What if deku was in Naruto and reborn with his all memories

The end of the world tasted like copper and ozone. 

Izuku Midoriya remembered the sky tearing open, bleeding a violent, apocalyptic crimson. He remembered the deafening roar of decaying earth, the air itself splintering under the sheer, unadulterated weight of One For All clashing with All For One. He remembered the phantom weight of eight hands resting on his shoulders, steadying him, guiding him as he pushed past one hundred percent, past a million percent, past the limits of human flesh and bone. 

He remembered the smile he forced onto his face—a bloody, broken mirror of Yagi Toshinori’s smile—as he grabbed Shigaraki Tomura’s hand, not to strike him down, but to hold him in that final, blinding flash of pure, white light. 

“You can be a hero too.” 

Those were his last words. He was sure of it. The memory was etched into his soul with the finality of a closing book. Izuku had fulfilled his purpose. He had saved the world. He had saved the crying child trapped within the monster. He felt the embers of One For All finally blow away in the wind, leaving him hollow, but warm. He closed his eyes to the cheering of his friends, the sound of Uraraka calling his name, Bakugo’s furious, grief-stricken roar, and Todoroki’s quiet gasp. He closed his eyes, and he let go.

Then, there was the void.

And then, there was the cold. 

It wasn't the heroic, peaceful slumber he had expected. The void shattered, replaced by a violent, sensory assault. The smell of antiseptic, sweat, and old wood invaded his nostrils. Harsh, yellow light pierced through eyelids that felt incredibly heavy, sealed shut by a sticky film. 

And the noise. It wasn’t the roaring of villains or the cheers of citizens. It was a high-pitched, desperate wailing. 

It took Izuku an embarrassingly long time to realize the wailing was coming from him. 

He tried to open his eyes, to assess the situation, to calculate the threat level. Is this a villain’s Quirk? An illusion? Did someone drag me out of the rubble? But his body refused to obey. His limbs felt useless, uncoordinated, flailing wildly without any muscle memory. Panic, cold and sharp, seized his chest. He tried to activate One For All, to summon the familiar, crackling green lightning that had become a second skin. 

Nothing. The stockpile was gone. The embers were dead. 

"Shh, quiet now. This one has a strong set of lungs." 

The voice was female, spoken in Japanese, but the dialect was slightly off, the cadence sharper, rougher than what he was used to in Musutafu. Giant, blurry hands wrapped around him. He was lifted into the air. 

Wait, Izuku’s panicked mind halted. Giant hands? No, not giant hands. I’m… I’m small.

As his vision slowly cleared over the next few agonizing days—or was it weeks? Time became a soup of sleep, feeding, and crying—Izuku Midoriya, the Ninth Wielder of One For All, the boy who had become the World’s Greatest Hero, came to a terrifying, impossible conclusion.

He was a baby. 

He hadn't survived. He had died, and he had been reborn. 

 Three Years Later

Rain drummed heavily against the frosted glass of the Konohagakure Orphanage. 

Three-year-old Izuku sat cross-legged on the worn, wooden floorboards, staring intently out the window. His unruly, dark green hair, a genetic impossibility in this place that seemed to baffle the caretakers, cast a spiky silhouette against the gray light. 

His emerald eyes, however, held a sharpness that was entirely out of place on a toddler's face. 

Observation Day 1,095, Izuku thought, his mind working at the rapid-fire pace it always had. Location: Unknown. Societal Structure: Feudal-militaristic with significant technological regression, yet odd advancements in infrastructure.

He pressed his small hand against the chilly glass, his gaze fixed on the colossal mountain that loomed over the village. Carved into the sheer rock face were four massive stone faces. They looked like the presidents on Mount Rushmore back in his old world, but these figures wore strange headgear and stern, martial expressions. 

The people walking the muddy streets below wore sandals, bandages wrapped around their limbs, and strange vests with numerous pouches. Many of them wore metal plates on their foreheads, engraved with a symbol resembling a leaf. 

They weren't Heroes. Izuku had realized that within his first year. Heroes were public figures, symbols of peace who operated under strict laws and media scrutiny. The people outside this window were different. They moved silently. They carried lethal weapons openly—kunai, shuriken, swords. Their eyes were constantly scanning the rooftops, the alleys, the shadows. 

Shinobi, Izuku concluded, a familiar mutter escaping his small lips. "Ninjas. But not the pop-culture ones from comic books. This is an active, functioning military settlement. An economy built on mercenary work and warfare."

He sighed, a very un-toddler-like sound, and looked down at his hands. They were small, pudgy, and completely devoid of scars. His old hands had been a tapestry of his struggles—mangled joints, white lines of scar tissue from breaking himself over and over again to save others. These new hands were a blank slate. 

In this world, there were no Quirks. He had spent his first two years waiting for someone to sprout wings, breathe fire, or turn their fingers into sticky tape. It never happened. 

Instead, there was something else. Something arguably more terrifying because it was universal. 

Chakra.

He had heard the caretakers use the word when they thought the children were asleep. He had seen a matron, frustrated with a wet log in the fireplace, perform a series of rapid hand gestures before exhaling a small stream of fire to ignite the wood. It wasn't a biological Quirk; it was a learned, manipulated energy. 

Izuku’s brilliant, analytical mind had immediately begun dissecting it. If everyone possessed this 'chakra,' then this society operated on an enforced baseline of lethal potential. Anyone could learn to breathe fire. Anyone could become a weapon. 

"Izuku! Stop mumbling to the window and come eat your gruel!" 

Izuku flinched, pulling himself out of his thoughts. Matron Keiko, a stern woman with a perpetually pinched expression and graying hair, stood in the doorway of the playroom. She didn't like Izuku. None of the caretakers really did. They found him unnerving. He didn't cry when he fell; he simply analyzed the angle of his fall. He stared at them with eyes that seemed to strip away their secrets. He was "the weird green-haired boy who watches too much."

"Coming, Keiko-san," Izuku piped up, softening his voice to a pitch appropriate for a three-year-old. He offered a bright, harmless smile—a practiced imitation of his old, innocent self. 

He trotted past her into the dining hall, a long, drafty room filled with rows of low wooden tables. Dozens of orphans were already seated, the clamor of clinking spoons and childish babble filling the air. 

Izuku grabbed his wooden bowl of thin, tasteless rice gruel and scanned the room. His eyes automatically sought out the corners, analyzing the social dynamics of the room as if it were a battlefield. He noted the bullies, the timid kids, the cliques forming even at this young age. 

And then, his eyes fell upon him. 

Sitting entirely alone at the very end of the farthest table, facing the wall, was a boy. He had bright, spiky blonde hair and three distinct, whisker-like birthmarks on each cheek. He was small, even for a three-year-old, swimming in a faded, oversized t-shirt that had clearly seen better days. 

This was Naruto Uzumaki. 

Izuku’s chest tightened, a phantom pain echoing in his ribs. 

He watched as one of the younger caretakers, a man named Daiki, walked past Naruto. Daiki deliberately bumped the table with his hip. Naruto’s bowl wobbled, tipped, and spilled half of its meager contents onto the dirty floor. 

Naruto gasped, his little hands instinctively reaching out to save his food, but he was too late. He looked up at Daiki, his big, cerulean blue eyes welling with tears. 

"Oh, look what you did," Daiki sneered, his voice low enough that the other children couldn't hear, but Izuku, whose senses had been honed by years of hyper-awareness in combat, caught every venomous syllable. "Clumsy little monster. You'll clean that up yourself."

Naruto didn't say a word. He just bit his trembling lower lip, slid off the bench, and dropped to his knees, using his bare hands to try and scoop the spilled, dirty gruel back into his bowl. He was starving. Izuku knew he was. Naruto was always given the smallest portions.

Izuku gripped his own wooden bowl so tightly his tiny knuckles turned white. 

Why? Izuku thought, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs. Why do they look at him like that?

He had seen that look before. It was the same look the teachers at Aldera Junior High had given him when Bakugo set off explosions on Izuku's desk. It was the look of society looking at a quirkless boy and deciding he was worthless, a defect, a stain on their perfect world. 

But this... this was worse. They didn't just look at Naruto with disdain or pity. They looked at him with fear. They looked at him with a deep, simmering hatred. 

Izuku had heard the whispers in the dark. 

Demon. 

Fox. 

It should have been killed.

They were talking about a toddler. A three-year-old boy who cried when it thundered and liked to collect shiny rocks in the courtyard. 

Before Izuku even registered what his body was doing, his legs were moving. The Hero instinct, honed through years of blood, sweat, and shattered bones in a past life, did not care that his current body was three years old. It only knew that someone was hurting, and someone needed to act. 

Meddling where you don't belong is the essence of being a Hero. All Might’s voice echoed in his soul. 

"Hey!" 

Izuku’s voice, though high-pitched, cut through the ambient noise of the dining hall like a crack of a whip. 

Daiki, who had been walking away, stopped and turned. The other children fell silent, sensing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Even Naruto paused, his hands covered in sticky rice, looking over his shoulder with wide, tearful eyes. 

Izuku marched down the aisle between the tables. He didn't walk like a toddler. He walked with the measured, purposeful stride of a seasoned combatant closing the distance. He stopped right beside Naruto, placing himself deliberately between the blonde boy and the adult caretaker. 

"Izuku," Daiki said, narrowing his eyes. "Go back to your seat. This doesn't concern you."

"You bumped the table," Izuku said, his voice terrifyingly calm, completely devoid of the childish lisp he usually faked. He tilted his head, his emerald eyes locking onto Daiki’s dark ones. "I saw you. You did it on purpose."

Daiki scoffed, looking around to see if Matron Keiko was watching. She wasn't. "Mind your own business, brat. The demon spilled his own food."

Izuku felt a cold, familiar anger rising from the depths of his being. It was the same anger he had felt when he saw Shigaraki decaying the city, the same anger when he saw Overhaul torturing Eri. It was the righteous fury of a true Hero confronting unchecked cruelty. 

Without breaking eye contact with Daiki, Izuku knelt down. He took his own, completely full bowl of warm gruel and set it gently in front of Naruto. 

"Here," Izuku whispered to the blonde boy. "You can have mine."

Naruto stared at the bowl, then up at Izuku, looking like he had just been handed a bar of solid gold. "B-But..." Naruto stammered, his voice raspy from disuse. "Your tummy will rumble..."

"I'm not hungry," Izuku lied smoothly, offering a soft, reassuring smile. 

"Hey!" Daiki snarled, stepping forward, his hand raising as if to swat Izuku away. "I said mind your own business! He doesn't get to eat your food! He needs to learn his place!"

As the adult’s shadow fell over them, Izuku stood up. 

He didn't have One For All. He couldn't summon the glowing, red-veined power that once shattered buildings. But Izuku Midoriya was not just his Quirk. He was a tactician. He was a survivor. And he had faced down the greatest evils of his world and won. 

Izuku glared up at the man. He didn't just look at him; he projected every ounce of the unyielding willpower, the indomitable spirit, and the sheer presence of the World’s Greatest Hero into that stare. 

He breathed in, naturally pulling something from the air around him—something he had only just begun to feel in his new body. Chakra. It was unrefined, raw, and completely uncontrolled, but his intense emotion acted as a catalyst. 

The air around the three-year-old seemed to thicken. The temperature in the immediate vicinity dropped. It was a microscopic fraction of what a true ninja could do, but coming from a toddler, it was a sudden, jarring spike of raw, predatory intent. It felt, for a fleeting second, like the pressure of a seasoned pro hero demanding absolute submission.

Daiki froze. 

The caretaker looked down into those glowing emerald eyes and, for a completely inexplicable, terrifying second, he didn't see a green-haired orphan. He saw a titan. He saw a force of nature that was quietly promising him that if he took one more step, he would be destroyed. 

A cold sweat broke out on the back of Daiki's neck. He swallowed hard, his raised hand faltering. The rational part of his brain screamed that this was a baby, an unarmed three-year-old. But the primitive, animal part of his brain—the part that sensed killing intent and chakra spikes—was screaming at him to back away from the apex predator.

"He is eating my food," Izuku stated, his tone brooking no argument. "If there is a problem with that, you can fetch the Matron. We can discuss why you are intentionally starving a child under your care."

Daiki’s jaw worked, but no words came out. He took a step back, breaking eye contact. "Freak," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling slightly. He turned on his heel and practically fled to the kitchens, eager to put distance between himself and whatever the hell that green-haired kid was. 

The dining hall remained dead silent for a moment before the chatter slowly, hesitantly resumed. 

Izuku let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The strange, thick pressure in the air dissipated. He felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over him, his small legs trembling slightly. Whatever that energy was, he noted mentally, it drains physical stamina rapidly. I need to be careful.

A small tug on his pant leg brought his attention back down. 

Naruto was looking up at him, tears freely streaming down his whisker-marked cheeks, mixing with the dirt and grime. He was holding Izuku’s bowl with both hands, clutching it like a lifeline. 

"W-Why?" Naruto sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "Nobody ever... nobody helps me. Everybody hates me."

Izuku felt his heart shatter all over again. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the spilled gruel soaking into his own trousers. He reached out and gently placed his hands on Naruto’s small, trembling shoulders. 

"Because you were crying," Izuku said simply, quoting the very philosophy that had defined his existence. "And a Hero's job is to save people who need help."

Naruto blinked, his bright blue eyes wide with confusion. "H-Hero? What's a Hero?"

Izuku paused. Right. Shinobi village. The concept of a selfless 'Hero' as he knew it probably didn't exist here. They had elite soldiers, assassins, and commanders. 

Izuku smiled, a genuine, blindingly bright smile that reached his eyes. It was a smile meant to banish fear. 

"A hero is someone who smiles and says, 'I am here,'" Izuku explained softly. "A hero protects people, no matter what. And... I've decided I'm going to protect you, Naruto."

Naruto stared at him for a long, quiet moment. The defensive walls built by three years of neglect and abuse wavered under the sheer, unconditional warmth in Izuku's gaze. With a sudden, choked sob, Naruto lunged forward, throwing his arms around Izuku’s neck in a desperate, crushing hug. 

Izuku blinked in surprise, then slowly wrapped his arms around the crying blonde boy, patting his back soothingly. 

"It's okay," Izuku murmured into Naruto's spiky hair. "I'm here. You're not alone anymore."

As Naruto cried into his shoulder, pouring out years of infantile sorrow, Izuku looked over the boy's head, his emerald eyes hardening with a new resolve. 

He didn't know why he had been brought to this world. He didn't know the rules, the history, or the limits of this new power called chakra. But he knew one thing for certain. 

This village was broken. Any society that normalized the isolation and psychological torture of a child—for reasons the child couldn't possibly comprehend or control—was fundamentally diseased. It was a society built on shadows, secrets, and the weaponization of human lives. 

If there are no Heroes in this world, Izuku thought, gently rubbing Naruto's back, then I’ll just have to be the first.

 Six Months Later

"Izuku, are you drawing in that book again?" 

Four-year-old Izuku slammed the crude, hand-stitched notebook shut and shoved it under his pillow just as Matron Keiko pushed open the door to the sleeping quarters. 

"Just practicing my letters, Keiko-san!" Izuku chirped, flashing an innocent smile. 

Keiko huffed, eyeing him suspiciously. "See that you don't waste paper. It's expensive. And make sure the Uzumaki boy is asleep. I don't want to hear him crying tonight."

"He's fast asleep," Izuku assured her, pointing to the bed next to his. 

Naruto was, indeed, dead to the world, snoring softly, his limbs sprawled in every direction. Ever since the incident in the dining hall, the two had become inseparable. Where Izuku went, Naruto followed like a hyperactive, golden-haired shadow. Izuku had essentially adopted the boy, ensuring he ate, mediating his nascent temper tantrums, and shielding him from the worst of the caretakers' glares. In return, Naruto offered Izuku a grounding tether to this new reality—a fierce, unconditional loyalty that reminded Izuku of his closest friends back at U.A.

Keiko sniffed disdainfully and closed the door, plunging the room back into darkness, save for the moonlight filtering through the window. 

Izuku waited a full three minutes, listening to the rhythm of the matron's footsteps fading down the hall. Once he was certain she was gone, he slid his hand under his pillow and pulled out his prized possession. 

It was a makeshift journal, crafted from scraps of paper he had scavenged from the orphanage office's recycling bin, bound together with some twine he had found in the courtyard. 

On the cover, written in wobbly, childish kanji to hide its true sophistication, were the words: 

Hero Analysis for the Future: Volume 1 (Shinobi Edition)

Izuku pulled a small stub of a pencil from his pocket, army-crawled to the window to use the moonlight, and opened the book. 

The pages were densely packed with diagrams, observations, and theories. To an adult of this world, it might look like the ramblings of a very imaginative child. To Izuku, it was the foundation of his master plan. 

He flipped to his current section: Chakra - The Biological Quirk Alternative.

Observation: he wrote, his handwriting shifting from childish scrawl to tight, efficient script. Chakra appears to be an amalgamation of physical stamina and spiritual/mental energy. Unlike Quirks, which are localized biological mutations tied to a specific physical mechanism (e.g., Kacchan's sweat glands, Todoroki's dual internal temperature regulation), Chakra is holistic. It flows through a vascular-like system within the body.

He sketched a crude outline of a human body, drawing lines to represent the pathways he hypothesized existed. 

Application: he continued. If Chakra can be used to expel fire or stick to surfaces (observed a shinobi walking up a wall yesterday!), then it is a highly malleable energy source. I don't have One For All. But what made OFA powerful wasn't just the raw strength; it was the distribution of that power.

Izuku tapped the pencil against his chin, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. 

When he had first learned Full Cowling under Gran Torino, the secret had been stopping the localization of power. Instead of funneling 100% of the power into one limb and breaking it, he circulated 5% of the power evenly throughout his entire body like a continuous electric current, enhancing his speed, strength, and durability simultaneously. 

Hypothesis: Izuku wrote, underlining the word heavily. If Chakra is an energy that flows through the body, can I replicate Full Cowling using Chakra instead of OFA?

The implications were staggering. If Shinobi usually gathered chakra only to mold it into external attacks (Jutsu) or to briefly enhance a single strike, they were treating it like an emitter-type Quirk. But if Izuku could learn to continuously cycle his chakra through every muscle, bone, and nerve ending in his body, wrapping himself in a permanent, low-level physical enhancement... he could simulate a mutant-type or enhancement-type Quirk. He could rebuild his Shoot Style. 

He closed his eyes and focused inward. It was a mental exercise he had been practicing every night for months. He reached past the physical sensation of his breathing, searching for that warm, coiled energy resting in his gut. 

He found it. A tiny, flickering spark. 

Pull, he commanded himself. 

He tried to draw the energy out, not to his hands or his mouth, but into his blood. He visualized the green lightning of his past life. He imagined it crawling up his spine, wrapping around his heart, and branching out into his arms and legs. 

A sudden, sharp spike of heat flared in his veins. 

"Guh!" Izuku gasped, his eyes flying open as a jolt of pain shot through his tiny limbs. He clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle his cry, falling onto his side. 

His muscles spasmed violently. It felt as if he had just tried to sprint a marathon without stretching. He panted heavily against the floorboards, sweat beading on his forehead. 

Failure, he noted mentally, though a grin slowly spread across his face. But a promising failure. The pathways are too narrow. My physical vessel is too weak to handle continuous distribution. I need to condition my body first. Calisthenics. Stretching. Core strength.

He looked over at the sleeping form of Naruto. The blonde boy mumbled something in his sleep, tossing a blanket off his leg. 

Izuku crawled over and gently pulled the blanket back over his friend. 

"We're going to get strong, Naruto," Izuku whispered into the quiet night. "Both of us. I won't let this village turn you into a weapon, and I won't let them throw you away. We're going to break their system, and we're going to save them all."

Izuku Midoriya crawled back to his own bed, his mind buzzing with workout routines, chakra theories, and plans for the future. He didn't have his Quirk, his friends, or his mentor. He was in a ruthless world that raised children to be killers. 

But he had a notebook. He had a friend to protect. And he had the heart of a Hero. 

For Deku, that was more than enough to start with. 

 The Path Begins

By the time Izuku and Naruto turned five, the orphanage could no longer contain them. The caretakers, eager to rid themselves of the "demon brat" and the "creepy green-haired freak," arranged for them to be moved into a small, dilapidated apartment in the red-light district of Konoha. It was an arrangement secretly overseen by the Third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, who provided a meager monthly stipend for their living expenses. 

For Naruto, it was a step up; he no longer had to endure the daily, physical presence of the hateful caretakers. For Izuku, it was the perfect cover to begin his training in earnest. 

Their apartment became a sanctuary and a dojo. 

"Okay, Naruto, ninety-eight... ninety-nine... one hundred!" Izuku called out, sitting on Naruto's back. 

Naruto, groaning, pushed himself up from the floor, his small arms trembling under the strain of the push-ups and the added weight of his friend. "Iztuku... 'm gonna die..." Naruto wheezed, collapsing onto his stomach on the tatami mat. 

"You're not going to die," Izuku laughed, sliding off and handing Naruto a cup of water. "Your stamina is actually insane, Naruto. Your recovery rate is anomalous. I hypothesize it has something to do with your lineage, or perhaps a unique chakra signature."

Naruto took the cup and gulped it down, staring blankly at Izuku. "You're using those big words again. 'Maly? High-poth-sis?"

"It means you're really tough, Naruto," Izuku translated, smiling affectionately. 

"Oh! Well, yeah! I'm gonna be the toughest!" Naruto grinned, his exhaustion vanishing in an instant. He leaped to his feet, pumping his fists. "I'm gonna be the Hokage! Then the whole village will have to stop glaring at me and acknowledge me! Believe it!"

Izuku's smile softened. Hokage. The military dictator of the village. The strongest shinobi. It was the equivalent of becoming the Number One Hero in this world. 

When Naruto had first declared this dream, Izuku had analyzed it thoroughly. He understood the psychology behind it perfectly. Naruto didn't want political power; he wanted validation. He wanted to be seen. He wanted to be loved. 

"You'll be an amazing Hokage, Naruto," Izuku said sincerely. 

Naruto beamed, his chest puffing out. "Yeah? And you'll be my right-hand man, right, Izuku? My super-smart advisor!"

"Actually," Izuku said, standing up and stretching his legs. He rolled his ankles, feeling the familiar, comforting ache of muscles pushed to their healthy limit. "I have a different goal."

"Huh? What's better than Hokage?"

Izuku walked over to the open window. The village of Konoha sprawled beneath them, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun. He could see the Academy in the distance, the training grounds, the ANBU headquarters hidden in the shadows of the Hokage monument. 

"I'm going to be a Hero," Izuku declared, his voice ringing with quiet, absolute conviction. 

"A Hero?" Naruto tilted his head. "Like... in the stories? A samurai who fights dragons?"

"No," Izuku turned back to Naruto, his emerald eyes burning with an inner fire that always made Naruto stand up a little straighter. "A Hero who saves people. Not just from bad guys, but from themselves. A Hero who changes the rules. Shinobi fight in the dark, Naruto. They hide, they deceive, and they kill because they are told to. Heroes stand in the light. They save everyone. They inspire."

Naruto stared at him, captivated by the raw emotion radiating from his friend. "Can... can you really do that here?"

"I don't know," Izuku admitted, clenching his fist. "But I have to try. The Academy starts next week. They are going to try and teach us how to be perfect tools for the village. They are going to teach us how to kill without emotion."

Izuku walked over to Naruto and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We are going to learn everything they have to teach us, Naruto. But we are not going to become their tools. We are going to become strong so we can protect people our own way."

Naruto looked at Izuku’s hand, then up at his face. A fierce, determined grin spread across the blonde’s face. He raised his fist. 

"You got it, Izuku! We'll show 'em! The future Hokage and the first Hero of Konoha!" 

Izuku smiled, raising his own fist to bump against Naruto's. 

"Plus Ultra," Izuku whispered. 

"Huh? What's that mean?"

"It means going beyond your limits," Izuku explained, turning to grab his worn, tattered notebook. He flipped to a fresh page, the title ready for the next phase of his life. 

Academy Era: Curriculum Analysis and Subversion Tactics.

"Come on," Izuku said, his voice dropping into the analytical, commanding tone of a strategist preparing for war. "Let's run through the basic kata again. If we want to change this world, we have to master their game first."

As the sun set over Konohagakure, casting long shadows across the ninja village, two boys trained in a cramped apartment. One was destined to carry a demon. The other carried the memories of a savior. 

The shinobi world had no idea what was coming.

The Konohagakure Ninja Academy smelled of chalk dust, old parchment, and the distinct, metallic tang of unpolished kunai. 

To the average seven-year-old sitting in Classroom 301, this was simply school. It was the place where they learned to throw shuriken, recite the history of the Hokages, and mold their chakra. To Izuku Midoriya, whose mind belonged to a teenager who had fought wars in a different lifetime, the Academy was something entirely different. 

It was a factory. And the product it manufactured was child soldiers.

Izuku sat near the back of the classroom, his pencil moving rhythmically across the paper of his test. The questions were horrifyingly pragmatic. 

Question 4: If an enemy shinobi is struck in the subclavian artery with a kunai, how many seconds do you have before they bleed out and are unable to form hand seals?

Question 5: Describe the most effective method for disposing of a comrade’s body behind enemy lines to prevent the theft of bloodline secrets.

Izuku’s emerald eyes traced the harsh black ink of the questions. Back at U.A. High School, Aizawa-sensei had tested them on rescue protocols, the legalities of Quirk usage in urban environments, and the psychology of de-escalating hostage situations. U.A. had taught them how to save lives. The Academy taught them how to end them efficiently, and how to erase the evidence afterward. 

Eighty-two percent, Izuku thought, deliberately skipping the final question about lethal interrogation techniques and erasing a perfectly correct answer regarding explosive tag placements, replacing it with a plausible error. That should bring my overall grade for the semester to exactly a B-minus.

He set his pencil down, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he stared at the back of Iruka Umino’s head. 

Izuku liked Iruka. The scarred Chunin was one of the few adults in the village who looked at the children with genuine warmth. But even Iruka was a product of the system—a cog in the grand, militaristic machine of the Hidden Leaf. 

Izuku had spent his first two years at the Academy gathering intelligence. He had quickly realized that standing out in Konoha was a death sentence for a child’s freedom. 

He had read the history books. He knew about Kakashi Hatake, who graduated the Academy at age five and was killing men before he lost his baby teeth. He knew about Itachi Uchiha. The village celebrated these prodigies, calling them geniuses. But Izuku’s Hero-trained mind saw the truth: the village devoured its brightest lights, throwing them into the meat grinder of the ANBU Black Ops or the front lines of whatever border skirmish was currently active. 

And then, there was the shadow that Izuku had only briefly glimpsed but completely terrified him. 

He didn't know the man's name, but he had seen him once from a rooftop. An old man with a cane, his right eye and arm heavily bandaged, walking with an entourage of shinobi who wore blank, emotionless porcelain masks. When Izuku had looked at that bandaged man, the simulated 'Danger Sense' he had developed by reading negative chakra spikes had screamed so loudly it gave him a migraine. 

That man felt like All For One. Not in raw power, but in pure, calculating, sociopathic intent. The man looked at people and saw only tools, puzzle pieces to be manipulated, broken, and discarded. 

If I show them how smart I really am, Izuku had concluded that day, if I show them I have the tactical mind of a Pro Hero and the physical discipline of a seasoned martial artist, they won't make me a Genin. That bandaged man will drag me into the dark, and I will never see the sun again.

So, Izuku Midoriya became aggressively average. 

He answered questions in class, but only the obvious ones. He threw his kunai with decent accuracy, but deliberately botched one out of every five throws. He never ran his fastest, never hit his hardest, and always maintained the cheerful, slightly nervous demeanor of a normal kid. 

"Pst. Izuku." 

A crumpled ball of paper bounced off the back of Izuku’s head. He didn't flinch. He slowly unrolled it under his desk. 

Written in terrible, scrawling handwriting was a single, desperate plea: Wats the anser to number 3??? My hed hurts.

Izuku glanced to his left. Two rows over, Naruto Uzumaki was practically vibrating in his seat, chewing on the end of his pencil, his blue eyes wide with panic. 

Izuku offered a small, reassuring smile. He picked up his eraser, quickly scribbled 'Aim for the joints, not the center mass' on the scrap of paper, and flicked it back with microscopic, chakra-enhanced precision. It landed perfectly inside Naruto’s open pencil case. 

Naruto read it, his face lighting up with a massive grin, and he flashed Izuku a discreet thumbs-up. 

Izuku’s smile softened. Protecting Naruto was his anchor. The village had not stopped hating the blonde boy, and the teachers at the Academy were no better. They subtly sabotaged him, ignoring his raised hand, giving him the dullest kunai for practice, and phrasing test questions in confusing, overly academic ways that Naruto's hyperactive mind struggled to parse. 

Izuku had become Naruto’s personal tutor, translating the dry Shinobi texts into a language of kinetic movement and simple logic that Naruto could understand. In return, Naruto trained with Izuku every evening, pushing his incredible, inexhaustible stamina against Izuku’s highly refined, methodical exercises. 

"Alright, pencils down!" Iruka announced, clapping his hands. "Pass your tests to the front. We're heading out to the courtyard for Taijutsu sparring."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the classroom. For the children of shinobi, sitting at a desk was torture; fighting was what they were bred for. 

As the class filed out of the room, Izuku lagged behind, his eyes naturally falling on a lone figure walking near the front of the pack. 

Sasuke Uchiha. 

He was a boy of midnight blue hair and dark, haunted eyes. He walked with his back straight, his hands tucked into his pockets, an aura of icy unapproachability radiating from him. The other students—especially the girls like Sakura and Ino—whispered his name with awe and infatuation. The boys looked at him with a mix of jealousy and respect. 

Izuku looked at him and saw a tragedy. 

It had happened a year ago. The Uchiha Massacre. Izuku remembered the night the air in the village turned heavy with the stench of blood. He remembered the deafening silence that followed. 

Since that day, Sasuke had changed. The slightly arrogant but ultimately normal boy had died, replaced by a ghost driven purely by vengeance. 

He’s like Kacchan and Todoroki mixed together, Izuku analyzed, watching Sasuke’s tense shoulders. He has Kacchan’s superiority complex and explosive, defensive pride—a desperate need to prove he is the strongest to mask his deep-seated insecurities. But he has Todoroki’s trauma. He’s carrying the weight of his entire family’s blood on his shoulders. He’s frozen his own heart to survive the grief.

Izuku clenched his fists at his sides. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to reach out to Sasuke, to grab him by the collar and shake him, to tell him that revenge would only hollow him out until there was nothing left. 

But Izuku knew from bitter experience that you couldn't save someone who wasn't ready to reach back. Todoroki hadn't listened to words; he had listened to the sheer, undeniable force of Izuku breaking his own fingers to force him to use his fire. Kacchan hadn't listened until they had fought tooth and nail under the moonlight at Ground Beta. 

Words won't reach him, Izuku thought as they stepped out into the bright, dusty courtyard. To an Uchiha, to a shinobi, power is the only language that matters.

The class gathered around a large dirt ring marked by a thick white rope. Iruka stood in the center, holding a clipboard. 

"Today's spars will test your adaptability," Iruka announced, his voice carrying over the chatter. "Standard Academy katas are expected, but I want to see how you react when your opponent breaks rhythm. Remember the Seal of Confrontation before you begin, and the Seal of Reconciliation when you finish. We are comrades first."

The first few matches were sloppy affairs. Kiba Inuzuka brawled wildly against a civilian-born student, relying on feral instinct rather than technique. Shikamaru Nara forfeited his match against Choji Akimichi, claiming the sun was too bright. 

"Next," Iruka called out. "Uchiha Sasuke versus Uzumaki Naruto."

The courtyard fell dead silent. Then, a wave of whispers broke out. 

"Sasuke's gonna destroy him."

"The dead-last against the prodigy? This is gonna be quick."

Naruto leaped over the rope, landing in the dirt with a dramatic puff of dust. He pointed a finger directly at Sasuke, his blue eyes burning with fierce determination. "Alright, Sasuke! I'm gonna wipe that smug look right off your face! Believe it!"

Sasuke didn't say a word. He stepped into the ring with fluid, practiced grace. His face was a mask of utter apathy. He didn't even look at Naruto; he looked through him, as if the blonde boy were nothing more than an annoying insect. 

"Form the Seal of Confrontation," Iruka ordered. 

Naruto brought up two fingers, glaring. Sasuke did the same, his expression bored. 

"Begin!" 

Naruto charged with a primal yell. It was exactly what Izuku would have told him not to do. Naruto's attack was linear, entirely predictable, and completely fueled by raw emotion rather than tactical thought. He threw a wide, looping right hook aimed squarely at Sasuke's jaw. 

Sasuke didn't even shift his stance. He waited until the fist was mere inches from his face, then lazily leaned to the left. As Naruto’s momentum carried him forward, Sasuke brought the heel of his palm up, striking Naruto hard under the ribcage, right in the solar plexus. 

Naruto gasped, all the air rushing out of his lungs. Before he could recover, Sasuke swept his leg, kicking Naruto’s ankles out from under him. The blonde boy hit the dirt hard, coughing violently. 

In a flash, Sasuke was standing over him, two fingers pressed against Naruto's throat in a mock execution strike. The entire fight had lasted less than three seconds. 

"Winner: Sasuke Uchiha," Iruka called out, a hint of pity in his voice. "Form the Seal of Reconciliation."

Naruto pushed himself up on his elbows, his face red with humiliation and anger. He glared at Sasuke’s outstretched hand, slapped it away, and stormed out of the ring, keeping his head down. 

Izuku watched Naruto walk away, feeling a familiar twinge of empathy. He remembered being the Quirkless kid everyone laughed at. He remembered the dirt tasting like failure. 

"He's pathetic," Sasuke muttered, turning to walk out of the ring. 

"Hold on, Sasuke," Iruka said, checking his clipboard. "We have an uneven number today, so you'll be sparring twice. Your next opponent is..." Iruka traced his finger down the list. "Midoriya Izuku."

Izuku’s head snapped up. 

A murmur ran through the crowd, though it was less excited than before. Izuku Midoriya was the quiet, polite boy who always got B’s. He wasn't the dead-last like Naruto, but he certainly wasn't a prodigy. He was just... there. 

"Sensei," Sasuke said, his voice dripping with icy disdain. "Do I have to? This is a waste of my time."

Izuku stepped over the rope, his face completely calm. "I promise not to take up too much of your time, Uchiha-san."

Sasuke finally looked at him. Really looked at him. He saw a boy slightly shorter than himself, with messy green hair, a smattering of freckles, and a relaxed, almost lazy posture. There was no killing intent, no fiery determination like Naruto. Izuku just looked mildly curious. 

It annoyed Sasuke instantly. 

"Just don't cry when I put you in the dirt," Sasuke warned. 

They took their places in the center of the ring. 

Analysis, Izuku’s mind kicked into hyper-drive, the world seeming to slow down around him. Sasuke Uchiha. Height: 125cm. Weight: 26kg. Stance: Traditional Uchiha Interceptor Fist. Weight is distributed evenly, favoring counter-attacks over initiation. He relies on his opponent making the first mistake. He strikes with precision to nerve clusters and joints.

Izuku brought his fingers up to form the Seal of Confrontation. 

I cannot use OFA. I do not have a Quirk. But I have spent three years conditioning this body to withstand the continuous, full-body circulation of low-level chakra. Proto-Cowling.

Izuku closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. He pulled on the coil of energy in his stomach, visualizing the green lightning. He didn't let it explode outward. He forced it into his vascular system, locking it tightly to his muscles. A faint, almost invisible shimmer of air distorted around his skin. 

He didn't take a standard ninja stance. Instead, Izuku spread his feet wide, bent his knees low, and let his arms hang loosely at his sides. He began to bounce lightly on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight rhythmically from left to right. 

It was Gran Torino’s footwork. It was the foundation of Shoot Style. 

The Academy students frowned. Sakura whispered, "What is he doing? That's not a stance."

Even Sasuke narrowed his eyes. "Are you mocking me, Midoriya?" 

"Begin!" Iruka shouted. 

Izuku didn't charge like Naruto. He didn't wait like a standard academy student. He moved. 

With a burst of chakra-enhanced speed to his calves, Izuku pushed off the dirt. He didn't move in a straight line. He zig-zagged, moving at sharp, unpredictable angles, his body staying incredibly low to the ground. 

Sasuke’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. He's fast! 

Sasuke braced himself, waiting for the punch to come. But Izuku didn't use his hands. 

Closing the distance in a heartbeat, Izuku dropped his hands to the dirt and launched a brutal, spinning sweep kick aimed at Sasuke’s knees. It was a breakdancing move adapted for combat. 

Sasuke reacted purely on instinct, leaping backward to avoid having his legs shattered. But Izuku was already moving. Using his hands as a pivot, Izuku propelled his entire body upward like a coiled spring, his right leg snapping out in a high crescent kick aimed at Sasuke's chin. 

Sasuke barely managed to bring his forearms up to block. 

SMACK!

The force of the kick sent Sasuke skidding backward through the dirt, his sandals digging two deep trenches. His arms throbbed with a dull, aching pain. 

What the hell is this power? Sasuke thought, his calm demeanor shattering. He's just an average student! Where did this come from?

"Your center of gravity is too high," a voice murmured. 

Sasuke blinked. Izuku was standing right in front of him, having closed the distance instantly while Sasuke was recovering. And the green-haired boy was... talking? 

"The Uchiha style relies on a rigid spine to pivot for intercepts," Izuku muttered, his words spilling out at a machine-gun pace that was entirely impossible to fully comprehend in the middle of a fight. "But because of your recent growth spurt, your upper body is slightly heavier, meaning if I force you to block high, your footing becomes unstable. Furthermore, you're favoring your right eye, which suggests your left side has a microscopic blind spot in your peripheral vision!"

"Shut up!" Sasuke roared, infuriated by the relentless stream of analysis. He threw a lightning-fast combination—a jab, a cross, and a spinning backhand. 

Izuku dodged them all, not by leaping away, but by weaving. He slipped past the jab by a millimeter, ducked under the cross, and leaned backward—his spine bending at an unnatural angle—to let the backhand pass over his face. 

He moved like water. He moved like someone who had spent thousands of hours dodging attacks from villains who could level city blocks. Sasuke's fists were hitting nothing but air. 

"He's reading him," Iruka whispered from the edge of the ring, his eyes wide in utter disbelief. "He's reading Sasuke's muscle twitches before the strikes even happen. How?"

"Stop running away!" Sasuke gritted his teeth, channeling a surge of chakra into his fists. He abandoned the elegant Uchiha katas and launched into a furious, relentless assault. 

This was the anger. Izuku saw it clearly now. Stripped of his cool facade, Sasuke was just a terrified, angry boy lashing out at a world that had hurt him. 

Izuku stopped weaving. 

He needs to know he isn't untouchable, Izuku thought. He needs to feel a wall he can't break through with anger alone.

As Sasuke threw a devastating right hook, Izuku didn't dodge. He brought his left forearm up, bracing it with a burst of chakra. 

Clash! 

Bone met bone with a loud crack. Sasuke’s eyes widened as his fist was stopped completely, feeling as though he had just punched a solid oak tree. 

Before Sasuke could pull back, Izuku’s right hand shot out, grabbing Sasuke tightly by the collar of his shirt. 

Shoot Style: Manchester Smash—adapted.

Izuku pulled Sasuke downward violently while simultaneously driving his right knee upward. 

Sasuke’s eyes went completely wide. He saw the knee coming for his stomach. In a desperate, split-second reaction, Sasuke managed to twist his body, bringing his own knee up to intercept the blow. 

Their knees collided in mid-air. 

A shockwave of displaced dust exploded outward from the center of the ring, washing over the watching students. Several kids coughed, shielding their eyes. 

When the dust settled, the courtyard was dead silent. 

Izuku and Sasuke were frozen in a precarious, tangled deadlock. Izuku had his hand firmly gripping Sasuke’s collar, his right fist pulled back, hovering mere inches from Sasuke’s face. 

Sasuke, breathing heavily, had his left hand wrapped around Izuku’s wrist, while his right hand held a wooden practice kunai directly against the side of Izuku’s neck. 

They stared at each other. Sasuke’s dark eyes were wild, filled with adrenaline, confusion, and a newfound, burning intensity. Izuku’s emerald eyes were completely calm, unblinking, holding Sasuke’s gaze with the terrifying serenity of a veteran holding the line. 

A drop of sweat rolled down Sasuke’s cheek. He realized, with a sickening jolt to his pride, that if this had been a real battle to the death, they would both be dead. Or worse... he felt the phantom pressure of Izuku’s pulled-back fist and knew, instinctively, that if Izuku hadn't stopped, his skull would be shattered. 

"Time!" Iruka finally shouted, his voice cracking slightly. "Draw! It's a draw! Release each other!"

Slowly, carefully, they untangled. Sasuke lowered the wooden kunai, his chest heaving. Izuku released his grip on Sasuke’s collar, instantly dropping the intense, predatory aura he had exuded during the fight. 

Izuku took a step back, rubbed the back of his neck, and offered Sasuke a bright, completely innocent, and entirely infuriating smile. 

"Wow, Uchiha-san, you're really strong!" Izuku chirped, his voice pitching back up to a normal, childish tone. "I almost tripped and fell at the end there! Good match!"

Sasuke stared at him, utterly paralyzed by the sheer cognitive dissonance. Tripped? The boy had moved like a demon, dismantled his stance with mathematical precision, caught a full-power strike like it was nothing, and now he was smiling like a village idiot. 

"Form the Seal of Reconciliation," Iruka commanded, stepping into the ring to make sure they complied. 

Izuku stepped forward and held out his two fingers. 

Sasuke looked at those fingers for a long time. His pride screamed at him to slap the hand away, just like Naruto's. To demand a rematch. To prove that the Uchiha were supreme. 

But Sasuke looked into Izuku’s eyes. Behind the fake, cheerful smile, Sasuke saw it. He saw the abyss. He saw a depth of power and understanding that he couldn't even begin to fathom. 

Slowly, almost against his own will, Sasuke raised his hand and hooked his fingers with Izuku’s, completing the seal. 

"What... what was that style?" Sasuke demanded, his voice low, meant only for Izuku. "Who taught you that?"

Izuku’s smile didn't waver, but his eyes flashed with a dangerous, intelligent light. 

"Just something I made up," Izuku whispered back. "I call it Shoot Style. You should work on your footing, Sasuke. Anger makes your strikes heavy, but it makes your feet slow."

Sasuke yanked his hand back, as if Izuku’s skin had burned him. He turned and walked out of the ring, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of frustration, curiosity, and a strange, unfamiliar feeling. 

Respect. 

As Izuku walked back to the sidelines, the class parted for him like the Red Sea. The girls looked at him with wary confusion. The boys looked at him with awe. 

Naruto, however, practically tackled him. 

"Izuku! That was so cool!" Naruto screamed, wrapping his arms around his friend. "You totally had him! You were moving like whoosh and bam and he was all like ahh!"

Izuku laughed gently, patting Naruto’s spiky hair. "Thanks, Naruto. But it was just a draw."

"Nah, you totally won! You're gonna have to teach me that breakdancing kick thing!" 

As the class was dismissed and began to filter back inside, Izuku lingered in the courtyard. He looked at his hands. They were trembling slightly. The continuous chakra circulation had taken a heavy toll on his underdeveloped muscles. He would be sore for days. 

But it was worth it. 

He looked toward the Academy doors and saw Sasuke lingering in the shadows of the hallway, watching him with dark, calculating eyes. 

Izuku didn't look away. He held the gaze. 

I can't save him with words, Izuku thought, the memories of his past life giving him a grim, unyielding determination. The darkness in his heart is too deep. The system of this village is designed to exploit that darkness, to turn his pain into a weapon.

Izuku clenched his fist, feeling the microscopic pulse of chakra beneath his skin. 

If he wants power, I will show him a power that doesn't require hatred. If he wants to fight, I will fight him until he understands. I failed to save Kacchan from his own worst impulses until it was almost too late. I won't make that mistake again.

High above the courtyard, hidden perfectly within the dense foliage of an ancient oak tree, a shinobi wearing a blank, porcelain bird mask scribbled rapidly onto a small scroll. 

Subject: Midoriya Izuku, the ANBU operative wrote. Initial assessment of mediocrity incorrect. Exhibited unprecedented, unknown Taijutsu style and high-level tactical analysis during spar with Uchiha Sasuke. Physical capabilities far exceed academic records. Subject is actively hiding his true potential.

The operative rolled the scroll, tied it to a messenger bird, and watched it fly away. Its destination was not the Hokage’s tower, but a subterranean complex hidden deep beneath the village, where a man with a bandaged eye waited in the dark. 

Izuku Midoriya had successfully planted a seed of salvation in Sasuke Uchiha. But in doing so, he had stepped out of the shadows, and the real monsters of the ninja world had finally noticed the light.

The cold, polished steel of the forehead protector felt heavy in Izuku Midoriya’s hands. 

He sat on the edge of his futon in the cramped apartment he shared with Naruto, tracing the engraved spiral of the Konohagakure leaf with his thumb. In his past life, the symbol of his graduation had been a crisp, embossed letter from U.A. High School, accompanied by a holographic projection of All Might. It had been a beacon of hope. 

This piece of metal, however, was a military dog tag. It was a license to kill, and a promise to die for the village if ordered. 

"Hey, Izuku! Are you ready?" 

Naruto burst out of the tiny bathroom, practically vibrating with excitement. He was already wearing his brand-new blue forehead protector, tied tightly over his spiky blonde hair. His grin was so wide it threatened to split his face, his blue eyes shining with a pride that Izuku hadn't seen in him since the day they met. 

It had been a chaotic week. Naruto had initially failed the graduation exam, unable to produce a standard Clone Jutsu. Then came the incident with the traitorous instructor, Mizuki, and the Forbidden Scroll of Seals. Izuku had tracked Naruto into the woods, arriving just in time to help Naruto intercept Mizuki's massive shuriken, buying Naruto the precious seconds he needed to summon a thousand Shadow Clones. Iruka had survived, Mizuki was in ANBU custody, and Naruto had earned his headband. 

"I'm ready, Naruto," Izuku smiled warmly, standing up. He tied his own headband around his forehead, adjusting it so it sat comfortably above his brow. He looked in the mirror. The reflection staring back was a twelve-year-old boy in a dark green, utilitarian tracksuit—a subtle homage to his old Hero costume—with a scarred, analytical gaze that belonged to a veteran of a different world. 

"We did it," Naruto breathed, looking at their reflections side-by-side. "We're real ninjas now."

"This is just the starting line," Izuku reminded him gently, grabbing his notebooks and sliding them into a leg pouch. "The real test begins today. Team assignments."

Classroom 301 buzzed with nervous energy. The newly minted Genin chattered excitedly, bragging about the jutsu they knew and speculating on who would be grouped together. 

Izuku sat in his usual spot near the back, observing the room. He had spent the last five years carefully calibrating his performance to remain perfectly in the middle of the pack. He had avoided the attention of Danzo Shimura's ROOT organization, successfully masquerading as a bright but unremarkable student. But today, the safety of the Academy was over. 

Standard shinobi cells consist of three Genin and one Jonin instructor, Izuku’s mind raced, analyzing the class roster. Twenty-eight students graduated. That means there will be nine three-man cells. But wait... twenty-eight isn't divisible by three. There is an odd number.

Izuku frowned, his emerald eyes scanning the room. Did someone else pass a make-up exam? Or... 

His eyes fell on Naruto, who was currently glaring daggers at Sasuke Uchiha across the room, and then on Sasuke, who was staring out the window with his usual brooding apathy. 

Naruto is the Jinchuriki. The village's nuclear deterrent. Sasuke is the last loyal Uchiha, possessing the Sharingan bloodline. They are the two most valuable, politically volatile assets in this graduating class. The Hokage will want them watched closely by his best Jonin. But putting two highly emotional, intensely competitive boys on the same team is a recipe for disaster. They need a buffer. Someone remarkably stable, deeply loyal to the village—or at least to Naruto—and capable of de-escalating conflict.

Izuku felt a sudden, sinking realization. He remembered the subtle, calculating looks the Third Hokage had given him during his rare visits to the orphanage and their apartment. He remembered his deliberately "average" psychological evaluations that highlighted his patience, tactical mindset, and protective nature over Naruto. 

Oh no. He's going to use me as the glue.

The door slid open, and Iruka Umino stepped up to the podium, carrying a stack of clipboards. The room instantly fell silent. 

"From today onward, you are all officially ninjas of the Hidden Leaf," Iruka began, a proud smile on his scarred face. "However, you are still Genin. The hardest trials lie ahead of you. You will now be placed in squads, led by an elite Jonin. Because of an anomaly in this year's passing grades, one squad will be uniquely structured as a four-man Genin cell to ensure no one is left behind."

A murmur rippled through the class. Izuku just sighed internally. Calculated it perfectly. Here we go.

Iruka began listing off the teams. Izuku tuned out the majority of them, waiting for the inevitable. He noted Team 8 (Hinata, Kiba, Shino) as a tracking specialist squad, and Team 10 (Ino, Shikamaru, Choji) as the traditional Ino-Shika-Cho formation. 

"Next," Iruka called out, looking down at his paper with a slight frown. "Team 7. Uzumaki Naruto. Haruno Sakura."

Naruto leaped out of his chair, cheering wildly, while Sakura slumped her head onto her desk, groaning in despair. 

"Uchiha Sasuke," Iruka continued. 

This time, Sakura shrieked in absolute delight, while Naruto fell back into his chair, groaning in agony. Sasuke merely closed his eyes and scoffed. 

"And," Iruka raised his voice to cut through the noise, looking directly at the back row. "Midoriya Izuku."

Sakura blinked, looking back at Izuku. Naruto’s head snapped up, his frown instantly vanishing into a brilliant smile. "Izuku?! Yes! We're on the same team!" 

Sasuke opened one eye, glancing at Izuku. A flash of memory from their spar years ago crossed the Uchiha's mind—the terrifying speed, the unbreakable grip, the smile that hid a monster. Sasuke’s grip on his desk tightened slightly. Midoriya. Good. I can finally figure out what he's hiding.

"Your Jonin instructor will be Kakashi Hatake," Iruka finished. "You will meet him here after lunch. Class dismissed."

Two hours later, Team 7 was the only squad left in the classroom. 

Naruto was pacing furiously at the front of the room. Sakura was resting her chin on her hands, sighing dreamily as she watched Sasuke, who was resting his chin on his hands, brooding perfectly. 

Izuku sat at a desk, a notebook open in front of him, writing furiously. Kakashi Hatake. Famous in the bingo books. The Copy Ninja. Sharingan user. Known for an extremely high failure rate among Genin candidates. He isn't late by accident; this is a psychological tactic to test our patience and degrade our focus before we even meet him.

"He's so late!" Naruto yelled, grabbing a chalkboard eraser. He dragged a chair over to the sliding door and balanced the eraser precariously on top of the door frame. 

"Naruto! What are you doing?!" Sakura scolded, though she didn't make a move to stop him. "You're going to get us in trouble!"

"It's his fault for being late!" Naruto declared, hopping down. 

"Hmph," Sasuke scoffed. "A Jonin isn't going to fall for a booby trap as pathetic as that. You're an idiot."

Izuku stopped writing. His simulated Danger Sense—a hyper-awareness of chakra fluctuations in his immediate vicinity—suddenly twitched. He felt a presence outside the door. It was entirely suppressed, making no noise, disturbing no air. But the chakra felt dense, like a coiled snake resting just out of sight. 

He's there, Izuku realized. And he's going to let the eraser hit him.

A pale hand wrapped around the edge of the door. The door slid open. 

A tall man with gravity-defying silver hair, a dark blue mask covering the lower half of his face, and his forehead protector pulled diagonally over his left eye stepped into the room. 

Plop. 

The chalk eraser fell squarely onto the top of his silver hair, bouncing off with a pitiful cloud of white dust. 

Silence descended on the room. Naruto burst into raucous laughter, pointing at the Jonin. Sakura immediately began apologizing profusely, claiming she tried to stop him. Sasuke stared, utterly unimpressed, thinking, He really fell for it?

Izuku, however, analyzed the man with a clinical precision. Slouched posture. Hands in his pockets. Hidden facial features to prevent micro-expression reading. He intentionally allowed the trap to trigger to gauge our reactions. Naruto laughs—disrespect for authority. Sakura makes excuses—lack of accountability. Sasuke judges—arrogance.

Kakashi Hatake picked up the eraser, his visible right eye sweeping over the four Genin. His gaze lingered on Izuku for a fraction of a second longer than the others, noting the intense, unblinking emerald eyes that seemed to be dissecting him right back. 

"Hmm," Kakashi sighed, his voice muffled by the mask. "How can I put this? My first impression of this group... you're a bunch of idiots."

Team 7 collectively deflated. 

"Meet me on the roof in five minutes," Kakashi said, vanishing in a swirl of leaves. 

The late afternoon sun bathed the Academy roof in a warm, orange glow. Kakashi leaned against the railing, looking at the four Genin sitting on the steps in front of him. 

"Alright," Kakashi drawled, looking profoundly bored. "Let's start with introductions. Tell me your likes, dislikes, your dreams for the future, hobbies, things like that."

"Hey, why don't you introduce yourself first?" Naruto demanded. "So we know how it's supposed to be done!"

"Me?" Kakashi pointed to himself. "I'm Kakashi Hatake. Things I like and things I hate... I don't feel like telling you that. My dreams for the future... never really thought about it. As for my hobbies... I have lots of hobbies."

Sakura deadpanned. "That told us absolutely nothing except his name."

Izuku mentally chuckled. He's exactly like Aizawa-sensei. An underground hero type. He deflects personal questions to maintain professional distance and authority.

"Your turn. Let's start with the orange one," Kakashi pointed at Naruto. 

Naruto adjusted his headband eagerly. "I'm Naruto Uzumaki! I like instant ramen, and the ramen Iruka-sensei treats me to at Ichiraku! I hate the three minutes you have to wait after you pour the hot water in! My hobby is comparing different types of ramen. And my future dream is to be the greatest Hokage! Then the whole village will stop disrespecting me and start treating me like I'm somebody important!"

Kakashi's eye softened marginally. He's grown up in an interesting way. "Okay. Next, the pink girl."

"I'm Sakura Haruno!" Sakura blushed, stealing a glance at Sasuke. "What I like... I mean, the person I like is... uwaa! My hobby is... hehe! And my dream for the future is... KYAAA!" She buried her face in her hands. 

"And what do you hate?" Kakashi asked dryly. 

"Naruto!" Sakura declared instantly. Naruto slumped, anime tears streaming down his face. 

Girls her age are more interested in boys than ninja training, Kakashi noted. "Next. The broody one."

Sasuke steepled his fingers, his dark eyes hardening into obsidian. The air around him dropped a few degrees. "My name is Sasuke Uchiha. I hate a lot of things, and I don't particularly like anything. What I have is not a dream, because I will make it a reality. I'm going to restore my clan, and destroy a certain someone."

The wind seemed to stop blowing on the roof. Naruto gulped, looking at Sasuke warily. Sakura looked at him with a mix of awe and tragic concern. 

Just as I thought, Kakashi sighed inwardly. He's entirely consumed by it.

"And finally," Kakashi shifted his gaze to the boy sitting on the end. The boy who had the most contradictory file in the Academy archives. Average grades, but physically anomalous. Friendly, but isolated. "The green one."

Izuku straightened his back. He didn't slouch, and he didn't try to look intimidating. He simply looked at Kakashi with absolute, crystal-clear sincerity. 

"My name is Izuku Midoriya," Izuku began, his voice calm and steady, devoid of the childish bravado of Naruto or the edgy darkness of Sasuke. "I like analyzing jutsu, physical conditioning, and taking notes. I dislike bullies, and systems that treat people as expendable tools."

Kakashi’s visible eyebrow twitched upward. That's dangerously close to treasonous thought for a fresh Genin.

"My hobbies are martial arts and reading," Izuku continued. "And my dream for the future..." Izuku paused, looking at Naruto, then at Sasuke, and finally locking eyes with Kakashi. "...is to become a Hero."

Silence stretched across the roof. 

"A... hero?" Kakashi repeated, genuinely thrown off balance. 

"Yes," Izuku nodded. "A Hero who saves people with a smile. Someone who protects the innocent, not just because it's a mission parameter, but because it's the right thing to do. I want to build a world where children don't have to become assassins to survive."

Sakura stared at Izuku as if he had just grown a second head. "Izuku, what are you talking about? We're ninjas. We take missions for money."

Sasuke scoffed softly. "Naive. Dreams of peace are for weaklings who don't understand how the world works."

Kakashi simply stared at the boy. The words were childish, absurd, a fairy tale concept utterly divorced from the bloody reality of the Shinobi nations. But the eyes... Kakashi had seen the eyes of killers, of madmen, of Hokages, and of dying men. 

Izuku Midoriya's eyes did not hold the naive innocence of a child. They held the immovable, terrifying conviction of a zealot. He didn't just want this dream. He believed it was an absolute necessity, and he was fully prepared to die for it. 

Interesting, Kakashi thought, a shiver running down his spine. Very interesting.

"Well, that was certainly a variety of personalities," Kakashi said, pushing off the railing. "We'll have our first mission tomorrow."

"What kind of mission?!" Naruto jumped up. 

"It's a task that the five of us will do together," Kakashi said, a dark chuckle escaping his mask. "A survival exercise."

"Survival exercise?" Sakura frowned. "But we did plenty of those in the Academy! Why are we doing it for a mission?"

"Because this isn't a normal exercise," Kakashi's visible eye curved into a cruel crescent moon. "Of the twenty-eight graduates, only nine will actually be accepted as Genin. The rest will be sent back to the Academy. This exercise has a failure rate of over sixty-six percent."

Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke all stiffened, their eyes widening in shock. 

Izuku didn't flinch. He had already deduced this. Aizawa had expelled entire classes on the first day to weed out those lacking potential. It was a logical, if brutal, pedagogical method. 

"See you tomorrow at Training Ground 3," Kakashi said, turning away. "Oh, and bring your ninja tools. And don't eat breakfast... or you'll throw up."

With a swirl of leaves, Kakashi was gone. 

Training Ground 3 was a sprawling expanse of dense forest, open fields, and a rushing river, marked by three wooden posts stuck into the ground near the center. 

The morning sun had barely crested the horizon, painting the sky in bruises of purple and blue. Team 7 stood in the clearing, shivering slightly in the morning chill, their stomachs rumbling loudly. They had been waiting for three hours. 

Finally, a puff of smoke signaled Kakashi’s arrival. He was holding a small, orange book, looking completely unbothered by their exhaustion. 

"Morning," Kakashi said casually. "A black cat crossed my path, so I had to take the long way."

"LIAR!" Naruto and Sakura shrieked. 

Kakashi ignored them, walking over to the wooden stump and placing an alarm clock on top of it. He pushed the button, setting it for noon. Then, he reached into his vest and pulled out three small, silver bells attached to red strings. They jingled softly in the quiet morning air. 

"Here is your assignment," Kakashi held up the bells. "Your goal is to take these three bells from me before noon. If you can't get one, you go without lunch. You'll be tied to those posts, and you'll watch me eat my lunch in front of you."

Naruto’s stomach let out a monstrous growl. 

"Wait a minute," Sakura realized, her brow furrowing. "There are four of us, but only three bells."

"Exactly," Kakashi smiled, a predatory gleam in his eye. "Which means at least one of you will definitely end up tied to a post, and that person will be disqualified for failing the mission. They go back to the Academy. It might be one of you, it might be all four of you. You can use any weapons, including shuriken. If you don't come at me with the intent to kill, you won't get a bell."

"But sensei, that's dangerous!" Sakura gasped. 

"Especially since you couldn't even dodge a chalkboard eraser!" Naruto laughed, pulling a kunai from his pouch. "I'll get a bell right now!"

Naruto lunged at Kakashi, kunai drawn. 

Before anyone could blink, Kakashi vanished. In the next microsecond, Kakashi was standing behind Naruto, having twisted the boy's arm behind his back, the sharp edge of Naruto's own kunai pressed flush against the back of his neck. 

Sakura and Sasuke froze. The speed was incomprehensible. 

Izuku’s eyes, however, had tracked the movement perfectly. Body Flicker technique. High-speed movement accomplished by temporarily revitalizing the body with chakra. It's essentially what I do with Shoot Style, but dialed up to a master level.

"Don't be in such a hurry," Kakashi whispered softly, the playful demeanor completely gone. "I didn't say start yet."

Kakashi released Naruto, stepping back. "But you came at me with the intent to kill. Good. I'm actually starting to like you guys. Get ready... Start!"

Instantly, Sasuke, Sakura, and Izuku vanished into the surrounding trees, erasing their presence. It was the fundamental rule of shinobi combat: hide and assess. 

Naruto, however, remained standing right in the middle of the open field, pointing at Kakashi. "You and me! Fair and square! Let's go!"

Hidden in the branches of an oak tree overlooking the clearing, Izuku slapped his forehead. Naruto, you glorious, predictable idiot.

Izuku tuned out Naruto’s futile, comical assault below—which quickly ended with Naruto being launched into the river by a brutal, finger-poking taijutsu technique Kakashi dubbed "A Thousand Years of Death"—and focused on the bigger picture. 

He pulled out a small notebook and a pencil. 

Analysis of the Bell Test: Izuku wrote. Four students. Three bells. The stated objective is to take a bell. The implied threat is that one person will be left out.

He chewed on the end of his pencil. It was a classic prisoner's dilemma, designed to sow discord and competition among the group. If they fought individually, Kakashi—a Jonin-level combatant—would effortlessly pick them apart one by one. 

The math doesn't make sense for a survival exercise, Izuku reasoned. Shinobi operate in squads. Why would the Academy assign us to a four-man team just to immediately break us up? They wouldn't. The Third Hokage put us together for a reason. Therefore, the stated objective is a lie.

Izuku’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. 

It's a test of teamwork. The bells are bait. Kakashi doesn't care who gets a bell; he wants to see if we will work together to overpower him, even if it means sacrificing our individual chance to pass for the sake of the squad.

Izuku snapped his notebook shut. He needed to find the others. 

He moved silently through the canopy, utilizing a fraction of his chakra to stick to the bark, muffling his footsteps. He found Sakura first. She was huddled in the bushes, her eyes frantically darting around, looking for Sasuke. 

Izuku dropped down beside her. "Sakura."

Sakura jumped, nearly throwing a shuriken at his face. "Izuku! Don't sneak up on me! Have you seen Sasuke?"

"Sakura, listen to me," Izuku said urgently, keeping his voice to a whisper. "We can't fight him alone. We have to team up."

"Team up?" Sakura hissed. "Are you crazy? If we team up and get a bell, who gets to keep it? I'm not risking my spot for you or Naruto! I have to pass so I can be with Sasuke!"

"Sakura, the bells are a trick!" Izuku pleaded. "He wants us to work together! It's the only way to beat a Jonin!"

"Go away, Izuku. You're just trying to use me to get a bell for yourself because you know you're not strong enough," Sakura sneered, crawling away into the underbrush. 

Izuku sighed. He couldn't force her. He bounded away, tracking the distinct, icy chakra signature of Sasuke Uchiha. 

He found Sasuke perched on a high branch, observing Kakashi, who was now casually reading his orange book in the clearing, having trapped Naruto upside down in a snare trap. 

"Sasuke," Izuku appeared on the branch next to him. 

Sasuke didn't even look at him. "Get lost, Midoriya. You're loud."

"We need a coordinated assault," Izuku said, ignoring the insult. "You have the highest offensive output. If I act as the vanguard and bind his movements, you can strike from his blind spot. We can use Naruto's shadow clones as a diversion."

"I am an Uchiha," Sasuke said coldly, his eyes locked on Kakashi. "I don't need a dead-last, a fan-girl, and a weirdo to help me defeat him. I will take a bell myself and prove my strength."

"Sasuke, you can't beat a Jonin alone!" 

"Watch me," Sasuke growled, forming hand seals. Tiger, Boar, Horse, Tiger... 

"Wait!" 

Sasuke inhaled deeply and leaped from the tree, exhaling a massive, roaring sphere of fire. Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!

Izuku watched in awe as the intense heat scorched the leaves around them. The fireball crashed into the clearing where Kakashi was standing, kicking up a massive cloud of dirt and smoke. 

For a brief, naive second, Sasuke smiled. 

But as the smoke cleared, Kakashi was nowhere to be seen. 

"Where did he go?" Sasuke panicked, looking left and right. "Above? Behind?"

Suddenly, hands burst from the solid earth beneath Sasuke’s feet. They grabbed his ankles and yanked violently downward. 

Earth Style: Headhunter Jutsu!

Sasuke was pulled beneath the soil, buried up to his neck, entirely immobilized, his head sticking out of the dirt like a bizarre cabbage. Kakashi crouched over him, holding his orange book, looking deeply unimpressed. 

"Ninjutsu, Taijutsu, Genjutsu... you have raw talent, Sasuke," Kakashi lectured. "But your arrogance makes you blind. You're just a head in the dirt."

Kakashi stood up, stretching his neck. "Well, that's Naruto trapped, Sasuke buried, and Sakura..." Kakashi glanced into the woods, where he had just subjected Sakura to a Genjutsu showing Sasuke dying horribly, causing her to faint. "...is unconscious. And time is almost up."

Kakashi looked at the sky. It was 11:55 AM. Five minutes left. 

"Only one left," Kakashi muttered, turning his gaze toward the tree line. "The boy who wants to be a Hero. Let's see what you..."

Kakashi stopped. 

His lone eye widened slightly beneath his headband. 

Walking out of the tree line, directly into the open field, was Izuku Midoriya. He wasn't sneaking. He wasn't hiding. He was walking with the heavy, rhythmic tread of a soldier marching to the front lines. 

Kakashi closed his book and slipped it into his pouch. This felt... different. The three children he had just dispatched felt like children playing ninja. 

The boy walking toward him felt like a threat. 

"You're the last one standing, Midoriya," Kakashi said, dropping into a loose, relaxed stance. "Are you going to try and take a bell, or are you just going to surrender?"

Izuku stopped ten paces away from Kakashi. He looked at Naruto, hanging upside down from the tree, struggling against the ropes. He looked at Sasuke, grinding his teeth in humiliated rage, stuck in the dirt. 

Izuku reached up and slowly, deliberately, untied his forehead protector. He let the metal plate fall to the grass with a soft thud. 

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "What are you doing? Discarding your headband is a sign of a rogue ninja."

"The rules of this test were designed to make us abandon our comrades," Izuku said, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register that echoed across the quiet clearing. It was a voice forged in the fires of the Paranormal Liberation War. "To save ourselves, we were supposed to let them fail."

Kakashi said nothing, but his muscles tensed. He was ready to counter whatever Jutsu the boy threw. 

"If being a ninja means throwing away the people I'm supposed to protect just to pass a test," Izuku said, clenching his fists at his sides. "Then I don't want to be a ninja. I'm going to be a Hero. And a Hero saves everyone."

Izuku closed his eyes. 

I can't beat him in a game of skill, Izuku calculated rapidly. His Sharingan will predict my Taijutsu. His experience vastly outweighs my tactical knowledge of this world's mechanics. I cannot outsmart Kakashi Hatake.

But I don't need to outsmart him. I just need to overwhelm his sensory input and force an opening to free the others.

Izuku opened his eyes. They weren't just green anymore; they were practically glowing, illuminated from within by a furious, torrential outpouring of raw, unadulterated Chakra. 

He didn't just pull the chakra from his stomach. He pulled every single drop of spiritual and physical energy his twelve-year-old body possessed, flooding his vascular system in an instant. The air around Izuku began to violently distort, shimmering with heat. 

Kakashi’s breath hitched. What is this chakra? It's not a Jutsu... he's just venting it out raw! It's incredibly dense!

Izuku planted his left foot into the dirt, sinking an inch deep. He pulled his right arm back. He channeled ninety percent of the flowing chakra into his right arm, specifically compressing it into the muscles, tendons, and bones of his forearm and fist. 

His skin turned slightly red, veins bulging violently beneath the surface. It was a perfect, biomechanical recreation of One For All: 100%. 

Kakashi felt a sudden, blaring alarm in his mind. The instincts that had kept him alive through the Third Great Ninja War screamed at him to move. This wasn't a Genin. This was a monster wearing a child's skin. 

"I'm going to break your game, Kakashi-sensei," Izuku whispered. 

Izuku stepped forward and threw his punch. He didn't aim at Kakashi. He aimed directly down, at the solid earth between them. 

"DETROIT SMASH!"

The impact of Izuku’s knuckles hitting the dirt defied the laws of physics. 

There was a split second of absolute silence as the kinetic energy transferred from his fist into the tectonic plates beneath Training Ground 3. 

And then, the world exploded. 

A shockwave of pure, concussive force erupted from the point of impact. The ground simply shattered. Massive slabs of earth and rock, some the size of small houses, were violently violently thrust into the air. A crater fifty feet wide opened up instantly, swallowing the grassy field. 

The wind pressure generated by the displaced air created a localized hurricane. Trees on the perimeter of the blast radius were uprooted, snapping like twigs and flying away. 

Kakashi Hatake, elite Jonin of the Leaf, was physically lifted off his feet and thrown backward. 

Impossible! Kakashi’s mind raced as he tumbled through the air, debris raining down around him. Tsunade-sama's monstrous strength?! No, this isn't chakra-enhanced physical trauma—this is raw wind pressure generated by sheer kinetic force!

To track the chaotic, high-speed debris and the blinding cloud of dust, Kakashi brought his hand to his forehead protector and pushed it up, exposing his left eye. 

The three tomoe of the Sharingan spun wildly, instantly mapping the trajectory of every flying rock and calculating his landing. 

Kakashi twisted in mid-air, kicking off a flying boulder to redirect his momentum, and landed safely on a thick tree branch a hundred yards away from the crater. He panted slightly, his Sharingan piercing through the settling dust cloud. 

He looked for Midoriya, expecting the boy to follow up the devastating attack. 

But Izuku wasn't attacking him. 

The dust cleared. Kakashi stared, his jaw slightly dropping beneath his mask. 

The massive earthquake had torn the ground apart, which meant the snare trap holding Naruto had been snapped. The earth gripping Sasuke’s body had been shattered, freeing him. 

Izuku was standing in the center of the crater. His right sleeve was completely blown away, his arm bruised a deep, nasty purple from the recoil of his own attack. He was breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his face, clearly suffering from extreme chakra exhaustion. 

But he wasn't looking at Kakashi. He had Naruto slung over his left shoulder, and he was offering his uninjured hand to pull Sasuke out of the rubble. 

He had used a catastrophic, self-destructive attack not to take a bell, but to free his teammates. 

BRRRRRING!

The alarm clock on the distant, somehow unharmed wooden stump went off. It was noon. 

Izuku swayed on his feet, his vision blurring. He smiled at Naruto and Sasuke. "Looks like... time's up." 

Izuku’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed into the dirt, completely unconscious. 

When Izuku slowly opened his eyes, his entire body felt like it had been run over by a bullet train. His right arm was wrapped tightly in bandages, throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache. 

"He's awake!" 

Izuku blinked, squinting against the bright sunlight. He was sitting on the grass. To his left, Naruto and Sasuke were tied securely to two of the wooden posts. Sakura was sitting on the ground nearby, looking at Izuku with a mixture of terror and utter awe. 

Kakashi was standing in front of them, holding two bento boxes. His headband was pulled back down over his left eye. 

"Well, Sleeping Beauty graces us with his presence," Kakashi said, his tone unreadable. "You guys failed. None of you got a bell."

"That's not fair!" Naruto yelled, struggling against the ropes. "Izuku totally blew you away! He almost killed us all, but he totally got you!"

"He broke the ground, he didn't get a bell," Kakashi corrected coldly. He walked over and placed the two bento boxes on the ground in front of Izuku and Sakura. "You two. You can eat lunch. Naruto and Sasuke broke the rules by attacking me individually and falling for my traps. They get nothing."

Kakashi leaned in, his visible eye fixing them with a terrifying glare. "Do not give them any food. If you feed them, you will fail immediately, and I will expel all of you. I need to go file my report. I'll be back in five minutes to give you my final verdict."

Kakashi vanished in a puff of smoke. 

Silence hung over the group. Naruto's stomach let out a pathetic, dying whale sound. 

"Man," Naruto groaned, his head hanging low. "I'm so hungry I could eat a kunai."

Sasuke gritted his teeth, looking away. His pride was wounded far more than his stomach. He had been buried in the dirt while the "average" kid had leveled a forest. 

Izuku looked at the bento box in his lap. Rice, fish, vegetables. It smelled heavenly. 

He didn't hesitate for a single second. 

Izuku picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a large piece of fish and a clump of rice, and leaned over toward Naruto. 

"Here, Naruto. Open up."

Sakura gasped. "Izuku! Are you crazy?! Kakashi-sensei said if we feed them, we'll get expelled!"

"Sakura, look around," Izuku said softly, his emerald eyes calm and resolute. "Do you feel his chakra? He's not gone. He's hiding in the trees watching us. This is still the test."

Sasuke looked over at Izuku, his dark eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"The bells were a test to see if we would put the team before ourselves," Izuku explained, offering the food to a bewildered Naruto. "We failed that part. We fought individually. Now, he's testing our loyalty. He wants to see if we will blindly follow an unjust rule, or if we will sacrifice our own well-being—our lunch, our status as Genin—to care for our comrades."

Izuku pushed the food closer to Naruto. "Eat. We can't fight him later if you're starving."

Tears welled up in Naruto’s eyes. He opened his mouth and took the bite, chewing gratefully. "Izuku... you're the best."

Izuku turned to Sasuke. He grabbed another bite of food and held it out to the Uchiha. 

Sasuke stared at the chopsticks, then up at Izuku's bruised, earnest face. Sasuke's pride warred with logic. Midoriya was right. A ninja who couldn't fight was dead weight. And Sasuke... Sasuke needed this team to get stronger. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Sasuke leaned forward and took the bite. "Don't think this means I owe you, Midoriya."

"I don't," Izuku smiled. 

Sakura watched them, her heart pounding. She looked at her own bento box. She looked at Sasuke, who was chewing quietly. She took a deep breath, grabbed some rice from her box, and held it up to Sasuke. 

"Here, Sasuke-kun," Sakura blushed fiercely. "You need more energy than I do."

Suddenly, the sky darkened. 

A massive, suffocating wave of killing intent washed over the clearing. The air temperature plummeted. Wind howled, kicking up dust and leaves. 

Kakashi materialized in front of them in a swirl of violently spinning wind, his hands forming tiger seals, his visible eye practically glowing with rage. Thunder clapped overhead. 

"YOU BROKE THE RULES!" Kakashi roared, his voice echoing like a wrathful god. "ANY LAST WORDS?!"

Naruto and Sakura screamed in terror. Sasuke braced himself for death. 

Izuku simply looked up at Kakashi, his expression entirely fearless. 

"We are a four-man cell," Izuku stated loudly, his voice cutting through the wind. "Naruto and Sasuke are our teammates. If they starve, they die on the mission. A rule that demands the death of my friends is a rule I will break every single time. Because we are Team 7, and we survive together."

Kakashi stared down at Izuku. The boy’s eyes burned with a green fire that refused to be extinguished. 

Kakashi looked at Sakura, who had positioned herself slightly in front of Sasuke to shield him. He looked at Sasuke and Naruto, who, despite being tied up, were glaring defiantly back at him, ready to fight. 

The wind died down. The storm clouds vanished. 

Kakashi’s terrifying glare melted away, replaced by a closed-eye smile beneath his mask. 

"You pass."

Team 7 blinked in collective shock. 

"Huh?" Naruto squeaked. 

"You pass," Kakashi repeated, crossing his arms, a genuine warmth radiating from him. "You're the first squad that ever has. The others just did whatever I told them. They were unthinking tools. A ninja must see underneath the underneath."

Kakashi looked up at the memorial stone across the field, his mind flashing to a boy with goggles and a girl with purple markings. 

"In the ninja world, those who break the rules are scum," Kakashi quoted softly. He looked back down at Team 7, his gaze resting heavily on Izuku. "But... those who abandon their friends are worse than scum."

Naruto sniffled, tears streaming down his face. "Sensei... you're so cool!"

Sakura let out a massive sigh of relief, slumping back. Sasuke closed his eyes, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. 

Izuku let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked at his bandaged, throbbing arm, and then at the three vastly different, deeply broken children around him. 

They were going to be a disaster. They were going to fight, scream, and bleed. But as Kakashi untied Naruto and Sasuke, and Team 7 stood together in the ruined clearing of Training Ground 3, Izuku felt a familiar spark ignite in his chest. 

We're going to change this world, Izuku thought, picking up his fallen forehead protector and tying it firmly around his head. One save at a time.