All mites grow.
The first time Izuku Midoriya stepped foot inside a gym, he was eleven years old, but it wasn't his first time being around strength. In his past life — his real first life — gyms were the kind of place people like him didn't belong. He'd grown up on the streets, where survival was about how quick you were on your feet and how good you were at looking dangerous enough not to mess with.
His strength back then had been born of hunger and desperation, not routines and reps. A gym wasn't for kids like him. A gym was for people who had time to get strong.
But that was then, and this was now. He wasn't that boy anymore. He had a second chance, and this time, it wasn't just about surviving — it was about building something. Becoming something. Whatever it was.
At eleven, Izuku wasn't the strongest or the tallest. He was small, wiry, quick on his feet but hardly built for power. Yet when he stepped into that gym, there was no hesitation. The air smelled of sweat and old metal, and the sound of weights hitting the ground sent a familiar kind of shiver down his spine. That fight for life.
Back in his old life, the kind of strength this place promised had always felt just out of reach, belonging to guys who could afford protein shakes and time to bulk up. Now, it was his choice. He wasn't scrawny anymore because of bad luck. If he stayed weak, it was because he let himself. He didn't want to.
He'd joined his school's track and field team a few weeks ago. It wasn't hard to figure out why — running had always come naturally to him. He knew how to move, how to slip through crowds, how to escape. His legs had carried him through more dark alleys and dangerous situations than he could count in his past life. But he didn't want to just run anymore. That wasn't enough.
Because for months now, the thought of One for All had been growing in his head.
He wanted to think it started with the simple fact that he could start to feel the weight of expectation settling on his shoulders, a challenge so much bigger than anything his past self had ever faced. But actually, maybe it was just a whim. Could you become a Hero out of a whim?; He hoped so.
In any case, Izuku had decided to sign up for a boxing and mixed martial arts course. The moment he slid open the gym door and heard it creak, a familiar feeling washed over him.
The air hit him first — thick, humid, and metallic, carrying the living, pulsating stench of sweat, blood, and adrenaline. It was a scent that reminded him of the streets, of survival, of home. A dirty e forgotten one.
The dim lighting, the scuffed mats, the sound of fists hitting bags — it all mirrored the world he used to know. The faces here were familiar, too, etched with determination and a rawness that only came from struggle. Many of them had come from the streets, just like him in his past life. From the streets to fight.
His smile crept up unbidden, small but genuine, and Inko noticed immediately.
She had been nervous, of course—how could a mother not be? The idea of her Quirkless son throwing himself into something so dangerous made her heart clench. But seeing the way his eyes lit up as he surveyed the room, how his shoulders relaxed as though the weight of the world had momentarily eased, she understood. Encouraging him to take this path wasn't just the right thing to do; it was the only thing to do.
In a world like theirs, where Quirks ruled over everything, a sport like this wasn't just about competition or fitness. For someone like Izuku, it was survival. It was ironic, really — sports were among the safest places for a Quirkless person, a level playing field where no Quirks were allowed. Here, it didn't matter that he didn't have a power to lean on.
Strength came from effort, from discipline, from pain. It was a needed decision.
And yet, beyond the safety, there was a deeper, unspoken truth that made martial arts so appealing. Everyone, even those with the most intellectually based Quirks, sought some level of physical stability.
The world was too unpredictable not to.
A tantrum from a child with a volatile Quirk, the sudden loss of control from a peer — there were too many ways for life to turn dangerous in an instant.
Having a body strong enough to resist, even just for a moment, could make all the difference, until a Hero arrived.
For Izuku, it wasn't just about preparing for some unknown threat. It wasn't even about compensating for his Quirkless status.
No, it was about control. In his past life, strength had always been fleeting, situational, something stolen in moments of desperation. But now, stepping into that gym, he could take it for himself. Piece by piece. Punch by punch. And he really wanted to.
This was his foundation. If the world was going to come at him with everything it had, he would meet it head-on—and he would win.
If that moment ever came — if All Might ever offered him One for All— Izuku wouldn't be caught off guard. His old life had taught him that there was no mercy in weakness. Yes, In this world, it wasn't just about surviving anymore; it was about stepping up. Becoming strong enough to face villains, chaos, and everything this second chance was going to throw at him.
To be strong enough to.
The punching bag in the corner caught his attention. It wasn't fancy — just a heavy bag swaying gently on its chain — but Izuku felt something stir in him as he watched it. It reminded him of the raw, unrefined ways he used to fight in the streets: no form, no finesse, just pure instinct. His fists clenched at the thought. This was a fight he could control, something he could hit until he felt the strength building in his bones.
He tightened his grip on the water bottle in his hand, staring at the bag. Back in his first life, he'd never had the luxury of building himself up. Strength had been about survival, about keeping people away. Now it was about becoming someone who could stand beside All Might. Someone who could keep Katsuki interested—someone Katsuki would see as an equal, not just a shadow to mock.
This wasn't just about training. It was about everything he hadn't been before — and everything he refused to be again.
So it was that Izuku settled into a solid routine, one that demanded discipline and pushed his body to its limits. He'd wake up every morning at five, the world still dark and quiet around him. His first task: a large, protein-packed breakfast. He ate quickly but with purpose, every bite fueling the day ahead. The bento he'd prepared the night before was already waiting for him, neatly packed and ready to grab as he jumped from his chair and bolted out the door.
His first challenge of the day was the run to the gym, a mix of cardio and warm-up that covered the three-quarters of the distance between his home and school. The early morning air was crisp against his face, filling his lungs with a sharpness that shook off any lingering sleep.
By the time he reached the gym, his body was awake, his blood pumping, his mind already focused and greedy.
Inside the gym, Izuku threw himself into his training with an intensity that surprised even him. Some days, he used the machines, though they weren't his favorite — too impersonal, too mechanical. He preferred the back room, where the air was heavy with sweat and effort, and where the boxing instructor kept a sharp eye on him. The instructor pushed him hard, making him punch, strike, and move until his muscles ached and his breath came in ragged gasps.
Occasionally, he'd pair up with other gym members for morning sparring matches. Those bouts were a challenge, but also a quiet thrill, a reminder of the unpredictability of a real fight. His gym mates, a mix of people from all walks of life, weren't the type for small talk, but they shared a camaraderie born from mutual respect. Between matches and rounds, they exchanged occasional words — gruff advice, teasing comments, a smile, or simply a nod of acknowledgment.
For Izuku, this routine wasn't just about building muscle or learning to fight. It was about creating a foundation. With each punch, each run, each drop of sweat, he felt himself growing stronger, more grounded. He wasn't just preparing for the battles life might throw at him — he was forging himself into someone who could stand tall in the face of anything. Or at least, he was trying to.
Izuku's Quirkless status, ironically, earned him a certain respect at the gym. It wasn't spoken aloud — most of the regulars weren't the type to praise anyone — but it was there in the approving nods and the quiet acknowledgment of his natural strength, discipline, and determination. Without the crutch of a Quirk, everything he achieved was through sheer effort, and that was something even the strongest could admire.
After finishing his morning routine, sweat dripping and muscles aching, Izuku would either jog or walk to Aldera Junior High, the choice depending on how much he had pushed himself that morning.
By the time he slid into his desk, his body was tired but buzzing, the kind of exhaustion that came with knowing he had already conquered part of the day.
Yeah, it was part of it.
School was routine — mostly unremarkable, except when it wasn't. Izuku wasn't the type to waste energy on unnecessary interactions; he preferred to focus on his work or sit quietly, observing. But the afternoon track team practice always got his attention. It was his second workout of the day, one that honed his agility and endurance. Though not the fastest on the team, his consistency and refusal to quit made him stand out, even if his teammates didn't say so directly.
When the day finally ended, he'd head home, muscles aching and feet dragging. Dinner was always waiting for him, warm and welcoming, prepared with care by Inko. She'd sit with him, trying to pull details about his day from him as he shoveled food into his mouth with single-minded focus. Most of his answers were short, clipped, his attention more on his meal than her questions. He hadn't changed.
Unless, of course, Kacchan came up. Then the words spilled out like a flood. His usual quiet was replaced by animated descriptions, passionate arguments, or muttered frustrations, all depending on how their interactions had gone that day. Inko, as always, listened with a soft smile, happy to hear her son open up, even if it was always about Katsuki Bakugou.
For Izuku, the routine was comforting, the structure grounding. And even if his days were physically draining and mentally taxing, he wouldn't have traded them for anything. Every step, every punch, every sprint was a step closer to something greater—a version of himself strong enough to stand on equal footing with anyone, even Kacchan.
By 8:30 PM, Izuku was collapsing into bed, his body aching from the day's relentless grind. His muscles burned, his legs felt like lead, and his brain refused to process anything remotely intellectual. He didn't feel like agreeing with the phantom arguments of a fandom that didn't exist in this world about Katsuki getting to bed too early.
He wasn't training at U.A. yet, but every fibre of his being was starting to empathise with how those students must feel. By the time his head hit the pillow, he felt less like a future hero and more like the lame equivalent of a mole with porcupine hair—frazzled, worn-out, and completely useless until sunrise.
Still, there was a strange satisfaction in the exhaustion. It was proof of his progress, a promise to himself that this was the foundation of something greater. With that small, comforting thought, he drifted off, his dreams filled with vague flickers of what might come, and somewhere in the background, the echo of Katsuki's voice yelling in his dreams, "Deku, don't fall asleep, idiot!". Why was he dreaming that?;
As always, he mentally replied to dream-land Katsuki to fuck himself as he fell deeper into a dreamless sleep. Every damn night.
Things continued at this pace until the infamous April of his third year at Aldera Junior High. Of course, the canonical timelines were always a blur for Izuku, the details murky and uncertain. Living them was even stranger — the days folded and unfolded, one onto the other, until they all became one indistinct stretch of his life.
But April was different. It put him on edge, his senses heightened as if anticipating a pivotal moment. April was when canon started.
It wasn't just the looming final exams or the growing buzz of chatter about high school applications. It wasn't even the growing number of times his classmates whispered "U.A." with a mixture of awe and terror. It was something deeper, something that curled like smoke at the edges of his mind, warning him that something was about to shift. The tension in the classroom was palpable, punctuated by the occasional nervous laughter or frantic flipping through textbooks.
Katsuki's confidence, as usual, stood in stark contrast to the others. He walked the halls like he already had one foot through U.A.'s gates, and maybe he did. Surely, he did.
The morning of that day didn't seem different at first. It was the kind of early April day that felt like it couldn't decide whether it was spring or clinging to the last shreds of winter.
The steam from the gym bathrooms clung to Izuku Midoriya's milky skin like an hard pressure on his soreness. It curled around his ink-black hair in thin, ephemeral tendrils.
They were still, damp and unkempt, clung to his forehead in dark streaks that framed his face in a way he never gave much thought to. His bored grey eyes — their natural sharpness softened by the haze of humidity — lazily peaking trough the foam.
Behind him, Imon, a massive 130kg behemoth of a man, was scrubbing his hair with a strawberry-scented bubble bath, the fruity smell clashing absurdly with his hulking form. The showers rang with loud, careless laughter as boys jostled each other, their white towels precariously hanging at their waists. Izuku ignored them all, his attention focused inward as he shoved his deodorant into the depths of his gym and school bag.
For all his indifference, Izuku cut a striking figure. In that time his body had grown lean and composed, not too bulky but elegantly defined, each muscle a testament to discipline and deliberate effort rather than brute force. His hands were stiff.
His shoulders were broad enough to hold presence but tapered into a lean waist and long, strong legs. His arms, toned from years of boxing and training, held the kind of quiet strength that didn't demand attention but commanded it nonetheless. There was nothing excessive or ostentatious about him — he wasn't sculpted to intimidate, but his wiry frame suggested a speed and precision that left an impression on anyone.
As the droplets of water clung stubbornly to the points of his hair. He put a rough white towel around his neck to avoid water spilling in the Aldera Junior High's uniform turtleneck.
Again, his grey eyes flicked toward the mirror briefly as he zipped his bag, catching his reflection. The long, black eyelashes over his eyes, softened his otherwise sharp features. He wasn't the type to linger on appearance, there was a stark contrast between his pale skin and dark, shiny hair.
Izuku snorted softly as he glanced toward Imon and the other boys again. Their carefree laughter felt a world away from his quiet thoughts, and the contrast only widened the gap he'd always felt between himself and others. With a final shrug, he slung his bag over one shoulder and headed out, the damp air of the showers trailing behind him as he stepped into the cooler hallway.
A grey sky - pretty much the colour of his eyes - loomed over Musutafu, with clouds stretching like an unfinished canvas. The air was damp, carrying a faint chill that clung to his skin during his morning run.
Trees that had only just begun to bloom swayed in the occasional gusts of wind, their pale pink and white blossoms scattering onto the damp pavement. Somewhere in the distance, birds sang half-heartedly, as if unsure whether to celebrate the season.
Izuku's run had been unremarkable, save for the satisfying burn in his calves and the sound of his sneakers slapping against the pavement. By the time he arrived at Aldera Junior High, the classroom felt like any other day—noisy, chaotic, filled with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor and the background hum of teenage chatter.
And yet, - since he had seen all that people around the crossing level and how many cherry blossoms petals had fall on the ground, even getting in his hair, as he had passed under their beautiful, rosy trees - Izuku couldn't shake the feeling that this day was the day. Everything had to change.
There was a very simple way to find out. He walked into class checking the news on the hero detection app - a must for teenagers in the country - on his black and compact smartphone. And there they were. At the top of the virtual page. The world's next hottest hero. Kamui Woods outclassed by the new heroine, Mount Lady. You don't have to worry about this bum anymore. Well, fuck.
Izuku's phone nearly flew out of his hands when the slap hit him square between the shoulder blades, the force of the burst making his back explode with an electric jolt.
He choked, gasping for air as the hot palm pressed into him, just between his shoulder blades, and for a moment he thought he might cough up his soul.
His chest tightened, his breath hitching as he tried to steady himself, a hand reaching forward to catch the edge of his phone's cover before it hit the ground.
"Out of the way, Deku," came the familiar, grating voice, full of venom. His ruby eyes pulling Izuku out of his mind as Katsuki sternly pushed the phone to Izuku's chest.
Izuku barely had time to process and put the phone back in his pocket, before he felt the intensity of Kacchan's presence radiating behind him. His eyes were half-closed, still trying to get his breath back as the sting from the slap lingered, the pressure of the heat from Kacchan's hand still buzzing beneath his skin. His muscles were tense, bracing against the slight burn on his back.
Kacchan was even more wound up than usual — his usual sharp tone carrying a layer of something else, something less familiar, but unmistakable. His eyes were wild, ferocious, like a caged animal, and there was a dangerous energy that seemed to pulse from him, more potent than Izuku had seen in a long time. Lately, Kacchan had been on high alert, his nerves frayed at the edges like a bomb on the verge of going off. Izuku could feel the tension radiating from him, probably linked to the upcoming UA entrance exam.
"What the hell makes you stop in the middle of the road to look at those extras' news?" Kacchan bit out, his voice tinged with impatience and frustration. Izuku, though winded, didn't let the anger in Kacchan's words bother him. "Isn't like you."
It was the usual for them — Kacchan's sharp barbs and his own statements in return. But Izuku's focus was more on the way Kacchan's shoulders were tight, the set of his jaw, the clench of his fists at his sides. It was as though everything about Kacchan was on the edge of a precipice, ready to spill over at the slightest provocation. He shrugged.
With a dramatic sigh, Izuku shifted his weight and took a step to the side, giving Kacchan space to pass. "Extras?" his lips twitched. "They are the most promising heroes of the moment." His gaze flickered briefly over Kacchan's figure — so full of raw energy, of pride, of something darker.
He simply let Kacchan pass, a quiet distance growing between them once more. "No, Deku, I am", Izuku could feel the pull of Kacchan's energy, like the crackle of static electricity before a storm. The kind that had always been there. It was familiar, and yet, as they both walked their separate ways, Izuku couldn't shake the feeling that something was on the verge of changing. "Look at me."
Izuku's gaze lingered on Kacchan, taking in the stark contrast between their appearances. Kacchan's black uniform looked so sharp against his pale cheeks, almost like a night sky against the moon.
His blond hair gleamed under the flickering classroom lights, catching the glow in a way that made him look almost angelic, delicate in a way that Izuku could never quite pull off.
His thick, fine eyelashes seemed to flutter like ears of corn swaying in the wind, setting his ruby eyes apart, gleaming with fire as they sharply cut through the room like a scream.
It was easy to be drawn to him, even though Izuku felt so completely different. His own hair, inky black, messier and more unkempt, framed his face in a stark contrast to Kacchan's perfectly styled locks.
His grey eyes, a soft and neutral shade, didn't carry the same intense fire that Kacchan's did. They were calm, distant, observing the world in a way that made him seem like a quiet shadow next to Kacchan's blazing presence.
Izuku felt that familiar tug in his chest, the urge to speak up with some smart-ass remark that would have pushed Kacchan's buttons, to spark that familiar rage in him. He wanted to see Kacchan's face flush, the anger twisting in his features, but then Izuku saw the subtle discomfort behind Kacchan's fiery eyes. That simmering tension that was always there, especially recently.
Instead of saying anything, Izuku simply shrugged, his voice quiet but steady. "I already know you are." At that, Kacchan's eyes snapped up from his desk, the intensity of his gaze pinning Izuku in place. The moment their eyes met, a spark of irritation flickered in Kacchan's bright pupils.
His ears flushed red, and his brow furrowed in irritation, lips curling into a snarl. He stood up, his posture rigid, a silent storm about to break. He uncovered his teeth.
"I'll kill you if you keep making fun of me, you fucking nerd!" Kacchan's voice was a low growl, but it carried a force that made the air around them crackle. His anger was like an electric current, so palpable that it almost seemed to make the classroom buzz.
The words were harsh, and his face was twisted with frustration, but Izuku couldn't help but feel that it was all just another part of their complicated dance — one that neither of them fully understood but couldn't seem to stop.
Izuku couldn't hold it in; a snort of laughter escaped him as his grey eyes locked onto his bewildered expression. His attempt to reassure him had clearly backfired. Katsuki clenched his fist, taking a step forward, sparks crackling in his hand. But before their usual brawl could erupt, the bell rang, cutting the tension short. Katsuki snorted.
The professor shuffled past Izuku, his movements sluggish, the telltale signs of exhaustion clear in his drooping shoulders. His blond hair stuck out in an awkward puff, an ocher shade reminiscent of dry grasslands, nothing like the bright, almost metallic gleam of Katsuki's golden locks. He yawned widely, his other hand clutching a warm paper cup of coffee from the vending machines, the faint steam curling in the still air. His tired eyes, still misty with half-dried tears, blinked slowly as he rubbed his temples and dropped the ledger onto his paper-covered desk.
"Boys," he sighed, his voice heavy with resignation as he collapsed into his chair like an overfilled bag of pudding. His eyes were red and teary. "Not this morning, please. I was up all night grading homework."
Katsuki had no such compunctions. He let out a sharp snort, low enough to be just barely heard over the shuffle of papers. "Tch. Shitty procrastinator teacher," Katsuki muttered, the words clipped as he threw himself into his seat, his posture a haphazard sprawl. His sharp elbows jutted out as he leaned forward, his back hunched over the desk, shoulders taut with barely contained irritation. With a swift motion, he kicked his backpack under his feet, the dull thud punctuating his annoyance.
"Don't tell me what to do."
The professor didn't even bother to respond, his cheeks burning red, simply pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh as he sipped his coffee. Katsuki's irritation hung in the air, a low hum of energy that seemed to crackle around him.
Even hunched over, his figure radiated a raw intensity, every line of his body taut with restless energy.
Izuku bit his lip to keep from smiling; even when Katsuki was grumbling, he couldn't help but admire how unrelenting he was.
Izuku tilted his head, his dark hair brushing against the high collar of his uniform as he wiped at his temple with the edge of his sleeve. With a quiet sigh, he slid into his seat at the central desk. The muted scrape of his chair against the floor was almost swallowed by the rising noise of the room as students began trickling in, their chatter mingling with the shuffle of footsteps and the occasional clink of bags hitting desks.
His grey eyes scanned the room, calm yet observant, as though he were cataloging every face, every movement. The pale light from the classroom windows caught the defined lines of his lean frame, highlighting the subtle strength in his shoulders and the curve of muscle beneath the crisp fabric of his uniform. He rested an elbow lightly on the desk, his fingers drumming against the surface in a lazy rhythm, his body relaxed but still holding an undercurrent of quiet tension.
The lively buzz of the other students barely seemed to register with him as he glanced towards Katsuki. Already hunched over his desk in the front row, the blond's scowl deepened as one of his friends thumped him on the back, laughing at something Izuku couldn't hear. Katsuki barked out a reply, his voice sharp but tinged with a casual familiarity, his presence commanding attention even when he wasn't trying.
Izuku's lips twitched, an almost-smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. Katsuki never seemed to change, not on the surface anyway, but the small things — the flare of his ears, the angle of his shoulders — hinted at something more. Something unsettled.
Izuku turned back to his desk, his gaze dipping to the blank notebook in front of him.
The faint warmth of amusement lingered in his chest as he picked up his pen and tapped it lightly against the paper, waiting for class to begin.
However, Izuku's suspicion about the looming arrival of canon events was confirmed when the professor, instead of grabbing a piece of chalk to scrawl some dull English phrases like the cat is on the table, reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of papers. His fingers rubbed at the edges as if to warm them, the motion oddly charged for him.
"So," the man began, clearing his throat. His voice, usually mellow and detached, carried an unusual rasp, the kind that made the room instinctively quiet. "As third-year students, it's time to start thinking seriously about what path to take for your future." He paused, his tone so unexpectedly grave that even Katsuki stopped glaring at his notebook and shifted his attention as he leaned forward.
The professor glanced at the stack of papers in his hands, then shrugged lazily, his lips curling into a grin that slowly spread across his weathered face. "I should make you take these aptitude tests to figure out your ideal careers," he continued, holding the papers aloft like some ceremonial offering. "But really, what's the point?"
With a flourish, he waved the stack in the air, sending a few pages fluttering free and tearing one at the corners. His smile turned impish. "You all want to go to the Hero Track, don't you?"; well, that was cheesy.
The words were casual, almost teasing, but the shift in atmosphere was immediate. Murmurs rippled through the classroom, charged with excitement, tension, and a touch of fear. Izuku felt it too, that weight pressing down on his chest, equal parts dread and anticipation. Let the game begin.
His pearl-grey eyes flickered to Katsuki, who now sat up straighter, his expression split between smug satisfaction and sharp-edged determination. The ocher light filtering through the windows caught the faint glint of Katsuki's ruby gaze, now locked on the teacher with an intensity that bordered on feral. He was stiff and ready.
Izuku's gaze lingered for only a moment before returning to his notebook, his pen motionless against the blank page. He didn't need to look around to know that every other student was staring at the professor with wide eyes. The announcement was a formality, sure, but it carried a weight that was impossible to ignore.
The teacher practically tossed the printed sheets into the air, and they scattered like fallen leaves onto the desks. Then, with a quick gulp of air and rubbing his hands, he added nervously, "Uh, except for Midoriya-kun, who would like to go to the police academy, wouldn't he?".
The unexpected call-out made Izuku pause, the ballpoint pen rolling aimlessly between his fingers. He abandoned any pretense of taking useful notes and leaned back slightly in his chair. His grey eyes, calm and piercing like a storm cloud trapped in glass, shifted toward the teacher with slow deliberation. His face betrayed nothing, but inside, a familiar unease coiled tight in his chest. Holy shit.
So, he's basing this off the reports from our first year?; He mused silently, his mind flicking back to the crude surveys they'd filled out when they were first sorted into Aldera.
Back then, a Quirkless Izuku Midoriya with no real plans for the future had written "police academy" because it seemed like the least far-fetched answer. But priorities had shifted since then — drastically. Very drastically.
As he let the silence hang, Izuku noticed Katsuki's eyes cut toward him, sharp and predatory. The subtle tension in the blond's jaw and the way his fingers curled against the sleeve of his black uniform didn't go unnoticed. Katsuki wasn't just annoyed; he was on edge. Izuku's heartbeat seemed to rise in sync with the tension, traveling from his wrist to his chest and all the way down to his gut, like a dizzying drop on a roller coaster. He was about to die.
Finally, Izuku broke the silence. "Actually," he said, his voice steady despite the tumult inside, "I would like to try out for UA, first."
The classroom froze. Even the faint shuffling of papers seemed to stop. "Ah?!"; Katsuki's head snapped toward him, ruby eyes blazing with something wild and unreadable. Izuku didn't meet his glare, his focus still on the teacher, whose mouth had formed a small, surprised "oh" as she glanced between the two boys with wide eyes.
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Izuku knew he'd just crossed an invisible line. But for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel the urge to step back.
A few whispers rose louder than the ambient hum of surprise. The murmurs weren't entirely dismissive of Izuku's physical abilities — those were apparent even under his uniform. No, the disbelief stemmed more from his sudden declaration to pursue a career built on selflessness. For someone who'd always kept his ambitions understated, it was jarring to hear him openly name UA, the pinnacle of heroism.
The room's shifting energy didn't faze Izuku. His grey eyes stayed fixed on the teacher, whose expression had become an awkward mix of shock and mild discomfort. But the corner of Izuku's attention was still reserved for the faint crackle of Katsuki's palms.
Bakugou's hands weren't just sparking — they were exploding, the heat so intense that faint wisps of smoke rose from his fingertips. But even those violent bursts paled in comparison to the fire in his eyes.
His irises were molten, the light making his lashes glint like singed gold. His teeth uncovered, lips opened.
"I never wanted to kill you so much," Katsuki growled, his voice a low, threatening rasp. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he shot up like a coiled spring, movements sharp and animalistic, like a cat leaping off a fifth-story balcony to chase its prey.
Izuku didn't flinch. His calm exterior betrayed none of the tension inside, even as Katsuki's sudden movement sent an undercurrent of energy rippling through the room. Still seated, Izuku tapped the edge of his pen against the desk, his gaze cool and composed.
"I didn't think you'd care," he said, voice measured but laced with something close to a challenge. That was a total lie.
"Fucking look at me when you say this shit," Katsuki's hand hit the desk with enough force to rattle the legs, making Izuku's pen burst apart like a small firework. Dark blue ink splattered across the pristine notebook, spreading like an ominous oil slick across the blank pages. A few errant drops hit Izuku's cheek, the warmth triggering a faint déjà vu-like the sting of an old wound reopening.
Practically pinned by the weight of Katsuki's glare, Izuku's chair scraped back across the floor as he rose to meet him. His grey eyes locked onto Katsuki's, steady and deliberate, despite the tension searing the air between them. Their classmates holding their breaths.
"I am looking at you," Izuku said slowly, his voice calm but carrying a quiet defiance that Katsuki had rarely encountered.
Katsuki leaned closer, the heat from his breath mingling with the faint tang of sweat and burnt ozone. His ruby eyes bore into Izuku's, ablaze with unspoken fury.
"If you wanted to kill yourself, you could have told me," Katsuki growled, his voice low and cracked, like embers grinding against stone. He flexed his fingers, sparks crackling in his palm, the threat as palpable as the heat. "There's no need to leave it to UA," Katsuki continued, his tone dropping into something dark and almost guttural. "I'll take care of it personally." What did he even mean?;
Slowly, painfully, Izuku's lips stretched into a sugary smile, the kind that practically dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, Kacchan," he whispered, his voice soft and teasing as he brought his hands to his mouth like a coy debutante.
He tilted his head, letting his dark lashes cast shadows over his light gray eyes, now gleaming with faux shyness. "It's so sweet of you to worry about me," he purred, the mocking lilt in his tone unmistakable.
His gaze wandered up and down Katsuki's face, deliberately slow, almost predatory. "Promise me," he said, his voice dropping an octave as his lips curled into a smirk, "you'll do it nice and slowly."
For a moment, Katsuki froze, his mouth parting as if the words had physically punched the air out of him. His sharp jaw tightened, and dark purple streaks bloomed across his cheeks like the onset of a fever.
"Deku," Katsuki growled, the name clawing its way out of his throat. It was low, guttural, and dangerous—more animal than human. His hand twitched, sparks skittering to life across his knuckles, but the flush on his face betrayed him.
"I'll smash your face," he hissed, leaning in, ready to close the distance, his whole body coiled like a spring about to snap.
Katsuki stretched out his fingers toward him, as if daring to poke the proverbial bear—probably to flick his nose or something equally obnoxious. But just as the boy's hand flared brighter, the sharp rap of a ruler on the teacher's desk echoed through the room.
"Midoriya. Bakugou." The teacher's voice cut through the tension like a dull knife, laden with irritation. "You are not allowed to use your Quirk in class. Take your soap opera somewhere else. Some of us are trying to discuss your futures."
The classroom fell silent and Katsuki's entire body stiffened as if he'd just been slapped. Izuku, meanwhile, turned his gaze back to the teacher with a serene, innocent smile, as though nothing had happened. "Like the soap opera you watched tonight instead of grading our homework, sensei?".
It was practically angelic, the corners of his lips curled into a smile that betrayed nothing of the chaos mere seconds prior, his voice smooth and disarming, as if genuinely inquiring and not poking at the man's sore spot. Someone jumped on their seat.
The teacher's face twitched, his tired eyes narrowing as a vein visibly throbbed at his temple. A few stifled snickers rippled through the room, and someone near the back muttered, "Savage." Pff, exaggerating.
Katsuki, still half-leaning over Izuku's desk, seemed momentarily stunned into silence before a snort escaped him — more scoff than laugh, but it was there. He straightened, crossing his arms and glaring down at the teacher as if silently endorsing Izuku's remark. As if he was saying "see?".
"Midoriya," the teacher said slowly, his tone floating throughout the flat embarrassment clear on his cheeks, "would you like to spend your lunch period cleaning erasers in the faculty room?". Wasn't he getting heated?
Izuku's innocent expression didn't waver, but there was a flicker of amusement in his grey eyes as he tilted his head accordingly. "Only if it comes with an essay on time management, sensei," he replied lightly.
The room erupted in muffled laughter, and even Katsuki's lips twitched confusedly before he quickly scowled again, glaring daggers at Izuku's smug profile.
The teacher sighed heavily, pressing two fingers to his temple. "Fine. Moving on," he muttered, slapping the stack of papers on his desk with audible resignation. "But don't think I'll forget this, Midoriya."
Izuku leaned back in his chair, his shoulders relaxed, while Katsuki stood there, half-amused and half-annoyed. "We'll talk about it on the way home," he muttered under his breath, though his usual bite felt softer than usual. Izuku comically tensed.
He didn't care about the teacher menace, but he was all over the place in his mind about talking with Katsuki. They often walked their way home together; also, shoving each other in the middle of the street like thugs.