Chapter 4: A Mind Like A Hero's (Part 2)
Izuku chose to help Mom clean the apartment after lunch. He had busied himself with chores all day, but now, in the quiet of the afternoon, he couldn't stop thinking about what needed to be done. The hallway that led to his bedroom seemed longer than usual. Izuku found himself standing at the threshold of his bedroom door, looming like the entrance to a tomb, the cardboard boxes in his hands trembling slightly.
He couldn't keep sleeping on the couch forever; it was lumpy, and his back already protested from the night before. But stepping inside meant facing it all—the walls plastered with reminders of a dream that had been shattered. His eyes kept drifting toward his closed bedroom door—the door he hadn't opened since yesterday. Even from here, he could almost feel the weight of what waited on the other side—posters, figures, notebooks, cardboard cutouts… years of devotion layered like sediment.
All Might inspired me to push through the pain, but in the end, he was the one to crush it all.
"Izuku," Mom whispered as she stood right behind him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. She followed his gaze. "You don't have to… You don't have to go in if you're not ready."
"I know," Izuku murmured, his voice quiet but firm, fingers curling at his sides. "But I can't avoid it forever. If I don't do it now... I never will."
He took a breath. Then another. And finally… he pushed the door open.
When he opened his door, creaking, the smell hit him first—a faint mix of paper, plastic, and the detergent he'd always used to dust the shelves. It smelt like faded enthusiasm. Then he was immediately assaulted by red, blue, and yellow.
The room was a shrine—posters of All Might's beaming smile, his fist raised triumphantly, covering every inch of wall space; action figures lined the shelves in heroic poses; and rumpled bedsheets emblazoned with the Symbol of Peace—the walls, the desk, the bedspread, the curtains.
They all screamed his iconic catchphrase—"I Am Here!"—which once was a promise of safety, but now only echoed in Izuku's head with a hollow ring.
Izuku's gaze fell on a poster of All Might in his Silver Age costume, which showed him smiling and holding a captured villain over his head with one hand and pointing to the horizon with the other, as if telling him he could reach it.
Izuku felt a sudden, heavy pressure on his lungs. It wasn't just a decoration; it was his childhood, his obsession, and a way to escape the bullying and the Quirklessness.
I can't look at all that stuff anymore. The posters, the figures—it's like they're mocking me.
Izuku stepped inside cautiously, as if the room were a minefield, the air feeling stagnant. The room was quiet in a way that felt unnatural—like even the posters were waiting for him to say something.
He walked to the wall nearest his bed, reaching up to touch the corner of the largest poster. Held up by yellowed scotch tape was a limited edition poster from All Might's Bronze Age, smashing through a villain's barrier with a Detroit Smash, beaming proudly against a backdrop of bright red. It was the first poster he'd ever bought with his own allowance, one he'd saved up for months. He remembered putting it up when he was eight, and Mom had needed a chair to help him hang it with such pride.
He reached up. His fingers brushed the glossy paper, which crackled under his fingertips. He hesitated. His throat tightened.
"I appreciate your spirit. But it's too dangerous. Without a Quirk, you can't become a hero."
Izuku gritted his teeth as the memory of the rooftop cut through him like a harsh wind.
His hand curled, not in anger, but in sharp betrayal.
Rrrrip!
Izuku peeled at the corner, the tape resisting at first, then giving way with a rip that made him flinch. A soft, tearing sound that was shockingly loud.
A flake of paint came off with the tape, leaving a small gray scar on the white wall. Izuku carefully rolled the poster up so he wouldn't crease it, treating it with reverence—because even if it hurt now, it didn't erase everything All Might had once meant to him. He placed it into the cardboard box.
"I'll get the bedding," Mom said softly, moving past him.
She worked quickly, stripping the pillowcases and the comforter featuring All Might's flexing silhouette. She didn't look at the images. She just folded them inside out, hiding the hero away, transforming the bed into a plain, white rectangle.
Next was his desk and shelves, lined with figures from the Silver Age and the Golden Age, all in action poses, right in front of his desk lamp.
He picked up one of the action figures, his fingers shaking. It was All Might in his Silver Age costume—the paint was chipped from when he dropped it during a simulation of a villain attack back in kindergarten. He remembered buying this one and telling Mom about the articulation points and how the center of gravity was perfectly balanced. He turned it over in his hands, the plastic suddenly feeling colder and heavier than it should.
Izuku put the figure in the box after wrapping it in an old newspaper. Not thrown away. Just put it away. He did the same thing with the next one and the one after that. Grab and drop, grab and drop. With every figure that disappeared into the box, the room felt a little larger, the air a little easier to breathe.
The rest followed slowly. Posters first. Then, the keychains that Izuku had gotten from raffles. Then the trading cards he had spent hours sorting by edition and rarity. There were a few things that made him stop—a signed vintage postcard that Dad sent him from the U.S.A., a limited edition model that he saved up for, and a T-shirt that he had begged Mom to buy him on his ninth birthday. It felt like taking away a piece of a belief he had held for so long that it had fused to his bones.
Mother and son worked side by side until she paused at a framed photo—baby Izuku dressed in an All Might onesie, beaming at the camera. "This one... do you want to keep it?" Mom asked. "It's you, Izuku. Not him."
Izuku stared at it, his heart breaking. That little boy had so much hope and hadn't been hurt by the world's cruelty. It felt like holding on to a lie to keep it, but letting it go...
"No," he said, his voice breaking. "Not right now, but someday, maybe."
It went into the box, buried under layers of what had once been his world. The room changed slowly over the course of an hour until it was unrecognizable. There were no decorations on the walls, just faint, sun-faded squares where the posters had been for years. The shelves were empty pieces of wood. The floor was free of the sharp piles of goods. With each item put away, the weight on his chest lightened just a fraction.
When they finished, Izuku taped the final box shut and stepped back. He sat on his now-plain bed, looking around. His room looked emptier. But lighter, too. It looked like a guest room. It looked like it belonged to a stranger. It looked like it belonged to someone with no personality, no dreams, no future.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. He didn't even know to whom—to All Might, to himself, to the dream he lost. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but they slipped through his fingers anyway.
A warm presence sat beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. Mom wrapped her arms around him without a second thought, pulling his head onto her shoulder. He leaned into her, letting his forehead rest against her shoulder as she held him like she had when he was much younger and scraped his knees on the playground.
"It's okay to let go, Izuku," she whispered. "You're more than this. You always have been."
Izuku's breath hitched.
"We can redecorate. Anything you want. Maybe... maybe some nice landscapes? Or a band you like?"
Izuku didn't answer. He just stared at the bottom shelf of his bookcase—the only place they hadn't cleared. It was where he kept his notebooks.
He got off the bed onto the floor, reaching into the back of the shelf. In the process of clearing the All Might clutter, he had exposed the very back row, where dust bunnies had gathered over the years of neglect. There, wedged behind a stack of old textbooks, was a notebook he hadn't touched in a decade.
It wasn't a "Hero Analysis" notebook. It was a standard composition book with a black-and-white marble cover, the corners chewed and frayed.
"What's that, honey?" Mom asked.
"I... I think this is from before," Izuku murmured.
He opened it. The pages were filled with crude stick-figure crayon drawings of heroes, recreating moments he had seen on the news, and notes written in clumsy hiragana. But as he flipped through them, he realized something. They weren't drawings of All Might.
There was a drawing of the hero duo, Water Hose, putting out a fire. A drawing of the American heroine, Cargirl, using her Quirk to serve as the back wheels for an ambulance. A drawing of Ectoplasm and his clones guiding people to safety.
And on the very last page was a note.
"When I grow up, I want to help people."
It didn't say "I want to be All Might." It didn't say "I want to smash villains." It just said, "I want to help."
"I forgot about this," Izuku's voice trembled, but not with sadness this time. It was a different kind of realization as he ran his thumb over the waxy crayon letters.
The memory washed over him—he was four years old, sitting at the kitchen table, drawing this while Mom cooked dinner. This was before the diagnosis. Before the obsession with the Symbol of Peace took over his entire identity. Before he decided that he had to be strong to be useful.
He looked up at the bare walls.
They aren't empty; they are blank canvases.
"Mom," Izuku said, holding the old crayon notebook tightly. "I don't need new posters right now. I want to leave it clear for a while. I... I need to start figuring out who I am without this."
"That sounds nice, Izuku." Mom smiled, and it was a real, happy smile. "A fresh start."
Izuku looked around once more. It wasn't a void; it was space he could fill with something new, something of his own. "Yeah." He looked down at the simple desire written by his four-year-old self. "A fresh start."
The apartment felt oddly big, and the air was clearer. Still, the stack of cardboard boxes reminded Izuku of the purge earlier. He stacked the last of the All Might boxes near the coat closet and had just sat on the sofa, idly flipping through an old magazine about The Wild, Wild Pussycats he'd salvaged from the purge of his room. He told others, and himself, that he bought the magazine on the hero team back in elementary school for research purposes. But no one could judge him for buying it for… other reasons.
Man, I remember having the biggest crush on Mandalay back then.
Mom bustled nearby, preparing tea and snacks, her movements lighter than they'd been in days. However, she still glanced at him every few minutes as if to reassure herself he was okay. If Izuku were to be honest, he felt hollowed out—like a bell that had been rung too hard and was now vibrating in the silence.
DING-DONG!
Mom jumped, nearly dropping the tea tray she was carrying from the kitchen. "Oh! That must be your friend." She smoothed her apron, glancing nervously at the boxes, then at Izuku. "I'll get it."
Izuku stood up, his heart doing a slight, anxious flutter as Mom opened the door.
"Hi, Izuku!" Nejire beamed at him, her periwinkle hair bouncing like it had its own breeze. "Hello, Mrs. Midoriya!" Her voice chimed, bright as a bell. "I'm here to return Izuku's notebook!" Izuku expected Nejire. He expected her infectious energy. Instead of her hero costume, she was wearing casual clothes—a pastel oversized sweater and leggings—but she still looked radiant.
But she wasn't alone.
He did not expect the second silhouette standing in the doorway. Nor was he expecting it to be Ryukyu wearing a sharp, casual blazer over a dress shirt, but the aura of authority was unmistakable.
Izuku's breath hitched, and for a second, he swore his soul temporarily evacuated his body. "M-M-Ms. R-Ryukyu?" Izuku squeaked. Out loud. In front of both of them.
Nejire laughed lightly, rocking on her heels. "I told you he'd react like that."
Ryukyu gave a polite nod. "Good evening, Mrs. Midoriya. I hope we're not intruding."
"Oh, please, come in," Mom said, stepping aside.
"Thank you for having us," Ryukyu's lower, smoother voice followed. She smiled, a calm, professional expression that instantly commanded the room. "Hello again, Midoriya."
They stepped inside, removing their shoes.
"Sorry for intruding!" Nejire skipped past Mom and the stunned Izuku, heading straight for the living room, but she stopped dead in her tracks halfway there. She spun around on her heel, her blue eyes narrowing slightly, tilting her head as she scrutinized Izuku. "Hmm. You feel… different today."
Izuku blinked. "W-what?"
She leaned closely, with her head tilted, invading his personal space with zero hesitation.
She's really close.
"Not that it's a bad thing," she quickly corrected. "I'm just noticing that you don't look as sad as you did yesterday. Your eyes aren't all puffy anymore, and you're smiling for real this time! What happened? Did you eat something yummy? Or maybe you took a super long nap? Tell me everything!"
You happened…
A blush overtook Izuku's face.
I can't believe I just thought that! Oh, God! Focus. Don't let your inner muttering derail the first good thing that's happened this week.
"Nejire," Ryukyu warned gently. "Personal boundaries."
"Right! Sorry!" Nejire stepped back, pulling a Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13 from her bag. "Here! As I said in the text, I accidentally tore a page, but I taped it with the invisible kind, so you can barely tell!"
"Oh, thank you," Izuku said, taking the notebook back gently, his fingers brushing hers for a split second that sent a spark through him. "And I... yeah, I guess I feel a bit better. Mom and I talked, and we... cleared some stuff out. It helped."
He glanced at Ryukyu, still stunned by her presence.
Why is one of the Top Ten in our apartment?
"Please, sit," Mom said as she led the guests to the table in the living room. "Make yourselves comfortable!" She led them in, fussing over tea trays and pillows, her motherly instincts kicking into high gear.
The mood changed as soon as the tea was poured and the steam started to rise. Ryukyu took a sip and set the cup down, and fixed Izuku with a piercing look. Izuku could tell that it wasn't the look of a hero assessing a civilian.
"I imagine that you are here to tell us you've found a therapist for Izuku?" Mom asked the pro hero.
"Sadly, I have not," Ryukyu sighed, looking at the woman regrettably. "I overestimated people's empathy towards those fitting your son's… situation. But I still plan to help him, Mrs. Midoriya." She returned her gaze to Izuku. "Nejire insisted I look at your notebook."
Izuku felt his heart plummet. "S-she did?"
Nejire jumped in quickly. "Only the cool parts! I didn't show her anything personal, promise."
"Usually, I dismiss fan mail and amateur analysis," Ryukyu continued. "It's often just praise or obvious observations."
Izuku looked down at his lap. "I know. It's just a hobby. It's stupid."
"It is not stupid," Ryukyu said firmly. "It was accurate."
What?
Izuku's head jerked up.
Ryukyu sighed, a long, tired sound, and rubbed her left shoulder. "A villain had injured my left wing many years ago. I thought it was better. The doctors said I was fine. I didn't know I was favoring the right and making sloppy turns until I read what you wrote. I thought I was getting older or slower."
She looked at Izuku with a new intensity—respect. It was one professional recognizing another.
"You saw a weakness that I, one of the top ten heroes, missed myself," Ryukyu said. "And you offered a solution. You didn't just criticize; you fixed it."
Mom looked between the hero and her son, her mouth slightly open. "Izuku... you figured that out just by watching footage of her?"
Izuku swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I... yes. I'm sorry if it's rude. I just... I notice things."
"I also read your observation on Backdraft's water pressure..." Ryukyu continued. "Where did you get those figures? Those aren't public record."
Wait… am I in trouble? Is that why she's here? Was my hobby illegal the whole time? Am I going to be arrested for espionage? Maybe I'll get a lighter sentence if I'm upfront with her.
"I... I estimated them based on… on the footage of the fire at Tatooin Station," Izuku stammered, terrified. "I counted the frames to measure the water velocity as it… as it left the nozzle, and calculated the force based… based on the displacement of the debris it hit. I had to estimate the mass of the debris, of course, but… but I cross-referenced it with standard building materials."
Ryukyu looked up at him, her eyes wide, her pupils dilating slightly. "You calculated hydraulic force variables... in your head? From a news clip? By counting frames?"
"Um. Y-yeah. I like math," Izuku whispered weakly, shrinking into the sofa cushions.
"That's AMAZING!" The volume of Nejire's awe nearly made Izuku jump out of his skin.
"It's... just stuff I've observed. It's… I always thought… If I can't have a Quirk… if I can't be a hero," he muttered. "At least I can understand them."
"Precisely." Ryukyu's lips curved upward.
She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a sleek, folded document—something official and businesslike that looked stark against the dainty teacups. She slid it across the table toward Izuku and his mother. "The hero industry is changing, Midoriya. Villain attacks are becoming more complex. We have plenty of sidekicks who can punch and blast, but we are sorely lacking in people who can think."
Ryukyu looked Izuku dead in the eye, folding her arms—not in disapproval, but rather, thinking about something.
"My agency wants to grow its Tactical Analyst Division. You have a gift for noticing things others have missed." She pointed to the notebook that was on the table. "And you know more about Quirks than anyone I've met. I am ashamed to admit my agency isn't as efficient as it could be. We're wasting time and resources chasing villains we don't know how to catch. For months, we've been looking for an analyst to help us predict the villain's moves rather than react to them. We need someone like you to review patrol footage, strategize raid operations, and help my sidekicks optimize their Quirks."
Mom instinctively reached for Izuku's hand. "You want to hire my son, who is still a middle school student?" She asked, understandably apprehensive.
"Legally, I cannot hire him," Ryukyu corrected. "But I can give him an internship. An unofficial, part-time role with the Ryukyu Agency as an analyst."
The room went silent. The only sound was the clock ticking on the wall. Izuku stared at her as the offer hung in the air, sounding too good to be true.
An internship? At a Top Ten agency? For me? For useless Deku?
"You want... me?" Izuku pointed at himself, his insecurity rising. "But... I'm Quirkless. I'm a liability. I'm useless in a fight. I..."
"I don't need you to fight, Midoriya," Ryukyu said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I have claws for that. Your job will be to tell me where to fight; to tell Nejire to stop wasting energy so she doesn't crash in the middle of a patrol. Nejire actually suggested it, and I believe her when she says you have potential. I need someone who can see things that I can't. It would be invaluable if you could break down problems, anticipate potential issues, and suggest ways to improve them. We have heroes, sidekicks, and interns, but no one who can think as you do."
Izuku didn't say anything and just stared at her as if she'd spoken to him in another language.
Meanwhile, Nejire beamed, bouncing slightly in her seat. "I told her you were a genius! I told her! And that you'd probably faint, but that's okay because I know how to catch people." Her blue eyes shone as she looked at Izuku. "You want to be a hero. Well, heroes need brains just as much as they need brawn. Maybe even more. Be my brain, Izuku. Plus, if you work with us, I can show you my waves up close! You can measure them properly!"
Ryukyu gave a patient smile. "Of course, this depends entirely on your comfort, and your mother's. Nothing will be expected immediately. But we wanted you to hear the offer directly."
Mom reached out and placed her hand over the document, her expression serious. "Is it dangerous? Will he be in the line of fire?"
"It wouldn't be fieldwork, Mrs. Midoriya—no danger here. But he would be helping with real hero operations." Ryukyu looked at Mom, and her face softened. "He comes to the agency three times a week after school to look over footage, Quirk interactions, and patterns of rescue. He'll also keep an eye on patrols, review data, write reports, attend training sessions, and, if necessary, plan takedowns of villain organizations. He would be supervised at all times and remain safe. Always. And... it might give him the purpose he needs to heal."
"Izuku?" Mom asked softly, her eyes misty as she looked between Izuku and the heroes while squeezing his hand. "Do you... Do you want to do this? You don't have to decide right now. But if this is something you want… I trust you."
Izuku swallowed.
His heart thudded painfully in his chest—but not from panic this time—from possibility.
Analyst? At a pro's agency?
Izuku stared at Ryukyu. "You… you don't think I'm too broken to help?"
"Broken?" Ryukyu shook her head. "Midoriya, you have the most remarkable mind I've seen in years. But even the strongest minds need rest and care. You deserve that."
Izuku met his mom's gaze, then looked at the notebook, then back at Ryukyu, offering a future. He looked at Nejire, who was beaming at him with pure, unadulterated belief.
Nejire's words played in his head: "Villains are easy. You punch them, and they fall. Simple. But sadness? Despair? That feeling like you're drowning even when you're standing on a roof? That's the real enemy. That's the hardest villain to beat."
The change in Izuku's demeanor that Nejire had noticed—it wasn't just from chores or clearing his room. This blue-haired angel hadn't just saved his life—she'd given him the first real spark of something inside him, small and fragile, that had flickered back to life since the rooftop.
Hope.
"I..." Izuku swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want to help people. That's all I've ever wanted. If... if I can do that with a pen instead of a punch..." He looked at Ryukyu, his eyes burning with a newfound intensity. "I'll do it."
"Yes!" Nejire cheered, throwing her arms up in the air, smiling in a way that made his heart lift. "Team Ryukyu just got a huge upgrade! I'll show you the world of heroes—properly this time."
Ryukyu stood up and extended her hand. Izuku stood to meet her. As he shook her hand, he didn't feel the electric thrill of fanboyism he used to feel. He felt the solid, grounding weight of responsibility.
Ryukyu smiled with a genuine, warm expression. "Welcome to the agency, Analyst Midoriya. Don't be late on Monday."
The final bell rang through the halls of Aldera Middle School, signaling the end of yet another soul-crushing day for Izuku Midoriya. The sound usually signaled a rush to escape before the "extras," as Kacchan called his classmates, could use him for target practice.
He slung his backpack over his shoulder, his green eyes flickering with a rare flash of excitement. Today was different from the usual day of avoiding insults and nursing bruises and burns. Today, the ringing had a distinct, promising sound as he put Hero Analysis for the Future No. 14 into his yellow backpack. His hands shook, not because he was scared, but because he was excited.
Monday!
Today wasn't just another miserable start to the week. Today was Izuku's first day at the Ryukyu Agency. An honest-to-goodness hero internship. A real one. And Nejire—bright, beaming, impossible-to-miss Nejire—had promised to swing by and pick him up, her bubbly energy a welcome contrast to the school's gray monotony.
He hurried out of the classroom, keeping his head down, navigating the hallway currents like a ghost. He just had to make it to the front gate. Nejire had texted him ten minutes ago.
Nejire Hado/Nejire-Chan: "I'm almost there! Look for the spirals!"
Izuku Midoriya: "Got it! I'll be out front. See you soon, Nejire!"
The fresh air hit his face as he stepped outside. He scanned the street, clutching his backpack straps.
Just a few more minutes, and I'm out of here. I'm actually going to be a hero.
Izuku stood by the entrance gates, checking his phone every few seconds. He could almost see it—training with Ryukyu, learning from professionals, and maybe even getting a taste of what it was like to be a real hero. He tried not to look too excited, but a small smile pulled at his lips. He could almost feel the future stretching in front of him.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
"Oi, Deku!"
The tone alone was enough to send a shiver crawling up his spine like a crack of thunder—sharp and explosive. Izuku froze, his shoulders hitching up. His heart sank as he turned to see that Kacchan was already striding toward him with that jagged, explosive grin, flanked by his usual cronies—Tsubasa and Sutoretchi—a pair of hyenas who thrived on his volatile charisma.
"Well, well," Sutoretchi began. "Look who's wagging his tail like someone's gonna come get him."
"W-what do you want, K-Kacchan?" Izuku stammered, backing up instinctively. He glanced around, hoping for a teacher or passerby, but the after-school crowd had gotten smaller.
"What, can't a guy say hi to his old pal?" Kacchan's smile grew broader and more predatory. His eyes were full of that familiar disdain for Izuku's existence. "You've been acting like you're better than everyone else today, talking about some agency internship. I bet it's with some no-name hero who won't even make it in the Top Hundred. You think someone's pity or fluke makes you hot shit now?" His friends chuckled, closing in.
Acting better than… I wasn't… What is Kacchan talking about?
"I… I'm supposed to… to meet someone," Izuku tried, clutching the strap of his backpack. "Can you—"
"Meet someone?" Kacchan sneered, small pops of nitroglycerin crackling in his palms. His two lackeys flanked him, grinning with malicious anticipation. "You think you're important enough to have places to be? You're just a pebble on the side of the road."
Before Izuku could back away, the spiky blonde hooked a fist around the green-haired boy's collar. He didn't hit or blast him there—there were too many witnesses. Instead, he and his cronies dragged him away. "Don't worry. We'll make it quick."
Izuku's heels skidded uselessly against the pavement as they hauled him away from the gate, around the corner, and into the narrow, shadowed alley between the school and a convenience store where teachers rarely patrolled.
"We just want to teach you some manners before you embarrass our school any further," Kacchan growled. "Don't think I don't know you're up to something."
"Please, I-I'm waiting for someone!" Izuku struggled, but it was futile against their grip. The alley reeked of garbage and damp concrete, the perfect spot for their ritual humiliation.
"Shut up, Quirkless loser," Tsubasa sneered, shoving Izuku against the brick wall.
Izuku's heart hammered against his ribs.
Nejire's waiting. If I'm not there... if I miss this...
"Please, Kacchan," Izuku begged, looking at the small amount of light at the end of the alley. "Not today."
"Shut up!" Kacchan cracked his knuckles, and tiny explosions went off in his hands like firecrackers. "Time to remind you of your place."
"Well, well, well… What convenient timing," a wet, sloshing voice oozed out from the sewer grate beneath their feet.
Izuku paled, recognizing it.
No…
A low, gurgling laugh echoed as a thick, putrid stench filled the narrow alleyway—the smell of rotting garbage and old sewage. The grate rattled violently, and then, like a pressurized pipe bursting, a grotesque wave of dark green fluid erupted upward.
All four boys froze.
The mass of bubbling muck coalesced into a towering, gelatinous shape with two bulging, manic, yellow eyes embedded somewhere within its shifting, amorphous form, his jagged maw of teeth splitting into a grotesque grin.
Izuku's breath hitched.
He knew those eyes. He knew that fluid.
It's him! The villain from before! The one All Might had saved me from!
"Look what we have here," the sludge villain gurgled, amused, its voice like bubbling mud. "A bunch of brats playing tough. You kids look afraid. But don't worry, I only need one of you to come with me as a hostage. Make it easy, and maybe I won't drown the rest. Which of you wants to volunteer?"
Tsubasa and Sutoretchi screamed, stumbling backward over their own feet. But Kacchan didn't move. His ego wouldn't allow it.
"A hostage?" Kacchan's eyes narrowed, his arrogance flaring as he barked a laugh, sparks snapping dangerously from his palms. "The hell do you think you are, you slimy freak? You think you can take me on? You picked the wrong alley, you piece of shit!"
"Kacchan, don't!" Izuku yelled, reaching out.
"I'll blow you to bits!" Without hesitation, the blonde lunged forward, palms igniting in a blaze of orange, predictably swinging a massive right hook. "Die!"
BOOM!
An explosion ripped through the alley, slamming into the villain's body with deafening booms, shaking the walls. Smoke billowed, and for a second, it looked like a direct hit. Kacchan expected the villain to scatter as his blast tore through part of the creature, sending chunks of sludge splattering everywhere.
But as the smoke cleared, the villain merely laughed as the mass reformed almost instantly.
"Feisty one, aren't ya? You'll do nicely." The villain surged upward like a tidal wave; tendrils snatching around his arms, extinguishing the sparks instantly, and then his torso.
"What the fuck!"
The sludge engulfed Kacchan's face, silencing his scream instantly.
"Kacchan!" Izuku cried out as the sludge enveloped his classmate.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The blonde thrashed, blasting more explosions, but the villain's grip only tightened, pulling him deeper into its oozing mass.
"Screw this!" Sutoretchi yelped, bolting for the alley's entrance. Tsubasa—in his panic, forgetting that he even had a Quirk that granted flight—followed suit, footsteps echoing as both of them abandoned their leader, sprinting back toward the school without a backward glance. Their footsteps faded into the distance as they chose survival over loyalty.
Izuku remained rooted in place, heart hammering, watching his classmate thrash inside the sludge, desperately using his Quirk to escape.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He watched the villain expand, swallowing Kacchan whole. He could see his muffled struggles inside the liquid. The villain's body churned, suffocating the strongest student in Aldera Middle School effortlessly.
Run! Find a Pro! Find Nejire! You're useless here!
Every instinct screamed at Izuku, but his legs didn't listen. He looked at Kacchan—the boy who had tormented him for a decade—and his eyes were wide with a terror Izuku had never seen on his face before.
He's going to die. Right here. Right now.
Izuku didn't think. He didn't wait for a hero who wasn't there, not when Kacchan—bully or not—was in danger!
I... I have to do something!
He dropped his backpack, legs moving before his brain could stop them.
"Let him go!" He roared with a surge of reckless determination, and he charged forward, leaping onto the villain's slippery form. His hands plunged into the slime—cold, sticky, and suffocating—but he didn't let himself recoil, finding purchase on the villain's semi-solid mass. He clawed upward, pulling himself up inch by inch, ignoring the burning in his lungs as the villain's tendrils lashed out.
"You? I remember you!" The sludgy villain let out a low, irritated growl. "Persistent little gnat!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Izuku gritted his teeth, ignoring the slime soaking his uniform and the heat of Bakugo's muffled explosions vibrating against his chest. He forced himself to climb anyway, fingers burning, lungs tightening as the rancid sludge crept up his arms.
He hauled himself up, climbing the villain's amorphous body like a mountain, clawing forward until he grabbed hold of Kacchan's trapped arm, pulling himself higher, locking eyes with the drowning boy, trying to wedge space between the villain and his classmate.
"Get off me, Deku!" The blonde snarled from within, his voice muffled.
But the villain laughed, its body shifting to engulf them both. "Two for the price of one? Even better!" The villain's shape twisted as he climbed up the walls onto the building's roof. "Fine, you can both come with me!" He jumped from one roof to the next with the two boys in tow.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He doesn't know what to do except fight.
Izuku held on tight. He didn't know where the villain was going, or why he needed a hostage. But that didn't matter to him right now.
"I said—Let! Him! Go!"
Nejire darted above the afternoon traffic, spiraling through the air with a light, bouncy rhythm. The wind blew through her hair as she rode her spirals to pick up Izuku for his first day at the Ryukyu Agency, having been entrusted by her to get him.
I mean, who wouldn't want to start their first day at a hero agency with a fun flight with the adorable sidekick, Nejire-Chan?
She looked at her phone for a moment, floating upside down to read the screen against the glare of the sun.
Nejire Hado/Nejire-Chan: "I'm almost there! Look for the spirals!"
Izuku Midoriya: "Got it! I'll be out front. See you soon, Nejire!"
She grinned.
He's so cute.
She started banking toward Aldera Middle School.
BOOM!
The shockwave cracked through the air, rattling Nejire's teeth as she flipped upright.
Oh no, that doesn't sound good.
Her spirals flickered as she whipped her head toward the Tatooin Shopping District. A thick, oily column of black smoke was clawing its way into the sky from a nearby alleyway, not far from the school route, as sirens wailed in the distance.
BOOM!
Followed by another.
BOOM!
And another.
BOOM!
"That's bad. That's really bad," Nejire muttered, her playful demeanor vanishing instantly. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the distance.
Explosions didn't just happen for fun in a residential district.
BOOM! BOOM!
Is it a villain attack?
She looked at her phone, then at the smoke, guilt twinging in her chest as her hero instincts kicked in immediately, overriding everything else.
I'm going to be late. Oh, Izuku is going to panic if I'm not there. I'm so sorry, Izuku! I'll make it up to you, I promise, but people might be in trouble!
With a burst of acceleration, Nejire rocketed toward the source of the disturbance, spirals of energy curling from her legs as she banked hard to the left. She surged toward the smoke, the golden light of her Wave Motion trailing behind her like a comet. When she shortly arrived at the scene, Nejire halted midair, hair lifting with the sudden stop. The situation looked grim as fire blocked the exits. She expected to see villains—plural. She expected frightened civilians, cornered pro heroes, something fitting the size of those blasts.
Where are the Pros?"
Nejire's eyes then widened as she caught sight of someone she didn't expect to see. Izuku was halfway up a towering, undulating pile of sludge dominating the center of the fiery chaos. His fingers were digging into the quivering surface as he climbed with the frantic determination of someone who had never heard the phrase self-preservation. His uniform was smeared with green muck, and he looked like he had decided that fighting a literal living ooze monster was a perfectly normal way to spend after school.
"Oh my God! Izuku! What are you doing? Get out of there!" Nejire yelled, diving down, but the roar of the flames swallowed her voice.
Nejire then noticed, trapped inside that suffocating muck, a blonde middle schooler wearing a uniform similar to Izuku's, who was thrashing.
He's trying to save a classmate!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The blonde boy was letting off explosions from his palms that only seemed to feed the fire around them. Nejire recognized him instantly from Izuku's notebook.
An Explosion Quirk? Wait, that's Katsuki Bakugo!
And he looked more furious than terrified, which was almost impressive considering he was being suffocated.
Izuku's trying to save his bully…
Nejire watched, heart in her throat, as her younger friend clawed at the villain, digging his bare hands into the filth, trying desperately to pry the sludge away from the blonde boy's mouth. Before she could swoop in, Izuku reached the villain's face.
"You little gnat!" The sludge villain roared, the liquid shifting to engulf Izuku's arm, but he didn't flinch.
"Take this!" Izuku screamed, his voice cracking with the desperate effort of his cry. He balled his free hand into a fist and drove it straight into the villain's enormous, bulging eye.
SQUELCH!
The villain shrieked as the sludgy body convulsed violently from the knuckles sinking into the soft, vulnerable spot. The grip on the blonde boy loosened for a fraction of a second, but the villain's rage spiked.
"GET OFF ME!"
Sludge whipped outward, and Izuku was thrown back, his small frame rag-dolling through the air. He hit the pavement hard, as if the ground were rushing up to meet him, gasping for breath.
"IZUKU!" Nejire dove for him without hesitation.
Before he could recover, the sludge villain towered over him, forming a massive, dense appendage—like a hammer—ready to flatten him into the concrete. "I'll crush you first!" the villain bellowed. "Die, you pest!"
Izuku looked up, eyes wide, throwing his arms up in a futile attempt to shield himself.
Nejire's heart skipped a beat.
"Output: Thirty Percent!"
A spiral of pure, concussive energy slammed into the side of the sludge villain at near-blinding speed, blasting the hammer away—as well as kicking up dust and debris—just a split-second from Izuku's face.
A spiral of energy burst from her feet as Nejire shot forward, swooping through the smoke, her arms hooking under Izuku's shoulders in a flash. She banked sharply, the G-force pressing him against her as she pulled him out of the kill zone and hovered ten feet in the air.
"Whoa!" Izuku blinked up at her, dazed as she clutched him tight. "N-Nejire?"
"Are you okay, Izuku?" She asked.
Izuku's face flushed with a mix of adrenaline and embarrassment as he nodded.
She huffed, looking down at the boy in her arms, her blue eyes blazing with a mix of relief and scolding intensity. "Five minutes!" Nejire shouted over the roar of the fire. "I was going to be at the school in five minutes, and you pick a fight with a sludge monster alone! What were you thinking, taking on a villain like that all by yourself?"
That was super brave, but super reckless!
The sludge villain thrashed wildly, its grip tightening around Bakugo, who was gasping for air between muffled swearing echoing from inside the sludgy chest, firing off explosions with renewed fury.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The fires sparked by his Quirk licked at nearby dumpsters and walls, adding to the pandemonium.
Gotta handle this quickly.
"Stand back, everyone!" The booming voice of Death Arms cut through. The Punching Hero led the charge, his muscular frame pounding the pavement like a human battering ram. Beside him swung Slugger, the Baseball Hero, bat in hand and ready to homerun any threat. Kamui Woods slithered through the alley with vine-like limbs, while Backdraft directed streams of water from his nozzles to combat the spreading flames. Mt. Lady towered at the alley's entrance, her giant form already shrinking to navigate the tight space.
Death Arms' eyes scanned the area, landing on Nejire with Izuku. "Hey, you're Ryukyu's sidekick from U.A., Nejire-Chan, right? Good timing, we could use the Dragoon Hero here?"
Nejire blinked, surprised by the Pro addressing her. "Sorry, but Ryukyu's not here, it's just me!"
Death Arms did not look happy with that answer. "Alright, you get the civilians clear and keep the perimeter secure! Let us Pros handle this slimeball!"
Backdraft was already shouting orders through a megaphone at the civilians to clear out.
Nejire hesitated, her eyes darting back to the suffocating blonde boy. Still, the authority in Death Arms' voice was absolute. As a sidekick, arguing with a Pro Hero would be considered unprofessional behavior.
And anything I do reflects on Ryukyu and the agency…
"Right! Understood!" Nejire replied, though her voice lacked its usual bubbly cadence as she sat Izuku down gently, a safe distance away. "Stay here, Izuku, and don't move." She turned back to the fight, spirals of energy dancing around her wrists, ready to intervene if the Pros faltered.
Izuku hesitated, his gaze locked on Bakugo's struggling form. "But Kacchan—"
"He'll be fine," she promised as she pushed him toward the crowd. "I'll help however I can, but you need to stay out of the—"
BOOM!
Another explosion burst inside the sludge monster, shaking the street. Death Arms braced himself, arms wide to hold back debris as a car toppled from a blast. Bakugo's struggling silhouette writhed deeper into the creature, swallowed more with each second.
"—fight," she finished weakly, dread curdling in her stomach as the Pro Heroes sprang into action… or tried to.
"How do you like this!" Death Arms charged forward, his fist the size of a hydraulic press, swinging in powerful arcs that sank harmlessly into the villain's oozing body, the sludge simply reforming around them. "What the—it's like punching jelly!"
"Strike!" Slugger followed up with a high-velocity cracking of his bat against the monster's side. The impact sent ripples through the sludge, but it absorbed the blow effortlessly, tendrils snaking out to swat him back. "No dice! This thing's too squishy!" Slugger backed away as a tendril of slime lashed out.
"Where are the others?" Death Arms roared.
"I have my hands full!" Backdraft yelled, his water cannons blasting the burning storefronts, extinguishing fires with desperate sweeps of his Quirk, trying to prevent the entire block from going up in smoke. "Can't get a clear shot without dousing the kid, too!"
"I can't get close!" Kamui Woods shouted, extending his wooden branches, aiming to ensnare the villain. However, the heat from the explosions made the Arbor Hero's Quirks brittle and flammable. "The fires are too intense—I can't risk igniting myself! Mt. Lady, can you get in there?"
"There's no room to maneuver!" The Peak Hero admitted, her expression one of frustration as evidenced by her biting her lower lip. "If I gigantify any further, I'll crush half the people here! Dammit!"
"Pathetic!" The sludge villain laughed, a wet, gurgling sound, and tightened his grip on Bakugo, whose explosions were becoming smaller, weaker. "And you call yourselves Pro Heroes!"
"Dammit!" Death Arms grits his teeth, planting his feet, wiping sweat from his brow. "We'll have to hold the line and minimize damage until someone with the right Quirk shows up! No choice—evacuate and contain!"
Nejire froze.
Wait it out? What does he mean by that?
She heard a sharp intake of breath and looked down to see that Izuku was trembling—not with just fear, but with frustration. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
"He won't last that long," Izuku whispered, his voice laced with horror. "Look at him. He's stopped struggling. If they wait... Kacchan dies."
Nejire looked back at the villain. The heroes were standing their ground, forming a wall, but they weren't advancing.
I can't ignore orders, but… they're letting it happen.
The realization made her stomach turn. She could see Bakugo's explosions weakening, his face turning blue as the sludge forced its way into his mouth and nose. The light was fading from the boy's eyes.
"Nejire," Izuku said, his voice snapping with a sudden, clear sense of urgency. "The eyes are his weak spot."
"Huh?"
"When I hit him before, he flinched," Izuku quickly explained. "His body is fluid, but his eyes are solid." He looked back and forth between the heroes and the monster. "If you hit his eyes with precision—even just one—he'll loosen up, and I can pull Kacchan out while he's distracted."
Nejire looked at him. "Izuku, you can't go back in there! It's too dangerous!" She protested. "You'll be crushed if it recovers too fast—"
"If we don't do something, he dies!" Izuku pleaded, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "The Pros aren't moving! You wanted me to become an analyst, and that only works if you trust me! Please, trust me!"
Something in his determination struck her—the same raw heroism she'd seen in her mentors. Nejire looked at the dying boy, then at the frozen heroes, and finally at the fierce determination in her new junior's face.
Ryukyu and Mrs. Midoriya are gonna kill me for this.
"You'd better survive this, Izuku Midoriya," she told him. "Stay low and move fast!"
Nejire floated up, spiraling energy building around her legs, flaring brighter than the fires around them. She leveled her hand, narrowing her focus. She didn't need power; she required accuracy.
"Hey, Sludge-Face!" She yelled. "Eyes up here!"
The villain's massive eyes shifted toward her. "You again?"
"NEJIRE WAVE: Pike!"
A concentrated beam of spiral energy shot from her palm with sniper-like speed and struck the villain squarely in the exposed eye.
"ARGHHH!" The villain shrieked, partially blinded and in agony. His fluid form destabilized, sludge sloughing off in chunks, and the suffocating grip on Bakugo's mouth slackened as the blonde gasped for air, coughing violently.
"GO!" Nejire screamed.
She didn't need to tell him. In that moment of distraction, Izuku was already sprinting. He ducked under Death Arms' outstretched arm, ignoring the hero's shout of protest. He dove into the smoke, darting across the alley like a green blur and sliding on his knees to reach the sludge pile.
"Kacchan! Come on—fight it!" Izuku yelled as he grabbed Bakugo's collar and heaved with everything he had. Because of Nejire's attack, the sludge wasn't holding on tight.
"DEKU?" Bakugo wheezed, confusion and rage warring in his eyes. "GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF OF ME!"
BOOM!
He mustered one last explosion to loosen the villain's hold. With a final heave, Izuku tore him free from the monster's grasp with a wet, sucking sound. Both boys tumbled to the ground as the sludge recoiled.
"YOU'RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!" The sludge villain recovered his sight, one eye bloodshot and furious. He swelled up, abandoning his human shield to become a towering tidal wave of muck, aiming to flatten the two middle schoolers. "I'LL KILL YOU BOTH!"
Nejire's heart pounded—she wasn't about to let that happen.
"Izuku, get down!" She commanded from above.
Izuku shoved Bakugo down and curled over him.
Wave-Motion's power roared within her. She hovered directly in the path of the monster, her hair floating wildly as she increased her output. The spirals on her arms grew massive, humming like a jet engine.
"Output: Fifty Percent! NEJIRE WAVE: Surge!"
She thrust both palms forward. A colossal shockwave of spiraling energy—the strongest blast she'd ever fired in civilian space—erupted, slamming into the villain's core with the explosive force of a freight train.
There was no resistance. The sheer pressure tore through the villain's midsection instantly, scattering the villain into thousands of droplets that rained down over the entire city block, inert and harmless. The air pressure alone extinguished the fires in the immediate vicinity.
Silence fell over the street.
Nejire floated down, heart pounding, legs trembling with leftover adrenaline as she landed softly between the boys and the splattered remains of the villain. "Wow," she breathed out, a relieved smile breaking through her worry. "That… was… close…" She felt wobbly and nearly faceplanted onto the street.
"Nejire!" But Izuku, despite his deep, rattling coughs and the pain of hitting the pavement, caught her.
I think… I think I… overdid it…
For a second, nobody moved. Then, the crowd behind stunned Pro Heroes erupted in cheers, their voices rising in a wave.
"Did you see that?"
"She blew him apart in one shot!"
"That's Ryukyu's sidekick! Nejire-Chan!"
"She's seriously a sidekick?"
"Way to go, Nejire-Chan!"
"Nejire-Chan! Nejire-Chan saved the day!"
Paparazzi cameras clicked as civilians surged forward, though they still kept a respectful distance from the heroes and goo.
The paramedics rushed past to check on Izuku, Bakugo, Nejire, and anyone else who may have gotten hurt. Nejire offered a weary but triumphant smile to the crowd. She looked at Izuku, covered in soot and slime but safe and still supporting her weight.
"I knew you could do it," he said, with a grateful smile.
"You scared me half to death, Izuku." She exhaled as a yawn escaped her. Then, a small, proud professional thought surfaced.
Nice work, Analyst Midoriya.