The streets of Musutafu were growing quieter as the evening settled in, the hustle and bustle of the day winding down. Izuku walked beside Toshinori Yagi—the gaunt form of All Might, stripped of his heroic façade. Though the man's frame was frail and his movements measured, there was still a presence about him that commanded respect.
The walk to Izuku's home was short and mostly silent. The boy's calm demeanor never faltered; his steps were steady, his gaze clear and focused. He already knew his mother wasn't home—she had a late shift at work, something Izuku had carefully noted over the years and kept in mind.
Opening the door quietly, Izuku stepped inside, calling out in his usual soft tone, "Mom's at work. We won't bother her."
He gestured for Toshinori to follow him deeper into the apartment, into a modest but clean kitchen and dining area.
Before settling down, Izuku turned to the older man with a quiet confidence. "Before we eat, there's something I want to ask."
All Might, still adjusting to the intimate setting away from the glare of the public eye, raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"
Izuku's voice was steady, with no trace of hesitation. "May I have your autograph? You've been my idol for as long as I can remember."
A brief, genuine smile softened Toshinori's features. He pulled out a notepad and pen, signing his name with the boldness that defined his heroic persona. "I'm honored, Young Midoriya."
Izuku folded the autograph carefully and placed it into a small wooden box—a treasured keepsake. Then, without missing a beat, he slipped on an apron and began preparing a meal.
The kitchen soon filled with the aromas of expertly blended spices and simmering sauces. Izuku worked with calm precision, moving as if cooking was both a science and an art, which it was to him.
When he set the plates down—a beautifully plated salmon with a citrus glaze, creamy garlic mashed potatoes, and a fresh herb salad—Toshinori looked on in quiet surprise.
"You made all this just now?" he asked.
Izuku nodded slightly, maintaining his composed expression. "Yes. I wanted you to have something nourishing. You need it."
All Might took a bite, his eyes widening as the flavors washed over him. "This… this is extraordinary. Better than any meal I've had in a long time."
Izuku's gaze never wavered, but he observed the subtle tension in Toshinori's movements. His keen eyes noted the slight wince as the man shifted in his chair.
"You're injured," Izuku said simply.
Toshinori hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. More than you might think."
Without pressing further, Izuku waited patiently. When Toshinori began to speak—explaining the toll his battles had taken, the injuries that limited his time in hero form—Izuku listened intently, his calm demeanor never breaking.
"I understand," Izuku finally said. "It's the least I can do, to offer this meal and this time. You don't have to hide anything here."
A faint smile crossed Toshinori's lips. "You're remarkably mature for your age, Young Midoriya."
Izuku offered a small, respectful nod. "Thank you, All Might. I've had reasons to grow up quickly."
The rest of the evening passed with light conversation, a quiet warmth filling the room that neither expected but both appreciated.
Before the night ended, Izuku spoke again, steady and sincere."If you ever need a place to rest, away from the public eye, this home is open to you. No questions asked. Just peace and food."
Toshinori regarded him thoughtfully, then nodded. "I may take you up on that."
And in that simple exchange, an unspoken understanding blossomed — a bond forged not in battle, but in trust.
After sharing the meal, the conversation had turned from lighthearted anecdotes to the unspoken burdens that weighed heavily on Toshinori Yagi's broad shoulders. Izuku watched with calm, unwavering eyes as the older man recounted his physical limitations — the injuries that constantly gnawed at his strength and vitality.
Izuku's voice broke the silence with quiet resolve. "All Might, I can help you with that."
Toshinori blinked in surprise. "Help me? Young Midoriya, I appreciate the sentiment, but you must know that this… this is beyond healing by normal means."
Izuku's calm demeanor did not falter. "Not by normal means, no. But my lab has technology that can scan and repair injuries at the cellular and molecular level. It's the kind of thing you won't find at a hospital."
The older man's skepticism was evident. "I'm not sure if such a thing exists."
"Let me show you," Izuku said simply.
Without waiting for a reply, Izuku led Toshinori toward a hidden door concealed behind a bookshelf(Dexter's Lab Style). The sliding panel opened smoothly, revealing a staircase descending into a secret basement. The air grew cooler as they moved downward, and the faint glow of monitors cast a soft light on the walls.
As they entered the laboratory, Toshinori's eyes widened. Rows of advanced equipment lined the room, screens displaying detailed topographical maps and sensor readouts. A massive digital map of the city flickered on the largest monitor, red and blue dots pulsing softly across its surface.
"You monitor the city like this?" Toshinori asked, impressed despite himself.
Izuku nodded. "It helps me keep track of threats, emergencies, and… well, people who need help. It's also how I knew you were in trouble tonight."
The older man's gaze lingered on the technology, piecing together the implications. "So… you had already discovered my identity."
Izuku smiled faintly. "Not exactly. I suspected. And when I saw you fighting in that state, I knew I had to help."
Izuku gestured toward a sleek, futuristic pod resting against one wall. Its surface gleamed under the dim lights, with various scanners and interfaces built into its frame.
"This is the Healing Pod," Izuku explained. "It can scan your entire body, identify injuries, and accelerate cellular regeneration. It's highly advanced, though I must warn you—it can't fix PTSD or Traumatic experiences. But for physical trauma, it's unparalleled."
Toshinori approached the pod cautiously, circling it like an artifact from another world.
"Midoriya… this sounds almost too good to be true," he said, voice laced with hesitation.
Izuku's eyes met his, calm and certain. "I understand your doubts, All Might. But I believe it can help you recover some of your strength."
After a long pause, Toshinori nodded. "Very well. I will trust you."
Izuku guided Toshinori into the pod. The older man settled onto the cushioned interior, the pod's lid closing gently over him with a soft hiss.
As the pod sealed, monitors lit up around the room, displaying scans of Toshinori's skeletal structure, muscle fibers, and internal organs. Izuku watched as the healing protocols began—nanites activated, repairing tissues, pumping essential protein and vitamins, blood flow normalized, cells rejuvenated.
Hours passed in the quiet hum of machinery and the soft glow of healing light.
Izuku stood vigil outside the pod, his expression unreadable but his mind attentive. Every readout was meticulously analyzed, ensuring the process went smoothly.
Two hours later, the pod's lid hissed open, and Toshinori emerged.
Where once stood a gaunt, fragile man, now was the figure of All Might in his prime—muscles taut and powerful, eyes bright and confident.
He flexed his hands experimentally, testing strength and endurance.
Izuku watched with a small, satisfied smile. "Welcome back, All Might."
All Might turned to him, a mix of amazement and gratitude shining in his eyes.