After the last of the students were safely picked up and escorted home, U.A. fell silent. The halls, usually buzzing with youthful energy, now felt heavy—haunted by the echoes of the day's ordeal. Outside, moonlight washed across the scarred training grounds of the U.S.J., its twisted steel and scorched stone a reminder of how close disaster had come.
But inside the main building, Principal Nezu was not yet finished. The night was far from over. He had summoned the staff for an emergency meeting and had personally requested the presence of Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi, whose steady judgment was invaluable when things brushed against the line between education and law enforcement.
The conference room was filled with fatigue and unease when the faculty filed in. Midnight's usual playfulness was gone, her expression sharp and pensive. Vlad King crossed his arms, his jaw tight. Present Mic, normally loud and brimming with energy, was quiet—eyes shadowed with concern. Cementoss, Ectoplasm, and Snipe each sat tensely, their bodies still humming with the adrenaline of battle. At the far end of the table, All Might sat in his true form, thin and pale, his presence diminished but still commanding a gravity no one could ignore.
Only two were missing: Aizawa and Thirteen, both lying in hospital beds after their injuries. Their absence was a reminder that today's enemy had been real, dangerous, and frighteningly prepared.
Nezu stood on his chair at the head of the table, paws folded neatly in front of him. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharper than usual, betraying the weight of what was to come.
"We all know the security footage was destroyed," Nezu began, his gaze sweeping over the room. "However…" He tapped a small device on the table. "The audio systems remained intact. What you are about to hear may disturb you."
He pressed play.
At first, the room was filled with chaos: the screams of students, explosions echoing through vast chambers, the crack of combat. Then came Shigaraki's voice—eerie, mocking, dripping with venom:
"Super or otherwise, you're just a kid. Trying to fight a monster built to kill All Might? You can't win. None of you can win."
Several teachers shifted in their seats, the menace in that voice crawling across their skin.
Then, cutting through the despair, came a defiant roar: "Like hell it's hopeless!" followed immediately by a thunderclap of an explosion. Bakugo's voice. Brash, hot-blooded, unyielding.
Before any could comment, Shigaraki's voice rang again, angrier this time: "Why do you fight?! Why resist when it's POINTLESS?! Even the strongest here couldn't—"
He was silenced.
What followed was Izuku's voice—clear, steady, filled with something none of them had expected: the weight of conviction.
"Bakugo won't give up. None of my classmates will. As long as they can still draw breath, they'll fight. But me? I've got a different problem."
The teachers unconsciously leaned forward, drawn in.
The audio cracked with the sound of impact—the unmistakable crunch of Izuku's fist meeting the Nomu. His voice returned, quieter now, trembling with honesty yet carrying the weight of mountains:
"I live in a world made of cardboard. Every step, every move, I have to hold back. Always careful not to break something. Not to break someone. Never letting myself lose control… because if I did, someone could die."
The room grew utterly still.
Then came the guttural roar of the Nomu, followed by another devastating blow. Izuku's voice rose again, harsh now, burning with resolve:
"But this Nomu? This thing can take it."
The recording ended with the echo of that strike, leaving silence heavier than stone.
No one spoke for several long moments. Even Present Mic—usually incapable of silence—sat stunned, staring at the device as if it had betrayed the very reality they thought they knew.
Finally, Nezu broke the silence. "You all understand now. We do not simply have a strong student. We have a child with a burden that rivals that of seasoned heroes. A boy who has spent his life restraining himself, living in constant fear of his own power."
He let his words sink in before continuing, tone heavier. "And that makes him both remarkable… and vulnerable. My greatest fear is not what he might do, but what others may try to make him do. The Hero Public Safety Commission, for example, has a long history of 'shaping' young talents to fit their mold. When they see these recordings, they will not see a student. They will see a weapon. A living deterrent to threats.
Detective Naomasa leaned forward, his hands clasped. "And if that happens, the boy won't have a choice. They'll push him into the spotlight, force him to become something long before he's ready. The public eats up the idea of child prodigies—heroes molded in fire. But behind the curtain? It's not heroism they're after. It's control."
The weight of his words made the teachers shift uneasily.
Nezu nodded. "Exactly. From his file, we know Midoriya Izuku has been homeschooled his entire life. Isolated. Brilliant, yes, but lacking the social grounding of children his age. He needs to be here—around his peers, learning, stumbling, growing. That is the foundation of heroism: not power, but humanity."
He hopped down from his chair, pacing slowly across the table with his paws behind his back. "We will need to build new devices to test him. Push his abilities in a safe environment. Understand his limits. Without this knowledge, we're only speculating—and speculation is dangerous when a boy with his strength is involved."
All Might, silent until now, clenched his fists and finally spoke. His voice was raw, tinged with both fear and pride. "There may be someone who can help. On I-Island, there are researchers who've dedicated themselves to the study of Quirks and support equipment. I… I know someone there who might design tools strong enough to test his abilities. Perhaps even keep him in control when his power surges."
All eyes turned to him.
Nezu studied the Symbol of Peace carefully, then nodded once. "That… may be exactly what we need. Thank you, Toshinori."
with that well move onto the next part of this staff meeting security and the league of villains nezu said.
The next morning, the Hero Public Safety Commission convened in their towering glass headquarters. The conference chamber, a wide circular room lined with screens and data projections, buzzed with tension before the meeting even began. Representatives from across Japan's hero society—bureaucrats, analysts, and senior officials—sat at their places with stiff expressions.
At the center of the chamber, a massive digital display flickered to life, showing two items of priority: "The U.S.J. Incident" and "All Might Activity Report."
The chairwoman, a stern woman in a crisp navy suit with sharp eyes that could cut through excuses like knives, tapped her pen against the desk once to command silence.
"Let's begin. The first item: All Might."
A murmur rippled across the room. Everyone knew what this meant.
One of the analysts, a middle-aged man with glasses and stacks of reports in front of him, cleared his throat. "According to surveillance and our activity trackers, All Might's presence has been… sporadic, at best. He's been appearing in fewer incidents, and when he does, his active time has dramatically shortened. What was once hours is now mere minutes."
"Minutes?" another commissioner repeated, eyebrows furrowing.
"Yes," the analyst confirmed grimly. "Our estimates put his window of activity at roughly 50 minutes, perhaps less depending on the intensity of combat."
The chairwoman narrowed her eyes. "This is unacceptable. All Might is the cornerstone of hero society. If he is weakened, our deterrent against villain activity weakens with him. Already, villain incidents are on the rise. We cannot afford uncertainty in our Symbol of Peace."
A younger commissioner shifted uneasily in his seat. "With respect, ma'am… if All Might is truly running out of time, shouldn't we begin preparations for a successor? The U.S.J. incident showed that young Midoriya Izuku is far from ordinary. Some reports even suggest—"
But before he could finish, the chairwoman slammed her hand against the desk. "Unverified rumors will not dictate Commission policy. We deal in facts. And the fact is, All Might cannot falter. If word of this reaches the public—panic will follow."
The room fell into heavy silence.
Then another voice spoke up, this one belonging to a woman with a tablet full of reports. "And yet… the U.S.J. audio leak makes it clear. That boy, Midoriya, demonstrated a level of ability far beyond any student, perhaps beyond any licensed pro. He spoke of living in a 'world made of cardboard,' of holding back his strength to keep others safe. This is not the language of a child. It is the language of someone who knows true power—and true restraint."
The screens flickered, replaying a small snippet of the U.S.J. recording: Izuku's voice, calm yet thunderous, saying "This Nomu can take it." The sound of his fists colliding with flesh followed, echoing in the chamber.
A cold hush spread across the table.
One of the senior commissioners leaned forward, his face shadowed. "If this boy truly possesses such strength… then we face a dual problem. First: his abilities surpass the education system's capacity to handle him. Second: if villain groups discover a way to neutralize him, as they surely will, then society risks not only losing All Might, but his potential successor as well."
The chairwoman folded her hands, her sharp gaze unblinking. "Which means our priorities shift. We must both preserve All Might's image and monitor Midoriya Izuku closely. If he is to become a pillar of hero society, he must be molded, guided, and—if necessary—controlled."
The chairwoman of the Hero Public Safety Commission leaned back in her seat, her steepled fingers tapping against one another as the chamber sat in tense silence. Her voice, cold and precise, cut through the air like a blade.
"Very well. We have established the obvious: All Might's time is running short. That means we must prepare for the inevitable shift in hero society. The U.S.J. incident has revealed not only the League of Villains' boldness but also the existence of a… variable. A boy with the strength to match a monster designed to kill All Might.
A low murmur rippled around the table. Some commissioners shifted uncomfortably; others leaned forward with renewed interest.
The chairwoman continued. "We will send an envoy. Quietly. Not as a threat, but as an opportunity. We will approach Midoriya directly—at his home—and extend an offer to leave U.A. and join the Hero Public Safety Commission under our supervision. Here, we can properly nurture his powers, shape him into the weapon hero society desperately needs. U.A. has neither the means nor the will to control someone like him. We do."
One of the commissioners, an older man with grey temples and a grim expression, raised a hand. "And if he refuses? Midoriya is said to be loyal to his peers, and Nezu is no fool. This boy won't be swayed easily."
"Then," the chairwoman said sharply, "we remind him of the weight of responsibility. Children do not grasp the scale of the world, but we do. Midoriya must be shown that the Commission is the only place where his strength can be honed safely, without risk to the public. If persuasion fails…" Her words trailed off, but the implication was enough to make the room go still.
Finally, one of the analysts, sitting with stacks of activity reports, cleared his throat nervously. "Before we jump the gun, there's another matter. You asked us to calculate how long All Might has left. Based on observed patterns, our best estimates give him… one or two major fights. That's it. If he burns through his strength against high-level threats, he's finished. If he keeps to small-time villains, concealing his condition, perhaps six months to a year at most. But not longer."
Gasps and murmurs swept through the chamber. Six months. A year. The very idea was enough to send ripples of unease through the ranks of officials whose entire careers rested on the image of All Might's unshakable peace.
The chairwoman let the voices rise for only a moment before snapping her fingers, silencing the room. "Then the path is clear. We cannot wait for U.A. to stumble. If All Might falls, villainy will surge like wildfire. The League of Villains is not the only threat waiting in the shadows. Society itself will fracture if we do not present a new symbol—a replacement who can embody the same fearlessness, the same deterrent power."
Her eyes swept across the room, her tone leaving no room for debate. "If Midoriya Izuku truly is capable of fighting on All Might's level, then he is no longer a mere student. He is an asset of national importance. He will either stand with us, or we will ensure he never stands against us."
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Some commissioners nodded grimly, resigned to the necessity. Others swallowed hard, the idea of coercing a teenager into service sitting uneasily in their stomachs.
The chairwoman tapped her pen against the desk again. "Begin preparations. Select an envoy skilled in persuasion—someone who can approach the Midoriya family without raising suspicion. Simultaneously, tighten our surveillance net. I want updates on his every movement, every interaction, every fluctuation in his abilities. If there are weaknesses to exploit, we will find them before the villains do. We cannot afford to be second in this race."
The late afternoon sun cast long golden rays over the Midoriya farm, the hum of cicadas filling the warm air as Izuku hoisted yet another bale of hay onto his shoulder. With casual ease, he carried it to the barn, stacking it neatly for the animals to eat later. Sweat clung to his brow, but his breathing was calm—effortless, as though the massive loads weighed no more than paper in his hands.
As he stepped out of the barn and wiped his forehead, the rumble of tires on gravel caught his ear. He turned his head and saw a sleek black car slowly pulling into the driveway. Izuku frowned slightly, his curiosity sharpening. Visitors weren't exactly common out here.
He started walking toward the car, posture relaxed but his senses sharp. By the time he had closed half the distance, the doors opened, and two figures stepped out. One was small, furry, and unmistakable: Principal Nezu, cane in hand and smiling with his usual cheerful air. The other…
Izuku's eyes narrowed slightly. A tall blond man, emaciated and frail, his frame draped in loose clothing that barely hid his sickly appearance. But despite the man's gaunt look, Izuku's instincts instantly screamed familiarity. His pulse quickened as he focused—not on the man's face, but on the subtle rhythm within his chest.
As the two walked toward him, Nezu greeted warmly, "Midoriya-kun, good afternoon. We hope we're not intruding. We'd like to speak with your parents, if they're available."
Izuku gave a curt nod, still studying the frail man at Nezu's side. The stranger drew in a breath, lips parting as if to introduce himself. But before he could utter a word, Izuku raised a hand to stop him.
"There's no need for introductions," Izuku said quietly, his gaze unwavering. "I already know who you are."
The blond man froze, eyes widening slightly. "...Oh? And what makes you so certain?" His voice carried the cadence of someone trying to mask surprise with formality.
Izuku tilted his head, his tone calm but firm. "Your heartbeat. It's the same as All Might's. I've never met anyone else with that rhythm. No two are alike. And yours matches perfectly."
For the first time in years, the Symbol of Peace found himself stunned into silence. His skeletal frame stiffened, and his eyes darted to Nezu, who merely sipped at the moment with a knowing smile.
All Might—Toshinori Yagi in this frail state—let out a soft, almost awkward chuckle. "So it seems. You are… remarkable, young Midoriya. Few would notice something like that, let alone confront me with it."
Izuku didn't smile. He simply looked between the two of them, his voice even. "You said you needed to speak to my parents. Why?"
Nezu's smile thinned, though his eyes still sparkled with intelligence. "The Hero Public Safety Commission," he said simply. His tone lacked its usual playful lilt, weighted with a gravity that instantly set Izuku on edge.
Izuku led them up the worn steps of the porch, his father Hisashi and mother Inko already standing by the doorway, having noticed the unfamiliar car pulling in. Inko's expression was tense, protective. Hisashi, arms folded, studied the guests with cautious eyes.
Nezu stepped forward with his usual calm smile, though his tone carried far more weight than his appearance suggested. He bowed slightly to Hisashi and Inko before speaking.
"Mr. and Mrs. Midoriya, thank you for allowing us to intrude. There are matters of great importance we must discuss… privately."
Hisashi's brows furrowed. He glanced at Izuku, who stood quietly near the porch, watching them with curious eyes. The farmer's instincts screamed caution, but when his son gave a small, steady nod, Hisashi exhaled slowly and relented.
"Alright," Hisashi said, his voice firm but protective. "But Izuku—don't eavesdrop. This isn't a conversation for you."
"Yes, Pa," Izuku replied, not protesting. He turned on his heel, heading back toward the barn. Toshinori, still lingering by the porch, shifted uncomfortably before Nezu gave him a subtle look.
"Toshinori," Nezu said lightly, "why don't you accompany young Midoriya for now? I believe he'd benefit from your presence."
All Might blinked in his skeletal form, but after a moment he gave a small nod and followed Izuku toward the barn, his footsteps slow and uneven against the gravel path.
Izuku picked up a heavy bale of hay near the barn, hefting it onto his shoulder as though it weighed nothing, and carried it around to the back. His movements were steady, his sharp eyes flicking once to the side where Toshinori followed, before focusing back on his work. The two shared silence for now, one carrying the weight of power, the other carrying the weight of age and experience.
Meanwhile, inside the farmhouse, the air was tense. Nezu was ushered into the dining room, where he sat across from Hisashi and Inko. The scent of wood polish and fresh tea lingered faintly in the air, but there was no mistaking the heaviness of the moment. Nezu folded his small paws neatly on the table, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
"First, I must be perfectly clear," Nezu began, his dark eyes glinting. "What is said in this room cannot leave it. Not to neighbors, not to friends, not even to your son—unless the time is right."
Hisashi and Inko exchanged a nervous glance. Inko's hands fidgeted in her lap, while Hisashi's jaw tightened, suspicion evident in his eyes. Still, they both gave hesitant nods.
"Good," Nezu continued, his voice smooth yet deliberate. "Then allow me to explain. All Might's era is drawing to a close. His strength, once unshakable, now fades. It is not a matter of if, but when he will step down as the Symbol of Peace."
Inko gasped quietly, her hand flying to her mouth. Hisashi's expression darkened, though he remained silent.
Nezu's tone grew even heavier. "And when that happens, the Hero Public Safety Commission will act. They will not waste a moment. They already know about your son. They will send their people here—charming, persuasive, authoritative—to lure him away from your home and from U.A. They will promise him resources, guidance, recognition. But their intentions…" Nezu paused, letting the silence weigh down before finishing, "…are far from noble."
Inko's voice trembled as she finally spoke. "What… what do you mean?"
"They will try to mold him into a weapon," Nezu said bluntly, his cheerful mask completely gone. "They will not see him as a child with hopes and dreams, nor even as a student still learning. To them, he is an asset—one to be sharpened and wielded as soon as possible. They will force him into the public eye, demand he uphold the illusion of peace, and sacrifice his childhood so that the status quo remains unbroken."
Inko's eyes welled with tears, her fingers clutching at the tablecloth. Hisashi, however, leaned forward, his expression sharp. "And why are you telling us this?"
"Because I believe Izuku deserves better," Nezu replied smoothly, though there was a hint of steel in his tone. "Because U.A. is not the Commission. We exist to nurture students, not exploit them. And because if you are unprepared when the Commission comes, you may lose your son to their grasp before he even realizes what's happening."
The room went still. Only the faint ticking of a clock filled the silence as Hisashi and Inko absorbed Nezu's words.
Hisashi finally broke the quiet, his tone low and dangerous. "If they try to take my boy… they'll regret it."
Nezu tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting faintly. "That is precisely why I am here—to warn you before that day comes. Izuku will need protection. Guidance. And above all, parents strong enough to stand against the storm that is coming."
Inko wiped her eyes, still shaken but more resolute. "We'll protect him. No matter what."
Izuku dropped the hay bale onto the growing stack behind the barn with a heavy thud, dust rising into the air like a brief cloud. He wiped his palms on his trousers, the earthy scent of hay and soil clinging to him. His sharp green eyes flicked toward the skeletal man lingering a few feet away. Toshinori wasn't even trying to look casual—he stood stiff, almost nervous, his sunken eyes fixed on Izuku with a kind of intensity that made the boy narrow his gaze.
"You don't need to stand there staring at me," Izuku said flatly, his tone as steady as the rhythm of his work. He hefted another bale with ease, the muscles in his arms and back straining against the weight before setting it aside like it was nothing. "You're not very good at pretending to blend in."
For a moment, Toshinori simply blinked, then gave a thin, raspy chuckle. It wasn't the booming laugh of All Might the world knew—it was frail, almost brittle, like it might break apart if carried too far by the wind. "You remind me of someone I once knew." His voice carried the faint weight of nostalgia, though there was an edge of sadness buried within it.
Izuku straightened, brushing hay from his shirt, his expression unreadable.
Toshinori faltered. For a man who had spent decades inspiring millions with his charisma, it was strange—unsettling, even—for him to be so thoroughly disarmed by a boy's directness. He coughed into his fist, his frail frame shaking slightly, before stepping a little closer. The barn creaked as the wind moved through the old wood, and in that quiet, he lowered his voice, as though the walls themselves might betray him if he spoke too loudly.
"Tell me, young Midoriya…" His words carried a solemn weight. "Why do you want to be strong?"
The question lingered in the air. Izuku paused, his hand still resting on the next bale of hay. His expression softened, eyes drifting briefly toward the horizon where the sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in gold and crimson. The farm stretched wide and endless around them, a reminder of how small he was in the world—yet how much of it he wished to protect.
"I don't want strength for myself," Izuku said at last, his tone quiet but resolute. "I want it so I can protect people who can't protect themselves." His hand tightened on the hay bale, knuckles whitening. "Strength means having the chance to stand between danger and the innocent. It means being the wall that doesn't break, no matter how hard the world tries to tear it down."
He turned, meeting Toshinori's gaze with fierce honesty. "I want to give people hope when they feel like there's none left. If I can take the weight of the world onto my shoulders, even just a little, so someone else doesn't have to… then that's why I want to be strong."
The conviction in his voice was unshakable, like steel forged in fire. There was no hesitation, no trace of selfish ambition—only clarity.
Toshinori's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the boy, his gaunt face slack, his mouth parted but no words forming. This wasn't the answer he had expected—most spoke of fame, of glory, of wanting to be remembered. But this… this was pure.
Toshinori stood there, still struggling to recover from the weight of Izuku's words. The boy's conviction echoed in his mind—simple, clear, unshakable. But something gnawed at him, a question he needed answered before he allowed himself to think too far ahead.
He cleared his throat, adjusting his frail frame as he leaned a little on the barn wall for support. "Young Midoriya," he said carefully, his tone more serious than before, "tell me… just how much do you know? About me. About my condition."
Izuku shifted the hay bale to the stack and turned to face him fully. There was no hesitation in his gaze, only the same steady calm that had unsettled Toshinori earlier. "I know enough," Izuku said evenly. "Your time as a hero is limited. You don't have long left before your body gives out completely." He crossed his arms, green eyes sharp as glass. "That's all I know—and all I need to know."
Toshinori's stomach tightened. The boy's ability to read him was unnerving, like he was standing bare before someone far too perceptive. But more than that—it was the acceptance in Izuku's tone, the matter-of-fact way he stated it, as if he had already come to terms with the truth.
"I see," Toshinori murmured, his voice low. For a moment, he considered staying silent. But no—this boy's honesty demanded the same from him. Straightening as best as his gaunt body allowed, he let the mask fall away. "Then you should know this: my power—One For All—it isn't truly mine. It can be passed down, chosen and inherited."
Izuku's brow furrowed slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but Toshinori pressed on. "I was considering… well, no. I was about to offer you the chance to take it. To become my successor."
Before Toshinori could finish, Izuku cut him off sharply, his voice unwavering. "I don't want your quirk."
The words landed like a hammer. Toshinori blinked, stunned. "What?"
Izuku took a step forward, expression resolute. "I already have enough power. I don't need more. If I accepted your quirk, it wouldn't be about protecting others anymore—it'd be about chasing power for its own sake. That's not who I am."
For a long moment, Toshinori just stared at him, almost unable to process what he was hearing. No one—no one—had ever turned down the offer of One For All. To wield the might of legends, to inherit the very torch of peace itself… people would fight and claw for that chance. And yet here this boy stood, rejecting it without hesitation.
Finally, Toshinori managed a small, tired chuckle. "You misunderstand, young Midoriya. That's not why I'm here. I wasn't offering it to you."
Izuku tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Then why bring it up?"
Toshinori's expression softened, though his eyes carried the faintest trace of pride. "Because I've already given my quirk to someone else. His name is Mirio Togata—a student at U.A. He is my successor." Toshinori's lips curved into a faint smile as he said the name. "Mirio… he's the kind of young man who shines even in the darkest storm. Selfless, brave, a true beacon of hope. I chose him because he embodied what I believed a Symbol of Peace should be."
Inside the Midoriya household, the atmosphere around the dining table was already tense. Nezu sat neatly on the chair opposite Hisashi and Inko, paws folded, his voice calm but carrying the weight of gravity.
"As I was saying," Nezu continued, "the Hero Public Safety Commission is aware of your son's… extraordinary potential. It is only a matter of time before they act. They will come here, to your very doorstep, with promises and pressure. They will try to turn Izuku into their weapon before he is ready. That is why I wanted to speak to you privately, to warn you."
Inko's hands tightened around her teacup, knuckles pale. "But… he's just a boy. He's strong, yes, but he's still our son. They can't just—"
"They can," Hisashi interrupted grimly, his jaw set. He glanced at Nezu. "And they will, won't they?"
Nezu's silence was answer enough. His dark eyes gleamed, the faintest sigh escaping him. "Yes. They've done it before. Many heroes you know today were… guided by the Commission. Some more willingly than others."
Before Inko could reply, the sudden crunch of tires on gravel outside cut through the air. All three turned their heads toward the window. A sleek black car—polished to a mirror shine—rolled up the driveway, its presence starkly out of place against the humble Midoriya farm.
Nezu's ears twitched. "So soon…" he muttered, hopping lightly down from his chair.
The car door opened with a soft click, and a woman stepped out. She was tall, her black suit sharp and immaculately pressed, her posture radiating authority. A small golden pin with the H.P.S.C insignia gleamed on her lapel. Her eyes scanned the property like a hawk circling prey.
"Mr. and Mrs. Midoriya?" the woman called smoothly, her voice polite but carrying an undertone of command. "My name is Kyouka Takada, representative of the Hero Public Safety Commission. I was hoping we could have a conversation about your son."
Inko stiffened, instinctively reaching for Hisashi's hand beneath the table. Hisashi's gaze hardened, his protective instincts flaring.
Nezu stepped forward before either parent could respond, his tone bright yet edged with steel. "How interesting. I don't recall you being invited, Ms. Takada."
The woman's eyes flicked down to him, her polite smile never wavering. "Ah, Principal Nezu. Of course, I should have expected you would insert yourself. But this isn't U.A. This is family business. And the Commission feels that young Izuku's future is too important to leave in the hands of chance."
Inside, the tension spiked like a live wire. Hisashi slowly rose from his seat, standing tall and firm between the Commission's representative and his family. "You can say what you came here to say," he told her flatly, "but know this—my son's future will be decided by him, not by you."
Takada's smile sharpened ever so slightly, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. "We'll see, Mr. Midoriya. We always do."
At that moment, the front door creaked open, and the faint sound of footsteps on the porch echoed through the tense silence—Izuku and Toshinori returning from the barn.
The air inside the Midoriya home felt charged, like the calm before a thunderstorm. Inko and Hisashi sat stiffly at the table, Nezu perched in his chair like a judge, and Ms. Takada of the H.P.S.C stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her, the picture of confidence. A faint creak signaled the door opening—Izuku and Toshinori stepping inside, the young boy dusting his hands from farm work, Toshinori's sunken eyes sharp despite his frail frame.
"Ah," Takada said smoothly, turning as Izuku entered. "Just the young man I wanted to see."
Izuku frowned slightly, his green eyes flicking from her polished suit to the golden pin on her lapel. "You're from the Commission."
"Correct. Kyouka Takada, Hero Public Safety Commission representative." She inclined her head politely. "And I must say, young Midoriya, you've caused quite a stir. U.A. was the beginning, but your feats have spread beyond those walls. What you did at the USJ incident alone has been the subject of multiple reports."
Izuku tilted his head, cautious. "What kind of reports?"
Takada's smile deepened. "You fought villains older, more experienced, and more brutal than most pros ever face in their early careers. You protected your classmates. You stood up against this Nomu thing something even seasoned heroes would hesitate to face. And you did so without hesitation, without training equal to the task, and without the quirk support systems most rely on." She let her words hang heavy. "Do you know how rare that is? and then there's you catching a plane"
Toshinori shifted beside him, uneasy, but Izuku only met her gaze steadily. "So? I did what anyone should've done."
"Not anyone could have done," Takada countered, voice sharp now. "That's the difference. You have raw potential beyond measure. If nurtured properly, you could become the Commission's answer to maintaining peace in Japan—even after All Might's retirement." Her eyes flicked briefly to Toshinori, the words deliberately barbed.
Nezu cleared his throat delicately, his small body radiating authority. "And yet, Ms. Takada, the cost of such 'nurturing' is stripping a boy of his childhood, his freedom, his agency. You would mold him into a weapon before he's ready—sacrificing the man he could become for the tool you want him to be."
Hisashi's hand clenched into a fist on the table, his voice deep and firm. "My son isn't some pawn for your Commission to move around."
Takada's polite expression hardened. "And what if his power grows beyond what you can control? Beyond what U.A. can provide? You've seen the cracks forming—villains are bolder, All Might is fading. If you wait too long, the balance of society collapses. Do you really want to gamble the world's stability on whether or not a child can figure it all out on his own?"
The room went still. Inko looked at her son, fear and love written on her face. Toshinori remained silent, caught between the truth in Takada's words and his own protectiveness.
Izuku exhaled slowly, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but carried the weight of his conviction. "You're right about one thing. All Might won't be here forever. I've known that for a while." His eyes flicked briefly to Toshinori, then back to Takada. "But I don't need you to mold me into something I'm not. If the day comes when All Might falls, I'll step in. Not because the Commission ordered me to. Not because I was trained like a weapon. But because it's the right thing to do. Because someone has to."
Takada's lips curled into a small, practiced smile, though her eyes betrayed the sharp calculation behind it. She smoothed her blazer and looked directly at Izuku, her tone honeyed but carrying an unmistakable weight.
"Very well, young Midoriya," she said evenly. "If that is your decision, I won't press you further today. But remember this—when you need training beyond what U.A. can provide, when the day comes that All Might is forced into retirement and the burden shifts… the Hero Public Safety Commission will always have its doors open to you. And when that time comes, all you need to do is call. We will see to it that you are given your license—immediately. No exams. No waiting. No red tape. Just the recognition you deserve, and the freedom to act as the hero society will desperately need."
Her words lingered in the air, heavy and deliberate. Izuku narrowed his eyes slightly, but he didn't rise to the bait. He only folded his arms and gave her a short nod, one that said more than words: I heard you. I'll decide on my own.
Takada seemed satisfied with that much. She inclined her head respectfully to Hisashi and Inko, her sharp heels clicking against the wooden floor as she moved toward the door. At the threshold, she paused, glancing back with a faint glimmer in her gaze—something between admiration and possession.
"Remember, Izuku," she added softly, as though the words were meant only for him. "Legends don't wait for permission. They seize the moment when the world calls for them."
Then she was gone, her polished black car pulling away from the farmhouse, leaving only silence in her wake.
For a long moment, no one spoke. Inko's hands trembled slightly as she twisted the hem of her apron. Hisashi's jaw was set like stone, his eyes locked on the door as if he could still see the woman standing there.
Nezu finally broke the silence, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of unease. "The Commission doesn't waste words. That was no idle offer—it was a carefully laid hook. And they'll tug on it again, when they believe the moment is right."
Inko turned to her son, worry brimming in her voice. "Izuku… you won't—"
"I won't join them," Izuku interrupted firmly, though not unkindly. His expression was steady, but his eyes burned with quiet determination. "I'll become a hero my own way. If the day comes when All Might can't keep going… then I'll step up. But it'll be because I choose to. Not because they hand me a license and tell me what to do."
Toshinori, who had been silent through most of the exchange, let out a slow, shaky breath. His skeletal form seemed to straighten, just slightly, as pride flickered in his tired eyes. He already understands, Toshinori thought. He already knows what it means to be a true hero.
Nezu gave a small, approving nod. "Well said, young Midoriya. Just remember: knowing the path and walking it are two very different challenges. But if anyone can meet them, it's you."
Nezu rose from his chair, dusting off his suit with deliberate calmness before turning to the Midoriya's one last time. His expression, though polite as ever, carried gravity.
"Classes at U.A. begin on Monday," he said, folding his paws neatly behind his back. "That gives you four days to talk, reflect, and decide where you stand. After today's events, clarity of heart and unity as a family will be more important than ever."
Hisashi and Inko nodded, though unease lingered in their eyes. Izuku merely clenched his jaw and gave a firm nod of acknowledgment. With that, Nezu departed, his little frame vanishing into the dark countryside night, leaving the farmhouse quiet once more.
The rest of the day passed without incident. Chores were done, meals were shared, and though conversation carried on, there was a heaviness in every word. All of them—Hisashi, Inko, and Izuku—were thinking about the Hero Commission, about Nezu's warning, and about the unspoken weight of the future.
By the time night fell, the farmhouse was still. The crickets sang outside, and the occasional breeze rattled the barn door. But peace did not last long.
A piercing white glow suddenly blazed from the direction of the barn, flooding through the windows and searing against the darkness.
Inko gasped awake, clutching Hisashi's arm. "The barn!"
All three of them rushed out barefoot into the cool grass, shielding their eyes against the unnatural brilliance. The barn looked like it was burning from the inside out, light streaming through every crack in the old wood.
Hisashi threw open the barn doors—
And in that instant, the light vanished, snuffed out like a candle.
What remained was silence. Stillness. Yet a faint, steady glow pulsed beneath the floorboards.
Izuku's eyes sharpened. "The cellar."
They descended quickly, each heartbeat echoing in their ears as they pushed open the old trapdoor and climbed down into the hidden chamber. The sight that met them stole their breath.
The spaceship—the very vessel that had brought Izuku into their lives—was no longer metallic, no longer the cold steel that had gathered dust for years. It pulsed with a steady rhythm, like the beating of a heart, its surface shifting and melting away until it transformed completely into a massive shard of white crystal.
The cellar was bathed in its glow.
Hisashi took a cautious step forward. "What in the world…?"
They gathered around, the air vibrating with quiet energy. The crystal gave off no heat, no sound—just a presence, ancient and commanding.
Izuku's instincts pushed him forward. Without hesitation, he knelt, placing his hands on its smooth surface. The glow intensified, responding to his touch, and when he rose with the crystal cradled in his arms, something on the back wall of the cellar caught his eye.
Symbols—writing—burned faintly across the stone, glowing in the same pale white as the crystal.
"Dad, Mom," Izuku said, pointing.
Together, they turned to read the inscription. Though alien in origin, the meaning unfolded in their minds as though whispered directly into their thoughts:
"Take the crystal to the edge of the world. Cast it into the void at one of the polar caps, and the path will be revealed."
The three of them stood frozen, their breath shallow as the words etched themselves into their memory.
Inko clutched her chest. "The polar caps? But… why? What could be waiting there?"
Hisashi's eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. "This isn't random. This ship, this crystal… it was all meant for Izuku. Whatever answers we're missing—they're there."
Izuku tightened his grip on the crystal, its glow bathing his face. His heart pounded in his chest, but his expression was resolute.
"Then I'll go," he said firmly, looking at his parents. "Whatever this is, it's connected to me. To who I am. And if it's a path I'm meant to walk… then I have to see it through."
The cellar's glow lingered long after the words on the wall dimmed, casting shifting shadows over the Midoriya family. No one spoke at first, the enormity of the message weighing heavily on them all.
Inko was the first to break the silence. Her voice trembled, soft yet firm. "No. Absolutely not. Izuku—you're not running off to some frozen wasteland because a rock told you to."
Izuku looked at her, guilt in his eyes but determination in his posture. "Mom… it's not just some rock. It's connected to the ship that brought me here.
"I want you safe," Inko snapped, her fear cracking into her words. "Not chasing riddles into dangerous places!"
Hisashi rested a hand on her shoulder, steady but heavy. His eyes stayed locked on the crystal, his brow furrowed with the same intensity Izuku often carried. "Inko… he's right. This isn't something we can ignore. If that crystal holds the truth, it's not going to wait for us to be ready."
Her lip quivered, but she said nothing.
Izuku, clutching the crystal tighter, spoke more firmly. "If I don't do this, I'll always wonder. And if this was meant for me… then maybe it's also a warning. What if it's something dangerous? What if leaving it alone puts people at risk?"
That struck home. Inko looked at her son—the way he stood taller than his years, his voice calm but carrying weight—and realized with a pang that the boy she raised was already shaping into the man he was meant to become.
Hisashi sighed and knelt beside Izuku, steadying his gaze. "If you're going to do this, you don't do it halfhearted. You prepare. You make a plan. The polar caps aren't a stroll through the park. Bitter cold, storms, no food for miles—you'll die if you go in blind."
The house fell back into silence after they returned from the cellar. Hisashi and Inko eventually drifted back to sleep, but Izuku lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind refused to rest.
The crystal's glow, the message carved into the wall—it wasn't just strange, it was overwhelming. For all his strength, all his training, he knew this wasn't something he could shoulder alone. His parents had done everything for him, but this… this was beyond them.
Two faces came to his mind: Nezu, the genius who always seemed ten steps ahead, and Toshinori Yagi—All Might. They were the only people he could trust with this secret. If this journey led to danger, or something larger than himself, then he'd need their wisdom. With that decision, his thoughts finally quieted enough for sleep to take him.
The next morning smelled of miso and grilled fish as Inko served breakfast, though she hardly touched her own plate. Hisashi tried to act calm, but every glance toward his son gave away the storm behind his steady demeanor.
Izuku ate quickly, his expression set in determination. After finishing, he stood, pushing his chair back quietly. "I'll be back. I promise."
At the door, his parents met him. Hisashi's hand rested heavy on his shoulder. "Be careful out there. Whatever's waiting for you, make sure you come back to us."
Inko's eyes glistened as she straightened his scarf, her hands lingering as if afraid to let go. "If it gets dangerous… you come home. No crystal, no answers are worth losing you."
Izuku's throat tightened, but he nodded firmly. "I will. I swear."
And then, with a deep breath, he stepped outside. A moment later, a rush of air followed him as he shot into the sky, the morning sun painting his silhouette against the clouds.
Within minutes, the farmland was far behind him. The world below became a blur until the sprawling campus of U.A. came into view. Normally buzzing with students and activity, it was eerily still—its gates closed, its paths empty. The aftermath of the USJ attack still lingered, and classes were suspended until further notice.
Landing quietly just beyond the front gate, Izuku felt the weight of the silence settle on him. The school that was supposed to symbolize safety felt more like a fortress holding its breath.
He made his way through the empty grounds, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone paths. The buildings loomed overhead, quiet and watchful, as if they too were waiting.
Finally, he stopped in front of the principal's office. The door seemed impossibly heavy as he raised his hand to knock. Behind it waited Nezu, the mastermind who guided heroes, and All Might, the symbol whose strength was waning.
They were the only ones he could trust with the truth.
He exhaled slowly, his hand trembling just slightly before he steadied it. Then he knocked, ready to reveal everything.
The door creaked open at his knock, and Izuku hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The office was quiet, the only sound the faint ticking of a clock on the wall. Sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across shelves stacked with books and files.
Nezu sat behind his desk, a porcelain teacup steaming gently in front of him. His beady eyes lifted, sharp and knowing, and a small smile tugged at his muzzle.
"Well, well," the principal said, his voice smooth, calm. "Young Midoriya. I was wondering when you'd decide to come see me."
Izuku blinked, thrown off. "…You were expecting me?"
Nezu chuckled softly, taking a sip of tea before setting it down. "Let's just say, I've had my suspicions. Please, sit."
Izuku walked forward, each step feeling heavier than the last, and lowered himself into the chair across from Nezu. His hands fidgeted on his knees, but then he drew in a sharp breath. He couldn't hold it back anymore.
"I'm not… normal," Izuku said quietly, but with growing strength in his voice. "I'm not just some quirked kid who happened to be strong. I… I was sent here. From another world. My planet—it was dying. My parents sent me away so I could live. I've hidden it all this time, even from my closest friends, but… I can't keep hiding anymore."
The room fell into silence. Izuku's heart pounded in his chest. For a terrifying moment, he feared laughter, dismissal, or worse.
But Nezu only leaned back in his chair, steepling his small paws. His expression was calm, thoughtful… unsurprised.
"I see," Nezu said at last, his tone measured. "So you've decided to trust me with the truth. Good. That takes courage."
"You… believe me?" Izuku asked, disbelief flickering in his voice.
Nezu's whiskers twitched in a faint smile. "Believe you? My boy, I had three theories about you since the day you entered this school. One of them was exactly what you've just confirmed—that you were not born of this Earth." He took another sip of tea as though discussing the weather. "The signs were there, if one knew what to look for. Your physiology, your durability, the limits—or rather, lack of them. You are extraordinary, even among the extraordinary."
Izuku's eyes widened. A part of him had hoped Nezu would understand, but to hear that the principal had already suspected—it was both reassuring and unnerving.
"I didn't come here just to confess," Izuku continued, his voice steadying. "Something happened last night. My ship—the one that brought me here—it changed. It became a crystal, and on the wall behind it… there was a message. Instructions. It told me to go to the polar caps and throw the crystal into open space."
At this, Nezu's sharp eyes glinted with interest. He stood, hopping down from his chair with practiced ease. "Fascinating. Very fascinating indeed." He padded across the floor, tail flicking behind him. "You did well to bring this to me. Secrets like these, if revealed carelessly, could cause panic—or worse, exploitation. But now… now we have something concrete to follow."
He turned, his smile widening ever so slightly. "Then it seems we have a trip to make, don't we?"
Izuku rose to his feet, tension tightening his shoulders. "You'll… come with me?"
"Of course," Nezu replied smoothly, already reaching for his coat and a small satchel of instruments. "It wouldn't be very responsible of me to let a boy—alien or not—venture alone into the icy voids of the North Pole with a piece of technology that could very well reshape our understanding of the universe, now would it?"
Izuku let out a small breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Relief washed over him. He wasn't alone in this.
"Thank you, Nezu," he said quietly.
As the pair exited the main building, the sound of heels clicking and a cheerful shout caught their attention. Midnight and Present Mic were heading their way, curiosity already written on their faces.
"Yo, Nezu!" Present Mic boomed, throwing a hand up. "What's the deal? And—Midoriya? What's a first-year doing here while the campus is closed?"
Midnight tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "Principal, what exactly are you two up to?"
Nezu's expression didn't falter; his usual polite smile rested on his face as if he had expected this interruption. "Midoriya and I," he said smoothly, "are going on a little field trip." He paused, then glanced up at Izuku. "How long do you think this journey of ours will take, Midoriya?"
Izuku thought about it, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Um… maybe a day? Give or take."
"About a day, then," Nezu repeated as he turned back to the teachers. "While I'm away, Recovery Girl will serve as acting head in my stead. Please continue as usual and keep the campus secure." His tone left no room for argument, though his polite smile never wavered.
Before Midnight or Present Mic could press further, Nezu padded forward and leapt gracefully, climbing up Izuku's arm before perching neatly on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Izuku gave the two teachers a small nod—half reassurance, half farewell—and then, with a sudden rush of wind, he launched himself skyward.
The world blurred below them, clouds streaking past as the ground shrank away. The city soon became a patchwork of colors beneath them, and the horizon bent with the curve of the earth.
Nezu, unbothered by the altitude or the speed, adjusted his stance slightly and spoke over the rush of wind. "Tell me, Midoriya… how fast can you actually go?"
Izuku hesitated, keeping his eyes forward as he broke through a cluster of clouds. "I… don't really know. I've never pushed myself to the absolute limit. But… if I go fast enough, the air around me starts to ignite. Flames, sparks, almost like re-entry."
Nezu's eyes twinkled, fascinated. "So fast you disturb the very air around you. Remarkable."
They soared higher, cutting above a thick blanket of clouds. The sky shifted to a deep blue, the sun shining down with blinding brilliance. Nezu let out a quiet hum as he gazed around, his tiny frame dwarfed by the endless heavens. "It's beautiful up here," he mused softly. "The air thinner, the world so small below us… almost peaceful."
Izuku smiled faintly. "You should see the view from the moon."
Nezu blinked, his head snapping toward the boy. "…The moon, you say? You've been there?"
Izuku scratched his cheek sheepishly. "Yeah. After Mr. Aizawa had me fetch the ball Uraraka launched into orbit during the test, I got… curious. I wanted to see how far I could go. Before I realized it, I was standing on the moon's surface." He chuckled nervously. "But I didn't go any further. I was… afraid, I guess. Space is so big, and I didn't know if I'd be able to make it back."
Nezu stared at him for a long moment, his calculating mind running at full speed. Finally, he asked quietly, "Did anyone see you?"
"I don't know," Izuku admitted, his voice serious now. "But… if anyone was monitoring space at the time, then… yeah. They'd know someone from Earth went to the moon. Someone without a ship."
The weight of his words hung between them, the implications heavy. Nezu's smile returned, though his eyes carried a sharp glint. "Then it seems your secret may not be as secret as you think."
A silence stretched between them as Izuku adjusted his flight, the air colder and thinner as they flew southward. Minutes ticked by, the blue of the ocean below giving way to shimmering sheets of white.
"There," Nezu said softly, his tone carrying both wonder and gravity. "The beginning of the Antarctic continent."
Before them stretched an endless expanse of ice and snow, glittering beneath the sunlight like a frozen sea of diamonds. The horizon was a brilliant, icy blue, stretching further than Izuku's eyes could see. The North Pole was vast and unyielding, a frontier untouched by time.
Izuku adjusted his descent, his breath misting faintly despite the warmth of his body. Nezu tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder, eyes unblinking as they approached the frozen wilderness.
They flew in silence for several long minutes, the roar of rushing wind their only companion as the world below turned into a sea of white. Eventually, Izuku's sharp eyes caught sight of a vast clearing nestled between two towering mountain ranges, their jagged peaks jutting into the sky like frozen teeth. The space was wide, flat, and glittered with untouched snow — the perfect place.
"There," Izuku said, angling downward.
He slowed his descent carefully, the air growing razor-thin and biting cold as they dropped into the clearing. His boots crunched into the snow, sinking slightly into the powder. A frigid wind howled between the mountains, scattering trails of frost into the air.
Nezu hopped lightly down from Izuku's shoulder, landing atop the snow with practiced balance. Immediately, he buttoned his heavy coat up to his chin, tugging the fabric tight against the icy air. His breath steamed as he tilted his head to look at Izuku.
The boy stood there casually, wearing nothing but a fitted muscle shirt and a pair of simple pants, as if he were standing in a warm gymnasium instead of one of the coldest places on Earth. The snow didn't even seem to cling to him; it melted off his skin before it had the chance to settle.
Nezu's whiskers twitched in amusement. "You don't get cold, do you?" he asked, though his tone was already rhetorical. He gave a small chuckle and shook his head, answering himself before Izuku could. "Of course not. For someone who has walked on the surface of the moon, this temperature must feel like nothing at all. A breeze at best."
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a puff of visible breath slipping from his lips. "It doesn't really bother me… I guess my body just handles it. I didn't even notice."
Nezu gave a hum of interest, his eyes glittering as he studied the boy. "Fascinating. A body that thrives under conditions fatal to most humans… The implications of your physiology alone are extraordinary." He turned, glancing around the vast clearing, the icy peaks looming in every direction. His voice lowered slightly, taking on a tone of anticipation. "Now then… shall we see what this crystal of yours intends to reveal?"
Izuku reached into his pocket, feeling the faint, almost living pulse of the white crystal against his palm. As he pulled it out, its glow seemed to intensify, bathing the snow around them in an otherworldly shimmer.
Izuku held the pulsing crystal in his hand, its glow reflecting faintly in his eyes. The cold wind whipped through the clearing, carrying with it a sharp bite that neither seemed to notice anymore — not with the weight of the moment pressing down on them.
He turned his head toward Nezu, voice steady but laced with anticipation. "Are you ready?"
Nezu gave a small, calm smile, though his sharp eyes betrayed his excitement. "I am." Then, noticing the way Izuku extended an arm slightly to the side — a protective gesture — he tilted his head. "Ah… you want me behind you."
Izuku nodded once, serious. "Just in case."
With a soft hum of agreement, Nezu moved across the snow and stood behind Izuku's broad frame, his tiny form looking even smaller against the vast, empty landscape. He tucked his paws into his coat pockets, whiskers twitching as he watched intently.
Izuku took a slow breath, bent his knees slightly, and hurled the crystal upward with a powerful throw. The crystal spun through the icy air, gleaming as it rose higher and higher, until — suddenly — it stopped.
Perfectly vertical. Perfectly still.
It hovered in place, suspended above them like some sacred relic. The glow intensified, first a soft shimmer, then a blinding radiance that turned the snowy clearing into a sea of white light.
Izuku instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes, his other arm stretching slightly in front of Nezu. The brilliance was overwhelming, pressing against their senses until it felt as though the entire world was nothing but light.
And then—
Silence. Darkness.
The glow collapsed, vanishing as if it had never been there at all. The crystal dropped like a stone, striking the frozen ground with a deep, resonant sound before embedding itself. The snow and ice cracked around it, jagged lines spider-webbing outward.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the ground trembled.
At first, it was a subtle vibration beneath their feet, like the faint rumble of distant thunder. But quickly, it grew — snow cascading down the mountain slopes, the air vibrating with a deep, low hum. The crystal sank deeper, as if the earth itself were swallowing it whole.
Izuku planted his feet firmly, spreading his stance against the shaking. Nezu steadied himself as well, eyes narrowed, studying every detail with sharp calculation.