we’re doomed on purpose!”

“Not quite,” Izuku said.

He looked at Tsuyu.

“If they knew our Quirks,” he continued, “they wouldn’t have sent you here.”

Tsuyu blinked. “Ribbit?”

“If they knew you were a frog,” Izuku said, “they would’ve dropped you in the fire zone. Or the landslide area. Somewhere vertical.”

Silence.

The villains shifted their footing, still not advancing.

Mineta’s sniffing slowed. “Wait… you’re saying they don’t know what we can do?”

“Yes,” Izuku said. “They planned to overwhelm us with numbers because they didn’t have specifics.”

Tsuyu nodded again, slower this time. “That makes sense. Ribbit. They’re being cautious.”

Izuku exhaled.

“Our only advantage,” he said, “is that they don’t know our Quirks.”

Mineta laughed weakly. “Great! My Quirk is sticky balls! I’m saved!”

“That’s not what I meant,” Izuku said quickly. “It’s actually really useful.”

Mineta stared at him. “Sorry.”

Izuku turned to Tsuyu. “Can you tell us everything your Quirk can do?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“I can jump high, cling to walls, swim fast, and use my tongue to grab things from far away,” she said. “I can also secrete mucus. It stings a bit. I can spit out my stomach to clean it too, but that’s not very helpful.”

Mineta made a strangled noise. “Secrete?!”

Tsuyu shrugged. “You can forget those parts.”

Izuku nodded rapidly, scribbling mental notes.

“Mineta,” he said, “your Quirk.”

Mineta hesitated, then sighed. “They stick really well. Depending on my mood, they can last all day. If I pull too many off, I bleed.”

“That’s incredible,” Izuku said immediately.

Mineta recoiled. “No it’s not! They don’t even stick to me!”

“That means you’re immune to them,” Izuku said. “That’s an advantage.”

Mineta opened his mouth.

Then the villains moved.

Not charging.

Advancing.

One step at a time.

The water churned as something massive shifted beneath the surface.

Tsuyu tensed. “Ribbit. They’re waiting for the boat to sink.”

Izuku looked down. Cracks spiderwebbed through the hull beneath their feet. Water poured in steadily now.

Less than a minute.

“Once we’re in the water,” Mineta whimpered, “we’re dead.”

“No,” Izuku said.

He clenched his fist.

“When they think they’ve already won,” he said, voice steady despite everything, “that’s our chance.”

Mineta stared at him. “You’re insane.”

Izuku thought of All Might’s voice.
Of smiling on TV while bleeding off-screen.

Of being told, "IT'S FINE NOW! WHY!? BECAUSE I AM HERE!"

“This is the only way to win.”

The villains leapt.

The ship finally gave up.

Water swallowed everything.

Izuku moved.

He jumped—not with full power, not a smash that would tear his arm apart. Just enough. A controlled burst. The water exploded outward, then rushed back in—

“DELAWARE SMASH!”

The shockwave rippled across the surface, snapping Mineta’s balls free and dragging the villains together like debris in a whirlpool.

Tsuyu’s tongue snapped out, hauling Mineta clear.

The villains slammed together, stuck fast, limbs flailing uselessly.

Silence.

Then—

“…Huh.”

Izuku floated there, chest heaving, arm intact, staring at what they’d done.

“I guess,” he said faintly, “that means we cleared the first hurdle.”

Tsuyu smiled. “Ribbit. You were amazing.”

Mineta laughed hysterically. “We’re alive!”

Izuku didn’t smile.

Because somewhere, far away, his real body slept peacefully.

And here—

This one was now choosing to stay.

Chapter Text

The water settled.

Not calm—never calm—but no longer screaming.

Izuku treaded water beside the wreckage, eyes tracking the villains fused together by Mineta’s spheres. They struggled, cursed, tugged uselessly against the sticky constellation binding them into one furious mass.

Tsuyu hauled herself onto a floating slab of hull, steady as a lily pad. “Ribbit. They’re neutralized for now.”

“For now,” Izuku echoed.

That phrase mattered.

Across the zone, movement flared—another group of villains shifting position, testing angles, reassessing. Not panicking. Learning.

*They adapt fast,* Izuku realized. *That’s the real danger.*

A shadow fell over them as a much larger figure stepped onto a tilted platform nearby, water cascading off its limbs. Broad. Dense. Wrong. It didn’t move like a person. It moved like something built to move.

Mineta froze. “Why does that guy look like a refrigerator full of hate?”

Tsuyu stiffened. “Ribbit. That one feels different.”

Izuku felt it too. Pressure. Like the air itself had decided to push back.

Then—
a *crack* like a gunshot.

Across the plaza, Aizawa landed hard, scarf whipping outward as he slammed a villain into concrete. He didn’t pause. Didn’t breathe. Just moved—erase, bind, strike, repeat.

He was alone.

And the villains were converging.

Above them, the fog thickened.

Kurogiri’s voice drifted through the mist, polite and empty. “It appears the students are resisting better than expected, Shigaraki.”

A rasping laugh answered. “So what? That just makes it fun.”

Izuku’s head snapped up.

Through the haze, he saw him—the stitched man, hands twitching, posture loose in a way that screamed instability barely leashed.

Shigaraki Tomura.

“Scatter more,” Shigaraki ordered. “Don’t let them group up again.”

Warp gates bloomed.

Tsuyu’s eyes widened. “Ribbit—!”

The fog surged—

—and then *stopped.*

Aizawa’s gaze locked on Kurogiri.

The warp shuddered, distorting like a bad reflection.

“…Eraser Head,” Shigaraki muttered, irritated.

Aizawa didn’t answer. His scarf snapped out, yanking two villains off their feet. He didn’t look at the students—but his voice carried.

“Run,” he said. “Get out of here.”

Izuku’s heart lurched.

This wasn’t a suggestion.

Iida burst from behind a chunk of wreckage, glasses glinting, engines already whining. He snapped to attention even as debris drifted around him.

“Class Rep!” Tsuyu called.

Iida bowed sharply—too sharply for the chaos around them. “I will reach the school and alert the faculty!”

Mineta gaped. “You’re just gonna leave?!”

“I am fulfilling my duty,” Iida said, jaw tight. “If even one of us escapes, help will come.”

Izuku met his eyes.

For a fraction of a second, something passed between them—fear, resolve, responsibility snapping into alignment.

“Go,” Izuku said. “Don’t stop.”

Iida nodded once.

Then he ran.

Engines roared. Water exploded behind him as he launched across the surface, straight toward the exit corridor.

A villain noticed.

Then another.

“Hey!” one shouted. “That one’s getting away!”

They moved—

—and Aizawa moved faster.

He hit the ground in front of them like gravity had chosen violence, scarf looping, fists precise. A blink—Quirks dead. A sweep—bodies down.

But then—

The big one landed.

The impact cracked the plaza.

Concrete spiderwebbed outward as the Nomu straightened, steam hissing from its exposed muscle. Its blank eyes locked onto Aizawa.

Izuku’s breath caught.

“That thing…” he whispered.

Tsuyu swallowed. “Ribbit. That’s not human.”

The Nomu lunged.

Aizawa dodged—but not cleanly.

A fist grazed his side, sending him skidding across the ground, blood spraying in an ugly arc.

“Teacher!” Mineta screamed.

Izuku moved without thinking—then stopped.

*No.*

Charging in would get him killed. Even in this body, even if death wasn’t permanent—that didn’t mean it was meaningless.

*Think.*

The Nomu laughed. Actually laughed.

Shigaraki’s voice echoed. “It’s built to kill All Might. Let’s see how it handles a substitute.”

Aizawa stood again. Shaking. Bleeding. Still between the villains and the students.

Izuku felt something twist in his chest.

Not fear.

Anger.

Cold, focused, incandescent.

“We can’t help him directly,” Izuku said. “Not against that.”

Mineta trembled. “Then what do we do?!”

Izuku watched Iida’s shrinking form disappear down the corridor.

“We survive,” he said. “We delay. We don’t die.”

Tsuyu nodded. “Ribbit. That’s the mission.”

The fog thickened again.

And somewhere beyond it—

All Might was still not here.

But help was finally on the way.

The ground shook again.

Not from the Nomu this time—but from something *deciding* to move.

Mineta stopped shaking.

Not completely. His knees still knocked, his hands still trembled—but his eyes were locked forward now, not darting for exits or excuses.

“…Okay,” he said, voice thin but steadying, like a wire pulled tight. “Okay. I get it.”

Izuku glanced at him.

Mineta swallowed, then planted his feet on the slick concrete. One of his sticky spheres popped off his head and landed neatly in his palm. Then another. Then another.

“I hate this,” Mineta muttered. “I hate villains. I hate getting wet. I hate giant murder refrigerators.” He inhaled sharply. “But that guy—” He jerked his chin toward Aizawa, who was narrowly avoiding another pulverizing blow. “—he’s fighting *for us.*”

Tsuyu blinked. “Ribbit.”

Mineta looked at her, then at Izuku. His usual manic grin wasn’t there—replaced by something raw and stubborn.

“So I’m not running.”

Izuku felt it—that click. The same one he’d felt in himself, back when fear stopped being a wall and started being fuel.

“Good,” Izuku said quietly. “Because I need you.”

Mineta stiffened. “You… do?”

Izuku nodded. “Your Quirk is battlefield control. You decide where enemies can and can’t move. That matters more than power right now.”

Mineta stared at the spheres in his hands.

Then he smiled. Not sleazy. Not nervous.

Determined.

“…Heh. Guess I finally get to be useful.”

The fog shifted.

Three villains broke from cover, sprinting across the plaza toward them—fast, armed, confident.

“Incoming,” Tsuyu warned.

Mineta stepped forward.

“I’ll slow them,” he said. “You plan.”

He hurled.

The first sphere hit the ground and *spread*—bouncing, ricocheting, sticking to walls, pillars, debris. The villains leapt—

—and stuck.

One faceplanted, glued to the floor mid-cuss. Another slammed into a wall and stayed there, arms flailing uselessly. The third tried to retreat—

—and Mineta pegged him right in the back of the head.

“Gotcha,” Mineta muttered.

Izuku exhaled. “Perfect.”

More movement. Different angles. The villains were adjusting again—probing for gaps.

“Ribbit,” Tsuyu said, crouching. “They’re testing us.”

“Let them,” Mineta replied, already winding up another throw. “I’ve got plenty.”

Across the plaza, Aizawa was on his knees.

The Nomu loomed, raising a fist the size of a wrecking ball.

Izuku’s stomach dropped.

“No,” he whispered.

Then—

A *clang.*

Metal slammed into the Nomu’s skull, staggering it sideways.

Everyone froze.

From the upper walkway, someone stood braced, arm extended, breathing hard.

“Iida?” Tsuyu gasped.

But it wasn’t him.

It was another student—one of theirs—who’d doubled back instead of escaping fully, hurling debris with everything they had.

Shigaraki clicked his tongue. “Annoying.”

The Nomu recovered instantly—turning—

—and Aizawa *moved.*

He wrapped his scarf around the Nomu’s arm, yanked, and used the momentum to slam it into the ground. The impact cratered concrete.

Izuku clenched his fists.

*He’s still fighting.*

Mineta saw it too.

“…We buy him time,” Mineta said. Not a question.

Izuku nodded. “We buy everyone time.”

The fog rolled again.

And this time, when the villains charged—

They ran straight into a wall of purple spheres, a leaping frog, and a green-haired boy whose fear had finally decided to shut up and let him think.

The battle wasn’t over.

But they weren’t helpless.

Not anymore.

The Nomu roared.

Not a scream—more like a furnace coughing up rage. The sound rattled the plaza and made Izuku’s teeth vibrate in his skull.

Aizawa was moving again, scarf snapping like a living thing as he tried to reposition—but his footing slipped. Just a fraction. Just enough.

The Nomu’s fist came down.

Izuku didn’t think.

His autonomic body went.

It was like watching someone else hit fast-forward on his life. One moment he was standing beside Tsuyu and Mineta, the next the world stretched into vectors and angles and distances. The plaza became a map. The Nomu became a problem with joints.

“Midoriya—?!” Tsuyu croaked.

Izuku ran.

Not a heroic sprint. Not a flashy leap.

A dead-on, efficient charge—feet slapping wet concrete, muscles syncing in a way his conscious mind barely kept up with. His primary thoughts lagged behind, shouting warnings that arrived too late to matter.

This body can get hurt—

Doesn’t matter.

The Nomu’s arm slammed down where Aizawa had been—

—and Izuku slammed into the Nomu’s elbow at full speed.

There was a sound like steel hitting rubber.

Izuku bounced.

Hard.

His body skidded across the ground, shoulder screaming, vision flashing white. His autonomic self rolled with it, bleeding momentum instead of bones—but pain still bit deep.

Tsuyu gasped. “MIDORIYA!”

Izuku sucked in air, teeth clenched.

“…Still… up,” he rasped.

The Nomu turned.

Its head tilted, as if confused that something so small had interrupted it.

Shigaraki’s fingers twitched. “Oh? That one again.”

Izuku pushed himself to his feet.

His legs trembled. His lungs burned. His Quirk itched—that familiar, dangerous hum of power he couldn’t afford to unleash.

Think. Don’t smash. Analyze.

The Nomu’s skin wasn’t just tough—it absorbed force. Blunt power vanished into it like a punch into clay.

But what was the limit?

Chapter Text

The answer came faster than Izuku wanted.

The Nomu stepped forward.

Not rushed. Not angry.

Measured.

It twisted its torso and *swung*—not at Izuku, but past him. The air pressure alone sent a shockwave rippling across the flooded plaza. Debris skidded. Water leapt. Izuku barely managed to brace before the force slammed into his chest and hurled him backward like a kicked can.

He hit the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Vision doubled. Sound warped.

*Okay,* his conscious mind thought dimly. *Limit is… still very high.*

The Nomu advanced again, eyes blank, mouth stretching into something like a grin.

Shigaraki’s voice drifted lazily over the chaos. “Don’t break him yet. I want to see what he does.”

Izuku rolled onto his side, coughing. His autonomic body forced oxygen into his lungs, catalogued pain, marked joints as functional. Shoulder strained. Ribs bruised. Nothing shattered.

*Good.*

A shadow dropped beside him.

“Ribbit!” Tsuyu landed in a crouch, tongue snapping out to yank Izuku backward just as the Nomu’s fist cratered the ground where he’d been. “You okay?”

“Define okay,” Izuku wheezed.

Mineta slid in on his knees, skidding to a stop behind a half-submerged pillar. “That thing is NOT playing fair!”

“It doesn’t need to,” Izuku said, forcing himself upright. His legs shook, but they held. “It’s built for one job.”

Tsuyu’s eyes flicked toward Aizawa.

He was standing again.

Barely.

Blood streaked down his arm. His scarf hung slack, torn in places. But his eyes—still open. Still focused.

Still erasing.

The Nomu twitched.

Its muscles bulged, swelling unnaturally as it forced movement *without* its Quirk.

Izuku felt cold settle in his stomach.

“…It can fight Quirkless,” he murmured.

Mineta’s breath hitched. “That’s cheating.”

“Yes,” Izuku agreed. “That’s the point.”

The Nomu lunged again—straight for Aizawa.

Izuku’s autonomic body *moved* before permission could be given.

He sprinted.

Not toward the Nomu’s center mass.

Toward its *leg*.

“Mineta!” Izuku shouted. “Now!”

Mineta didn’t hesitate.

Purple spheres arced through the air, slapping onto the Nomu’s calf, ankle, heel. They didn’t stop it—but they *dragged*. Even a fraction of resistance against that much mass mattered.

The Nomu stumbled.

Aizawa capitalized instantly—scarf whipping around the Nomu’s neck, yanking its head sideways to break alignment.

Izuku jumped.

He hit the Nomu’s knee with everything he had *without* crossing the line into a Smash. The impact sent a jolt up his spine, pain blooming like fire—but the joint *buckled*.

The Nomu dropped to one knee.

For half a second—

The plaza went silent.

Shigaraki straightened. “…Oh.”

Izuku landed awkwardly, rolling, coming up on one knee. His vision swam. His hands shook.

But the Nomu was down.

Not defeated.

But *interrupted*.

“That’s it,” Izuku panted. “It compensates… but it still follows physics. It still has joints.”

Tsuyu nodded sharply. “Ribbit. So we aim *there*.”

Mineta swallowed, then grinned—tight, feral. “Heh. I can do joints.”

The Nomu roared again, forcing itself upright, tearing free of some of the adhesive with raw strength. It turned—eyes locking onto Izuku now.

Shigaraki laughed softly. “Looks like it’s chosen you.”

Izuku felt fear spike.

Then settle.

*Fine,* he thought. *Eyes on me.*

“Sensei!” Izuku shouted. “If you keep erasing—just the eyes—we can keep it slowed!”

Aizawa didn’t look at him.

“…You better not die,” he muttered.

Izuku smiled despite himself. “Working on it.”

The Nomu charged.

Izuku ran *toward* it.

At the last second, Tsuyu launched him—tongue snapping, momentum converting vertical into diagonal. Izuku twisted midair, slammed both feet into the Nomu’s shoulder joint, and rebounded off, flipping away as Mineta’s spheres plastered the creature’s elbow.

The Nomu swung wildly—missed.

Aizawa struck, scarf looping, yanking its arm back down.

The rhythm formed.

Not a winning one.

A *stalling* one.

Izuku hit the ground, rolled, came up again. His body screamed at him now—pain stacking, fatigue creeping in. He could feel the edge of One For All whispering in his bones, begging to be used.

*Not yet.*

Across the plaza, villains hesitated.

They were watching.

Learning.

“Don’t let them breathe!” Shigaraki snapped.

They surged.

Mineta pivoted instantly, spheres flying, cutting off approach lanes. Tsuyu leapt to intercept, kicks and tongue strikes snapping with surgical precision.

Izuku turned back to the Nomu just in time to see it *adapt*.

Its muscles shifted. Its stance lowered.

It stopped charging blindly.

“Oh no,” Izuku breathed.

The Nomu *feinted*—then slammed both fists into the ground.

The shockwave lifted Izuku off his feet and smashed him into a wall.

Everything went white.

For a terrifying moment—

Nothing.

Then—

Air rushed back into his lungs as his autonomic body forced movement, rolled him onto his side.

Pain screamed.

Real pain.

Izuku coughed, vision tunneling.

*Okay,* he thought distantly. *That one… that one was close.*

He heard shouting. Felt hands on his shoulder.

“Midoriya!” Tsuyu’s voice wavered. “Ribbit—stay with us!”

“I’m—” He swallowed blood. “—still… thinking.”

The Nomu loomed again.

Closer.

Aizawa stepped in front of it.

Alone.

“No,” Izuku whispered.

Aizawa’s legs shook. His breathing was ragged. But he didn’t move away.

Shigaraki sighed. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

The Nomu raised its arm.

Izuku felt something *snap* inside him.

Not bone.

Resolve.

He pushed himself up.

Pain howled.

Fear screamed.

And he stepped forward anyway.

“HEY!” Izuku shouted, voice cracking but loud. “Over here!”

The Nomu’s head turned.

Izuku’s heart hammered.

*This body can get hurt.*

*This body can die.*

*But it’s not pointless.*

He clenched his fist.

Just a little more.

Just enough.

The battle hadn’t turned.

But it hadn’t ended either.

And as the Nomu lunged again—

Izuku Midoriya met it head-on.

The impact never came.

Not immediately.

Because the world *changed*.

The air thickened—pressure collapsing inward like reality had taken a breath and decided not to let it out. The Nomu froze mid-lunge, its arm locked in place as if caught in invisible cement.

Then—

**BOOM.**

A sound like thunder punched through the USJ dome.

Wind *exploded* outward, water shearing away in concentric rings. Villains were hurled off their feet. Debris screamed through the air.

Izuku hit the ground again—not from an attack, but from *shock*.

His ears rang.

His vision swam.

And then—

A shape stood between him and the Nomu.

Broad shoulders.

A silhouette burned into the smoke.

A laugh—booming, familiar, impossible.

“HAHAHAHA—! WORRY NOT, YOUNG ONES!”

Izuku’s breath hitched.

That voice.

He knew that voice.

“I AM—”

The smoke parted.

A towering figure stood there, cape snapping in the turbulent air, muscles gleaming like carved stone beneath the lights.

“—HERE!”

All Might.

For one heartbeat, the entire USJ froze.

Mineta stared, mouth open. “I—I think I just ascended.”

Tsuyu’s eyes widened. “Ribbit…!”

Izuku felt his knees give out.

Not from exhaustion.

From *relief*.

All Might took one step forward.

The Nomu swung.

All Might caught the fist.

The collision cracked the ground beneath them, but All Might didn’t budge an inch.

“Oh?” All Might tilted his head, grin unwavering. “You’re sturdy.”

The Nomu roared and swung again—then again—each blow faster, heavier, brutal.

All Might blocked them all.

Each impact thundered through the dome, shockwaves ripping water into mist.

Shigaraki’s posture stiffened. “So… you *did* come.”

All Might didn’t look at him.

His eyes were locked on the Nomu.

“You hurt my students,” he said calmly.

The Nomu’s muscles bulged. Steam poured off its body.

All Might tightened his grip.

“That,” he continued, voice dropping just a fraction, “was a mistake.”

He *punched*.

Not flashy.

Not theatrical.

A straight, brutal blow that slammed into the Nomu’s torso and *launched* it backward like a missile. The creature tore through pillars, concrete exploding in its wake, before crashing into the far wall of the plaza.

Silence.

Then—

Izuku laughed.

It burst out of him, cracked and breathless and half-hysterical.

He slumped backward, staring up at the dome, chest heaving.

“…He made it,” he whispered.

Tsuyu crouched beside him, relief softening her posture. “Ribbit. Told you help was coming.”

Mineta wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then immediately pretended he hadn’t. “Y-yeah. Obviously. I was totally not worried.”

Aizawa staggered—then collapsed to one knee.

All Might turned instantly. “Aizawa!”

He crossed the distance in a blur, catching him before he fell.

“…You held out,” All Might said quietly.

Aizawa huffed weakly. “Took you long enough.”

All Might winced—but smiled.

Shigaraki watched from the fog, fingers twitching.

“…So that’s the Symbol of Peace,” he murmured. “Still standing.”

The Nomu *moved*.

Slowly.

It pushed itself up from the rubble, body steaming harder now, muscles swelling grotesquely.

All Might straightened.

His smile sharpened.

Izuku felt it.

The shift.

The fight wasn’t over.

But it had *changed*.

All Might rolled his shoulders, eyes never leaving the Nomu.

“Stay back,” he called without looking. “All of you.”

Izuku didn’t argue.

He couldn’t.

Because for the first time since the attack began—

He believed it.

The Symbol of Peace had arrived.

And the villains?

They were about to learn why that name mattered.

All Might stepped forward.

Each footfall cracked the ground—not from force alone, but from *certainty*. The kind that says the fight is no longer a question, only a process.

The Nomu lunged again.

Faster this time.

Its arm blurred, air screaming as it swung with enough force to shatter buildings.

All Might met it head-on.

“SMASH!”

The punch detonated midair.

A shockwave tore across the USJ, flattening fog, ripping water into spirals, hurling villains backward like discarded toys. The Nomu skidded across the plaza, carving a trench through concrete before slamming to a stop.

Izuku shielded his face from the wind, eyes wide.

That wasn’t just strength.

That was *control*.

All Might didn’t chase. He stood his ground, watching.

The Nomu rose again—steam pouring off its body in thick clouds. Its muscles bulged further, regeneration knitting cracks back together almost instantly.

Shigaraki laughed, thin and sharp. “It absorbs shock. You can hit it forever.”

All Might glanced over his shoulder—just briefly.

“Forever?” he said lightly.

Then he smiled wider.

“That won’t be necessary.”

He turned back to the Nomu, planting his feet.

Izuku felt it again—that pressure, like the air itself leaning forward.

All Might drew his arm back.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

A barrage.

Punch after punch, each one faster than the last, each impact stacking on the one before it. The air turned white with force. The ground beneath All Might splintered outward in a spiderweb of cracks.

The Nomu was driven backward inch by inch, its body deforming under the relentless assault.

Izuku’s breath caught.

He’d seen All Might fight on TV.

This was different.

This was up close.

This was *desperate*.

Aizawa, barely conscious, forced his eyes open. “…He’s pushing it.”

Tsuyu swallowed. “Ribbit… he’s not letting it breathe.”

Mineta clenched his fists. He didn’t scream. He didn’t run.

He watched.

Shigaraki’s grin twitched. “…What are you doing?”

All Might answered by stepping *in*.

He drew the Nomu close—locked one arm around its torso, muscles straining, cape snapping violently in the backlash.

“Listen carefully,” All Might said, voice still booming—but tight now. “You were built to take hits.”

The Nomu thrashed, claws scraping sparks from the ground.

“That’s impressive.”

All Might bent his knees.

“But you weren’t built to stay airborne.”

He *jumped*.

The ground exploded beneath them as All Might rocketed upward, dragging the Nomu with him. Wind howled. The dome rushed closer.

Izuku scrambled to his feet, heart in his throat.

“All Might—!”

They hit the ceiling.

All Might twisted midair, drawing his arm back one final time.

Every muscle screamed.

Every second mattered.

“PLUS—”

Shigaraki’s eyes widened.

“—ULTRA!”

The punch landed.

The Nomu was blasted downward like a meteor, smashing into the plaza below in a column of wind and debris that swallowed the entire center of the USJ.

The shockwave knocked Izuku off his feet.

Silence followed.

Dust drifted.

Steam dissipated.

Slowly, the crater cleared.

The Nomu lay at the bottom—embedded in concrete, unmoving. Its regeneration sputtered… then stopped.

All Might landed hard, one knee cracking the ground as he caught himself.

For just a moment—

His smile flickered.

Izuku saw it.

The hitch in his breathing.

The strain he was hiding.

All Might straightened anyway, turning toward Shigaraki.

“You’re out of tricks,” he said.

Shigaraki stared.

Then—quietly—he laughed.

“…So this is how it feels,” he murmured. “To be *outmatched*.”

Fog began to curl around his feet again.

“All Might,” Izuku whispered.

All Might noticed.

He stepped forward.

But too late.

The mist swallowed Shigaraki and Kurogiri whole—then vanished.

Gone.

All Might stood there for a long second, fist clenched.

Then he exhaled.

Hard.

The tension broke.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Rescue had finally arrived.

Izuku slumped down again, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave.

He was alive.

They were alive.

And for the first time today, the USJ felt… quiet.

But All Might didn’t relax.

Not fully.

Because Izuku saw it—the way he turned slightly away, hand pressed to his side, breath uneven.

The Symbol of Peace was still standing.

But he was paying a price.

And Izuku felt, deep in his chest, that this day wasn’t just about surviving.

It was about *seeing the truth* behind the smile.

Chapter Text

The silence didn’t last long. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, cutting through the ringing in Izuku’s ears. Water dripped from broken pipes and shattered fixtures, pooling in the uneven plaza. Dust and debris clung to the air, making it hard to breathe, but it wasn’t smoke that weighed on the heroes’ lungs—it was relief, fragile and tentative, and the lingering echo of danger that refused to let them relax.

Izuku sank to his knees, his chest heaving. Every movement sent spikes of pain through his ribs, through his arms, through his legs, but none of it mattered. All Might was alive. Aizawa had survived. His classmates were still standing, still breathing, still capable.

Tsuyu crouched beside him, her eyes scanning the remaining shadows for threats, tongue flicking automatically at debris that threatened her footing. “Ribbit… it’s not over, but…” She exhaled slowly, though even her calm voice carried the tremor of exhaustion. “…it’s better than before.”

Mineta picked himself up, dusting water and grime from his uniform. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair, still half-panicked, half-exhilarated. “I—I can’t believe… he just… did that…”

Izuku shook his head. “He didn’t just do it. He carried all of us. Every move we made, every punch we dodged… he made it possible.”

A shadow shifted behind them. Aizawa had staggered to one knee, his scarf hanging limply from his shoulders. The teacher’s eyes flicked toward Izuku, then All Might, and a small, sharp exhale escaped him. “…Took everything I had not to intervene. Just… keep them alive…”

All Might, for his part, had turned slightly away from the students. His chest rose and fell with labored rhythm, hands pressed against his sides, cape torn and streaked with dust and blood. His smile, when it appeared, was thinner than usual, fragile around the edges, but it was there nonetheless. It was a symbol not just of hope, but of perseverance, and Izuku felt the weight of it settle in his stomach.

The Nomu, once a tidal wave of destruction, lay immobilized in the crater below. Its body heaved faintly with the last gasps of mechanical-like regeneration, but each twitch faded into nothing. The creature’s grotesque strength had been overwhelming, and yet even it had limits. Izuku could still see the cracks where physics had won, where All Might’s blows had finally taken their toll.

Shigaraki’s figure had disappeared into the remaining fog, Kurogiri’s warped gate vanishing as the heroes regained their footing. For now, the villains had retreated—or at least concealed themselves, watching and recalculating. The USJ was theirs no longer, but the battle’s echo remained in shattered concrete, twisted metal, and waterlogged debris.

Izuku pushed himself upright, legs shaking violently. Every muscle protested. His body screamed from the fight, from the panic, from the near-misses and near-deaths. But his mind… his mind burned with focus. He had seen, up close, the reality of what being a hero meant. Not just strength, not just courage, but endurance, sacrifice, and the willingness to bear the burden of others’ survival.

Tsuyu’s hand touched his shoulder lightly. “Ribbit… are you going to be okay?”

“I—” He coughed, blood tinting his spit. “I… think so. I just… I saw what it meant.”

Mineta shook his head. “I don’t even know what that means. All I know is… wow. All Might just… wow.”

Izuku allowed himself a brief smile, grimy and shaky. “Yeah. He did. And now… we need to help finish cleaning this up. If the villains come back, we can’t afford to be caught like before.”

A low groan came from behind them. Aizawa’s body was rising slowly, each movement calculated, precise, but painfully slow. His eyes locked on the Nomu, then swept the area, ensuring no immediate threats lingered. “We… assess. Then we move. Do not relax yet. Sirens mean backup is coming, but there could still be stragglers.”

The students nodded, gathering in small clusters, watching the damage around them. Rubble littered the flooded plaza. Broken columns jutted at odd angles. Water cascaded in small waterfalls from fractured pipes. Every step forward had to be careful. Every breath reminded them of how close they had come to losing everything.

Izuku’s gaze returned to All Might. The Symbol of Peace stood, but the strain was unmistakable. The effort to throw the Nomu, to counter its every move, had left visible marks. His body bore the scars of exhaustion, of pushing past limits no human should endure. And yet, his presence alone still radiated assurance, like a lighthouse cutting through storm-tossed waves.

For a moment, Izuku allowed himself to feel the awe he had tried to suppress since the fight began. He could see the difference between a hero on television and a hero in real life. He could feel the weight of the smiles All Might wore, the effort it took to make those smiles reach his eyes while carrying the burden of his weakened state.

The sirens grew louder. Reinforcements were arriving. Teachers and pro heroes would soon sweep in, securing the area, tending the injured, and ensuring the villains would be contained. The USJ would survive, barely, but it would survive.

Mineta’s voice broke the reverie. “Hey… uh… Midoriya? That was insane. I mean, we survived. And he… he just…” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

Tsuyu shot him a pointed look, then spoke more seriously. “Ribbit. Focus. We need to regroup and move toward the entrance. Keep your heads clear. This isn’t over until all of us are safe.”

Izuku nodded. Pain radiated through his ribs, arms, legs, and spine, but it didn’t matter. Every student moved with careful precision, checking themselves and each other for injuries, ensuring that nobody was left behind.

He cast one last glance at All Might before following. The hero’s eyes were no longer on the students—they were scanning the horizon, the shadows, the lingering smoke. Every movement, every stance, spoke of someone who had fought not for himself, but for everyone else.

Izuku’s heart swelled with a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and newfound determination. This day had taught him more than any training exercise, any lecture, any simulation. It had shown him the reality of heroism—the responsibility, the fear, the courage, and the cost.

And as the students moved toward safety, as the sirens drew nearer, Izuku knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would do everything in his power to reach that level, to carry that weight, to embody the hope and strength that All Might represented.

Because this was not just surviving. This was learning what it truly meant to be a hero.

The USJ was quiet again, but the echoes of the battle lingered in every cracked wall, every puddle of water, every scorched column. And somewhere in that quiet, Izuku felt the promise of the future—the potential, the struggle, the endless fight to be worthy of the symbol that had saved them all.

And he would not forget it.

---------

The aftermath of the USJ attack was both chaotic and strangely serene. The dust still clung to the broken walls and shattered glass, but the immediate danger had passed. Izuku staggered forward, his body trembling from exhaustion, his heart still hammering with adrenaline. The Nomu was down, the mist gate had dissipated, and All Might, though visibly strained and weaker than ever, had survived the ordeal.

Even standing at a distance, Izuku could see the subtle tremor in All Might’s posture. The Symbol of Peace no longer moved with effortless dominance; every step, every motion, bore the weight of his injuries, the limits of his body, and the immense effort of the battle. Yet he remained, resolute, his eyes scanning for threats, still a living lighthouse cutting through the shadow of fear.

Midoriya’s gaze flicked to his classmates. Some were nursing minor injuries; others were frozen in shock. Their hands shook, their breaths came ragged, and yet, there was a spark of awe and determination in their eyes. They had seen firsthand what it meant to confront true evil and survive.

Kaminari leaned against a wall, gripping his electric gauntlets tightly. “We… we let our guard down completely,” he muttered, still trembling. His Quirk had been neutralized in the chaos, leaving him exposed and panicked. “I can’t believe… I might’ve had to… hurt someone like me.”

“Don’t dwell on it,” Izuku said, placing a supportive hand on his friend’s shoulder. His voice was hoarse but firm. “We survived, and that’s what matters. Everyone’s alive. That’s enough for now.”

Tsuyu, ever vigilant, crouched nearby, scanning the area. Her eyes flicked from shadow to shadow. “Ribbit… stay sharp. This isn’t over until we’re all in a safe place.”

Even as they caught their breath, the distant wail of sirens reminded them that the world outside USJ had already mobilized. Pro heroes were on their way, and soon the area would be swarming with reinforcements. The villains had retreated—or perhaps they were lying in wait—but for the moment, the students could finally breathe.

Izuku’s thoughts immediately returned to All Might. The hero’s chest rose and fell with labored effort, hands pressed against his sides to steady himself. The cape he wore was tattered and streaked with grime, his uniform torn from the Nomu’s relentless assaults. His smile, faint and fragile, still carried the weight of reassurance, but the cracks in his body told a story no words could capture.

“You saved us,” Izuku whispered, his voice catching. “All Might… you saved all of us.”

All Might’s gaze flicked toward him, exhaustion mingling with pride. “We… saved each other,” he said quietly, each word deliberate. “Even in my weakened state, your courage… your presence… made a difference.”

At that moment, Iida arrived, skidding to a stop in his engine-like rush, followed closely by other pro heroes who had arrived in the nick of time. “Everyone, gather at the main entrance!” Iida called, voice firm yet commanding. “We need to make sure all students are accounted for and safe. No one straggles behind!”

Kirishima and Bakugou flanked Izuku, still buzzing from the adrenaline. “We didn’t just survive by chance,” Kirishima said, voice trembling with excitement. “We fought back where we could. Everyone’s… stronger than we thought.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Bakugou grumbled, though there was a faint edge of awe in his tone. “This… this could’ve ended so much worse if All Might hadn’t been here.”

As they moved toward the exit, Izuku couldn’t help but glance back at the battlefield. The Nomu, once a living weapon of destruction, lay motionless. The villains had escaped, but their power had been halted, at least temporarily. Every strike, every maneuver from All Might, had pushed the creature to its limits—and revealed just how fragile even the strongest opponents could be when faced with relentless heroism.

Inside the nurse’s office, Recovery Girl attended to the injured. Aizawa’s arms were in splints, his face bruised, his eyes showing the strain of the fight. Even so, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgment to the students, a silent reminder of his confidence in their abilities despite the danger.

Midoriya’s body ached from minor injuries and fatigue, but he felt a profound sense of purpose. Today had been more than survival; it had been a lesson in heroism, courage, and the weight of responsibility. Every second had reminded him why he wanted to be a hero—not for glory, not for power, but for the people who could not protect themselves.

Outside, Tsukauchi and the other authorities began a careful sweep of the area. Every corner of the school grounds was inspected. Villains had been captured, injured, or fled, but the safety of the students was now the top priority.

Izuku caught a glimpse of All Might standing quietly, looking toward the horizon. The hero’s body was battered, his time in his prime clearly long past, yet his presence radiated something that words could never describe: hope, reassurance, and an unshakable commitment to justice.

“You did it,” Izuku whispered to himself. “You really did it… and now it’s up to us to live up to this.”

As the students were led back to their classrooms, every step was deliberate. Every movement carried the memory of fear, courage, and the promise of growth. This battle had been a harsh lesson, but one that none of them would ever forget. They had glimpsed the world of heroes and villains, of danger and sacrifice, and they had survived.

And in their hearts, a new resolve was born: to push themselves further, to grow stronger, and to become heroes worthy of standing beside All Might someday.

The USJ attack was over, but the lesson it left behind would echo in their lives forever.

Chapter Text

The air surrounding the Unforeseen Simulation Joint tasted of ionized dust and the metallic tang of spent adrenaline. It was a heavy, suffocating atmosphere that clung to the skin like a wet shroud. Every student of Class 1-A sat perched on the bumpers of various emergency vehicles, draped in thick, scratchy polyester blankets that felt more like lead weights than comfort.

Izuku Midoriya clutched a paper cup of green tea. The steam rose in pale, ghostly wisps, ghosting over his freckled face. To any onlooker, he seemed merely shell-shocked—a standard reaction for a teenager who had just stared into the abyssal maw of a bioengineered nightmare. However, the truth was far more mechanically complex.

Inside his mind, a frantic tug-of-war played out.

*Concentrate, Izuku. Breathe in Body A. Keep the heart rate steady in Body B,* he thought, his pulse thrumming a frantic staccato.

Across town, tucked away in the cramped safety of a rented, nondescript apartment, Izuku’s second physical form lay perfectly still atop a futon. It was a vessel of silence, its chest barely rising, currently relegated to "Standby Mode." The sensory bleed-over was immense. If he stubbed a toe in the USJ parking lot, the sleeping version in the apartment would twitch. If the sleeping version caught a draft, the hero-in-training would shiver under his emergency blanket.

"YO, MIDORIYA! EARTH TO IZUKU!"

Kaminari’s voice cracked through the fog. The electric blonde was currently sporting a look that could only be described as "Human Fried Circuitry." A thin line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were pointing in two slightly different directions.

"I think he's broken, Denki," Uraraka said, her voice trembling despite her attempt at a smile. She took a gingerly sip of her tea, then immediately gagged. "Ugh, too much sugar. Is it possible to be allergic to sweetness after a traumatic event?"

"THAT IS UNLIKELY ACCORDING TO MEDICAL LITERATURE," Iida boomed, marching over with the rigid precision of a grandfather clock. His engines were still ticking as they cooled down, emitting little puffs of soot. "HOWEVER, EMOTIONAL DISTRESS CAN ALTER GUSTATORY PERCEPTION! WE MUST REMAIN VIGILANT IN OUR RECOVERY!"

"Iida, please," Jiro groaned, leaning her head against the side of an ambulance. Her earphone jacks were swaying like limp noodles. "Your shouting is making my internal organs vibrate. And not in a cool, bass-boosted way."

Izuku forced a smile. It felt like a mask made of drying plaster. "I'm okay, guys. Just... thinking."

"Thinking is dangerous," Mineta chimed in, shivering violently. The purple-haired boy was curled into a ball, looking like a discarded grape. "I saw my life flash before my eyes. Do you know what was there? Mostly just a lot of unread magazines and a very disappointed goldfish. I can't die yet! I haven't even had a girlfriend who wasn't a JPEG!"

The tension snapped for a moment as Tsuyu patted Mineta’s head with a blunt, "Ribbit. There, there, you small purple pervert."

Izuku’s hand drifted to his pocket. His phone felt like a hot coal. He needed to check the group chat—it was his only way to gauge the collective psyche of the class without having to maintain eye contact with twenty different people while his consciousness was literally split between two zip codes.

--------

[CLASS 1-A+ GROUP CHAT]

**[Izuku]:** *Is everyone mostly okay?*

**[Mr. Manly]:** *Yeah Reposting Broken Ribs Like A Manly Badge Of Honor!!!*

**[Zero-Gs]:** *Still floating emotionally but physically?? 3/10 would not recommend villain attacks.*

**[THE Charger]:** *I tried to electrocute a guy and my brain rebooted like Windows XP.*

**[Pinky]:** *[Image Uploaded: A blurry selfie of Mina, Kirishima, and a very grumpy Bakugo in the background.] USJ Aftermath—Still Standing (Barely)! ✊💥*

**[Twinkle King]:** *~Can anyone guess where I was during the attack?~*

**[Earjack]:** *Hiding in a bush, Aoyama. We know.*

**[Twinkle King]:** *It was a strategic shrubbery! The foliage complimented my cape! ✨*

**[Tailz]:** *Got punted into a wall but otherwise intact.*

**[Big Grape]:** *Somehow I didn't die! Also, I got stepped on by the Nomu. Can we add that to the class trauma bingo card?*

---------

Izuku stared at the screen. His thumb hovered, then suddenly his "Beta Body" in the apartment rolled over in its sleep, causing a massive neurological feedback loop. His hand at the USJ spasmed violently.

**[Izuku]:** 🦵💥👁️🔥

**[Iida]:** *Midoriya! Are you experiencing a localized seizure? Do you require immediate medical intervention from the paramedics stationed six feet away from you?!*

**[Izuku]:** *Sorry! Finger slipped! My Quirk is acting... twitchy.*

That wasn't a lie. Managing two bodies was like playing a high-stakes rhythm game where the buttons were his own nervous system.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the students. It was massive, blotting out the harsh red-and-blue strobe of the police lights. The atmosphere shifted from "traumatized cleanup" to "reverent silence" in a heartbeat.

"I AM HERE... TO ENSURE YOU ALL GET HOME SAFELY!"

ALL MIGHT.

The Number One Hero looked... different. To the average student, he was still the towering pillar of justice, but Izuku could see the strain. The golden hair was slightly wilted, and the steam rising from his bulk wasn't just theatrical flair—it was the physical manifestation of a hero burning through his remaining seconds of power.

"YOUNG MIDORIYA!" ALL MIGHT BOOMED, LANDING HEAVILY. THE CONCRETE CRACKED SLIGHTLY BENEATH HIS BOOTS. "YOUR PERFORMANCE TODAY WAS BEYOND EXEMPLARY! YOU EMBODIED THE VERY SPIRIT OF SELF-SACRIFICE!"

"Thank you, All Might," Izuku whispered, his voice cracking. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. If All Might knew that the boy he’d chosen as a successor was currently maintaining a second, secret body in a studio apartment, would he think it was "efficient" or "creepy"?

"BUT!" ALL MIGHT CONTINUED, HIS VOICE LOWERING TO A VOLUME THAT STILL MANAGED TO RATTLE THE WINDOWS OF NEARBY POLICE CRUISERS. "YOU MUST ALSO REMEMBER TO REST! A HERO’S HEART CANNOT PUMP IF THE BRAIN IS SCRAMBLED LIKE A SUNDAY BRUNCH OMELET!"

"I'll... I'll try, sir," Izuku said, trying to ignore the fact that his "Beta Body" had just fallen off the futon and was currently face-down on the hardwood floor. The phantom pain of a carpet-burned nose bloomed across his face at the USJ.

"Is he okay?" Todoroki asked, appearing out of the shadows like a well-dressed ghost. He pointed a dual-toned finger at Izuku. "Midoriya, your nose is turning red, yet nothing hit you in the face during the battle."

"It's... uh... sympathetic inflammation!" Izuku blurted out. "I'm feeling the pain of my fallen comrades!"

Todoroki stared at him with his characteristic deadpan intensity. "That sounds like a very specific medical condition. Or a curse. My father once told me that excessive empathy leads to digestive issues."

"Thanks for the tip, Shoto," Kaminari muttered, finally regaining some cognitive function. "I'll be sure to tell the villains to stop being so mean so my stomach doesn't hurt."

"Sarcasm is a defense mechanism for the weak," Todoroki replied, completely missing the joke.

---------

The students were eventually ushered toward the school buses. The ride back to UA was uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, this bus would be a riot of noise—Iida shouting about seating charts, Ashido trying to start a sing-along, and Bakugo threatening to murder anyone who breathed too loudly.

Now, there was only the low hum of tires on asphalt and the occasional sniffle.

Izuku sat by the window, his head resting against the cool glass. He needed to fully transition. Maintaining the "USJ Body" while it was in motion was draining his mental reserves. He decided to let the USJ body go into a "Sleep Mode" while he focused his consciousness on the apartment body to get it back onto the bed.

Slowly, his eyes lidded at the back of the bus. His breathing slowed. His head slumped onto Uraraka’s shoulder.

"Whoa, Deku?" she whispered, freezing in place. Her face turned a shade of pink that rivaled her hero suit. "He’s... he’s really out. I guess the adrenaline finally tapped out."

"HE HAS EARNED HIS SLUMBER!" Iida whispered-shouted from three rows up, chopping the air with his arms at a 45-degree angle. "WE SHALL BE AS SILENT AS THE GRAVE TO HONOR HIS RECOVERY!"

"Can you be a silent grave then?" Bakugo growled from the front, staring out the window with his arms crossed. His eyes were narrowed, his mind clearly replaying the moment the "Deku" he thought he knew had moved faster than he could track.

Meanwhile, miles away...

Izuku’s eyes snapped open in the dark apartment.

"Ow," he muttered, peeling his face off the floor. His "Beta Body" was much fresher, though currently sporting a sore nose. He sat up, stretching muscles that hadn't moved in way over at least six hours.

The duality was a secret he’d kept since the day his Quirk manifested—or rather, since the day he realized One For All didn't just give him strength, it amplified his existing, dormant "Split" Quirk. He was one soul with two anchors. It was the ultimate undercover tool, but a logistical nightmare.

He walked to the small kitchenette and poured a glass of water. As he drank, he could feel the faint vibration of the bus through his "other" nervous system. He could feel the soft fabric of Uraraka's jacket against his other cheek.

"This is getting harder," he whispered to the empty room.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

---------

[CLASS 1-A+ GROUP CHAT]

**[Shoji]:** *Just got word from the hospital. Thirteen and Aizawa-sensei are stable. They’re going to be okay.*

**[Yaoyorozu]:** *Thank goodness. I was so worried about the teacher's injuries. The way that creature...*

**[Froppy]:** *Let's not talk about the creature. Let's talk about something else. Like how Midoriya is currently snoring on Uraraka.*

**[Zero-Gs]:** *TSU!!!! HE'S JUST TIRED!!! AND HE'S NOT SNORING, HE'S... MAKING SOFT HEROIC NOISES!!!*

**[Earjack]:** *'Soft heroic noises.' That's a new one. Writing that down for my next song lyrics.*

**[Pinky]:** *[Image Uploaded: A sneaky photo of Izuku asleep on Uraraka's shoulder. Uraraka is looking at the camera with wide, panicked eyes.] SHIP HAS SAILED! 🚢💖*

---------

In the apartment, Izuku choked on his water, coughing violently.

In the bus, "Sleep Mode" Izuku’s head rolled forward, nearly falling off Uraraka’s shoulder, before she caught him with a panicked squeal.

"He's reacting in his sleep!" Mineta yelled. "He can hear the shipping! He has a psychic type quirk!"

"EVERYONE BE QUIET!" Iida hissed, standing up and turning around to face the class. "WE ARE RECOUPERATING! NO MORE INSTIGATING THE SLEEPING MIDORIYA!"

The bus pulled into the UA gates. The towering glass buildings of the school looked different now—less like a playground of dreams and more like a fortress that had just been breached.

As the students filed off, Aizawa-sensei (wrapped in so many bandages he looked like a budget mummy) stood by the entrance. He looked exhausted, but his eyes still held that sharp, terrifying glint of "Rational Deception."

"Go home," Aizawa rasped through his gauze. "The school will be closed for a few days. The police and the Pro Heroes need to conduct a full sweep. Do not—and I mean this—do not go out and try to find trouble. Trouble has already found you once today. It doesn't need a second date."

"YES, SENSEI!" the class shouted in unison, though it was a bit more subdued than usual.

Izuku (USJ Body) rubbed his eyes, pretending to wake up. He felt the heavy weight of exhaustion—not just physical, but the mental tax of running two operating systems on a single processor.

As he walked toward the gates, a hand caught his shoulder. It was heavy, warm, and smelled faintly of ozone.

"YOUNG MIDORIYA," ALL MIGHT WHISPERED, NO LONGER SHOUTING. HE WAS IN HIS SMALLER, DEFLATED FORM, HIDDEN BEHIND A CONCRETE PILLAR SO THE OTHER STUDENTS WOULDN'T SEE. "A WORD."

Izuku signaled his friends to go on ahead. He stepped into the shadow of the pillar.

"You did well today," Toshinori Yagi said, his voice a dry rasp. "But I noticed something. At several points during the fight, you seemed... distant. As if you were watching yourself from a far-off place. Is the power of One For All causing you to lose your grip on the present?"

Izuku’s heart hammered. He couldn't tell him. Not yet. How do you explain to the greatest hero in history that you are literally two people?

"I was just focused, All Might," Izuku lied, his voice steady. "I had to keep track of everything. The water zone, my friends, the Nomu... it was a lot to process."

Toshinori looked at him for a long moment, then smiled, his skeletal face softening. "YOUR BRAIN IS AS ACTIVE AS YOUR HEART! JUST ENSURE YOU DON'T OVERHEAT! EVEN THE BEST ENGINES NEED TO BE TURNED OFF ONCE IN A WHILE!"

"I will, sir. I promise."

"GOOD! NOW GO HOME! EAT SOMETHING THAT ISN'T PREPACKAGED! AND TELL YOUR MOTHER YOU ARE SAFE!"

Izuku nodded, watching as his mentor slipped away into the shadows of the campus.

As Izuku walked toward the train station, his mind started to drift again. He needed to synchronize. He needed to merge the memories of the day so that both "selves" were on the same page.

He sat down on the train, the familiar clack-clack of the rails acting as a metronome for his consciousness. He closed his eyes.

The sensation was like two images being pulled into a single, sharp focus. The smells of the USJ, the taste of the tea, the feel of the hardwood floor in the apartment, and the vibration of the train all slammed together into a single stream of existence.

He opened his eyes. He was Izuku Midoriya. One person. One soul. Two bodies.

He pulled out his phone one last time before he reached his stop.

---------

[CLASS 1-A+ GROUP CHAT]

**[Izuku]:** *Just got home. Thanks for looking out for me on the bus, Uraraka-san. Sorry if I drooled.*

**[Zero-Gs]:** *!!! It’s fine! No drool! Just... heroic condensation! See everyone in a few days!*

**[Mr. Manly]:** *Rest up, guys! Next time we see a Nomu, we're gonna be the ones doing the stepping!*

**[THE Charger]:** *Speak for yourself, I’m gonna buy a portable battery and a helmet.*

**[Izuku]:** *Goodnight, everyone. Go Plus Ultra... in your sleep.*

---------

Izuku tucked the phone away. He stepped off the train, the cool night air hitting his face. He felt the phantom sensation of his "Beta Body" pulling the covers up in the apartment across town.

He walked toward his mother’s house, seeing the warm glow of the windows. He knew she would be crying, she would have seen the news, and he would have to be "Izuku" for her—the brave, single-bodied son she thought she had.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his yellow backpack, and pasted a tired but genuine smile on his face.

"I'm home!" he called out as he opened the door.

As his mother rushed to hug him, sobbing about how dangerous UA High was, Izuku felt a strange sense of peace. The world was dangerous, villains were real, and his own existence was a biological anomaly that defied every law of nature.

But as he looked at the group chat one last time, seeing the flurry of emojis and jokes from his classmates, he realized he didn't have to carry the weight alone.

Even if he had two bodies to carry it with.

Somewhere, in a dark bar across the city, Tomura Shigaraki was scratching his neck, fuming over his defeat. But here, in the quiet suburbs, a boy with a secret was finally letting himself feel the weight of the day.

"Izuku," his mother sobbed into his chest. "You're so cold! Why are you so cold?"

"Just the wind, Mom," he said, hugging her back.

(Further in the apartment, his other self smiled in its sleep.)