By the time Izuku Midoriya turned ten years old, his life had already taken a very different path from the one his classmates imagined for him. To most, he was just a quiet, slightly nerdy boy who excelled in science class and home economics. To his teachers, he was one of those rare kids who seemed perfectly content to sit quietly at his desk, take meticulous notes, and hand in assignments that were as much works of art as they were schoolwork.
But to himself, Izuku was something else entirely.
The boy had spent the past nine years mastering two passions: science and cooking. He treated both as sacred disciplines. In cooking, he worked tirelessly to perfect even the most basic recipes, and by now, at just ten, he could reproduce five-star dishes without breaking a sweat. His mother, Inko, had grown used to waking up to aromas that didn't belong in an ordinary home—truffle oil mingling with freshly baked bread, delicate spices from faraway countries, sauces that required three days to mature. Izuku treated their tiny kitchen like the heart of a fine-dining restaurant.
But cooking was only part of the picture.
His "science projects," as he called them, were something else entirely. Officially, he worked on small, school-appropriate experiments: vinegar volcanos, simple robotics, and harmless chemical reactions. Unofficially, hidden in a reinforced basement lab beneath their apartment (a space he had quietly built and camouflaged over time), he was working on something that would make even the most brilliant minds of Stark Industries sit up straight.
At first, it started with a fascination for Iron Man's suits. As someone Divine who travelled to different universes of heroes, he'd admired the sleekness, the versatility, the raw ingenuity of the Bleeding Edge Armor. But unlike other fans, he didn't just daydream about it—he started reverse-engineering the concept from scratch, running theoretical designs through quantum simulators and refining them over years.
He could create the Armor by just willing it to exist, but creating something with your own hands is quite fulfilling. Although, he does cheat from time to time. Summoning blueprints when he is stuck on a project. But, hey divine power go Brrrrrr!!!!!
By the time he was twelve, his breakthrough came: a viable, fully functional Badassium Ark-Reactor—a clean energy source capable of sustaining the kind of high-output systems the Bleeding Edge required. And because his abilities allowed him to create matter, he had gone even further, generating pure Vibranium and Nth Metal out of thin air to reinforce the suit's structure.
Vibranium for flexibility, resilience, and shock absorption. Nth Metal for its anti-gravity, dimensional stability and self healing properties.
Together, they created an armor that made the original Bleeding Edge seem almost primitive.
And then, he made two.
The first model was for himself, hidden away for emergencies. The second was for his mother. Izuku approached her one evening, carrying a sleek, silver-and-emerald disk about the size of a dinner plate.
"Mom," he said gently, "I made something for you."
She looked up from the kitchen counter, where she was chopping vegetables. "Oh? Is it another gadget for cooking?"
He smiled. "Kind of."
He explained everything—well, not everything, but enough. That it was armor, that it could protect her from anything, and that it could blend seamlessly into everyday clothing. With a tap, the disk activated, liquid-metal tendrils unfolding and wrapping around her body before compressing into the soft fabric of her sweater.
"It can heal itself, repair itself, and… heal you, too," he added quietly. "And it's fast. I gave it something called 'Clock Up.' You'll be able to move faster than anything without even noticing the difference."
Inko stared at him in disbelief. "Izuku… this is… this is…"
"Just something to make sure you're safe," he said simply.
She hugged him, holding him longer than usual. For all his brilliance, all his quiet confidence, she knew he was still her little boy at heart. But in that hug, she felt the truth—he was becoming something far greater.
Bakugo Katsuki remained a small but ever-present figure in Izuku's life. Their relationship wasn't the hostile rivalry of canon—Izuku's quiet confidence and occasional, almost casual displays of strength had subtly shifted the dynamic over the years. Bakugo still had that spark in his eyes, still boasted about his quirk, still wanted to be the best. But deep down, he had a nagging awareness that Izuku was… different.
Once, during gym class at age eleven, Bakugo had grabbed Izuku by the sleeve after a particularly grueling run.
"You've been holding back," Bakugo said bluntly.
Izuku raised an eyebrow. "Have I?"
"Don't mess with me," Bakugo growled. "Nobody keeps up with me in sprinting unless they're hiding something."
Izuku just smiled and patted his shoulder. "Guess I'm just in shape."
The answer frustrated Bakugo to no end, but it also drove him harder. And that was fine with Izuku. It kept him sharp without revealing the truth.
The years blurred together, but each one was another layer of mastery for him. By the time he was fourteen, he was no longer learning to cook—he was creating his own signature dishes, merging flavors and textures in ways that even top chefs would hesitate to attempt. His plating was art. His taste buds were precision instruments.
And his science? That had moved beyond the Bleeding Edge. He was now designing modular weapon systems, micro-shielding technology, even stealth fields capable of cloaking an entire city block. His personal armor was equipped with advanced combat AI, predictive movement algorithms, and self-learning adaptive nanites.
His mother's armor, however, was even more advanced in one aspect: it prioritized her survival over everything else. No matter the threat—falling debris, high-caliber bullets, sudden explosions—it would teleport her out of harm's way before she even registered the danger.
Yet, in public, nothing about them changed. They still lived in the same apartment. Izuku still walked to school every morning with his bag slung over his shoulder, still sat in the same classrooms, still smiled politely when called on by teachers. Nobody suspected that under his calm green eyes and easy smile, he carried enough power and knowledge to rival the greatest minds in history.
And that was exactly how he wanted it.
Because his real work hadn't even started yet.