(Izuku's Point of View)
The second floor of the Yaoyorozu mansion was a world apart from the glittering spectacle below. Alfred led us through a short, art-lined hallway and into a spacious, beautifully appointed lounge area. One entire wall was made of floor-to-ceiling, one-way glass, offering a panoramic, silent view of the grand party happening in the cavernous hall beneath us. It was like watching an elaborate, jewel-toned anthill. I could see the press of bodies, the flash of cameras around a few spotlight-seeking heroes, the practiced smiles that didn't reach the eyes.
Renjiro gestured to the comfortable seating arranged before the window. "I had this area prepared," he explained, his voice carrying a note of dry understanding. "I thought you might appreciate a space separated from the gawking eyes, the endless questioning looks, and, the exhausting parade of fake smiles down there."
I let out a sigh I didn't know I'd been holding. "That aspect of these things is... annoying," I admitted, walking over to gaze down at the human tapestry of ambition and pretense. "But I was prepared for it." I shot a glance at Hikaru, who was taking up a position near the entrance, a silent monolith in a tailored suit. "That's partly why I brought him. Excellent for scaring off the more... persistent social climbers who might try to corner Mama."
Hikaru didn't turn, but his low voice rumbled across the room. "So my only worth is as a scarecrow? I'm wounded."
A smirk tugged at my lips. "You have many uses, Sensei. But we both know how territorial felines can get, don't we?"
The effect was instant and glorious. A faint, rosy blush crept up the back of Hikaru's neck, visible even from where I stood. Beside me, Mama made a soft, choked sound, her own cheeks pinking as she suddenly found the pattern on the rug utterly fascinating.
The reaction did not escape the notice of our hosts. Sayuri's elegant eyebrows rose a fraction, a ghost of a knowing smile playing on her lips. Renjiro's gaze sharpened, flicking between the two blushing adults before settling on me with a look that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. Wisely, neither said a word.
Momo, standing beside her father, just looked adorably confused, her head tilting like a curious bird. The sheer innocence of her confusion was a lethal weapon. Without thinking, I reached over and patted her head. "Don't worry about it," I said. "You'll understand when you're older."
She immediately puffed out her cheeks, a gesture of such pure indignation it was hilarious. "But you're my age! If you know what it is, I want to know too!"
Abort!!! Abort conversation. My gremlin survival instincts screamed. Time for a tactical diversion.
"Oh, look!" I said, my voice a notch too bright as I swung the elegantly wrapped tablet box I'd been carrying around. "I almost forgot. This is for you, Momo. A birthday gift!"
As predicted, the new shiny rapped gift box worked perfectly. Her confusion vanished, replaced by sparkling-eyed delight. "For me?" She took the box with careful reverence, her earlier question completely forgotten. I breathed an internal sigh of relief.
Only to immediately tense up again. I felt twin pairs of eyes lock onto me. I slowly turned my head. Mama and Sayuri were both looking at me, their expressions identical. Their eyes were wide, shining with a terrifying, luminous fondness, and their hands were clasped near their hearts. It was the universal "That was so sweet!" look, dialed up to world-ending levels. I took an instinctive step backwards.
From his post by the door, Hikaru caught my eye. His gaze held no sympathy. Instead, it glinted with unmistakable, savage amusement. The look in his eyes screamed, clear as day: Karma. It's a beautiful, vengeful bitch, isn't it, kid?
Momo, oblivious to the silent adult warfare, hugged the gift box to her chest. "I'll open it later," she said, her voice soft but firm. She didn't let go of it, cradling it like it was the most precious artifact in the world. The gesture was so genuinely heartfelt it made my own chest feel oddly tight.
Then, her gaze drifted down to the party floor below. Her eyes scanned the crowd before lighting up with pure excitement. "Yay! She's here too!" she squealed, bouncing on her toes. "She told me she couldn't come today!" She whirled to face Sayuri. "Mama, is it okay if I go downstairs real quick to get her? She's my best friend! Please, please, please? I can even get Uncle and Auntie to come up and meet the Midoriyas! With! Sugar! On! Top!" She punctuated each word of the last sentence with an exaggerated, hopeful nod.
Renjiro chuckled, the sound warm. "As long as Izuku-san agrees , I don't see why not."
All eyes turned to me. Momo swiveled her head, fixing me with the ultimate weapon: puppy-dog eyes. They were large, liquid, and brimming with hopeful light. My defenses, which could shrug off bloodlust, crumbled to dust in under a second.
"If they can be trusted, then... it's fine. Okay?" I managed to say, feeling the heat return to my face. I quickly looked down at the party to cover it, my analytical mind kicking in. My gaze swept over the clusters of people, my glasses (courtesy of Jarvis feeding data to my glasses) highlighting a few faces from dossiers—opportunistic investors, a hero known for shady endorsements and few other things that were illegal. "Just... be careful down there, okay?"
Her smile was like a sunrise. "I will! Thank you, Midoriya-kun!" She clutched her gift tighter and, with a final, excited glance at her parents, hurried out of the lounge, her footsteps a light, happy patter down the hall.
I watched her go, then let out a long, slow breath, staring blankly at the one-way glass.
"I am going to die," I muttered, the words meant only for myself. "I am going to die of a cuteness-infused heart attack long before I even become an adult. It's not fair. If another cute girl shows up and is even half as lethal as her, I may not live long enough to reach U.A., let alone build my suits..."
A beat of silence followed my muttering.
Then, laughter—soft, warm, and utterly unconcealed—filled the lounge. I turned to see Mama covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Sayuri was laughing gracefully into her hand. Even Alfred, standing by the refreshments table, had his head bowed, his frame vibrating with silent mirth.
Renjiro was not laughing. He was looking at me, his earlier amusement gone, replaced by a steady, paternal stare that promised a slow and painful demise if I ever made his daughter blush like that. The daggers in his eyes were practically tangible.
That lasted for exactly two seconds.
Thwack!
Sayuri reached over and smacked him smartly on the back of the head. "Renjiro. Behave," she chided, her voice sweet as poisoned honey.
He winced, rubbing his head, the murderous intent dissolving into resigned grumpiness. The atmosphere lightened again, though I made a mental note to never, ever be alone in a room with Renjiro Yaoyorozu and any sharp objects.
We settled into the plush seats to wait, the quiet hum of the distant party a backdrop to our secluded perch.
For a few minutes, the conversation drifted into the mundane, a gentle stream of small talk clearly orchestrated by Sayuri. It was masterfully done—questions about hobbies, favorite foods, the kind of small, personal details that put people at ease. She asked Mama about her interests outside of work, listened with genuine warmth as Mama spoke about the little greenhouse I had designed for her after overhearing her wish for a garden. It was all so... normal. So sincere.
Or is it? the soldier in me whispered. This is a woman who runs a dynasty. She's observing. Profiling. Learning about her new, unpredictable partners in the most disarming way possible.
But my instincts, honed by Kaito, strained and found no false notes. Her micro-expressions—the slight softening around her eyes when Mama talked about her plants, the genuine curl of her smile—all seemed authentic. Hikaru, from his post by the door, gave an almost imperceptible nod in my direction. His assessment matched mine. Sincere. For now. Trust was a currency I spent carefully, but they were earning it, yen by yen.
Then Sayuri, perhaps feeling the comfort level was just right, leaned forward with a conspiratorial sparkle in her eye. "Inko-san, I must confess a secret. After a long day of board meetings and strategy sessions, there's nothing I love more than losing myself in a truly excessive telenovela. The drama, the passion, the utterly bizarre plot twists... it's a wonderful mental cleanse." She took a delicate sip of her tea. "Do you have a favorite?"
Mama's face lit up with the fervor of a scholar presented with their life's work. "Oh! Yes! There's this absolutely fabulous one on Channel 4, El Corazón del Dragón! It's about this quirkless heiress, Esmeralda, who has to pretend to have telekinesis to win back her company from her uncle, Rodrigo, who may have poisoned her father and might actually be her real father, and she's fallen in love with the investigator, Diego, who's secretly Rodrigo's son from a fling with a gypsy fortune teller, and there's a amnesia subplot, and a secret twin, and—"
As soon as that topic was dropped every male in the room froze.
It happened in perfect, horrified unison.
My blood ran cold. My spine locked. I was suddenly a statue, my gaze fixed on a distant point on the ceiling as if seeking divine intervention.
To my left, Renjiro Yaoyorozu, titan of industry, went rigid. His knuckles whitened around his teacup. A faint, desperate tic began under his right eye.
By the door, Hikaru 'Night Fang' Kaito, former Commission assassin, master of seven martial arts, froze mid-breath. His golden eyes widened a fraction before glazing over with the distant, shell-shocked look of a man facing an eldritch horror no amount of training could prepare him for.
Even Alfred, the unflappable pillar of British butlery, stiffened. The silver teaspoon he was quietly polishing slipped from his fingers, letting out a tiny, high-pitched ping as it hit the marble side table—the only sound in the sudden, suffocating silence.
A silent, frantic conversation erupted between the males in the room, conducted entirely with our eyes.
My eyes, wide with panic, shot to Hikaru: DO SOMETHING. YOU'RE THE PROFESSIONAL. DISTRACT. DIVERT. DEPLOY A SMOKE GRENADE IF YOU HAVE TO!!!!GET US OFF THIS FUCKING SITUATION!!!!!
Hikaru's glazed eyes slowly swiveled to Renjiro, pleading: YOU'RE THE HOST. THE PATRIARCH. THIS IS YOUR WIFE. FIX THIS.
Renjiro's twitching eyes darted to Alfred, a silent command: YOU'RE THE BUTLER. CREATE A DIVERSION. SPILL A TRAY. FAINT. ANYTHING.
Alfred's eyes, filled with a profound and ancient suffering, simply closed for a brief moment, as if accepting his fate. He offered no salvation.
Mama and Sayuri were now deeply engrossed, discussing the merits of amnesia as a plot device versus secret twin reveals.
Renjiro, realizing he was the last line of defense for sanity, acted with the desperate speed of a man saving his own soul. He cleared his throat with a sound like grinding gravel, loudly and abruptly.
"AHEM!"
The women paused, looking at him with mild curiosity.
His gaze, sharp and slightly wild, pinned me to my seat. "Izuku!" he boomed, his voice a touch too loud. "A question has been burning in my mind since your... demonstration." He leaned forward, forcibly injecting a tone of intellectual fascination. "What was the very first thing you did after you completed Jarvis? After creating a sentient intelligence, what does a mind like yours consider a fitting inaugural task?"
The lifeline. The blessed, beautiful change of subject. I could have kissed him. Metaphorically. And from the grateful, almost tearful look in Hikaru's eyes, he felt the same.
I opened my mouth to grasp the escape rope, but Mama, still riding the telenovela high, cut in with a long-suffering sigh.
"He did," she announced to the room, "what any child with his particular brand of genius and mischief would do. Or so he claims was the reason." She fixed me with a look. "He decided the perfect test for a hyper-advanced AI was to convince his mother her home was haunted."
I couldn't hold back a proud, gremlin-like grin, the terror of moments before forgotten. "It was a flawless simulation! Full environmental manipulation, auditory hallucinations, the works. Mom responses were fascinating to say the least." I leaned forward, my eyes sparkling. "And mom was so terrified that," I added, my grin widening as I glanced at Hikaru, "she jumped straight into her guardian angel's arms. She hugged him so tightly out of pure fear it was hilarious! If you want to see it I had Jarvis record the entire thing."
Mama's cheeks flushed that familiar, brilliant red. "That," she said in a tone of deep, maternal annoyance, "is exactly why you were grounded."
"I maintain to this day," I said, crossing my arms and puffing out my cheeks in a mock pout that made Silk tap my cheek consolingly with one leg, "that the simultaneous confiscation of my workshop privileges and my katsudon constituted a violation of the Geneva Conventions. It was cruel and unusual punishment."
The adults in the room—Sayuri, Renjiro, even Alfred—dissolved into warm, genuine laughter. The last of the formal tension, and the residual horror of the telenovela abyss, bled away.
The laughter was just fading when we heard Momo's voice, bright and happy, from the hallway.
"I'm back!"
We all turned toward the entrance. Momo stood there, beaming, holding hands with another girl. I took in the scene, and my brain processed it in two distinct, staggering blows.
First: It was another girl. A girl my age, with an aura of serene, intelligent grace. Damn it, I thought, a sense of doomed resignation settling over me. This world is actively trying to murder me via cuteness overload before I can even build my first proper repulsor. It's not fair.
Second: My pattern recognition and memory banks—both my own and the dossiers Jarvis had compiled—instantly provided a name. The silvery hair, the large, intelligent blue eyes, one magnified by a delicate monocle. The quiet poise that spoke of a sharp mind kept politely sheathed.
Saiko Intelli.
In the anime, she'd been shown as highly intelligent. Fandom speculation, which I'd always found reasonably accurate, pegged her base IQ at around 150. Her quirk, High Spec, was a potent one: by drinking specific brands of tea and closing her eyes to concentrate, she could temporarily boost her intelligence and processing power to staggering levels, making her a peerless strategist and analyst. It was the closest thing to Principal Nezu's own formidable intellect in a human student. A quirk of the mind, not the body.
(Image here)
And behind the two girls, entering the lounge with calm, measured steps, were what could only be Saiko's parents.
Her father was a man of understated authority. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his sharp blue eyes held a composed, assessing calm as they swept over our group. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his posture relaxed yet speaking of controlled strength. He carried the quiet confidence of someone used to being in charge, but without the need to broadcast it.
(Image here)
Her mother moved beside him with a flowing, elegant grace that mirrored her daughter's. Long, silver hair was styled to frame a face marked by soft, kind eyes and a gentle smile. She wore an elegant emerald-green dress that complemented her coloring, accented with simple pearl and gemstone jewelry. Her aura was one of refined warmth and timeless sophistication.
(Image here)
Momo, beaming with pride, gestured grandly. "Saiko-chan, Uncle Kenji, Auntie Hanako... these are the Midoriyas!"
The collective pause in the room was brief but palpable. The Midoriyas. Momo had bundled my mother and Hikaru together under a single family name with innocent, devastating efficiency.
I saw Mama's eyes go wide. Hikaru stiffened almost imperceptibly. A faint, delightful pink started creeping up Mama's neck.
Before the adults could formulate a correction, I stepped forward. I reached up and patted Momo gently on the head. "Good job," I said, my voice low, conspiratorial, and just loud enough for everyone to hear. "You just got me one step closer to getting a dad."
The effect was cataclysmic.
"IZUKU!!"
The roar of my name came in a perfect, synchronized duet of pure, flustered outrage. Mama's face went from pink to a shade of crimson that rivaled Silk's chassis. Hikaru's blush was darker, more furious, climbing from his collar to the tips of his ears. I swear I saw actual, literal wisps of steam curl from both their scalps. The heat in the room spiked by several degrees.
From the doorway, Saiko Intelli observed the scene with large, calm blue eyes. One, magnified by her delicate monocle, seemed to analyze the social dynamics with detached interest. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips—not a smirk, but the look of a clever child who has just solved a fun puzzle. She gave a small, polite bow.
"Hello," she said, her voice clear and bright, perfectly normal for a nine-year-old, but with each word chosen carefully. "I'm Saiko. It's nice to meet you." Her insightful gaze landed on me, and she tilted her head. "Were you... trying to get your mom and your bodyguard to get together? It kind of seems like it."
I rubbed the back of my head, grinning unabashedly at being so easily read by a peer. "Yeah, since it's obvious they like each other. I've been trying for a while now. But they keep saying they're just friends." I let out a dramatic sigh, puffing out my cheeks in a show of exaggerated frustration. "In all honesty, it's been a drag. How hard is it to just say it?"
The nuclear blush on Mama and Hikaru's faces intensified. Mama made a small, strangled noise and looked at the floor. Hikaru had his eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if searching for structural weaknesses he could escape through.
Saiko's parents, Kenji and Hanako Intelli, exchanged a brief, amused glance. It was Hanako who spoke next, her voice warm and melodic. "What a charming welcome. I am Hanako Intelli, and this is my husband, Kenji. We're with Iryō-Sōzō Pharmaceuticals."
Kenji Intelli gave a short, respectful nod, his sharp eyes taking in our group with friendly curiosity. "A pleasure."
My brain, always hungry for data, immediately pulled their file. "Iryō-Sōzō," I said, the name rolling off my tongue. "The 'Medical Creation Group.' You make the really good fever reducers and the super-strong bandages that stick even in the rain. And your other company, Tetsu-no-Hane, makes military hardware." I nodded, my tone shifting from casual to analytical without a hitch. "Specifically, the TS-4 'Kumo' field comms unit. The encryption is decent for its generation, but the physical data port on the underside is a major vulnerability. It's shielded against dust and water, not against a focused EM pulse or a simple conductive probe. The power routing to the main transmitter is also inefficient—a fifteen percent loss between the capacitor and the output stage generates unnecessary heat and reduces operational life. You could fix that with a layered graphene shunt, and move the data port to a magnetically-sealed internal slot. Would increase unit cost by maybe two percent, but make it virtually unhackable in the field."
The polite, slightly surprised smiles on the Intellis' faces vanished. Kenji's expression froze, then sharpened into one of intense, professional shock. Hanako's gentle eyes widened. I'd just dissected one of their subsidiary's flagship secure products in the time it took to draw a breath, pointing out flaws their own R&D teams had likely spent months arguing over.
From my shoulder, Silk let out a soft, chiding chirp. Jarvis, coiled around my neck, gave a subtle, pointed squeeze.
I blinked. Right. Manners. And maybe not publicly critiquing a potential ally's secure hardware at a birthday party.
"Oh! Sorry," I said, shaking my head and offering a genuine, slightly abashed smile. I bowed properly. "I'm Midoriya Izuku. I'm the one who actually runs Stark Industries."
The reaction was instant and profound. Kenji Intelli's professional shock deepened into pure, unvarnished disbelief. Hanako stared, her mind visibly reeling as she tried to reconcile the technical critique with the child who delivered it. Saiko, who had been watching the exchange with growing fascination, now leaned forward, her magnified eye blinking rapidly behind her monocle. "You... run it? But you're our age!"
A soft, giggling laugh came from Momo. She was covering her mouth, her eyes sparkling. "I told you you'd be surprised, Saiko-chan!"
Saiko turned to her best friend, her mouth forming a perfect little 'o' of astonishment.
Momo, beaming with pride at knowing the biggest secret, decided to share the rest of the treasure. "And that's not even the coolest part!" she announced, pointing excitedly at my shoulders. "He built Jarvis and Silk! They're real AIs! They're alive and they can talk!"
That did it.
Kenji Intelli took an involuntary step back. Hanako gasped softly, her hand fluttering to her chest. Saiko's analytical poise completely shattered. Her gaze darted from the sleek cobra to the crimson spider, her expression one of pure, unadulterated wonder. "Really? Truly alive? How does their cognition matrix work? What programming language did you use for foundational—"
It was at that precise moment, as if summoned by the universe to catch the fainting adults, that Alfred glided forward. With silent, preternatural efficiency, he placed two elegant, high-backed chairs directly behind the stunned Intelli parents. They sank into them without protest, the movement automatic.
I watched them, then glanced at the still-steaming forms of my mother and my hopefully-soon-to-be-father. A wry, satisfied smile touched my lips.
"You know," I said to the room at large, my tone light and cheerful. "I'm starting to really enjoy this reaction from people."