Sunlight crept through the curtains, painting slices of gold across Isaiah's borrowed face. He'd barely slept, spending most of the night parsing through status screens while Inko dozed in the visitor's chair. The hospital had cleared him for discharge this afternoon after a battery of tests showed nothing physically wrong with "Izuku Midoriya."
Nothing except the fact that Izuku Midoriya was gone.
The door creaked open. Inko shuffled in, carrying a covered bowl that steamed in her hands. Her smile trembled at the edges, watery sunshine trying to break through storm clouds.
"Good morning! I thought you might want something better than hospital food." She placed the bowl on the rolling tray and uncovered it. "I made your favorite!"
The scent hit him first – rich, savory, with notes of egg and fried pork. Brown meat on white rice, topped with something that looked like a golden crust.
"Thank you, Mrs. Midoriya, that's very kind of you."
"Mrs. Midoriya?" She laughed, the sound hollow. "The doctor did say you might be a little confused. I'm Mom, sweetie. Just Mom."
"Right. Sorry... Mom."
Isaiah picked up the chopsticks, examining them briefly before gripping them. He took a bite, chewing methodically.
"Is it good?" Inko perched on the edge of his bed, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened. "It's katsudon. You always said it tasted like victory."
"It's excellent, thank you," he replied, not looking up from the bowl.
Inko's smile faltered again. "You're so polite this morning, Izuku. It's a little... different."
Isaiah paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. His internal alarm bells rang. He'd miscalculated. The real Izuku wouldn't be this formal with his mother. He needed to adjust his performance.
He attempted a smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry, ma'am. My head still feels foggy."
"Izuku, you've never called me 'ma'am' in your life." Her voice shrank to a whisper. "Do you... do you know who I am?"
『Smooth move, genius. You're about as subtle as a brick through a window.』
Shut up.
"You're my mother," he said, setting down his chopsticks. "I know that much. I just... can't remember other things."
Tears welled in Inko's eyes. "Oh, Izuku." Her hand reached out, hovering inches from his face but not touching, as if she didn't trust what she might find. "Something's wrong. I'm calling the doctor back."
She grabbed her phone from her purse, fingers trembling as she dialed. Isaiah returned to his katsudon, eating steadily while she spoke in hushed, urgent tones by the window.
Twenty minutes later, a balding man in a white coat entered, clipboard in hand. His nameplate read Dr. Shirogane.
"So, young Midoriya," he said, voice professionally cheerful, "your mother tells me you're having some memory issues?"
Isaiah nodded, expression calibrated to show confusion and fear. "I know who she is," he said, gesturing to Inko. "But I don't remember... details. Like what my favorite food is supposed to be. Or your name, even though we must have met yesterday."
The doctor hummed, making a note. "Can you tell me your full name?"
"Izuku Midoriya."
"Good. And what's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"
Isaiah paused, looking appropriately troubled. "Nothing. Just... darkness. Then waking up in this bed."
Dr. Shirogane pulled out a small penlight, shining it in Isaiah's eyes. "Follow the light, please." Isaiah tracked it obediently. "Pupillary response normal. No signs of concussion."
The doctor clicked the light off, addressing Inko. "Mrs. Midoriya, this isn't uncommon with cases involving oxygen deprivation. The sludge villain essentially suffocated your son for nearly two minutes before All Might intervened."
Inko's hands twisted in her lap. "Is it permanent?"
"I strongly doubt it." Dr. Shirogane's voice softened. "What we're likely seeing is temporary retrograde amnesia. The brain shuts down non-essential functions during extreme trauma. Memory is often the first casualty."
"When will he be normal again?" Inko asked, the question barely audible.
The doctor shrugged. "Hard to say. Hours, days, sometimes weeks. Familiar environments often help. Smells, sounds, routines from before the incident. It'll come back in pieces, typically."
『Well, look at that. The quack just handed you the perfect cover story. Lucky break.』
Isaiah maintained his facade of worried confusion, while internally he counted this as a win. Temporary amnesia gave him breathing room to study and adapt.
"I'm prescribing rest for the weekend," Dr. Shirogane continued, scribbling on his pad. "Take him home, surround him with familiar things. No school until Monday. If he hasn't shown improvement by then, bring him back for further evaluation."
Inko nodded, clutching the prescription like a lifeline. "Thank you, doctor."
After the doctor left, Inko busied herself gathering their things, stealing glances at Isaiah when she thought he wasn't looking.
While she packed, Isaiah closed his eyes, focusing on the floating interface only he could see. Time to address his other, more pressing problem.
So what exactly is this "Legacy Package" you mentioned? he directed his thoughts toward Arcan.
『Finally asking the smart questions, huh? It's simple. I download all of Izuku's memories, skills, and social connections directly into your brain. You'll know his friends, enemies, crushes, fears, and embarrassing childhood incidents. You'll know which bedroom drawer has his special All Might limited edition figurine. You'll even know how to forge his signature.』
And that costs 150 points?
『Information is premium content, buddy. You think identity theft comes cheap? I'm basically offering you a plug-and-play solution to your current predicament.』
That's three-quarters of what I have!
『Correct math! Gold star. Look, you have exactly three options.
One: Stumble around like an amnesiac idiot until someone realizes you're not just memory-impaired, you're a completely different person.
Two: Try to fake it and inevitably fail when you miss some crucial detail about 'Kacchan' or All Might or whatever adolescent obsession this kid harbored.
Three: Pay up and get instant access.』
It's extortion.
『It's the market rate. I don't make the rules, I just enforce them with gleeful prejudice.』
What happens if I refuse?
『Nothing dramatic. You'll just be woefully unprepared for whatever's waiting at Aldera High School. I hear the other kids are very understanding toward the weak and different.』
Inko's phone rang, interrupting his internal negotiation.
"Oh, Izuku... it's Mitsuki. Katsuki's mother." She bit her lip. "She's been calling nonstop, worried sick aboutyou. I should take this."
She stood, phone clutched to her chest. "I'll just be in the hallway. Five minutes, okay?" She gave him a smile that tried too hard. "Maybe hearing about Kacchan will jog your memory."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Isaiah alone with Arcan's smug presence in his mind.
Katsuki. Kacchan. That's the second time he's been mentioned, Isaiah thought.
『Oh yes, Katsuki Bakugo. Quite the character. Explosive personality, like I said. Would be a shame if you walked into school Monday and had no idea who the angry blond guy screaming 'Deku' in your face might be.』
What's a "Deku"?
『Exactly my point. Tick tock, decision time. Your cover story has a shelf life.』
Isaiah stared at the silver ring on his finger.
Fine, take the damned points.
『Pleasure doing business with you. Brace for impact.』
The world exploded behind his eyes.
It wasn't information. It was sensory assault. Seventeen years of life hammered into his consciousness in fourteen seconds. The smell of burning caramel and nitroglycerin as a blond boy's palms sparked with miniature explosions. The metallic taste of blood in his mouth after being shoved face-first into a water fountain. The warm weight of Inko's hand on his forehead during a childhood fever.
A kaleidoscope of emotions not his own – worthlessness, adoration, fear, hope. An obsessive, all-consuming worship of a smiling mountain of a man in primary colors. Notebooks filled with meticulous analysis of powers and weaknesses. The crushing despair of a doctor's voice saying, "I'm sorry, but you should give up."
Isaiah screamed, falling back against the pillows. His skull felt like it was splitting, two lives fighting for dominance in one mind.
His nose began to bleed, a thin crimson line trickling down his upper lip.
"Izuku!" Inko burst through the door, phone forgotten. "What's happening?!"
Isaiah held up a shaking hand to ward her off. "Just... a headache. A really bad one." He forced himself to breathe, to compartmentalize the flood of foreign memories. "I think... I think I remembered something."
That stopped her panic cold. "You did? What was it?"
He searched through the tumult, pulling out something safe. "All Might. I... collect his merchandise."
Inko's face transformed, relief washing over her features. "Yes! Yes, you do. Your room is full of it." She moved closer, hope radiating from her. "What else?"
"Kacchan," Isaiah said, the name strange on his tongue. "Katsuki Bakugo. We grew up together."
We grew up together, and he tortured me daily, the newly acquired memories helpfully supplied. He told me to kill myself by jumping off the roof.
Wonderful. So his main social contact was a sadistic bully with the power to create explosions from his sweat. Just his luck.
"The doctor was right," Inko said, tears flowing freely now. "It's coming back. Oh, thank goodness." She squeezed his hand, oblivious to the war raging behind his eyes. "Rest now. We'll go home soon."
So this was the price of his second chance. Two hundred points, stripped to fifty before he'd even begun. A body with no power. And a sadistic enemy waiting for him on Monday morning.
Arcan's voice floated through his mind, smug and satisfied.
『Welcome to your next life, Izuku Midoriya.』