Chapter 3
The morning sun cast long shadows across Aldera Junior High's entrance, but for once, Izuku Midoriya didn't hug the walls or scan frantically for escape routes.
Izuku's shoulders, usually hunched forward in perpetual anticipation of the next blow, stood straight and proud. Each step felt lighter than air, as if the weight of years of torment at Katsuki Bakugo's hands had evaporated overnight.
All Might chose me. Me!
His hand unconsciously drifted to his backpack where his Hero Journal lay safely tucked away, the signature of the World's Number One Pro Hero having now graced its pages. Just a week ago, that same journal had been scarred by explosion marks, sailing through the air outside the classroom window. Now, it felt like a badge of honor.
I have a Quirk. I actually have a Quirk!
The thought still didn't feel real. After years of doctor's visits confirming his Quirklessness, after countless nights crying himself to sleep, after enduring endless taunts of De-ku – here he was, chosen as the successor to the Symbol of Peace himself. The irony wasn't lost on him.
As he walked through the school gates, Izuku noticed something odd. Students glanced his way and whispered behind their hands. Not the usual looks of pity or disdain he'd grown accustomed to, but something different. Some even pointed at their phones, huddled in small groups.
Why are they…
Then it hit him.
The Sludge Villain incident. His reckless charge into danger. His attempt at saving Bakugo from the clutches of a villain even the Pro Heroes didn't dare provoke.
Heat crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks as he remembered the viral videos that must be circulating – the Quirkless nobody rushing in where Pro Heroes feared to tread.
What would Kacchan think?
The thought of his childhood friend – no, his bully – brought a complex mix of emotions. Would Bakugo be even more furious that the useless De-ku had tried to save him? Or would yesterday's events somehow shift their dynamic?
Izuku couldn't decide which possibility terrified him more.
His feet carried him through familiar hallways, each step feeling surreal. Was this really the same school he'd dreaded entering every morning? The same corridors where he'd perfected the art of becoming invisible?
Today, they felt different.
Today, he felt different.
I will be a hero, he told himself. All Might believes in me. I should, too.
As Izuku reached for his classroom door, the usual cacophony of morning chatter and Quirk-enhanced horseplay leaked through. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders the way he imagined All Might would. The door slid open with a decisive clack.
The classroom fell silent. Twenty pairs of eyes swiveled toward him, including a particularly intense crimson glare from the back of the room. Izuku stood in the doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs, but for the first time in his life, he didn't immediately look away.
This is my new beginning.
His gaze swept across the room, inevitably drawn to the back corner where Bakugo sat. Their eyes met briefly before Bakugo clicked his tongue and turned away with an irritated "tch."
The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Izuku wondered why everyone hadn't returned to their usual morning chaos until –
"Ahem."
The sound came from directly behind him. Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin, his face now red as he realized he'd been blocking the doorway. Their professor stood there, one eyebrow raised. Izuku scurried to his seat after an apology, his momentary confidence wavering.
So much for a dramatic entrance.
The morning dragged on with excruciating slowness. Every scratch of pencil against paper, every cough, every shuffle seemed magnified in Izuku's heightened awareness. He could feel the weight of unspoken questions hanging in the air, pressing down on him like a physical force.
Just breathe. Focus on class. Pretend everything's normal.
But nothing was normal. Not anymore. His classmates' glances burned against his skin. Phones appeared between textbook pages, their screens displaying that moment – his moment of either madness or bravery, he still wasn't sure which. The video had gone viral overnight: the supposedly Quirkless kid charging headlong into danger while Pro Heroes stood paralyzed.
In a society built on the backs of people who had Quirks, a heroic act caught on cam might get viral quickly but would also get stale just as fast. Even then, this was Izuku's first time, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about the attention.
What would All Might think if he saw me now, hiding from attention?
Each time someone whispered behind their hand, Izuku's stomach twisted into knots. He wasn't used to being the center of attention – at least, not this kind of attention. Usually, he only drew notice when Bakugo needed a target for his frustrations. Speaking of which...
Bakugo's desk creaked under his white-knuckled grip whenever he caught someone watching the video. Small wisps of smoke curled up from his palms, carrying the acrid scent of nitroglycerin. His usual groupies maintained a careful distance, sensing the storm brewing beneath his silence.
Has Kacchan always looked this... uncertain?
During the literature period, someone's phone accidentally played the audio from yesterday's incident. The sound of explosions and screaming filled the classroom for a brief second before being hastily silenced. Izuku noticed how Bakugo's shoulders tensed, how his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
Somehow, Izuku sensed a part of him deep inside that made him want to smile.
He remembers being helpless. Just like I always was.
The morning crawled toward lunch break, tension building like static before a storm. Izuku could feel it coming – the confrontation was inevitable. Bakugo's pride wouldn't allow anything else. When the lunch bell finally rang, Izuku's hands were trembled slightly as he packed his books.
That's when Bakugo made his move, crossing the classroom in three quick strides. The explosive impact of his hands on Izuku's desk sent pencils rolling to the floor. Small explosions crackled from his palms, scorching the wood.
"Show it, De-ku," he growled, voice low and dangerous.
"Stop acting like you're better than me. Those eyes of yours yesterday... you've been hiding something, haven't you, you sneaky bastard?"
Izuku's eyes widened.
He noticed? But how?
A cold wave of panic washed over Izuku. Had his eyes changed in front of Bakugo? He hadn't even noticed, too caught up in the desperate need to save his former friend..
"I-I don't know what you're talking about, Kacchan," Izuku stammered, genuine confusion mixing with his desire to keep all this a secret. His heart pounded so hard he was sure everyone could hear it. He flinched when he realized he just called him Kacchan.
"Don't play dumb with me!" Bakugo's voice rose, cracking slightly at the edges. "You're looking down on me, aren't you? Think you're hot shit now because of yesterday? Because you played hero?"
The word "hero" struck something deep inside Izuku. All Might's words echoed in his mind:
"You can become a hero."
The trembling in his hands stopped. The fear that had been his constant companion for so many years suddenly felt... distant.
Something snapped inside him – not violently, but like a chain finally breaking after years of strain. Maybe it was the weight of years of torment, or maybe it was All Might's words still ringing in his ears, but suddenly he found himself standing, his hands slamming against his desk with enough force to make the whole class jump.
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
His voice came out sharp and clear, nothing like his usual mumble. It carried across the suddenly silent classroom like a thunderclap.
"And if this is your twisted way of saying thank you, then fine – I accept your half-assed apology!"
Did... did I just say that?
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the usual sounds of lunch break from the hallway seemed muffled, as if the whole world held its breath. Students pretending not to watch now stared openly, phones forgotten in slack hands. Someone's lunch box clattered to the floor, the sound sharp as gunfire in the quiet.
Bakugo's face cycled through several emotions – shock, rage, and something that might have been embarrassment – before settling on a scowl. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled them back from Izuku's desk, leaving scorched handprints behind. For a moment, just a moment, he looked like that scared teenager from yesterday, trapped and helpless in the villain's grasp.
Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the classroom, shoulders rigid with suppressed fury. The bang of the classroom door echoed like a judge's gavel, final and decisive.
Izuku slowly sank back into his chair, his hands trembling slightly. The adrenaline drained from his system, leaving him feeling hollow and somehow lighter. Around him, the classroom erupted into furious whispers, but they felt distant, unimportant.
Where did that come from?
He stared at his hands, still tingling from their impact with the desk.
Yesterday, these same hands had clawed desperately at the Sludge Villain, trying to save someone who had spent years making his life miserable.
Today, they had helped him stand up to that same person.
Maybe... this really is a new beginning after all.
Every dawn had its sunset, Toshinori Yagi mused, watching the dying light paint Takoba Municipal Beach Park in fierce oranges and deep crimsons.
From his perch atop a rusted refrigerator, the beach's mountains of refuse cast long shadows across the sand, like the silhouettes of fallen giants. The sea breeze carried the tang of salt and metal, ruffling his unkempt blonde hair as he waited.
Just yesterday, the sky wore these same colors when I caught that villain.
Toshinori's sunken eyes scanning the beach's entrance. The memory of the previous day's events played vividly in his mind: the Sludge Villain's capture, the rooftop conversation, and most importantly, that remarkable moment when a supposedly Quirkless boy had charged headlong into danger.
That boy's eyes – they had shifted from emerald to a shade even more vibrant than the current sunset, though Young Midoriya seemed utterly unaware of the transformation. The coincidence of finding both a worthy successor and an undiscovered Quirk user in the same person made Toshinori's hollow laugh catch in his throat.
Am I making the right choice?
His fingers unconsciously traced the scar beneath his shirt. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on his shoulders, heavier than any villain he'd ever fought.
Nana Shimura's face flashed in his memory – her determined smile, her unwavering faith in him. She had chosen him not for his power or skill, but for his burning desire to be a light in the darkness, to make a difference in a world that desperately needed heroes.
"Sometimes the brightest lights come from those who know darkness best," she had told him, her words carrying a weight he wouldn't understand until years later.
In his presence, that philosophy had seemed almost defiant – a declaration that heroes could rise from anywhere, even in the shadow of evil.
Now, in this era of peace that he'd helped build, perhaps it was time for a different kind of hero. Someone who understood not just the grand battles against villains, but the everyday struggles of those who felt powerless.
Young Midoriya had shown that instinct, rushing to save even his tormentor without a second thought.
But doubt gnawed at him.
Should I really give such power to someone who's been bullied for so long?
The thought made him shift uncomfortably on his makeshift seat.
What if the weight of One For All becomes a tool for revenge rather than justice? What if years of being powerless has left scars too deep to...
His troubled musings scattered as a familiar figure appeared at the beach's entrance. Young Midoriya moved like a cartoon burglar, each step tentative and wincing as debris shifted beneath his feet. The boy's eyes darted around nervously, clearly uncertain if he was even allowed to be there.
Toshinori had to stifle a chuckle – he'd forgotten to mention that while the beach was technically private property, nobody had enforced that rule in years.
He always walked straight home before, Toshinori recalled their conversation from yesterday. Every step he takes now is into new territory.
And wasn't that what being a hero was about? Taking those first uncertain steps into unknown territory, driven not by confidence but by the simple desire to help others?
The memory of yesterday's video footage flashed through his mind – Midoriya charging forward while others hesitated, his newly-awakened Quirk manifesting not in anger or fear, but in the desperate need to save someone who had caused him so much pain.
Perhaps that was answer enough to his doubts.
With a slight grunt, Toshinori stood up, feeling power surge through his withered frame. In a burst of steam and energy, All Might emerged, his massive form silhouetted against the dying sun.
"Young Midoriya!" His voice boomed across the beach, carrying all the confidence his true form lacked. "I am here!"
The boy's reaction was priceless – a yelp of surprise followed by a stumble that sent him sprawling onto a pile of worn tires. All Might's legendary laugh echoed across the water, genuine amusement mixing with fondness for his chosen successor.
But beneath the theatrics, watching Midoriya scramble to his feet with that familiar mix of enthusiasm and nervousness, All Might felt his earlier doubts transforming into something else.
This boy, who had known powerlessness intimately, might be exactly what the next generation of heroes needed – someone who understood that true heroism wasn't about wielding power, but about how you chose to use it.
The real hardship is just beginning, young man, All Might thought, maintaining his bright smile as Midoriya rushed forward, already pulling out his notebook. But maybe that's exactly why you're the one who can show us what being a hero truly means.
"A-All Might, sir!" Midoriya finally caught his breath, brushing sand from his uniform. "What are you doing here? And where will we train?" He then sank into a hilariously suspicious whisper, "We're not even supposed to be on this beach, are we?"
All Might's perpetual smile widened as he gestured broadly at the trash-laden landscape.
"This, young Midoriya, is exactly where you will be training! By cleaning this entire beach!"
The boy's face cycled through several expressions – confusion, disbelief, and then something approaching panic.
"Clean... the beach? Maybe you meant train at the beach? After we clean a small portion?"
"Nope!" All Might's booming laugh echoed across the water. "You will clean this entire beach. Every last piece of trash, every abandoned appliance, every scrap of metal – all of it!"
"The... the entire beach?"
Midoriya's eyes swept across the vast expanse of accumulated junk, his face paling slightly.
"Where do we start?"
"Ah, young Midoriya," All Might raised one massive finger. "There is no 'we' in this training. This task is yours alone. Your training will be complete when you have restored this beach to its former glory – by yourself."
"But that could take forever!"
"Then you'd better get started, shouldn't you?"
All Might's grin somehow managed to grow even wider.
Watching the boy's expression, All Might caught a flicker of disappointment. He recognized it instantly – the same look he'd worn decades ago when Nana-senpai had tasked him with rehabilitating an abandoned park.
You were expecting something more dramatic, weren't you, young man? Some secret technique or spectacular training montage?*
Before All Might could elaborate on the purpose of this seemingly mundane task, movement at the beach's entrance caught both their attention. A mother and child walked past, the little girl's hand clutched tightly in her mother's.
"Mama, can we go to the beach tomorrow?" The child's voice carried clearly across the evening air. "I want to play in the sand!"
"I'm sorry, sweetie." The mother's voice was gentle but firm. "The beach is too dirty now. We'll have to stay home."
"But this is where Daddy and I used to play." The girl's voice quivered slightly. "We made the biggest sandcastles..."
"I know, baby." The mother's squeeze of her daughter's hand was visible even from a distance. "I miss him too."
All Might watched as young Midoriya's expression transformed. The disappointment vanished, replaced by something fiercer – determination crystallizing in real-time. Before All Might could say another word, the boy had already shed his school jacket and was attacking a nearby pile of debris with surprising vigor.
Well, well...
A knowing smile spread across All Might's face as he watched his successor-to-be struggle with a waterlogged mattress.
The boy had grasped the essential truth without needing it explained: a true hero's work wasn't always about flashy battles and dramatic rescues.
Sometimes it was about the unglamorous tasks, the lengthy battles fought one small victory at a time, all in service of bringing smiles back to faces that had forgotten how.
Midoriya's pace increased, his movements becoming more determined with each piece of trash he moved. The setting sun caught the sweat already beginning to bead on his forehead, making it gleam like the tears of frustration he was clearly fighting back.
Yes, young Midoriya. This is exactly what it means to be a hero, All Might thought, his chest swelling with pride. Doing whatever it takes, no matter how impossible it seems, to make the world a better place – even if it's just one beach at a time.
The sound of Midoriya's efforts echoed across the beach – the scrape of metal on metal, the thud of debris being sorted into piles, the occasional grunt of exertion. Each sound was a promise, a declaration that this impossible task would be completed, no matter how long it took.
Nana-sensei, All Might thought, watching his chosen successor throw himself into the momentous task. I think I finally understand why you made me start with that park.
Some lessons about heroism can't be taught – they have to be discovered through sweat and determination.
The first stars were beginning to appear in the darkening sky, but Midoriya showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, his pace had increased, as if the little girl's disappointed face had lit a fire within him that no amount of exhaustion could extinguish.
The true mark of a hero, All Might mused, isn't in how they handle the big moments, but in how they approach the small ones.
And Young Midoriya... you're already showing signs of greatness.
"All Might, sir," Izuku had asked that first evening, after agreeing to the beach cleanup training. "About my... my Quirk. The one you said made my eyes turn red. Could you help me activate it again? Maybe it could help with the training?"
The Symbol of Peace's eternal smile had softened slightly.
"Young Midoriya, discovering the nature of your own power must be a personal journey. Learning to activate and control your newfound Quirk by yourself will teach you valuable lessons about your limits and capabilities."
He placed a massive hand on Izuku's shoulder.
"These lessons will be crucial when you inherit One For All. After all, how can you handle my power if you haven't yet mastered your own?"
Izuku paused, as though about to ask how he could figure it out when he's literally never experienced this before. He just nodded, realizing he added another seemingly impossible task to his growing list.
Izuku caught himself slouching on his way to school and immediately straightened his spine.
The memory of last night's little girl flashed in his mind – her disappointed face as she looked at the beach where she once played with her father. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin slightly.
I'm going to inherit the Symbol of Peace's power. Maybe I should start acting like it.
The sun had barely crested the horizon when his alarm rang that morning. His muscles protested as he rolled out of bed, still sore from yesterday's impromptu beach cleanup. All Might's training schedule, meticulously written in his notebook, started with the basics:
50 push-ups, 50 squats, 100 crunches - BEFORE BREAKFAST!
Plus Ultra indeed, Izuku thought, his arms trembling as he finished the last push-up.
The assortment of rusty weights and barbells he'd salvaged from the beach now occupied a corner of his room. His mother had raised an eyebrow at the peculiar collection but said nothing beyond a worried "Be careful, Izuku." He'd cleaned and restored them as best he could, though they still carried the faint scent of sea salt.
During his walk to school, Izuku mentally reviewed All Might's instructions.
"Young Midoriya," he'd said, his voice unusually serious even in his muscled form, "the beach cleanup is your evening priority, but your studies cannot suffer. A hero must be able to balance multiple responsibilities."
"Plus," he'd added with his signature laugh, "your mother would kill me if your grades dropped!"
Assuming she learnt about him of course.
Balance. Right. Like juggling dumbbells while doing homework.
Lunch period brought new challenges. His bento box now contained a carefully measured portion of grilled chicken breast, brown rice, steamed vegetables, and two hard-boiled eggs. His mother's surprise at his sudden dietary requests had been evident.
"All this protein, Izuku? Are you... planning something?"
He'd fumbled through an explanation about joining a fitness club, while privately wondering if All Might's extensive nutritional knowledge came from personal experience or necessity. It was hard to imagine the skeletal Toshinori Yagi planning protein-rich meals.
How does he maintain that muscled form on such a thin frame anyway?
The routine settled into his bones over the next two months, each day adding another small change to Izuku Midoriya's transformation. His morning exercises evolved from desperate counting to measured breathing, from shaking muscles to controlled movement. The All Might poster on his wall watched his progress, that eternal smile seeming more encouraging with each passing day.
Just ten more... nine... eight...
Breakfast became a science: protein shakes, measured portions, and his mother's increasingly creative ways to incorporate eggs into every meal. She'd stopped asking questions after the first two weeks, instead throwing herself into researching athletic nutrition with the same obsessive detail her son usually reserved for hero analysis.
School, however, became an unexpected battlefield of a different sort.
The click-click-click of Izuku's grip trainer became a constant soundtrack to class, drawing curious glances from classmates who'd previously pretended he didn't exist. Some even started timing their own conversations to his rhythmic squeezing – sixty reps during English, forty during Math, eighty during History.
But it was Bakugo's reaction that marked the most dramatic shift in classroom dynamics.
Week one: confusion and irritation. Bakugo's explosions scorched his desk whenever Izuku rushed out after class, leaving behind only the lingering scent of caramel-like nitroglycerin and unanswered challenges.
"Oi, De-ku! Where the fuck do you think you're going?"
Week three: suspicious observation. Izuku caught Bakugo watching his reflection in the classroom window, red eyes narrowing at each grip trainer's squeeze, each protein bar consumed during breaks, and each new callus forming on Izuku's formerly soft hands.
Is he... taking notes about me?
Week five: attempted confrontation. Bakugo started arriving earlier, positioning himself by the classroom door like a predator waiting to ambush prey. But Izuku's new schedule meant arriving just before the bell, slipping into his seat with barely a moment to spare, his breakfast protein shake still cold in his bag.
"Tch." Bakugo's trademark sound of disapproval grew louder with each thwarted attempt.
Week seven: outright fury. The desk next to Izuku's bore scorch marks from Bakugo's increasingly volatile quirk. Their classmates had learned to keep a wider berth around both of them, creating an invisible buffer zone that crackled with unspoken tension.
"What the fuck are you playing at, nerd? Think you're too good for me now?"
Izuku barely registered the threats anymore. His mind was too full of other numbers: pounds lifted, calories consumed, trash cleared, minutes until his next workout. The old fear still lived somewhere in his chest, but it was buried under layers of purpose and determination.
Even the teachers noticed the change. During a particularly difficult math exam, Izuku's grip trainer kept its steady rhythm while his other hand solved equations. Their math teacher, who'd always treated Izuku with distant pity, actually smiled when collecting his paper.
"Whatever you're doing, Midoriya-kun," she'd said quietly, "keep it up."
Bakugo had blown up his pencil case after that.
By week eight, the classroom had developed new unspoken rules. No one mentioned Izuku's new muscles, gradually becoming visible under his uniform. No one commented on how he'd started meeting Bakugo's glares with steady green eyes – eyes that occasionally seemed to flash with something else, something unidentifiable, when the confrontations grew too heated. And absolutely no one talked about how the classroom's former punching bag now carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had better things to do than play victim.
The few times Bakugo managed to corner him, Izuku's responses shifted from stammered apologies to simple statements:
"Sorry, Kacchan, I have somewhere to be."
"Can't stay, I'm on a schedule."
"Maybe another time."
Each dismissal seemed to physically pain Bakugo, like Izuku's newfound independence was a personal insult. During their final confrontation of the second month, Bakugo's quirk had actually set off the fire alarm.
"Fight me, you damn nerd!"
"I have training," Izuku had replied simply, already halfway out the door, leaving behind a classroom of stunned faces and one increasingly frustrated childhood friend.
Two months brought changes that Izuku hadn't expected. The physical transformations were obvious: callused hands, developing muscles, improved posture. But it was the subtle changes that fascinated him most.
Pain had become an old friend, a familiar companion that marked progress rather than punishment. The burning in his muscles after a heavy lifting session felt different from the ache of Bakugo's explosions – it was pain with purpose, discomfort with direction.
One evening, sorting through a particularly stubborn pile of scrap metal, Izuku found himself thinking about his mysterious Quirk. The headaches that had accompanied its activation during the Sludge Villain incident had been excruciating like his skull was trying to split apart. But now, after two months of pushing his body to its limits daily, he wondered if that pain would feel different, too.
Would it still hurt the same way? Or have I gotten stronger in that way too?
He'd tried countless times to activate it during his training sessions. Sometimes, when the weight seemed impossible to lift or the trash pile too daunting to move, he'd concentrate until his head throbbed, trying to summon that same desperate energy that had emerged when Bakugo was in danger. But his eyes remained stubbornly green, reflecting in the scattered broken mirror pieces and chrome bumpers littering the beach.
Each evening, as he hauled away another refrigerator or dismantled another rusted car, Izuku would picture that little girl's face. Sometimes, when his muscles screamed, and his lungs burned, he imagined her playing on the clean sand, building sandcastles where trash heaps once stood. It made the impossible task feel more... possible.
This is what being a hero means, he thought one evening, watching the sunset paint the diminishing trash piles in golden light. Not just fighting villains, but making the world better, one small piece at a time.
His phone buzzed – a reminder to do his history homework. Izuku smiled, reaching for his grip trainer with his free hand. Two months ago, this juggling act would have seemed impossible. Now it felt like... purpose.
Maybe this is what All Might meant by balance.
The next day would bring more challenges: more weights to lift, more trash to clear, more studies to balance. But for the first time in his life, Izuku felt ready. Not just ready – eager.
After all, he thought, starting his evening run home, this is just the beginning.
That evening, watching the sunset paint the diminishing trash piles in familiar crimson and gold, Izuku caught his reflection in a partially cleaned refrigerator door. His eyes remained their usual green, but something else had changed in them – a determination, a purpose that hadn't been there before.
Maybe mastering his mysterious Quirk wasn't about forcing it to appear, but about becoming someone worthy of its power. After all, hadn't All Might said something similar about One For All?
Two powers waiting for me to be ready, he thought, starting his evening run home, muscles pleasantly sore and mind clear. But first, I have a beach to clean.
Two months of hit-and-run mentoring wasn't exactly what Toshinori had envisioned when he chose his successor. Their meetings had become a carefully choreographed dance around his hero schedule: twenty minutes between rescues here, forty-five minutes after patrol there. Sometimes they'd share convenience store onigiri on a rooftop, Izuku chattering excitedly about his progress while Toshinori checked the time, always conscious of his dwindling minutes in his muscled form.
"Sorry, young Midoriya, duty calls!" had become his most frequent phrase, second only to his real trademark, "I am here!"
Today's meeting spot was their usual haunt – Takoba Beach, now notably clearer than two months ago. Toshinori arrived early, his gaunt form perched on a partially cleared section while he watched the sunset paint the remaining trash heaps in familiar golds and crimsons. His hand absently patted the pocket of his oversized suit, feeling the small rectangle within.
Is this enough? he wondered, not for the first time. Am I doing enough?
The sound of footsteps on sand announced Izuku's arrival. The boy's transformation was already visible – his shoulders straighter, his steps more assured. Even the way he carried his school bag had changed, the weight of books and that ever-present hero journal no longer seeming to drag him down.
"All Might!" Izuku's face lit up with its usual mixture of awe and determination. Even after two months, that pure admiration hadn't dimmed.
"Young Midoriya!" Toshinori transformed in a burst of steam, his signature smile hiding the taste of copper in his mouth.
"Excellent work on this section! The beach is starting to remember what it once was!"
They fell into their usual routine – Izuku demonstrating his improved lifting technique, Toshinori offering corrections to his form, both of them pretending not to notice how the hero's eyes kept darting to his watch. But today, something felt different. Maybe it was the way Izuku's progress had exceeded expectations, or maybe it was the growing weight of responsibility Toshinori felt with each passing day.
"Young Midoriya," he said finally, reaching into his pocket. "I have something for you."
The photo card seemed almost absurdly small in his massive hand – just a simple promotional shot from his golden age, signed with his characteristic flourish. He'd spent an embarrassingly long time choosing which one to give, wondering if it could possibly make up for his perpetual absences.
"It's not much, considering how hard you've been working, but–"
He didn't get to finish. Izuku's eyes had already welled up with tears, his hands trembling as they reached for the card.
"A-All Might... this is..."
The boy's voice cracked.
"This is amazing! I've never seen this variant before! This was from the limited edition series after the Hokkaido incident, wasn't it? The holographic finish is different from the regular release and–"
Watching his successor clutch the photo card like it was made of gold, Toshinori felt something in his chest tighten. Not the usual pain from his injury, but something else.
"I'm sorry, young Midoriya," he said softly, his ever-present smile gaining a tinge of melancholy. "A proper mentor should be more present, especially considering the power I'm preparing you to inherit. But as the Symbol of Peace..."
"No, no!" Izuku quickly wiped his eyes. "I understand! You have to be there for everyone! That's what being the Symbol of Peace means!"
"Exactly."
All Might placed a massive hand on the boy's shoulder.
"And that's another lesson you must learn. This power, One For All – it's not just about strength. It's about what that strength means to others. The joy you're feeling right now, holding that card? That's what you must learn to give to others. Because someday, when I'm no longer here..."
"All Might!" Izuku's protest was immediate. "Don't talk like that!"
"No, young Midoriya." His voice grew serious. "We must face reality. Every Symbol must eventually step down. What matters is what we leave behind – not just power, but hope. The ability to make others feel safe, to make them smile even in their darkest moments."
Toshinori looked at his successor – this boy who had charged at a villain without a Quirk, who was transforming a beach one piece of trash at a time, who could still cry with joy over a simple photo card – and wondered if he was doing enough to prepare him.
Not just for One For All's power, but for its purpose.
Am I teaching you everything you need to know, young Midoriya?
Are these rushed meetings and brief training sessions enough to show you what it truly means to be the Symbol of Peace?
The familiar taste of copper touched his tongue, warning him that his time in this form was running short. Soon he would have to leave, rushing off to another rescue, another crisis, another moment where the world needed its Symbol of Peace.
But watching Izuku carefully tuck the photo card into his hero journal, handling it with the reverence usually reserved for sacred artifacts, Toshinori allowed himself to hope.
Maybe the most important lessons weren't found in the time they spent together, but in the moments between – in a boy's determination to clean a beach alone, in his willingness to shed tears of joy over a simple gift, in his pure desire to help others despite having been helpless himself for so long.
Perhaps, Toshinori thought, feeling his time limit approaching, you're teaching me as much as I'm teaching you.
The photo card felt warm in Izuku's hands as he left the beach, his fingers tracing All Might's signature for the hundredth time. The holographic finish caught the last rays of sunset, throwing rainbow patterns across his face. His heart felt so full it might burst.
All Might believes in me. He really believes in me.
The peaceful moment shattered as a familiar voice cut through the evening air.
"Well, well. If it isn't the wannabe hero."
Bakugo's silhouette materialized against a street lamp, his shadow stretching long across the pavement. Small explosions crackled in his palms, casting his face in harsh light and deeper shadows. His trademark sneer looked more menacing than usual in the uneven illumination.
"K-Kacchan?" Izuku's hand instinctively tightened around the photo card, careful not to bend it. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you, obviously." Bakugo dropped from his perch, landing with predatory grace. "Been watching you sneaking off to this dump every day. Think you're some kind of hotshot now, after that stunt with the Sludge Villain?"
How long has he been following me?
"I'm not..." Izuku started, but Bakugo was already moving. The punch came fast – faster than before – but something had changed. Izuku saw it coming, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. The impact rocked his head back, pain blooming across his jaw, but his feet stayed planted.
That... didn't hurt as much as it used to.
Surprise flickered across Bakugo's face, quickly replaced by fury.
"Still standing, huh? Getting cocky, Deku?"
A dull throb started behind Izuku's eyes, different from the ache in his jaw. Something hot and unfamiliar stirred in his chest, like magma trying to surface. Each heartbeat seemed to pump more of that molten feeling through his veins.
"I'm not trying to be cocky," Izuku managed, his voice steadier than he felt. "I just want to—"
"To what?" Bakugo snarled, stepping closer. "To be a hero? To look down on me?" Another explosion popped in his palm. "You're still nothing but a Quirkless nobody playing pretend!"
The throbbing in Izuku's head intensified. That hot feeling in his chest wasn't just anger – it felt older, deeper, like tapping into something that had always been there, waiting. His vision began to sharpen, the world taking on an almost crystalline clarity.
This rage... it doesn't feel like mine. Where is it coming from?
"You've been hiding something, haven't you?" Bakugo's voice seemed to come from far away, nearly drowned out by the pounding in Izuku's skull. "Ever since that day... those eyes of yours..."
For a moment, Izuku caught his reflection in a nearby window. In the dying light, his eyes looked different – not their usual green, but something else, something that made the rage in his chest pulse stronger, hotter, redder.
What's happening to me?
Bakugo's eyes narrowed, scanning Izuku's face. The familiar rush of superiority wasn't coming. Usually, Izuku would be stammering, backing away, eyes downcast – but now he just stood there, breathing heavily, meeting his gaze with those strange eyes.
Then Bakugo noticed something clutched in Izuku's hand. A glint of holographic finish caught the streetlight.
"What's that, nerd?" Before Izuku could react, Bakugo snatched the card. His eyes widened as he recognized the signature. "All Might? How the hell did you get—" Understanding dawned on his face, quickly twisted by rage.
"You've talked to him, haven't you? That's why you've been coming here!"
No, please, not that—
Bakugo started to scream.
"He was my hero first! You're a Quirkless nobody who doesn't deserve to even think about him!"
The sound of tearing paper cut through the evening air like a gunshot. Izuku watched, helpless, as the pieces of All Might's card fluttered to the ground.
Something deep inside Izuku stirred. The rage didn't come all at once – it built like a wave, starting from somewhere ancient and dark. Each heartbeat pumped more of that molten feeling through his veins, building pressure behind his eyes. His vision blurred, not with tears, but with something else. Something red.
This feeling... it's not normal anger...
Before he knew what was happening, his fist was flying toward Bakugo's face. The punch connected with a satisfying crack, sending Bakugo stumbling back. For a moment, genuine surprise flashed across his face before being replaced by savage glee.
"Finally got some balls, huh, Deku?" Bakugo wiped blood from his lip, grinning. "Let's see how tough you really are!"
What followed wasn't a fight so much as a brutal exchange. Bakugo fought like someone who picked fights for fun, all raw instinct and street-learned brutality. Each strike came with the confidence of someone who'd won more brawls than he'd lost. Explosions punctuated his attacks, leaving scorch marks on Izuku's uniform and angry red burns on his skin.
Despite his improved physique from months of training, Izuku was clearly outmatched. All Might had taught him to lift, to endure, to persist – but not to fight. He tried to dodge, to weave away from Bakugo's attacks, but each attempted escape was met with a savage follow-up. An explosion to the chest sent him stumbling back, only to meet a knee to the gut.
But Izuku didn't fall. Each hit rocked him, but months of hauling trash and lifting weights had hardened his body. Pain bloomed across his torso, but it was different now – not the sharp, overwhelming agony of past beatings, but something he could push through.
I can take it, Izuku realized, spitting blood. It hurts, but I can take it.
The headache pounding behind his eyes made everything worse, throwing off his balance, clouding his judgment. Blood trickled from his split lip, and his ribs screamed where Bakugo had landed a particularly nasty explosion.
Come on, Izuku thought desperately as another explosion rocked him back. This Quirk has to do something besides change my eye color. Please!
As if responding to his plea, the pain in his head suddenly shifted. The throbbing didn't disappear – instead, it crystallized into sharp clarity, like a lens focusing.
The world took on a reddish tint, but everything seemed clearer, more defined. Time didn't slow down, but somehow Izuku could take in more details, process more information.
Bakugo launched another attack, but this time, something was different. Izuku could see the subtle shift of weight that telegraphed the punch, the slight angle of his hips that predicted an explosion would follow. It wasn't that Bakugo was moving slower – Izuku was just seeing more.
Memories began flooding his mind, but not in the usual chaotic rush.
Each incident of bullying, every confrontation, every fight – they arranged themselves like pages in one of his hero journals, clinical and clear.
He could see patterns now: how Bakugo always led with his right when he was truly angry, how his bigger explosions required a specific finger placement, how his shoulders tensed before a feint.
I've been watching him for years, Izuku realized, sidestepping a blast that would have caught him minutes ago. All those notes I took, all those times I analyzed his Quirk – I wasn't just fanboying. I was learning.
The next punch came exactly as Izuku predicted – right hand, shoulders tense, fingers splayed for an explosion. Instead of blocking or taking the hit, Izuku simply wasn't there anymore. Bakugo's eyes widened as his fist met empty air.
"What the fuck?" Bakugo snarled, frustration evident in his voice. "Stop moving, you damn nerd!"
But Izuku could see everything now. Each attack was a page from his mental notebook, each movement a diagram he'd drawn years ago. The rage still burned hot in his chest, but it felt focused now, controlled. His new vision didn't just show him the present – it showed him patterns, possibilities, predictions.
Is this what true analysis feels like? Izuku wondered, ducking under another explosion. Not just watching and taking notes, but truly understanding?
Bakugo's next explosion came wild and fast, but this time Izuku saw it coming. His body moved before his mind could catch up, deflecting the blast with his forearm. The heat seared his skin, but the impact wasn't as devastating as before.
"The hell?" Bakugo growled, genuine confusion crossing his face. "Since when could you—"
Izuku didn't let him finish. He stepped in, blocking another explosion and landing a solid hit to Bakugo's ribs. His technique was raw, unpracticed – nothing like Bakugo's street-hardened style – but there was power behind it. Months of hauling refrigerators and lifting weights had changed more than just his endurance.
I can see it, Izuku realized, his red-tinted vision tracking every movement. Every time he uses his Quirk, there's a pattern.
His parries were still clumsy, and Bakugo's follow-up strikes often caught him. An explosion grazed his shoulder, another caught his hip, but Izuku kept pressing forward. Each successful block, each landed punch, seemed to fuel something inside him – that deep well of red-hot emotion that didn't feel entirely his own.
"Think you're tough now, Deku?" Bakugo spat, blood speckling his teeth. "Finally grew a spine after all these years?"
The taunt hit something deep inside Izuku. Years of mockery, of pain, of being told he was worthless – it all came rushing back, but not as memories of fear. This time, they fed the rage.
All those years...
Something snapped. The red in his vision intensified, and suddenly Izuku wasn't thinking anymore. His body moved on pure instinct and fury. He launched forward, catching Bakugo mid-explosion with a wild haymaker that connected solidly with his jaw. Before Bakugo could recover, Izuku was on him, throwing punch after reckless punch.
They went down hard, Izuku on top, still swinging. His knuckles split against Bakugo's face, but he barely felt it. All those years of analysis, of careful observation – they transformed into pure aggressive force. He wasn't fighting like a hero or even a street brawler. He was fighting like someone who'd finally had enough.
"Deku, you bas—" Bakugo's words cut off as another punch landed. He raised his arms to shield his face, explosions weakening, becoming defensive rather than aggressive. The look on his face was of pure shock. "You have a Qui-"
That sight – Bakugo actually covering up, actually defending – broke through Izuku's rage. He froze, fist raised, suddenly aware of his burning knuckles and the ragged sound of both their breathing. His vision cleared slightly, though the red tint remained.
What am I doing?
A part of Izuku, from that deep dark well, screamed for him to continue. To feed his rage, to relish this gift - this power. Izuku shook his head.
Slowly, deliberately, Izuku lowered his fist and stood up.
Bakugo remained on the ground, arms still raised slightly, watching him with an expression Izuku had never seen before – wariness.
"You're not worth it," Izuku said quietly, his voice raw. "This power... I won't use it like this. If you really want to go to U.A., if you really want to be a hero..."
He took a shaky breath.
"Start acting like one instead of a common thug."
Bakugo's eyes widened, but for once, he didn't immediately snap back with a retort.
Izuku knelt down, carefully gathering the torn pieces of All Might's card. His hands were trembling, but not from fear this time. That deep well of anger was still there, still burning, but somehow more controlled now that he'd acknowledged its existence.
Without another word, he turned and walked - limped - away, leaving Bakugo on the ground. Each step felt heavy with the weight of what had just happened, but his spine remained straight.
The red tint in his vision slowly faded, but something told him it would return – and next time, he'd be more prepared for it.
This power isn't for revenge, he thought firmly. It's for becoming a hero. And that's exactly what I'm going to do.
The sound of conflict cut through the evening quiet like a thunderclap. Toshinori paused mid-step, his gaunt frame tensing at the unmistakable sound of Bakugo's explosions. The peaceful neighborhood around Takoba Beach – usually silent save for crickets and distant waves – erupted with voices and the distinctive pop of a combat Quirk.
Young Midoriya...
His body moved before his mind could catch up, years of hero work taking over. He slipped behind a parked car, his skeletal form providing perfect concealment in the growing darkness. The scene before him made his hollow chest ache.
"Think you're better than me now, Deku?" Bakugo's voice carried clearly, dripping with venom. Each word was punctuated by small explosions, like exclamation points made of nitroglycerin. "He was my hero first!"
Something hot and protective flared in Toshinori's chest. He'd seen bullying before – it came with the territory of being a teacher and hero – but watching it happen to his chosen successor struck differently. His fingers tightened on the car's frame, leaving slight indentations in the metal.
I should stop this. Now. Before—
But a deeper instinct held him back. The part of him that had been the Symbol of Peace for decades, that had carried One For All through countless battles, whispered:
Watch. You need to see this.
The sound of tearing paper made him wince. Even from this distance, he could see young Midoriya's face transform. Something shifted in the boy's eyes – literally shifted, the green bleeding into that mysterious red that had first appeared during the Sludge Villain incident.
That Quirk again, Toshinori thought, watching as Izuku took Bakugo's first punch without falling. But what is it really doing to him?
The fight that followed was painful to watch. Every blow that landed on young Midoriya felt like it struck Toshinori himself. His hand kept straying to his pocket, where he could still transform into All Might for a few precious seconds. It would be so easy to step in, to stop this...
But if I do, what then? When he has One For All, will I always be there to step in?
He watched as Izuku struggled, obviously outmatched by Bakugo's aggressive style. But something was happening. Each time those eyes flashed red, Izuku's movements became more precise, more calculated. It wasn't just improved reaction time – the boy was learning, adapting mid-fight.
The Quirk isn't just changing his eye color, Toshinori realized.
It's enhancing his analytical abilities somehow. Like his natural talent for observation is being amplified.
But it wasn't just the physical changes that caught his attention. There was something in young Midoriya's face, a darkness that seemed to surface with each flash of red. That mysterious Quirk seemed to tap into something deep and volatile.
Can I really give One For All to someone carrying such rage?
The thought chilled him.
Even if it's justified rage, even if he's earned the right to it... The power I carry isn't meant for vengeance.
When Izuku finally gained the upper hand, when he straddled young Bakugo and started throwing punches, Toshinori's muscles coiled. Steam began rising from his body, the transformation already beginning.
If Midoriya went too far, if he let that rage consume him...
I'm sorry, young man, but if you cross that line, I'll have to—
But Izuku stopped.
Even with his opponent at his mercy, even with years of trauma and that mysterious power coursing through him, he stopped.
Not just stopped, but stood up, delivered words that could have been punches but chose to be lessons instead.
"Start acting like a hero instead of a common thug."
The steam dissipated from Toshinori's body. Relief flooded through him, followed by something warmer – pride.
You chose to be better, he thought, watching his successor gather the torn pieces of his gift. Even without me stepping in, even without anyone watching, you chose the harder path.
As Izuku walked away, leaving young Bakugo on the ground, Toshinori remained hidden. His mind was already racing with new training plans – clearly, combat instruction needed to be moved up the schedule. But more importantly, he felt a renewed certainty about his choice of successor.
That darkness in you, young Midoriya... it's not a flaw. It's a reminder. A reminder of why you want to be a hero in the first place.
His gaze shifted to Bakugo, still on the ground, watching Izuku's retreating form with an unreadable expression.
Another soul in need of guidance, though perhaps of a different kind.
Two young men carrying such heavy burdens, Toshinori mused.
One drowning in his own rage, the other learning to channel his. Both needing help in their own ways.
The responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders. Not just for passing on One For All, but for guiding these young souls toward becoming true heroes.
Young Midoriya would need training – not just in combat, but in handling that mysterious power that seemed tied to his deepest emotions. And young Bakugo... perhaps there was still hope for him to learn what true strength meant.
The path to becoming the Symbol of Peace isn't just about power, Toshinori thought, finally turning away from the scene.
It's about choosing mercy when vengeance would be easier. You showed me that tonight, young Midoriya. You showed me I chose well.