Four Years Later
Inko Midoriya stood in the hospital waiting room, her hands clasped tightly together, her knuckles white with tension. Kaito sat beside her, now five years old, his legs swinging as they dangled from the chair. He held her hand gently—always so careful with his strength—and looked up at her with those impossibly blue eyes.
"Mama, are you scared?" he asked softly.
Inko managed a trembling smile. "A little, sweetie. But it's a good kind of scared. Happy-scared."
"Because of the baby?"
"Yes, because of your new little brother."
Kaito's face split into a wide grin. For months, he'd been talking about nothing else. When Inko had told him she was pregnant—a surprise that had shocked her as much as anyone, given her single status and her assumption that she'd never have biological children—Kaito had been overjoyed. He'd talked to her belly every night, telling the baby about heroes and stars and all the games they'd play together.
The pregnancy had been difficult. Inko's anxiety had been through the roof, worried about raising two children on her own. But Kaito had been her rock, mature beyond his years in ways that sometimes unsettled her. He'd help around the apartment with his floating abilities, fetching things from high shelves, and always seemed to know when she needed a hug.
"Midoriya-san?" A nurse appeared in the doorway, smiling warmly. "You can come in now."
Inko's heart raced as she stood, Kaito bouncing excitedly beside her. They followed the nurse down the sterile white hallway to a private room where a doctor waited with a small bundle wrapped in blue.
"Congratulations," the doctor said, carefully placing the baby in Inko's arms. "A healthy boy."
Inko looked down at her biological son and felt her world expand. He was so small, so fragile compared to Kaito at this age. His eyes were closed, his tiny face scrunched up, with a shock of green hair that matched her own. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"Izuku," she whispered. "Your name is Izuku."
"Can I see? Can I see?" Kaito tugged at her sleeve, standing on his tiptoes.
Inko knelt down carefully, letting Kaito peer at his new brother. "Be very gentle, Kaito. He's not as strong as you."
Kaito's expression became incredibly serious. He reached out one finger, barely touching Izuku's tiny hand, and gasped when the baby's fingers curled reflexively around his own.
"He likes me!" Kaito breathed, his eyes shining. "Hi, Izuku. I'm your big brother Kaito. I'm gonna protect you forever and ever, okay? We're gonna be the best heroes together!"
The baby made a small noise, and Kaito looked up at Inko with such pure joy that she couldn't help but laugh through her tears.
"Yes, sweetheart. You're going to be the best big brother."
Two Years Later
"Kaito! Izuku! Breakfast!"
Seven-year-old Kaito zoomed down the hallway, carefully scooping up two-year-old Izuku as he went. The toddler shrieked with laughter, his green curls bouncing as his brother carried him at speed into the kitchen.
"Kaito, I've told you not to run with him like that," Inko scolded, though her tone was fond. Over the past two years, she'd learned to pick her battles. Kaito's control over his abilities had grown tremendously, and he was always, always careful with his little brother.
"Sorry, Mama!" Kaito set Izuku down in his high chair with perfect gentleness, then floated up to grab plates from the cabinet before she could object.
Izuku clapped his hands. "Fly! Kai fly!"
"That's right, Izu! Maybe you'll fly too when you get your quirk!" Kaito ruffled his brother's hair affectionately.
Inko's smile faltered slightly. That was the question hanging over all of them—what would Izuku's quirk be? Kaito's had manifested impossibly early and was extraordinarily powerful. Inko's own quirk was simple telekinesis, useful for small objects. The father... well, she tried not to think about that complicated situation. A brief relationship that hadn't lasted, a man who didn't even know he had a son.
"Mama sad?" Izuku asked, his large green eyes—so like her own—looking up with concern.
"No, baby. Mama's happy." She kissed his forehead and served breakfast.
Kaito dug into his food with enthusiasm. At seven, he was already the talk of their neighborhood. Other children flocked to him at the park, drawn by his natural charisma and his willingness to use his powers for fun—creating games of flying tag, lifting multiple kids at once for "rides," or using his heat vision (which had manifested last year) to draw pictures in the sand.
But it was his personality that really made him special. Kaito had an innate goodness, an optimism that seemed unshakeable. When other kids fell, he helped them up. When someone was sad, he noticed and cared. He broke up fights not with his strength but with his words, somehow convincing bullies to apologize and play nice.
Teachers loved him. Parents praised him. And Kaito took it all in stride, always humble, always kind.
"Mama, can we watch All Might videos after breakfast?" Kaito asked eagerly.
"All Might!" Izuku echoed, bouncing in his seat.
Inko laughed. "Yes, we can watch All Might."
The Symbol of Peace was Kaito's hero—no, his inspiration. He'd watch All Might's rescues over and over, his eyes shining with admiration. "He saves everyone with a smile," Kaito had told her once. "That's what real heroes do. They make people feel safe and happy."
After breakfast, both boys settled on the couch, Izuku curled up in Kaito's lap as they watched All Might's greatest hits. Inko watched them from the kitchen as she cleaned up, her heart full.
"I am here!" All Might's voice boomed from the TV.
"I am here!" Kaito repeated, and little Izuku tried to copy him, coming out as "I here!"
They both dissolved into giggles, and Inko found herself blinking back tears. She had two sons now. Two beautiful, wonderful boys. Kaito, with his incredible powers and even more incredible heart. And Izuku, still so young but already showing signs of the same kindness and determination.
Whatever challenges lay ahead—and she knew there would be many—they'd face them together.
As a family.
That Night
Inko tucked Izuku into his crib, the toddler already fast asleep after a long day of play. She moved to Kaito's room next, where her older son was supposed to be in bed.
Instead, she found him floating cross-legged above his covers, eyes closed in concentration.
"Kaito, what are you doing?"
His eyes opened, and he drifted down to his bed. "Practicing, Mama. I can hear so much now. People talking in other apartments, cars on the street, heartbeats..." He looked troubled. "Sometimes it's too much. I'm trying to learn how to focus."
Inko's chest tightened. Her seven-year-old shouldn't have to deal with such overwhelming abilities. "Do you want to talk to someone about it? Maybe a specialist?"
Kaito shook his head. "It's okay. I'm getting better at it. And..." He smiled that bright, hopeful smile. "I think maybe it's a gift. If I can hear when people are in trouble, I can help them."
"You're still just a child, Kaito."
"But I won't always be." He reached out and took her hand. "One day, I'm gonna be a hero like All Might. And I'm gonna help Izuku become one too. We'll protect everyone, and we'll always smile, no matter what."
Inko pulled him into a hug, this remarkable boy who'd fallen from the stars. "I know you will, sweetheart. I know you will."
As she left his room, turning out the light, she heard him whisper into the darkness:
"I promise, Izuku. We'll be heroes together. I'll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you."
Inko paused in the hallway, tears streaming down her face. She didn't have the heart to tell him that he couldn't protect Izuku from everything. That life would bring challenges and pain no matter how strong he was.
But maybe, just maybe, with a brother like Kaito, Izuku would face those challenges with hope.
And that was more than most people ever got.