Time Skip
Mina's POV
Years later, the park and the fallen log were memories.
The sound of rushing water had been replaced by something else: the soft clink of metal cans, the rhythmic thud of rubber balls hitting boards, and the quiet, steady breathing of a boy who refused to quit.
Mina Haruhama stood at the sliding glass door, one hand resting on the frame as she watched her son train in their small backyard.
Once, crowds had watched her move.
Back then, she'd been Harborline, a professional rescue hero stationed along Japan's coasts and rivers. Her Harbor Current quirk had turned disaster zones into safe passageways; people falling from collapsing bridges, cars spinning toward guardrails, debris crashing down from half-melted buildings—if they were in her field, they almost never hit the ground the way physics intended.
Her field had wrapped around danger like arms.
That was what had made her famous.
That was what had made her rich enough to retire early.
Now all that control, all that experience, was being poured into one boy in a too-small yard.
Ryuuki stood barefoot on the worn patch of grass, a few centimeters taller than last year, limbs starting to lengthen. His thick white curls were tied back messily to keep them out of his eyes. His small horn had grown with him, still smooth and pearl-white, faintly catching the late afternoon light.
Six meters in front of him, an empty aluminum can floated in the air at about chest-height, held aloft by invisible currents.
To his left, a battered wooden board leaned against the fence. A cheap ball launcher—something Mina had "modified" from a toy pitching machine—sat on the ground beside him, spitting soft rubber balls up and out in an arc every few seconds.
Five balls were in the air at once.
None of them were allowed to hit the ground.
Ryuuki's hands were outstretched, fingers spread slightly, but he wasn't flailing. His control had improved over the years; Mina could see it in the tiny adjustments of his wrists, the micro-movements of his shoulders. The can bobbed in a controlled lane, moving forward and back, up and down, without drifting.
The balls were trickier. They came out at random intervals and slightly random angles—her doing—and his currents had to read and catch each one before it dropped.
Ryuuki's face was set in fierce concentration. Sweat rolled slowly down his temples. His eyes glowed faintly with that focused red intensity she'd come to recognize as I refuse to mess this up.
The air around him shimmered in subtle ways that only another Harbor Current user would notice: pressure shifts, tiny swirls, small deviations in how the grass moved in the breeze.
One ball dipped a little too fast.
Ryuuki's right hand twitched; the ball veered sideways midair, caught by a sudden sideways current, then slipped into the looping pattern with the others.
His horn pulsed once with a soft golden light, then dimmed again.
Mina's chest tightened.
Still too quick on the instinctive spike, she thought. But better than last month. The Core clamps down before anything scales up.
She'd watched him push his quirk to new levels over the years. At first, it had only flared under stress—Bakugo falling, soccer balls going off-course, toddlers about to trip off curbs. Now, it obeyed his conscious will more often than not. But instinct was always there under the surface, waiting.
Another ball launched. It shot high, then dipped unexpectedly as the machine jammed and spat it wrong.
Ryuuki inhaled sharply.
The currents surged.
For a split second, she saw it: a faint outline of something larger in the field, a deeper shape in the flow—a pattern that wasn't just air and water, but weight and will.
The ball's fall slowed. It drifted sideways and rejoined the loop.
Ryuuki exhaled through his teeth, eyes narrowing, sweat dripping from his chin. His arms trembled slightly from the strain of holding all six objects.
"Don't overextend," Mina murmured under her breath, though he couldn't hear her from here. "Breathe with it… don't fight it…"
His shoulders brushed against the faint edge of his current limit. She could see it—like a line in the air that his field kept trying to expand past, but never quite could. The hidden Mythic Core he didn't know he had was still limiting him, compressing all that potential into a narrow, safer band.
Safer for now.
"Ryuuki," she called finally, sliding the door open. "That's enough for now. Wrap it up."
He clenched his jaw, clearly wanting to squeeze a few more seconds out of the drill. The can wobbled dangerously.
"Ryuuki." Her voice sharpened just a touch.
He clicked his tongue softly in frustration—but obeyed.
The invisible currents eased. The can drifted down and landed neatly on a nearby crate without tipping. The rubber balls slowed, one by one, dropping into the grass with soft thuds instead of wild bounces.
As the tension left the air, the backyard suddenly felt bigger again, like someone had lifted a net.
Ryuuki bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees. His horn's glow faded completely. When he looked up at her, his eyes were still bright, but tired.
"Time?" he asked between breaths.
"Seven minutes, twenty-three seconds without a drop," Mina said. "Your personal record was seven-oh-five."
Ryuuki's exhaustion cracked into a grin.
"A new record, then."
"A new record," she agreed.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders. His t-shirt was damp with sweat, dark patches spreading across the fabric. Even from here, Mina could see the slight tremor still running through his forearms.
"Finish your workout with a few laps around the house," she said. "Three at a steady jog, two at a sprint. Then stretches. After that, come in for dinner."
He groaned lightly, but there was no real protest.
"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, already moving into a slow jog along the edge of the fence.
Mina watched him circle the yard—feet pounding the dirt path he'd worn into the grass over the years, breath steadying, arms swinging in rhythm. His horn caught the setting sun as he rounded the corner, briefly flashing gold before sliding back into shadow.
She thought back to the promise she'd made in that cramped office with Sayo: I'll train him myself.
She'd stayed true to it.
No brutal hero boot camps. No flashy power stunts. Just basics:
• Strengthening exercises.
• Conditioning.
• Control.
Mornings before school were for stretches and light cardio. Afternoons were drills like today—catching objects, redirecting things, extending his field bit by bit. When he showed signs of strain—headaches, horn ache, that faint humming under his skin—she shut it down immediately.
And she'd been just as uncompromising about his mind as his body.
"Quirk control doesn't matter if you can't do math," she'd told him more than once. "You can't calculate debris trajectories, falling speeds, water flow, or evacuation routes if you sleep through class."
Under her "military mom" regimen, Ryuuki had quietly become one of the top students in his year. His teachers sent notes home praising his focus and discipline. He didn't see the way they also glanced, just for a second, at the horn on his forehead before looking away again.
She did.
As he rounded the corner on his second lap, his breathing settled into a rhythm. He glanced at her through the glass briefly, eyes meeting hers.
There it was again—that look she recognized from his father in old photos and grainy recordings: stubborn, almost reckless determination wrapped around a soft, stubborn kindness.
He really did inherit it, she thought. That instinct to save first and ask questions later.
On his third lap, a stray soccer ball from the neighbor's yard bounced suddenly over the fence, jarring down the incline toward the concrete steps near their back door.
Mina felt a flicker of tension. The steps were nothing compared to a riverbed, but accidents had a way of snowballing.
Ryuuki saw it a split second later.
His field snapped out without him breaking stride.
The ball jerked to the side mid-bounce, as if slapped away by an invisible hand, then rolled harmlessly into the flower bed instead of down the steps.
He didn't even seem to realize he'd done it.
Mina exhaled slowly.
Automatic rescue response. Trigger threshold lower than ever. Mythic Core still squeezing everything into subtle expressions—but the pattern was undeniable.
She stepped away from the door and moved to the counter, picking up her notebook—the one where she tracked his times, distances, reaction patterns, and any "anomalies" no one but her and Sayo knew about.
She jotted down:
Age: 9
Drill: Multi-object sustain (5 balls + 1 can)
Record: 7:23
Notes:
– Field stability improving.
– Instinctive spike when trajectory randomized. No visible scales. Horn glow minimal.
– Automatic redirect of external hazard (soccer ball) mid-lap; zero conscious pause.
She tapped the pen against the page, chewing her lip.
"He's getting stronger," she murmured.
Outside, Ryuuki finished his final sprint, chest heaving, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He slowed to a walk, then a stop, hands on his hips as he sucked in air.
Mina slid the notebook back into the drawer with a soft click just as he opened the door.
"I finished," he panted.
"I saw," Mina said, handing him a towel. "Go wash up. Dinner will be ready in fifteen."
He took the towel, rubbing it across his face. His horn peeked through his curls, catching the kitchen light like a small, quiet beacon.
"Hey, Mom," he said suddenly, pausing in the doorway to the hall. "Do you think… if I keep training like this… I'll really be able to save everyone someday?"
Mina looked at him for a long moment.
Not at the horn.
Not at the quirk.
At the boy.
"If you keep training," she said, "and you keep caring the way you did on that log… then yes. You'll save more people than you can imagine."
He smiled—tired, but sincere.
"Then I'll keep going. No matter what."
"I know," she replied softly. "That's what scares me."
He didn't hear the last part. He was already heading down the hall toward the bathroom, humming under his breath.
Mina turned back to the stove, stirring the simmering pot.
In the backyard, the air was still again. No currents. No glow. Just a worn path in the grass, a dented can, and a scattering of rubber balls—evidence of a boy steadily, stubbornly learning how to be a harbor.
Mina picked her notebook back up and flipped through the worn pages until she reached the very first one.
Everything about his quirk lived on that page.
Her gaze went straight to the underlined section Sayo had helped her write—three times revised, every word weighed.
Subject: Ryuuki Haruhama
Hidden Secondary Quirk (Hypothesized Name): Mythic Core
Classification: Internal "integration" / regulation-type meta-quirk.
Function: Acts as a central governor for all ability output—compresses, harmonizes, and limits power so his primary quirk doesn't overload his body.
Behavior:
• Activates during high-stress rescue responses (emotionally charged events).
• Smooths out sudden spikes, forcibly throttling power back into a safe range.
• Converts excess stimulus (adrenaline, impact, fatigue) into stored potential rather than instant discharge.
Impact on Training:
• Makes Ryuuki appear like a late bloomer compared to raw sensor readings.
• Massively reduces the risk of catastrophic backlash or loss of control in childhood.
Conclusion:
Mythic Core is not his main quirk, but a hidden backbone—a safety cage and integrator that keeps his rescue-type ability stable now and, long-term, far more expandable than it looks on paper.
Mina closed her eyes briefly.
You're sitting on enough power to explode, she thought, fingers resting on the edge of the page. And this little Core keeps it at a level a nine-year-old can live with.
She shut the notebook and slid it back into the drawer.
"Truly fascinating," she murmured. "And terrifying."
They'd moved out of their old apartment a few months ago, into a small, quiet house on the edge of the same district. It wasn't big, but it had a fence, a backyard, and neighbors who minded their own business.
Privacy for training.
Normalcy for everything else.
Ryuuki still went to the same school, still walked to the same park, still laughed with the same friends. The dragon stayed on her pages.
The world saw Harbor Current.
The Next Day
Mina and Ryuuki walked side by side toward the park, the late afternoon sun warm on their backs. Ryuuki's backpack bounced slightly as he half-walked, half-skipped, his horn catching bits of light.
"Excited to see your friends?" Mina asked.
Ryuuki immediately started bouncing more.
"Of course I am! Today we're gonna go into the forest and try to catch lizards, then build a lizard army."
Mina laughed.
"A lizard army, huh? I hope the lizards signed consent forms."
He snorted.
"Well, we're not gonna hurt them," he said quickly. "Just… recruit them."
She smiled, then let her tone soften.
"And how's Izuku doing?"
Ryuuki blinked, then shrugged.
"Izuku? He's fine. Why?"
"Because I want to make sure you're still treating him like an equal," Mina said. "Quirkless people are just as important as anyone else."
Ryuuki gave her an almost offended look.
"Of course I am. Me and Izuku are best friends. I wouldn't let anyone do anything to him. He's also really smart and sometimes tells me stuff about my quirk."
Mina's steps hitched just a little.
"…What kind of stuff?" she asked.
"Well," Ryuuki said, eyes brightening, "I told him how my currents work, and he asked if I could use them to travel."
"To travel?" Mina raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Like, if I can move other things, what if I made currents under my own feet?"
"And?" she asked. "Did you try it?"
"Uh-huh." He sounded completely casual. "We tested it near the hill by the canal. I can't fly or anything, but I can make these little currents under my shoes and kind of glide on them for a bit. Like sliding on invisible water."
He shifted into a surfer stance as he walked, grinning.
"Me and Izuku keep thinking of new ways to use it," he added. "And so far Izuku's been right every time. He's a total genius."
Mina reached over and ruffled his curls.
"Then make sure you keep him close," she said quietly. "And always protect him."
Ryuuki nodded without hesitation.
"Of course I will."
They turned onto a busier street leading straight to the park. Families walked ahead, kids ran in clumps, a couple of cyclists rolled down the bike lane.
One of them—a boy on a too-big bike—was going way too fast.
Head down. Pedaling hard. Eyes glued to the end of the path.
He didn't see the older man step off the curb, arms full of grocery bags, starting across the bike lane.
Mina's eyes widened.
The cyclist finally looked up.
His face went pale.
He yanked the handlebars and slammed the brakes, but momentum carried him forward, tires screeching on the pavement. The distance was too short. A direct collision was guaranteed.
Mina's muscles tensed. Her quirk twitched, ready to move.
Ryuuki beat her to it.
His head snapped toward the danger. His horn flared with sudden golden light.
The air between the bike and the man thickened like invisible water.
The older man jolted sideways, shoved out of the bike's path by a sudden sideways current. At the same time, a dense cushion of force slammed into the front of the bike, bleeding off speed in an instant.
The kid toppled over, hitting the ground hard, but not bone-breaking hard. The man landed on his backside a few feet away, groceries jostling but not exploding everywhere.
No shattered bones. No head-first impact. Just bruises and scrapes.
Mina blinked, adrenaline still buzzing.
Ryuuki stood with his arm outstretched, fingers trembling, a thin bead of sweat sliding down his cheek. The light in his horn flickered and slowly dimmed. The air around them eased, tension leaking away like a released breath.
"Are you alright?" Mina called, hurrying over.
The older man let her help him up, testing his legs.
"I–I think so," he said, wincing. "Just landed hard. That could've been… much worse."
The boy on the bike pushed himself upright, cradling a scraped elbow.
"I'm fine," he muttered. "I wasn't watching, that was my fault…"
He glanced past Mina—and saw Ryuuki.
"You did that, right?" he asked, voice a little shaky. "You moved us?"
Ryuuki rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks reddening.
"Um… yeah," he said.
People who had seen everything started murmuring, then clapping.
"Nice job, kid!" someone called.
"Mom, did you see that? He used his quirk!" a child squeaked.
"That kid's gonna be a popular hero in the future," another adult said.
"Oh my god, that was so cool."
"Such a heroic quirk…"
Ryuuki stood there, hand slowly lowering, chest rising and falling a little faster than normal. The praise washed over him like warm water. A tiny, proud smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
His horn gave one last faint pulse of light, then went still.
Mina watched him, pride and worry tangling in her chest.
They see Harbor Current, she thought. Good. Let them keep seeing just that.
She put a hand on his shoulder.
"Clean save," she said quietly. "You did well."
Ryuuki beamed at her, then looked toward the park where his friends were probably already waiting.
"Can I still go?" he asked.
"Of course," Mina said. "Heroes are allowed to play after they save the day."
He laughed and jogged ahead, waving awkwardly when the older man called out a thanks.
Mina lingered for a second, eyes flicking back to where his horn had flared and the air had folded.
Mythic Core active, she logged silently. Instant response. Safe output. Too many witnesses…
Then she followed her son toward the park, one hand unconsciously resting over the spot in her chest where her heart was still racing.
Lizard Recruitment Squad
The forest swallowed their voices the deeper they went.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves in broken beams, painting the dirt path in patches of gold and shadow. Branches snapped under small sneakers, birds chattered overhead, and somewhere far off, water whispered over rocks.
The five boys walked in a loose cluster, plastic bug containers clacking at their sides.
"Alright, squad," Bakugo announced, hands behind his head like a commander addressing troops. "Today, we're gonna build the world's most powerful and dangerous lizard squad."
He hopped up on a root and spun to face them, eyes blazing.
"This elite branch of the lizard army," he declared, "will be called… the Murder Explosion Corps."
Ryuuki snorted, clapping a hand over his mouth.
Izuku choked on a laugh. "T-that's… kind of a scary name for lizards, Kacchan…"
Daichi's eyes lit up like someone had just handed him a war strategy book.
"We have to train them to be the very best," he said, fists clenched. "So we can take back the swing set."
Tsubasa flared his wings slightly, feathers rustling.
"Yeah! Those older kids just marched in and took what was ours," he grumbled. "We can't let that stand."
He snapped his wings again, buzzing with excitement.
"It's about time we get it back."
Ryuuki and Izuku exchanged a look, both of them trying not to laugh at how serious the "swing set liberation" mission was being treated.
"We might be forming a lizard resistance," Ryuuki whispered.
"Lizard Liberation Front…" Izuku snickered.
Before he could finish, Bakugo hissed, "Wait."
He threw an arm out in front of them, halting the whole group.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the forest floor like a veteran hunter. Leaves rustled in the light breeze. A beetle trundled across a rock. Somewhere to the right, a twig snapped.
"There," Bakugo whispered, pointing.
On a flat rock a few meters ahead, basking in a shaft of sun, sat a small reptile: a red-eyed crocodile skink, its matte black scales studded with tiny spikes. It lay perfectly still, soaking up warmth, orange rings around its eyes glowing faintly in the light.
It looked like a miniature dragon someone had shrunk and dropped into the woods.
All five boys immediately dropped into a crouch, instinctively "sneaking," even though their whispers were anything but quiet.
"That thing looks awesome," Daichi breathed.
"Alright, squad. That's our first recruit," Bakugo said, voice low and serious. "If we can catch this beast, he'll be the first member of the Murder Explosion Corps. Maybe even its commander."
He turned to Ryuuki.
"Ryuuki, get ready. We're gonna need your currents to capture him in one shot. No scaring him off."
Ryuuki nodded, swallowing back his excitement.
"Got it."
Bakugo glanced around at the others.
"You guys ready?"
"Ready," they chorused—some whispering, some not even trying.
Ryuuki took a slow breath and stepped a little closer, staying low. The skink blinked once but didn't move, sides rising and falling quietly.
He extended his hand, fingers spreading just enough to feel the air.
Gentle, he reminded himself. Like guiding a ball, not slamming debris.
His horn glowed faintly—just a soft, warm light this time. The air between his palm and the rock gave the slightest shiver.
A small, steady current rolled out, slipped under the skink, and lifted it just a few centimeters off the rock. The lizard didn't flail or thrash; it just stared at him, tiny claws tucked in, as if some part of it knew struggling wouldn't help.
Ryuuki's hand closed slowly, and the current pulled the little reptile through the air toward him.
He caught it cleanly, palms forming a gentle cage around the cool, armored body.
"Gotcha," Ryuuki whispered, grinning.
The others stared, eyes wide.
"Whoa…" Tsubasa breathed. "You just… pulled it. Like a magnet for lizards."
Daichi pressed close, trying to peer through Ryuuki's fingers.
"Your quirk is so unfair. You could build a whole army in a day."
Izuku's eyes were practically sparkling.
"Ryu, that was amazing," he said. "You adjusted the current so it wouldn't hit the rock first. You didn't even jostle him."
Ryuuki's cheeks reddened at the praise.
"Wanna hold him?" he asked.
Izuku flinched back a little, then forced himself to nod.
"Y-yeah. I mean… yes, please."
Ryuuki carefully transferred the skink into Izuku's hands.
The little reptile stiffened for a second, claws flexing anxiously. It stared up at Izuku, then over at Ryuuki again, almost like it was checking to make sure he was still there.
Up close, its details were even clearer.
"Wow…" Daichi murmured. "Look at this little guy. He's got those cool red eyes, and those crazy matte black scales…"
"It's like a tiny armored dragon," Tsubasa said, grinning. "Way cooler than a regular lizard."
Bakugo crossed his arms, expression dead serious.
"Alright, listen up," he said. "This isn't a kidnapping. This is a recruitment. We have to see if he's okay with being the first member—and leader—of the Murder Explosion Corps."
He knelt so he was eye-level with the skink in Izuku's hands.
Then, without a hint of irony, he started clicking his tongue and making strange little sounds, like he was trying to speak Lizard Language.
"Ki ki ki… tch tch… grrr… you hear me, lizard?" Bakugo muttered. "Join us or stay weak forever."
Tsubasa slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Daichi's shoulders shook. Izuku's eyes watered as he tried not to burst out. Ryuuki bit his lip, choking down a snort.
The skink stared at Bakugo for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, it made a tiny noise back—a soft, rasping chirp—and flicked its head toward Ryuuki.
The boys froze.
"…Did he just answer you?" Daichi whispered.
"I think he did," Tsubasa said, eyes wide.
Bakugo, of course, took it as a full acceptance speech.
"Ha!" he barked. "Did you hear that? He said yes. I knew it."
The four boys erupted into cheers.
"Welcome to the squad!"
"Murder Explosion Corps first recruit!"
"Our tiny commander!"
Bakugo jabbed a thumb toward the skink like he was knighting it.
"From now on, you are the leader," he declared. "And your name will be… Murder Slaughter Lizard!"
Izuku toppled sideways into the leaf litter, laughing so hard he wheezed.
"Th-that name— it's so—overkill—!"
Even Tsubasa broke, doubling over, wings shaking. Daichi clutched his stomach.
The skink took that moment of chaos to make a decision.
It wriggled out of Izuku's hands, scurried across his arm, dropped to the ground, and darted straight toward Ryuuki.
"Whoa—hey!" Ryuuki yelped.
The lizard shot up his pant leg, tiny claws finding purchase. In one smooth climb, it scaled his shirt, then his shoulder, then curled up comfortably on top of his head, settling into his curls like it had always lived there.
All five boys went quiet.
Daichi slowly pointed.
"…It looks like he chose his master."
"Yeah," Tsubasa said. "I think you should name him, Ryu."
Ryuuki blinked, going a little cross-eyed as he tried to look up.
The little reptile peered down at him, red-orange eyes calm and unbothered, like it was perfectly content to sit on the kid whose horn glowed when people were about to fall.
Izuku pushed himself back up, still grinning, cheeks flushed.
"He's got those fire eyes…" Izuku said quietly. "And he's really brave for something so small."
"Fire eyes, huh…" Ryuuki smiled up at the lizard. "Then… how about Kaji?"
He reached up and brushed a finger gently along the skink's side.
"A little fire."
The skink chirped softly, curling deeper into his hair like it approved.
"Alright then," Bakugo said. "Kaji, first commander of the Murder Explosion Corps."
Tsubasa puffed his chest out like they'd just completed some sacred contract.
"You better lead us to victory, Kaji."
Ryuuki stood there in the dappled forest light, a tiny black "dragon" perched on his head, his friends laughing around him, the biggest war in their world still just a fight over a stolen swing set.
He didn't know yet how many people he'd save.
He didn't know yet how many times his horn would glow in the dark.
Right now, he just knew one thing.
"Welcome to the team, Kaji," he said softly.
The skink chirped again, like a promise.
Sunset Vows
The boys finally called it quits once their bug containers were stuffed with prize catches. By the time they pushed out of the forest, the sky had dipped into shades of orange and violet. The sunset stretched long across the path home, warm light flickering through the trees as if the world itself were winding down for the night.
Izuku walked a little ahead, cradling a bright green gecko that somehow matched him perfectly—nervous, alert, and far too smart-looking for a creature that size.
On top of Ryuuki's head perched Kaji, his tiny tail flicking like a flag claiming territory.
Bakugo stomped along proudly with a lizard that looked exactly like him—spiky, unimpressed, and probably ready to explode if someone breathed wrong near it.
As they hit a stretch of open road, Ryuuki glanced over at Izuku.
"Hey, Izuku… what do you want to be when we grow up?" he asked.
Izuku blinked, clutching the gecko a little tighter.
"I… I'm not really sure what the right path is yet," he admitted. "But I know one thing for sure."
He swallowed, then lifted his chin.
"I want to be a hero."
There was something in his eyes when he said it—quiet fire, fragile but real.
Ryuuki couldn't help but admire it.
"Even though you're quirkless?" Ryuuki asked softly.
Izuku froze mid-step. His shoulders trembled just slightly.
But when he turned back, his smile was steady.
"Even if I'm quirkless… I'll still be a hero," he said. "I'll save people with a smile. That's what heroes do."
For a moment, Ryuuki just stared at him—the small kid with shaking hands but a heart that refused to bend. Then he gripped Izuku's shoulder and pulled him a little aside, lowering his voice so Bakugo wouldn't hear.
"I believe in you, Izuku," he said. "For real."
Izuku's breath hitched.
Ryuuki straightened, a grin spreading across his face.
"So how about this? What do you say we both try for U.A.?"
Izuku's eyes widened—actually glowed.
"Y-you want to go to U.A. too!? That's where All Might trained! Of course I want to go!"
Ryuuki laughed, the sound echoing lightly over the path as the sun dipped lower.
"Then it's settled," he said. "You and me—we'll get into U.A. together. And we'll become heroes everyone can look up to."
A breeze swept through the trees, scattering warm light over the two boys—two dreams just beginning to take shape in the falling dusk.
Bakugo snorted.
"Tch. U.A. is only for the best of the best—the elite," he said.
He tossed his lizard up in his hand and caught it again. The little reptile snapped its jaws with a sharp, almost mocking chirp, like it agreed with every word.
"To get into U.A., you gotta have heart…" Bakugo jabbed a thumb at his chest. "You gotta have passion…"
A tiny crackle of harmless sparks popped from his palm, lighting his face in the fading orange of sunset.
He took one more step forward, close enough that Izuku had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze.
"But the most important thing—" Bakugo held the moment, eyes hard. "—you need a powerful quirk."
The air between them tightened.
Bakugo's stare was unblinking, intense in a way that didn't feel like teasing—it felt like a verdict. He really believed what he was saying. To him, it wasn't bullying. It was the truth carved into stone.
Izuku's fingers clenched around his gecko. His throat worked, but no words came out. He dropped his gaze to the dirt path, shoulders curling in just slightly.
On Ryuuki's head, Kaji's tail stiffened, then began to flick anxiously.
Bakugo's lizard puffed itself up, throat flaring, as if ready to lunge.
Their pets were mirroring them perfectly.
Ryuuki stepped between them before the tension snapped.
"That's… not necessarily true," he said.
Bakugo's eyes slid to him, irritated but curious.
"U.A. has more than just the Hero Course, you know," Ryuuki went on. "There's General Studies, Business, the Support Course… They're all part of the same school. And we both know Izuku's more than smart enough to get into any of those."
He jerked his chin toward Izuku.
"Quirk or no quirk."
Izuku flinched, then looked up at Ryuuki, surprise and something like gratitude flickering behind his eyes.
Bakugo clicked his tongue.
"If you say so. But—"
He turned fully toward Ryuuki now, jabbing a finger at his face.
"There can only be one Number One Hero," he said. "And that's gonna be me."
He stabbed his thumb into his own chest, lips curling into a confident, arrogant smirk that still held a spark of genuine ambition instead of pure ego. His lizard mimicked him in its own way—raising its head high, eyes narrow, like a tiny reptilian king.
Ryuuki couldn't help himself; he smirked back.
"Then I'll just have to aim for the top too," he said. "You can be Number One…"
He tilted his head, Kaji adjusting his balance and chirping softly.
"…but don't cry when I'm right behind you at Number Two," Ryuuki added. "Or when Izuku shows up and proves you wrong."
Izuku's eyes widened.
"R-Ryuuki…!"
Bakugo scoffed.
"Like that damn nerd could ever get into the Hero Course."
For the first time, Izuku spoke up without stuttering as much.
"M-maybe not now… but I'll try," he said. "I'll study U.A.'s exams, I'll train, I'll learn everything about heroes. Even if I don't get into the Hero Course, I'll still get into U.A. And one day…"
He took a breath, clutching his gecko gently instead of desperately.
"…one day, I'll save people. That's what matters."
Silence settled over the road for a moment—just the sound of cicadas and the crunch of gravel under their feet.
Ryuuki looked at the two boys:
Bakugo, blazing with raw confidence.
Izuku, trembling but refusing to step back.
He felt something solidify inside his chest.
"Fine then," Ryuuki said. "Let's make it a promise."
He stuck his hand out in front of them, palm open.
"You—" he nodded at Bakugo, "—aim for Number One. I'll fight my way up there too. And you—" he looked at Izuku, "—you get into U.A. however you can. Hero Course, Support, General—doesn't matter. As long as we all end up there."
Kaji hopped down from his head, landing on Ryuuki's wrist as if sealing the deal.
Bakugo stared at the offered hand, then snorted and slapped his own palm against it.
"You're gonna regret challenging me, lizard-head," he said.
Izuku hesitated, then slowly placed his hand on top of theirs. His shake was shaky, but his grip tightened.
"I-I won't back down," he said. "Not this time."
Three boys stood in the middle of the sunset-drenched road, hands stacked, lizards perched and chirping around them like strange little witnesses.
None of them knew how hard the path to U.A. would really be.
But in that moment, with the sky burning gold and the future still far away, their promise felt unbreakable.