Haruto took his first steps three days before his first birthday, and immediately regretted it.
Not the walking itself—that was fine. Actually, it was incredible. After a year of crawling and scooting and watching everyone else move around on two legs like it was no big deal, he could finally stand upright and walk like a person.
No, what he regretted was doing it in front of witnesses.
Specifically, his parents, Inko, Izuku, and for some godforsaken reason, his father's entire office via video call.
It happened like this:
Haruto had been practicing standing while holding onto the coffee table. He'd gotten pretty good at it over the past few weeks—could stand for almost a minute without wobbling. His parents thought he was just pulling himself up to look at things. They had no idea he was training.
His father was in the middle of a video conference, laptop open on the dining table, when his mother walked by with laundry.
"Kenji, I'm going to start dinner soon. Can you—oh my god."
"What? What's wrong?"
"Haruto's standing. By himself. Without holding anything."
The video call immediately became background noise.
His father practically threw his laptop aside and rushed over. "He is! Yuki, he's standing!"
Haruto stood there, arms out for balance, suddenly very aware that he'd miscalculated. He'd meant to practice standing when no one was looking. This was not that.
"Kenji, you're still on the call—"
"I don't care! Our son is standing!"
Through the laptop speakers, someone said, "Congratulations, Senju! That's wonderful!"
"Is the baby standing? Can we see?"
"Turn the camera!"
This was rapidly spiraling out of control.
His father grabbed the laptop and angled it toward Haruto, who was still frozen in place, deeply regretting every decision that had led to this moment.
"Look at him!" his father announced to his entire office. "Isn't he amazing?"
"So cute!"
"How old is he?"
"Almost one? That's early!"
Haruto's arms were starting to shake. Standing was harder than it looked, and he'd already been at it for longer than his brief practice sessions.
His mother had her phone out now, recording. "Haru, sweetie, can you walk? Come to mama!"
She was maybe three feet away. Three feet that suddenly looked like three miles.
"Come on, baby! You can do it!"
The entire office was watching. His mother was watching. His father was practically vibrating with anticipation.
Haruto looked at the distance, looked at his mother's encouraging face, and thought: *Well, I'm committed now.*
He took one step.
His legs cooperated, which was honestly surprising.
He took another step.
Still good. Still balanced.
Third step.
His father was crying. Actual tears.
Fourth step—
His foot caught on absolutely nothing, and Haruto went down like a sack of potatoes.
Face first into the carpet.
There was a collective gasp from everyone—in person and through the laptop.
Then Haruto did what any self-respecting baby would do in this situation: he rolled onto his back and started laughing.
Not fake baby laughs. Real, genuine laughter, because the absurdity of the situation had finally broken through his usual stoic demeanor. He'd just performed his first steps in front of a live studio audience and ended with a face-plant. It was objectively hilarious.
His parents, relieved that he wasn't crying, started laughing too.
"He's okay!" his mother announced to the office. "He's laughing!"
"That's the spirit, kid!"
"Tough little guy!"
"My son face-planted on his first steps too. They all do it!"
His father ended the video call—finally—and scooped Haruto up, still laughing. "You did it! You walked! Four whole steps!"
"Five if we count the fall," his mother added, wiping her eyes.
"We're counting the fall."
They were both grinning like maniacs, and Haruto found himself grinning back despite everything. It had been ridiculous and embarrassing and way too public, but there was something infectious about their joy.
"We have to tell Inko!" his mother said suddenly. "She'll want to know! And Izuku—oh, Izuku will be so excited!"
Before Haruto could protest—not that he could actually protest—his mother had her phone out and was calling.
"Inko? You'll never guess what just happened!"
---
Twenty minutes later, the Midoriyas were at their door.
Izuku burst in like he'd been launched from a cannon. "Haru-kun walked! Mama said you walked! Can you do it again? Can I see?"
"Let him breathe, Izuku," Inko laughed, but she looked just as excited. "This is wonderful! They grow up so fast, don't they?"
Too fast, Haruto thought. Way too fast for someone whose mental age was twenty-four and climbing.
"Show Izuku!" his mother urged, setting Haruto down on the carpet. "Come on, sweetie, walk to Izuku!"
Izuku plopped down on the floor a few feet away, bouncing with excitement. "Come on, Haru-kun! You can do it! I believe in you!"
The pressure was unreal. Haruto took a breath—as much as his tiny lungs allowed—and pushed himself to standing.
His legs wobbled. His arms windmilled. But he stayed upright.
"You're doing it!" Izuku cheered. "Now walk! Walk to me!"
Haruto took a step. Then another. His balance was better this time, maybe because he wasn't performing for an office full of structural engineers.
Three steps. Four steps. Five—
He reached Izuku and immediately sat down hard on his butt. Walking was exhausting.
Izuku threw his arms around him in a tackle-hug that probably would've knocked Haruto over if he hadn't already been sitting. "You did it! You walked! That's so cool!"
"Careful, Izuku," Inko said. "Gentle hugs."
"Sorry! I'm just excited!" Izuku pulled back but kept his hands on Haruto's shoulders. "Now we can walk together! We can walk to the park and walk around and walk everywhere!"
That was a lot of walking.
"When I learn to walk, we'll race!" Izuku declared. "I'm gonna practice every day so I can walk too! And then we'll both be walking and it'll be so fun!"
Haruto had no idea how to explain that walking wasn't exactly a competitive sport, so he just nodded.
"Let's practice now!" Izuku tried to pull himself up using Haruto as leverage.
This went about as well as expected.
Both boys toppled over in a heap of limbs and surprised noises.
"Boys!" Inko rushed over, checking for injuries. "Are you okay?"
Izuku was already laughing, still tangled up with Haruto. "We fell down! Like a team!"
"Falling is not a team sport, sweetie."
"It is if you do it together!"
Haruto, trapped under Izuku's elbow, couldn't argue with that logic.
---
The rest of the afternoon devolved into what the mothers called "practice walking" and what Haruto would call "organized chaos."
Izuku was determined to walk too, never mind that he was barely pulling himself up to standing. He'd grip the coffee table, haul himself upright with tremendous effort, and then immediately let go to try walking.
It never ended well.
"Izuku, hold onto something," Inko pleaded after the fifth fall.
"But Haru-kun did it without holding anything!"
"Haru-kun is very talented. You'll get there too, but maybe let's take it slow?"
"No time for slow! Gotta catch up!"
Haruto watched this unfold from the safety of his mother's lap, grateful that his own walking debut was over. Izuku had turned it into a competition that only he was participating in.
"'m gonna walk!" Izuku announced, standing up by the couch. "Watch this!"
He took one step and went down like a tree.
"Ow."
"That's okay!" Inko helped him up. "Try again!"
"No, I got it this time!" Izuku positioned himself again. "This time for sure!"
One step. Down.
"Okay but THIS time—"
One step. Down.
"But if I just—"
Down.
After the eighth attempt, Izuku finally sat down and crossed his arms, pouting. "It's not fair. Why can Haru-kun do it and I can't?"
"Because every baby is different," Inko explained gently. "You'll walk when you're ready. There's no rush."
"But I wanna walk NOW."
"I know, sweetie, but—"
"Can Haru-kun teach me?"
Everyone looked at Haruto.
He looked back, deeply uncomfortable with this development.
"I don't think—" his mother started.
"Please?" Izuku's eyes went wide and pleading. "Haru-kun's really good at it! He can show me!"
Haruto wanted to explain that he wasn't good at it—he'd literally face-planted earlier—but Izuku was already scooting over to him with that determined look that Haruto was learning meant trouble.
"Okay," Izuku said seriously. "Show me how you stand up without holding anything."
Haruto stared at him. How was he supposed to teach someone to walk? He'd barely figured it out himself, and that was with the advantage of already knowing how walking was supposed to work.
"Go on, Haru," his mother encouraged. "Show Izuku."
This was a terrible idea.
But everyone was watching, and Izuku looked so hopeful, so Haruto sighed internally and pushed himself to standing.
His legs wobbled but held.
"See?" Izuku pointed. "How'd you do that? What's the secret?"
The secret was being a reincarnated adult with muscle memory from a previous life, but Haruto couldn't exactly say that.
"Balance," Haruto said, which was technically true.
"Balance." Izuku nodded sagely, like this was profound wisdom. "Okay. Balance."
He tried to stand up. Immediately fell over.
"More balance!" Izuku tried again. Fell again.
"Even MORE balance!" Down again.
This continued for several minutes until Inko finally intervened.
"Maybe we should take a break from walking practice," she suggested diplomatically. "Why don't you boys play with your toys for a bit?"
"But—"
"No buts. Rest time."
Izuku slumped in defeat but obediently crawled over to his bag of action figures. Haruto, relieved to be done with his brief career as a walking instructor, sat down next to him.
"You're really good at walking," Izuku said quietly, pulling out his All Might figure. "You're good at everything."
Haruto frowned. That wasn't true. He was terrible at being a baby. He cried at inappropriate times, couldn't communicate properly, and had recently committed war crimes against a diaper.
"Not everything," Haruto said.
"But you walked first. And you're always so calm. And you never cry." Izuku fidgeted with his toy. "I cry a lot. Mama says it's okay, but Kacchan says babies who cry are weak."
Ah. Bakugo. They hadn't seen him in a while, but apparently, his influence was alive and well.
"Crying's okay," Haruto said, because it seemed like something he should say. "Everyone cries."
"Do you?"
Honestly? Not really. Not the normal baby crying anyway. But admitting that seemed cruel when Izuku was clearly feeling insecure.
"Sometimes," Haruto lied.
Izuku brightened a little. "Really?"
"Really."
"Even though you're really strong?"
Strong. That was a funny word for a one-year-old who'd face-planted in front of his father's entire office.
"Not strong," Haruto said. "Just... trying."
"That's what Mama says too. She says trying is what matters." Izuku smiled, his earlier sadness evaporating like it had never existed. "Okay! Let's play heroes! You can be All Might this time!"
"You're All Might."
"But you walked today! You should get to be All Might!"
"You be All Might."
"No, you!"
"You."
They went back and forth like this until their mothers intervened and suggested they BOTH be All Might, which didn't make any sense but somehow satisfied Izuku enough to start playing.
As the afternoon wore on, Haruto found himself relaxing despite everything. Yes, his walking debut had been a disaster. Yes, he was now apparently responsible for teaching Izuku to walk. Yes, his father had broadcast his face-plant to his entire office.
But Izuku was happy. His parents were happy. And for just a moment, Haruto let himself be happy too.
Even if it wouldn't last.
Even if tomorrow would bring new challenges.
For now, sitting on the carpet with his friend, playing with toys and pretending to be heroes, was enough.
---
That night, after the Midoriyas left and Haruto was fed and bathed and dressed in his pajamas, his father sat on the floor next to his crib.
"You know," his father said quietly, "I'm really proud of you, Haru. Not just for walking, though that was incredible. But for being such a good friend to Izuku. I see how patient you are with him, how kind. That matters more than walking or talking or any milestone."
Haruto looked up at him, and something in his chest squeezed tight.
"You're going to be a good person," his father continued. "I can tell already. Whatever you do with your life, whatever quirk you get, you're going to use it to help people. That's what matters."
He kissed Haruto's forehead and stood up. "Sweet dreams, little hero."
The door closed, and Haruto was alone with the fake stars and his thoughts.
A good person.
His father thought he was going to be a good person.