what if deku had wolverine Adamantium

 

 

 

The tragedy of Izuku Midoriya did not begin with a villain attack, nor did it begin with a fire. It began in a sterile, white room filled with the scent of rubbing alcohol and the quiet hum of an X-ray light board.

 

It began with a lie.

 

Dr. Kyudai Garaki adjusted his thick, round spectacles, the fluorescent lights of his private pediatric clinic reflecting off the lenses. On the illuminated board before him hung the X-rays of a four-year-old boy. To the untrained eye, or even to a standard medical professional, the scans might have looked peculiar, but largely benign. There were slight abnormalities in the bone density, a strange clustering of cells near the metacarpals, and, notably, the presence of two distinct joints in the pinky toe.

 

But Garaki was not a standard medical professional. He was a visionary of the macabre, the right hand of the most powerful villain in the Japanese underworld. And what he saw in these scans made his dark, withered heart beat with a frantic, euphoric rhythm.

 

He didn’t just see a Quirk. He saw a miracle.

 

"Well, Doctor?"

 

Garaki turned his chair slowly. Sitting on the examination table was little Izuku Midoriya, clutching an All Might action figure with white-knuckled intensity. Beside him sat his mother, Inko, wringing her hands together. Her eyes were wide, brimming with that desperate, fragile hope unique to parents waiting to hear if their child was special.

 

Garaki smiled. It was a practiced, grandfatherly expression that hid the predatory gleam in his eyes.

 

"I'm afraid I have some difficult news, Mrs. Midoriya," Garaki said, his voice a gravelly purr. He tapped the X-ray with a pen. "You see this joint here? It's a relic of human evolution. Those with Quirks lack it. Your son possesses it. I am sorry, but Izuku is Quirkless."

 

The room seemed to drop by ten degrees. The All Might figure slipped from Izuku’s grasp, clattering onto the linoleum floor. The boy’s large green eyes shattered, filling with a localized ocean of tears. Inko gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

 

"Quirkless?" she whispered, the word tasting like ash. "But... but my husband breathes fire, and I can pull small objects... surely there's a mistake?"

 

"Nature is often cruel, Mrs. Midoriya," Garaki replied smoothly, offering a box of tissues. "He will live a normal, healthy life. But he will never develop a Quirk."

 

It was a flawless lie. In truth, Izuku’s cellular structure was the most extraordinary the doctor had ever witnessed. The boy’s cells possessed an autonomous, hyper-aggressive regenerative property. Even when Garaki had drawn blood, the needle puncture had sealed itself before the boy could even register the prick. Furthermore, the strange clustering near his knuckles indicated dense, rudimentary bone protrusions—retractable appendages waiting to mature.

 

A hyper-regenerative mutant.

 

For decades, Garaki and All For One had been attempting to create an indestructible soldier. They had developed Nomu—mindless beasts with shock absorption and regeneration. But organic tissue, no matter how fast it healed, could be incinerated, pulverized, or disintegrated. They needed something harder. They needed a skeleton that could not be broken.

 

Garaki had recently procured a sample of a theoretical, experimental alloy from a black-market think tank in America. They called it Adamantium. In its liquid state, it could be bonded to bone, rendering the subject virtually indestructible. But the bonding process was catastrophically fatal. The alloy was toxic, and the sheer trauma of the liquid metal searing into bone marrow had killed every test subject in minutes. The shock alone shattered their minds before their organs boiled.

 

But a subject with a hyper-active, autonomous healing factor? A body that repaired itself faster than the metal could destroy it?

 

Garaki looked at the weeping, green-haired child. He didn’t see a boy. He saw a canvas. He saw Weapon IX.

 

"Take him home, Mrs. Midoriya," Garaki said softly, hiding his trembling excitement. "Give him time to process."

 

As the devastated mother led her shattered son out of the clinic, Garaki reached for his encrypted phone. He had a kidnapping to arrange. And it had to look like a tragedy.

 

 

 

Four days later, the sky above Musutafu wept thick, grey rain.

 

Katsuki Bakugo, four years old and bursting with the arrogant pride of his newly manifested Explosion Quirk, was leading his typical procession through the local shopping district. Izuku trailed behind, a ghost of his former self, his eyes downcast. Ever since the doctor's appointment, 'Deku' had been quiet, and Katsuki hated it. He hated the weakness.

 

"Hurry up, Deku!" Katsuki barked, sparks popping harmlessly in his palms. "You're dragging your feet! Just 'cause you don't have a Quirk doesn't mean you get to be a slowpoke!"

 

Izuku sniffled, clutching the straps of his yellow backpack. "S-Sorry, Kacchan."

 

They were passing a large, multi-story parking garage under construction when the world suddenly tore itself apart.

 

It wasn't a hero fight. There was no warning. One second, Katsuki was laughing; the next, a deafening explosion shattered the foundations of the concrete structure above them. A shockwave threw Katsuki to the pavement, scraping his knees and elbows raw. Dust plumed into the street, thick and choking like volcanic ash. Screams erupted from the surrounding pedestrians.

 

"Deku?!" Katsuki coughed, waving his small hands through the blinding dust. "Hey! Where are you?!"

 

A shadowy figure moved within the dust—large, hulking, with an exposed brain and dead, milky eyes. A Nomu. It slammed a massive, grey fist into the primary support pillar of the construction site. The steel groaned, snapping like dry twigs.

 

Katsuki looked up. A massive slab of concrete, easily weighing two tons, was falling directly toward him. His legs froze. His breath hitched. He couldn't use his explosions; they were just tiny pops. He was going to die.

 

"Kacchan!"

 

A blur of green. Two small hands shoved Katsuki violently in the chest.

 

Katsuki tumbled backward out of the drop zone just as the concrete slab slammed into the earth with the force of a meteorite. The ground shuddered. Dust billowed out in a violent ring.

 

"DEKU!" Katsuki screamed, his voice cracking, his throat raw.

 

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the blood dripping from his nose, and rushed to the slab. He fell to his knees, clawing frantically at the immovable rock, his tiny explosions doing absolutely nothing to the concrete.

 

"Deku! Hey! Say something! Come on, you stupid nerd!" Katsuki screamed, tears carving clean lines through the dirt on his face.

 

Heroes arrived minutes later. Backdraft sprayed water on the secondary fires, while Death Arms and Mount Lady began moving the rubble. Katsuki was pulled away by a paramedic, kicking and screaming, pointing at the concrete.

 

When the heroes finally lifted the slab, there was no body.

 

There was only a crater, a massive amount of blood soaking into the dirt, and a single, crushed red shoe.

 

The police concluded that the villain's attack had incinerated or pulverized the boy beyond recovery. When Inko Midoriya arrived at the scene and saw the crushed shoe, her wail of agony was a sound Katsuki Bakugo would hear in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

 

Sitting in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a shock blanket, Katsuki stared at his trembling hands. The sparks were gone. The pride was gone.

 

Deku was dead. And he had died saving him.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was not under the concrete. At the exact moment the slab had fallen, the hulking creature in the dust had snatched the boy by the collar, dragging him down into a subterranean warp gate before the rock even hit the ground.

 

Izuku Midoriya was not dead. Soon, he would wish he was.

 

 

 

It was so cold.

 

Izuku’s consciousness returned not as a gradual waking, but as a violent jolt, like stepping on a nail. He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred by a thick, translucent, greenish fluid. He tried to inhale, panic seizing his chest, but an oxygen mask was strapped tightly over his nose and mouth, forcing cold, metallic-tasting air into his tiny lungs.

 

He was floating. Suspended in a massive cylindrical glass tank.

 

Thick, industrial cables and translucent tubes were grafted into his flesh—piercing his arms, his chest, his legs, and the base of his spine. He tried to thrash, to call out for his mother, to cry for All Might, but his limbs were locked in place by heavy metallic braces.

 

Beyond the curved glass of his aquatic prison, the room was a nightmare of machinery. Blinking server racks, surgical tools laid out on steel trays, and massive vats of a simmering, silver liquid. Standing at a control console was the doctor from the clinic.

 

Dr. Garaki looked up from his monitors, noticing the boy’s wide, terrified green eyes. He pressed a button on the console, and a microphone crackled to life, his voice echoing through the fluid in Izuku’s tank.

 

"Ah. Little Izuku. You are awake," Garaki said, his tone devoid of the grandfatherly warmth he had used days prior. "Do not struggle. It will only increase your heart rate, and we need your vitals stabilized."

 

Izuku whimpered around the mouthpiece, thrashing his small legs against the restraints. Where is Mommy? Where is Kacchan?

 

"You are a very special boy, Izuku," Garaki continued, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "You see, human bodies are fragile things. Bone breaks. Flesh tears. The master requires a vessel that cannot be broken. We have tried with adults. We have tried with villains and heroes alike. But their bodies fail. Their minds snap. Their cells cannot repair the damage fast enough."

 

Garaki turned his gaze to the massive vat of silver liquid. It glowed with a terrifying, latent heat.

 

"This is Adamantium. A metal that, once cooled, can never be destroyed, altered, or broken. To bond it to a human skeleton, it must be kept in a liquid state at near-boiling temperatures, injected directly into the bone marrow." Garaki stepped closer to the glass, his eyes wide with fanaticism. "It is an agony beyond human comprehension. It kills the subject instantly. But your cells... they refuse to die. Let us see which is stronger: the unbreakable metal, or your unbreakable life."

 

Garaki pulled a heavy, red lever.

 

Inside the tank, a series of automated, hydraulic needles descended from the restraints. They hovered over Izuku’s wrists, his elbows, his knees, his spine, and his collarbones.

 

Izuku’s heart monitor began to beep frantically. The green fluid around him seemed to chill.

 

"Initiating the Adamantium bonding process," a mechanized female voice chimed over the loudspeakers.

 

"Goodbye, Izuku Midoriya," Garaki whispered. "Hello, Weapon IX."

 

The needles plunged deep into Izuku’s flesh, grinding through muscle and tissue until they violently struck bone.

 

Izuku’s eyes widened so far the blood vessels popped. A scream tore from his throat, muffled by the oxygen mask, producing a stream of frantic bubbles.

 

Then, the liquid metal flowed.

 

It was not just pain. The word 'pain' was wholly insufficient. It was as if a star had been ignited inside his veins. The boiling Adamantium poured into his bone marrow, searing his internal organs from the inside out. His blood literally began to boil, turning into steam that hissed out of the puncture wounds.

 

Izuku thrashed with a violence that shook the massive glass tank. His small muscles ripped and tore against the restraints, his bones glowing white-hot beneath his skin.

 

He was dying. He could feel his heart stop. He could feel his brain short-circuiting, the synapses burning away under the incomprehensible agony.

 

But then, the mutation triggered.

 

Pushed to the absolute brink of cellular death, Izuku’s latent Quirk awoke with the fury of a cornered beast. The hyper-regeneration kicked in. As the liquid metal incinerated his bone marrow, new marrow was generated at lightning speed. As the heat cooked his muscle tissue, new cells rapidly multiplied, stitching torn flesh back together in milliseconds, only to be burned away and rebuilt again.

 

He was trapped in a perpetual cycle of dying and being reborn, every second stretching into an eternity of torment.

 

On the monitors, Garaki watched with manic glee. "Yes! The pulse is fluctuating but holding! The cellular regeneration is keeping pace with the metal bonding! It's working! It's actually working!"

 

Inside the tank, the boy named Izuku Midoriya was drowning in an ocean of fire.

 

The image of his mother’s smile burned away.

The memory of Katsuki’s laughter turned to ash.

The heroic silhouette of All Might dissolved into meaningless shadows.

 

Everything that made him human, every soft, gentle piece of his four-year-old soul, was incinerated by the sheer, unadulterated trauma. The pain was too great for a human mind to endure. So, the human mind shut down.

 

In its place, something ancient, primal, and deeply feral was born in the dark recesses of his consciousness. A survival instinct. A predator's rage.

 

The silver liquid finally coated the very last of his skeleton, sealing his skull in an unbreakable shell. The needles retracted. The boiling heat slowly began to dissipate as the Adamantium cooled and set, forever bonded to his bones.

 

The tank grew still. The green fluid was now clouded with thick ribbons of red blood.

 

Garaki wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, breathing heavily. He checked the vitals. Heart rate: steady. Brain activity: stable. Bone density: incalculable.

 

"Incredible," Garaki breathed. "A complete success. Drain the tank."

 

The green fluid began to siphon out through a grate at the bottom. As the water level dropped, Izuku’s body went limp, hanging by the metal restraints. His skin was pale, heavily scarred with red burns that were visibly fading before Garaki's eyes, the healing factor working overtime.

 

The glass door of the tank hissed open, breaking the seal.

 

Garaki approached, pulling a small penlight from his lab coat. "Subject IX. Can you hear me?"

 

Izuku’s head hung low, his chin resting on his chest. Water dripped from his messy green curls. He was silent. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest indicated he was alive.

 

"A temporary catatonic state is to be expected," Garaki muttered, reaching out to peel back the boy’s eyelid.

 

Before his fingers could touch the boy's skin, Izuku’s eyes snapped open.

 

They were not the eyes of the boy from the clinic. The irises had shrunk, glowing with a venomous, emerald intensity. They were the eyes of a wolf caught in a trap.

 

A low, guttural growl rumbled from Izuku’s chest, vibrating through the metal restraints. It didn't sound human.

 

Garaki paused, taking a half-step back. "Fascinating. The trauma has induced an acute feral regression."

 

Izuku clenched his small fists. The muscles in his forearms rippled, bulging unnaturally as something shifted beneath his skin.

 

Deep within his forearms, the dense clusters of bone that Garaki had seen on the X-rays—now permanently coated in indestructible Adamantium—reacted to the boy's primal rage. They shifted, slid along their muscular sheaths, and shot forward.

 

SNIKT!

 

The sound was sharp, metallic, and horrifyingly loud.

 

Three six-inch claws, shining with a deadly, silver luster, erupted from the knuckles of both of Izuku's hands. They sliced cleanly through the flesh between his knuckles, blood spraying the inside of the tank, only for the skin to instantly knit tightly around the base of the metal blades.

 

Garaki gasped, stumbling backward. "Weaponized protrusions? The metal coated them... but they're retractable..."

 

Izuku didn't wait for the doctor to finish his observation. With a violent, twisting jerk of his arms, he swung the newly formed claws at the heavy titanium restraints binding his wrists.

 

The Adamantium blades sheared through the titanium like a hot knife through butter. The metal clattered to the floor.

 

Izuku dropped to the grated floor of the tank, landing on all fours. He looked up at Garaki, baring his teeth. Saliva dripped from his chin. The air in the lab grew heavy with the palpable, suffocating aura of pure, unbridled killing intent.

 

"G-Guards!" Garaki shrieked, scrambling backward toward the reinforced steel door of the laboratory. "Subdue him! Do not kill him, but break his legs if you have to!"

 

From the shadows of the lab, three Nomu stepped forward. They were smaller variants, designed for security rather than heavy combat, but they were monstrous nonetheless. Bulging muscles, exposed brains, and razor-sharp teeth. They lunged at the four-year-old boy.

 

Izuku didn't retreat. He roared—a piercing, ear-splitting scream of pure rage—and launched himself forward.

 

His weight had drastically increased. The metal skeleton made his small body impossibly dense. When his feet kicked off the grated floor, the steel bent under his force, propelling him forward with the speed of a bullet.

 

The first Nomu reached out with massive, clawed hands. Izuku ducked beneath the creature's guard, crossing his arms in an 'X' across his chest, and then violently swiped outward.

 

The Adamantium claws met no resistance. They sliced cleanly through the Nomu's thick thighs, severing both legs in a single, fluid motion. The beast roared in confusion, collapsing. Before it could even hit the ground, Izuku twisted in the air, driving the claws of his right hand upward, burying all three blades deep into the creature's exposed brain.

 

The Nomu went limp. Izuku yanked his hand free, blood and grey matter raining down on his face. He didn't blink. He just turned to the next target.

 

The second Nomu threw a devastating punch, striking Izuku squarely in the chest. A normal child would have been obliterated. Izuku was sent flying, crashing into a massive server rack. Sparks rained down.

 

Garaki watched, waiting for the boy to stay down.

 

Instead, Izuku rose instantly. The strike had shattered his ribs, but the Adamantium held its shape, and his healing factor knit the torn muscles back together before he even took his next breath. He felt no pain. Only the red haze of the Berserker Rage.

 

He charged again. This time, he leaped off the wall, using his claws to scale the sheer concrete surface like a spider, before launching himself down at the remaining two Nomus. He became a whirlwind of silver flashes and arterial spray. He carved through their regenerative tissue faster than they could heal, severing limbs, decapitating heads, turning the multi-million-yen biological weapons into piles of useless, twitching meat.

 

When the bloodletting was over, Izuku stood in the center of the ruined lab, panting heavily. His hospital gown was soaked in blood. His silver claws dripped with gore.

 

Garaki had already fled, the heavy steel vault door sealing shut behind him.

 

Izuku stalked toward the vault door. He didn't know who was behind it. He didn't care. He just knew he had to get out. He raised his claws and drove them into the reinforced steel. The Adamantium pierced the vault door with a horrific screech. Izuku began to carve a massive circle, pulling his arms through the thick metal with raw, primal strength augmented by his indestructible frame.

 

He kicked the circle of steel out, stepping into the dark, underground corridor. Sirens blared, bathing the concrete walls in flashing red light.

 

The boy ran. He ran on two legs, sometimes dropping to all fours when the momentum carried him. He didn't know where he was going. The concept of directions, of cities, of heroes, was lost to the feral beast currently piloting his mind. He just needed to run from the pain. From the smell of chemicals.

 

He tore through locked doors, shredded an elevator shaft's cabling to climb the walls, and finally, burst through a ventilation grate, tumbling out into the freezing rain of the city.

 

 

 

Miles away from the underground facility, Shota Aizawa—known in the underground hero circuit as Eraserhead—was having a miserable night.

 

The rain was relentless, soaking through his black jumpsuit and heavily weighing down his capture scarf. The city was quiet, save for the rhythmic drumming of the storm. Aizawa crouched on the edge of a fire escape in a grimy industrial district, his yellow goggles pulled up, his eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

 

He hated the rain. It washed away tracks, muffled sounds, and kept the petty criminals indoors. It was a night meant for sleeping, not patrolling.

 

He was just about to call it a night and head back to his empty apartment when a sound caught his attention.

 

It wasn't a scream, nor was it the crash of a break-in. It was a wet, metallic scrape. Followed by the sound of something heavy dragging itself through the trash-filled alleyway below.

 

Aizawa peered over the railing. The alley was dark, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a broken neon sign from a nearby bar.

 

At the end of the alley, huddled next to a rusted dumpster, was a small, shivering silhouette.

 

A child.

 

Aizawa frowned. His hero instincts immediately kicked in, overriding his exhaustion. He dropped silently from the fire escape, landing in the puddles with a soft splash.

 

As he stepped closer, the neon light washed over the figure, and Aizawa’s breath hitched in his throat.

 

It was a boy, no older than five. But the state he was in made Aizawa’s stomach churn. The child was barefoot, wearing only a shredded, oversized hospital gown that clung to his small frame. He was covered, head to toe, in a thick layer of blood—some of it dried and brown, some of it fresh and bright red, washing away in the heavy rain.

 

The boy was shivering violently, his knees pulled to his chest, his head buried in his arms.

 

"Hey," Aizawa said softly, keeping his voice level and non-threatening. He took a slow step forward, raising his hands to show he was unarmed. "Kid. Are you okay? Where are your parents?"

 

The boy didn't look up. He just let out a low, vibrating sound. It took Aizawa a second to realize the child was growling.

 

Aizawa stopped. He had dealt with Quirk manifestations before. Trauma could trigger volatile awakenings. He needed to be careful.

 

"I'm a hero," Aizawa said, his tone firm but gentle. "My name is Eraserhead. I'm not going to hurt you. Let me get you out of the rain."

 

He took another step.

 

The reaction was instantaneous.

 

The boy’s head snapped up. His messy green hair was plastered to his forehead, but it was his eyes that froze Aizawa in his tracks. They were feral, blown wide with absolute terror and rage, glowing slightly in the dark.

 

Before Aizawa could blink, the boy uncoiled like a spring.

 

He didn't stand up; he launched himself straight off the wet pavement, covering the ten feet between them in a fraction of a second. The speed was unbelievable.

 

Aizawa relied on pure combat instinct. He threw himself backward, his scarf whipping out to intercept the child.

 

But as the boy flew through the air, he brought his hands back.

 

SNIKT.

 

Three silver blades erupted from the boy's knuckles.

 

Aizawa’s eyes widened in horror. Weapons?! No... Quirks!

 

The boy slashed wildly. The metallic claws caught the edge of Aizawa’s capture weapon. The scarf, made from a specialized steel wire alloy designed to restrain superhumans, parted like wet tissue paper. The blades sliced cleanly through the fabric, missing Aizawa’s throat by less than an inch.

 

Aizawa hit the ground, rolling backward as the boy landed. The child hit the concrete with a heavy, unnatural thud, shattering the pavement beneath his bare feet.

 

"Kid, stop!" Aizawa shouted, his hair rising to defy gravity. His eyes glowed a fierce red as he activated his Erasure Quirk, staring directly at the feral child.

 

Whatever Quirk this boy had, it would be shut down.

 

The boy growled, shaking his head as if trying to shake off a fly. But the claws didn't retract. The feral look in his eyes didn't fade.

 

Mutation type, Aizawa realized with a curse. Erasure only stopped Emitter and Transformation Quirks. Physical mutations couldn't be erased.

 

The boy lunged again, swiping his right hand in a lethal arc.

 

Aizawa ducked, the blades shearing through the brick wall of the alley behind him as if the masonry was made of butter. Aizawa threw a precise, measured palm strike, aiming for the boy's chest to wind him.

 

When his hand connected with the boy's sternum, it felt like striking a solid block of steel. A sharp pain shot up Aizawa’s arm, and he hissed, pulling back. He's made of metal!

 

The boy retaliated, bringing his left claws down toward Aizawa’s leg.

 

Aizawa swept his capture scarf, wrapping it securely around the boy's forearms. He didn't pull tight—he didn't want the blades cutting his own weapon again—but instead used the momentum to flip the boy over his shoulder, slamming him face-first into the muddy ground.

 

He pinned the boy down, pressing a knee carefully into his back, and wrapped the remaining scarf tightly around the boy's torso, binding his arms to his sides so the claws faced safely backward.

 

The boy thrashed wildly, screaming with a raspy, tearing sound. It was the sound of a wounded animal, frantic and terrified. He twisted his neck, trying to bite Aizawa's hands.

 

"Easy! Easy!" Aizawa grunted, struggling to hold the child down. Despite his small size, the boy weighed an absolute ton. It was like trying to pin down a compact car. "I've got you. You're safe! Stop fighting!"

 

The words didn't register. The boy continued to thrash, his claws scraping uselessly against the concrete behind him, carving deep gouges into the alley floor.

 

Aizawa looked closer at the boy as they struggled. The rain washed away the blood on the child's shoulder, revealing skin underneath. Aizawa expected to see horrific lacerations from whatever had covered him in so much blood.

 

Instead, he saw pale, unblemished skin. But right before his eyes, a small scratch on the boy's cheek—likely caused by flying debris during his escape—visibly closed, the skin pulling together and sealing itself in a matter of seconds.

 

Hyper-regeneration. Metal skeleton. Weaponized claws. Aizawa’s mind raced. This isn't a normal manifestation. Someone built him.

 

Slowly, the exhaustion of the escape and the sheer trauma of the night began to catch up with the boy. The feral thrashing weakened. The guttural growls turned into pathetic, broken whimpers. The glowing intensity in his green eyes faded, replaced by dull, hollow exhaustion.

 

The claws, coated in rainwater and blood, slowly slid backward, retracting into his knuckles with a soft, sickening shhhk sound, leaving no wounds behind.

 

The boy's head fell limp against the wet pavement. He was unconscious.

 

Aizawa exhaled a long, shaky breath. He deactivated his Quirk, his eyes stinging. He carefully unwrapped the boy, lifting him into his arms. The sheer weight of the small child strained Aizawa’s back, but he adjusted his grip, pulling the boy's freezing body close to his chest to share his body heat.

 

Aizawa looked at the child's peaceful, sleeping face. Without the feral rage, he just looked like a normal little boy. A boy with a round face, a smattering of freckles, and a mop of curly green hair.

 

"What the hell did they do to you, kid?" Aizawa whispered into the rain.

 

He didn't have answers. But he knew exactly who he needed to call. He adjusted the capture scarf, wrapping it around the boy like a blanket, and began to run toward the nearest precinct, dialing his burner phone with his free hand.

 

"Tsukauchi," Aizawa said into the phone as the line connected. His voice was grim, devoid of its usual tired apathy. "I need you down at the station right now. And bring a medical team. Someone you trust. No one else."

 

"Eraser? It's three in the morning," Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi’s groggy voice replied. "What's happened?"

 

Aizawa looked down at the blood soaking into his jumpsuit. He remembered the ungodly sound of those metal claws, and the terrifying, broken look in the boy's eyes.

 

"I found something," Aizawa said softly, leaping onto a rooftop and rushing through the storm. "Or someone. I don't know yet. But it's bad, Naomasa. It's really, really bad."

 

Thunder rolled across the skyline of Musutafu, masking the sound of Aizawa’s footsteps.

 

Project Weapon IX had escaped the darkness of the laboratory. But as the rain poured down on the unconscious Izuku Midoriya, the true nightmare was only just beginning. The boy's mind was fractured, his body transformed into an instrument of death, and the weight of the unbreakable metal inside him would shape the rest of his life.

 

He was no longer just a boy who dreamed of being a hero. He was a survivor. He was a weapon.

 

And somewhere in the dark, Dr. Garaki was already making plans to get his masterpiece back.

 

 

 

 

 

Ten years.

 

To a mountain, ten years is nothing but a fleeting breath of wind. To a human, it is a significant chapter of life. But to Izuku Midoriya, the ten years since he was pulled from the rain by the Underground Hero Eraserhead felt like a prolonged, suffocating holding pattern.

 

He woke up to the sound of his alarm clock, but before he could reach out to silence it, the heavy metal frame of his bed groaned in protest. Izuku carefully rolled over. He had to be careful. Always careful.

 

He reached out a scarred hand and pressed the button on the clock. He didn't smack it. The last time he smacked an alarm clock, his Adamantium-laced knuckles had crushed it into a shower of plastic shrapnel and sparking wires.

 

Izuku sat up, his bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. Thud. Thud.

 

Despite being a fourteen-year-old boy of average height, Izuku weighed two hundred and eighty-five pounds. The indestructible, experimental alloy grafted to his skeleton made him impossibly dense. It affected everything. He couldn't swim; he sank like a stone. He couldn't jump on trampolines. He couldn't roughhouse. If he bumped into a normal person on the street, it was like they had walked into a concrete bollard.

 

He walked to the bathroom, the floorboards creaking ominously beneath him. He stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection.

 

Gone was the bright-eyed, optimistic child who clutched All Might action figures. The teenager staring back had dull, guarded green eyes, heavily shadowed by chronic insomnia. His skin was pale, save for the faint, silvery scars that littered his shoulders and chest—remnants of the night in Dr. Garaki’s lab. His healing factor was absolute, but the sheer trauma of the Adamantium bonding process had left faint, phantom scars that his body somehow remembered.

 

He clenched his fists, resting them on the porcelain sink. Beneath his knuckles, he could feel the dense, cold weight of the housings that held his claws. He hated them. He hated the metal inside him. He hated the beast that slept just beneath the surface of his mind, waiting for the scent of blood to wake it up.

 

"Izuku?" a fragile voice called from the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready, sweetie."

 

Izuku’s expression softened. "Coming, Mom."

 

He dressed quickly in his Aldera Junior High uniform, making sure to clasp the heavy, government-mandated suppression cuff around his right ankle. It was a tracker and a heart-rate monitor, installed by the Hero Public Safety Commission. To the government, Izuku Midoriya was not a victim; he was a liability. He was a registered lethal mutant, a surviving asset of an unknown villain syndicate.

 

When Izuku walked into the kitchen, his mother, Inko, was pulling a massive platter of food from the stove. Ten eggs, a pound of bacon, four bowls of rice, and a loaf of toast.

 

Izuku’s metabolism ran at an astronomical rate to fuel his hyper-regeneration. He ate enough for three grown men just to maintain his body weight.

 

"Morning," Izuku murmured, sitting at the reinforced steel kitchen chair Aizawa had bought them years ago.

 

"Good morning," Inko smiled, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

 

Inko had aged terribly over the last decade. The grey streaks in her hair were a testament to the night she thought her son had been crushed by concrete, and the subsequent, horrifying reality of getting him back. She loved him fiercely, but she hovered over him like a ghost, terrified that if she looked away for even a second, he would be stolen back into the dark.

 

As Izuku demolished the food, the front door unlocked. A tall, disheveled man in a black jumpsuit walked in, shaking the morning dew from his scarf.

 

"Aizawa-sensei," Izuku greeted, his mouth half-full of rice.

 

Shota Aizawa grunted, walking to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mug. Over the last ten years, the Underground Hero had become a permanent fixture in the Midoriya household. He was Izuku’s government-appointed handler, his martial arts instructor, and the closest thing the boy had to a father.

 

"Monitor shows your heart rate spiked at 3:00 AM," Aizawa said, leaning against the counter, his dark eyes fixed on the boy. "Nightmares again?"

 

Izuku paused, his chopstick hovering over his plate. "Just a dream. I was drowning."

 

Aizawa didn't push it. He knew the trauma ran deep. "Just keep a lid on it today. Tsukauchi says the Commission is reviewing your file next week. They want to know if you're stable enough to attend a normal high school next year, or if they need to move you to a specialized, secure facility."

 

Izuku’s jaw tightened. A cage. They want to put me in a cage.

 

"I'm fine," Izuku said coldly, standing up and grabbing his yellow backpack. "I'll see you tonight."

 

"Don't take the alleyways, problem child," Aizawa called out as Izuku reached the door. "Stick to the main roads."

 

"I know," Izuku replied, stepping out into the morning sun.

 

 

 

Aldera Junior High was a loud, chaotic place, but wherever Izuku walked, a strange, suffocating bubble of silence followed him.

 

He walked through the front gates, stepping through the metal detectors. They immediately shrieked, flashing bright red. The security guard didn't even blink, just waved Izuku through with a nervous, trembling hand. Everyone knew about the Midoriya boy. The teachers had been briefed. He was a 'special case.'

 

As Izuku walked down the hallway, the other students parted like the Red Sea. They whispered behind their hands, throwing fearful glances at his heavy, thudding boots.

 

“That’s him. The cyborg guy.”

“I heard he killed a villain when he was four.”

“Look at his eyes. He looks dead.”

 

Izuku ignored them. He was used to the fear. In a world where eighty percent of the population had Quirks, people were used to people with horns, wings, or fire breath. But Izuku’s Quirk wasn't just a physical change; it was an aura. He carried the heavy, predatory stillness of a loaded gun sitting on a table.

 

He entered his homeroom and sat at his desk in the back corner. A moment later, the door slammed open, and Katsuki Bakugo swaggered in, trailed by his usual lackeys.

 

Bakugo stopped in the doorway. His crimson eyes locked onto Izuku, and a complicated spasm of emotion—anger, guilt, confusion—twitched across his face.

 

Ten years ago, Bakugo had watched Izuku die to save him. For weeks, the explosive boy had been inconsolable, his pride shattered by the realization that the 'Quirkless loser' had more courage than he did. But then, months later, Izuku had returned.

 

Except, it wasn't the Deku he knew. The boy who came back didn't cry. He didn't stutter. He didn't follow Bakugo around like a lost puppy. He was a wall of cold, indestructible metal.

 

Bakugo hated him for it. He hated that Izuku made him feel weak, and he hated that he didn't know how to apologize for the past. So, he defaulted to the only language he knew: rage.

 

Bakugo stomped over to Izuku’s desk and slammed his palms down on the wood, letting off a sharp, crackling explosion. Smoke plumed into the air.

 

"You're in my way, Deku," Bakugo snarled.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. The heat of the explosion washed over his face, but he didn't even blink. He slowly looked up, his green eyes meeting Bakugo’s red ones.

 

"I'm sitting at my assigned desk, Bakugo," Izuku said, his voice flat, devoid of intimidation or fear.

 

"I don't care! Move your heavy metal ass before I melt it!"

 

Izuku sighed, slowly standing up. At fourteen, Bakugo was technically taller, but Izuku’s sheer mass made him imposing. "If you want to fight, do it. But you know your explosions don't burn hot enough to melt Adamantium. You'll just ruin the desk."

 

Bakugo bared his teeth, his hands popping dangerously. But he didn't swing. He never swung. Deep down, Bakugo knew that if Izuku ever actually fought back, he would be torn to ribbons.

 

"Tch. Whatever, freak," Bakugo scoffed, turning away and kicking a chair as he walked to his own seat.

 

The teacher walked in, nervously clearing his throat. "Alright, settle down. As third-year students, it's time to start thinking seriously about your futures. I've got your career aptitude tests here, but... why bother? You all want to be heroes, right?!"

 

The class erupted into cheers, students showing off their Quirks.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful Quirks," the teacher said, "but remember, the rules against public Quirk usage still apply! Now, let's see... Bakugo, you're aiming for U.A. High, correct?"

 

"Don't lump me in with these useless extras!" Bakugo shouted, standing on his desk. "I've aced the mock exams. I'm the only one here with the stuff to make it to U.A. I'm going to surpass All Might and become the number one hero!"

 

The class grumbled, but no one argued.

 

"Ah, Midoriya," the teacher said, adjusting his glasses, his voice dropping an octave. "You're also applying for U.A., aren't you?"

 

The classroom went dead silent. Every eye turned to the back corner.

 

Bakugo froze, his neck snapping around to glare at Izuku. "You?!"

 

Izuku stared straight ahead, his face an emotionless mask. "Yes. The Hero Course."

 

"Are you insane?!" Bakugo roared, leaping off his desk and storming over. "You think they let monsters into U.A.?! You're a walking butcher shop, Deku! You don't have a hero's Quirk! You're just a weapon!"

 

The words hit Izuku like a physical blow, digging straight into his deepest insecurities, but he refused to show it. He met Bakugo’s gaze with icy indifference.

 

"I'm applying," Izuku said softly. "That's all there is to it."

 

 

 

The final bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Izuku packed his bag slowly, waiting for the classroom to empty out. He preferred to walk home alone. It was easier that way. Less chance of someone bumping into him and hurting themselves.

 

As he walked out of the school gates, he felt a strange, suffocating pressure in his chest. Bakugo’s words echoed in his mind.

 

You're a walking butcher shop. You're just a weapon.

 

Izuku looked down at his hands. He could feel the claws resting inside his forearms. He remembered the blood in Dr. Garaki’s lab. He remembered the sickening ease with which the Adamantium sheared through bone and flesh.

 

Could a weapon be a hero? Heroes saved people. They smiled. They brought hope. Izuku didn't bring hope; he brought violence. His body was designed exclusively for slaughter and survival.

 

He took a detour, avoiding the dark underpass. The enclosed, damp space reminded him too much of the underground facility. Instead, he took the longer route through the Tatooin Shopping District.

 

He was halfway down the block when the ground violently shook.

 

A massive explosion shattered the storefronts two streets over. Smoke billowed into the afternoon sky, followed by the panicked screams of civilians.

 

Izuku froze. His heart rate spiked. The HPSC monitor on his ankle beeped a warning, but he ignored it. The feral instinct in his brain—the beast that had kept him alive ten years ago—snapped to attention. Danger. Predator. Prey.

 

He pushed the beast down, forcing his human mind to take control. Someone might need help.

 

Izuku broke into a run. His heavy boots cracked the pavement with every step, his momentum building like a runaway freight train.

 

He rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. The shopping district was a warzone. Fires raged from a destroyed convenience store. A crowd of civilians had gathered behind a police barricade.

 

In the center of the destruction was a nightmare. A massive, amorphous villain made entirely of foul-smelling, dark green sludge was rampaging.

 

Several heroes were on the scene. Death Arms was trying to pull debris away. Kamui Woods was saving civilians from the fire. Mt. Lady was stuck in the narrow street, unable to enlarge.

 

"It's no use!" Death Arms shouted, coughing on the smoke. "I can't get a grip on him! It's like punching water! We have to wait for someone with a suitable Quirk!"

 

Izuku pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He looked at the villain, analyzing the situation with cold, tactical precision. The sludge was liquid, yes, but it had solid focal points. Eyes. A mouth.

 

Then, the smoke cleared for a fraction of a second, and Izuku saw it.

 

Trapped inside the suffocating mass of sludge was a teenager in an Aldera Junior High uniform. The boy was thrashing wildly, setting off rapid-fire explosions that only fueled the fires around them.

 

It was Bakugo.

 

Katsuki’s eyes met Izuku’s through the viscous slime. They were wide, bloodshot, and filled with the exact same terror he had shown ten years ago when the concrete was falling.

 

He's dying, Izuku realized. He's suffocating. And the heroes are just watching.

 

"Don't move, kid!" a police officer yelled, reaching out to grab Izuku's shoulder.

 

The officer might as well have tried to stop a falling boulder. Izuku didn't even feel the grip. He dropped his yellow backpack.

 

The world slowed down. The screams of the crowd faded into a dull buzz. Izuku’s vision tunneled, focusing entirely on the sludge villain.

 

He didn't think about his ankle monitor. He didn't think about the HPSC. He didn't think about whether he was a hero or a monster. He just knew that Katsuki Bakugo was going to die, and he was the only one who could stop it.

 

Izuku sprinted.

 

"Hey! Stop!" Death Arms roared, reaching for him.

 

Izuku ducked under the hero's massive arm, his heavy boots destroying the asphalt as he closed the distance. The sludge villain turned its massive, liquid head toward the incoming teenager.

 

"Another piece of meat?!" the villain gurgled, its voice wet and echoing. "I'll take your body next!"

 

A massive tendril of thick sludge whipped out like a bat, slamming directly into Izuku’s chest. The impact would have shattered the ribs of a normal man. Izuku didn't even break his stride. The Adamantium skeleton absorbed the kinetic force, and his momentum carried him right through the sludge.

 

Izuku leaped into the air, his dense weight carrying him directly toward the villain’s face.

 

I can't punch him. I have to hurt him. I have to make him let go.

 

Izuku crossed his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes, begging his own humanity for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

 

SNIKT!

 

The iconic, terrifying sound of metal shearing flesh echoed over the crackle of the flames. Six Adamantium claws, three on each hand, erupted from Izuku’s knuckles, catching the sunlight with a deadly, silver gleam.

 

"What the—?!" the villain gasped.

 

Izuku hit the villain dead center. He plunged his arms into the sludge. The liquid burned and choked him, but he ignored it. He felt around blindly until his metal claws struck something solid.

 

The villain's teeth.

 

Izuku gripped the solid mass with his left hand, digging the claws in to anchor himself. With his right hand, he reared back and slashed upward in a vicious, feral arc, aiming directly for the villain's massive, bulbous left eye.

 

The Adamantium blades sliced through the eye like a razor through silk.

 

The villain unleashed an ungodly, ear-shattering shriek of absolute agony. The sludge violently convulsed as the pain shocked its nervous system.

 

"MY EYE! YOU LITTLE BASTARD, MY EYE!"

 

The sludge loosened its grip on Bakugo, writhing in pain.

 

Izuku didn't stop. The beast was awake now, fueled by adrenaline and the scent of the villain's foul blood. He ripped his left hand free, spun, and drove his claws deep into the villain's mouth, shredding the solid gums and teeth.

 

"Let him go!" Izuku roared, a terrifying, guttural sound that made the watching heroes freeze in horror.

 

With a final, desperate slash, Izuku severed the thickest tendril holding Bakugo. The explosive boy tumbled out of the sludge, gasping for air, covered in slime.

 

Izuku landed heavily on the pavement, shielding Bakugo with his body. He raised his claws, blood and dark sludge dripping from the indestructible metal, ready to carve the villain into a puddle if it moved again.

 

But before the villain could retaliate, a massive shadow fell over the alleyway.

 

"I AM PATHETIC," a booming voice echoed, filled with immense self-reproach.

 

Izuku looked up. Standing at the entrance of the alley, smoke rolling off his massive, muscular frame, was the Symbol of Peace. All Might.

 

"I TOLD YOU WHAT MAKES A CHAMPION, AND YET I DID NOT LIVE UP TO MY OWN WORDS!"

 

All Might pulled back his right arm. The air pressure around him visibly warped, pulling the flames and smoke toward his fist.

 

"DETROIT... SMASH!"

 

All Might threw the punch. He didn't even make physical contact with the villain. The sheer, localized air pressure generated by the strike hit the sludge villain like a bomb. The villain's liquid body was blown apart into a million tiny droplets, raining down on the street like foul-smelling hail.

 

The wind pressure was so intense it blew out the remaining fires. Izuku dug his claws into the asphalt, anchoring his heavy body to keep from being blown away, while he grabbed Bakugo by the collar to keep him grounded.

 

Then, the sky above them darkened. Clouds rushed in to fill the vacuum created by the punch, and a light rain began to fall.

 

He changed the weather, Izuku thought, his eyes wide in awe. With a single punch.

 

Silence descended on the shopping district, broken only by the patter of rain and Bakugo's ragged coughing.

 

Izuku slowly stood up. The adrenaline faded, and the horrible reality of his actions set in. He looked at his hands. The claws were covered in gore. The beast receded, leaving the traumatized fourteen-year-old boy behind. With a mental command, the claws retracted, sliding back into his forearms with a soft shhhk.

 

The heroes immediately swarmed them. Kamui Woods and Mt. Lady rushed to Bakugo, checking his vitals and praising him for his resilience.

 

Death Arms marched straight toward Izuku. The massive hero looked furious.

 

"What the hell is wrong with you, kid?!" Death Arms bellowed, pointing a thick finger at Izuku’s chest. "Are you out of your mind?! You have a lethal Quirk, and you used it in public! You didn't apprehend him, you maimed him! You got in the way of the professionals!"

 

Izuku looked up at Death Arms. His green eyes were completely dead. The cynical, jaded part of his soul, forged in the fires of Dr. Garaki’s lab, rose to the surface.

 

"Professionals?" Izuku asked, his voice chillingly quiet. "You stood there. You watched him choke to death for five minutes because you didn't have the right Quirks. If I hadn't stepped in, he would be dead, and you would be writing an incident report about how it wasn't your fault."

 

Death Arms flushed red, his jaw dropping in indignation. "Listen here, you little punk—!"

 

"He's right."

 

Bakugo shoved Kamui Woods away and stumbled to his feet. He looked at Izuku, his chest heaving, his pride warring with the undeniable truth.

 

"I didn't ask for your help, Deku," Bakugo spat, wiping sludge from his mouth. "I had it under control. I didn't need a metal freak to save me."

 

Izuku stared at him for a long moment. Then, he turned around, picked up his yellow backpack, and began to walk away.

 

"Hey! We need your statement!" a police officer called out.

 

Izuku ignored them. His heavy footsteps echoed down the street. He felt sick to his stomach. Bakugo was right. He was a freak. A monster who didn't hesitate to tear someone's eye out.

 

He didn't belong in the light with All Might. He belonged in the dark.

 

 

 

Izuku walked for nearly an hour, his mind a swirling vortex of self-loathing. He finally stopped in a small, empty park near his neighborhood. He sat heavily on a swing, the metal chains groaning dangerously under his weight.

 

He buried his face in his hands.

 

"I AM HERE!"

 

Izuku’s head snapped up.

 

All Might suddenly dashed out from an alleyway, skidding to a halt on the dirt path. He struck a heroic pose, his massive smile gleaming in the setting sun.

 

"All Might?" Izuku gasped, instinctively standing up. His guard immediately went up. Is he here to arrest me? Did the HPSC send him to take me in for unsanctioned Quirk use?

 

"Young man!" All Might boomed, marching forward. "I have come to thank you, and to offer a revision to your—Blergh!"

 

Izuku flinched back in horror as the Symbol of Peace suddenly vomited a massive amount of blood. In a cloud of thick steam, the towering god of muscle deflated, shrinking down into a skeletal, emaciated man in clothes that were far too large for him.

 

Izuku stood frozen, his brain failing to process the sight. "Wh... what? You're a fake! An imposter!"

 

"I assure you, I am All Might," the skeletal man sighed, wiping blood from his chin. He sat down on a nearby bench, looking utterly exhausted. "This... is my true form. A villain did this to me five years ago. My respiratory system was nearly destroyed, my stomach removed. I can only do hero work for about three hours a day now."

 

Izuku stared at the man. The number one hero was broken. Bleeding. Fragile. It shattered Izuku’s worldview.

 

"Why are you telling me this?" Izuku asked cautiously, keeping his distance.

 

"Because, young man, you showed me something today," All Might said, his sunken blue eyes locking onto Izuku’s green ones. "The heroes back there... they reprimanded you. They called you reckless. But I saw the truth. Out of all the people there, all the heroes with their flashy Quirks... you were the only one who moved."

 

Izuku looked away, staring at the dirt. "I didn't have a choice. My feet moved on their own."

 

"Exactly!" All Might smiled softly. "There are stories about every great hero, young man. And they all share one thing in common. Their bodies moved before they had a chance to think!"

 

Izuku’s breath hitched. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but he aggressively blinked them away.

 

"You don't understand," Izuku said, his voice trembling. He took a step forward, pulling back the sleeve of his uniform to reveal the faint, silvery scars on his wrist. "I'm not a hero. I'm a weapon. I was kidnapped ten years ago. A doctor poured boiling metal into my bones. He wanted an indestructible soldier. Every instinct in my body is wired for killing. When I fought that sludge villain... I didn't hold back. I mangled him. Can a butcher be a hero?"

 

All Might’s expression softened into one of profound sorrow, but his eyes never wavered.

 

"A weapon," All Might said softly, "is an object with no will. A sword does not choose who it cuts. A gun does not choose who it shoots. But you... you chose to save that boy today. You chose to bear the burden of violence so that he could live."

 

All Might stood up, walking over to Izuku. He placed a large, skeletal hand on the boy's heavy, metal-laced shoulder.

 

"You are not a weapon, Izuku Midoriya. You are a young man with a terrifying gift, and the purest hero's heart I have ever seen."

 

Izuku collapsed to his knees. The chains that had been wrapped tightly around his soul for ten years finally cracked. He buried his face in his hands and wept, the heavy sobs shaking his dense frame.

 

"You can become a hero," All Might whispered, looking down at the crying boy.

 

All Might waited for Izuku to compose himself. When the boy finally wiped his eyes and looked up, All Might's expression had turned deadly serious.

 

"I came here to offer you something, Izuku. The power to prove them all wrong. The power to be the shield this world needs."

 

Izuku frowned, confused. "Power? But I already have a Quirk. I can't take another one."

 

"My Quirk is different," All Might explained, raising his hand. "It is a sacred torch, passed down from generation to generation. It is the crystallized power of those who came before, cultivated and refined to smash through the darkness. It is called... One For All."

 

Izuku’s eyes widened. "A transferable Quirk? But... why me? Why not someone with a normal body? Someone who isn't a freak?"

 

"Because a Quirk like this requires a strong vessel," All Might said. "The sheer kinetic output of One For All would shatter a normal human's bones to dust. But you... you have an unbreakable skeleton. Your body is uniquely, perfectly suited to handle 100% of my power."

 

All Might extended his hand toward Izuku.

 

"I will not lie to you, my boy. Combining One For All with your mutation will be agonizing. The power will tear your muscles, and your healing factor will have to rebuild them constantly. It will be a path of blood and pain."

 

All Might's eyes burned with the fire of the Symbol of Peace.

 

"But if you accept this power, if you take my hand... you will never be a weapon again. You will be the greatest hero this world has ever seen. Do you accept?"

 

Izuku looked at the offered hand. He thought of Dr. Garaki. He thought of the dark tank. He thought of the terrified look in Bakugo’s eyes.

 

He didn't want to hurt people anymore. He wanted to save them. With a smile.

 

Izuku reached out his heavy, metal-laced hand, and grasped All Might’s.

 

"I accept."

 

 

 

 

The morning of Izuku Midoriya’s first day at U.A. High School tasted like iron and anticipation.

 

He stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, staring at the reflection of a stranger. The slate-grey jacket of the U.A. uniform, adorned with its pristine gold buttons and sharp green trim, felt foreign against his skin. It was tailored, yet it stretched tightly across his shoulders and chest. His musculature was unnaturally dense, packed tightly over his Adamantium-laced skeleton to compensate for the two hundred and eighty-five pounds of indestructible alloy housed within him.

 

He reached down to adjust his red tie. As his fingers brushed the fabric, he felt the cold, hard housings resting just beneath the skin of his forearms.

 

Ten months, Izuku thought, his green eyes narrowing.

 

Ten months of agonizing, bone-breaking labor on Dagobah Municipal Beach. Ten months of hauling rusted refrigerators and crushed pickup trucks with his bare hands. The physical labor had been a triviality; his skeleton could not break, and his mutant healing factor meant he had infinite stamina. He could lift until the muscles tore, and they would stitch themselves back together in seconds, thicker and stronger than before.

 

But the true trial had been One For All.

 

Izuku remembered the Entrance Exam with a phantom shudder. He remembered leaping into the air to save the nice girl with the gravity Quirk. He remembered pulling back his right arm, summoning the crystalline, stockpiled power of the Symbol of Peace, and unleashing a 100% Smash on the Zero Pointer.

 

His Adamantium bones hadn't broken. But the kinetic recoil had been catastrophic. The sheer, unadulterated force of One For All had violently sheared the muscle tissue, tendons, and ligaments clean off his metal bones. His arm had exploded into a misty spray of arterial blood, his flesh rendering into hamburger meat, exposing the gleaming, indestructible silver skeleton underneath.

 

The pain had been beyond human comprehension. His hyper-regeneration had instantly kicked in, violently knitting the shredded meat back to the bone as he fell to the earth, but the memory of that agony was etched into his psyche.

 

He couldn't keep fighting like that. He couldn't afford to be a berserker anymore. He was going to U.A. He was going to be a hero.

 

"Izuku!" Inko’s voice called from the hallway, pulling him from his dark reverie. "You're going to be late!"

 

Izuku took a deep breath, pushing the feral beast of his trauma down into the dark abyss of his mind, and walked out of the room. His heavy boots hit the floorboards—thud, thud, thud—a permanent reminder of the weight he carried.

 

 

 

U.A. High School was a fortress of glass and steel, towering over the city like a monument to heroism.

 

As Izuku navigated the labyrinthine hallways, the usual murmurs and whispers followed him. The other freshmen parted to give him a wide berth. Even in a school designed for the extraordinary, Izuku stood out. It wasn’t a flashy physical mutation like horns or wings. It was his presence. He walked with the heavy, calculated stillness of an apex predator.

 

He finally reached a massive door with the letters 1-A painted in bold red.

 

Izuku paused. He could hear voices inside.

 

"Take your feet off that desk immediately!" a strict, booming voice demanded. "It is disrespectful to your classmates and to the upperclassmen who sat there before you!"

 

"Huh?!" Katsuki Bakugo’s abrasive snarl echoed through the wood. "What middle school did you go to, you four-eyed extra? I'll put my feet wherever the hell I want!"

 

Izuku sighed. Some things never changed.

 

He reached out and slid the massive door open. The heavy clack of his boots hitting the classroom floor silenced the room instantly.

 

Every eye turned to the doorway.

 

Tenya Iida, the tall boy with engines in his calves, froze mid-chop. Katsuki Bakugo, leaning back in his chair, dropped his feet to the floor, his crimson eyes narrowing into slits of pure, unadulterated venom.

 

"Deku," Bakugo growled, the word sounding like a curse.

 

Izuku ignored him, stepping into the room.

 

"Ah! It's you!"

 

A cheerful voice broke the suffocating tension. Izuku turned to see the girl from the Entrance Exam, Ochaco Uraraka, bounding toward him with a radiant smile. Her round face was flushed with excitement.

 

"You're the guy who shredded the Zero Pointer! That was amazing! You looked like a whirlwind of silver, and then—BAM!—you completely obliterated it!" She threw a punch into the air for emphasis. "I've been wanting to thank you! I'm Ochaco Uraraka!"

 

Izuku blinked, slightly taken aback by the sheer lack of fear in her eyes. Most people looked at him like he was a ticking bomb. She looked at him like a savior.

 

"Izuku Midoriya," he replied softly, his voice a low rumble. "It was nothing."

 

"If you're just here to make friends, you can pack up your stuff and leave."

 

The voice came from the floor.

 

Uraraka shrieked, jumping backward. Izuku didn't flinch. He had smelled the man the moment he opened the door—stale coffee, ozone, and cheap fabric softener.

 

Lying on the floor in a bright yellow caterpillar sleeping bag was Shota Aizawa. He unzipped the bag and stood up, looking exactly as disheveled as he did when he drank coffee in Izuku's kitchen every morning.

 

"It took you lot eight seconds to quiet down," Aizawa deadpanned, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over the class. "Time is a limited resource. You kids aren't rational enough."

 

The class stared in stunned silence. This is our teacher?

 

Aizawa’s gaze finally landed on Izuku. For a fraction of a second, the bored apathy in the Underground Hero's eyes vanished, replaced by a deep, protective recognition. Ten years ago, Aizawa had pulled a feral, blood-soaked child out of a rainy alleyway. Now, that same boy was standing in the most prestigious hero academy in the country.

 

Aizawa pulled a stack of blue gym uniforms from his sleeping bag.

 

"I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa. Pleased to meet you. Now, put these on and head out to the P.E. grounds. We're doing a Quirk Apprehension Test."

 

 

 

The sun beat down on the sprawling dirt field of the U.A. training grounds. Class 1-A stood in a loose cluster, adjusting to the crisp, breathable fabric of their gym uniforms.

 

"A Quirk Apprehension Test?!" Uraraka cried out. "But what about the entrance ceremony? The orientation?!"

 

"If you want to be pro heroes, you don't have time for leisurely events," Aizawa said, his back turned to them as he typed on a small tablet. "U.A.'s selling point is how unrestricted its traditions are. That's also how the teachers run their classes. You've been doing these tests since junior high, right? Softball throwing, the fifty-meter dash... but you were banned from using your Quirks. The country still uses averages taken from results devoid of Quirks. It's completely irrational."

 

Aizawa turned, tossing a baseball to Bakugo. The explosive boy caught it effortlessly.

 

"Bakugo. You finished first in the practical exam. What was your best softball throw in junior high?"

 

"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugo scoffed.

 

"Try it with your Quirk. Do whatever you want, just don't leave the circle."

 

Bakugo smirked. He rolled his shoulders, stepping into the chalk ring. He stretched his arms, a sadistic glint in his red eyes. He glanced back at Izuku, an unspoken challenge passing between them.

 

Bakugo wound up, his right arm sparking violently. He threw his entire body weight into the pitch.

 

"DIE!"

 

A massive explosion erupted from Bakugo’s palm, turning the ball into a flaming comet that shot across the sky, leaving a trail of black smoke in its wake.

 

The class watched in awe as the ball vanished over the horizon. Aizawa held up his tablet, showing the screen to the students.

 

705.2m

 

"Know your own maximum first," Aizawa said lazily. "That is the most rational way to form the foundation of a hero."

 

"Seven hundred meters?! Are you kidding me?!" a boy with electric-yellow hair, Denki Kaminari, yelled.

 

"This looks like fun!" a girl with pink skin and horns, Mina Ashido, cheered. "We can finally use our Quirks as much as we want!"

 

Aizawa’s eyes darkened. The air around him suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

 

"Fun?" Aizawa repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You have three years to become heroes. You think it's going to be all fun and games? Right. Whoever comes in last place in all eight tests will be judged to have no potential... and will be punished with expulsion."

 

The class erupted into a chorus of panic and outrage.

 

Izuku didn't say a word. He just stared at Aizawa. He knew the man wasn't bluffing. Aizawa had a zero-tolerance policy for weakness, not because he was cruel, but because he knew what the villains of this world were capable of. Izuku had the scars to prove it.

 

"Welcome to U.A.'s Hero Course," Aizawa smiled, a terrifying, predatory grin.

 

 

 

Test 1: 50-Meter Dash

 

Izuku stepped up to the starting line. The synthetic rubber track squeaked slightly beneath his heavy boots.

 

In the lane next to him was Katsuki Bakugo.

 

Bakugo was practically vibrating with rage. He hadn't forgiven Izuku for the sludge villain incident ten months ago. The fact that the "metal freak" was standing beside him at U.A. felt like a personal insult.

 

"I'm going to blow you away, Deku," Bakugo hissed, sparks popping in his palms. "I'll prove that your freakish lab-rat body is nothing compared to real power."

 

Izuku stared straight down the track. His face was an emotionless mask, but internally, he was calculating. If I use One For All, the kinetic force of a sprint will tear my calf muscles off the bone. My healing factor will fix it before I cross the finish line, but Aizawa will notice the blood. I have to rely on my base mutation.

 

"On your marks," a robotic camera drone announced, hovering above them.

 

Bakugo brought his hands behind him, readying his explosions.

 

Izuku didn't take a standard runner's stance. Instead, he dropped heavily to all fours, his hands resting flat against the track.

 

He closed his eyes. He found the cold, dense metal resting inside his forearms. He breathed out, and clenched his fists.

 

SNIKT!

 

The sound cut through the murmurs of the class like a gunshot. Six gleaming, indestructible Adamantium blades erupted from Izuku’s knuckles.

 

Several students gasped in shock. "Weapons?!" Iida yelled, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Teacher, he has hidden blades!"

 

"They aren't hidden, Iida," Aizawa said dryly, watching closely. "They're his bones. Mutation Quirk. Keep watching."

 

Izuku drove his silver claws deep into the synthetic rubber track, completely ignoring the damage to the school property. The Adamantium blades anchored his two hundred and eighty-five-pound frame directly into the foundation of the earth. He used his claws like immovable starting blocks, coiling the unnaturally dense, heavy muscles of his legs like steel springs.

 

"Get set."

 

"Go!"

 

Bakugo launched himself forward with a massive, deafening explosion, rocketing over the track.

 

Izuku exploded.

 

Because his feet couldn't slip backward, every single ounce of kinetic energy generated by his impossibly dense musculature was translated into forward momentum. The synthetic track beneath his boots utterly shattered, throwing a shower of rubber and concrete chunks into the air.

 

Izuku became a terrifying, feral blur. He didn't run like a human; he bounded like a mechanized wolf. His heavy footfalls sounded like a jackhammer destroying the earth—CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

 

Bakugo looked to his side, his eyes widening in horror as the green blur overtook him in a sheer display of terrifying, raw physical power.

 

Izuku crossed the finish line, skidding violently, his claws tearing two deep, fifty-meter-long trenches into the U.A. track before he finally came to a halt.

 

"3.14 seconds!" the drone chirped.

 

"4.13 seconds," it added as Bakugo flew past seconds later.

 

Bakugo landed, tumbling in the dirt. He snapped his head up, staring at Izuku’s back. The green-haired boy stood up, his claws retracting into his skin with a wet, metallic shhhk. There was no blood. There was no pain. Just cold, mechanical efficiency.

 

The class was dead silent.

 

"Did you see that?" Kaminari whispered, swallowing hard. "He broke the ground just by stepping on it."

 

"He looks like a monster," a boy with purple balls on his head muttered, shivering.

 

Izuku walked back to the group, keeping his eyes on the dirt. He felt the weight of their fear. He was used to it.

 

Test 2: Grip Strength

 

The class moved to a shaded area with a rack of grip-strength testing machines.

 

A tall boy with multiple arms, Mezo Shoji, squeezed his machine. "540 kilograms," he announced calmly.

 

"Wow! Are you a gorilla? An octopus?!" Ashido marveled.

 

Izuku picked up a machine. He looked at the digital display. He didn't need One For All for this. His Adamantium skeleton meant his bones could withstand infinite pressure, allowing his muscles to exert force without the biological safety limiters that normal humans possessed.

 

Izuku squeezed his hand. He didn't grunt. He didn't strain.

 

The heavy plastic and metal of the machine groaned violently. The digital counter skyrocketed—200... 400... 600... 800...

 

With a sharp crack, the machine exploded in Izuku’s hand, the internal springs and wires bursting out through the shattered casing.

 

Izuku sighed, carefully placing the destroyed pieces into the trash bin. He wrote 'ERROR' on his scorecard.

 

Aizawa watched him, a slight, approving smirk touching the corner of the Underground Hero's mouth.

 

Test 3: Standing Long Jump

 

Izuku cleared the sandbox entirely. The sheer weight of his body meant he sank a few inches into the dirt upon landing, cracking the concrete lip of the sandbox, but the distance was undeniable.

 

Test 4: Repeated Side Steps

 

This was Izuku's only weak point. His extreme density and weight made rapid, lateral shifts difficult without tearing up the ground beneath him. He scored decently, utilizing his monstrous stamina, but Mineta completely outperformed him by bouncing between his sticky spheres.

 

 

 

Test 5: The Ball Throw

 

The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the athletic field. The tension in the air was palpable. Everyone had performed relatively well, but the threat of expulsion hung over them like a guillotine.

 

Uraraka stepped up to the circle. She tapped the ball, activating her Zero Gravity Quirk, and casually tossed it. It floated up into the stratosphere, disappearing into the blue sky.

 

Aizawa showed the tablet. It displayed an infinity symbol.

 

"Infinity?!" the class screamed.

 

"Alright, Midoriya," Aizawa called out, pointing to the chalk circle. "You're up."

 

Izuku picked up a baseball. It felt light, like a speck of dust in his heavy, metal-laced hand. He walked into the center of the ring, his boots crunching in the dirt.

 

He closed his eyes. I need a massive score here to offset the side-steps. My base physical strength can throw it far, maybe three hundred meters, but not far enough to guarantee safety against Quirks like Bakugo's or Todoroki's.

 

I have to use One For All.

 

Izuku widened his stance. He visualized the glowing, crystalline egg of One For All in the center of his chest. He reached into it, pulling the power out. Green, crackling bio-electricity began to violently arc off his skin. The air pressure around him plummeted, a localized vortex of kinetic energy swirling around his body.

 

100 percent. Right arm. Let the muscles tear. The healing factor will fix it.

 

Izuku pulled his arm back. The muscles in his bicep bulged grotesquely, the sheer power threatening to rip the skin open. He stepped forward, ready to unleash the devastating shockwave.

 

Suddenly, the power vanished.

 

The green lightning died. The kinetic vortex evaporated.

 

Izuku stumbled mid-throw, tossing the ball a pathetic forty-six meters.

 

He blinked, looking at his hands. The power was gone. He looked up.

 

Aizawa was glaring at him. The teacher's capture scarf was floating wildly in the air, defying gravity. Aizawa’s eyes glowed a fierce, intimidating red.

 

"I erased your Quirk," Aizawa said, his voice dripping with disappointment. "At least, the emitter part of it. I can't erase your metal bones or your healing factor. But I can erase that self-destructive energy you just tried to use."

 

Izuku swallowed hard. "Aizawa-sensei... why?"

 

Aizawa stepped into the circle, towering over Izuku. The rest of the class watched in stunned silence, unable to hear the low, intense conversation.

 

"Did you think I wouldn't notice what happened at the Entrance Exam?" Aizawa hissed, stepping closer. "You shattered the Zero Pointer, yes. But the medics found three liters of your blood on the pavement. You used a power output so high it violently ripped the muscles clean off your Adamantium bones."

 

Izuku looked down. "My healing factor fixed it instantly. I wasn't in danger."

 

"Pain is danger, Midoriya!" Aizawa snapped, his eyes flaring. "I didn't spend the last ten years trying to teach you how to be human just for you to rely on self-mutilation the moment things get difficult! Your body is indestructible, yes. But your mind is not! If you keep tearing your flesh to ribbons, you will break your own psyche!"

 

Aizawa deactivated his Quirk, his scarf falling back to his shoulders.

 

"You have the same reckless abandon as All Might, but without the invulnerability. You think being a hero means destroying yourself? It doesn't. A dead hero saves no one. A broken hero is a liability."

 

Aizawa pointed to the baseball resting in the dirt.

 

"I've given you your power back. You have one more throw. If you plan to turn your arm into hamburger meat again to pass this test, do me a favor and pack your bags right now. Think, Midoriya. You are not just a slab of meat to be butchered. You are a tactician. Find another way."

 

Aizawa walked back to the edge of the circle, pulling out eye drops.

 

Izuku stood frozen in the circle. The words cut deep. Aizawa was right. Whenever Izuku faced a hurdle, his instinct was to endure the pain, to let his body be destroyed because he knew he would heal. It was the mindset of Weapon IX. The mindset of a test subject.

 

Find another way.

 

Izuku picked up the baseball. He stared at it.

 

One For All is kinetic energy. It’s an insane, ungodly amount of power. The reason it shreds my flesh is because muscle tissue is soft. It can't contain the raw, explosive output. It acts like a bomb going off inside a water balloon.

 

Izuku looked at his forearm.

 

But my muscles aren't the only thing inside me.

 

Beneath the flesh, beneath the nerves, lay an unbreakable framework. Adamantium. The hardest metal on earth. It could absorb infinite kinetic energy without warping, bending, or breaking.

 

What if I don't channel One For All into my muscles? Izuku thought, his mind racing. What if I bypass the flesh entirely? What if I channel the stockpile directly into the metal?

 

Izuku closed his eyes. He reached into the stockpile of One For All again. But this time, he didn't let the power flood his veins. He didn't let it expand his muscles.

 

Instead, he forced the energy deeper. He visualized the green lightning striking the core of his bones, sinking deep into the cold, dense Adamantium marrow.

 

He felt a change immediately.

 

His arm didn't bulge. His skin didn't flush. Instead, a low, terrifying hum began to vibrate through the air. The Adamantium inside his right arm was absorbing the 100% kinetic charge, resonating like a localized tuning fork of pure, catastrophic destruction. The metal grew hot beneath his skin, vibrating so violently that the air around his arm began to shimmer with heat distortion.

 

Aizawa watched, his eyes narrowing. He's not bulking up. The energy output is localized... what is he doing?

 

Izuku opened his eyes. They shone with a brilliant, toxic emerald light.

 

He didn't wind up like a pitcher. He brought his right hand down by his waist.

 

SNIKT!

 

The Adamantium claws shot out of his knuckles. But this time, they weren't just silver. They were glowing. The sheer kinetic force of One For All was visibly arcing off the unbreakable blades in jagged, terrifying arcs of green lightning.

 

Izuku tossed the baseball lightly into the air in front of him.

 

He pulled his right arm back, and as the ball dropped to his chest level, Izuku stepped forward and slashed.

 

He didn't cut the ball. At the absolute last millisecond before the blades made contact, Izuku snapped his wrist, striking the ball flat with the thick, blunt base of his knuckles.

 

He released the kinetic charge from the metal.

 

BOOOOOOOM!

 

The resulting shockwave was not a gust of wind; it was a localized sonic boom. The sheer, instantaneous transfer of unbreakable kinetic energy from the Adamantium into the rubber ball snapped the sound barrier in half.

 

The air shattered. A violent, concussive ring of white vapor exploded outward from Izuku’s fist, ripping up the grass and sending a hurricane-force gale over the class. Uraraka shrieked, falling backward. Iida dug his boots into the dirt to avoid being blown away. Aizawa threw his arms up, his capture scarf whipping violently in the gale.

 

The baseball didn't just fly; it ignited. The friction of the air resistance against the sheer speed of the projectile caused the rubber to catch fire as it shot into the upper atmosphere, vanishing like a shooting star in broad daylight.

 

Izuku stood in the center of the ring. He was panting slightly.

 

He looked down at his right arm. The sleeve of his gym uniform was blown entirely off by the wind pressure.

 

His skin was intact. Not a single drop of blood was shed. No muscles were torn. He had successfully channeled the destructive power of the Symbol of Peace into the indestructible weapon of Dr. Garaki, creating a perfect, bloodless synergy.

 

Izuku looked up, meeting Aizawa’s stunned gaze.

 

Izuku raised his fist, the glowing claws slowly retracting back into his skin, and gave his teacher a small, fierce smile.

 

"I found a way, Sensei."

 

Aizawa stared at the boy. For the first time all day, a genuine, wide grin broke across the Underground Hero's face. He looked down at the tablet in his hand. The device beeped softly.

 

Aizawa turned the screen toward the class.

 

705.3m

 

"He beat Bakugo!" Kaminari screamed, grabbing his head. "By point one meters! He beat him!"

 

"That wasn't just physical strength!" Iida gasped, analyzing the crater left beneath Izuku's feet. "He generated a kinetic shockwave using his skeletal structure as a conduit! The sheer durability required for such a feat... it's unfathomable!"

 

While the class marveled, one student was drowning in an ocean of rage.

 

Katsuki Bakugo stood frozen, his red eyes wide, his pupils dilated to pinpricks. The sonic boom still rang in his ears. He looked at the smoking crater. He looked at the distance on the tablet.

 

Ten years ago, Deku was a Quirkless nobody. Then he died. Then he came back as a metal freak who could barely control his own feral instincts. Bakugo had spent a decade convincing himself that Izuku was just a failed experiment, a tragic monster that he didn't need to fear or respect.

 

But this? This wasn't a monster thrashing in the dirt. This was calculated, overwhelming, god-like power.

 

"Hey..." Bakugo muttered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, unhinged fury. "Hey, Deku."

 

Izuku turned his head.

 

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"

 

Bakugo snapped. He lunged forward, ignoring the rules, ignoring the teacher, ignoring logic. He raised his hands, massive explosions charging in his palms, aiming directly for Izuku's face.

 

"Tell me what you did! Tell me how you got that power, you damn nerd!" Bakugo roared, closing the distance in a split second.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't drop into a stance. He didn't even pop his claws. He just watched the explosive boy charge, his green eyes cold and impassive. He knew the explosions couldn't hurt him.

 

Before Bakugo could unleash the blast, heavy grey cloth wrapped tightly around his torso and arms, snapping him backward with bone-jarring force.

 

Bakugo hit the dirt, struggling against the bindings. "What the—?! This cloth is stiff!"

 

"It's a specialized carbon-fiber and steel-wire alloy," Aizawa said coldly, his red eyes glowing as he erased Bakugo's Quirk. "I had it custom-made years ago to restrain things far stronger and more dangerous than you, Bakugo. Stand down. You're giving me dry eye."

 

Aizawa released the bindings. Bakugo scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily, but he didn't charge again. He just glared at Izuku with a mixture of profound hatred and undeniable fear.

 

"We're wasting time," Aizawa grumbled, putting his eye drops in. "Whoever is next, step up."

 

 

 

The rest of the tests passed in a blur of exhaustion. By the time the sun began to set, the class was gathered in front of Aizawa to see the final results.

 

Aizawa pressed a button on his tablet, and a holographic leaderboard projected into the air.

 

Izuku scanned the names.

 

1. Momo Yaoyorozu

2. Shoto Todoroki

3. Katsuki Bakugo

4. Izuku Midoriya

...

20. Minoru Mineta

 

Mineta collapsed to his knees, openly weeping. "I'm done! My hero academia is over before it even started!"

 

"By the way, I was lying about the expulsion," Aizawa said flatly, tucking the tablet away.

 

The class froze.

 

"It was a rational deception to draw out the upper limits of your Quirks."

 

"WHAAAAAT?!" half the class shrieked.

 

Yaoyorozu sighed, shaking her head. "Of course it was a lie. It was obvious if you just thought it through."

 

No, it wasn't, Izuku thought, exchanging a knowing glance with Aizawa. He absolutely would have expelled us if we didn't show potential. He's just saving face.

 

"With that, we're done here," Aizawa said, turning to walk back to the main building. "There are handouts with the syllabus and other materials in the classroom. When you're done looking them over, you're dismissed."

 

The tension finally broke. The students began to chatter excitedly, the fear of the day washing away.

 

Izuku grabbed his ruined gym jacket and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He began the long walk toward the front gates.

 

"Midoriya! Wait up!"

 

Izuku turned. Iida and Uraraka were jogging toward him.

 

"Your performance today was truly astounding!" Iida said, his arms chopping the air rhythmically. "The way you utilized your mutation to safely channel that explosive force... it was a brilliant display of tactical Quirk application!"

 

"Yeah! You totally blew Bakugo out of the water!" Uraraka beamed. "You're really strong, Midoriya!"

 

Izuku looked at the two of them. They weren't looking at his heavy boots. They weren't staring at his scars. They weren't waiting for the feral beast to surface and tear them apart.

 

They were looking at him like he was a classmate. Like he was a hero.

 

For the first time since he had woken up in that glass tank ten years ago, the heavy, suffocating weight of the metal inside him felt just a little bit lighter.

 

Izuku offered a small, genuine smile.

 

"Thanks," he said softly. "Let's walk to the station together."

 

As the three of them walked out of the U.A. gates, Izuku knew the road ahead would be bathed in blood and violence. He knew the League of Villains, Dr. Garaki, and the ghosts of his past were waiting in the shadows.

 

But he wasn't alone anymore. He had the Symbol of Peace's power in his indestructible bones, and he had people standing beside him.

 

Weapon IX was dead. Izuku Midoriya was here to stay.