All mites evolve.
After what happened at Bakugou's birthday party, Inko seemed to take a stand. This time, when Izuku was forced to share the details of the event at home — reluctantly, since the teachers had only told her part of the story — her reaction surprised him.
As she sat across from him at the small kitchen table, watching him explain what had happened, she couldn't help but notice something unusual. Izuku's voice, usually monotone and careful, had picked up a strange energy. His gray eyes, always so distant and dull, lit up like slivers of starlight every time he described Katsuki's latest BOOM! and his chaotic antics. His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile as his arms gestured animatedly, recalling every explosion with an odd fondness.
"And then—BOOM! He did it again, but this time the balloon flew right at his head—like it was alive or something," Izuku recounted, the corner of his mouth quirking up before he quickly schooled it into neutrality again. "I think it startled him. But he still acted like it was all part of his plan."
Inko watched him, her eyebrows drawing together slightly. Something about the way he spoke—how his words danced around Katsuki's name with that mix of familiarity and reluctant interest—stood out to her.
There was a strange warmth to it, though not the kind of warmth you'd expect from a regular friendship. It was a crush, not a real crush, of course—not exactly. It was more like childish fascination. The kind of stubborn, lingering admiration kids sometimes had for someone they knew they wanted to be befriend so, so badly.
"You talk about him really well, Izuku," Inko said gently, trying to gauge his reaction. Izuku blinked, slowly. He melted, almost, and he looked at his tiny hands, as if he himself was surprised about how much he had been moving them in the air proudly.
Then, he let them fall on the table and shrugged with a deliberate nonchalance that didn't quite fit his small body. "He's loud, that's all," he muttered, staring down at his fingers, the edge of his lips twitching at the thought. "You kind of haveto talk about him."
Inko tilted her head softly. Izuku hesitated, his grey eyes flicking to hers for the briefest moment before looking away again. "He's just not boring. That's all." His voice dropped to a murmur, his expression unreadable. "Even when he's being a jerk, at least he's something. Most people aren't."
Inko's heart ached at the quiet honesty in his words, but she also couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her lips. There was something so profoundly Izuku about the way he saw Katsuki, and found that rough edges somehow appealing and lovely.
The light in his eyes dimmed just slightly, like he was tucking something away. She sighed softly to herself. It's not really a crush, she thought, but watching Izuku's figure, she couldn't help but think that the pull Katsuki had on him was stronger than she realised.
He's not boring. It was a simple thing for a child to say, but coming from Izuku — her Izuku— it meant so much more. It meant Bakugou Katsuki was the only pulsing, vivid colour that his grey eyes saw.
With a determined look, the kind only the mother of a future great hero could wear, and a fire pulsing in her eyes, Inko announced—with a dramatic swing of her fist in the air—that if Izuku wanted Bakugou Katsuki as a friend, they would have made him one.
What followed was nothing short of torment. Inko subjected Izuku to relentless knitting lessons that left his fingers bright red, dotted with tiny needle holes and raw from the constant tugging of yarn. She was merciless, guiding him with sharp precision until, at last, a bright orange scarf and a pair of black fingerless gloves were perfected.
Apparently, Inko had decided that this time, Izuku was somehow in the wrong. Her solution? He would make it up to Bakugou by giving him a proper birthday present — belated or not. Izuku couldn't decide if this was a punishment, a life lesson, or some combination of both, but as he stared at the finished scarf and gloves, all he could do was sigh and tiredly rub his eyes.
What's worse — getting blown up again, or handing him this?; Well, maybe he could have obtained both in one shot, since that would have surely been Katsuki's reaction.
The next day, Izuku showed up at kindergarten with an All Might-themed package clutched tightly in his hands, his grey, bored eyes shifting as if the package itself might have exploded. Under the watchful and hopeful gazes of three teachers, Izuku found himself bowing in perfect Japanese style — back straight, head down, the gift balanced between his palms.
Katsuki scowled immediately, crimson eyes narrowing at the gesture as though it personally offended him. Encouraged by the teachers, he stomped over, grabbed the package in one sharp motion, and practically snarled, "Tch, I'll make it explode, just like I wanna do with your face, Deku."
The redness was rising to the tips of Katsuki's ears, the fire of his usual anger and frustration lighting up because of that, flickering with something else—something small, like the first crackle of a flame. He turned sharply on his heel, clutching the package tighter than he needed to, his face scrunched as though he were trying to decide what to do with it; maybe if to burst it.
Before Izuku could say anything or Bakugou could explode, the teachers stepped in and separated them, their voices cheerful but firm. Izuku sighed as he was ushered away, rubbing at the back of his neck. For the rest of the day — and the days that followed — time moved on as they did before the birthday. Katsuki barked and yelled as usual, explosions flying from his palms.
But every so often, when Izuku wasn't looking, Katsuki's eyes would flick toward the scarf and gloves stuffed hastily into his cubby, his lips twitching like he couldn't decide whether to scowl harder or smirk. It meant that he had won, hadn't he?
In the meantime, Izuku had reached a few important steps, during his exploration weekends.
Falling behind on trivial knowledge wasn't an option. Izuku needed to know the location of the various grades of school buildings scattered across the city, the layout of the streets weaving, who lived in the neighbourhood, and, most importantly, the level of crime one risked encountering by stepping outside the house. His survival depended on such details.
It wasn't until his fourth birthday passed - with a pistachio cake with Inko, while watching All Might's five hours documentary on their tv in a saturday evening - that something happened again.
The first thing he discovered, however, was the location of the nearest park. Wandering through the back streets around his house, Izuku kept careful track of his surroundings, treating the small home he was tethered to as a blindingly bright spot in a sea of fog. He couldn't risk getting lost.
Eventually, his steps led him to a high, jagged wall crowned with sloping tiles. Around the curve, the narrow, shadowed streets opened into a wider ochre-coloured road, its earthy tone vivid under the midday sun.
That street was different—less confined by rows of identical white houses, which stood like shells against the sky, and more like a small square or a neighbourhood meeting point. The air felt even lighter there, and Izuku's sharp eyes noted the well-trodden paths and faint sounds of life that hinted at something ahead.
That was the park. A modest space, framed by trimmed bushes and scattered trees, it stretched just far enough to give an illusion of wilderness while still nestled comfortably in the suburb. It wasn't much, but to Izuku, it was significant—a starting point.
The chirping of birds grew louder, their flocks perched in neat rows atop extinguished light poles. It was still midday, and though the winter sun was pale and cold, it shone stubbornly, illuminating the stones underfoot until they seemed to glimmer like stars. Izuku's hands were buried deep in the oversized pockets of his soft sage-green shorts, the fabric swaying gently with his movements. He felt strangely nostalgic.
A sudden burst of screams pierced the quiet, sharp and insistent. He instinctively tilted his head, his long eyelashes fluttering as his gray eyes darted to the right, locking onto the source. Two dense tree canopies, their interwoven branches forming a jagged roof of green and brown, framed the scene ahead. There, cutting across the view like a vivid splash of color, was a bright red thread—a small figure, moving fast. Followed by others, running around him, laughing and singing.
Izuku stepped cautiously toward the sound of the commotion, his small red sneakers crunching against the ocher dirt path.
The closer he got, the clearer the shouts and laughter became, high-pitched and childlike but laced with something sharper, something unpleasant. His heart tightened, his instincts urging him to retreat, but curiosity — or perhaps the bitter familiarity of the scene — drove him forward. That was canon's power.
The earthy smell of summer filled the air as he passed the first few trees at the park's edge, their bare branches twisting against the pale sky. A thicker trunk loomed ahead, its shadow offering a moment of cover. Izuku pressed his back against the bark, peeking carefully around it. It was hard and rough.
There, under the red thread of a jungle gym, was Bakugou Katsuki. His messy blond hair caught the sunlight, his crimson eyes blazing with self-satisfaction as he stood at the center of a small group of kids. Three others circled around a boy huddled on the ground, his knees pulled close to his chest. His lip quivered, and his hands tried to shield his face from the taunts and jeers that rained down on him like daggers.
"You're such a crybaby!", Katsuki sneered, his voice loud and sharp enough to make the boy flinch. One of the others echoed his laughter, emboldened by Katsuki's confidence.
Izuku's plain eyes wandered over the scene, calm but unyielding as they took in the familiar chaos before him. Katsuki's blond hair shimmered like white ashes under the cold sun, his tiny fingers curling into fists that cut through the air like declarations of control. His laugh, sharp and triumphant, echoed in the small clearing as if daring the world to challenge him. Yet, he was just a smug kid.
It was a scene Izuku had seen far too often in his past life: someone small, vulnerable, being cornered by the strong. And the funny thing was — like before, he recognised the one being cornered. Well, damn.
"I'm Kentan! Ken-tan, understand?!"; the boy on the ground cried, his wide, kermit-like eyes brimming with tears as he shielded his face from Katsuki's looming figure.
Izuku blinked, a fleeting smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Well, damn. Of course, it had to be him. Kentan. The neko-drawing kid with the big eyes and the mouth that never knew when to stop.
Izuku tilted his head, his hands still deep in the pockets of his shorts. "So that's how it's gonna be, huh?", he murmured to himself, the ghost of amusement flickering behind his grey irises. He wasn't so stupid to intervene, after all it wasn't like Katsuki would have killed Kentan, right?
Crack!
The sharp sound of a snapped stick broke the scene's rhythm like a needle dragged across vinyl. All at once, the laughter died. Katsuki and his small posse of three-year-old cronies froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the noise. Well, fuck my second life.
Izuku stood there, unbothered, the pale winter sun illuminating his green t-shirt like an aura. His calm gaze swept over the group, resting on the boy at the center.
All at once, the laughter died, the kids turning to look at him. Katsuki's expression froze in surprise before twisting into a scowl, his crimson eyes narrowing at Izuku's unexpected presence. "Oi, nerd," he barked, his tiny voice dripping with authority, "what're you doing here?".
Izuku said nothing at first, his posture relaxed, but his eyes betrayed the sharpness of his thoughts. He shifted his weight, the remnants of the broken stick crunching underfoot, and gave the boy a look Katsuki would've interpreted as impassive—if not for the faint spark of defiance in his irises.
"I live here," Izuku finally replied, his voice low and soft, brushing against the cold air. It wasn't exactly an answer to Katsuki's question, but it was enough to make the blond's scowl deepen.
"I've never seen you here before!", Katsuki snapped, stomping his foot against the dirty ground. He took a few steps closer, his little fists clenched at his sides, his face contorted in the exaggerated fury of a three-year-old's tantrum. He really was just a kid.
Izuku tilted his head slightly, watching Katsuki with a detached curiosity that made the boy's anger seem even more ridiculous. The contrast between his puffed cheeks and narrowed crimson eyes, paired with the childish stomp, made the entire display feel surreal—almost funny, if not for the underlying tension of the moment.
Well, Izuku thought, glancing briefly at Kentan, who was still crying on the ground behind Katsuki, it seemed like Kacchan had completely forgotten about his original target.
That, for some reason, made Izuku feel childishly proud. As soon as he arrived Bakugou seemed to not care about the others; Izuku was first on his priority list.
Bakugou's two friends flanked him like mismatched pieces of a puzzle. One was wiry and tall for his age, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides, while the other was round and short, his tiny wings twitching restlessly behind him.
Katsuki stepped forward, his movements sharp and deliberate, but there was something restless in the way his eyes darted to Izuku. His small fist clenched tighter than necessary, his other hand hovering near his side before slamming into his palm.
The sharp crack of a tiny explosion echoed through the park, more bark than bite, but enough to make his friends glance at each other. Katsuki's grin spread wide, almost too big for his face, his canines flashing. His feet shifted into a fighting stance, precise in a way that felt practiced, even at three years old. "If you care about him that much," he snapped, his voice holding a faint edge of something unspoken, "come and get him, nerd."
The words carried weight, but his crimson eyes flickered briefly to Kentan, then back to Izuku, like he couldn't decide who he was angrier at. Why was he angry, anyway?
Izuku scoffed. Where did that come from?; he caring about that little kermit? - he was just a kid, there were, like, billions in that world, unluckily. Bakugou took it wrongly, again.
Bakugou's friends braced themselves, heels digging into the dirt, ready for the fight.
Katsuki waved them off with an annoyed flick of his hand, as if to say he would handle this himself. His glare never left Izuku, but for a split second, his eyes flickered again—this time, in the direction of Kentan, a tiny wrinkle of frustration creasing his brow. "DIEEEE!".
And then, with that warning, Bakugou twirled his arm in the air, his eyes gleaming with mischief, his stance almost playful. He cocked his arm back as if winding it up like a slingshot, then launched himself toward Izuku like a flying squirrel — a reckless, wild dive with all the confidence of a boy who had always gotten his way. He was so cool.
Instinct kicked in before Izuku could think, his tiny fist swinging upward. He aimed straight for Katsuki's face, the motion quick and unpracticed but full of intent, his small body standing as solid as he could manage. It wasn't a perfect punch, but it was the first time he'd thrown a real one in this new life.
Izuku's small fist shot out with surprising speed, landing a punch square on Katsuki's face. It wasn't a powerful hit, but it was enough to make Katsuki's head snap back. His scowl deepened immediately, his fiery temper igniting even more.
"You little—!" Katsuki snarled, rubbing his cheek as if the punch had left a lasting mark. Without missing a beat, he lunged at Izuku, his small body quick and furious. He shoved Izuku to the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air. They coughed.
Izuku, now on his back, grinned.
His tiny hands instinctively reached up to grab Katsuki's hair, tugging hard. Katsuki yelped in surprise, his face contorting in pain as he tried to pull Izuku's hand out of his locks. His other hand ignited with a fiery explosion, sending a rush of hot air and dirt flying in all directions. Izuku grunted, but refused to let go, his face set with determination.
"You're gonna pay for that, nerd!" Katsuki growled, his chest heaving with anger.
His explosive quirk flared as he slammed his small hand on Izuku's mouth, but the blast was more about intimidation than real damage. Izuku coughed, his eyes still locked onto Katsuki's furious face, and in that moment, Izuku bit down hard on Katsuki's finger, his teeth sinking into the soft skin.
"Ah! Not again!" Katsuki yelled, a mixture of pain and irritation in his voice. "Why do you always bite me, you biting freak?!". Izuku didn't let up. Instead, he bit harder, his small teeth making Katsuki flinch as he tried to shake him off as if he was a crab pinching his finger. "Just die already, Deku!".
"You're so annoying!" Katsuki snapped through clenched teeth, thrashing underneath Izuku. But the fight took an unexpected turn when Izuku's small foot, with all the intention of just pushing Katsuki away, landed square between his legs. Oh, shit.
Katsuki froze, his face going pale as the air rushed out of his lungs. He collapsed, his body folding in on itself, a look of chock on his face as he struggled to breathe. They were ass in the ground, now, legs intertwined as they stared at each other breathing heavily.
Izuku blinked, looking down at the mess of dirt, tangled limbs, and red faces. His grey eyes widened as he realised what had just happened, he had done something a kid would have never, the sound of footsteps interrupted the awkward silence.
"Katsuki!" a voice barked, sharp and authoritative. It was Mitsuki Bakugou, marching toward them with a furious look on her face. She was scarily similar to her son. Her ruby eyes just a bit sharper and more cat-like. She was thin, all pointy hair.
The other kids - that had been screaming, or in Kentan case ugly crying - immediately run away, spreading away in the playground. Well, no loyalty. They just had left them alone.
She paused, eyes scanning the chaotic scene of dirt-streaked, panting children.
Katsuki was on the ground, clutching his stomach and glaring at Izuku, while Izuku was seating, with his palms pointed behind his back, in front of him, catching his breath, mouth opened, his hands clenched into fists.
Finally, Mitsuki crossed her arms, exhaling sharply. "What did I tell you about fighting like this?", she asked, an eyebrow raised as she looked between the two boys, the question directed to her son as she sighed.
Katsuki growled, trying to sit up, his face flushed with frustration and embarrassment. "Tch, mind your own business, woman," he muttered, though it lacked its usual venom. Woman?; Izuku smashed his hands on his mouth to hold a laugh. That was-.
Seeing a mini looking-like-an-angel boy call his mother woman like an old man who drinks too many beers was so funny, he felt like chocking on his own saliva.
Mitsuki red eyes snapped on him, her lips closing in a strange smile. For some reason, she looked amused. Her hand was in her jeans pocket, her hips inclined forward in her pose. In many ways, Izuku felt called out. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—uh, kick him there?;" he bluntly said. "He deserved it, too."
Katsuki shot him an indignant look, but there was a noticeable pause before he could muster the strength to retaliate. "You did me nothing," he barked. "I'm fine."
Mistuki, ignoring her son's grumbling, bent down to help both of them to their feet. "I can't believe you two," she said with a sigh, brushing dirt off Izuku's t-shirt and giving him a pat on his hair. "You are him, uh?".
"Are you hurt?"; Izuku shook his head quickly, still wide-eyed from the intensity of the fight. "I'm fine." - Well, his lips were a bit swollen from the explosions and his ears were ringing, but she didn't need to know.
Katsuki, now standing, shot Izuku a glare - his pride on the line - but said nothing. Instead, he rubbed his sore lower stomach, grumbling to himself. Mitsuki gave them both a knowing look. "You two have a matching pride, look like it's bigger than mountains. Anyway," she sharply looked at them; "you are going to have to explain all this to your fathers later. I'm not doing damage control."
Izuku's lip naturally trembled; then he remembered, this was another life. "I don't have a father." He happily mumbled to himself. Apparently, he had been too loud because Mitsuki's and Katsuki's equally red eyes snapped on him as if he had just said he wanted to off himself. He hadn't.
Bakugou, with the typical innocence of children that still seemed to belong to him, blinked in surprise as he opened his mouth to speak. "How the hell is it possible not to have a father? That's not how it works, or— or he's dead, or—". He was shut down.
Before he could finish his words, Mitsuki's hand shot up with lightning speed, covering his mouth firmly, cutting off his sentence. Katsuki's eyes went wide, and for a moment, he was left to swallow his words in confusion.
His face flushed with frustration, his fists clenching as he seethed with barely contained anger. If looks could scorch, Izuku would've been burned to a crisp in that instant. Luckily, he hadn't that Quirk.
Mitsuki, unfazed, simply smiled at Izuku, her expression softening in a way that Izuku hadn't expected from the woman. "Kats and I will take you home," she said, her tone gentler than before. Her eyes softened even more as she continued, "You came out of me, it doesn't matter if you lick me," she added as she glanced at Katsuki, who was still grumbling beneath her palm, trying to wiggle free like an indignant kitten.
Katsuki's cheeks turned a bright shade of purple, his hands flailing for freedom as he muttered under his breath, clearly embarrassed but still bristling with the same fiery anger that had sparked the fight in the first place. "Damn it, old witch, you are a fuckin' pain in the ass!" he growled, but his words were muffled by his mother's hand.
Mitsuki removed her hand from his face with an exaggerated sigh, her lips curling into an amused smile. "You're so dramatic," she said, but then her attention turned back to Izuku, and her expression softened again. "Sorry about all that," she added, offering her left hand to Izuku with a smile that conveyed more kindness than Izuku had expected from her. "Let's get you home, sweetie."
Izuku, still slightly stunned by the chaotic turn of events, nodded and took her hand. He glanced at Katsuki, whose ears were still tinged with an angry red hue. The two of them began walking down the street, Mitsuki leading the way, Katsuki sulking in his usual manner, and Izuku quietly guiding them with the directions he luckily remembered.
Katsuki's muttered complaints were barely audible as they walked, yet Izuku couldn't help but smile. It was nothing more than an unspoken tension, but something about the way Mitsuki treated them both, the way she took charge despite her son's grumbling, made Izuku feel like maybe, just maybe, there was a strange kind of understanding blossoming between them.
It was a complicated moment, filled with awkwardness and fleeting glances, but somehow, Izuku felt that the way home wasn't so lonely anymore, if Bakugou was there.
After that day, the park transformed more and more into battlefield — a place where the innocent hum of the small stream running through the darker green central area became something much more dramatic: the trench line. The opposing forces were clear, unwavering, and equally determined.
On one side stood the great and powerful Katsuki Bakugou and his crew of loyal soldiers. Tesaki, all sharp teeth and wild grins, his hair always hanging in his face.
Hashiga, with his tiny, expressive eyebrows that seemed to dance along with his overenthusiastic shouts and round, earnest eyes. And finally, Tsubasa, the chubby boy whose small, awkwardly fluttering wings on his back had earned him a kind of mascot status among the group. They were Katsuki's forces, and Katsuki — always front and center — commanded them like a general born for the chaos. The park was his and Izuku's kingdom, and he loved it - he screamed it.
On the other side stood Izuku Midoriya, haunted and followed by his own ragtag group of fighters. Kentan, the kermit-like kid who somehow always found himself in the thick of it; Erika-chan, the little girl with dark pigtails who wielded a commanding, squeaky voice like it was her personal battle trumpet; and a perpetually snotty-nosed boy with straw-colored hair who didn't even go to kindergarten with them but seemed to pop out of nowhere whenever action was brewing.
Neither side ever seemed to declare war—it was just there, a silent agreement formed with narrowed glares and a tilt of Katsuki's chin. Izuku found himself at the center of it without ever really asking for it, though some part of him couldn't help but think it was funny. This was just how Katsuki worked. A challenge that never ended.
"Move, Deku, or I'll blast ya into the water!", Katsuki would shout, small fists pumping at his sides, sparks sputtering like fireworks trying to light, as he stranded on his edge of the river. "I am banning you."
"You'll have to catch him first!", Kentan would retort, with a loving look to Izuku - that was his hero, for some reason -, who usually stayed under a tree near the river reading a book, with an almost unfair amount of calm for someone being charged at by a small explosion-loving maniac.
The stream would inevitably become a line no one wanted to cross first, though Katsuki always threatened to dive straight into it if it meant victory. Tesaki and Hashiga would cheer him on with shouts of, "Get 'em, Katsuki-sama!" while Tsubasa tried to keep up, wings flapping hopelessly.
On Izuku's side, Erika-chan had taken to screeching "Retreat!" every time Kentan tripped over himself or the snot-nosed boy got distracted by bugs crawling on a log. Izuku was somehow both the leader and the peacemaker, trying to coordinate their laughably chaotic team while dodging Katsuki's relentless attempts to blow him up.
And so, every day, the park echoed with war cries and screams of "BOOM!" and "Not fair, Kacchan!" followed by endless laughter—sometimes from the kids, sometimes from nearby adults watching the antics unfold.
It wasn't always clear who won. Most battles ended with everyone covered in grass stains, dirt smudges, and twigs tangled in their hair. Katsuki would glare at Izuku across the imaginary trench, flushed and panting, pointing an accusing finger as if to say "Next time I'm gonna drown ya in blood."
Izuku, hands stuffed casually in the pockets of his shorts, would simply shrug with a faint, knowing smile. Their war would continue the next day, and the day after that. Neither side was willing to call a truce — not that anyone, except him, wanted one, anyway.
The adults never intervened in their little squabbles, mostly because, to them, it seemed less like fighting and more like some elaborate role-playing game. It was almost entertaining — two little forces clashing as if reenacting battles only they could see. Some parents, and even a few curious elders, would pause during their walks to watch Katsuki march dramatically across the field, waving a stick like it was a sword, his loyal followers in tow, while Izuku stood just across the stream with his ragtag group, arms crossed like a war strategist preparing his next move.
To the adults, Izuku and Katsuki were simply two inseparable friends with very strong personalities who just happened to enjoy playing rough, sometimes really rough.
By then, Izuku had already undergone his medical exam and received the confirmation that he was Quirkless. A fact that might have devastated any other child. But Izuku? He didn't seem to care in the slightest. The news hadn't made him cry or shout or even sulk. Instead, he'd blinked lazily at the doctor, like he'd been told the weather forecast, and immediately moved on with his day.
Inko had taken the news surprisingly well, too — probably because her son had never once shown a flicker of interest in heroes in this life. There were no excited declarations about becoming the next All Might, no dreams of glory or justice. Just the usual amount.
The only thing that Izuku seemed even remotely invested in was Katsuki Bakugou. Not that Bakugou knew about it.
Inko often found herself watching from afar as her son tailed Katsuki with an air of quiet amusement, him constantly hurling insults or passive challenges in Izuku's direction, the way kids often did when they didn't know how to say "Let's play together." Izuku, of course, never let it slide. Katsuki'd whip around, sparks at his fingertips, growling "Shut up, Deku!" as if he was ready to explode at any moment. "I'm gonna burst your teeth."
And yet, like clockwork, every day they'd end up in the park together, dirty and loud and utterly inseparable. If this was what it meant for Izuku to be Quirkless, Inko figured she didn't have much to worry about. Her son had Katsuki — whether either of them realised it or not — and so all was well. Really well.
Somehow, Katsuki was too caught up in their games and constant arguments to fully register the impact of Izuku's lack of a Quirk — almost as if Izuku's sheer force of personality compensated for it.
But let's be clear: Katsuki had still become crueler, and he never missed an opportunity to twist the knife, spinning every insult around the Quirkless pivot. He seemed determined to test Izuku's limits, to see if he could make that stubborn, unyielding little soul crack under the weight of his taunts.
It was just another reason for their endless arguments and added to Katsuki's unshakable conviction that he was better than Izuku in every conceivable way. The only difference? Izuku didn't care. Not even a little.
For every sharp jab Katsuki threw, Izuku simply countered with a bite, a tug on his hair, or a stubborn refusal to let him walk away victorious. He'd meet Katsuki's cruelty with his own brand of chaotic resistance, refusing to let his Quirkless status become a weapon Katsuki could actually wield.
And so, their dynamic hadn't shifted much — largely thanks to Izuku's complete nonchalance toward Katsuki's attempts to use his Quirklessness against him. Katsuki might have been louder and more aggressive about it, but Izuku, in his own quiet way, was unshakable. It left them locked in their eternal cycle of insults, fights, and reluctant camaraderie, as if nothing at all had changed.
Maybe it would become a problem in the future, when Katsuki finally would have realised that, thanks to his Quirk, he was terrifyingly stronger than Izuku — that with just a flick of his fingers, he could actually make him explode. The idea simmered quietly, unspoken but heavy, in the back of Izuku's mind. It wasn't fear that fueled it, though. It was something else.
Pride, mostly.
If anything, this growing power imbalance was what first made Izuku consider taking the Hero Path. Not for glory, or admiration, or even out of some desire to save others—at least, not yet. No, it was something much simpler and selfish. He wanted to keep Katsuki interested, to remain his equal, his rival, and, in some strange, childish way, a threat that Katsuki couldn't afford to dismiss.
And speaking of threats, it was during one of their mud-ball battles that something happened again. Differently but canonically.
That morning, they were playing as usual, but the rain had made the ground soft and slippery, adding an extra challenge to their usual squabbles. Katsuki, ever the strategist, had come up with a new idea: they'd collect mud dumplings in their little buckets and hurl them like grenades at the enemy's border. The plan was simple, and to him, it felt like the perfect way to win their daily battle.
Katsuki positioned himself, along with his friends, on a log that stretched across the river connecting one side of their makeshift battlefield to the other. The log had become a kind of neutral zone — a place where neither side truly had the advantage, and it was always where they'd meet to launch their next offensive. He had a stick in his hand.
The water beneath the log was low, just enough to cushion a fall but not enough to drown in—though Katsuki never failed to threaten Izuku with it, calling out in his usual overconfident manner, "I'll just drown you in that shitty river if you get any closer, Deku!"
Izuku's only response was a roll of his eyes, his mind already focused on the next move. But today, with the rain making everything slippery and the stakes feeling a little higher, something felt strangely familiar.
Bakugou was singing his song with his friends repeating the words, as they threw mud-balls and marched towards the other side of the river.
He was smirking from ear to ear.
The snot-snot kid from Izuku's team was already crying, his face smeared with mud, rubbing a small bruise on his cheek as he sobbed. The rain of mud, thrown by Katsuki and his crew, showed no sign of slowing down. Katsuki's little minions — , Hashiga, and Tsubasa — moved quickly, replenishing him with buckets of mud without him lifting a finger, expertly maintaining the barrage.
Meanwhile, Erika-chan, her once-white dress now soaked through with mud, was screaming at the top of her lungs.
She was running her fingers through her dark, messy hair, kicking her legs in frustration as she tried to shake off the gooey mess.
Her voice had a desperation to it now, mixed with anger at the loss.
On the other side, Kentan, small but determined like a knight, grabbed Izuku by the hem of his shirt and dragged him toward the riverbank. The water was just shallow enough, and the mud piled up where the land met it, forming clumps as though waiting for a fight. Izuku had no choice but follow him with a sigh, his grey eyes raising up to Kacchan.
Katsuki's gaze shifted to them, watching Izuku and Kentan as they ducked behind a mud mound. His eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't like it. "Oi, Deku," Katsuki called out with a sneer, his words sharp. "Quit following around that little idiot."
His voice was laced with a strange bite, just enough for it to be obvious even through his usual bravado.
He shot a mud-ball at Kentan, hitting the boy square on his temple with a sharp splat. Kentan winced, and Izuku's eyes flicked to him, concerned he might have started ugly crying on him. That would've been displeasing.
Katsuki wasn't finished. He sneered, trying to mask his irritation. "Why don't you go get some mud in your hair, Ken-tan?" He mocked, raising his voice. "Not like you'd be any good at anything else. Stupid, snot-nose little—" He cut himself off, huffing in irritation, not even able to finish his insult.
His eyes lingered on Izuku for a moment longer than necessary, a subtle hint of something in them. He stomp his feet.
Kentan, unfazed, picked the mud from his ear and looked over at Katsuki with a defiant expression, but he was still clearly shaken by the hit. "Whatever, Bakugou. You're just mad 'cause you missed Izuku-chan."
Katsuki scowled, fists clenching at his sides, but he didn't retaliate. Instead, he just turned away with a forced nonchalance, not wanting to give Izuku—or anyone else—the chance to see him flinch. But there was a flicker of jealousy in his chest, something he didn't fully understand. It wasn't fair.
Izuku was still focused on the game, but the tension between them lingered. Katsuki's attempts to provoke Kentan and even Izuku seemed more desperate now, quieter under his typical bluster. He couldn't quite put his feelings into words, but the irritation, the emotion — it was there, hidden beneath all the mud and noise of their game.
Kentan, his hands now covered in thick mud, his cheeks flushed with frustration and a bit of anticipation, took aim. His small body tensed, and his eyes narrowed as he wound up to throw. His little mud-ball shot through the air, but it missed Katsuki entirely, splattering harmlessly against the log beneath him. Actually, not so harmlessly.
Katsuki scowled, ready to retaliate, but as he stepped forward, the slick mud beneath his feet betrayed him. His boot caught on the slick surface, and before he could react, he slipped, his body sliding forward with a loud splash as he crashed into the shallow river.
The sound of the splash was met with a chorus of laughter from Izuku's team, but Katsuki, now drenched and red-faced, gritted his teeth. His hands balled into fists as he glared up at the log, then back at Kentan, whose face was lit up with a mix of surprise and amusement; he looked at Izuku.
Katsuki growled, spitting out a mouthful of water as he pulled himself to his feet. His eyes flickered to Izuku for just a moment and something in him twisted and curled.
But instead of the usual explosion of rage, something else lingered in Katsuki's chest—a strange, uncomfortable heat, a tightness in his stomach that he couldn't fully understand.
Kentan, still holding the mudball, looked genuinely apologetic. "S-sorry, Bakugou! I didn't mean to do that, I was just—".
"Shut up, snotty-potty!" Katsuki snapped, but the words came out with less force than usual. The irritation was there, but there was also a flicker of something else—something almost like embarrassment?
As Katsuki wiped the mud from his face, his eyes drifted back to Izuku. His grey eyes were wide, just a little bit gleaming with that familiar boredom. But for a brief moment, Katsuki could have sworn he saw something else — maybe a hint of amusement. Or was it something else?; Deku pitied him?
Katsuki swallowed hard, pushing the thought aside. He was never one to show weakness, especially not in front of Deku. Still, something gnawed at him, a strange feeling he couldn't place. Something in the way Izuku and Kentan worked together unsettled him in a way he wasn't ready to admit.
It was then that a ball of mud smacked into Katsuki's forehead. His mouth dropped open in shock, and he instinctively reached up to massage the pale skin, almost choking on the drop of mud that ran down his nose. His ruby eyes narrowed in raw anger as they shot up to the source of the attack. And then, they landed on Izuku Midoriya; aka Deku.
Izuku stood a few paces away, his small fingers smeared with mud, his grey eyes alight with something between mischief and challenge. The green of the surrounding forest reflected in his gaze, as if it somehow mirrored the fire growing within him.
The strange, uncomfortable feelings that had been swirling in Katsuki's chest vanished in an instant, disappearing into the river below him as if they had never been there. All that remained was a surge of irritation — and something else. His chest burned with that familiar, explosive energy.
Before he even realized what was happening, his henchmen had started raining mud down again, and the extras from Izuku's team scattered, laughing and retreating. The noise, the chaos — it felt like he had never fell, like it had never happened, no one noticed.
Katsuki's feet found solid ground, and without another thought, he surged toward Izuku, throwing himself at him with all the force he could muster in his tiny body.
Izuku didn't even have time to react before they collided, tumbling into the shallow river with a loud splash. The force sent water splashing in every direction as Katsuki landed on top of him, knocking the air out of Izuku's lungs. The two rolled together, fighting for control, mud mixing with the water as they both struggled to get on top.
Katsuki's hands found Izuku's shoulders, his face flushed with a mix of anger and something more. His pulse thudded in his ears, but there was a strange warmth settling in his chest. Maybe it was the sheer frustration of it all, or maybe it was the fact that, even now, he couldn't quite understand why he felt the need to do this.
But there was no turning back now.
"Is this how you want to play, Deku?" Katsuki growled, his voice rough, but his eyes flickered with something amused, something that Izuku wasn't sure he could place. It seemed like he was happy, or glad. As if he was joking, as if he wanted to laugh.
Izuku, breathless but defiant, grinned up at him, the laughter in his eyes never fading. "You started it, Kacchan," he shot back, a spark of that same fire in his voice. The moment hung between them, both of them soaked, covered in mud, and yet neither willing to back down. A small part of Katsuki, deep down, almost relished the intensity.
They started fighting as usual, the river acting as their slippery battleground, the water splashing around them as they struggled for dominance. Mud smeared their faces, arms, and clothes, turning the whole scene into a chaotic mess.
But there was something different this time, an undertone that neither of them could ignore. Not in the slightest.
Katsuki's chest swelled with an unfamiliar feeling, something like a raw, unspoken joy.
It was like they were two panther cubs, brawling and biting each other's ears in some natural pool of water because it was fun. The energy, the heat, the fire — it felt as if every shove, every laugh, every sharp gasp for air, made them both feel more alive. And for once, he didn't care that his pride was on the line.
It was just the two of them, bickering like they always did, but now there was an unspoken connection, a spark between them that neither could fully grasp. It was instinctual, like they both craved this, like they needed to be this way with each other. Katsuki's usual anger was there, but it mixed with something else — something lighter, a sense of satisfaction that Izuku's defiant grin seemed to fuel more than anything else.
"Quit laughing, Deku!" Bakugou growled, his hands gripping the mud-covered boy's shoulders to throw him around. It was absurd, really. They were covered in mud and water, rolling around in the river like they were fighting for the last slice of cake. Yet, there was an undeniable thrill in it, a satisfaction that neither could quite explain.
Izuku laughed through the water, spluttering as he pushed back. "I'm not laughing!" he countered, though he couldn't know, for once, his grin was still wide. "You're just too easy to mess with!" For all the rivalry and bitterness, there was a strange kind of happiness in this chaos—something that was theirs, something only they could understand.
Katsuki could feel it in his chest, this undeniable pulse that surged every time their bodies collided, every time they tried to outdo each other. And even as they both got covered in more mud, even as the world around them blurred into nothing but laughter and splashing of them and the extras, there was a strange sense of peace.
Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't about winning or losing anymore, just that time. It was about this — this fight, this unspoken understanding between them, and the way their rivalry had somehow turned into something more.
Something fun. Just for that day.
"Come on, Deku!" Katsuki barked, his voice rough, but there was a strange edge of amusement to it. "Are you not gonna bite me?, I'm not done with you yet!"
Izuku grinned back, unbothered by the dirt, his gray eyes alight with the same fire that burned in Katsuki's chest. "I wasn't planning on letting you win anyway, Kacchan!"
And as they wrestled in the muddy water once more, it wasn't about proving anything—it was about the moment itself. A moment that felt like they were finally fighting for something that wasn't about being rivals. It was something more, something that neither of them could fully explain.
And so it was that Izuku found himself dripping all the way home, with Mitsuki walking beside him, her calm demeanour a stark contrast to the muddy chaos of the day. As they approached the front door, Izuku was greeted by Inko's shrill scream, her eyes widening in horror as she took in the sight of her son, covered head to toe in muck.
"M-Midoriya Izuku! What happened to you?!, Inko gasped, hands flying to her face. Mitsuki, ever the voice of reason, briefly explained the situation with a sigh, noting how their sons had gotten caught up in one of their usual mud-ball battles. She wasn't happy.
It didn't take long for Inko's initial panic to subside, and soon, the two mothers found themselves sitting down together, sipping tea as they exchanged light-hearted conversation about the chaos of their children's lives.
Meanwhile, Izuku was sent upstairs. He took a shower after Katsuki, to clean up, because no one on earth could push them in a bath together and keep living afterwards.
He spent there some time, letting the warm water from the shower wash away the mud and the lingering frustration from earlier.
By the time he emerged, freshly dressed and feeling somewhat human again, he could hear the faint sound of voices from downstairs.
When Izuku finally rejoined him, tapping his hair with a towel, Katsuki was sitting in his room, arms crossed and glaring at the various trinkets and decorations strewn around. "Tch. This room is more Deku than you are," he muttered, clearly unimpressed by the assortment of nothing and neatness.
Izuku couldn't help but laugh, feeling an odd sense of pride at how the day had unfolded. From the initial disaster of a mud fight to now, with his mother and Mitsuki laughing over tea and Katsuki grudgingly inspecting his room, things had somehow taken a turn for the better. His room needed an update, yeah.
A day that had seemed like a catastrophe had been transformed into something else entirely—a fun, bizarre event that, in hindsight, felt almost cathartic. Izuku mentally patted himself on the back. Who knew a mudball to the face could heal a childhood trauma?
And as he stood there, watching Katsuki's reluctant inspection of his room and listening to the laughter drifting from downstairs, Izuku realised that maybe, just maybe, things were changing before canon even started.