What if deku was hawks little brother

 The rain in the slums of Fukuoka didn’t wash things clean; it only made the grime seep deeper into the floorboards. 

Keigo was six years old the night the world broke open. He crouched in the darkest corner of the shack, the damp, rotting wood pressing into his back, his small, crimson wings wrapped tightly around a bundle of stolen blankets. Inside that bundle was a heartbeat. A tiny, fragile, rapid little heartbeat that Keigo could feel against his own bird-like chest. 

"Shut him up!" the voice roared. It was a sound that made the rusted corrugated tin of the roof rattle. It was a sound that made Keigo’s bones ache with terror. 

His father. Takami the Thief. A murderer, a villain, a monster who cast a shadow so long it swallowed the sun. 

"I—I'm trying!" Tomie sobbed. Keigo’s mother was a ghost of a woman, hollowed out by fear and apathy. She was cowering near the overturned table, her hands over her ears. 

From within Keigo’s makeshift cocoon of feathers, the baby wailed. It was a hungry, terrified sound. Izuku was barely a year old. He didn’t share Keigo’s father, a fact that had been violently established the day Tomie brought him home from wherever she had disappeared to for the past year. Izuku was small, with a tuft of unruly green hair that curled like young moss, and a constellation of freckles dusted across a round, innocent face. He didn't have wings. He didn't have the golden, hawkish eyes. He was soft. He was ordinary. 

And in this house, ordinary things were broken.

Heavy footsteps thumped across the floorboards. Takami lumbered into the dim light of the single swaying bulb, a broken beer bottle gripped in his scarred hand. His eyes were bloodshot, feral, locked onto the corner where Keigo hid. 

"If that brat doesn't stop screaming, I'm going to give him a reason to," Takami snarled, raising the jagged glass. 

Keigo didn’t think. He didn’t weigh the odds. He just reacted. His wings, though small and undeveloped, flared out, knocking over a stack of empty cans to make himself look bigger. He tightened his scrawny arms around the baby, shielding Izuku’s head with his own body. 

"Don't touch him!" Keigo yelled, his voice cracking, high and desperate. 

Takami paused, a cruel, mocking sneer twisting his lips. "You stepping up, bird-boy? You think you can stop me?"

Keigo was trembling so hard his teeth clicked, but he didn't lower his wings. Izuku whimpered, his tiny hands fisting into Keigo’s frayed, dirty shirt. Keigo felt a profound, overwhelming instinct surge through his veins, hotter than the fear. This was his brother. His little brother. The only warm, pure thing in this rotting, suffocating world. 

Before Takami could take another step, the front door exploded inward. 

Splinters of wood rained down. The night air rushed in, cold and sharp, accompanied by the blinding glare of police searchlights. Pro Heroes. Heavily armored tactical units. The shouting was instantaneous, a wall of deafening noise.

"Takami! Drop the weapon! Hands in the air!"

Takami roared, lunging not at the heroes, but toward the window. A hero with a quirk that manipulated concrete slammed their hands into the floor. The wooden planks shattered as a pillar of stone shot upward, catching Takami in the chest and throwing him against the far wall. Handcuffs clicked. Tomie screamed. 

Keigo squeezed his eyes shut, curling into a tight ball around Izuku, covering the baby’s ears so he wouldn't have to hear the violence. He braced for hands to grab him, to throw him into the dark, to hurt them. 

Instead, a shadow fell over him. Keigo cracked one golden eye open. 

Standing over him were three people in immaculate, tailored suits. They didn't look like Pro Heroes. They didn't look like police. They looked like something colder. 

The woman in the center, an imposing figure with sharp eyes and a pristine coat, looked down at Keigo. She looked at the red wings currently acting as a shield. She looked at the baby. 

"Is this the one who caught the car on the overpass yesterday?" she asked, her voice clipped, devoid of the adrenaline filling the room.

"Yes, Madam President," a man beside her said, holding a tablet. "Keigo Takami. Age six. The Quirk is Fierce Wings. Highly versatile. Unprecedented speed and telekinetic control."

The woman—the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission—crouched down. She didn't reach for him. She just studied him, like one might study a rare, expensive weapon behind glass. 

"Keigo," she said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. "Your father is going away for a very long time. Your mother is unfit to care for you. You have a gift. A gift that belongs to the world. We can take you away from this filth. We can train you. We can make you a hero. You will never be hungry, or cold, or frightened ever again."

Keigo tightened his grip on Izuku. Izuku had finally stopped crying, now staring up at Keigo with wide, tear-filled green eyes. 

"What about him?" Keigo whispered, his voice trembling. 

The President glanced at the green-haired baby. Her nose wrinkled imperceptibly. "A half-brother. Illegitimate. Quirk status unknown, likely weak or non-existent given the mother's pedigree. He is of no use to the Commission. We will place him in the standard foster system. Whatever happens to him... happens."

The foster system. Keigo had heard the older kids in the slums talk about it. It was a meat grinder. A place where weak kids disappeared, where they were hurt, where they were forgotten. Izuku wouldn't survive it. He was too soft. He cried when the wind blew too hard. 

Keigo looked at the woman. His six-year-old mind, sharp and observant, recognized a negotiation when he saw one. He was valuable. Izuku was not. 

"No," Keigo said.

The men in suits bristled, but the President simply raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"If I go with you," Keigo said, his voice dropping, taking on a chilling, unnatural steadiness for a child, "if I do whatever you want... you have to save him, too. Not the foster system. You find him a real home. A good mom. Someone nice. And you wipe his name. You make sure nobody ever knows he's related to a villain. You make him safe."

The President stared at the boy. She saw the iron will in his golden eyes. She smiled, a thin, bloodless thing. 

"A heavy demand for a child," she said. "If we do this, Keigo, you will belong to us. Completely. You will have no contact with this boy. He will not know you. You will be a ghost to him. He will live in the light, and you will live in the shadows to protect that light. Do we have a deal?"

Keigo looked down at the baby in his arms. Izuku reached up with a chubby, warm hand and batted at one of the red feathers near his face, a tiny, watery giggle escaping his lips. 

Keigo’s heart shattered, but he nodded. "Deal."

A suited man reached down to take the baby. Keigo pulled back for one brief second. He pressed his forehead against Izuku’s, closing his eyes, committing the smell of him—like baby powder and rain—to memory. 

"I promise, Izu," Keigo whispered into the baby's curls, so softly only the two of them could hear. "I promise I'll always watch over you. No matter what. I promise."

Then, he let go. 

They took Izuku away. Keigo stood up, folded his wings behind his back, and walked out of the slum, leaving his childhood behind in the dirt.

Nine Years Later.

The wind whistling past the Fukuoka skyscrapers was cold, but the No. 3 Pro Hero, Hawks, barely felt it. He was sitting on the edge of a sheer drop, a thousand feet above the bustling city, a half-eaten chicken skewer dangling from his mouth. His crimson wings, massive and perfectly groomed, ruffled slightly in the updraft. 

He pulled down his tinted visor, shielding his golden eyes from the harsh afternoon sun. Outwardly, he was the picture of relaxed confidence. The fastest hero alive. The Commission’s golden boy. The man who moved too fast for anyone to catch. 

Inwardly, he was checking his watch. 

3:15 PM. School in Musutafu was letting out. 

Hawks swallowed the last of his food, tossed the stick into a nearby trash bin with a flick of his wrist, and stood up. He stretched, his joints popping. 

"Hey, boss!" a voice crackled through his earpiece. It was one of his sidekicks, an eager young hero named Centipeder. "We've got a minor robbery downtown, suspected mutant Quirk. Want us to handle it, or are you sweeping?"

"I've got a patrol route up north, Centi," Hawks lied smoothly, his voice taking on that lazy, melodic drawl he had perfected. "You guys handle the local riff-raff. I'm going to stretch my wings. Might grab some seasonal mochi in Shizuoka on the way. Keep the agency from burning down while I'm gone, yeah?"

"You got it, Hawks!" 

Hawks clicked the comms off. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a terrifying, hyper-focused intensity. He crouched, his muscles coiling like springs, and then he launched himself off the building.

The sonic boom rattled the windows of the financial district. 

Flying from Kyushu to the Shizuoka Prefecture, where the city of Musutafu lay, took a commercial airliner over an hour. It took the bullet train even longer. 

It took Hawks twenty minutes. 

He flew so high he was nothing more than a red speck against the stratosphere, invisible to the naked eye and moving faster than most commercial radar systems could track. The cold at this altitude was biting, but it kept his mind sharp. It kept him grounded in his singular, obsessive reality.

Inko Midoriya. 

That was the name the Commission had given him nine years ago, sliding a manila folder across a sterile steel table. We found a woman in Musutafu. Recently divorced. Unable to have children of her own. Clean record. Gentle disposition. The boy’s records have been wiped and forged. He is officially Izuku Midoriya. Born in a distant prefecture, records lost in a flood. He is safe.

For the first few years, Hawks had forced himself to stay away. The HPSC kept a tight leash on him, breaking him down, training him to be a weapon, an assassin, a spy. He endured the beatings, the sensory deprivation, the grueling combat training, all by holding onto the thought of that file. 

But as he grew older, faster, and more powerful, the leash had naturally loosened. He was too valuable to be kept in a cage, and too fast for them to monitor every second of his day. 

So, he began to visit. 

Secretly. Silently. A ghost in the sky.

Musutafu came into view, a sprawl of concrete and green parks. Hawks banked sharply, diving down toward the city, blending in with the glare of the setting sun. He pulled up just above the cloud line, his keen avian eyesight locking onto the familiar layout of Aldera Junior High.

He found his perch on a cell tower two blocks away from the school. He crouched on the narrow metal grating, blending in with the red-painted steel, completely silent. He manipulated a few small feathers, detaching them and sending them floating down toward the school gates, acting as remote sensors. He closed his eyes, tuning into the vibrations of the feathers, mapping out the street below. 

Then, he saw him.

Izuku.

He was fourteen years old now. The baby fat had melted away, leaving a scrawny, awkward teenager. His green hair was still a wild, unruly mess. He wore the black uniform of Aldera Junior High, his yellow backpack slung over one shoulder. He was walking alone, his head down, furiously scribbling in a scorched notebook. 

Hawks felt a sharp pang in his chest, a mixture of profound, overwhelming love and a simmering, helpless anger. 

Izuku was Quirkless. 

Hawks had found out when Izuku was four. He had watched from a rooftop as Inko Midoriya carried a sobbing, devastated child out of a doctor's office. Hawks had spent the next three days in a foul, dangerous mood, nearly putting two low-level villains in the ICU during a raid. 

In a world ruled by superpowers, being Quirkless was a death sentence to a child’s spirit. Hawks knew this. He also knew that it was, ironically, the one thing keeping Izuku completely off the HPSC’s radar. Because Izuku had no power, the Commission had completely forgotten he existed. He was a non-entity. Safe from the golden cage Hawks lived in. 

But safe from the Commission didn't mean safe from the world.

Hawks watched through his enhanced vision as Izuku walked under a bridge. He saw the slump of his shoulders, the nervous way he kept checking his surroundings. Hawks zoomed in on the notebook in Izuku’s hands. Hero Analysis for the Future, No. 13. It was burnt, waterlogged, and smelled faintly of explosives. 

Explosives.

Hawks’ grip on the metal grating of the cell tower dented the steel. Katsuki Bakugo. The loud, aggressive kid with the Explosion Quirk. Hawks had been keeping tabs on him for years. He knew the kid bullied Izuku. He knew the teachers looked the other way because Bakugo had a "heroic" Quirk. 

There had been so many times, so many times, that Hawks had almost broken his vow. He had stood on rooftops, a single, razor-sharp feather poised to shoot through the air and pin Bakugo to a wall by his uniform. He wanted to drop down from the sky, wrap his wings around his shivering little brother, and tell the world to back the hell off. 

But he couldn't. If Hawks made contact, if he showed even a sliver of interest in Izuku Midoriya, the HPSC would look into the boy. They would find the forged records. They would realize who he was. And they would use Izuku as leverage to control Hawks forever, or worse, deem him a liability and eliminate him. 

I am a ghost, Hawks reminded himself, forcing his hands to relax, forcing his feathers to lie flat. I am his shadow. I cannot touch the light.

Suddenly, the vibrations from one of his lower-altitude feathers spiked. 

Hawks’ eyes snapped open. Down below, under the overpass, a manhole cover rattled, then blasted into the air. 

A mass of vile, putrid sludge erupted from the sewers. It possessed eyes, jagged teeth, and a stench of rot that reached even Hawks’ altitude. 

The Sludge Villain loomed over Izuku. Izuku dropped his notebook, paralyzed with fear. 

Hawks didn't think. The Commission’s conditioning, the rules, the logic—it all evaporated. In a microsecond, his wings flared, glowing with kinetic energy. He was going to dive. He was going to hit that sludge freak at Mach 2, scatter his liquid body across three city blocks, grab Izuku, and fly him to safety. Consequences be damned.

He leaned forward, gravity taking hold—

WHOOSH.

A massive gust of wind tore through the street below, so powerful it sent a shockwave upward, ruffling Hawks’ feathers and forcing him to brace against the cell tower. 

Down in the street, the manhole cover rattled, and out burst a mountain of muscle. 

All Might.

"FEAR NOT, KID!" The booming voice echoed off the concrete, vibrating in Hawks’ chest. "I AM HERE!"

Hawks froze. He watched, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, as the Number One Hero obliterated the Sludge Villain with a single punch, catching the unconscious villain in soda bottles. He watched All Might gently slap a fainted Izuku awake. He watched Izuku panic, bow furiously, and ask for an autograph.

Hawks slowly exhaled, his muscles trembling from the aborted adrenaline spike. He sank back down onto his heels, pressing a gloved hand over his eyes. 

Close, he thought, his breathing ragged. Too close. 

He watched All Might leap away, soaring into the sky. He watched Izuku... grab onto All Might's leg?

Hawks blinked. "What the hell?" he muttered aloud. 

He tracked them as they landed on a distant rooftop. Hawks immediately took to the air, gliding silently on the thermals, keeping a safe distance. He landed on a water tower across the street from their building, straining his ears. 

He couldn't hear the exact words, the wind was too loud, but he could read the body language. Izuku was desperate. Pleading. He was asking All Might a question. Hawks didn't need to read lips to know what the kid was asking. Can I be a hero without a Quirk?

Hawks held his breath, watching his idol, the Symbol of Peace. Tell him yes, Hawks begged silently. Tell him he's brave. Tell him he's good enough.

But then, All Might deflated. 

Hawks watched in shock as the massive hero turned into a skeletal, coughing man. He couldn't hear the explanation, but he saw the way All Might turned away. He saw the way All Might spoke to Izuku. He saw the way Izuku’s shoulders dropped, the way the light completely died in the boy's posture. 

All Might left via the stairwell. Izuku was left alone on the rooftop, staring out at the city like a hollow shell. 

Hawks felt a cold, murderous fury coil in his gut. All Might. The Symbol of Peace. He had just crushed his little brother's heart. 

Hawks stood up on the water tower. He was going to cross the street. He didn't care anymore. He was going to go over there, pull Izuku into his chest, and tell him All Might was an idiot. He was going to tell him—

An explosion rocked the city. 

Plumes of black smoke rose from the shopping district a few blocks away. Izuku’s head snapped up. Hawks looked toward the smoke. His earpiece crackled to life. 

"Hawks! Are you in Musutafu?" It was the HPSC liaison. "We have a situation. A villain with a liquid-based Quirk has taken a hostage with an explosion Quirk. Local heroes Kamui Woods, Death Arms, and Mt. Lady are on the scene but are unable to intervene due to environmental hazards and Quirk incompatibility. Can you reach the location?"

The sludge villain, Hawks realized. He must have dropped him.

"I'm in the area," Hawks said coldly. "ETA, ten seconds."

Hawks dove. He didn't look back at Izuku. He streaked toward the smoke, his mind racing. A hostage. Explosions. Bakugo. 

When Hawks arrived above the shopping district, hovering in the thick, acrid smoke, he looked down at a scene of utter incompetence. The alleyway was on fire. The Sludge Villain had completely engulfed Bakugo, using the boy’s explosions to keep the heroes at bay. Death Arms was standing around. Kamui Woods was complaining about the fire. Mt. Lady was whining about the narrow street. 

Pathetic, Hawks thought, disgust curling his lip. A bunch of glorified celebrities afraid of getting their costumes dirty.

He reached for his primary feathers, preparing to end this in a single, surgical strike. He could send a hundred feathers in, slip them between the sludge and Bakugo, and rip the boy out. It would be messy, but it would be over.

But before he could move, a figure broke through the police barricade. 

A boy in a black school uniform, with wild green hair, sprinting directly into the fire. 

Hawks’ heart stopped. "Izuku!" he gasped, the word ripped from his throat.

He watched in absolute, paralyzing horror as his Quirkless, fragile, fourteen-year-old little brother ran straight at the monstrous villain. He saw Izuku throw his yellow backpack, the edge of a pencil case catching the villain in the eye. He saw Izuku desperately clawing at the sludge, trying to dig his bully out, screaming something Hawks couldn't hear over the roaring flames.

Hawks didn't think about the Commission. He didn't think about his cover. He folded his wings and initiated a terminal velocity dive. I'm coming, Izu. I'm coming.

But once again, the universe beat him to it. 

All Might, in his muscled form, materialized from the crowd. He grabbed both boys, blocking an explosion, and unleashed a Detroit Smash that changed the literal weather, summoning rain that doused the fires.

Hawks pulled out of his dive violently, pulling up so hard his wings screamed in protest, spinning out of control before catching an updraft. He hid behind the smoke of a nearby burning building, his chest heaving, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. 

He peaked over the edge of the roof, looking down at the street below. The villain was captured. The heroes were crowding around. 

They were praising Bakugo for his "toughness." 

And they were scolding Izuku. 

Death Arms was yelling at him for being reckless. Kamui Woods was lecturing him. Izuku sat on the ground, head bowed, taking it. 

Hawks’ vision went red. The urge to descend upon that alleyway like a biblical plague was almost impossible to resist. He wanted to strip Death Arms of his license. He wanted to rip Kamui Woods into kindling. He was the only one who moved! Hawks screamed in his mind. None of you cowards did a damn thing, and you're yelling at the only real hero down there!

He gripped the concrete edge of the roof, his claws digging in until his gloves tore and his fingers bled. 

I can't go down there, he chanted to himself, an agonizing mantra. If I go down there, the HPSC will see him. They'll see how much I care. They'll take him. They'll ruin him like they ruined me.

He stayed hidden until the police cleared the scene. He followed Izuku from the sky as the boy walked home in the twilight. He saw All Might intercept Izuku again. He watched as All Might said something that made Izuku fall to his knees and sob, clutching his chest. 

Hawks couldn't read lips in the dark, but the posture was unmistakable. It wasn't despair this time. It was overwhelming, world-shattering relief. 

What did he say to you, Izu? Hawks wondered, a deep, uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. 

Hawks stayed on a telephone pole outside the Midoriya apartment complex until midnight. He watched the lights go out in Inko's apartment. He listened to the faint, rhythmic breathing of his little brother through the thin walls. 

Only when he was sure Izuku was safe, asleep in his bed, did Hawks turn and fly back to Kyushu. 

He didn't sleep that night.

Ten Months Later.

The ten months leading up to the U.A. High School Entrance Exam were the most confusing of Hawks’ life. 

He kept up his patrols, he played the charismatic, laid-back Number Three Hero for the cameras, and he attended the mind-numbing HPSC meetings. But every free second he had, every off-day, every "extended patrol," he was in Musutafu. 

He watched Izuku clean Dagobah Municipal Beach. 

At first, Hawks thought it was a punishment. But then he saw All Might there, sitting on a fridge, barking orders. Hawks’ unease morphed into a hyper-vigilant paranoia. Why was the Number One Hero secretly training a Quirkless middle-schooler? Why was he making him haul garbage? 

Hawks considered hacking All Might’s comms, but the man’s security was handled by Sir Nighteye’s old protocols and the police force; it was too risky. So, Hawks just watched. 

He watched his little brother, who used to cry at loud noises, haul washing machines on his back. He watched Izuku bleed, sweat, and cry. He watched the boy forge himself into a weapon, his scrawny frame packing on dense, functional muscle. Hawks felt a swelling pride that threatened to burst his chest, mixed with a terrifying dread. 

Izuku was aiming for U.A. He was aiming to be a hero. 

The Quirkless boy was walking into a warzone.

And then, the day of the Entrance Exam arrived. 

Hawks couldn't be there in person. The HPSC had him tied up in a mandatory board meeting regarding the rise of organized villain factions in the south. Hawks sat in the plush leather chair, smiling lazily at the President, casually twirling a red feather between his fingers, while his mind was completely focused on the encrypted tablet resting on his lap under the table. 

He had hacked into U.A.’s internal security feeds. It was highly illegal, a felony that could cost him his hero license, but he couldn't care less. He needed to see. He needed to make sure Izuku survived the physical exam. 

On the screen, he found feed from Battle Center B. He spotted the green hair immediately. Izuku was standing frozen as giant, heavily armed robots poured into the street. 

Hawks gritted his teeth. Run, kid. Just hide. Get some rescue points. Don't fight them.

But Izuku didn't score any points. The minutes ticked down. Hawks watched, his anxiety spiking so high his feathers were vibrating audibly against the wooden chair, earning him a sharp look from the President. Hawks just offered a lazy grin in return. 

Under the table, he gripped the tablet. 

Then, the Zero Pointer was released. 

A behemoth of steel and destruction, towering over the buildings. Hawks watched the other examinees flee in terror. He watched Izuku turn to run. 

Good, Hawks thought. Run.

But then, a girl with brown hair—the one who had caught Izuku when he tripped at the gates earlier—was trapped under some rubble. She was in the Zero Pointer's path. 

Hawks knew what was going to happen before it did. He knew his brother's heart. 

Izuku stopped running. He turned around. 

Hawks leaned forward in his chair, his breath catching in his throat. No. No, Izu, you don't have the gear, you don't have the power—

On the screen, Izuku planted his feet. And then, something impossible happened. 

Red and green lightning sparked around Izuku's body. The pavement beneath his feet cracked like glass. The boy crouched, and with a force that sent a shockwave through the camera feed, he launched himself into the air. 

He flew higher than the buildings. Higher than the robot. 

Hawks was so shocked he nearly dropped the tablet. What the hell? 

Izuku pulled his arm back. The muscles bulged, glowing with an immense, terrifying, unfamiliar power. And then, he punched the Zero Pointer in the face. 

The force of the blow caved in the massive robot’s skull, causing a shockwave that cleared the clouds and shattered the windows in the fake city. The Zero Pointer exploded, crashing backward in a heap of scrap metal. 

In the boardroom, the President was speaking about budget allocations. Hawks didn't hear a word. The roaring in his ears was deafening. 

A Quirk? Hawks thought, his mind spinning, trying to process the impossibility of it. Izuku has a Quirk? That's not possible. The doctors said—I checked the files! I checked his toe joints! He was Quirkless. Where did he get—

His thoughts derailed violently as the camera zoomed in on Izuku falling back toward the earth. 

Hawks’ enhanced eyes caught the horrific details instantly. Izuku’s right arm was not just broken; it was shattered, hanging limply, the skin bruised a sickening purple and red. His legs were flopping uselessly, the bones completely pulverized by the force of his own jump. 

He was falling. He couldn't move. He was going to die. 

Hawks stood up. 

The sound of his chair scraping violently against the floor silenced the boardroom. Every HPSC executive, including the President, turned to stare at the Number Three Hero. Hawks stood there, his wings flared wide, a look of unadulterated, primal panic on his face. He was inches away from smashing through the reinforced glass window and flying to Musutafu. 

On the screen beneath the table, the brown-haired girl slapped Izuku, using her gravity Quirk to float him safely to the ground before he became a smear on the pavement. 

Recovery Girl arrived moments later. Izuku was alive. Mangled, broken, unconscious, but alive. 

Hawks stood frozen in the boardroom, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm. He slowly realized where he was. He realized thirty pairs of eyes were on him. 

"Hawks?" the President asked, her voice dangerously sharp. "Is there a problem?"

Hawks swallowed the bile in his throat. He forced his wings to lower, smoothing them down against his back. He forced his muscles to uncoil. He summoned every ounce of training, every year of deception, to plaster his trademark, carefree smirk back onto his face. 

"Sorry, Madam President," Hawks said smoothly, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Just got a wicked cramp in my wing joint. Sat too long. You know how it is, bird bones and all."

The President stared at him for a long, calculating moment. Finally, she nodded. "Sit down, Hawks. We are not finished."

Hawks sat. He turned off the tablet. He stared blankly at the wall for the rest of the three-hour meeting. 

When he was finally dismissed, he walked out of the building, ignoring his sidekicks, ignoring the press. He took to the sky and flew out over the ocean, going faster and faster until the friction of the air began to singe his jacket. 

He pushed himself until he hit a deserted island off the coast of Kyushu. He landed hard, the impact cratering the sand. 

Hawks fell to his knees on the beach, clutching his head, his breathing ragged and shallow. 

Izuku had a Quirk. A Quirk that broke his bones. A Quirk that looked suspiciously, terrifyingly similar to the raw, brute strength of the man who had been training him on that beach. 

All Might, Hawks thought, piecing the puzzle together. His brilliant, tactical mind whirred into overdrive. Quirks don't just appear at fourteen. They don't do that kind of damage to the user's body unless the body isn't adapted to it. Unless it's foreign.

He didn't know how it was possible to transfer a Quirk, but he knew what he had seen. All Might had given Izuku his power. 

Anger, hot and blinding, flared in Hawks’ chest. 

All Might had taken a fragile, Quirkless boy with a bleeding heart, and handed him a live grenade. He had given Izuku a power that tore his own body apart. And he had sent him into an exam to fight giant robots. 

"You bastard," Hawks hissed to the empty beach, his golden eyes blazing. "You irresponsible, arrogant bastard."

Hawks stood up, pacing the sand, his wings agitated, feathers rustling sharply. 

His entire life, he had stayed away. He had sacrificed his freedom, his childhood, his very name, to ensure Izuku lived a safe, normal life in the light. He had let the Commission turn him into a weapon so that Izuku would never have to touch a battlefield. 

And now, Izuku had thrown himself directly into the crosshairs of the hero world, armed with a power that was actively killing him. 

The deal was off. 

Hawks couldn't stay in the shadows anymore. If Izuku was going to be a hero, if he was going to wield a power that shattered his bones, he needed someone to protect him. He needed someone to teach him how to survive the darkness that came with being a Pro. He didn't need a Symbol of Peace who stood on a pedestal; he needed someone who was willing to get their hands dirty. 

He needed his big brother. 

Hawks pulled out his encrypted Commission phone. He bypassed the secure firewall, tapping into the U.A. High School administrative server. 

The U.A. Sports Festival was a few months away. After that, the first-year students would receive internship drafts from Pro Heroes. 

Hawks opened a blank draft form. He typed in his agency ID. And then, in the section for the requested student, he typed a single name.

Izuku Midoriya.

Hawks hit send. He looked up at the darkening sky, the first stars beginning to pierce the twilight. 

"I'm coming, Izu," Hawks whispered to the wind. "I promised I'd watch over you. And nobody—not the Commission, not the villains, and sure as hell not All Might—is going to break my little brother."

The sterile, biting scent of rubbing alcohol and iodine was a smell Izuku Midoriya was becoming intimately, dreadfully familiar with. 

He lay flat on the crisp white sheets of the U.A. infirmary bed, staring blankly at the acoustic tiles of the ceiling. The U.A. Sports Festival was roaring on outside—he could feel the faint, rhythmic vibrations of the crowd’s cheers rattling the windowpanes—but inside this small room, the world was quiet. Quiet, except for the high-pitched hum of the fluorescent lights and the agonizing, throbbing pulse in his right arm. 

Recovery Girl had done what she could. The surgery had been a success, removing the pulverized bone fragments from his fingers and wrist, setting the fractures that looked more like shattered glass than human anatomy. But her Quirk relied on his own stamina, and Izuku had none left. He was completely drained, a hollow shell of exhausted muscle and lingering adrenaline. 

His right arm was wrapped in a thick, heavy cast from his knuckles to his bicep. His left arm wasn't much better, wrapped in tight compression bandages. He couldn't even make a fist. 

He had lost to Todoroki. 

Izuku closed his eyes, a hot, frustrated tear slipping down his bruised cheek. He had wanted to show the world he was here. He had wanted to make All Might proud, to prove that he was worthy of One For All. But all he had done was break himself, again. He had forced Todoroki to use his fire, yes, but at what cost? He was useless right now. A liability. 

"You're an idiot, you know that?" 

Izuku flinched, opening his eyes to see Recovery Girl standing at the foot of his bed, her arms crossed, her face lined with severe disapproval. 

"I... I know," Izuku whispered, his throat raw from screaming during the match. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, boy. Apologize to your own body," the elderly heroine scolded, walking around to check his IV drip. "I told you, didn't I? I told you and Toshinori both. You cannot keep doing this. Your body is not a vessel that can just be shattered and glued back together infinitely. You've caused permanent ligament damage to your right hand. If you keep using your power this recklessly, you will lose the use of your arms entirely."

The words hit Izuku like a physical blow. Lose the use of my arms. A hero who couldn't lift a finger to save anyone. The sheer terror of that concept settled like lead in his stomach. 

"But I... I didn't have a choice," Izuku argued weakly. "Todoroki was hurting. I had to reach him."

Recovery Girl sighed, a heavy, tired sound. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small remote, flicking on the television mounted in the corner of the room. "Being a hero isn't just about destroying yourself for someone else's sake, Midoriya. Look."

On the screen, the Sports Festival broadcast was playing. It was showing a recap of his match against Todoroki. The camera angles were brutal, showing the exact moment Izuku's fingers snapped under the pressure of his own Quirk, the sickening purple bruising blooming across his skin in high definition. 

But Recovery Girl didn't pause on the fight. She skipped forward to the crowd reactions. 

"The audience," she said quietly. "Look at the Pro Heroes who came to scout you."

Izuku squinted at the screen. The camera panned over the VIP stands, where the top heroes in the country were seated. Some looked impressed by the raw power. Some looked horrified. 

And then, the camera lingered on a specific box. 

It was Hawks. The Number Three Pro Hero. 

Izuku felt a jolt of shock. Hawks was famously elusive, usually too busy patrolling Fukuoka at breakneck speeds to attend events like this. But there he was, sitting in the front row. 

He didn't look like the laid-back, smirking idol Izuku had analyzed in his notebooks. 

Hawks was leaning entirely out of his seat, his gloved hands gripping the railing of the VIP box so hard the metal was visibly warping under his fingers. His signature yellow visor was pushed up, exposing his piercing golden eyes. Those eyes were wide, fixated on the stadium floor where Izuku had just been carried off on a stretcher. His massive crimson wings were flared out aggressively, the feathers bristling in a way that screamed agitation. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked visibly in his cheek. 

He looked... furious. And terrified. 

"A Pro Hero’s job is to make people feel safe," Recovery Girl said softly, turning the television off. "When you fight like that, Midoriya, you don't inspire hope. You inspire fear. You make people worry for you. The pros up there didn't see a fledgling hero today. They saw a child actively trying to kill himself."

Izuku swallowed hard, looking down at his heavily casted arm. The image of Hawks' devastated, angry expression burned into his mind. Why did he look like that? Izuku wondered. He doesn't even know me.

Two days later, the rain was pouring outside the windows of Class 1-A. 

The excitement of the Sports Festival had faded into a tense, nervous energy. Today was the day they received their draft nominations from the Pro Hero agencies for their first-year internships. 

Mr. Aizawa stood at the podium, looking as exhausted as ever, wrapped in his capture weapon. He pressed a button on a remote, and the digital blackboard lit up with a bar graph showing the number of offers each student received. 

Todoroki was at the top with a staggering 4,123 nominations. Bakugo followed closely with 3,556. 

Izuku sat perfectly still at his desk, his right arm resting in a sling against his chest. He watched as the graph cascaded down. Tokoyami, Iida, Kaminari, Yaoyorozu. 

He scanned the bottom of the list, expecting to see a zero next to his name. Recovery Girl had been right. He had terrified everyone. No sane hero would want an intern who would shatter his own limbs on the first patrol. He had already resigned himself to picking from the default list of local, lower-tier agencies. 

But his name wasn't at the bottom. 

"Midoriya," Aizawa said, his tired eyes fixing on Izuku. "You received one offer."

The class turned to look at him. Bakugo scoffed from the front row. "Just one? Probably some D-list garbage dump."

Aizawa ignored Bakugo and tapped the board. Izuku’s name appeared, and next to it, a single agency logo lit up. 

It wasn't a local agency. It wasn't a minor hero. 

It was a pair of stylized crimson wings. 

The classroom erupted. 

"No way!" Mineta shrieked, pointing at the board. "The Hawks Agency?! The Number Three Hero?!"

"Midoriya got an offer from Hawks?!" Kaminari gasped, grabbing his hair. "Dude, that's insane! He's the fastest hero alive! He never takes U.A. interns!"

"Why would Hawks want him?" Bakugo snarled, slamming his hands on his desk, small explosions popping from his palms. "He broke all his damn bones! I won the whole thing and Hawks didn't send me an offer!"

Izuku couldn't breathe. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Hawks. Hawks. The man who had been staring at him with such intense, terrifying emotion in the VIP box. The man whose speed and tactical genius were unparalleled. Why? Why him? 

Aizawa activated his Quirk, his hair floating upward as his eyes flashed red, silencing the classroom instantly. "Quiet down. It's unusual, yes, but not unprecedented for top heroes to scout specific talents. Midoriya, if you don't want to accept it, you can choose from the general list."

"N-no!" Izuku squeaked, immediately blushing. "I mean, yes! I'll take it! I want to go to the Hawks Agency!"

After class, Izuku was summoned to the faculty lounge. All Might was waiting for him, looking deeply troubled in his deflated form. 

"Young Midoriya," All Might coughed, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth. "I see you received your draft."

"Yes, All Might!" Izuku said, unable to hide his nervous excitement. "Hawks! I can't believe it. I've studied his flight patterns and aerodynamic combat style for years. If I can learn even a fraction of his situational awareness—"

"I had originally intended to recommend you to my old homeroom teacher, Gran Torino," All Might interrupted gently. "He's the one who taught me how to use One For All. I believed he would be the best person to teach you how to control your output without hurting yourself."

Izuku blinked, surprised. "Oh. Should I... should I decline Hawks' offer?"

All Might frowned, rubbing his chin. "That's the strange part. Gran Torino did send a request for you... but it arrived an hour after the deadline. I looked into the system. The Hawks Agency locked in their draft pick for you within three seconds of the portal opening. It's almost as if he was waiting with his finger on the button."

Izuku felt a strange chill crawl up his spine. 

"Hawks is a brilliant hero," All Might continued, pacing slightly. "But he is... deeply entrenched with the Hero Public Safety Commission. He operates on a different level than most of us. He's pragmatic, ruthless when he needs to be, and entirely focused on results. It worries me, Young Midoriya, that a man who values absolute efficiency is showing such a sudden, aggressive interest in a student whose Quirk is currently entirely inefficient."

"You think he wants to use me?" Izuku asked, his voice small.

"I don't know," All Might admitted honestly. "But it's a tremendous opportunity. You will go to Kyushu. But I want you to be careful. Keep your head down. Learn what you can, but do not let him push you into anything dangerous. Your primary goal this week is to heal."

"Right," Izuku nodded, though his mind was racing. Why me? What does the Number Three hero want with a broken kid?

The bullet train from Musutafu to Fukuoka took just over five hours. 

Izuku spent the entire ride with his notebook open on his lap, trying to write with his left hand, scribbling messy, barely legible notes about the Hawks Agency. He was a bundle of raw nerves. He was wearing his U.A. tracksuit, his hero costume safely packed in his metal briefcase stowed above his seat. 

He stared out the window as the lush, green landscape of the southern prefectures blurred past. He had never been this far from home. The sheer distance made him feel small and isolated. He was entirely out of his depth. 

When the train finally arrived in Fukuoka, the humidity hit Izuku like a wet blanket. The city was vibrant, loud, and blindingly bright compared to Musutafu. 

He navigated the subway system, following the directions on his phone until he stood before the towering skyscraper that served as the Hawks Agency headquarters. It was a sleek, glass-and-steel monolith that seemed to pierce the clouds. 

Izuku swallowed hard. He adjusted his sling, grabbed his briefcase, and walked through the sliding glass doors. 

The lobby was pure chaos. Sidekicks were running in every direction, phones were ringing off the hook, and holographic displays tracked crime rates and patrol routes across the entire Kyushu region. 

Izuku approached the massive front desk. "U-um, excuse me. I'm Izuku Midoriya. From U.A. High School? I'm here for the internship."

The receptionist, a woman with extra eyes on her forehead, looked down at him and then her face lit up. "Oh! The intern! Wow, we weren't sure you'd actually show up. The boss has been pacing a hole in the floor all morning."

Pacing? Izuku thought. Hawks, the most laid-back man on television, was pacing? 

"Right this way, Midoriya-kun. I'll take you up to his office."

They rode a private elevator that shot upward so fast it made Izuku's ears pop. They reached the top floor—the penthouse suite. The elevator doors chimed and slid open, revealing an office that was more like a massive, open-air loft. One entire wall was open to the sky, leading out onto a massive balcony overlooking the city. 

And sitting on a plush leather sofa in the middle of the room, eating a bucket of fried chicken, was Hawks. 

Izuku froze. His breath caught in his throat. Up close, the Pro Hero was incredibly intimidating. Even lounging on a couch, there was a coiled, predatory energy about him. His massive red wings spilled over the back of the sofa, the feathers twitching slightly. 

Hawks looked up. He swallowed his bite of chicken, wiped his hands on a napkin, and stood up. 

"Hey, kid," Hawks said. His voice was smooth, a lazy drawl that Izuku had heard a hundred times in interviews. 

But as Hawks walked closer, Izuku noticed the micro-expressions. Hawks' golden eyes weren't lazy; they were sharp, scanning Izuku from head to toe in a fraction of a second. They lingered entirely too long on the heavy cast encasing Izuku's right arm, and Izuku swore he saw a flash of pure, unadulterated anger cross the hero's face before it was smoothed over by a practiced smile. 

"I-It's an honor to meet you, sir!" Izuku bowed so fast he nearly dropped his briefcase. "I'm Izuku Midoriya! Thank you so much for choosing me! I promise I'll work hard, and I won't get in your way, and I want to learn everything I can about your aerodynamic maneuvers and—"

"Whoa, whoa, breathe, kid," Hawks chuckled, holding up a hand. He stepped into Izuku’s personal space, much closer than Izuku expected. 

Before Izuku could react, one of Hawks' crimson feathers detached from his wing. It floated through the air and gently, almost tenderly, wrapped itself around Izuku's uninjured left wrist. 

Izuku flinched. "U-um?"

"Pulse is running at about a hundred and twenty," Hawks noted, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're stressed. And you look like you haven't slept in a week. Those dark circles are atrocious."

"I... I've been studying," Izuku stammered, feeling completely exposed. The feather on his wrist was surprisingly warm. It felt almost comforting, which only confused him more. 

Hawks sighed. The lazy smile dropped just a fraction, revealing a weariness that made him look older than twenty-two. "Come here. Sit down. You look like a strong breeze would knock you over."

Hawks guided Izuku to the sofa. He didn't just point; he placed a hand on Izuku's back, his fingers resting gently between Izuku's shoulder blades. The touch was so familiar, so protective, that Izuku almost leaned into it before remembering this was a stranger. 

"So," Hawks said, dropping back onto the sofa and crossing one leg over the other. "Izuku Midoriya. You made quite a splash at the Sports Festival."

Izuku blushed furiously, staring at his shoes. "I... I'm sorry. I know I made a mess of things. I couldn't control my Quirk properly, and I ended up breaking my bones. I know it wasn't heroic."

"No," Hawks said, his voice suddenly losing all its humor. It dropped into a flat, deadly serious tone. "It wasn't heroic. It was stupid."

Izuku shrank back into the cushions. The harshness of the words stung, but he knew they were true.

Hawks leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his piercing golden eyes locking onto Izuku's green ones. "I watched you shatter your own fingers, one by one, just to send a gust of wind at Endeavor's kid. I watched you pulverize your legs to punch a robot. What exactly is your game plan here, kid? To die before you even get your provisional license?"

"I don't have a game plan!" Izuku blurted out, defensive tears pricking his eyes. He didn't know why he felt so vulnerable around this man. "My Quirk... it came in late. I don't know how to use it without it blowing up my body! I have to push myself if I want to catch up to everyone else. I have to be a hero who can save people with a smile!"

"You can't smile if your jaw is wired shut, Midoriya," Hawks shot back. The feather around Izuku's wrist tightened slightly. "You think destroying yourself proves how brave you are? It doesn't. It just makes the people who care about you sick with worry."

Izuku blinked. The people who care about me? "My mom is worried, yes. But I have to—"

"I'm not just talking about your mom," Hawks snapped, standing up abruptly. He ran a gloved hand through his messy blond hair, pacing toward the open balcony. "I'm talking about... society. The public. They don't want a martyr. They want a hero who comes back alive."

Izuku watched Hawks pace. The man's wings were agitated, feathers shifting and rustling like dry leaves. Izuku's analytical mind went to work. Hawks was reacting disproportionately. Pro Heroes lectured interns all the time, but this felt personal. It felt raw. 

"Hawks-sensei?" Izuku asked cautiously. "Why did you draft me? If you think I'm just reckless and stupid... why am I here?"

Hawks stopped pacing. He stood with his back to Izuku, staring out at the sprawling city of Fukuoka. The wind caught his jacket, billowing it out around him. 

When he finally turned back, the anger was gone, replaced by a meticulously constructed mask of absolute calm. 

"Because I'm the fastest," Hawks said, flashing a million-watt smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And I like a challenge. You've got raw power, kid. Disgusting amounts of it. But you drive like a drunk toddler behind the wheel of a tank. I drafted you because I'm going to teach you how to put the brakes on."

Izuku felt a surge of hope. "You're going to train me to use my Quirk without breaking?"

"No," Hawks said simply. 

Izuku froze. "What?"

"I'm not going to train you at all," Hawks said, walking over to a nearby desk. "Not yet."

Hawks picked up a small, sleek device. It was a signal jammer. He clicked it on, tossing it onto the table. Then, he held out his hand. 

"Give me your phone, Midoriya."

Izuku stared at him in bewilderment. "My phone? Why?"

"Because you're addicted to those hero forums, and you're texting your classmates, and you're stressing yourself out about falling behind," Hawks said casually, wiggling his fingers. "Hand it over."

Izuku slowly reached into his pocket and handed his phone to Hawks. Hawks immediately powered it down and slipped it into his own pocket. 

"Wait," Izuku said, panic rising. "What about my patrols? What about combat training? I brought my costume!"

"Your costume stays in the box," Hawks commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "For the next three days, you are doing nothing. You are on strict, mandatory bed rest."

"Bed rest?!" Izuku stood up, his voice cracking. "But the internship is only a week long! I can't waste half of it in bed! I need to learn! I need to get stronger!"

Hawks crossed the room in a blur of motion, standing directly in front of Izuku. He reached out and gently, but firmly, pushed Izuku back down onto the sofa by his uninjured shoulder. 

"You need to heal," Hawks said softly, his golden eyes burning into Izuku's. "Look at yourself. You're trembling. Your arm is held together by pins and tape. If I send you out onto the streets right now, you'll be a liability to my sidekicks, the public, and yourself. You don't train on a broken foundation, kid."

Izuku wanted to argue. He wanted to scream that he didn't have time, that All For One's shadow was looming, that he had a legacy to uphold. But as he looked into Hawks' eyes, he saw an immovable wall. This wasn't All Might, who could be persuaded by Izuku's desperate tears. This was a man who would chain Izuku to a radiator if he thought it would keep him safe. 

"Okay," Izuku whispered, slumping into the sofa. "Okay."

Hawks exhaled, a long, quiet sigh of relief. The feather wrapped around Izuku's wrist finally loosened and floated back to attach to Hawks' wing. 

"Good," Hawks said, his tone lightening up considerably. "Now that we've got the ground rules established, you must be starving. The train ride from Musutafu takes forever."

Hawks walked over to his desk and hit a button on an intercom. "Hey, Centi? Yeah, order lunch for the intern. Get the Katsudon from that place down on 4th street. The extra-large bowl, heavy on the egg and onions, light on the soy sauce."

Izuku's head snapped up. 

He stared at Hawks, his jaw practically dropping to the floor. 

Hawks turned back around, raising an eyebrow. "What? You don't like Katsudon?"

"I... I love Katsudon," Izuku stammered, his mind short-circuiting. "It's my favorite food. But... how did you know that? And how did you know exactly how I like it?"

Hawks froze. 

For a split second, the Number Three hero looked like a deer caught in headlights. His wings stiffened, and his eyes darted to the side. 

"I'm a thorough researcher," Hawks recovered smoothly, leaning against his desk and offering a cocky grin. "I look into all my draft picks. Have to make sure I know what I'm dealing with. I probably read it in a U.A. cafeteria file or something. I'm fast, remember? I read fast, too."

Izuku frowned, his brow furrowing. A cafeteria file? Do those even exist? And even if they did, why would they specify how much soy sauce I like?

"Right," Izuku said slowly, not believing a word of it, but too intimidated to press the issue. 

"Great. Food'll be here in ten," Hawks clapped his hands together. "Then you're going to sleep. My sidekicks set up a guest room for you down the hall."

The guest room wasn't just a room. It was nicer than Izuku's entire apartment back home. 

It had a massive king-sized bed with ridiculously soft down comforters, a flat-screen TV, a private bathroom, and blackout curtains. It was designed for absolute comfort and isolation. 

Izuku had eaten the Katsudon—which was, terrifyingly, exactly how his mother made it, right down to the specific cut of the pork—and had been unceremoniously shoved into the room by Hawks with strict orders not to emerge until morning. 

Now, it was 2:00 AM. 

Izuku couldn't sleep. The pain in his arm was a dull, constant throb, but it was his mind that was keeping him awake. He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling. 

This doesn't make sense, he thought. None of this makes sense.

Hawks was the Commission's golden boy. He was known for taking down villains before they even knew he was there. He was efficiency personified. Yet here he was, treating a U.A. freshman like... like a fragile piece of glass. 

Why did Hawks look so furious at the Sports Festival? Why did he draft him just to put him on bed rest? How did he know about the Katsudon? 

Izuku threw the covers off. He needed water. He needed to walk. 

He slipped out of bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold hardwood floor. He quietly opened the door to the guest room and padded out into the dark, silent hallway of the penthouse suite. 

The lights were off, save for the ambient glow of the city filtering in through the massive glass windows of the main office area. 

Izuku crept toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a glass of water without waking anyone up. But as he neared the main living space, he heard a voice. 

It was Hawks. 

He was speaking softly, his tone completely different from the cocky, laid-back persona he used during the day. He sounded exhausted. He sounded desperate. 

Izuku pressed his back against the wall near the hallway corner, holding his breath, peering around the edge. 

Hawks was sitting on the sofa, bathed in the moonlight. He had taken off his visor and his heavy jacket, wearing only a black t-shirt. He was holding a burner phone to his ear. 

"I don't care what the board thinks, Madam President," Hawks was saying, his voice a low, dangerous hiss. "I drafted him, he's under my jurisdiction for the week. No, I am not putting him in the field."

Izuku's eyes widened. The President of the Hero Public Safety Commission? At 2:00 AM? 

"You saw the festival," Hawks continued, rubbing his temples, his wings drooping heavily behind him. "The kid is a wreck. His Quirk is tearing him apart. If I send him out there, he'll get himself killed."

There was a pause as the person on the other end spoke. Hawks' expression darkened, his teeth bared in a silent snarl. 

"No," Hawks said firmly. "I am not analyzing his Quirk for the Commission. He is not a project. He's an intern. I'm keeping him out of the press, I'm keeping him out of the fighting, and I'm keeping him safe. That's the end of it."

Another pause. 

"If you try to intervene," Hawks said, and the sudden, chilling malice in his voice made Izuku shiver, "I will walk. I will drop my license, I will go to the media, and I will burn the Commission to the ground. You know I can do it. Let me handle him."

Hawks ended the call, crushing the burner phone in his hand until the plastic cracked. He tossed the broken pieces onto the coffee table and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. 

Izuku stood frozen in the shadows, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Hawks could hear it. 

He's threatening the Commission... for me? 

Izuku's mind reeled. The Hero Public Safety Commission was the highest authority in the country. They controlled hero rankings, licenses, everything. And Hawks, their number one soldier, was threatening to destroy them if they touched Izuku. 

Why? Izuku's analytical brain screamed. Why would he risk everything for me?

Izuku accidentally shifted his weight, his knee popping audibly in the quiet room. 

Hawks' head snapped up. In a blur of motion so fast it was literally untraceable, Hawks crossed the room. Before Izuku could even blink, he was pressed against the wall, a razor-sharp red feather held an inch from his throat. 

Izuku gasped, staring up at Hawks in terror. 

Hawks' eyes were wide, feral, and glowing in the dark. He looked like a predator that had just cornered its prey. 

But then, Hawks blinked. He registered who he was holding. 

The feral look vanished instantly, replaced by a profound, heart-wrenching panic. Hawks yanked the feather away, stepping back so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. 

"Izuku!" Hawks gasped, his voice cracking. He reached out, his hands hovering over Izuku's shoulders, wanting to touch, wanting to comfort, but stopping himself. "God, kid, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't—my reflexes, I thought you were an intruder, I'm sorry."

Izuku was trembling, pressing his back against the wall. But he wasn't looking at the feather. He was looking at Hawks' face. 

He was looking at the sheer, unfiltered terror in the hero's eyes. It wasn't the terror of a hero who had almost hurt a civilian. It was the terror of a parent who had almost dropped their child. 

And then, Izuku realized something else. 

"You called me Izuku," the teenager whispered. 

Hawks froze. His hands dropped to his sides. "I... what?"

"You called me Izuku," Izuku repeated, his voice shaking. "Not Midoriya. Not kid. Izuku."

Hawks swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He took another step back, retreating into the shadows. "I was startled. It was a slip of the tongue."

"You knew about my favorite food," Izuku pressed, finding a sudden, bizarre courage. He stepped away from the wall, moving toward Hawks. "You knew how my mom makes it. You knew about my muttering habit earlier today. You put a feather on my wrist to check my pulse without even looking at me. And you're fighting the Commission to keep me on bed rest."

"Midoriya, go to sleep," Hawks said, his voice cold, throwing up the walls of his persona as fast as he could. 

"No," Izuku said, stopping a few feet away from the Pro Hero. He looked up at the towering man, searching his face. "Who are you? Really? Why do you look at me like... like you know me?"

Hawks stared down at the green-haired boy. The boy who was supposed to be safe. The boy who was supposed to be Quirkless, living a quiet life in Musutafu, far away from the blood and the fire of the hero world. 

For a long, agonizing moment, the silence stretched between them. Hawks' wings twitched, betraying his massive internal struggle. He wanted to tell him. God, he wanted to pull the kid into a hug and tell him everything. 

But the memory of the Commission President's voice, cold and calculating, echoed in his mind. If we do this, Keigo, you will belong to us. He will not know you. You will be a ghost to him.

"I'm Hawks," the hero finally said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "I'm the Number Three Hero. And you're my intern. Nothing more. If you're going to pry into my personal business and eavesdrop on my calls, I'll send you back to U.A. in the morning."

Izuku flinched as if he'd been slapped. The coldness in Hawks' eyes was absolute. 

"I... I'm sorry," Izuku whispered, looking down at his feet. "I'll go back to my room."

He turned and walked slowly down the hall, holding his broken arm against his chest. 

Hawks watched him go. As soon as the guest room door clicked shut, Hawks collapsed back onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. He dragged his fingers through his hair, a single, choked sob escaping his throat. 

"I'm sorry, Izu," Hawks whispered to the empty room. "I'm sorry."

In the guest room, Izuku lay back down on the plush bed. He pulled the covers up to his chin, his mind racing faster than ever. 

Hawks had lied. Izuku was sure of it. The coldness had been fake. The threat to send him back had been hollow. 

Because right before Hawks had turned away, right before he had put the mask back on, Izuku had seen something. 

When the moonlight had caught Hawks' eyes, Izuku had seen tears. 

He's hiding something, Izuku thought, clutching his good hand into a fist. Something huge. And it has to do with me.

The internship had only just begun, but Izuku already knew one thing for certain: he wasn't going to spend the next week resting. He was going to figure out exactly why the fastest hero in the world was so desperate to protect him.

The tension between the Number Three Pro Hero and his lone U.A. intern had stretched so taut over the past four days that Izuku felt like a single stray breath might snap it. 

They were currently aboard a bullet train bound for Hosu City. The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange. Hawks sat across from Izuku in the private first-class cabin, one leg crossed casually over his knee, a glossy hero magazine open in his hands. 

He looked entirely relaxed. But Izuku, whose analytical mind had been working overtime since the night he’d caught Hawks crying in the dark, knew better. 

Izuku noticed the way Hawks’ golden eyes never actually scanned the pages of the magazine; they remained fixed, staring blankly, tracking the reflection of the train’s window. He noticed the way the hero’s massive crimson wings were tightly tucked against his back, rigid with unspoken anxiety. He noticed the single, small, downy red feather that had been discreetly slipped into the collar of Izuku’s hero costume under his jacket, resting warmly against his nape. 

Hawks wasn't relaxing. He was standing guard. 

Why Hosu? Izuku thought, staring at his uninjured left hand resting on his knee. His right arm was still aching beneath his compression sleeve, though Recovery Girl’s initial healing had allowed him to switch out the heavy cast for a braced gauntlet. 

They were going to Hosu because Hawks had received a summons from Endeavor to discuss the rising threat of the League of Villains and the bio-engineered monsters known as Nomu. As the Number Three and Number Two heroes respectively, their collaboration was mandated by the Hero Public Safety Commission. 

Normally, an intern would be left back at the agency. But Hawks had flatly refused to leave Izuku behind. 

“Where I go, you go, kid. Agency policy,” Hawks had lied smoothly that morning. Izuku knew it was a lie because Centipeder had looked incredibly confused when Hawks said it. 

The silence in the train car was suffocating. Izuku couldn't take it anymore. 

"Hawks-sensei?" 

Hawks didn't lower the magazine. "Yeah, kid?"

"We've been doing evasion training for three days," Izuku said carefully, testing the waters. "You've taught me how to read wind currents, how to anticipate blind spots, and how to run away efficiently. But... you haven't taught me a single offensive maneuver. If we're going into a city where the Hero Killer has been active, shouldn't I know how to fight back?"

Hawks slowly lowered the magazine. The lazy smile he wore was perfectly constructed, a flawless mask of Pro Hero charisma. 

"The Hero Killer targets seasoned pros, Midoriya. He doesn't go after first-year interns with broken bones," Hawks said, his voice a melodic drawl. "And my job isn't to turn you into a battering ram. My job is to make sure you survive long enough to get your provisional license. Evasion is survival."

"But what if I can't evade?" Izuku pressed, leaning forward. "What if someone else is in danger and I have to step in?"

The smile on Hawks’ face vanished so quickly it was as if it had never been there. The air in the cabin seemed to drop ten degrees. 

"You don't," Hawks said flatly. 

Izuku blinked. "I don't what?"

"You don't step in," Hawks leaned forward, dropping the magazine onto the small table between them. His golden eyes locked onto Izuku’s with a terrifying, piercing intensity. "You are an unlicensed child. If there is danger, you run. You find a Pro. You do not engage, you do not play the martyr, and you do not break yourself trying to save someone who is already dead. Do you understand me?"

Izuku’s breath hitched. The sheer force of Hawks' command was physical, pressing down on his chest. It completely contradicted everything All Might had ever taught him. All Might said a hero's body moved before they even had time to think. 

"But—"

"I said, do you understand me, Midoriya?" Hawks’ voice was barely above a whisper, but it vibrated with a dark, desperate authority. The feather resting against Izuku’s neck twitched. 

Izuku swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

Hawks held his gaze for a second longer before leaning back, exhaling a long, slow breath. The mask slipped back into place. "Good. We're just meeting Endeavor, grabbing some yakitori, and heading back to Fukuoka. Easy night."

The universe, as Izuku was quickly learning, had a cruel sense of humor. 

Less than ten minutes later, the train violently lurched. The screech of tearing metal and the sudden, explosive roar of a detonation outside shattered the quiet. Izuku was thrown against the window, his head cracking against the reinforced glass. 

The train ground to a halting, screaming stop. The lights flickered and died, replaced by the emergency red strobes. 

"Stay down!" Hawks barked, moving faster than the eye could track. In an instant, his visor was down, and half his primary feathers had detached, hovering in the air like blood-red swords. 

Outside the window, Hosu City was burning. 

Plumes of black smoke rose into the twilight sky. But it wasn't just fire. Through the shattered windows of the adjacent buildings, Izuku saw a horrifying silhouette. A hulking, brain-exposed monster with multiple eyes, tearing the side of a bus open like a tin can. 

A Nomu. 

Panic erupted in the train cars. Passengers screamed, trampling over each other to get to the exits. 

"Hawks!" Izuku yelled over the din, instinctively reaching for the zipper of his hero costume beneath his jacket. "It's the League!"

"I see it," Hawks said, his voice cold and analytical. He kicked the emergency release on the train door, tearing the metal away to create an exit. He turned to Izuku, grabbing him by the shoulders with a grip so tight it bruised. 

"Listen to me," Hawks commanded, the ambient noise fading into the background. "You stay on this train. You help evacuate the civilians to the rear cars. Do not step foot out onto that street. I will handle the bio-weapons. If I find out you left this train, I will personally revoke your enrollment at U.A. Am I clear?!"

Izuku looked at the roaring fires, then up at Hawks' desperate, terrified eyes. "Clear."

"Good." 

Hawks released him, turning toward the burning city. "Feathers, with me!" he shouted, and launched himself out of the train, breaking the sound barrier as he streaked toward the Nomu, a terrifying angel of death descending upon the chaos. 

Izuku stood in the aisle, his heart hammering against his ribs. He immediately began ushering crying passengers toward the back, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head. Keep them safe. Evacuate.

But as he guided a sobbing mother and her child to the rear car, his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Izuku pulled it out. It was a ping from the group chat he shared with U.A. classmates. But there was no text. Just a GPS location. 

From Tenya Iida. 

Izuku froze. The blood drained from his face. 

Iida. Iida’s brother, Ingenium, had been paralyzed by the Hero Killer in this exact city. Iida had specifically requested the Manual Agency in Hosu. Izuku had seen the dark, vengeful look in his class president's eyes before they left school. 

He didn't just send a location. It's a distress beacon.

Izuku looked out the window. The GPS pin was deep in the labyrinth of Hosu's back alleys, several blocks away from the main chaos of the Nomu attack. The Hero Killer didn't operate in the open. He hunted in the shadows. 

You do not step foot out onto that street, Hawks' voice echoed in his mind. 

Izuku looked at his phone. He looked at his scarred, battered hand. 

If he went, Hawks would never forgive him. He might actually ruin his career. 

But if he didn't go, his friend would die. 

The choice took less than a second. 

Izuku ripped his jacket off, revealing his green hero costume. Green lightning sparked to life around his body as he activated One For All: Full Cowling at five percent. The power hummed through his veins, no longer shattering his bones, but coursing through him like a rushing river. 

He bolted out of the train's emergency exit, diving into the shadows of the alleyways, moving in the exact opposite direction of Hawks. 

Hawks was a tempest of blades and kinetic energy. 

He didn't fight like other heroes. He didn't rely on brute force or flashy finishing moves. He was an assassin trained by the Commission. Every movement was calculated to deliver maximum damage with minimal effort. 

He soared above the burning street, his golden eyes locking onto the multi-eyed Nomu currently engaging Endeavor. The beast was regenerating as fast as the Number Two hero could burn it. 

"Endeavor!" Hawks yelled, diving through the smoke. "Pin its limbs! I'll take the brain!"

"Stay out of my way, Hawks!" Endeavor roared, unleashing a massive torrent of blue flame. 

Hawks ignored him. He sent thirty feathers whistling through the air, curving around Endeavor's flames and slicing through the Nomu's kneecaps and elbows. The beast shrieked, collapsing into the melting asphalt. 

Before it could regenerate, Hawks was there. He gripped two of his longest primary feathers like twin katanas, spinning mid-air and cleanly decapitating the exposed brain in one swift, brutal motion. The creature went limp. 

Hawks landed gracefully on a streetlight, his wings snapping back into place. He immediately tapped his earpiece. "Police dispatch, this is Hawks. Threat neutralized on 4th Avenue. Where are the others?"

"Two more spotted near the station," the dispatcher replied frantically. "Endeavor is redirecting now."

"Copy that." Hawks glanced back toward the train tracks. He closed his eyes, extending his sensory network through the stray feathers he had left behind to monitor the evacuation. 

And then, his heart stopped. 

The tracker feather—the specific, small feather he had tucked into Izuku’s collar—was gone. It had detached from Izuku and was lying uselessly on the floor of the train car. 

"Izuku," Hawks breathed, the name slipping out in a horrified gasp. 

He expanded his search, sending hundreds of downy feathers exploding outward in a massive radius, sweeping the city block by block, sensing vibrations, heat signatures, and movement. 

Where are you, kid? Where did you go?!

He picked up the sound of a boy running. The rhythmic, superhuman thud of One For All bouncing off the walls of an alleyway nearly a mile away. 

Hawks didn't wait. He didn't tell Endeavor where he was going. He abandoned the Nomu attack entirely. 

The Number Three Hero broke the sound barrier inside the city limits, shattering the glass of every building he passed as he tore through the sky, a streak of desperate, panicked red heading straight for the darkness. 

The smell of blood in the alleyway was thick, coppery, and suffocating. 

Izuku crashed down onto the damp cobblestones, gasping for air. His body was paralyzed. He couldn't move his legs, couldn't twitch his fingers. All he could do was watch. 

Standing a few feet away, illuminated by the flickering light of a distant streetlamp, was Stain. 

The Hero Killer was a nightmare brought to life. He was covered in tattered red cloth, his eyes entirely white, devoid of pupils, and a long, grotesque tongue slithered out from behind a mask lacking a nose. He held a jagged, blood-stained katana in his right hand. 

Behind Izuku, bleeding out against a dumpster, was the Pro Hero Native. And pinned beneath Stain's boot, weeping in impotent rage, was Tenya Iida. 

"You're a fake," Stain rasped, looking down at Iida, the tip of his katana resting against the boy's neck. "A child wearing a costume. You didn't come here to save this hero. You came for vengeance. That makes you nothing but a villain playing dress-up."

"Shut up!" Iida screamed, tears streaming down his face. "You paralyzed my brother! He was a true hero! You took his dream away!"

"He was weak," Stain countered coldly. "And society is diseased. Only true heroes are worthy to live. Only All Might."

Stain raised the blade. 

"No!" Izuku screamed, fighting against the paralysis with every ounce of willpower he had. But his body betrayed him. The blood ingestion Quirk was absolute. 

Suddenly, a massive wall of fire erupted in the alleyway, forcing Stain to leap backward into the shadows. 

Todoroki landed at the mouth of the alley, his left side blazing, his right side frosting the brick walls. "Midoriya. You need to give more details in your messages," Todoroki said evenly, though his mismatched eyes were wide with tension. "I was almost late."

"Todoroki! Don't let him cut you!" Izuku yelled, relief flooding his chest even as panic remained. "He ingests your blood to paralyze you!"

What followed was a brutal, desperate war of attrition. Todoroki unleashed barrages of ice and fire, trying to keep the Hero Killer at bay. But Stain was impossibly fast, weaving through the flames, his boots skating on the ice. He was a veteran killer, and Todoroki was just a student. 

The paralysis finally broke for Izuku. He surged forward, pushing One For All to five percent again, bouncing off the walls. He managed to land a solid kick on Stain's helmet, but the villain rolled with the blow, slashing out and grazing Izuku's bicep. 

A single drop of blood flew into the air. Stain's long tongue darted out, catching it. 

Izuku crashed to the ground, paralyzed again. 

Todoroki was losing ground. He had been slashed across the arm, bleeding heavily. Stain threw a throwing knife, pinning Todoroki’s arm to the wall. The fire sputtered and died. 

Iida, having finally broken free of his own paralysis, tried to launch a Recipro Burst, but his engines stalled. He collapsed, his armor battered and broken. 

The three U.A. students lay on the cold, wet ground, defeated. 

Stain stood over them, panting heavily, a terrifying, religious zealotry in his hollow eyes. He looked at Todoroki, then at Iida, and finally, his gaze settled on Izuku. 

"You," Stain rasped, pointing a bloodied knife at Izuku. "You are different. You came to save your friend. You didn't hesitate. You have the heart of a true hero."

Izuku glared up at him, unable to move a muscle. 

"But you are weak," Stain continued, stepping over Iida to stand directly above Izuku. He raised his katana, aiming the point precisely at Izuku's chest. "And the weak cannot cull the disease of this world. You will die with your ideals."

Iida screamed. Todoroki desperately tried to ignite his flames, but the cold had numbed his body. 

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry, All Might. I'm sorry... Hawks.

Stain thrust the sword downward. 

The blade never reached Izuku’s chest. 

A sound pierced the alleyway—a high-pitched shriek, like a jet engine ripping through the narrow space. 

CLANG.

Stain’s katana was violently violently deflected. The force of the impact was so massive it shattered the steel blade entirely, sending shrapnel flying into the brick walls. 

Stain stumbled back, shock breaking through his fanatical composure. He looked at his broken hilt. 

Embedded in the concrete, right where Izuku’s heart would have been, was a single, massive, glowing crimson feather. 

The air pressure in the alleyway shifted. A shadow fell over them from above, blocking out the sliver of moonlight. 

"Who—" Stain began, looking up. 

He didn't get to finish his sentence. 

Hawks slammed into the alleyway floor with the force of a meteor. The impact cratered the pavement, sending a shockwave that threw Stain backward and shattered the remaining windows in the alley. 

Izuku lay on the ground, his eyes wide in absolute shock. 

Hawks was standing over him. But this wasn't the Number Three Hero the public knew. The lazy smile was gone. The casual posture was gone. 

Hawks looked like a demon. 

His golden eyes were dilated, practically glowing in the dark, stripped of any humanity. They were the eyes of an apex predator that had just found a wolf in its den. His wings were fully extended, vibrating with such intense kinetic energy that they hummed audibly. He wasn't wearing his visor; it had blown off in his descent. 

"Hawks..." Todoroki whispered from the wall, his eyes wide. 

Stain recovered his footing, pulling two daggers from his belt. He recognized the man standing before him. The HPSC's lapdog. The ultimate fake hero. 

"Hawks," Stain spat, a vicious sneer crossing his mutilated face. "A celebrity. A pawn of the corrupt system. You care more about your billboards than justice. You are the epitome of the disease I am trying to—"

"Shut up." 

Hawks didn't shout. His voice was terrifyingly quiet, entirely devoid of inflection. It was a cold, hollow sound that made Izuku’s blood run colder than Stain's paralysis. 

Stain lunged, his speed incredible, aiming to slash Hawks and ingest his blood. 

He never even got close. 

Hawks didn't just move fast; he moved with absolute, ruthless precision. He didn't use his hands. He didn't even take a step forward. 

With a sickening schlick, ten primary feathers shot from Hawks' wings. They didn't aim to subdue. They aimed to dismantle. 

Four feathers tore through Stain's calves and thighs, pinning his legs to the brick wall behind him. Stain roared in agony. Before he could raise his daggers, four more feathers shot like bullets through his wrists and forearms, crucifying his arms to the wall. 

Stain dropped the daggers, coughing up a spatter of blood. He hung there, suspended three feet off the ground, entirely immobilized in less than half a second. 

"You—" Stain choked out, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and pain. "You fight like a killer."

Hawks slowly walked forward. The sound of his boots on the wet pavement was the only noise in the alley. He stepped directly into Stain's personal space, looking up at the pinned villain. 

"You talk too much," Hawks whispered, his golden eyes dead and hollow. 

He raised his hand. Two rigid feathers formed in his grip, shaped like a pair of shears. He pressed the sharp edges against either side of Stain’s neck. One twitch of his wrist, and the Hero Killer's head would roll onto the pavement. 

"Hawks!" 

Izuku's voice was hoarse, desperate, tearing through the heavy silence of the alley. "Don't! You're a hero! Don't kill him!"

Hawks froze. 

The feathers at Stain's neck trembled. Hawks closed his eyes, his chest heaving as if he were suffocating. The dark, murderous aura that had enveloped him fractured. 

Slowly, agonizingly, Hawks lowered his hand. He stepped back from Stain, who was now unconscious from blood loss and shock. 

Hawks turned around. He looked at Todoroki, shivering against the wall. He looked at Iida, bleeding on the ground. And finally, he looked down at Izuku. 

The paralysis was fading. Izuku managed to push himself up onto his elbows, his green eyes looking up at Hawks with a mixture of awe, fear, and profound guilt. 

Hawks didn't offer a hand. He didn't ask if Izuku was okay. He just stared at the boy, his golden eyes wide, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. He looked at the slash on Izuku’s arm. He looked at where Stain’s sword had almost pierced his chest. 

"Police and medics are two minutes out," Hawks said, his voice completely hollow. 

He turned his back on Izuku, wrapping his wings tightly around himself, and walked to the entrance of the alley to wait in silence. 

The Hosu General Hospital was chaotic, smelling of antiseptic and burnt flesh. 

Izuku, Todoroki, and Iida shared a secure room on the third floor. They had been treated for their injuries—Izuku’s cuts bandaged, Iida’s arms set in casts, Todoroki stitched up. 

The Chief of Police, Kenji Tsuragamae, a man with the head of a beagle, had just finished giving them a stern lecture. He explained that because they had used their Quirks without licenses, they had broken the law. However, because Hawks and Endeavor had taken credit for the apprehension of the Hero Killer, the students would face no legal repercussions. The public would never know they fought Stain. 

"You have a lot to learn," Chief Tsuragamae said, bowing slightly. "But... thank you. You saved lives tonight."

The Chief turned to leave. Standing by the door, completely silent for the last hour, was Hawks. 

Hawks hadn't looked at Izuku once since they arrived at the hospital. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring a hole into the linoleum floor. 

"Hawks," the Chief said, pausing at the door. "Endeavor is dealing with the press downstairs. They're asking for a statement from you regarding the capture."

"Tell them I'm busy," Hawks said coldly. 

The Chief nodded wisely and left the room, closing the door behind him. 

Todoroki and Iida exchanged nervous glances. The tension in the room was physically oppressive. 

Hawks’ pocket vibrated. He reached in, pulling out his secure Commission phone. He looked at the caller ID, his jaw tightening, and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door cracked open. 

Izuku strained his ears. He could hear Hawks' side of the conversation clearly. 

"Yes, Madam President. I am aware I abandoned my post," Hawks said, his tone dripping with forced professionalism, though an edge of venom bled through. 

A pause. 

"The Nomu was neutralized before I left. Endeavor had the situation handled. I received a distress signal regarding a high-value target—the Hero Killer—and moved to intercept."

Another pause. The voice on the other end must have been yelling, because Hawks pulled the phone slightly away from his ear. 

"Don't threaten me," Hawks snarled softly, his wings bristling. "I secured the villain. I did the job. No one died. If you want to reprimand me, do it in a boardroom, not while I'm dealing with the aftermath of your catastrophic intelligence failure regarding the League."

Hawks hung up, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He stood in the hallway for a long moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself. 

He walked back into the room. He walked past Todoroki. He walked past Iida. He stopped at the foot of Izuku’s bed. 

"Todoroki. Iida," Hawks said, not taking his eyes off Izuku. "Wait outside."

"Sir, we should stay," Iida protested weakly from his bed. "Midoriya was only there because of me. He shouldn't be punished alone."

"I wasn't asking," Hawks snapped, turning his head just enough to fix Iida with a glare that could melt steel. "Get out."

Todoroki gently placed a hand on Iida’s uninjured shoulder. "Let's go, Iida." 

The two boys slowly shuffled out of the room, closing the door firmly behind them. 

Izuku sat in the hospital bed, his hands gripping the white sheets. He couldn't look up. He stared at his lap, bracing himself for the explosion. He expected a lecture on the law. He expected to be fired from the internship. He expected Hawks to yell about PR and hero regulations. 

"Look at me." 

Hawks' voice wasn't loud. It wasn't the roaring anger of a Pro Hero. It was a jagged, broken sound. 

Izuku slowly raised his head. 

Hawks was gripping the metal railing at the foot of the bed. His knuckles were bone-white. The immaculate facade was entirely gone. His hair was messy, his eyes were bloodshot, and his chest was heaving. He looked exactly like a man who had just watched his entire world almost end. 

"I gave you one order," Hawks breathed, his voice trembling violently. "One order, Midoriya. Stay on the train. Stay out of the blood. Stay safe."

"I... I had to," Izuku whispered, tears pricking his eyes. "Iida was going to die. I couldn't just sit there. All Might says—"

"I don't give a damn what All Might says!" Hawks roared. 

The sound was so loud, so filled with raw, unadulterated agony, that Izuku flinched violently, pressing his back against the pillows. 

Hawks let go of the railing, pacing frantically in the small space between the bed and the window, his wings flaring and twitching. 

"All Might isn't the one who has to scrape your body off the pavement!" Hawks yelled, spinning around, tears finally spilling over his golden lashes, cutting tracks down his soot-stained face. "All Might wasn't the one who had to watch that psychopath put a sword to your chest! Do you have any idea—do you have any concept of what you did to me tonight?!"

Izuku was stunned. He was crying now, but he was completely bewildered. "To... to you? Hawks, I'm sorry I disobeyed you, I know I'm a bad intern, I know I broke the law, but why—"

"This isn't about the law!" Hawks interrupted, grabbing the back of a chair and gripping it so hard the plastic cracked. "This isn't about the internship! Do you think I care about the Commission's rules? Do you think I care about hero licenses? I care about you!"

"Why?!" Izuku yelled back, finally snapping, the stress and confusion of the last few days boiling over. He pushed himself forward in the bed, ignoring the stabbing pain in his arm. "Why do you care so much?! You don't know me! We met three days ago! You drafted me just to lock me in a room! You look at me like I'm made of glass! You act like... you act like my family! But you're not!"

Hawks froze. 

The word family hit him like a physical blow. He let go of the chair, stumbling back a step, his breath catching in his throat. 

Izuku was panting, tears streaming down his face, his green eyes blazing with defiance and desperation. "Who are you?! Why do you look at me like that?! Why did you come for me?!"

The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the hum of the heart monitor and the sound of Izuku's ragged breathing. 

Hawks stared at the boy. He looked at the green curls, the freckles, the stubborn set of his jaw. He saw Tomie’s softness, but he also saw a terrifying, self-sacrificial bravery that was entirely Izuku’s own. 

The HPSC’s conditioning screamed at Hawks to lie. It told him to build the wall back up. To act aloof. To tell the kid he was just an investment for the agency. 

But Hawks remembered the sight of Stain's blade hovering over Izuku's heart. He remembered the feeling of absolute, paralyzing terror that had eclipsed his entire existence. 

He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't be a ghost. 

"You think I don't know you?" Hawks whispered, his voice breaking, stripped of every defense he had ever built. 

He reached up, grabbing the heavy, Commission-issued tracking device pinned to the collar of his hero jacket. With a sharp yank, he ripped it off, crushing it in his fist and tossing the ruined tech into the trash can. 

Then, Hawks walked slowly to the side of Izuku’s bed. He didn't tower over him this time. He sank down, dropping to his knees on the linoleum floor until he was eye-level with Izuku. 

Izuku stared at him, bewildered, his anger faltering in the face of the hero's absolute vulnerability. 

Hawks reached out with a trembling, gloved hand. He hesitated for a second, terrified that he would break the illusion, terrified that the boy would pull away. 

But he couldn't stop. He gently placed his hand on the side of Izuku’s face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had fallen across a constellation of freckles. 

Izuku’s breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. The touch was so painfully gentle, so deeply familiar in a way Izuku’s subconscious couldn't explain. 

"I have known you," Hawks choked out, the tears flowing freely now, destroying the immaculate Pro Hero facade entirely, "since the day you were born."

Izuku’s eyes widened, the green irises shrinking in shock. "What... what are you talking about?"

Hawks let out a wet, broken laugh, pressing his forehead against the mattress, unable to look Izuku in the eye as the dam finally burst. 

"I'm sorry, Izu," Hawks wept, his shoulders shaking beneath his massive wings. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there. I promised I'd watch over you, and I almost let you die. I'm sorry."

Izuku sat entirely paralyzed, not by a villain's Quirk, but by a world-shattering revelation that he couldn't yet fully comprehend. He looked down at the Number Three Hero, the fastest man alive, weeping on his knees beside his bed, calling him by a nickname only his mother used. 

"Hawks..." Izuku whispered, his hand slowly reaching out to rest tentatively on the hero’s quivering wing. "Who are you?"

Hawks raised his head, looking at Izuku through tear-blurred golden eyes. 

"My name," Hawks said softly, the name tasting foreign and heavy on his tongue after a decade of silence, "is Keigo."