What if Deku was Businessman

 

The wind howling across the rooftop of the nameless commercial building was unexpectedly cold. It bit through the thin fabric of Izuku Midoriya’s middle school uniform, chilling the sweat that had gathered on his collar. But the cold on his skin was nothing compared to the absolute, freezing void opening up within his chest.

 

He stood there, a scrawny fourteen-year-old boy with messy green hair and a heart that was currently shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces.

 

A few feet away stood the Symbol of Peace. All Might. The man Izuku had worshipped since he was old enough to crawl toward a computer screen. But the towering, invincible titan of justice was gone. In his place sat a skeletal, emaciated man with hollowed-out cheeks, coughing blood into a massive hand. The smoke from his transformation had cleared, leaving behind a harsh, unvarnished reality.

 

"Pro heroes are always having to risk their lives," All Might said, his voice stripped of its booming, theatrical bravado. It was raspy, exhausted, and terribly human. "Some villains just can't be beaten without powers. So, no. I honestly don't think you can become a hero without a Quirk."

 

The words didn't hit Izuku like a punch. They didn't feel like an explosion. They felt like a surgical scalpel, cleanly and precisely severing the tether that had kept him floating in the clouds for the past ten years.

 

Izuku’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His hands, clutching the edges of his ruined notebook—Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13—trembled violently.

 

"If you want to help people," All Might continued, standing up and wiping a trail of blood from his chin, "become a police officer. They get crap because the heroes capture most of the villains, but it's a fine profession. It's not bad to have a dream, young man. Just... make sure your dreams are attainable. Realistic. Understand?"

 

The skeletal man turned, walking toward the rooftop access door. The metal hinges shrieked as he pulled it open, and with the heavy thud of the door closing behind him, Izuku was left entirely alone.

 

Silence descended upon the roof, broken only by the distant, muffled hum of Musutafu’s afternoon traffic. Izuku didn't drop to his knees. He didn't burst into a torrential downpour of tears, though his eyes burned fiercely. Instead, a strange, terrifying stillness washed over him.

 

Realistic.

 

The word echoed in the chambers of his mind. He looked down at the notebook in his hands. The cover was singed, charred black at the edges by Katsuki Bakugo’s explosive palm. Bakugo had told him to take a swan dive off the roof just a few hours ago, hoping he'd be born with a Quirk in his next life. Izuku had always pushed past the bullying, clinging to the irrational, desperate hope that sheer willpower could bridge the gap between him and the rest of the superpowered world.

 

But looking at the scorched notebook now, the illusion dissolved.

 

Willpower didn't stop bullets. Determination didn't extinguish roaring fires. A good heart didn't grant you the kinetic force required to shatter concrete and subdue a villain who could turn their arms into titanium.

 

The doctor had told him he had an extra joint in his pinky toe. His mother had apologized to him, crying on the floor as he pointed at the computer screen. Bakugo had beaten him down. And now, the greatest hero in history had looked at the mathematical equation of Izuku Midoriya’s life and confirmed the final sum: Zero.

 

Izuku walked to the edge of the roof. He looked down at the dizzying drop to the alleyway below. He felt a fleeting, morbid pull, remembering Bakugo’s cruel advice. But Izuku’s grip on the chain-link fence tightened until his knuckles turned stark white.

 

"I'm not going to die," Izuku whispered to the empty air, his voice devoid of its usual nervous tremor. "But... he’s right. I can't be a hero. Not the way they are."

 

He turned away from the ledge. He didn't run down the stairs; he walked. Each step down the concrete stairwell felt heavy, rhythmic, and deliberate. With every flight, a piece of his childhood died, flaking away like dead skin. The wide-eyed, muttering, perpetually optimistic Deku was being left behind on the roof. By the time Izuku pushed through the ground-floor exit and stepped out into the bustling city streets, his emerald eyes had lost their frantic, nervous shimmer. They were dark, quiet, and profoundly analytical.

 

 

 

Izuku walked aimlessly for what felt like hours. He didn't notice the sunset painting the sky in bruises of purple and orange. He was running a mental diagnostic on his entire existence.

 

If he couldn't be a hero, what was he?

 

He wasn't strong. He wasn't fast. He didn't have a Quirk that could manipulate the elements or alter gravity. But as he walked, his mind automatically categorized the people around him.

 

The man at the crosswalk. Minor mutation quirk, elongated legs. Gait is unbalanced, puts too much pressure on the left knee. Will need orthopedic surgery by forty.

 

The woman carrying groceries. Telekinesis, but weak. She's levitating the bags to save her grip, but her temples are sweating. Weight limit is likely under ten kilograms. Concentration-based.

 

Izuku blinked, shaking his head. He had been doing this since he was four years old. He didn't just look at Quirks; he dissected them. He understood their mechanics, their weaknesses, their physical tolls, and their environmental limitations. His thirteen notebooks weren't fan-fiction. They were comprehensive tactical dossiers.

 

If my brain is the only weapon I have, Izuku thought, stopping at a street corner, then I need to stop trying to use it like a fist.

 

Suddenly, the ground beneath his worn red sneakers vibrated.

 

A thunderous explosion echoed through the streets, rattling the glass of nearby storefronts. A plume of thick, acrid black smoke spiraled into the twilight sky just a few blocks away. The sounds of screaming, shattering concrete, and sirens immediately followed.

 

The old Izuku would have already been sprinting toward the smoke, eager to see which Pro Heroes were on the scene, desperate to jot down new notes.

 

The new Izuku hesitated. Why go? What could a quirkless middle schooler do but get in the way?

 

Yet, his feet moved. Not in a frantic dash, but in a brisk, purposeful walk. He needed to see. He needed data.

 

When Izuku arrived at the Tatoin Shopping District, the scene was absolute chaos. A massive crowd of onlookers pressed against police barricades. The heat radiating from the alleyway was oppressive, smelling of sulfur and burning garbage. Izuku slipped through the gaps in the crowd, his small frame allowing him to reach the front line effortlessly.

 

His eyes widened slightly as he took in the carnage.

 

It was the Sludge Villain. The exact same villain that had attacked him under the bridge. The one All Might had captured in a plastic bottle.

 

He must have dropped it, Izuku realized, a cold spike of guilt piercing his stomach. When I grabbed All Might's leg, the bottle must have fallen out of his pocket. This is my fault.

 

Izuku’s eyes scanned the battlefield, shifting from guilt to cold analysis.

 

The heroes on the scene were useless. Death Arms, a hero with immense physical strength, was struggling to get close because the villain was made of a highly viscous, amorphous fluid; physical strikes were completely absorbed. Kamui Woods was standing back, unable to intervene because his wooden quirk was a massive fire hazard in the burning alleyway. Mt. Lady, the giantess, was stuck at the intersection, complaining that she needed a two-lane road to maneuver her massive body.

 

Inefficient, Izuku’s mind supplied instantly. Death Arms should be using nearby debris to create a concussive shockwave, not trying to punch a liquid. Kamui Woods should be focusing entirely on structural reinforcement of the collapsing buildings, ignoring the villain entirely. Mt. Lady could easily shrink, navigate the alley, and expand only her arm to create a barricade. Why aren't they adapting?

 

Then, the smoke cleared just enough for Izuku to see the villain’s hostage.

 

Trapped within the suffocating, dark green sludge, a boy was thrashing violently. Spiky ash-blonde hair. Hands setting off massive, desperate explosions that were only fueling the surrounding fires.

 

Katsuki Bakugo.

 

The sludge villain was forcing himself down Bakugo’s throat, trying to hijack his body. Bakugo’s crimson eyes, usually so full of arrogant fire, were wide with sheer, unadulterated terror. He was suffocating. He was dying. And as Bakugo’s gaze wildly scanned the crowd, it locked onto Izuku.

 

For a fraction of a second, the universe held its breath.

 

The old Izuku’s legs would have moved on their own. He would have thrown his backpack in a panic, sprinted into the fire with no plan, and clawed uselessly at the sludge, likely getting himself killed and distracting the pros.

 

But the boy standing at the barricade was not the Izuku from this morning.

 

Time dilated. The roar of the flames faded into a dull, rhythmic hum. Izuku’s mind exploded into a hyper-accelerated state of processing.

 

Variables:

Target: Sludge Villain. Fluid composition. Highly resistant to blunt force trauma. Flammable but currently utilizing the hostage's explosions as a deterrent.

Hostage: Katsuki Bakugo. Nitroglycerin sweat. Requires oxygen to ignite. Currently deprived of oxygen. Estimated time until asphyxiation or cardiac arrest: ninety seconds.

Assets: Death Arms (strength, currently inactive). Kamui Woods (restraint, currently suppressed by fire).

Personal Inventory: One standard-issue school backpack. Weight: approximately 4 kilograms.

 

Objective: Free the hostage's airway for a minimum of three seconds to allow for oxygen intake and provide an opening for Death Arms to exert physical force on a solid mass (the hostage).

 

Izuku didn't run. He didn't scream.

 

He stepped over the police tape with a terrifying calmness. The officers yelled at him to stop, but they were too slow. Izuku crouched by a pile of shattered masonry—a ruined brick wall from a blown-out storefront. With rapid, precise movements, he unzipped his heavy yellow backpack, dumped out his schoolbooks, and shoved three massive, jagged chunks of concrete into the bag.

 

New backpack weight: approximately 18 kilograms.

 

He zipped it shut. He gripped the top handle with both hands, wrapping the canvas strap around his wrists for maximum traction.

 

"Hey! Kid, get back here!" Death Arms roared, reaching for him.

 

Izuku ignored him. He stepped out from the cover of the crowd, placing himself exactly fifteen meters from the Sludge Villain. He didn't charge blindly. He planted his left foot firmly onto the asphalt, bending his knees, establishing a low center of gravity.

 

The Sludge Villain spotted him. Its massive, liquid eyes narrowed. "You again? The brat from the bridge! Come to die?!"

 

Izuku took a deep breath. He didn't look at the sludge. He didn't look at Bakugo. He stared with laser focus at the villain's left eye—the only solid, gelatinous mass on its entire body.

 

Distance: 15 meters. Wind speed: minimal. Target size: 20 centimeters. Required force: Maximum.

 

Izuku pivoted his hips. Using the momentum of his core, he swung the concrete-filled backpack in a rapid, circular motion, like an Olympic hammer thrower. Once. Twice. The centrifugal force threatened to dislocate his shoulders, but he gritted his teeth, feeling the immense weight pull at his muscles.

 

On the third rotation, Izuku released the bag.

 

He didn't shout a battle cry. He didn't yell Bakugo's name.

 

The yellow backpack tore through the air with the speed of a cannonball. The villain, expecting the boy to charge like an idiot, was entirely unprepared for a long-range ballistic strike.

 

CRACK.

 

The heavy, concrete-laden bag slammed directly into the Sludge Villain’s left eyeball with pinpoint, devastating accuracy. The sheer kinetic force of 18 kilograms of stone moving at high velocity was tremendous. The villain let out an agonizing, ear-piercing shriek.

 

"MY EYE! AAAAAUGH!"

 

The shock and pain caused the villain's gelatinous form to violently spasm. The sludge recoiled, losing its cohesive grip on its hostage.

 

Bakugo’s mouth and nose were suddenly ripped free from the suffocating mud. The blonde boy gasped, sucking in a massive, desperate lungful of air.

 

Izuku didn't celebrate. His eyes darted to the hulking pro hero to his left. "Death Arms! Now! Grab his collar, pull him out!" Izuku barked, his voice cracking like a whip, carrying an authority that startled the adult.

 

Death Arms, operating entirely on reflex triggered by the boy's command, surged forward. With the villain distracted and its grip loosened, the hero plunged his massive hands into the sludge, grabbed the collar of Bakugo’s uniform, and violently yanked backward.

 

With a sickening schlorp, Bakugo was torn free from the sludge.

 

"Kamui!" Izuku yelled, not missing a beat. "Bind the hostage, pull him behind the line! Death Arms, the villain is destabilized! Clap your hands! Concussive force on the liquid!"

 

The heroes, utterly bewildered but operating on battlefield instinct, obeyed the shouting teenager. Kamui Woods shot a branch forward, wrapping around Bakugo’s waist and pulling the coughing boy to safety. Death Arms braced his legs, drew back his massive, muscular arms, and slammed his palms together with earth-shattering force.

 

BOOOOOOM.

 

The shockwave ripped through the alleyway. The Sludge Villain, lacking a solid core to anchor itself, was quite literally blown apart by the concussive pressure. Splatters of dark green muck rained down onto the pavement, completely incapacitated.

 

The fires continued to crackle, but the threat was neutralized. The crowd was dead silent.

 

Izuku stood in the middle of the street. His shoulders ached fiercely from the throw. He breathed in deeply, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform jacket. He walked forward, picked up his empty yellow backpack from the puddle of sludge, and turned around.

 

The spell broke. The crowd erupted into deafening cheers. The police rushed in with containment barrels to scoop up the villain.

 

As Izuku walked back toward the barricade, the Pro Heroes descended upon him.

 

"What were you thinking, kid?!" Kamui Woods scolded, though he looked somewhat rattled. "That was incredibly dangerous! You could have been killed!"

 

"Yeah," Death Arms chimed in, crossing his massive arms. "You can't just throw things at villains! Leave the hero work to the professionals. We had it under control."

 

Izuku stopped. He looked up at Death Arms. The old Izuku would have bowed repeatedly, crying, apologizing for being a nuisance, stammering about how his legs moved on their own.

 

The new Izuku just stared at the hero with dull, deadpan eyes.

 

"You had it under control?" Izuku asked, his voice disturbingly calm. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise of the sirens perfectly.

 

Death Arms blinked, taken aback. "Uh, yeah. We were formulating a plan to—"

 

"The hostage had approximately thirty seconds left before severe hypoxic brain injury," Izuku stated flatly, sounding like he was reading from a textbook. "You are a close-combat specialist with a strength multiplier. The villain was a liquid. You spent four minutes attempting to punch a non-Newtonian fluid instead of utilizing the environmental debris to create a concussive shockwave—which is what you eventually did, only after I instructed you to. Kamui Woods refused to engage due to fire, entirely neglecting his capability to rescue the civilians trapped on the second floor of that burning complex to our left. And Mt. Lady remained immobile at the intersection, effectively becoming a glorified traffic cone."

 

The three Pro Heroes froze. Mt. Lady, who had just shrunk down and approached, dropped her jaw.

 

Izuku didn't raise his voice. He didn't sound angry. He sounded profoundly disappointed.

 

"You didn't have it under control," Izuku continued, his gaze piercing right through the towering men and women. "You were waiting for a hero with the perfect Quirk to show up because you lack basic tactical adaptability. You rely so heavily on your genetic lottery tickets that when faced with a situation outside your specific niche, you freeze."

 

Death Arms' face flushed with anger and embarrassment. "Listen here, you little punk—"

 

"I threw a bag of rocks," Izuku interrupted, his voice dropping a fraction of an octave. "I have no Quirk. I am fourteen years old. And I created a wider tactical opening in five seconds than the three of you did in five minutes. If you want to lecture me about safety, fine. But don't lie to me and say you had it under control. That boy almost died because of your inefficiency."

 

Silence fell over the immediate vicinity. The police officers nearby pretended to be very busy with the sludge. The heroes were completely speechless, thoroughly dressed down by a middle schooler who looked like a stiff breeze could knock him over.

 

Izuku didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked away, slipping back into the crowd.

 

He didn't make it far before a harsh voice called out behind him.

 

"Deku! Wait the hell up!"

 

Izuku stopped under a flickering streetlamp. He turned to see Katsuki Bakugo storming toward him. The blonde boy was covered in soot, coughing slightly, his clothes torn. But his pride was obviously the most wounded part of him. Bakugo stomped right up to Izuku, his red eyes burning with a mix of fury and complex, unreadable emotion.

 

"Listen to me, you damn nerd!" Bakugo snarled, pointing a trembling, soot-stained finger at Izuku’s chest. "I didn't ask for your help! You hear me?! I didn't need you! I was fine! I was about to blow that sludge bastard to kingdom come! Don't you dare look down on me, you Quirkless nobody! I owe you nothing!"

 

Bakugo panted, his chest heaving, waiting for Izuku to flinch. Waiting for the familiar stammering, the nervous flailing, the submissive apology.

 

Izuku just looked at him. The streetlamp cast deep shadows over Izuku’s eyes, making his expression unreadable.

 

"You weren't fine, Katsuki," Izuku said quietly.

 

Bakugo blinked. Katsuki. Izuku hadn't called him that since they were toddlers. It was always Kacchan. The use of his actual name felt jarring, almost alien.

 

"Your Quirk relies on the nitroglycerin-like substance in your sweat," Izuku continued, his voice adopting that same terrifying, analytical drone he had used with the pros. "To ignite it, you need oxygen. The villain was forcing himself down your trachea, suffocating you and depriving the immediate vicinity of breathable air. Your explosions were getting weaker. Within forty seconds, you would have lacked the physical stamina to ignite your sweat. Within ninety seconds, you would have suffered irreversible brain damage. Within two minutes, you would have been dead."

 

Bakugo’s mouth opened, but the aggressive retort died in his throat. He stared at Izuku as if looking at a stranger wearing his childhood punching bag's skin.

 

"I didn't step in to look down on you," Izuku said, adjusting his grip on his ruined backpack. "I stepped in because the statistics dictated a zero percent survival rate if I didn't. You don't owe me anything. But stop lying to yourself. Pride won't keep your heart beating when your lungs are full of mud."

 

Izuku turned his back on the explosive boy.

 

"Good luck at U.A., Katsuki. Try to be a bit more efficient."

 

Izuku walked away, disappearing into the evening crowd, leaving the explosive prodigy rooted to the spot, trembling not with rage, but with a sudden, icy realization that the boy he had bullied for a decade had just dismantled his entire worldview in under a minute.

 

 

 

The apartment was quiet when Izuku finally got home.

 

"Izuku? Is that you, sweetie?" Inko Midoriya called from the kitchen. The smell of fried pork cutlets—his favorite—wafted through the hallway.

 

"I'm home, Mom," Izuku replied. He was surprised at how steady his voice sounded.

 

He walked into the kitchen. Inko turned around, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled, but her eyes were tired, etched with the constant, low-level anxiety she carried for her Quirkless son in a superhuman world.

 

"How was school?" she asked.

 

"It was enlightening," Izuku said simply. He walked over, hugged her, and kissed her cheek. "I'm going to eat in my room tonight, if that's okay. I have a lot of... planning to do."

 

Inko looked slightly concerned, but she nodded, plating a generous portion for him. "Okay, sweetie. Don't stay up too late studying."

 

Izuku took the plate and walked down the hall to his bedroom.

 

When he opened the door, he was greeted by the familiar, overwhelming shrine to heroics. Posters of All Might plastered every square inch of the wallpaper. Action figures lined the shelves. Limited edition bedsheets. It was the room of a fanatic. A boy desperately clinging to a fantasy.

 

Izuku stood in the doorway, holding his dinner. He looked at a massive poster of All Might laughing, pointing directly at the viewer with the caption: I AM HERE!

 

"No, you're not," Izuku whispered.

 

He set his plate down on his desk. He walked over to the poster. He found the thumbtacks in the corners, carefully removed them, and let the poster fall to the floor. He moved to the next one. Then the next.

 

For an hour, Izuku worked in silence. He took down the posters, folded them neatly, and placed them in a cardboard box. He took the action figures off the shelves, wrapping them in tissue paper, and packed them away. He stripped the All Might bedsheets and replaced them with a plain, dark green blanket.

 

He wasn't angry. He wasn't throwing a tantrum. He was simply clearing out the clutter. He was liquidating his emotional assets.

 

When he was finished, the room was bare. The walls were a plain, neutral beige. The shelves were empty, save for his thirteen notebooks. The room no longer looked like a child's fantasy land. It looked like an office.

 

Izuku sat down at his desk. He ate his cold pork cutlets methodically, chewing and swallowing without tasting them. His mind was miles away, racing at a million miles an hour.

 

He pulled the burnt, water-damaged Hero Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13 toward him. He opened the pages.

 

He read his own handwriting. Page after page of meticulously recorded data.

Mt. Lady: Weakness in confined spaces. Center of gravity shifts drastically when growing, making her vulnerable to tripping in the first 0.5 seconds of activation.

Kamui Woods: Tensile strength of wood varies based on his hydration levels. Highly susceptible to sudden temperature drops.

Backdraft: Water pressure decreases by 15% after five minutes of continuous usage. Requires external hydration.

 

Izuku stared at the words.

 

All Might had told him to be a police officer. The heroes had told him to stay out of the way. Bakugo had told him he was worthless.

 

They were all looking at the world through the lens of Quirks. They believed that society was a hierarchy of power, determined by genetics. If you had a strong Quirk, you were a hero. If you had a weak Quirk, you were a civilian. If you had no Quirk, you were a liability.

 

But Izuku realized they were fundamentally wrong.

 

Quirks weren't magic. They were biological functions. They were tools. And like any tool, they had limits, maintenance requirements, and margins of error.

 

Heroes weren't gods. They were athletes. They were heavily branded, highly volatile biological assets. And right now, the entire hero industry was operating with shocking inefficiency. They relied on flashy moves and raw power, ignoring optimization, strategy, and synergy.

 

If they are the weapons, Izuku thought, leaning back in his chair, then the person who controls the weapons, who upgrades them, who directs them... that person holds the real power.

 

He didn't need to be the one throwing the punch. He just needed to direct the fist.

 

Izuku opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a fresh, blank notebook. It had a sleek, black leather cover. He reached for a pen.

 

On the first page, he didn't write Hero Analysis.

 

With a steady hand, he wrote: Hero Optimization & Market Disruption: Business Plan.

 

He flipped to the next page. He thought back to the Sludge Villain incident. If Death Arms had possessed a specialized gauntlet that amplified kinetic shockwaves without requiring a solid surface to clap against, the villain could have been subdued in three seconds without Izuku's intervention.

 

If Kamui Woods had worn a fire-retardant mesh over his wooden limbs, he wouldn't have been suppressed.

 

The hero support industry was currently dominated by massive tech conglomerates that mass-produced generic gear. They didn't tailor their equipment to the specific, nuanced biological mechanics of individual heroes. They provided bandaids, not enhancements.

 

Izuku began to draw.

 

His pencil flew across the page with frantic, inspired precision. He drew a schematic for an earpiece. Not just a comms unit, but a localized tactical AI interface.

 

Problem: Pro Heroes react to crimes as they happen, resulting in property damage and hostage situations.

Solution: Predictive analytics.

 

Izuku began jotting down the algorithm. If he could tap into local police scanners, traffic cameras, and historical crime data, he could map out a city's patrol routes. He could identify blind spots in hero coverage. He could feed this data directly into a hero's earpiece, effectively telling them where a villain would strike before they did.

 

He didn't need to be on the streets to save lives. He could do it from a computer monitor. He could be the invisible chess player moving the superpowered pieces on the board.

 

But an earpiece was just the beginning.

 

He flipped the page. He began sketching a pair of gauntlets. They looked suspiciously like Bakugo's grenadier bracers, but modified.

 

Katsuki's gauntlets store sweat, but the ignition mechanism is mechanical and prone to jamming if saturated. If I replace the firing pin with a biometric heat-sensor... ignition time is reduced by 0.4 seconds. In a lethal combat scenario, 0.4 seconds is the difference between victory and a funeral.

 

Izuku stopped drawing. He looked at his hands. They were unscarred, devoid of calluses. They weren't the hands of a fighter.

 

"I can't be a hero," Izuku whispered into the quiet room.

 

A slow, sharp smile spread across his face. It wasn't the wide, sunny, hopeful grin of a boy who wanted to be All Might. It was the calculated, confident smirk of a visionary who had just found a monopoly in a trillion-yen industry.

 

"I'm going to be their boss."

 

He looked at the clock. It was 2:00 AM. He had a lot of work to do. He needed seed capital. He needed a manufacturer. He needed clients.

 

But first, he needed to graduate middle school. And he needed to apply to a high school.

 

Not U.A.'s Hero Course. That was a dead end for him now.

 

Izuku opened his laptop, the screen illuminating his face in the dark room. He opened a search engine and typed in: Top Business and Management High Schools in Japan.

 

He scrolled past the prestigious hero academies. He ignored the flashy advertisements for combat training. His eyes locked onto a modest but highly respected institution in the neighboring prefecture. Shiketsu Academy of Business and Economics.

 

Izuku clicked on the admissions page.

 

The hero society was a machine. A massive, unregulated, inefficient machine built on the backs of volatile teenagers and aging idols. It was a bubble just waiting to burst.

 

Izuku Midoriya, the Quirkless nobody, was going to buy that machine, strip it down for parts, and rebuild it into an empire.

 

He picked up his pen and went back to work.

 

The business of heroics was about to change forever.

 

The glow of four separate computer monitors bathed the dark room in a pale, sterile light.

 

Sixteen-year-old Izuku Midoriya sat in the center of the artificial illumination, his fingers flying across a mechanical keyboard with a rhythmic, staccato clack. The walls of his room, once covered in garish, primary-colored posters of All Might, were now lined with corkboards, whiteboards, and sprawling webs of red string connecting printed photographs, city maps, and financial spreadsheets.

 

It was 2:14 AM on a Tuesday. Izuku’s high school classes at Shiketsu Academy of Business and Economics started in exactly six hours. He had not slept. He didn't plan to.

 

On his primary monitor, a satellite map of Musutafu’s Red Light District pulsed with slow-moving blue dots and rapid, erratic red dots. On his secondary monitor, lines of heavily encrypted text scrolled upward in a secure, dark-web chatroom.

 

Izuku lifted a cup of black coffee to his lips, his eyes never leaving the screens. He pressed a key, activating a voice-modulating software that dropped his pitch by two octaves and layered it with a slight metallic static. He pressed the talk button on his headset.

 

"Umbra. You are drifting too far west. You are currently two blocks outside the optimal interception radius."

 

A voice crackled back through the headset, heavy with exertion and the sound of wind whipping past a microphone. "I had to detour, Aegis! The target used a localized smoke quirk. Visibility is zero in alleyway C. I’m trying to cut him off at the avenue!"

 

Izuku didn't blink. He pulled up the villain’s psychological profile, a document he had compiled three days ago using leaked police records and social media data mining.

 

"Negative, Umbra," Izuku said, his voice flat, calm, and utterly devoid of panic. "The target's Quirk is 'Soot Cloud.' It requires high ambient humidity to linger. He didn't run into Alleyway C to escape; he ran there because the exhaust vents from the nearby laundromat provide the steam necessary for him to mask his thermal signature."

 

"So what's the play, Aegis?!" The underground pro hero sounded desperate.

 

"He is a creature of habit with a history of claustrophobia, as indicated by his juvenile record," Izuku recited, his eyes darting to a topographical layout of the district. "He won't stay in the narrow alley. He will seek open ground with multiple escape vectors. Turn around. Proceed to the rooftop of the abandoned textile factory on 4th Street. He will emerge from the fire escape in exactly thirty-two seconds."

 

"...Are you sure? If I lose him, the commission is going to dock my pay for the month."

 

"I do not deal in uncertainties, Umbra. Go."

 

On the map, the blue dot representing the hero abruptly changed direction. Izuku watched the telemetry data feed in real-time. Twenty seconds. Twenty-five seconds. Thirty seconds.

 

"I'm in position. I don't see—wait. Target sighted! He's coming right up the fire escape! Engaging!"

 

Sounds of a brief, violent scuffle echoed through the headset. The thud of boots, a yelp of surprise, and the sharp hiss of Umbra’s specialized capture tape being deployed. Within ten seconds, the red dot on the map stopped moving entirely.

 

"Target secured," Umbra panted, a grin evident in his voice. "Damn, Aegis. You called it down to the second. How do you do that from behind a desk?"

 

"By reading the data you ignore," Izuku replied smoothly. "Good work tonight, Umbra. My invoice will be sent to your secure server. Standard fifteen percent of the bounty."

 

"Worth every yen. I don't know who you are, man, but my arrest rate has tripled since I contracted you. Have a good night."

 

"Stay vigilant, Umbra. Aegis out."

 

Izuku terminated the connection. He leaned back in his ergonomic chair, rolling his shoulders until they popped. A moment later, his third monitor chimed softly. An encrypted offshore account, routed through three shell corporations to obscure his identity, updated its balance.

 

Transfer Complete: ¥150,000.

 

Izuku stared at the number. It was a good night's work. Over the past two years, he had quietly established a monopoly on the underground hero tactical market. Operating under the pseudonym "Aegis," Izuku provided predictive analytics, patrol route optimization, and real-time combat strategy to lower-tier and underground heroes who couldn't afford the massive support agencies' premier packages.

 

He was making a fortune. His seed capital was growing exponentially. But as Izuku looked at the schematics glowing on his fourth monitor, he felt a familiar, gnawing frustration.

 

He had the money. He had the intellect. But he had hit a bottleneck.

 

Izuku clicked on the schematic. It was a digital blueprint for a localized, kinetic-absorbing capture net. It was designed to neutralize heteromorphic (mutant) Quirks by instantly hardening upon impact, adapting to the target's specific muscular structure. It was a brilliant design. It could revolutionize non-lethal apprehension.

 

But Izuku couldn't build it.

 

He reached over to his desk, picking up a physical prototype he had tried to assemble earlier that week. It was a mangled mess of carbon fiber wire, a malfunctioning pneumatic launcher, and a cracked casing. When he had tested it in his room, it had backfired, nearly taking off his left eyebrow and shattering his desk lamp.

 

Izuku sighed, tossing the broken prototype into the trash bin.

 

"Software is infinite," he murmured to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. "But hardware has rules."

 

He understood the physics. He understood the chemical compositions required for the polymer. He had memorized the engineering principles. But knowledge didn't equate to physical execution. His hands lacked the spatial intuition, the mechanical dexterity, and the sheer, madcap engineering genius required to turn his flawless blueprints into physical reality.

 

He needed a manufacturer.

 

He had already looked into outsourcing to established support companies. Detnerat, Yaoyorozu Corp, and Kord Industries were the big players. But they required immense bureaucratic oversight, demanded ninety percent of the patent rights, and worse, they would want to know who he was. A sixteen-year-old Quirkless high school student with no official engineering degree. They would laugh him out of the boardroom and steal his designs.

 

No, he couldn't use the establishment. He needed an outsider. Someone hungry. Someone brilliant. Someone who didn't care about credentials, only results.

 

Izuku opened a new browser window and accessed the U.A. High School public records.

 

He navigated to the Support Course section. U.A. was known for its Hero Course, but its Support department produced the finest engineers in the world. Izuku didn't care about the graduates; they were already indoctrinated into the corporate system. He was looking at the current students. Specifically, he was looking for anomalies.

 

He pulled up the disciplinary records, which had been leaked to an underground forum a few months ago.

 

Student: Power Loader (Faculty)

Incident Report: Lab 4 destroyed. Cause: Unsanctioned modification of a combustible engine.

Perpetrator: Hatsume, Mei (First Year).

 

Izuku raised an eyebrow. He cross-referenced the name.

Incident Report: Support Course budget reallocated due to excessive property damage.

Perpetrator: Hatsume, Mei.

Incident Report: Student banned from utilizing volatile chemicals on campus grounds without direct faculty supervision.

Perpetrator: Hatsume, Mei.

 

Izuku pulled up her student profile. She had pink hair, incredibly intense eyes with a crosshair-like mutation (a Zoom quirk, excellent for micro-engineering), and a smile that looked borderline psychotic. According to her academic file, her theoretical scores were off the charts, but her practical applications were deemed "too reckless, highly volatile, and entirely unmarketable."

 

She had just been cut off from U.A.'s primary funding. She was a pariah in her own department.

 

Izuku’s lips curled into a sharp, predatory smile.

 

"Perfect."

 

 

 

The following afternoon, the sky over Musutafu was a dreary, overcast gray, threatening rain.

 

Izuku Midoriya stepped off the commuter train, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. While his peers at Shiketsu Business High wore their uniforms with the sloppy, untucked apathy typical of teenagers, Izuku wore his like a suit of armor. His tie was perfectly knotted. His jacket was tailored. He carried a sleek, black leather briefcase that held his heavily encrypted laptop, three physical blueprint portfolios, and two million yen in untraceable, sequential cash.

 

He walked past the towering glass skyscrapers of the commercial district, venturing deeper into the industrial sector of the city. The air here smelled of ozone, rust, and cheap street food. The polished veneer of Hero Society faded away, replaced by the grit of the working class.

 

Izuku checked the GPS on his phone. According to the dark-web chatter he had intercepted, after U.A. restricted her campus access, Mei Hatsume had leased a cheap, rundown garage in this district to continue building her "babies."

 

He stopped in front of a corrugated metal garage door at the end of a narrow alleyway. The building looked abandoned, save for the fact that a thick, black cable was illegally spliced into the city’s power grid, running directly into a vent above the door.

 

Izuku stood before the door. Before he could knock, a massive, deafening explosion rocked the building.

 

The metal door rattled violently in its frame. A plume of acrid black smoke billowed out from the ventilation shaft. Someone inside let out a loud, manic laugh, followed by a string of intense, rapid-fire coughing.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He calmly reached forward and knocked three times on the metal.

 

"Go away! The landlord said I have until Friday to pay the noise violation fine!" a muffled, feminine voice yelled from within.

 

"I'm not the landlord," Izuku replied, projecting his voice so it carried over the whirring of machinery inside. "I am an investor."

 

The machinery abruptly whined to a halt. The silence in the alley was sudden and heavy. A moment later, a series of heavy deadbolts clicked, and the metal door slid up with a screech of rusted tracks.

 

Standing in the threshold was Mei Hatsume.

 

She looked exactly like her file, only significantly more charred. Her pink hair was frizzy and sticking up in every direction. She wore a stained, heavy-duty leather apron over a grease-smeared tank top, and oversized welding goggles rested on her forehead. Her face was covered in soot, framing wide, intense yellow eyes that immediately zeroed in on Izuku.

 

She looked him up and down, taking in his pristine school uniform and his calm demeanor.

 

"Investor?" Mei scoffed, wiping her nose with the back of a grease-stained glove. "You look like a kid selling magazine subscriptions. What, are you lost on the way to your cram school?"

 

"My name is Izuku Midoriya," he said, extending a hand. "And I am looking for the best un-contracted mechanical engineer in Japan. My research led me to you, Hatsume-san."

 

Mei didn't take his hand. She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Flattery will get you exactly nowhere, Suit-Boy. I'm busy. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough with my hover-sole baby, and I don't have time for a prank."

 

Izuku dropped his hand, unfazed. He glanced past her, looking into the garage.

 

It was a beautiful, chaotic nightmare. Workbenches were buried under mountains of scrap metal, motherboards, and half-finished gadgets. Sparks periodically rained down from a janky, rigged-up soldering station. In the center of the room sat a pair of heavy boots attached to what looked like modified jet-turbines. They were currently smoking.

 

"Hover-soles," Izuku noted, his eyes scanning the smoking boots. "Utilizing a compressed-air intake to generate lift?"

 

"Obviously," Mei grunted, looking defensive. "The intake valve just got a little... overexcited."

 

"It didn't get overexcited. You created a bottleneck," Izuku said smoothly, stepping past her into the garage without asking for permission.

 

"Hey! You can't just walk in here!" Mei barked, spinning around to grab his shoulder.

 

Izuku didn't stop. He walked directly to the smoking boots and pointed his briefcase at the intake valve. "You're using a titanium alloy for the primary turbine blades, correct? It’s lightweight, durable, heat-resistant."

 

"Yeah, so?" Mei asked, her annoyance momentarily eclipsed by her protective instinct over her invention.

 

"So, your intake manifold is constructed from a standard aluminum composite," Izuku said, turning to face her. "Titanium has a significantly lower thermal expansion coefficient than aluminum. When you activate the turbine, the heat friction causes the aluminum casing to expand faster than the titanium blades. This creates a micro-millimeter gap in the airflow seal, leading to a loss of compression, which causes the engine to overcompensate, draw in too much ambient air, and subsequently combust. It's not a failure of imagination, Hatsume-san. It's a failure of metallurgical synergy."

 

Mei froze. Her jaw slackened slightly. The crosshairs in her yellow eyes dialed in, zooming onto the intake manifold of her boots. Her mind, processing the physics Izuku had just dropped on her, quickly ran the calculations.

 

"Son of a..." Mei whispered, rushing over to the boots and pulling a caliper from her pocket to measure the casing. "You're right. The expansion warped the seal. I... I completely missed that. I was so focused on the aerodynamic thrust that I ignored the thermal dynamics of the casing."

 

She spun back to Izuku, her eyes wide, intense, and suddenly burning with a feral curiosity. "Who are you?"

 

"I told you. I'm an investor," Izuku said, setting his briefcase down on a relatively clean spot on a workbench. He popped the latches. "But more accurately, I am the solution to your current problem."

 

"My problem?" Mei asked, walking closer, wiping her hands on her apron.

 

"You are a genius, Hatsume-san," Izuku stated, his voice carrying the calm authority of a seasoned CEO. "Your spatial intuition and mechanical execution are in the top zero-point-one percent of the nation. But you are currently failing out of U.A.'s funding program because you have absolutely zero market sense."

 

Mei scowled, her pride stinging. "My babies are revolutionary! The school just doesn't appreciate—"

 

"The school appreciates results. You build for the sake of building. You build flashy, explosive, volatile prototypes that have no immediate practical application for the modern hero market," Izuku interrupted, his tone not cruel, but brutally objective. "You are an artist trying to survive in a corporate economy. And right now, you are out of money, out of resources, and working in a fire hazard of a garage because nobody will bankroll your explosions."

 

Mei opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Her shoulders slumped slightly. He had hit the nail directly on the head. She was a week away from being evicted, and U.A. had threatened to put her on academic probation if she didn't produce a stable, marketable support item for the upcoming Sports Festival.

 

"So what?" Mei muttered, crossing her arms defensively. "You're here to tell me I suck?"

 

"I am here," Izuku said, opening the briefcase, "to offer you a partnership."

 

He turned the briefcase around so it faced her.

 

Mei gasped. Inside, neatly stacked in banded blocks, was two million yen in cash. Beside the money lay three meticulously drawn, flawlessly engineered blueprints.

 

"I have the capital," Izuku continued, his voice dropping into a smooth, persuasive rhythm. "I have a flawless understanding of the hero economy, tactical combat requirements, and Quirk optimization. I know exactly what the market desperately needs, and I know exactly how to design it."

 

Izuku tapped the blueprints. "But I cannot build it. I am a tactician, not an engineer. I provide the blueprints, the market analysis, and the funding. You provide the hands, the mechanical genius, and the execution. You build the babies. I sell them to the world."

 

Mei slowly approached the briefcase. She didn't look at the money. Her eyes were glued to the blueprints.

 

She picked one up. It was the design for the localized, quirk-suppressing capture net. She scanned the mathematical equations, the polymer composition notes, the kinetic dispersion vectors.

 

"This..." Mei breathed, her eyes darting across the paper. "This is brilliant. The kinetic webbing uses a non-Newtonian fluid matrix? It hardens upon the exact moment of impact. And the pneumatic launcher... it's designed to adapt to the recoil of the user's specific muscle density? Who designed this?"

 

"I did," Izuku said.

 

Mei looked up at him, her manic energy returning tenfold. "You're a freak!" she yelled, though it sounded like the highest compliment she could give. "This is insanely optimized! It's so... practical! But the engineering is beautiful! It's a baby that wants to go to work!"

 

"If you partner with me, Hatsume, you will never have to worry about funding again," Izuku promised, leaning against the workbench. "You will have a state-of-the-art lab. You will have access to the finest materials on earth. You will be free to invent, build, and create, while I ensure that your 'babies' become the standard issue for every top-tier hero in Japan."

 

Mei dropped the blueprint back into the case. She looked at the money, then at Izuku. The goofy, grease-stained girl vanished for a moment, replaced by a sharp, calculating mind that rivaled his own.

 

"What's the split?" she asked, her voice dropping all pretense.

 

"Fifty-fifty on all patent revenues and company profits," Izuku offered without hesitation. "You will be credited as the co-founder and Chief Technology Officer. However, as the Chief Executive Officer providing the initial capital and handling all corporate negotiations, I retain fifty-one percent of the voting rights for the company's direction."

 

Mei narrowed her eyes. "So you're the boss."

 

"I am the shield that protects you from the bureaucracy, allowing you to do what you do best," Izuku countered smoothly. "I handle the suits. You handle the wrenches. We both get filthy rich, and we redefine heroics."

 

Mei stared at him for a long, agonizing minute. The garage was silent save for the hum of the illegally spliced power line.

 

Then, a massive, feral grin broke out across Mei’s face. She spat into her right palm, a gross but distinctly mechanic gesture, and held her hand out toward him.

 

"You've got yourself a deal, Suit-Boy. But if you try to micromanage my workshop, I'll test my next explosive baby on your fancy car."

 

Izuku didn't wince at the spit. He reached out and gripped her hand firmly.

 

"I don't have a car yet, Hatsume-san. We'll buy one next year." Izuku smiled, a genuine spark of excitement finally breaking through his cold veneer. "And you can call me Midoriya."

 

"Whatever you say, Boss," Mei laughed, pulling her hand back and immediately reaching for the blueprints. "So, what are we calling this empire of ours?"

 

Izuku looked around the dingy, chaotic garage. He thought of the rooftop. He thought of the Sludge Villain. He thought of Katsuki Bakugo’s sneering face, calling him a useless, wooden doll. Deku. The one who can't do anything.

 

He was going to take that word. He was going to weaponize it. He was going to plaster it across the chest of every pro hero on the planet until Bakugo choked on it.

 

"D.E.K.U.," Izuku said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "Defense, Equipment, & Kinetic Upgrades."

 

Mei didn't look up from the blueprints, already reaching for a wrench. "Catchy. I like it. Now shut up, grab that soldering iron, and hand me the tungsten wire. We have a baby to build."

 

 

 

Three Months Later.

 

The transformation of the garage was startling. Gone were the mountains of useless, volatile scrap. Thanks to Izuku’s meticulous organization and ruthless budget allocation, the space was now a highly efficient, sterilized micro-factory. High-end 3D printers hummed in the corner. CNC machines carved precision components. The smell of ozone remained, but it was accompanied by the scent of success.

 

Izuku and Mei had worked to the bone. Between his classes at Shiketsu, his midnight hours running "Aegis", and spending every other waking moment in the garage, Izuku was running on three hours of sleep a night and pure, unadulterated caffeine. Mei hadn't left the garage in a week.

 

But it was worth it.

 

Resting on a velvet cushion on the primary workbench was D.E.K.U. Project 01: The Aegis-Net Launcher.

 

It was a beautiful piece of machinery. Sleek, matte-black, and ergonomically designed to mount on a hero's forearm. It looked less like a weapon and more like a high-end sports accessory.

 

"Test thirty-four," Mei croaked, her voice hoarse, her eyes sporting massive dark circles. She pointed a heavy, mechanical hydraulic press toward the center of the room. "Simulating a mutant-class villain with a strength enhancement quirk. Force output: roughly equivalent to a speeding truck."

 

Izuku stood behind a plexiglass shield, wearing a custom-tailored dark green suit. He had spent a portion of his Aegis funds on looking the part of a CEO. He nodded. "Initiate."

 

Mei pressed a button on a remote.

 

The hydraulic press surged forward with terrifying, bone-crushing speed. At the exact same moment, the Aegis-Net Launcher mounted on a dummy arm automatically detected the kinetic velocity. With a sharp THWIP, a compact projectile shot forward.

 

Mid-air, the projectile deployed into a massive, translucent gray net. It struck the hydraulic press.

 

Instead of tearing or bouncing off, the non-Newtonian polymer instantly reacted to the kinetic force. The net hardened on a molecular level, wrapping around the press and locking it entirely in place. The hydraulic engine whined, strained, and then smoked as it tried to push forward. It couldn't move a single millimeter.

 

The net held.

 

Mei dropped the remote. She looked at Izuku. Izuku looked at Mei.

 

"We did it," Izuku whispered.

 

"We made a masterpiece!" Mei shrieked, throwing her arms up in the air and doing a sleep-deprived victory dance that ended with her tripping over a cable and crashing into a pile of empty coffee cups.

 

Izuku didn't laugh, but he smiled warmly, walking over to help her up. "You made a masterpiece, Mei. I just drew the picture."

 

"Don't sell yourself short, Boss," Mei grinned, rubbing her head. "That polymer formula was all you. Now... who are we selling it to?"

 

Izuku walked over to his briefcase. He pulled out a glossy, professionally bound pitch deck. It had the D.E.K.U. logo—a sleek, minimalist green shield—embossed on the cover.

 

"I have meetings scheduled all week," Izuku said, adjusting his tie. "I'm starting with the mid-tier agencies. The ones looking to break into the Top 50. They are hungry for an edge. We offer them exclusive licensing for the first six months. They get the arrests, we get the data and the branding."

 

"Go get 'em, Boss," Mei said, immediately turning back to her workstation. "I'm going to start sketching out that biometric gauntlet you mentioned. Bring back a big check!"

 

Izuku walked out of the garage, the Aegis-Net safely secured in a specialized carrying case. He felt invincible. He had the best product on the market. He had the data to back it up. He had the presentation perfectly memorized.

 

The hero society was a market, and he was about to disrupt it.

 

 

 

Four Days Later.

 

Izuku sat on a plush, uncomfortable leather chair in the waiting room of the Brave Blade Hero Agency. It was the fourth agency he had visited this week.

 

His invincible feeling had long since evaporated, replaced by a cold, familiar dread.

 

The receptionist, a woman with glowing blue skin, typed away on her computer, pointedly ignoring him. Izuku looked at the clock. He had been waiting for two hours past his scheduled appointment time.

 

Finally, the heavy oak doors to the inner office opened. A tall man in a sharp suit, flanked by two sidekicks, walked out. It was the agency's procurement director.

 

Izuku stood up, smoothing his suit jacket, and offered a polite bow. "Yamada-san. Thank you for making time. I am Midoriya Izuku, CEO of D.E.K.U. I have the prototype you requested to see—"

 

"Save it, kid," the director interrupted, holding up a hand. He didn't even look at Izuku; he was scrolling through his phone. "I read your email pitch. The specs look cute. But I ran a background check on your little 'company'."

 

Izuku’s posture stiffened slightly. "My company is legally incorporated and fully compliant with all Hero Public Safety Commission manufacturing standards."

 

"Your company is registered to a P.O. Box, operates out of a leased garage in the slums, and your 'Chief Technology Officer' is a first-year high school student who is on academic probation for blowing up her classroom," the director sneered, finally looking up. His eyes dripped with condescension.

 

"Hatsume-san's academic record has no bearing on the flawless execution of this prototype," Izuku countered, keeping his voice level and professional despite the rising heat in his chest. "If you would just allow me a three-minute demonstration—"

 

"And then there's you," the director continued, stepping into Izuku’s personal space. He looked Izuku up and down. "A sixteen-year-old kid. From a regular business school. No hero pedigree. No corporate backing. And, according to the public registry... Quirkless."

 

The word hung in the air like a foul odor.

 

The two sidekicks behind the director snickered softly.

 

Izuku’s jaw tightened. "My quirk status does not affect the tensile strength of the polymer, Yamada-san. I am offering you a product that will reduce collateral damage by forty percent and increase your agency's apprehension rate. Do you want to save money and lives, or do you want to read my medical history?"

 

The director's face flushed with anger. He poked a stiff finger into Izuku’s chest.

 

"Listen to me, you little freak. Hero support is a multi-billion yen industry. We deal with professionals. We deal with people who understand what it takes to be on the front lines. You think you can just waltz in here in your daddy's suit and play businessman? You're a Quirkless nobody playing with toys. Take your garbage and get out of my lobby before I have you arrested for trespassing."

 

Izuku stared into the man's eyes. The old Izuku, the boy on the roof, would have shattered. He would have apologized, bowed, and run away crying.

 

The CEO of D.E.K.U. did not break eye contact. He did not flinch.

 

He calmly reached up and brushed the director's finger off his chest as if swatting away a mildly annoying insect.

 

"I appreciate your time, Yamada-san," Izuku said, his voice dropping into a chilling, absolute monotone. "I will note your agency's lack of vision in my ledger. Have a pleasant afternoon."

 

Izuku turned on his heel and walked out of the agency. He didn't look back.

 

He stepped out onto the bustling streets of Tokyo. The sky was bright, but Izuku felt a dark, suffocating cloud pressing down on him.

 

It was the same everywhere he went. He had visited four agencies. Four rejections.

 

The moment they saw his age, they hesitated. The moment they saw Mei's record, they scoffed. But the moment they realized he was Quirkless, they shut the door. It didn't matter how good the product was. The hero industry was a vanity project. They wouldn't buy a sword from a blacksmith who couldn't swing it.

 

Izuku walked to a nearby park and sat on a bench. He opened the case and looked at the Aegis-Net.

 

It was perfect. It was the future. And it was going to collect dust in a garage because of societal prejudice.

 

"They won't buy it from me," Izuku whispered, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. "They don't trust the tech because they don't trust the creator. I need... I need a billboard."

 

He sat up, his mind racing, shifting away from despair and back into ruthless analysis.

 

If the established, comfortable agencies wouldn't take a risk on a Quirkless teenager, then he needed to find someone who had no other choice. Someone who was desperate. Someone whose back was against the wall, whose career was failing, and who needed a miracle.

 

He didn't need to sell the product to the establishment. He needed to sponsor an underdog. He needed to find a failing hero, equip them with D.E.K.U. tech, and turn them into a superstar overnight. The results would speak for themselves. The agencies would come crawling to him.

 

Izuku pulled his laptop from his briefcase. He opened the Hero Public Safety Commission database and applied a new set of filters.

 

Criteria: Newly graduated. Low ranking. High property damage debt. Downward trending approval ratings. Desperate.

 

He hit search.

 

Hundreds of profiles popped up. Izuku scrolled through them, analyzing their Quirks, their tactical flaws, and their marketability.

 

He stopped on a profile.

 

A picture of a young girl with round, flushed cheeks, short brown hair, and a bulky, poorly designed pink and black hero costume.

 

Hero Name: Uravity.

Real Name: Ochaco Uraraka.

Quirk: Zero Gravity.

Current Status: Independent. Ranking: 4,892. Nearing bankruptcy due to property damage liabilities.

 

Izuku opened her combat footage. She was heroic, deeply empathetic, and possessed a devastatingly powerful Quirk. But her gear was terrible. Her boots were too heavy, her helmet induced nausea, and she lacked any long-range apprehension tools, forcing her into close combat where she was physically outmatched.

 

She was a brilliant weapon being wielded by an incompetent system. She was failing not because of a lack of talent, but because of a lack of optimization.

 

Izuku closed the laptop. The cold, analytical fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

 

"I'm going to make you a star, Uravity," Izuku said to the empty park.

 

He packed his briefcase, picked up the prototype, and began walking toward her listed agency address. D.E.K.U. wasn't going to beg for a seat at the table anymore. They were going to build their own table, and the rest of the world was going to pay a premium to sit at it.

 

The ceiling fan in the cramped, one-room office of the Uravity Hero Agency spun with a pitiful, rhythmic squeak. It did little to cut through the suffocating late-summer humidity that had settled over Musutafu.

 

Ochaco Uraraka sat behind a second-hand metal desk, staring blankly at a stack of manila envelopes. Her chin rested heavily in her palms, her usually bright brown eyes dull and sunken with exhaustion. Beside the envelopes sat a cup of instant beef ramen, the noodles long since swollen and cold in the lukewarm broth.

 

She reached out and flipped open the top envelope. It wasn’t a contract for a patrol route. It wasn’t a request for a security detail. It was an invoice from the Hero Public Safety Commission.

 

Date of Incident: August 12th.

Location: Sector 4, Shibuya Commercial District.

Infraction: Excessive Property Damage during apprehension of a C-Rank Villain.

Itemized Deductions: Shattered storefront window (¥140,000), cracked municipal asphalt (¥85,000), damaged streetlamp (¥40,000).

Net Hero Payout after deductions: -¥15,000.

 

Ochaco let her head drop onto the desk with a dull thud. She had literally paid money to do her job. Again.

 

"I'm failing," she whispered to the empty room.

 

She looked to the corner of the office, where her hero costume hung on a cheap plastic mannequin. The bulky pink and black suit felt like a mockery now. The massive boots, designed to absorb the shock of her landings, were so heavy they ruined her stamina. The oversized helmet, meant to prevent the nausea her Zero Gravity Quirk induced, only restricted her peripheral vision and made her sweat profusely.

 

She had graduated from a mid-tier hero academy with top marks in rescue ops, driven by a singular, burning desire: to make enough money to support her parents’ failing construction business. She had dreamed of the day she could buy them a vacation, tell them to put down their hardhats, and let her take care of them.

 

Instead, she was nineteen years old, ranked 4,892 on the national hero billboard, and drowning in collateral damage debt. Her quirk, manipulating gravity, was inherently destructive. When she removed the gravity from an object to use as a weapon or a shield, that object eventually had to come down. And when it came down, it usually crushed something expensive. The big agencies had rejected her applications, citing her lack of precision and high insurance premiums.

 

She was an independent hero, which was just a polite way of saying she was unemployed.

 

The silence of the room was broken by a sharp, crisp knock at the door.

 

Ochaco shot up, wiping a small line of drool from her chin. She hastily pushed the stack of bills into an open drawer and slammed it shut. She checked her reflection in the darkened screen of her powered-off computer, attempting to smooth her wild brown hair.

 

"C-Come in!" she called out, trying to inject her voice with a bubbly, confident hero persona.

 

The frosted glass door opened.

 

Ochaco blinked. She wasn't sure what she was expecting—a landlord demanding rent, a delivery driver, maybe a lost civilian—but it certainly wasn't the person standing in her doorway.

 

He looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, dressed in a sharply tailored, dark green suit that looked more expensive than her entire agency’s operating budget. His messy green hair contrasted wildly with his meticulous attire. In one hand, he held a sleek, black leather briefcase bearing a minimalist green shield logo. In the other, a tablet.

 

His eyes, a deep, calculating emerald, swept the room in a fraction of a second. Ochaco felt a bizarre shiver run down her spine. It felt as though he had just cataloged the peeling wallpaper, the cold ramen, and her exact bank balance in a single glance.

 

"Uraraka Ochaco," the boy said. His voice was smooth, composed, and possessed a terrifying, mature authority that did not match his youthful face. "Also known as the Pro Hero Uravity."

 

"Uh, yes?" Ochaco stood up, instinctively bowing slightly. "Can I help you? If you're looking for an autograph, I don't really have proper headshots printed out right now, but I can sign a—"

 

"I am not a fan, Uraraka-san," he interrupted politely, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "I am a businessman. My name is Izuku Midoriya. I am the Chief Executive Officer of D.E.K.U., a specialized tactical and support manufacturing firm."

 

Ochaco stared at him. "A... CEO? You look like a high schooler."

 

"I assure you, my age is the least interesting thing about me," Izuku said, walking right up to the desk. He didn't ask for permission to sit. He placed his briefcase on her desk with a heavy, purposeful thud. "What is interesting, however, is your current career trajectory. Or rather, the lack thereof."

 

Ochaco’s bubbly facade instantly dropped, replaced by a defensive flush of anger. "Excuse me? Who let you in here? You can't just walk into a Pro Hero's agency and insult them."

 

"I didn't insult you. I stated a statistical fact," Izuku replied, tapping the screen of his tablet. He turned it around and slid it across the desk toward her. "August 12th. Shibuya Commercial District. You engaged a villain with a minor gigantification quirk."

 

Ochaco looked at the screen. It was civilian cell-phone footage of her fight from three days ago.

 

"You attempted a close-quarters takedown," Izuku narrated as the video played. "Because your boots weigh approximately five kilograms each, your evasion speed was compromised. The villain struck a glancing blow to your left side. To compensate, you activated your quirk on a parked sedan, lifting it into the air to drop on the villain. You missed the villain's center of mass by two meters, resulting in the destruction of municipal property and a net financial loss for the day."

 

Ochaco’s face burned hot with shame. She reached out and flipped the tablet face down. "I know what happened. I was there. If you're from the commission here to revoke my license—"

 

"If I were from the commission, you wouldn't have a license to revoke," Izuku said bluntly. "The commission views you as a liability. They look at this footage and see an incompetent hero. I look at this footage and see a brilliant asset being suffocated by atrocious equipment and a complete lack of tactical oversight."

 

Ochaco paused. The anger in her chest faltered, replaced by a profound, desperate confusion. "What?"

 

Izuku rested his hands on his briefcase. "Your Quirk, Zero Gravity, is theoretically one of the most overpowered abilities currently registered in the database. You have the ability to manipulate the fundamental laws of physics with a single touch. Yet, you are using it like a blunt instrument. You are throwing cars because your suit restricts your mobility, forcing you to rely on desperation tactics rather than precision."

 

He pointed to the pink suit hanging in the corner.

 

"Who designed that?" Izuku asked, his voice laced with genuine disgust.

 

"The... the support company affiliated with my hero school," Ochaco muttered, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. "I told them I got nauseous when I floated myself, so they made the helmet to stabilize my inner ear. And the boots to anchor me."

 

"They didn't solve your problem, Uraraka-san. They put a band-aid on it and crippled your combat potential in the process," Izuku said. "The helmet restricts your peripheral vision to fifty degrees, meaning you can be blindsided easily. The boots destroy your stamina. They treated you like a liability, not a weapon."

 

Izuku popped the latches on his briefcase. The sharp click-clack echoed loudly in the quiet office.

 

"I don't want to revoke your license, Uraraka-san," Izuku said, lifting the lid. "I want to sponsor you."

 

Ochaco leaned forward, peering into the case. Inside, resting on dark foam, was a sleek, aerodynamic, matte-black and pale-pink visor, alongside a pair of incredibly streamlined metallic bracers and boots.

 

"What is this?" she breathed.

 

"This is D.E.K.U. Project Zero," Izuku said. "The boots and bracers are equipped with micro-gyroscopic stabilizers. They will perfectly calibrate your inner-ear equilibrium, completely neutralizing your quirk-induced nausea without the need for a suffocating helmet. Furthermore, the soles utilize a pneumatic kinetic-absorption array. When you drop from a height of up to fifty meters, the boots will absorb ninety-eight percent of the impact."

 

Ochaco’s eyes widened. "That... that technology would cost millions of yen. I can't afford this. I literally ate ramen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner yesterday."

 

"You aren't buying it," Izuku corrected her, his emerald eyes locking onto hers. "I am giving it to you. D.E.K.U. will provide you with cutting-edge, custom-tailored support gear. Furthermore, I will personally act as your tactical coordinator. I will monitor your patrols, feed you optimal pursuit routes, and calculate environmental variables in real-time."

 

Ochaco felt dizzy, and it had nothing to do with her quirk. "Why? I'm ranked nearly five-thousandth. I'm a nobody. Why would a tech company want to sponsor me?"

 

Izuku closed the briefcase. "Because the hero industry is stagnant. The top agencies are complacent. They buy generic gear from massive conglomerates. I tried to sell my tech to them, and they laughed at me because of my age and my lack of a Quirk."

 

Ochaco flinched slightly at the word 'Quirkless,' but she saw no shame in Izuku’s eyes. Only a cold, burning ambition.

 

"I don't need their permission to change the world," Izuku continued, leaning closer. "I need a billboard. I need the world to see what a hero can do when they are perfectly optimized. You are desperate. You are talented. And you have absolutely nothing to lose. I want to take the 4,892 ranked hero and push her into the Top 50 in six months."

 

Izuku pulled a crisp, heavily detailed contract from the pocket inside the briefcase and slid it across the desk, right over her unpaid bills.

 

"The terms," Izuku stated. "D.E.K.U. covers one hundred percent of all your collateral damage liabilities moving forward. We cover your rent, your living expenses, and your gear. In exchange, you wear our logo. You grant us exclusive licensing rights to your merchandising. And, most importantly, in the field, when I speak... you execute my commands without hesitation."

 

Ochaco stared at the contract. The numbers on the page were staggering. A guaranteed monthly salary that was more than her parents' construction company made in a year. Complete debt forgiveness.

 

It felt like a deal with the devil. But the devil was wearing a very nice suit and offering her the one thing she hadn't felt in months: hope.

 

"You're serious," she whispered, looking up at him. "You really think you can fix my career?"

 

"I don't 'think' anything, Uraraka-san," Izuku replied calmly. "I deal in absolute mathematics. And mathematically, together, we are an unstoppable market force."

 

He pulled a sleek, silver fountain pen from his breast pocket and held it out to her.

 

Ochaco looked at the pink suit in the corner. She thought of her mother’s tired smile. She thought of the humiliation of being docked pay for trying to save lives.

 

She reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and took the pen.

 

She signed her name on the dotted line.

 

Izuku Midoriya smiled. It was a sharp, brilliant, terrifying smile. "Welcome to the firm, Uravity. Come with me. You have a fitting to attend."

 

 

 

The D.E.K.U. garage was sensory overload.

 

Ochaco stood in the center of the sterilized, high-tech lab, her mouth hanging open. Sparks flew from a welding station in the corner, where a girl with wild pink hair was currently laughing maniacally at a blowtorch.

 

"Hatsume," Izuku called out over the hum of the machinery. "The client is here."

 

Mei Hatsume snapped the blowtorch off and flipped up her welding goggles. Her intense, crosshair yellow eyes zeroed in on Ochaco. She dropped her tools and sprinted across the room, invading Ochaco’s personal space instantly.

 

"Ooooh! The gravity girl!" Mei cheered, grabbing Ochaco’s arms and squeezing her biceps. "Decent muscle tone. Bone density looks average. Perfect! I can work with this! Let's get you out of those civilian clothes, we need to calibrate the gyros to your exact body weight!"

 

"Wait, what—right now?!" Ochaco squeaked, blushing furiously as Mei began pulling her toward a changing screen.

 

"Time is money, Uravity," Izuku said, walking over to a massive bank of computer monitors that covered an entire wall. "We have seventy-two hours to get you accustomed to the new gear before the weekend patrol surge."

 

An hour later, Ochaco stepped out from behind the screen.

 

She looked at herself in the full-length mirror, completely speechless.

 

The bulky, restrictive pink spacesuit was gone. In its place was a form-fitting, aerodynamic bodysuit made of a highly breathable, impact-resistant synthetic weave. It was primarily sleek black, with sharp, elegant accents of pale pink. The massive boots were replaced by the D.E.K.U. kinetic-absorption soles—they felt as light as running shoes. Around her wrists were the gyroscopic bracers, humming with a barely audible, stabilizing frequency.

 

But the most striking feature was the visor. It rested over her eyes, a sleek band of dark glass. When she tapped the side, the glass illuminated with a pale green Heads-Up Display (HUD).

 

"Woah," Ochaco breathed. Data scrolled across her vision. Wind speed, ambient temperature, heart rate monitor, and a localized mini-map.

 

"Do not rely solely on the HUD," Izuku’s voice came, but not from across the room. It came directly into her ear through a micro-comms unit built into the visor. It startled her so badly she jumped.

 

Izuku was sitting at his computer station, a headset over his ears. He was typing rapidly.

 

"The HUD is secondary," Izuku continued over the comms. "I am your primary intelligence. Let's test the stabilizers. Hatsume, activate the rig."

 

"You got it, Boss!" Mei shouted, pulling a massive lever on the wall.

 

Suddenly, the floor beneath Ochaco dropped away. It was a specialized training pit. Ochaco shrieked as she plummeted. Instinctively, she slapped her hands together, activating her quirk. Zero Gravity.

 

Normally, the sudden shift to weightlessness would make her stomach violently heave, forcing her to rely on the bulky helmet to reorient herself.

 

This time, the bracers on her wrists glowed a soft blue. The gyroscopes whirred to life, instantly calculating her trajectory and stabilizing her center of mass. She didn't feel sick. She didn't feel disoriented. She felt utterly, perfectly weightless.

 

She floated in the center of the pit, effortlessly suspended. She spun around, marveling at the sheer control. It was like she was swimming in air.

 

"Amazing..." she whispered.

 

"Now," Izuku’s voice crackled in her ear. "Release your quirk."

 

"But I'm ten meters in the air!" she yelled back.

 

"Release the quirk, Uravity. Trust the equipment."

 

Ochaco squeezed her eyes shut, put her fingertips together, and released the gravity.

 

She fell like a stone. The ground rushed up to meet her. She braced for the bone-shattering impact.

 

THUD.

 

Her boots hit the reinforced steel floor of the pit. But there was no pain. There was no jarring shock to her knees or spine. The pneumatic soles hissed, absorbing the kinetic energy and redistributing it outward in a harmless ring of pressurized air. She landed with the grace of an Olympic gymnast.

 

Ochaco stood up slowly, looking down at her legs in absolute awe.

 

"I... I didn't feel a thing."

 

Izuku leaned over the railing of the pit, looking down at her. He didn't look surprised. He looked satisfied.

 

"I told you, Uraraka-san," Izuku said, adjusting his tie. "You are not the problem. You just needed a better architect. Now, step out of the pit. We need to train you on the Aegis-Net launchers. You're going back on patrol on Saturday."

 

 

 

Saturday, 1:45 PM. Musutafu Financial District.

 

The weekend foot traffic was at its peak. Civilians packed the sidewalks, enjoying the bright afternoon sun.

 

High above them, perched on the gargoyle of a skyscraper, crouched Uravity.

 

She looked down at the city. She wasn't tired. She wasn't sweating. The new suit breathed perfectly, and the gyroscopes kept her equilibrium in absolute check. For the first time in her career, she actually felt like a superhero.

 

"Heart rate is stable at eighty-five BPM," Izuku’s voice, modulated to sound deeper and layered with static under his "Aegis" pseudonym, murmured in her ear. "Hydration levels optimal. How are the new gauntlets feeling?"

 

"Like they aren't even there, Aegis," Ochaco replied softly, tapping the sleek black bracers that housed the D.E.K.U. capture nets. "I still can't believe I'm up this high without feeling sick."

 

"You'll have plenty of time to marvel at Hatsume's engineering later," Izuku said. "Right now, focus. I've been monitoring the police scanners and traffic grid. There is a statistical anomaly occurring three blocks north of your position."

 

"An anomaly?"

 

"Three armored transport vehicles just deviated from their registered routes simultaneously. They are all converging on the Sumida Ward First National Bank. The local police dispatch just went dark. Someone has jammed their frequency."

 

Ochaco’s blood ran cold. "A bank robbery?"

 

"Not just a robbery. A highly coordinated assault," Izuku corrected. "I am patching you into the bank's internal security feed now."

 

The HUD inside Ochaco’s visor flickered. Suddenly, she was seeing through the bank's security cameras.

 

Her breath hitched.

 

The lobby of the massive bank was a warzone. Five villains, all sporting heavily mutated physical quirks, had breached the vault. The leader was a massive man with the head and thick gray hide of a rhinoceros. Another had arms like a praying mantis. The bank guards were already unconscious on the floor, bleeding. Dozens of terrified civilians were huddled in the corner, held hostage by a villain with a throat that pulsed like a speaker cone.

 

"Threat assessment," Izuku’s voice cut through her rising panic, as cold and steady as liquid nitrogen. "Target One: Rhino mutation. High physical durability, low lateral mobility. Target Two: Mantis appendages. High lethal threat, requires mid-range suppression. Target Three: Sonic amplifier. Do not let him inhale deeply. Targets Four and Five are minor combatants. The police are currently unaware due to the jammer. If we wait for the major pro heroes to arrive, the hostages will be leveraged, and casualties are a statistical certainty."

 

"What do we do?" Ochaco asked, her voice trembling slightly.

 

"We don't wait," Izuku commanded. "We disrupt. I am activating your HUD combat overlay. When I give you a vector, you move. Protocol One, Uravity. Do exactly as I say."

 

"Right," Ochaco swallowed hard. She stood up on the edge of the gargoyle.

 

"Jump."

 

She stepped off the building.

 

The wind roared in her ears. She plummeted toward the street below.

 

"Activate Quirk on yourself. Now."

 

She tapped her fingertips together. Instantly, gravity lost its hold on her. Her descent slowed, but her momentum carried her forward. She was flying.

 

"Vector: Forty-five degrees, downward trajectory. Target the bank's skylight."

 

Ochaco angled her body. The massive glass dome of the bank rapidly approached.

 

"Deactivate Quirk. Deploy Boots."

 

She dropped her hands. Gravity seized her violently. She became a missile plummeting toward the glass. Just as she was about to crash, the D.E.K.U. boots engaged.

 

CRASH!

 

Ochaco shattered the skylight, raining safety glass down into the lobby. The villains looked up in shock. Ochaco hit the marble floor of the bank, the pneumatic boots completely absorbing the lethal impact, dispersing a shockwave of air that blew the dust and glass away in a dramatic ring.

 

She stood up from the crater, the dust settling around her sleek black and pink armor.

 

"Who the hell are you?!" the Rhino villain roared, hefting a massive duffel bag of cash. "A hero?! Where's the backup?!"

 

"I don't need backup," Ochaco said, trying to mimic Izuku’s absolute confidence.

 

"Target Three, the Sonic screamer, is preparing to vocalize. Three o'clock," Izuku barked in her ear. "Close the distance. Throw the debris."

 

Ochaco didn't hesitate. She looked to her right. The villain with the speaker-throat was taking a massive, chest-expanding breath.

 

She reached down, touching a massive chunk of shattered marble from the floor. Zero Gravity. She kicked it lightly. Because it had no weight, the boulder shot across the room like a bullet.

 

It slammed directly into the Sonic villain's chest just as he opened his mouth. The air was forcefully ejected from his lungs in a pathetic wheeze, and he collapsed, pinned by the rock.

 

"Target suppressed. Target Two, Mantis, is flanking you from the left. He is fast. Do not engage in melee. Deploy Aegis-Net, wide dispersion."

 

Ochaco spun to her left. The Mantis villain was already leaping through the air, his scythe-like arms raised to slice her in half.

 

Ochaco raised her left arm, aiming the sleek black bracer at him. She clenched her fist.

 

THWIP.

 

The pneumatic launcher fired. A compact capsule shot forward, detonating mid-air into a wide, translucent net. It enveloped the Mantis villain mid-leap. The moment he crashed to the floor, the kinetic force caused the non-Newtonian polymer to instantly harden into an unbreakable, rigid shell. He was immobilized, frozen like a statue.

 

The hostages in the corner gasped. The remaining three villains looked on in absolute horror. This lone, unknown hero had just neutralized two of their most dangerous members in under four seconds.

 

The Rhino villain's eyes went bloodshot with rage. "You little brat! I'll crush you!"

 

He lowered his horned head and charged. The ground shook beneath his massive weight. He was a runaway freight train of pure muscle.

 

Ochaco’s heart hammered against her ribs. Instinct told her to run, to dive out of the way.

 

"Hold your ground," Izuku ordered.

 

"He's going to hit me!" she yelled, bracing herself.

 

"He is heavily top-weighted. His center of gravity is entirely in his shoulders," Izuku analyzed rapidly. "Wait until he is exactly two meters away. Not a second sooner. Trust the math, Uravity."

 

Ochaco planted her feet. The Rhino was closing in. Ten meters. Five meters. Three meters. The roar of the beast was deafening.

 

"Now! Touch his horn and drop flat!"

 

Ochaco lunged forward. In a terrifying game of chicken, she reached out, her fingertips grazing the tip of the massive, deadly horn just as she threw herself flat onto the marble floor.

 

Zero Gravity.

 

The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic for the villain.

 

The Rhino, charging forward with immense kinetic energy, suddenly lost all of his weight. But his forward momentum remained. Because he was pushing against the ground with massive force, the sudden lack of gravity caused his own legs to launch him uncontrollably into the air.

 

He shrieked as he tumbled forward, completely weightless, flying directly over Ochaco’s prone body.

 

"Target is airborne and lacks aerial mobility," Izuku said calmly. "Release Quirk and deploy secondary Aegis-Net."

 

Ochaco rolled onto her back, aimed her right arm upward, and released her quirk.

 

The Rhino’s massive weight returned instantly. He began to plummet toward the floor.

 

THWIP.

 

Ochaco fired the second net. It caught the Rhino villain mid-fall. The massive, bone-crushing impact of his body hitting the floor triggered the kinetic polymer to harden perfectly around him. He was pinned to the marble, unable to move a single muscle, groaning in defeat.

 

The last two minor villains took one look at their defeated boss, dropped their weapons, and raised their hands in surrender.

 

Silence fell over the bank lobby, broken only by the whimpering of the minor villains and the hiss of Ochaco’s boots.

 

Ochaco stood up slowly. She looked around. Five villains. All subdued. Zero collateral damage beyond the skylight she had used for entry. Total engagement time: forty-two seconds.

 

She looked at her hands. She wasn't shaking. She wasn't nauseous.

 

"Threat neutralized," Izuku’s voice purred in her ear, laced with dark satisfaction. "Excellent execution, Uravity. The police jammers have been deactivated. Local authorities are en route. But more importantly... the news choppers just arrived."

 

Outside the shattered windows of the bank, the deafening thwip-thwip-thwip of helicopter blades chopped through the air. Spotlights pierced the gloom of the lobby, illuminating Ochaco in her sleek armor.

 

"Walk outside," Izuku instructed. "Protocol Two. Let them see the product."

 

Ochaco walked toward the shattered entrance of the bank. The police had finally arrived, setting up barricades, their guns drawn, entirely unsure of what had transpired inside. Behind them, a swarm of news vans had screeched to a halt, reporters spilling out with cameras flashing.

 

Ochaco stepped out into the sunlight.

 

The police lowered their weapons. The reporters surged forward against the barricades.

 

"It's a hero!" a reporter screamed into her microphone. "The villains have been subdued! Can we get a statement?! What agency are you with?! That takedown was flawless! Who are you?!"

 

Ochaco stood tall. The paralyzing anxiety that usually plagued her was entirely gone, replaced by a surging, euphoric confidence. She was a weapon, and she had just been perfectly wielded.

 

She looked directly into the lens of the nearest television camera.

 

She didn't stammer. She didn't blush.

 

She reached up and tapped the stylized, minimalist green shield logo emblazoned on the shoulder of her armor.

 

"I am the Pro Hero Uravity," Ochaco said, her voice ringing clear and steady over the chaos. "And I am exclusively sponsored by D.E.K.U. Technology."

 

 

 

Miles away, in the dingy industrial district, the D.E.K.U. garage was dead silent.

 

Izuku Midoriya sat back in his ergonomic chair, staring at the wall of monitors. Every single screen was broadcasting the news feed. Ochaco’s face, fierce and confident, was plastered across every major network in Japan. The reporters were already zooming in on the hardened kinetic nets, marveling at the unknown technology that had restrained a mutant-class villain without a scratch.

 

Mei Hatsume stood beside him, a half-eaten protein bar frozen halfway to her mouth.

 

"Boss," Mei whispered, her yellow eyes wide. "Did... did we just do that?"

 

"No, Hatsume," Izuku said softly, a terrifyingly sharp smile carving its way across his face. "We just started."

 

For ten seconds, the garage remained perfectly quiet.

 

Then, the landline on Izuku’s desk—a number only provided to elite hero agencies and corporate investors—let out a sharp ring.

 

Izuku didn't move to answer it.

 

Before the first ring could even finish, his encrypted cell phone buzzed violently on the desk.

 

Then, a ping echoed from the computer speakers. An email had arrived. Then another. Then five more.

 

Within thirty seconds, the garage was a cacophony of ringing phones, buzzing alerts, and incoming notifications. The D.E.K.U. server was being flooded.

 

Mei dropped her protein bar. "Holy crap! It's the Kamui Woods agency! And the Ryukyu agency! They're all asking for the Aegis-Net!"

 

Izuku slowly reached out and picked up his cell phone. The caller ID read: Endeavor Hero Agency - Procurement Division.

 

The Number Two Hero in the world.

 

Izuku’s smile widened, reaching his eyes, which burned with the cold, calculated fire of a boy who had just conquered his first kingdom.

 

He hit the accept button and brought the phone to his ear.

 

"D.E.K.U. Executive Office. Midoriya speaking," Izuku answered smoothly. "Yes, I saw the broadcast. I'm glad you liked the demonstration. But unfortunately, the Aegis-Net is currently on backorder. However... if you're willing to discuss a premium licensing fee, I might be able to find a prototype in the back."

 

Izuku met Mei’s eyes across the chaotic, ringing room.

 

The era of Quirks dictating society was over. The era of the board of directors had begun.