What If Deku Chose a Peaceful Life as a Farmer

 

The smell of burning sugar and ozone hung heavy in the alleyway, a pungent cocktail of destruction that stuck to the back of Izuku Midoriya’s throat.

It was a smell he associated with Kacchan. It was the smell of fear, of humiliation, and of the scorching heat of an explosion close to his face. But today, it was also the smell of survival.

Izuku sat on the cold pavement, his back pressed against the rough brickwork of a convenience store wall. The flashing red and blue lights of the police cruisers painted the scene in a strobe-light chaos. Heroes were everywhere—Death Arms was giving a statement to the press, Kamui Woods was nursing a burn on his arm, and Mount Lady was waving to a crowd that had gathered behind the police tape.

And there, in the center of it all, was All Might. The Symbol of Peace. He was surrounded by reporters, his signature laugh booming out, though it sounded slightly strained to Izuku’s obsessive ears.

Izuku looked down at his hands. They were covered in soot and slime. They were shaking. Not a subtle tremor, but a violent rattling that traveled up his wrists and into his shoulders.

I moved, he thought, his mind racing at a mile a minute. My legs just moved on their own. I couldn't stop them. I saw Kacchan’s eyes—he was asking for help—and I just ran.

He should have been proud. In the logic of every comic book he had ever read, this was the Origin Story. This was the moment the protagonist proves their worthiness. The Pro Heroes had scolded him for his recklessness, calling him a fool for running into a villain attack without a Quirk, but Izuku knew the truth of what he had felt. For a split second, he had been a hero.

But as the adrenaline faded, leaving him cold and nauseous, another feeling washed over him. It wasn't triumph. It wasn't the burning desire to do it again.

It was terror.

Sheer, unadulterated terror.

He remembered the feeling of the sludge forcing its way down his esophagus. He remembered the suffocating weight of it, the darkness closing in, the absolute certainty that he was going to die in a dirty tunnel under an overpass, leaving his mother all alone. He remembered the heat of Bakugo’s explosions, indiscriminate and lethal, nearly taking Izuku’s head off in the crossfire.

I almost died, Izuku realized, the thought landing with the weight of an anvil. Twice in one day. I almost died.

He looked up at All Might again. The man was a titan, a god among men. But Izuku had seen the other side, hadn't he? Earlier that day, on the rooftop. He had seen the skeletal, coughing man spitting blood. He had seen the wound that destroyed a stomach and a respiratory system.

Is that the price? Izuku wondered, his heart rate failing to slow down. To be a hero... do you have to be willing to be eaten alive? Do you have to be willing to wither away until you're a skeleton spitting blood?

"Hey, kid."

Izuku flinched, snapping his head up. The police officers and the crowd were dispersing. The sun was setting, casting long, bruised purple shadows across the city. He hadn't realized he’d been sitting there for nearly an hour.

It was All Might. But not the muscular form. In a puff of steam that nobody else noticed in the dwindling light, the hero shrank down into his true form—the gaunt, sharp-angled man with sunken eyes. He stood at the entrance of the alley, hidden from the public view.

"A-All Might," Izuku squeaked, scrambling to his feet. His knees knocked together.

The hero walked forward, his footsteps heavy. He looked tired. Bone tired. "I’ve been looking for you. I managed to shake the reporters."

"I... I'm sorry!" Izuku bowed instantly, a reflex honed by years of apologizing for his own existence. "I didn't mean to get in the way! I just—my legs, they—"

"They moved on their own," All Might finished for him.

Izuku froze, looking up.

All Might offered a small, blood-flecked smile. "Top heroes have stories about them from their school days. Most of them have one thing in common: their bodies moved before they could think." The hero placed a hand on his chest, clutching his shirt. "That happened to you today, didn't it?"

The wind blew through the alley, carrying the scent of trash and city grit. Izuku stared at his idol. This was it. The moment. The validation he had craved since he was four years old. The words he had begged his mother to say, the words he had wanted to hear from Bakugo, from his teachers, from anyone.

"You..." All Might started, his blue eyes intense. "You can become a—"

"Wait."

 The word tore out of Izuku’s throat before he could stop it. It was loud, cracked, and desperate.

All Might blinked, surprised. He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Young man?"

Izuku was trembling again. Tears were pricking the corners of his eyes, but they weren't the tears of joy he had always imagined. They were tears of overwhelming exhaustion.

"Please," Izuku whispered, clutching the strap of his yellow backpack so hard his knuckles turned white. "Please don't say it."

All Might tilted his head, confusion etching deep lines into his forehead. "I... I don't understand. Earlier today, you asked me if someone without a Quirk could be a hero. You looked so desperate. And today, you proved you have the spirit of one. I was about to offer you—"

"I know," Izuku interrupted again, his voice gaining a shaky strength. "I can hear it in your voice. You were going to tell me I could do it. Maybe... maybe you were even going to offer to help me."

All Might remained silent, confirming the suspicion.

"But..." Izuku looked down at his hands again. He saw the scars from years of 'hero analysis' notes, the burns from Kacchan’s practice shots, the calluses from trying to train a body that refused to be special. "When I ran out there... I wasn't thinking about justice. I wasn't thinking about peace. I was just thinking that I didn't want Kacchan to die."

He looked up, meeting All Might’s gaze. "And then, when you saved us... I saw the blood on your chin. I remembered your wound."

Izuku took a step back. "I don't want to die, All Might. I don't want to be a skeleton. I don't want to leave my mom alone."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and shameful. In a society that worshiped self-sacrifice, admitting you wanted to live was tantamount to cowardice.

But All Might didn't scoff. He didn't frown. His expression softened, transforming into something profoundly sad and undeniably human. He slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on a crate.

"That," All Might said softly, "is not a weakness, Young Midoriya. That is survival."

"I always thought..." Izuku sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "I always thought that if I just tried hard enough, the fear would go away. That the desire to save people would be bigger than the fear. But today... the fear was so big. It was everything."

"It never goes away," All Might admitted, his voice raspy. "The fear. We just learn to ignore it. And sometimes... sometimes that kills us." He touched his side, the site of his horrific injury.

"I can't do it," Izuku said, the realization crystallizing in his chest. It hurt. It felt like tearing a bandage off a fresh wound, ripping away the scab of a dream he had held onto for ten years. "I can't go to U.A. I can't be a hero. Not like you."

The silence that followed was long. The city sounds—sirens, traffic, distant chatter—seemed to fade into the background.

Finally, All Might stood up. He walked over to Izuku and placed a large, skeletal hand on the boy’s shoulder. It wasn't the heavy grip of a mentor conferring power; it was the gentle touch of a guardian.

"Then you have made a brave choice," All Might said. "Knowing your limits... knowing your heart... that takes a strength that many Pros lack. You saved a life today, Young Midoriya. If that is the only life you ever save, it is enough. But..." He paused. "I have a feeling you will find other ways to save people."

Izuku burst into tears. Ugly, heaving sobs that shook his entire frame. He cried for the dream that was dying. He cried for the relief of letting it go. He cried because the Number One Hero didn't look at him with disappointment, but with respect.

All Might waited until the boy had cried himself out. "Go home, kid. Your mother is probably worried sick."

"Thank you," Izuku whispered, bowing deeply one last time. "Thank you for saving me. In every way."

The walk home was a blur. Izuku felt like a ghost haunting his own neighborhood. He passed the park where he and Bakugo used to play. He passed the riverbank where he used to practice his All Might pose. Every street corner held a memory of a dream that was now officially in the past.

When he unlocked the door to the apartment, the silence was instantly broken by the sound of frantic footsteps.

"Izuku!"

Inko Midoriya hit him with the force of a linebacker, her arms wrapping around him in a vice grip. She was sobbing, her tears flowing in torrents that defied the laws of physics.

"I saw the news! I saw the sludge! Oh my goodness, my baby, are you hurt? Did he hurt you? I was so scared, I called the police, I called the hospital, I—"

"Mom," Izuku said, burying his face in her shoulder. She smelled like laundry detergent and comfort. "Mom, I'm okay."

"You ran in there! You reckless, foolish boy!" She pulled back, checking his face for injuries, her hands trembling. "Why did you do that? You could have been killed!"

"I know," Izuku said quietly. "I know, Mom."

He guided her to the couch, sitting her down. The apartment was warm, filled with the clutter of a lived-in life. It was safe. It was the opposite of the sludge villain.

"Mom," Izuku said, sitting opposite her on the low coffee table. He took her hands. "We need to talk."

Inko froze, panic flaring in her eyes again. "What is it? Did the school call? Is it Katsuki?"

"No," Izuku shook his head. He took a deep breath. "I'm withdrawing my application to U.A. High."

Inko blinked. Once. Twice. The tears stopped flowing, suspended by pure shock. "What?"

"I'm not going to be a hero," Izuku said, his voice steady for the first time in his life regarding this topic. "I realized today... I'm not cut out for it. I don't want to fight villains. I don't want to make you worry every time I walk out the door. I’m done."

Inko stared at him, her mouth trembling. For years, she had apologized to him. She had looked at him with guilt because she couldn't give him a Quirk. She had supported his dream because she feared crushing his spirit, even though it terrified her.

"You... you really mean it?" she whispered.

"I really mean it."

Inko let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and pulled him into another hug. This one was different. It wasn't frantic; it was heavy with relief. "Oh, Izuku. Oh, thank god. I’m so sorry, I know it was your dream, I know I should be sad for you, but I’m just so happy you’re going to be safe."

They sat there for a long time, the tension of a decade melting away from their small family unit.

Later that night, after a dinner of katsudon that tasted better than anything he had eaten in years, Izuku found himself wandering the apartment. He couldn't sleep. His room, covered wall-to-wall in All Might merchandise, felt suffocating. It felt like a shrine to a dead person.

He walked into the storage closet in the hallway, looking for empty boxes. If he was going to move on, he needed to pack this stuff away.

He dragged a step-ladder over and climbed up to the high shelves, shifting aside old winter coats and broken appliances. His hand brushed against a wooden crate pushed to the very back. It was covered in a thick layer of grey dust.

Curious, Izuku pulled it down. It was heavy, smelling of cedar and old paper.

"Midoriya Family," was written on the side in faded kanji.

He carried it to the living room and pried the lid open. Inside wasn't hero memorabilia or old taxes. It was tools. Small hand trowels, packets of seeds that had long since expired, and a thick, leather-bound ledger.

Izuku opened the ledger. The pages were yellowed, filled with handwriting that looked vaguely like his own, but sharper.

April 4th, 19XX. Planting season begins. The soil in the east paddock is acidic this year. Will need to treat with lime. The tomatoes are looking promising.

It was a farming journal.

Izuku dug deeper into the box. At the bottom, wrapped in oilcloth, was a framed photograph. It showed an old man with messy green hair—just like Izuku’s—standing in front of a sprawling, somewhat dilapidated farmhouse. He was holding a massive pumpkin and grinning with a missing tooth.

"Grandpa Inko's dad?" Izuku muttered. He barely remembered the man. He had died when Izuku was very young.

Under the photo was a document. A deed.

Property Title: Green Valley Estates.

Location: Nabu District, Prefecture 4.

Owner: Hisashi Midoriya (Transfer on Death to Inko Midoriya/Next of Kin).

Izuku’s eyes widened. He knew his father, Hisashi, was working overseas, breathing fire and pushing papers, sending checks home but rarely visiting. He knew the Midoriya side of the family had roots in the country, but he had never paid it much attention. His eyes had always been fixed on the gleaming towers of U.A. High.

He pulled out a map from the box. It showed the property. It was huge. Arable land, a section of forest, a small creek, a farmhouse, and a barn.

Izuku ran his finger over the map. He traced the lines of the fields.

Analysis, his brain whispered, slipping into its familiar rhythm. This soil composition in Nabu is volcanic-rich. High yield potential for root vegetables. The climate is temperate, distinct seasons. The water table is accessible.

He wasn't analyzing a villain's weakness. He wasn't analyzing a Quirk. He was analyzing potential.

"Saving people," Izuku whispered to the empty room.

He thought about the famine in the history books. He thought about the poverty he saw in the backstreets of Musutafu. He thought about Ochako Uraraka—wait, he didn't know her yet, but he thought about the general concept of people struggling to put food on the table.

Heroes saved people from villains.

But who saved people from hunger?

Who nurtured the earth so that life could continue?

A hero fights. A farmer sustains.

Izuku looked at the photo of his grandfather. The man looked tired, dirty, and sweaty. But he looked happy. He looked peaceful.

The next morning, the conversation with Inko was bizarre.

"You want to... farm?" Inko blinked, holding her coffee cup mid-air.

"The deed is in your name, technically," Izuku said, spreading the documents out on the kitchen table. He had stayed up all night. Not watching hero videos, but reading agricultural forums and the old ledger. His eyes were bright, manic energy replacing the depressive slump of the previous evening. "But Dad never did anything with it. It’s been sitting abandon for ten years. Mom, it’s just sitting there!"

"But, Izuku, you’ve lived in the city your whole life. You don't know how to farm."

"I didn't know how to analyze quirks either, but I learned," Izuku argued, tapping a notebook. He had already started a new one. Hero Analysis for the Future was crossed out. Written in sharp marker was: Project: Green Valley - Vol 1.

"I looked it up," he continued, speaking fast. "The farmhouse is intact, though it needs repairs. The land is overgrown, but the soil foundation is solid. I can fix it. I can grow things. I can... I can make something real."

Inko looked at her son. For the first time in years, he wasn't looking at her with apology. He was looking at her with determination. But it wasn't the scary, self-destructive determination of trying to be All Might. It was a grounded, earthy ambition.

"It's in the middle of nowhere," she pointed out weakly.

"It's quiet," Izuku countered. "No villains. No explosions. Just me and the dirt."

Inko sighed. A smile tugged at her lips. "You look just like your grandfather when you get that look in your eyes." She reached out and smoothed his hair. "If this is what you want... if this makes you happy... then go. I’ll talk to your father. I’ll transfer the deed."

The following week was a whirlwind of dismantling a life.

School was the hardest part. Or, it should have been.

When Izuku walked into the staff room to hand in his withdrawal form, his homeroom teacher looked over his glasses, scoffing.

"Finally gave up, Midoriya? realized you’re just a quirkless nobody?"

A week ago, that would have crushed Izuku. It would have made him stutter and cry. Today, he just looked at the teacher with a strange calmness. His hands, usually fidgeting, were still.

"Yes, sensei," Izuku said politely. "I realized I’m not suited for U.A. So I’m going to go grow vegetables."

The teacher blinked, unsure if he was being mocked. "Vegetables?"

"Yes. Have a good life, sir."

Walking back to the classroom to get his things, the whispers started. The rumor mill in Aldera Junior High traveled faster than Iida’s engines. By the time he slid the door open, the class was silent.

Bakugo Katsuki was sitting on Izuku’s desk. His feet were on the chair. His expression was a thundercloud.

"Oi," Bakugo growled, his palms popping with small explosions. "Deku."

Izuku sighed. He walked over to his desk. "Could you move, Kacchan? I need to get my pencil case."

Bakugo didn't move. He leaned forward, his red eyes narrowing. "I heard a funny joke just now. I heard you withdrew from U.A."

"It's not a joke," Izuku said. He didn't flinch at the smell of nitroglycerin. He was just... tired of it. It felt petty. It felt small. "I’m not taking the exam."

The class gasped. Bakugo looked like he’d been slapped.

"Hah?" Bakugo stood up, kicking the desk over. "You think you’re better than me? You think you’re too good for U.A. now? What’s your angle, nerd? You hiding a quirk? You plotting something?"

"I'm moving to the country to run a farm," Izuku said flatly. He bent down and picked up his spilled pencil case. He picked up his notebook.

"A... farm?" Bakugo’s voice cracked. He looked completely thrown off balance. His entire worldview was built on the pillar that Deku was the pebble in his path, the constant annoyance chasing him. If the pebble just... rolled away into a field? What did that make Bakugo?

"Yeah. Carrots. Potatoes. That sort of thing." Izuku stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He looked at Bakugo. really looked at him. He saw the anger, the pride, the insecurity. And he felt nothing but a distant pity.

"You’re going to be a great hero, Kacchan," Izuku said. There was no sarcasm in his voice. "You’re strong. You’re amazing. Go win."

He turned and walked toward the door.

"DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!" Bakugo screamed, an explosion detonating against a desk. "FIGHT ME! COWARD! DON'T YOU DARE LOOK DOWN ON ME!"

Izuku stopped at the door. He glanced back. "I'm not looking down on you, Kacchan. I’m just looking somewhere else."

He slid the door shut, muffling the sound of Bakugo’s confused rage.

Packing the room took three days.

The limited edition All Might Silver Age poster. The 1/8th scale figurines. The bedsheets. The onesies.

He kept one figurine. The classic one. He put it in his suitcase. The rest, he boxed up. He told Inko to donate them to the local orphanage.

"Are you sure, Izuku?" she asked, holding a rare trading card.

"I'm sure," he said. "Someone else needs the hope more than I do."

He replaced the posters with maps of Nabu. He replaced the hero analysis books with Modern Agriculture Vol. 4 and The Encyclopedia of Pests.

He bought overalls. He bought heavy work boots. He bought gloves.

On the morning of his departure, the sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue. It was the kind of day that usually signaled a villain attack in the city—perfect visibility for news choppers.

Izuku stood at the train station platform. Inko was there, fussing with his collar, tears streaming down her face again.

"You call me every night," she demanded. "And you come back to visit on weekends. And if it's too hard, you come right home. No shame."

"I will, Mom," Izuku smiled. He felt lighter than he had in years. The heavy backpack on his shoulders didn't feel like a burden; it felt like a toolkit.

"Be safe, my baby."

"I will."

The train hissed into the station. It was the Local Line outbound to the prefectures. It wasn't the sleek bullet train that went to the city center. It was older, slower.

Izuku boarded. He found a window seat. The train was mostly empty—just a few elderly folks and some salarymen sleeping off a night shift.

As the train pulled away, he waved to Inko until she was a speck in the distance.

He watched Musutafu roll by. The tall skyscrapers, the billboards featuring Mount Lady’s newest shampoo commercial, the dense urban sprawl where heroes leaped from rooftop to rooftop.

Gradually, the concrete gave way to suburbs. The suburbs gave way to industrial zones. And then, the gray started to turn green.

Rice paddies flashed by. Dense forests climbed up the sides of distant mountains. The air coming through the cracked window changed. The smell of exhaust and ozone faded, replaced by the scent of damp earth, pine needles, and burning wood.

Izuku opened his new notebook.

Goal 1: Assess the farmhouse structural integrity.

Goal 2: Clear the weeds from the south field.

Goal 3: Figure out how to fix a tractor.

He looked at his reflection in the window. The boy staring back didn't look like a hero. He looked plain. He looked ordinary.

And for the first time, Izuku Midoriya was absolutely fine with that.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the country air.

"Plus Ultra," he whispered softly to himself, but the meaning had changed. It wasn't about going beyond his limits to smash a villain. It was about going beyond the expectations of a society that told him he was worthless.

The train rattled around a bend, and a vast valley opened up before him, bathed in golden sunlight. It was wild, overgrown, and beautiful.

"I'm here," he said.

The road less traveled stretched out before him, covered in weeds and promise. And Izuku couldn't wait to get his hands dirty.

The bus ride from the train station to the outskirts of Nabu was a jarring experience, both physically and mentally. The suspension on the old public transport vehicle had likely given up the ghost sometime in the mid-90s, meaning Izuku felt every pothole, every gravel patch, and every rut in the winding mountain road.

He was the only passenger left. The driver, a man with a jaw like a block of granite and a Quirk that seemed to involve having elongated, telescopic eyes that could see around hairpin turns, glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"End of the line, kid," the driver grunted as the bus wheezed to a halt. "Green Valley drop-off. You sure this is where you want to be? Ain't nothin' out here but bears and the old Midoriya place, and that’s been a ghost town for a decade."

Izuku stood up, wrestling his two large suitcases and his oversized yellow backpack down the aisle. "Yes, sir. That’s... that’s my grandfather’s place."

The driver’s eyes retracted slightly, blinking in surprise. "Hisashi’s boy? Well, I’ll be. Good luck to you then. You’re gonna need it. That land’s got a temper."

With a hiss of hydraulics, the doors opened. Izuku stepped out.

The silence hit him first.

In Musutafu, silence didn't exist. There was always the hum of the electric grid, the distant wail of sirens, the murmur of millions of people living stacked on top of one another. Here, the silence was heavy. It was a physical weight, composed of wind rustling through ancient pines and the distant, rhythmic chirping of cicadas.

The bus pulled away, leaving a cloud of dust that settled slowly on Izuku’s new work boots. He adjusted his grip on his luggage and turned to face his inheritance.

It was...

"Oh," Izuku breathed, the word escaping him like a deflated balloon. "Oh, wow."

On the map, Green Valley Estates had looked manageable. A square of green ink. A little house icon.

In reality, it was a disaster zone.

The driveway was less a road and more a suggestion of where vehicles might have once traveled, now choked with thistles that reached Izuku’s waist. The gate hung off one hinge, groaning in the breeze. Beyond it, the farmhouse—a traditional two-story wooden structure with a tiled roof—looked like it was being eaten alive by ivy. The vines had climbed the porch pillars, smothered the windows, and were making a serious attempt at the chimney.

To the left, the barn leaned precariously to the side, looking like a tired old man leaning on a cane. And the fields...

The fields were a jungle. What should have been rows of crops were instead a chaotic riot of waist-high grass, stinging nettles, and aggressive shrubs that had reclaimed the earth with a vengeance.

Izuku felt a familiar sensation in his stomach. It was the same sinking feeling he got when he looked at a math test he hadn't studied for, or when Bakugo cracked his knuckles across the classroom. It was the feeling of being hopelessly, laughably outmatched.

"I can't do this," he whispered to the empty air. "I'm just a kid. I don't have a strength Quirk. I don't have a plant manipulation Quirk. I can't even lift these suitcases without wheezing."

He dropped his bags. The thud was dull and final.

He stood there for a long time, the afternoon sun beating down on his neck. He thought about turning around. He could walk back to the village, call his mom, and tell her he’d made a mistake. He could go back to the city, maybe apply to a regular high school, get a desk job, and live a quiet, disappointing life.

But then, he remembered All Might’s eyes.

“You have made a brave choice.”

And he remembered Bakugo’s face. The shock. The disbelief that Deku would dare to walk a different path.

If he went back now, he wouldn't just be failing himself. He’d be proving everyone right. He’d be proving that Deku really was useless.

Izuku slapped his cheeks with both hands. Smack!

"No!" he shouted, startling a crow that had been eyeing his luggage. "Analyze! Don't panic, analyze!"

He reached into his backpack and pulled out his new notebook: Project: Green Valley - Vol 1. He uncapped a pen with a click that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet.

"Okay," he muttered, his voice dropping into that rapid-fire cadence that used to drive his classmates crazy. "Subject: Green Valley Estates. Current Status: Critical. The overgrowth suggests at least ten years of neglect. The soil is likely compacted and nutrient-depleted due to the unchecked weed growth sucking up resources. The structural integrity of the house is the priority—if the roof leaks, I can't sleep there. The barn can wait. The fields need to be cleared in zones. I can't do it all at once. I need a base of operations."

He began to walk toward the house, stepping high over the brambles, narrating his own life as if he were observing a pro hero in action.

"The enemy is the vegetation. The objective is shelter. The strategy is... brute force and leverage."

He reached the porch steps. They creaked ominously but held his weight. He found the key his mother had given him—an old, heavy iron thing—and jammed it into the lock. It stuck. He jiggled it. He pushed. He put his shoulder into the wood.

With a groan of rusted metal, the door popped open.

The air inside was stale, smelling of dust and old paper, but it was dry. Shafts of light cut through the gloom where the ivy hadn't completely blocked the windows. Furniture was covered in white sheets, looking like ghosts frozen in time.

Izuku walked into the center of the living room. He spun around slowly. It was a mess, yes. But the bones were good. The floorboards were thick oak. The beams were solid.

"It's not a villain attack," Izuku said, his voice echoing in the empty hall. "It's just... messy."

He dropped his bag on a dust-covered armchair.

"I cleaned Dagobah Beach in my head when I thought about training," he muttered. "This is just... a private beach. With more spiders."

He rolled up his sleeves.

"Mission Start."

Week 1: The War on Dust

The first week wasn't about farming. It was about making the house habitable.

Izuku quickly learned that "habitable" was a relative term. For the first two nights, he slept in a sleeping bag in the center of the living room because he was too afraid to open the upstairs bedrooms, terrified of what biological horrors might be nesting in the mattresses.

He approached cleaning with the same intensity he had once approached studying hero quirks.

Analysis: Dust accumulation is severe.

Strategy: Top-down approach. Ceiling fans, then walls, then floors.

Equipment: A bandana tied around his face, a broom he found in the closet, and a bucket of water.

He scrubbed until his knuckles were raw. He swept until his arms felt like lead. He discovered that the kitchen sink worked, but the pipes groaned like a dying whale every time he turned the tap. He discovered that the water heater was actually a wood-fired boiler outside, which meant if he wanted a hot bath, he had to chop wood first.

That was his first major physical hurdle.

The woodpile behind the house was damp and rotted. He had to forage for fallen branches in the nearby woods. He found an old axe in the shed—heavy, the handle smooth from his grandfather’s grip.

The first time he tried to swing it, he nearly dislocated his shoulder. The axe head wobbled, bounced off the log, and embedded itself in the dirt.

"Okay," Izuku panted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Form. It's like a Detroit Smash. Plant the feet. Engage the hips. Rotate."

He tried again. Thwack. A pathetic chip of wood flew off.

"Again."

Thwack.

"Again."

By the end of the week, he had managed to chop enough wood for one lukewarm bath and a pot of tea. He sat in the old cast-iron tub, his muscles screaming in a chorus of agony he had never experienced before. It wasn't the sharp pain of a burn or a bruise from bullying; it was a deep, dull ache that settled into his bones.

He looked at his hands. They were trembling. Blisters had formed on his palms, popped, and were starting to form again.

"I'm so weak," he whispered, sinking lower into the water.

But as he stared at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the wood grain, he realized something. His mind was quiet. usually, at this time of night, his brain would be replaying every awkward interaction of the day, every taunt from school, every fear about the future.

Tonight, his brain had only one thought: Sleep.

He crawled out of the tub, collapsed onto his sleeping bag, and was unconscious before his head hit the pillow.

Month 1: The Green Hell

By the second week, the house was clean enough. Izuku had claimed the master bedroom (after beating the mattress with a tennis racket for an hour to eject the dust). He had set up a small shrine to his grandfather on the mantle.

Now, he had to face the real enemy: The Outside.

He stood on the porch at 5:00 AM. He had read in Modern Agriculture Vol. 4 that farmers woke up before the sun. He hated it. His body wanted to sleep until noon. But he forced himself up, drinking a cup of bitter instant coffee.

He looked out at the "East Field." It was about two acres of dense, tangled chaos.

"Okay," Izuku said, adjusting his gloves. "I don't have a tractor. The old one in the barn is missing an engine block. I don't have money to hire a crew. I have... a hoe, a scythe, and a shovel."

He stepped off the porch.

The work was grueling. It was repetitive. It was mind-numbing.

Swing the scythe. Swish. Step. Swing. Swish. Step.

Stop to sharpen the blade.

Swing. Step.

The sun beat down on him mercilessly. There was no shade in the middle of the field. Sweat stung his eyes. Insects buzzed around his head, drawn to the moisture.

For the first few days, Izuku made almost no visible progress. He would clear a ten-foot patch, turn around, and it felt like the weeds had already grown back. It was demoralizing.

"Why am I doing this?" he groaned, dropping to his knees on day four. He was covered in dirt, itching from pollen, and hungry. "I could be in an air-conditioned classroom learning history. I could be playing video games."

He looked at the ground. He grabbed a handful of dirt.

It was hard, dry, and pale.

"Nutrient deficiency," he muttered automatically. "Compacted clay loam. It can't breathe."

He grabbed the hoe. "It’s suffocating."

The thought triggered something in him. The soil was suffocating. It needed saving.

"I am here," he grunted, swinging the hoe down with all his might. The blade bit into the earth, turning over a clod of dirt. "I am here!"

He swung again. And again.

He wasn't fighting a villain. He was fighting the suffocation. He was fighting the neglect.

He created a routine.

Morning (5:00 AM - 8:00 AM): Clearing. Using the scythe to cut down the tall grass.

Breakfast: Rice, miso soup (made from packets), and eggs (bought from the village store, a 5-mile bike ride away).

Mid-Day (9:00 AM - 12:00 PM): Tilling. Using the hoe to break up the hard earth.

Lunch: Sandwiches and water. Lots of water.

Afternoon (1:00 PM - 5:00 PM): Rock removal.

The rocks were the worst. The field was full of them—stones ranging from pebble-sized to boulders the size of a microwave.

One afternoon, about three weeks in, Izuku encountered "The Boss."

It was a jagged, granite boulder buried in the center of the field. He had broken two shovel handles trying to pry it out.

"You," Izuku growled, staring at the rock. He was shirtless, his skin tanned a golden brown from the sun, stripped of the pale pallor of a shut-in. "You're the villain of this arc."

He dug around it. He dug under it. He created a trench.

He got down into the mud, wrapping his arms around the stone. It was cold and rough against his chest.

"One... Two..."

He pulled. His back muscles screamed. His legs shook. The rock shifted an inch, then settled back down.

"No!" Izuku shouted. "You don't win! I walked away from U.A. for this! I didn't walk away to be beaten by a rock!"

He channeled every ounce of frustration he had left. Every memory of being called "Deku." Every memory of feeling small.

"SMASH!"

He heaved. A guttural roar tore from his throat.

With a wet sucking sound, the earth gave way. The boulder rolled up out of its hole. Izuku stumbled back, falling onto his butt, gasping for air.

The boulder sat there, defeated.

Izuku lay on his back in the dirt, laughing. He laughed until his ribs hurt. He laughed until tears streamed down his face. He had won.

He stood up, his legs wobbling. He looked at his reflection in a puddle of water nearby.

He stopped.

The boy in the reflection wasn't the scrawny, hollow-chested kid who had cried in the alleyway. His shoulders were broader. His arms, though not massive like All Might’s, were defined with lean, functional muscle. There was a definition in his chest that hadn't been there before.

The farm was changing him. It was carving him out of wood and stone.

Month 2: The Science of Life

With the field cleared and tilled, Izuku switched gears. The physical labor didn't stop, but the mental labor began.

He turned the dining room table into a laboratory.

Vials of soil samples were lined up in neat rows. Litmus paper strips turned various shades of pink and blue. Stacks of books from the local library—Advanced Agronomy, Botany for Beginners, The quirk of Photosynthesis—were piled high.

"Okay," Izuku muttered, chewing on the end of a pen. "The pH is 5.5. Too acidic for most vegetables, but perfect for potatoes. However, nitrogen levels are abysmal."

He paced the room. "I need fertilizer. But chemical fertilizers are expensive and can damage the local water table if used improperly. I need a sustainable solution."

He looked at his notebook.

Analysis: Cow Manure.

Pros: High nitrogen, improves soil texture.

Cons: Requires cows.

"I don't have cows," Izuku sighed.

He did, however, have neighbors.

The next day, Izuku walked three miles to the nearest farm, run by the Sato family (distant relatives of a hero student he would never meet, though they shared a love for sugar).

Mr. Sato, a burly man with a mustache that looked like a push-broom, looked at Izuku skeptically.

"You want my... poop?"

"Yes, sir!" Izuku bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle. "I've analyzed your herd's diet based on the local grazing patterns, and your manure should have the optimal carbon-to-nitrogen ratio for rehabilitating my soil! I can trade labor for it!"

Mr. Sato blinked. Then he laughed. "Kid, if you want to shovel shit, be my guest. Take as much as you can carry."

For the next week, Izuku became the "Manure Hero." He rigged up a cart to his bicycle and hauled loads of fertilizer back to Green Valley. He mixed it into the soil, turning the earth over and over until it was dark, rich, and crumbly.

He also started composting. Every scrap of food, every pulled weed (that hadn't gone to seed), every fallen leaf went into a pile. He checked the temperature of the pile daily, turning it to aerate the bacteria.

"It's alive," Izuku whispered one evening, feeling the heat radiating from the compost pile. "Billions of microorganisms working together. It’s a society. A microscopic society."

He wrote it down. Hero Note: A hero is just one part of an ecosystem. Without the bacteria (support), the soil (society) dies.

Month 3: The Seed and the Storm

It was time.

Izuku stood at the edge of the East Field. It looked different now. The chaos was gone. In its place were neat, raised beds of dark earth, arranged in a pattern that maximized sun exposure and drainage.

In his hand, he held a packet of seeds.

“Super-Stamina Carrots - Hybrid Variety.”

These weren't normal carrots. They were a localized specialty of the Nabu region, known for being incredibly finicky but packed with nutrients. They required precise water levels and "a gentle touch."

"Okay," Izuku said. "This is it. The entrance exam."

He knelt. He used his finger to poke a hole in the dirt—exactly half an inch deep. He placed a tiny seed inside. He covered it. He patted it down.

"Please grow," he whispered. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

He spent the entire day planting. Row after row. By sunset, his back was locked in a spasm of pain, but the field was seeded.

He watered them with a watering can, walking back and forth to the creek because the irrigation system was still broken.

"Sleep tight," he told the dirt.

Three days later, the sky turned green.

Izuku was in the kitchen fixing a sandwich when the wind slammed into the house like a physical blow. The windows rattled in their frames.

He ran to the porch. Dark clouds were swirling over the mountains. Lightning flashed, illuminating the valley in stark white.

"A typhoon?" Izuku panicked. "It’s too early in the season!"

But nature didn't care about the calendar. The rain started—not a drizzle, but a deluge. It came down in sheets, hammering the roof.

Izuku stared at the field.

"The seeds!"

If the rain washed the soil away, the seeds would go with it. All his work. All his preparation. Gone.

"No!"

Izuku grabbed a roll of heavy-duty tarp he had found in the barn and a handful of stakes. He ran out into the storm.

The wind nearly knocked him over. The rain was freezing, soaking him to the bone in seconds. Mud splattered his face.

"I have to cover them!"

He reached the first row of beds. He threw the tarp over them, struggling to nail the stakes into the mud. The wind fought him, whipping the plastic sheet like a sail. It slapped him in the face, stinging his skin.

"Stay down!" he screamed at the plastic.

He was slipping and sliding in the mud. He hammered a stake in. The wind ripped it out.

"Think, Izuku, think!"

Analysis: The wind is coming from the north-northeast. The tarp acts as a sail. I need to reduce the drag.

He grabbed heavy stones—the very stones he had cursed and removed weeks ago—and dragged them back. He used them to weigh down the edges of the tarp.

"You were the villain!" he shouted at a rock as he slammed it onto the plastic. "Now you’re the sidekick! Work with me!"

He worked like a madman. He covered row after row, fighting the elements. Thunder crashed directly overhead, shaking the ground. Lightning struck a tree in the forest nearby with a deafening crack.

Izuku didn't stop. He was shivering violently. His fingers were numb. But he couldn't leave them. They were helpless. They were just tiny seeds in the dark.

“You saved a life today, Young Midoriya.”

"I'm saving them!" Izuku yelled into the thunder. "I'm saving them all!"

He didn't know how long he was out there. An hour? Three?

Eventually, the wind died down. The rain slowed to a steady drizzle.

Izuku collapsed on the porch steps, covered in mud, shivering so hard his teeth clicked together. He stared out at the field. It was an ugly patchwork of blue tarps and rocks, but the soil was covered.

He crawled inside, stripped off his wet clothes, and curled up under three blankets. He fell asleep shivering.

The Morning After

Izuku woke up with a sneeze. His head felt heavy, and his throat was sore.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Note to self: Invest in rain gear."

He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and walked out to the porch.

The sun was shining. The sky was a painfully bright blue, innocent and clear, as if it hadn't tried to destroy him the night before. The air smelled incredibly fresh—washed clean.

Izuku walked down to the field. He slowly, carefully, peeled back the first tarp.

The soil was damp, but intact. It hadn't washed away.

He moved to the next row. And the next.

He removed the tarps, dragging them aside. He checked the beds.

And then, he saw it.

It was tiny. A speck of green against the black earth. Two microscopic leaves unfurling toward the sun.

Izuku dropped to his knees, ignoring the mud soaking into his pajama pants. He put his face inches from the ground.

"You made it," he breathed.

He looked down the row. Another speck. And another. A whole line of tiny green soldiers, standing at attention.

Life.

He had made life happen. He had prepared the ground, fought the rocks, fed the soil, and protected it from the storm. And in return, the earth had answered.

Izuku felt a swelling in his chest that was different from anything he had ever felt. It wasn't the explosive adrenaline of a fight. It was a warm, slow-burning fire. It was pride.

He sat back on his heels, looking at his hands. They were scarred, calloused, stained with dirt and chlorophyll. They were rough hands.

They were the hands of a creator.

He looked up at the sky, squinting against the sun.

"I did it, All Might," he whispered, a smile spreading across his face—not the nervous, wobbling smile of Deku, but a genuine, toothy grin. "I saved them."

He stood up, his joints popping. He felt strong.

His stomach gave a loud, ferocious growl.

"Okay," Izuku laughed, patting his stomach. "Analysis: The farmer needs fuel. Strategy: Make the biggest omelet this kitchen has ever seen."

He turned back to the house. It didn't look like a haunted wreck anymore. It looked like home.

As he walked, he pulled out his notebook. He flipped to a new page.

Project: Green Valley - Phase 1 Complete.

Phase 2: The Harvest.

New Objective: Find out where to sell 500 pounds of carrots.

Izuku Midoriya, the Quirkless boy who wanted to be a hero, walked into his farmhouse. He had broken ground, and in doing so, he had broken the shell of the boy he used to be.

The roots were taking hold.

The alarm clock on the bedside table didn't get a chance to ring. At 3:59 AM, one minute before the designated time, Izuku Midoriya’s eyes snapped open.

He didn't groan. He didn't roll over and hit snooze. He sat up, his body moving with a newfound fluidity that had replaced the creaky stiffness of his first month at Green Valley Estates. The pre-dawn air in the farmhouse was cold, nipping at his exposed skin, but Izuku barely noticed.

Today was the day.

He scrambled out of bed, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor he had spent three weeks polishing. He threw open the curtains. Outside, the world was a wash of deep indigo and charcoal gray, the moon hanging low over the silhouette of the mountains.

"Morning, Green Valley," he whispered, a habit he had picked up to combat the crushing silence of the countryside.

He dressed quickly—heavy denim overalls over a plain white t-shirt, thick wool socks, and his battered work boots. He tied a green bandana around his forehead to keep his unruly hair out of his eyes.

Downstairs, the kitchen was quiet. He didn't have time for a full breakfast. He grabbed a cold rice ball left over from dinner and headed out the back door.

The smell hit him immediately. It was the scent of damp earth, dew-soaked grass, and the faint, sweet aroma of success.

He walked to the East Field.

Under the light of the fading moon, the rows of crops looked like sleeping battalions. But they weren't sleeping. They were waiting.

Izuku knelt by the first row. He brushed the soil away from the base of a green leafy top. He gripped the stem, took a breath, and pulled.

With a satisfying, wet shhh-pop, the earth yielded.

In his hand sat a carrot.

But it wasn't just a carrot. It was a masterpiece of agriculture. It was thick, straight, and a vibrant, glowing orange that seemed to defy the low light. It was heavy, dense with nutrients and water.

"Super-Stamina Carrot, Hybrid Strain Beta," Izuku muttered, his eyes sparkling. "Structure: flawless. Coloration: peak. Project Green Valley Phase 2 is a go."

He looked out over the field. There were hundreds of them. Maybe thousands.

"Okay," Izuku said, cracking his knuckles. "Time to harvest."

The Logistics of Logistics

Harvesting was one thing. Logistics, Izuku realized three hours later, was entirely another.

By 7:00 AM, he had crates stacked high on the porch. The sun had crested the mountains, bathing the farm in golden light that made the dew on the vegetables sparkle like diamonds. He had carrots. He had Daikon radishes the size of his forearm. He had early-season spinach that was so green it looked painted.

But he had a problem.

"Transport," Izuku mumbled, pacing back and forth in front of the barn. He was chewing on his thumbnail, his other hand clutching a clipboard. "The Nabu Farmers Market opens at 9:00 AM. It is exactly 14 kilometers away. I cannot carry six hundred pounds of vegetables on my bicycle."

He looked at the barn.

Inside, resting on four flat tires and covered in a layer of bird droppings, sat the beast.

It was a pickup truck. Or at least, it had been, sometime in the late 1980s. It was a faded, rusty red, with a dent in the bumper that looked suspiciously like someone had headbutted it.

"Grandpa’s truck," Izuku said. "The 'Red Riot,' he called it."

He had spent the last week tinkering with it in the evenings. He had changed the oil (which had the consistency of molasses), replaced the spark plugs, and patched the radiator with duct tape and hope.

"Please," Izuku said, patting the hood. "I need you to be a hero today."

He climbed into the driver’s seat. The upholstery smelled of old tobacco and mints. He put the key in the ignition.

He turned it.

Chug-chug-chug-wheeze.

"Come on," Izuku pleaded. "Plus Ultra. Go beyond."

He turned it again, pumping the gas pedal.

Chug-chug-ROAR!

The engine exploded into life, coughing out a cloud of black smoke that temporarily blinded a squirrel on the fence post. The truck vibrated violently, shaking Izuku’s teeth, but it was running.

"Yes!" Izuku cheered, pumping his fist.

Loading the truck took another forty-five minutes. He arranged the crates with Tetris-like precision, ensuring the weight distribution was even to prevent the precarious suspension from snapping.

He ran back into the house, grabbed his cash box (an old All Might lunchbox he had repurposed), a folding table, and a hand-painted sign he had worked on until midnight.

MIDORIYA FARMS: Fresh. Local. Strong.

He looked at the sign. Was "Strong" too weird? Did vegetables need to be strong? He didn't have time to change it.

He hopped into the truck, shifted the gear stick which felt like stirring a bucket of rocks, and slowly rolled down the driveway.

As he passed the gate, he looked back at the house. It stood silent and sturdy.

"I'll be back," he promised. "With money. Hopefully."

The Arena

The Nabu Farmers Market was not the chaotic, villain-infested streets of Musutafu, but to Izuku, it felt just as intimidating.

It was located in the town square, a paved area surrounded by traditional buildings and blooming cherry blossom trees. Dozens of stalls were already set up. Colorful awnings flapped in the breeze. The air was filled with the smell of roasting chestnuts, fresh flowers, and the ocean (Nabu was coastal, after all).

Izuku steered the Red Riot into a designated vendor spot at the far end of the square. He killed the engine, which let out one last, dramatic backfire that made three elderly ladies jump.

"Sorry!" Izuku squeaked, shrinking into his seat.

He took a deep breath. Social interaction. My old nemesis.

Since moving to the farm, Izuku had spoken to exactly three people: his mother (on the phone), the bus driver, and Mr. Sato (the manure guy). He hadn't spoken to anyone his own age. He hadn't had to sell anything.

"Analysis," he muttered, stepping out of the truck. "Target audience: locals, tourists, restaurant owners. Objective: Sell everything. Strategy: Be... approachable?"

He set up his table. He laid out a checkered tablecloth. He stacked his carrots in a pyramid, polished to a shine. He arranged the spinach in woven baskets to maximize airflow and visual appeal.

He put up his sign.

Then, he waited.

The market opened. A bell rang from the clock tower.

People flooded in.

Izuku stood behind his table, hands clasped behind his back, trying to look like a normal human being and not a nervous wreck.

"Fresh vegetables!" the man at the stall next to him bellowed. He was a burly guy selling massive pumpkins. "Get your pumpkins! Heavy enough to crush a villain!"

"Sweet strawberries!" a woman across the way shouted. "Sweeter than first love!"

Izuku opened his mouth. "Um... carrots?"

His voice was swallowed by the din.

He cleared his throat. "Carrots! They have... beta carotene!"

Nobody stopped. People walked right past his stall, their eyes glazing over his modest display. They went to the flashy pumpkin guy. They went to the strawberry lady.

Izuku felt a cold sweat prickling his neck.

What if I fail? his mind whispered. What if my carrots aren't good enough? What if I'm just Deku the Farmer, just as useless as Deku the Hero?

He pulled out his notebook from his back pocket. He needed to analyze the flow of traffic.

Observation: People are drawn to color and smell. My stall is at the end of the row. I have low visibility.

Observation: The demographic is currently older housewives looking for bargains. They are inspecting produce for firmness.

A sweet old lady stopped in front of his table. Izuku stiffened.

"Hello!" he said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

The lady picked up a radish. She squeezed it. She squinted at him. "How much?"

"Uh..." Izuku froze. He had priced them based on market value, but he suddenly felt guilty asking for money. "Fifty yen?"

The lady scoffed. "Fifty? For a radish this size? It's probably hollow in the middle."

"No, ma'am!" Izuku waved his hands. "It's a solid root density! I used a custom nitrogen-rich fertilizer blend and tilled the soil to a depth of eighteen inches to ensure—"

"Too expensive," she grumbled, dropping the radish and walking away.

Izuku wilted.

Social Skill: 0/10.

Salesmanship: 0/10.

He sat on his stool, burying his face in his hands. This was a disaster. He had grown the best vegetables of his life, and he couldn't get anyone to try them.

The Girl with the Gravity

Two hours passed. Izuku had sold three bunches of spinach and one pity-carrot to a stray dog (he gave it for free).

The sun was high now. The crowd was shifting. The early risers were leaving, replaced by the lunch crowd and students.

Izuku was meticulously rearranging his carrot pyramid for the fiftieth time when a shadow fell over his table.

"Excuse me?"

The voice was bright, round, and slightly breathless.

Izuku jumped, nearly knocking over the pyramid. He looked up.

Standing there was a girl.

She had bobbed brown hair that framed a round face with permanent pink cheeks. Her eyes were large, warm, and brown—the color of polished chestnuts. She was wearing a simple pink shirt and worn-out jeans, holding a canvas tote bag that looked very empty.

But what struck Izuku most was that she looked tired. Not the sleepy kind of tired, but the bone-deep exhaustion of someone carrying a heavy weight.

"I-I-I—Yes!" Izuku stammered, his face instantly heating up. "Welcome! Midoriya Farms! I mean, I'm Midoriya! The farm is... well, the farm is at the farm. This is the table."

Smooth, Izuku. Real smooth.

The girl blinked, then giggled. It was a nice sound. "Hi, Midoriya-kun. I'm Uraraka. I was just... looking."

She looked down at the carrots. Her hand hovered over them, then pulled back. She clenched her fist around a small coin purse in her other hand. Izuku’s eyes, trained for detail, noticed the purse was thin. Very thin.

"They look amazing," she said, her stomach giving a traitorous, audible growl.

She flushed bright red. "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!"

Izuku waved his hands frantically. "No! Don't apologize! hunger is a natural physiological response to energy depletion! It means your metabolism is healthy!"

Uraraka laughed nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah... metabolism. Or just skipping breakfast to save for train fare."

She mumbled the last part, but Izuku heard it.

He stopped waving his hands. He looked at her. Really looked at her.

He saw the scuffed tips of her sneakers. He saw the way she was eyeing the vegetables not as a luxury, but as a necessity.

Analysis: She is a student. Likely high school age. Financial constraints are evident. She is prioritizing travel costs over nutrition.

"Are you... from around here?" Izuku asked, his voice dropping to a gentler register.

"Not really," Uraraka sighed, leaning against the table slightly. "I'm from Mie Prefecture. But I'm staying in the city nearby for... for school stuff." She looked at the carrots again. "My parents sent me some money for food, but everything in the city is so expensive. I heard the farmers market might be cheaper."

"School stuff?" Izuku asked.

"Yeah." She looked up, her eyes flashing with a sudden, fierce determination. "I'm trying to get into U.A. High. The Hero Course."

Izuku felt a jolt in his chest. U.A.

The name that used to be his entire world.

"U.A.," he repeated. "That's... amazing. You want to be a hero?"

"Yep!" She pumped a fist, mimicking a pose that reminded him vaguely of All Might, though much cuter. "I'm gonna be a pro hero. I'm gonna save people!"

"That's noble," Izuku said, feeling a pang of wistfulness.

"And," Uraraka continued, her expression softening into something more vulnerable, "I'm gonna make a ton of money."

Izuku blinked. "Money?"

It wasn't the answer he expected. Usually, people said "for justice" or "to be like All Might."

Uraraka looked down at her scuffed shoes. "It sounds bad, right? Heroes shouldn't care about money. But... my parents run a construction company. They're struggling. Really struggling. I want to become a hero so I can give them an easy life. I want to let them rest."

She looked up at him, a sad smile on her face. "Is that weird?"

Izuku stared at her.

He thought about his own mother. He thought about how she had cried with relief when he gave up on U.A. He thought about the farm, about how he was trying to restore his grandfather's legacy to give himself a purpose, but also to build something sustainable.

"No," Izuku said firmly. "That's not weird. That's... that's the most heroic thing I've ever heard."

Uraraka’s eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes! Heroes save people. And parents are people. Wanting to save your family from hardship... that's a true hero's heart." Izuku was entering his 'mutter mode' again, his shyness evaporating in the face of philosophical analysis. "Financial security is the foundation of peace. If you can provide that, you're a hero to them."

Uraraka stared at him. Her eyes started to water. "Wow. Nobody’s ever said it like that before. Thanks, Midoriya-kun."

She wiped her eyes and looked at the carrots. "Okay! I'm sold. How much for... um... one carrot? I have forty yen."

Forty yen. That wouldn't even buy a gumball in the city.

Izuku looked at her coins. He looked at his "Super-Stamina Carrots." He knew, analytically, that these carrots were worth 200 yen a pound. They were high-grade.

But he also looked at the dark circles under her eyes.

A hero saves people.

"Forty yen?" Izuku scratched his head, feigning calculation. "Actually, you're in luck. We're having a... uh... 'Future Hero' promotion today."

"A promotion?" Uraraka tilted her head.

"Yes!" Izuku grabbed a plastic bag. He didn't put one carrot in it. He grabbed a massive bunch—greens and all. Then he grabbed a daikon radish. Then a bag of spinach. "For students aiming for U.A., we offer a ninety percent discount. So, for forty yen, you get... all this."

He shoved the overflowing bag toward her.

Uraraka’s jaw dropped. "What? No way! That's too much! You'll go out of business!"

"No, I won't," Izuku lied. "These carrots... they have a quirk."

"Huh?"

"Not a real quirk," he corrected quickly. "But I grew them using a special soil blend. They are high in energy. If you're going to take the U.A. entrance exam, you need stamina, right? You can't pass if you faint from hunger."

He pushed the bag into her hands. "Think of it as an investment. When you become a famous hero, you can mention Midoriya Farms in an interview."

Uraraka held the heavy bag. She looked at Izuku. Her face broke into a smile so radiant it rivaled the sun.

"I will!" she declared. "I promise! I'll eat these and I'll get super strong!"

She dug into her purse and slapped the forty yen onto the table. Then, without warning, she reached across the table and grabbed Izuku’s hand, shaking it vigorously. Her hand had pads on the fingertips—tough, callous-like pads.

"Thank you, Midoriya-kun! I'm Ochako Uraraka! Don't forget me!"

"I-I-I won't!" Izuku stammered, his face turning the color of a tomato.

She beamed at him one last time, then turned and ran off into the crowd, clutching the vegetables to her chest like they were gold bullion.

Izuku stood there, his hand still tingling where she had touched it.

"Ochako Uraraka," he whispered.

He looked at the forty yen on the table. It was the first money he had earned. It wasn't much. It barely covered the gas to get here.

But he felt richer than he ever had in his life.

The Deku Effect

Izuku sat back down, a goofy smile plastered on his face. He picked up a carrot and started polishing it unconsciously.

"Excuse me, young man."

Izuku snapped out of his daze.

A woman was standing there. She looked like a restaurant owner—sharp eyes, apron, no-nonsense demeanor.

"I overheard you talking to that girl," the woman said. "Did you say those carrots are high in energy?"

"Um, yes!" Izuku sat up straight. "They are the Super-Stamina variety. The soil composition in Green Valley is volcanic, which allows for higher mineral absorption. They are sweeter than average but packed with complex carbohydrates for sustained energy release."

The woman picked up a carrot. She snapped it in half. The sound was crisp, like a gunshot. She took a bite.

She chewed. She paused. Her eyes widened.

"Oh," she said.

"Is... is it bad?" Izuku panicked.

"It tastes..." The woman looked at the carrot in shock. "It tastes like the earth. But in a good way. It's incredibly sweet." She looked at him. "How much for the crate?"

"The... the crate?"

"The whole crate. I run the 'Mountain View Bistro' down the street. I want all of them. And the spinach."

Izuku’s brain short-circuited. "The... whole...?"

"And do you have a delivery schedule?" she continued, pulling out a wad of cash. "I need a supplier who cares this much about soil density. You're a nerd about vegetables, aren't you?"

Izuku blushed. "I... yes. I suppose I am."

The woman smiled. "Good. Nerds grow the best food. I'll take it all."

Suddenly, people who had been walking by stopped. The sight of money changing hands drew a crowd.

"Is that good?"

"The bistro lady is buying it, it must be good."

"Hey, kid, I'll take a bunch!"

"Me too!"

Within twenty minutes, it was pandemonium. Izuku was moving like a blur.

"Yes, ma'am! Here's your spinach!"

"Thank you, sir! Enjoy the radishes!"

"Careful, they're heavy!"

He was calculating change in his head faster than a calculator. He was bagging produce. He was smiling.

He wasn't thinking about being Quirkless. He wasn't thinking about Bakugo. He was thinking about inventory management and customer satisfaction.

By 1:00 PM, the table was bare.

Every carrot. Every leaf of spinach. Every radish. Gone.

The cash box, which had started empty, was heavy.

Izuku slumped onto his stool, wiping sweat from his forehead. He was exhausted. His throat was dry from talking.

But the emptiness in the truck bed was beautiful.

The Return Trip

The drive back to Green Valley was slower. The truck was lighter, so it bounced more on the potholes, but Izuku didn't mind.

He drove with the windows down, the cool mountain air rushing over his face.

He thought about the day.

He thought about the bistro owner who validated his research. He thought about the crowd.

But mostly, he thought about the girl with the gravity.

“I want to give them an easy life. I want to let them rest.”

Izuku gripped the steering wheel.

He had spent so long thinking that the only way to be a hero was to punch villains. He thought heroism was about power.

But today, he had seen heroism in a girl counting coins to buy food. He had seen heroism in a restaurant owner looking for quality to feed her customers.

And maybe... just maybe... there was heroism in growing the food that fueled them.

He glanced at the passenger seat. There, sitting alone, was one single carrot. It was a runt, twisted and small, that he hadn't sold.

He picked it up and took a bite.

It was sweet. It tasted like hard work.

"Midoriya Farms," Izuku said aloud, testing the name again. "Supplier of Heroes."

He liked the sound of that.

As the farmhouse came into view, bathed in the orange light of the setting sun, Izuku felt a sense of peace settle over him.

He pulled up to the barn. He killed the engine.

He grabbed the heavy cash box and walked into the house.

He went straight to the phone in the hallway and dialed a number.

"Hello?" A worried voice answered. "Izuku?"

"Hi, Mom," Izuku said, leaning against the wall, a smile evident in his voice.

"Oh, thank goodness! I was worried. How was the market? Did you sell anything? It’s okay if you didn't, farming is hard and—"

"Mom," Izuku interrupted gently. "I sold out."

"What?"

"I sold everything. The bistro in town wants a contract. And..." He paused, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "And I met a friend."

"A friend?" Inko sounded like she might faint from joy. "A real friend?"

"Yeah. She's... she's going to be a hero."

"That's wonderful, Izuku. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom."

He hung up.

He walked into the kitchen and placed the cash box on the table. He opened his notebook to a new page.

Project: Green Valley - Phase 3.

Objective: Expansion.

Note: Set aside premium crop for 'Uraraka Ochako'. She needs the calories.

He looked out the window at the darkening fields. The work for tomorrow was already waiting. Weeds to pull. Soil to till.

But for the first time, the future didn't look like a dark tunnel. It looked like a wide-open field, ready to be planted.

Izuku turned off the light and headed upstairs. He needed to sleep.

After all, farmers wake up early.

Meanwhile, in a cheap apartment in the city...

Ochako Uraraka sat on the floor of her tiny room. Her legs were sore from walking. Her stomach had been growling for hours.

She opened the bag the green-haired boy had given her.

It was overflowing. The smell of fresh earth filled the room.

She picked up a carrot. It was huge. It was bright orange.

She took a bite.

Crunch.

Flavor exploded in her mouth. It was sweet, crisp, and somehow... warm. She felt a tingle run down her spine. The fatigue in her legs seemed to melt away just a little bit.

"Whoa," she whispered, looking at the vegetable. "He wasn't kidding. These are amazing."

She thought about the boy. Midoriya. He had been shaking like a leaf, stuttering and blushing. But his eyes... his eyes were so intense when he talked about the soil. And he had given her all this for forty yen.

"He's crazy," she laughed softly, tears pricking her eyes again. "Kind, but crazy."

She took another bite.

"Midoriya Farms," she murmured. "I won't forget."

She pulled out her textbooks. U.A. Entrance Exam Prep.

Usually, she was too tired to study after walking around the city all day. But tonight, she felt a buzz of energy.

"Alright," she said, slapping her cheeks. "Let's do this! For Mom and Dad. And so I can pay him back someday!"

She bit into the carrot again, turning the page.

In the quiet of the city and the quiet of the country, two different dreams were growing. And unbeknownst to them, their roots had just tangled together.

The acceptance letter from U.A. High had arrived three weeks ago. It was heavy, textured paper, bearing the gold seal of the most prestigious hero school in the country. Inside was a holographic projection of All Might himself, booming with laughter, announcing that Katsuki Bakugo had passed with flying colors—first place in the practical exam, top tier in the written.

It was everything Katsuki had ever wanted. It was the first step on his undeniable ascent to the Number One spot. It was absolute, quantifiable victory.

So why did it feel like ash in his mouth?

Katsuki sat on the edge of his bed in Musutafu, the projection device long since tossed into a corner of his room. He was staring at his hands. Small pops of nitroglycerin sparkled on his palms, little fireflies of destruction that he usually found comforting. Today, they just felt restless.

"Damn it," he hissed, clenching his fist to snuff out the sparks.

The problem wasn't the victory. The problem was the variable that was missing from the equation.

For ten years, Katsuki’s life had been defined by two things: his own greatness, and the pathetic, quirkless shadow trailing behind him. Deku. The pebble in his shoe. The annoying gnat that refused to be squashed. Deku was the yardstick by which Katsuki measured his superiority. If Deku was the bottom, Katsuki was the top.

But Deku hadn't been at the exam.

Katsuki had spent the entire practical waiting. He had destroyed robots with prejudice, blasting through the mock city, expecting to turn a corner and see that familiar mess of green hair shaking in fear. He had expected to see Deku failing, or maybe—just maybe—trying to pull some desperate, suicidal stunt to save someone, giving Katsuki the chance to yell at him.

But the green hair never showed up.

And when the results were posted, the name Midoriya Izuku wasn't on the list. Not in the Hero Course. Not in General Studies. Not in Support.

He had vanished.

"He ran away," Katsuki muttered to the empty room. It was the only explanation. The nerd had finally realized his place. He had tucked his tail between his legs and scurried off to some no-name high school to be a salaryman.

Katsuki should be happy. He should be thrilled. The nuisance was gone.

But he wasn't happy. He was furious.

Because you can't win a race if the other guy doesn't show up to the starting line. It didn't feel like a victory; it felt like a forfeiture. And Katsuki Bakugo didn't accept forfeits.

He stood up, kicking his chair over. The crash was satisfyingly loud.

"Where the hell are you, Deku?"

The Investigation

Katsuki wasn't a detective, but he was stubborn, which was basically the same thing.

He started at school. Aldera Junior High was winding down, the third years preparing for graduation. The halls were buzzing with excitement about who got into which high school.

When Katsuki walked down the hall, the extras parted like the Red Sea. He ignored their whispers of awe. He marched straight to the faculty office.

"Teach," he barked, slamming his hand onto the desk of their homeroom teacher.

The man jumped, spilling coffee on his tie. "B-Bakugo! What is it? Congratulations on U.A., by the way! We’re all so proud—"

"Shut up," Katsuki cut him off. "Where did Deku apply?"

The teacher blinked, adjusting his glasses. "Midoriya? Oh. Well, that was a surprise. He withdrew his applications everywhere."

Katsuki froze. " everywhere?"

"Yes. Even the local highs. His mother sent in a transfer notice. Said he was moving to the country. Something about... agriculture?" The teacher laughed, a dismissive sound. "Can you imagine? Midoriya, a farmer? He’d probably break a bone trying to lift a shovel."

Katsuki didn't laugh. His eyes narrowed into slits.

The country.

He turned on his heel and stormed out, ignoring the teacher's calls.

His next stop was the Midoriya apartment. He knew where it was; he and Deku had grown up in the same neighborhood. He hadn't been there in years, not since they were kids playing heroes in the living room.

He pounded on the door. Bang, bang, bang.

"I know you're in there, Auntie!"

The door opened a crack. Inko Midoriya peeked out. She looked... different. Usually, the woman looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, vibrating with anxiety. Today, she looked calmer. She was wearing an apron covered in flour.

"Katsuki-kun?" she asked, opening the door wider. "My goodness, you’re so tall now. Did you need something?"

"Where is he?" Katsuki demanded. He didn't have time for pleasantries. "Where did you hide him?"

Inko smiled. It was a genuine smile, one that reached her eyes. It unnerved him. "Oh, Izuku? He’s not hiding, Katsuki. He’s living at his grandfather’s old farm. In Nabu."

"Nabu?" Katsuki scoffed. "That’s out in the sticks. What’s he doing there? Plotting something?"

"He’s growing carrots," Inko said simply.

Katsuki stared at her. His brain refused to process the sentence. "He’s... what?"

"Carrots. And radishes. He sounded very excited about his spinach yesterday." Inko clasped her hands together. "He seems really happy, Katsuki. For the first time in a long time."

Happy.

The word grated on Katsuki’s nerves like sandpaper. Deku wasn't supposed to be happy. Deku was supposed to be chasing Katsuki, crying, struggling. If Deku was happy growing vegetables in the middle of nowhere, it meant he wasn't thinking about Katsuki.

It meant Katsuki didn't matter.

"Give me the address," Katsuki growled.

Inko hesitated, looking at the boy’s shaking hands. But then she sighed, walking over to a notepad on the counter. She scribbled something down and handed it to him.

"Be nice to him, Katsuki," she said softly. "He’s worked very hard."

Katsuki snatched the paper. "I’m always nice," he lied, and stomped away.

The Journey to Nowhere

Getting to Nabu took four hours.

First, the bullet train, which Katsuki spent vibrating with impatient rage, glaring at a businessman who dared to chew gum too loudly. Then, a local train that smelled like wet dogs and rattled so hard Katsuki thought his teeth would fall out.

Finally, the bus.

The bus was the worst part. It was slow. It stopped every five minutes to pick up old ladies carrying chickens or bags of rice. The scenery outside the window shifted from the gray concrete of civilization to an endless, oppressive green.

Trees. Mountains. More trees.

"Disgusting," Katsuki muttered, staring out the window. "It’s too quiet. Nothing happens here."

He looked at the address on the crumpled piece of paper. Green Valley Estates. It sounded like a retirement home.

By the time the bus driver kicked him out at the end of the line, Katsuki’s mood had shifted from 'angry' to 'homicidal'.

He stood on the side of the dirt road, dust coating his expensive sneakers. He looked around.

There was a rusted mailbox. A broken gate. And a long, winding driveway leading up to a house that looked like it belonged in a folklore horror movie.

"This is it?" Katsuki sneered. "This is where you ran to hide, Deku?"

He marched up the driveway. He didn't walk; he stomped. He wanted the earth to know he was here. He wanted the silence to break.

As he got closer, he noticed things. The fence, though old, had been recently repaired with fresh wood. The fields to his right, which should have been wild, were laid out in precise, obsessive rows.

Katsuki stopped. He looked at the field.

The precision annoyed him. It reminded him of Deku’s notebooks. The way the nerd would catalog every hero, every quirk, every detail. He had applied that same obsessive, creepy focus to... dirt?

"Nerd," Katsuki spat.

He reached the main yard. The farmhouse was in front of him. To the left was a barn.

And there, standing in the middle of a vegetable patch near the porch, was a scarecrow.

It was wearing a tattered jumpsuit that looked vaguely like a hero costume. It had a smiley face drawn on a sack for a head. It was mocking him. It looked like All Might. Or maybe it looked like Deku trying to be All Might.

"DIE!"

Katsuki didn't think. He reacted. He threw his right hand forward, igniting the sweat on his palm.

BOOM!

The explosion shattered the rural peace. A ball of fire engulfed the scarecrow, blowing straw and fabric into smithereens. The shockwave rattled the windows of the house.

Smoke curled up from the blackened stump where the scarecrow had been.

"Is that all you got?!" Katsuki screamed at the house. "Come out and face me, Deku! I know you’re in there!"

Silence followed.

Then, chaos.

From around the side of the barn, a flurry of white feathers erupted. Chickens. Dozens of them. They were squawking in terror, flapping their useless wings, running in circles.

"Buh-gawk! Bawk bawk!"

Katsuki blinked. He hadn't seen the chickens. One of them, a fat white hen, ran right over his foot, pecking at his sneaker.

"Get off me!" Katsuki kicked his leg out, sending the chicken fluttering away. "Stupid birds!"

"Hey!"

The voice cut through the squawking. It wasn't the high-pitched, terrified squeak Katsuki remembered. It was deeper. Sterner.

Katsuki spun around.

Coming from the barn entrance was Izuku Midoriya.

But it wasn't his Deku.

This Deku wasn't wearing a middle school uniform or a quirky t-shirt. He was wearing faded denim overalls covered in mud. He wore heavy work boots and gloves. His green hair was tied back with a bandana, though wisps of it still stuck up in every direction.

And he was... bigger.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. Deku had always been scrawny. But the boy standing there had shoulders. His arms, exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt, were tanned and corded with muscle. Not the aesthetic muscle of a gym-goer, but the dense, functional muscle of someone who lifted heavy things for a living.

He was holding a pitchfork. And he wasn't shaking.

"Kacchan?" Izuku asked, lowering the pitchfork slightly. He looked confused, not scared. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if the rumors were true!" Katsuki shouted, stomping forward. "I heard you quit! I heard you ran away to play in the dirt!"

Izuku looked at him, then looked at the smoking remains of the scarecrow. He sighed. A long, weary sigh.

"That was Mr. Smiley," Izuku said sadly. "He was keeping the crows away from the corn."

"Screw your scarecrow!" Katsuki yelled. "Answer me! Why aren't you at U.A.? Why did you withdraw?"

Izuku leaned on the pitchfork. He looked utterly unbothered by the explosion. "Because I didn't want to go to U.A., Kacchan. I live here now."

"Bullshit!" Katsuki was in his face now. He could smell the sweat and earth on Izuku. It was gross. "You’ve been chasing me for ten years! You don't just stop! You’re plotting something. You found a way to get a quirk, didn't you? You’re hiding it!"

"I don't have a quirk," Izuku said calmly. "I have a tractor. Well, I will have a tractor once I fix the carburetor."

"Don't lie to me!" Katsuki’s hands popped with threatening sparks. "You think you’re better than me? Is that it? You think you’re too good for the hero course?"

"Kacchan," Izuku said, his voice level. "You're scaring the chickens. Henrietta hasn't laid an egg in three days, and stress makes it worse."

Katsuki froze. "The... what?"

" The chickens," Izuku pointed to the flock, which was currently hiding under the porch. "Please stop exploding things. This is a farm, not a battlefield."

Katsuki felt a vein in his forehead throb. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Deku was supposed to be stuttering. He was supposed to be crying. He was supposed to be explaining himself, begging for Katsuki to understand.

He wasn't supposed to be scolding Katsuki about poultry hygiene.

"I don't care about your stupid chickens!" Katsuki roared. He grabbed Izuku by the collar of his shirt. "I came here to settle this! Fight me!"

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He just looked at Katsuki’s hand gripping his collar.

"No," Izuku said.

"What?"

"I said no. I'm not going to fight you, Kacchan. I have to mulch the strawberries before the sun goes down."

Katsuki stared at him. The sheer audacity. The absolute dismissal.

"You..." Katsuki’s voice trembled with rage. "You’re looking down on me. You think I’m not worth fighting?"

Izuku’s eyes met Katsuki’s. They were green and clear. There was no fear in them. There was no worship, either. There was just... patience.

"I'm not looking down on you," Izuku said softly. He reached up and gently—so gently—removed Katsuki’s hand from his collar. His grip was like iron. Katsuki was shocked by the strength in those fingers.

"I'm just busy," Izuku finished.

He turned his back. He actually turned his back on Katsuki Bakugo.

"If you want to stay, don't break anything else," Izuku said over his shoulder. "I'll be in the south patch."

He walked away.

Katsuki stood there, smoke still drifting from the scarecrow, feeling completely and utterly impotent.

The Unfought Battle

Katsuki didn't leave. He couldn't. Leaving now would be admitting defeat.

He followed Deku.

He stalked him to the south side of the house, where a large patch of low-growing plants was spread out.

Izuku knelt in the dirt. He didn't look at Katsuki. He began working.

Katsuki watched. He expected Deku to be incompetent. He expected him to trip, to mess up, to be the useless Deku of old.

But he wasn't.

Izuku moved with a rhythm. His hands were quick and sure. He pulled weeds, checked leaves, and spread straw around the base of the plants. He muttered to himself, but it wasn't the frantic muttering of before.

"Soil moisture is good... aphids are down... ladybugs are doing their job..."

Katsuki stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, fuming. The sun beat down on them. The silence stretched.

Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.

Katsuki was bored. He was hot. He was angry.

"Oi!" Katsuki shouted. "Are you ignoring me?"

Izuku didn't look up. "Yes."

"Don't ignore me!" Katsuki stomped over. He kicked a clod of dirt at Izuku. It hit him in the back.

Izuku stopped. He took a deep breath. He stood up slowly and turned around. He wiped his dirty hands on his overalls.

"Kacchan," Izuku said. "Why are you really here?"

"I told you!" Katsuki yelled. "Because you quit! Because you’re a coward!"

"I'm not a coward," Izuku said. "And I'm not a hero. You won, Kacchan. You got into U.A. You’re going to be the Number One Hero. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"It doesn't count if I didn't beat you!" Katsuki confessed, the words tearing out of his throat before he could stop them.

Izuku blinked. "You wanted to beat a quirkless kid that badly?"

The question hung in the air. It was simple, and it cut deep.

Katsuki opened his mouth, but no words came out. Put like that... it sounded pathetic. He had built his entire identity around being better than Deku. But if Deku was just... a normal guy? A farmer? Then Katsuki had been competing against a ghost.

"You were always ahead of me," Izuku continued. He walked over to the edge of the patch. "I was chasing you because I thought I had to run the same race. But I realized... I don't like running."

He bent down and picked something.

It was a strawberry. It was bright red, heart-shaped, and glistening in the sun.

Izuku walked up to Katsuki. He didn't flinch as Katsuki glared at him. He held out the berry.

"Here."

Katsuki looked at it suspiciously. "What is this? Poison?"

"It's a strawberry," Izuku said. "Variety: Beni-Hoppe. I grew it. Try it."

"I don't want your dirt-fruit."

"Just eat it, Kacchan. You look like you’re about to have a heat stroke. Your face is all red."

"My face is red because I'm pissed off!"

"Eat it."

It was a command. Not aggressive, but firm. The kind of tone a parent uses with a toddler.

Katsuki growled. He snatched the strawberry from Izuku’s hand. He glared at it. It smelled... really good. Sweet. Floral.

He popped it into his mouth. He bit down.

Oh.

The flavor exploded on his tongue. It wasn't the watery, sour taste of supermarket strawberries. It was intense. A burst of sugar, followed by a tart kick that made his mouth water. It was soft, juicy, and perfect.

Katsuki chewed. He swallowed.

He stood there, the taste lingering. The anger in his chest, which had been boiling for weeks, suddenly felt... less important. It was hard to be furious when your mouth tasted like heaven.

"Well?" Izuku asked, a hint of anxiety finally creeping into his voice. "Is it okay?"

Katsuki looked at Izuku. He saw the dirt on his face. He saw the calluses on his hands. He saw the pride in his eyes.

Deku had made this. The useless, quirkless Deku had taken a patch of dirt and created something... undeniable.

"It's..." Katsuki grumbled, looking away. "It's not bad."

Izuku beamed. "Really?"

"I said it's not bad! Don't get cocky, nerd!"

"That means it's delicious in Kacchan-speak," Izuku said to himself, pulling out a notebook from his back pocket and scribbling something.

"Stop writing about me!"

Izuku closed the book. He looked at the horizon. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of purple and orange.

"I'm happy here, Kacchan," Izuku said quietly. "I wake up early. I work hard. My body hurts every day, but I sleep well. I'm feeding people. I sold out at the market last week."

He looked back at Katsuki. "I'm not trying to be a hero anymore. But I think... I think I'm doing something good."

Katsuki looked at him. He finally understood.

The fear wasn't there because Izuku had nothing to lose anymore. He wasn't desperately clinging to a dream he couldn't reach. He had planted his feet on the ground—literally—and found his own strength.

And that strength... it wasn't a threat to Katsuki. It was just... different.

"Tch." Katsuki shoved his hands in his pockets. "Whatever. You're still a nerd."

"I know," Izuku smiled.

"And you smell like manure."

"That's the nitrogen fertilizer. It's high quality."

"Gross."

Katsuki turned around. The fire in his belly had settled into glowing coals. He didn't feel the need to explode anything else.

"I'm going home," Katsuki announced. "This place is boring. And there are too many bugs."

"Do you want a ride to the bus stop?" Izuku offered. "It's a long walk."

"I can walk!" Katsuki snapped. "I have legs!"

"Okay. Bye, Kacchan."

Katsuki started walking down the driveway. He didn't look back.

"Hey, Kacchan!" Izuku called out.

Katsuki stopped. He turned his head slightly.

"Good luck at U.A.!" Izuku shouted, waving. "become the Number One Hero! I'll be rooting for you!"

Katsuki stood there for a second. The old Deku would have said, 'Wait for me!' or 'I'll catch up!'

This Deku just wished him luck.

Katsuki huffed. A small, almost invisible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't tell me what to do, Deku!" he shouted back.

He resumed walking. As he passed the smoking stump of the scarecrow, he felt a strange sensation. The hollowness was gone. The race was over. He had won the hero race by default, sure.

But Deku... Deku had started a different race entirely.

Katsuki reached into his pocket. He realized he was still holding the stem of the strawberry.

"Not bad," he whispered to himself.

The Aftermath

Izuku watched until Bakugo was just a speck on the road. He let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for ten years.

"He didn't kill me," Izuku noted with relief.

He looked down at his strawberry patch. One plant was slightly crushed where Bakugo had stomped, but the rest were fine.

"Sorry, little guys," Izuku whispered, straightening the leaves. "He's loud, but he pushes us to be better."

He walked back to the farmhouse. The chickens were slowly emerging from under the porch, clucking suspiciously.

"It's okay, Henrietta," Izuku cooed, tossing some feed onto the ground. "The explosive boy is gone. You can relax."

He sat on the porch steps, watching the sun dip below the mountains.

He felt... lighter.

For years, Bakugo had been the symbol of everything Izuku couldn't be. Powerful. Confident. Chosen.

But today, standing on his own land, holding his own harvest, Izuku realized something. Bakugo was just a boy. A boy with a lot of pressure and a lot of anger.

And Izuku didn't envy him anymore.

"I'd rather fight weeds than villains," Izuku decided.

He stood up and dusted off his pants.

"Time for dinner. Maybe strawberry shortcake tonight."

Inside the house, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Midoriya!" A bubbly voice answered. "It's Uraraka! I just wanted to tell you—I ate all the carrots! And I feel great! I think I'm ready for the entrance exam tomorrow!"

Izuku smiled, the tension of the afternoon melting away completely.

"That's great, Uraraka-san. You're going to do amazing."

"I hope so! Hey, if I get in... can I come visit the farm sometime? I want to see where the magic carrots come from."

Izuku looked out the window at the darkening fields.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

He hung up the phone.

Up in the sky, the first stars were appearing. Somewhere in the city, Bakugo was probably yelling at a train conductor. Somewhere else, All Might was looking for a successor.

But here, in Green Valley, there was just the wind, the earth, and a boy who had finally found his roots.