The morning sun filtered through the window, painting warm light over the walls of the Midoriya apartment. Izuku stood in the bathroom brushing his teeth, but he wasn't humming like most four-year-olds. His reflection stared back at him—not with wonder or fear, but with calculation. With memory.
I'm back. Again.
He didn't know how it happened.
He remembered the final clash with All For One — older, wiser, stronger than he'd ever been — pushing his broken body beyond its limits for one last hit. And then... nothing.
No, not nothing.
Just a pull, like being yanked through a narrow tunnel. Then light. Then crying. Then realizing he was four years old again.
And now, it was the morning of the day his mother would take him to the doctor.
Again.
---
The Clinic
The waiting room was exactly how he remembered it — fish tank in the corner, cartoon posters about hygiene and Quirk safety, a nurse behind the counter with a chipper voice and tired eyes.
Izuku sat beside Inko, legs swinging. But inside, his mind was running a mile a minute.
Will it happen exactly the same? What if I say something too strange? Should I pretend to be scared? Sad?
"Are you nervous, sweetie?" Inko asked gently, squeezing his hand.
Izuku looked up at her. Her smile was the same, but he could already see the worry behind it. She was remembering the delayed onset. Wondering if her son would be different.
He smiled faintly. "A little."
It was a lie.
He wasn't nervous. He was determined.
The nurse called his name, and they followed her inside.
---
The X-Ray Room
The hum of the machine. The brief moments of stillness. The technician smiling softly, trying to be kind to the tiny green-haired boy as they positioned his foot under the scanner.
Izuku didn't resist. He already knew what the image would show: the missing joint. No extra toe bone meant no Quirk.
Still, watching it all unfold again stirred something strange in him. A sense of déjà vu and helpless inevitability.
---
"I'm sorry, but..."
The same doctor. The same white coat. The same grave tone as he looked at the chart.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But it looks like your son is Quirkless."
Inko gasped softly.
Izuku didn't flinch.
"You're... sure?" Inko asked.
The doctor nodded. "There's a strong correlation between the presence of this toe joint and Quirk development. Statistically, children without it almost never manifest Quirks."
Izuku looked up and asked, "So... I'll never get a Quirk?"
His voice was soft, but calm. Not trembling. Not shattered.
The doctor blinked at him, clearly confused by the reaction.
"That's... correct," he said hesitantly.
"I see," Izuku replied, sliding off the table on his own. "Thank you for telling me."
Inko stared at her son, shocked at his mature response.
It was the second time she'd heard the diagnosis.
But this time, Izuku had already cried those tears in another life.
---
Later That Night
The door closed behind them when they returned home, and Inko set down her purse with a sigh. Izuku slipped away to his room, saying he wanted to be alone for a bit. She didn't stop him.
He sat on the floor, notebooks open.
They were empty now — clean and white. But soon, they'd be filled again.
Villain patterns. Quirk mechanics. Weakness studies. Physical training plans. Support gear concepts. A reconstruction of everything he learned...
He flipped to the first page and wrote with confidence.
Loop 1 – Day 2 – Confirmed Quirkless (again)
But not helpless.
Never helpless.
-———————————————————————
Thanks for reading the second chapter.
Next chapter: he will start early physical training and something different.