The next morning, Izuku woke up earlier than usual.
The faint gray light of dawn crept through the curtains, painting his room in soft shadows. For a moment, he lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city waking up. His bag sat neatly by the door, already packed—light, practical.
He'd ditched the suitcase entirely.
"Too much for a week," he'd decided the night before.
Today was the first day he'd officially be away from home for a while. It wasn't long—just a week—but the thought still carried weight. Excitement pulsed through him at the idea of his internship, of finally stepping into the world of pro heroes… yet there was a strange tightness in his chest that wouldn't quite go away.
He swung his legs out of bed, washed up quickly, and padded downstairs.
She was already there.
Inko sat at the table, hands folded around a mug she hadn't touched. Her eyes were a little red, like she'd been fighting tears for a while. The moment she looked up and saw him, her lips trembled—and she forced a smile that didn't quite hold.
Izuku didn't say anything.
He just stepped forward.
The instant he was close enough, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, pulling him into her chest as if afraid he might vanish if she let go. He hugged her back without hesitation, resting his chin lightly on her head.
"I promised I wouldn't cry," she said, voice breaking as the tears finally spilled over. "But here I am…"
He smiled softly, rubbing her back. "I'm not leaving for a month, you know."
"I don't care!" she sniffed, words tumbling out between sobs. "I won't be able to see my baby for a whole week!"
Izuku sighed quietly, not arguing. He just held her while she cried it out, letting the moment pass naturally. The house was filled only with her sniffles and the ticking of the clock on the wall.
After a few minutes, she finally pulled back, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan.
"…Okay. I'm done for now," she declared, trying—and mostly failing—to sound composed.
"Good," Izuku said gently. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll be back in a heartbeat. You won't even have time to miss me."
She laughed weakly, still sniffling. "Me not worry? That's a myth."
That earned a soft laugh from him. He slung his bag over his shoulder and leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. Her expression melted into that familiar, warm, motherly smile.
He turned and stepped out the front door.
The cool morning air brushed against his face, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city—cars, footsteps, life moving forward. He stretched once, rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, then crouched low, muscles tensing—
"I CALLED YOU AN UBER!" she shouted from inside the house.
Izuku froze mid-motion.
A car pulled up at the curb right on cue.
He straightened, turned back toward the house, and smiled. "Thanks, Mom. See you later."
He walked through the gate and slid into the back seat just as the car pulled away, carrying him toward his destination.
Toward Mirko.
---
After some time, the car slowed and came to a stop.
"Shibuya," the driver announced.
Izuku stepped out onto the pavement as the car drove off, disappearing into traffic. He adjusted the strap of his bag and looked up.
In front of him stood a worn-down, abandoned building.
The once-white paint peeled off in large flakes. Windows were cracked, some boarded up, others smeared with grime. Inside, faint lights flickered intermittently, buzzing weakly—like the heartbeat of something that should've been dead a long time ago.
Izuku stared at it for a moment, tightening his grip on his bag.
'…This is the place?'
He tilted his head, unimpressed.
'Honestly thought it'd be cleaner. Maybe a little more official.'
Then he shrugged.
'Whatever. I'm not here for the scenery—I'm here to fight crime.'
Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
The old wooden doors groaned loudly as he pushed them open, the sound echoing through the hollow building. Dust motes drifted lazily in the dim stairwell as Izuku climbed the final flight of stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight. At the top, a rusted metal door waited, its surface scarred with dents and faded warning signs.
He pushed it open.
And froze.
Above the ruined shell of the building sat something completely unexpected—a clean, self-contained home built neatly into the rooftop. Smooth modern walls reflected the sunlight, solar panels angled perfectly along the edges. A small garden stretched across the concrete, impossibly green and alive.
Grass swayed gently in the breeze. Flowerbeds burst with color. And to the side—almost offensively normal—a well-kept carrot patch stood in tidy rows, soil dark and healthy.
Izuku blinked once. Then again.
'…What the hell?'
His eyes flicked from the house to the garden and back. 'How does grass even grow up here? And carrots? On a rooftop?'
He shook his head slowly and stepped forward, curiosity overriding disbelief.
FWUMP.
Something moved.
His instincts screamed—but instead of panic, his body reacted with calm precision. He caught a flash of tan thighs and toned calves before a pair of strong legs clamped around his head. In one smooth, practiced motion, Mirko hooked him, twisted, and flipped him clean over her shoulder.
Izuku hit the rooftop hard, the concrete cracking beneath the impact.
Before he could rise, she was already there—kneeling over him, pinning him effortlessly with pure physical dominance. Her posture was relaxed, confident, like this was second nature.
Izuku stared up at her, unfazed.
'…Yep. That tracks.'
Mirko leaned forward slightly, crimson eyes sharp and assessing. "Huh," she said, smirking. "You didn't even flinch. Most rookies panic the second they hit the ground."
He smiled faintly. "Seemed like a test."
Her grin widened. "Smart kid."
She stood in one fluid motion and offered a hand. Izuku took it, letting her pull him up. When he straightened fully, the difference was clear—he was taller, broader, solid—but she didn't look even remotely intimidated.
Instead, she laughed.
"Good balance. Good reaction time. And you didn't try anything stupid." She crossed her arms. "From what I saw at the festival, you're strong. But strength alone doesn't mean shit if you can't take a hit."
"I can take a hit," Izuku replied calmly. "And give one."
That earned him a sharp, approving look.
"Heh. I like that." She jerked a thumb toward the house. "Name's Mirko. But since you're training under me, you'll call me Rumi."
"Got it. I'm Izuku." He paused, then added, "Hero name's One."
"One?" She snorted. "Bold. I respect it."
She turned and started toward the front door, stretching her arms casually. "Come on. I'll show you around. Training starts soon, but first—food. Carrot cake's almost done, and if you complain, I'll make you spar on an empty stomach."
Izuku followed, glancing once more at the rooftop garden.
'…Yeah,' he thought, a small grin forming.
'This is definitely going to be interesting.'
He stepped inside after her, the door closing behind them with a solid click.
TO BE CONTINUED