The lobby of Alliance Heights looks like a disaster zone designed by someone with excellent taste and too much money.
Expensive leather couches are buried under cardboard boxes. A chandelier that probably costs more than most people's cars hangs over a sea of crying mothers and embarrassed teenagers. The marble floors echo with the sound of rolling suitcases, shouted directions, and what sounds like someone's father trying to figure out how a smart-TV works.
Jesus. It's like watching an episode of some reality show about rich people problems.
I weave through the chaos, suitcase in hand, phone buzzing every thirty seconds with new texts from Question Mark. She's already sent me fourteen messages, ranging from "Do you think fish dream?" to "What's your stance on the Oxford comma?" to a photo of a cloud that apparently looks like a dragon.
A woman with bright pink hair is sobbing over her daughter's shoulders while the girl—who has the same cotton-candy hair—pats her back and looks mortified. Near the windows, a six-armed kid juggles explaining his need for three alarm clocks to his baffled parents. Further on, a boy with a head like a speech bubble is being swallowed by a massive family, their voices a chaotic symphony in what might be seven different languages.
And here I am, the lone wolf. How tragic. How poetic. How... honestly kind of liberating.
Don't get me wrong—seeing all this parental devotion hits something uncomfortable in my chest. But it's also exhausting just to watch. All that emotion, all that fuss. All those expectations wrapped up in tearful hugs and last-minute advice.
I'd rather travel light.
The elevator is mercifully empty, probably because everyone else is too busy having feelings in the lobby. I hit the button for the third floor and lean against the back wall, finally allowing myself a moment to process the last hour.
The Big 3. I just spent ten minutes being interrogated by one of the three strongest students in the entire school, and she treated me like a lost puppy she wanted to adopt.
My phone buzzes again.
Question Mark: Do you think clouds are just sky sheep? 🐑☁️
What even goes on in her head?
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal a hallway that looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel. Soft lighting, actual artwork on the walls, and carpet that probably costs more per square foot than our old apartment's rent.
The codex mentioned this is the co-ed floor. Interesting choice by the school administration. Either they have supreme confidence in their students' self-control, or they're running some kind of social experiment.
Probably both.
I check the room numbers as I walk. The hallway curves slightly, and I can hear voices drifting from one of the open doors. A woman's voice, high and emotional, mixed with the deeper rumble of someone trying to be reassuring.
3-G, 3-H, and finally—
"Oh, Izuku! Are you sure you have enough socks? What if the laundry machines break? What if—"
The voice is coming from 3-A, the door propped open by a cardboard box. Through the gap, I can see movement—someone unpacking, someone fussing.
"Mom, I'm fine. Really. I packed everything on the list twice."
I'm about to pass his door when his mother's voice drifts out. "I just... I'm so proud of you, baby." I stop, my hand hovering over my own doorknob. It's not my business. But I can't seem to make my feet move.
"You'll call me every day? And eat properly? And make friends? Oh, what if the other students don't like you? What if—"
"Mom." His voice is gentle but firm. "I'll be okay. I promise."
Through the crack in the door, I catch a glimpse of them. Broccoli is kneeling beside a box, pulling out what looks like an All Might poster—one of about six I can see already hung on the walls. His mother is a small, round woman with green hair that matches his, and she's crying. Not the dramatic, attention-seeking kind of crying. The quiet, overwhelmed kind that comes from loving someone so much it physically hurts to let them go.
Shit.
The woman takes a shuddering breath and pulls Broccoli into a hug that looks like it might crack his ribs, and he hugs her back just as tightly.
"I love you so much, Izuku."
"I love you too, Mom."
Eventually, she pulls back, wiping her eyes and trying to compose herself. She picks up her purse, gives the room one last look, and walks toward the door.
I straighten up, stepping slightly to the side so I'm not obviously eavesdropping when she emerges.
She nods at me politely as she passes, probably assuming I'm just another student. Her footsteps echo down the hallway, growing fainter until they disappear into the elevator.
I wait another thirty seconds, letting the silence settle. Then I push off the wall and wander over to lean against Broccoli's doorframe.
He's still kneeling by the box, but his shoulders are shaking slightly.
He must sense my presence because he turns around, those wide green eyes going even wider when he sees me.
"Oh! Um, hi! I didn't... are you..."
I let my gaze drift past him into the room, taking in the shrine to All Might that he's apparently been building. Posters, figurines, what looks like a signed photo, and enough merchandise to stock a small store.
Jesus. The kid's obsessed.
"Wow, Broccoli," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "You actually made it in. Color me surprised."
His face goes through about six different expressions in the span of two seconds. Confusion, recognition, embarrassment, and something that might be indignation.
"B-Broccoli?" he stammers, scrambling to his feet. "Of course I made it in! I... I worked really hard for this!"
"Relax," I say, holding up one hand. "I'm not here to pick a fight. I'm your neighbor." I nod toward the door marked 3-I. "Lucky me."
His expression shifts again, this time to something like curiosity mixed with wariness.
"You're... you're the one who called me Broccoli at the beach!"
"Guilty as charged." I push off the doorframe and extend my hand. "Yukio Murano."
He stares at my hand for a moment, like he's not sure if it's a trap. Then he reaches out and shakes it, his grip firmer than I expected.
"Izuku Midoriya."
"Nice to meet you Izuku. So…" I gesture vaguely at his room, "...what's with the shrine?"
His cheeks turn pink, and he glances back at his All Might collection.
"It's not a shrine! I just... I really admire All Might's work. His techniques, his philosophy, his approach to hero work..."
"Ah, so you're a shareholder."
The pink deepens to red.
"That's not... I mean, yes, he has merchandise, but that's not why... I've been studying heroes since I was little, and All Might represents everything that's good about—"
"Easy there, fanboy." I hold up both hands, grinning. "I'm not judging. Everyone needs heroes, right?"
Even if some of us are smart enough not to put them on pedestals.
He opens his mouth, probably to launch into a detailed defense of his idol, then seems to think better of it. Instead, he studies my face.
"You don't like All Might."
Perceptive little shit.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. Your tone, your expression... you think admiring heroes is naive."
I cock my head, genuinely impressed. The stammering, nervous kid from the exam is still there, but underneath it is something sharper.
Interesting.
"What I think," I say slowly, "is that putting anyone on a pedestal is dangerous. Heroes are people. People disappoint you."
His jaw tightens slightly.
"All Might saved my life."
"Then you're lucky. Not everyone gets a hero when they need one."
My phone buzzes again—Question Mark, probably asking if I think penguins have knees or something equally important. I pull it out to check, and Midoriya's eyes widen.
"Wow, you're popular. That's been going off constantly."
"New friend," I smiled, typing back a quick response to her latest question about whether I prefer sunrise or sunset. "Very... enthusiastic."
"That's nice. Making friends already."
There's something wistful in his voice, and I realize he's probably been a loser his whole life.
Shit. Now I feel bad.
"Hey, Broccoli."
"Izuku."
"Right. Izuku." I pause, weighing my next words carefully. "You want to grab dinner later? Check out the cafeteria, see what kind of gourmet cuisine our tuition is buying us?"
He blinks, clearly not expecting the invitation.
"You... want to have dinner? With me?"
"Ew. Don't make it weird. I'm hungry, you're probably hungry, and I have no idea where anything is in this place. Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement."
He's quiet for a moment, studying my face again. Then he nods.
"Okay. Sure. That sounds... nice."
"Great. I'll knock around six?"
"Six works."
I turn to head toward my own room, then pause.
"And Izuku?"
"Yeah?"
"Welcome to U.A."
This time, he does smile.
"Thanks. You too."