what if deku was in spy kids

 

The soft, rhythmic hum of a customized cooling fan was the only sound in the dimly lit bedroom. The digital clock on the bedside table blinked 3:14 AM in neon red, casting a faint crimson glow over a space that could only be described as a shrine to the impossible.

 

Izuku Midoriya sat hunched over his desk, a small pen light clamped between his teeth, his hand moving furiously across the lined pages of a thick, spiral-bound notebook. The cover read Spy Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13 in messy, hurried kanji.

 

His bedroom walls were virtually invisible, completely plastered with posters, newspaper clippings, and printed holographic stills. But these weren't posters of pop stars or pro athletes. They were the world’s true celebrities: the elite operatives of the OSS, the Organization of Super Spies.

 

Directly above his desk was a massive, life-sized poster of the man, the myth, the legend himself—Agent All Might. The poster captured him in mid-air, a grappling hook soaring from his wrist-mounted launcher, his golden hair slicked back, a blinding, confident smile practically radiating from the glossy paper. Beneath the image, his famous catchphrase was emblazoned in bold, patriotic lettering: FEAR NOT, CITIZENS! FOR I AM HERE!

 

Izuku lowered the pen, exhaling a long, shaky breath. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his green curls sticking to his skin. He adjusted the desk lamp, illuminating the meticulous sketches he had just completed.

 

It was a schematic of All Might’s signature gadget, the ‘Texas Smash’ shockwave gauntlet. Izuku had spent the last four hours re-watching a blurry, leaked video of All Might taking down the Toxic Chainsaw syndicate in Seattle. He hadn't been watching the fight for entertainment. He had been counting the frames. He analyzed the exact compression of the pneumatic cylinders on the agent's forearms, calculating the exact amount of localized kinetic energy required to shatter a reinforced titanium vault door without blowing off the user's arm.

 

“The recoil dampeners have to be built into the shoulder harness,” Izuku muttered to himself, his voice a gravelly whisper in the quiet of the night. “If the kinetic blast is expelled outward at three hundred miles per hour, the blowback would shatter an ordinary collarbone. So, All Might must be wearing a specialized kinetic-absorbent undersuit. Probably an interwoven carbon-nanotube mesh. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

 

He scribbled the hypothesis into the margins of his notebook, his handwriting tight and frantic. This was what Izuku did. In a world where global security was maintained in the shadows by beautiful, impossibly skilled men and women in tailored suits, Izuku was a ghost looking in through a stained-glass window.

 

He didn't have the genetics to be a spy. He knew that. The world knew that.

 

In this era, the OSS recruited only the absolute pinnacle of human potential. They looked for children with photographic memories, Olympic-level agility by age ten, innate polyglot abilities, and a psychological resilience that bordered on the superhuman. These prodigies were scouted early, groomed in secret academies, and turned into the protectors of the free world.

 

Izuku was just… Izuku.

 

He was painfully short for a fourteen-year-old. His arms were entirely devoid of muscle, looking more like pale twigs than limbs capable of pulling a person up a grappling rope. He had terrible eyesight, requiring thick, round glasses whenever he read for too long. His stamina was abysmal; a short jog to the train station left him wheezing. He was the definition of average. The medical community had a term for it—a baseline civilian. When he was four years old, a doctor had pointed to an X-ray of Izuku’s foot, showing an extra joint in his pinky toe. It was a vestigial trait, proof of a thoroughly ordinary evolutionary lineage. “He’s totally normal,” the doctor had told his mother. “You should probably tell him to give up on those espionage fantasies. The OSS only takes the genetically gifted.”

 

Izuku closed the notebook, tracing the worn cardboard cover with his thumb. Spy Analysis for the Future. The title felt like a cruel joke tonight.

 

"I just want to help people," Izuku whispered to the empty room, looking up at the poster of All Might. The golden-haired agent smiled back, unchanging, unblinking. "I don't care if I don't get a fancy codename. I don't care if I don't get the tailored tuxedos. I just want to be brave."

 

A soft knock on the door made him jump, nearly knocking his ink bottle over.

 

"Izuku? Sweetie?"

 

It was his mother, Inko Midoriya. The door creaked open, revealing a plump, kind-faced woman in a fluffy green bathrobe. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, and she looked at him with a mixture of immense love and deep worry.

 

"Mom! I—I was just studying," Izuku stammered, hurriedly tossing a math textbook over his spy notebook.

 

Inko smiled gently, stepping into the room. She moved with a strange, silent grace that Izuku never really noticed, her footsteps making absolutely no sound against the hardwood floor. "Izuku, it's almost four in the morning. You have school tomorrow. And don't forget, we have a very important dinner tomorrow evening. The Cortez family is coming over."

 

"Right," Izuku rubbed his tired eyes beneath his glasses. "Uncle Gregorio and Aunt Ingrid. Are Carmen and Juni coming too?"

 

"Of course," Inko said, stepping forward to adjust Izuku’s collar, her fingers lingering warmly on his cheek. "It’s been years since you’ve seen them. Gregorio's consultancy firm has kept them traveling all over the world. It will be nice for you to reconnect with kids your own age. Now, to bed. No more analyzing."

 

She reached out and, with a quick, deft flick of her wrist that seemed almost too fast to track, switched off his desk lamp.

 

"Okay, Mom. Goodnight."

 

"Goodnight, my little hero," Inko whispered, kissing his forehead before slipping out of the room.

 

As the door clicked shut, Izuku lay back in his bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling. The Cortez family. He remembered Carmen as a bossy, confident girl who always made him play the "hostage" in their games of pretend, and Juni as a quiet boy who liked to watch strange children's television shows. They were normal, just like him. It would be nice to have a normal evening, far away from the pressures of the elite spy world he so desperately wished to be a part of.

 

If only he knew how entirely wrong he was.

 

 

 

The morning sun over Musutafu was blindingly bright, reflecting off the gleaming glass and steel skyscrapers that dominated the city’s skyline. Musutafu was a hub of technological advancement, a city where the modern world seemed to be moving at a hundred miles a minute.

 

Izuku walked to Aldera Middle School with his head down, the weight of his yellow backpack pressing into his shoulders. The streets were bustling with commuters. As always, Izuku couldn't help himself. His eyes darted from person to person, his analytical mind involuntarily categorizing them.

 

The man in the grey suit at the corner. He’s reading a newspaper, but he hasn't turned the page in five minutes. His left hand is resting inside his jacket pocket, near the lapel. A concealed weapon? No, probably just a wallet. The woman at the bus stop. She’s wearing sunglasses, but it’s an overcast morning. Her shoes are sensible, flat, good for running. OSS operative? ...No, she just tripped over the curb.

 

Izuku sighed, scuffing his iconic red sneakers against the pavement. He was projecting. He saw spies everywhere because he wanted to see them everywhere.

 

When he arrived at Aldera Middle School, the atmosphere was thick with the usual teenage anxiety and rowdiness. The classroom was a cacophony of thrown paper airplanes, loud gossip, and screeching chair legs. Izuku slipped into his desk near the back, pulling out his notebook and a mechanical pencil, trying to make himself as small as possible.

 

The homeroom teacher, a balding man with a perpetually exhausted expression, walked in and slammed a stack of papers onto his podium. The class slowly quieted down.

 

"Alright, settle down," the teacher droned. "As you all know, you're in your final year of middle school. It's time to start thinking seriously about your futures. I have your career aptitude forms right here."

 

He picked up the stack of papers, then paused, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. He dramatically tossed the entire stack over his shoulder, sending the papers fluttering to the floor.

 

"But who am I kidding? You all want to go into the intelligence sector, right?!"

 

The classroom erupted. Students leaped from their desks, cheering. One kid mimicked firing a laser watch; another did a clumsy combat roll across the aisle. Everyone wanted to be an agent. The money, the fame, the thrill of saving the world from cartoonishly evil masterminds.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have big dreams," the teacher said, waving them down. "But let's be realistic. Only the absolute top zero-point-one percent of the population even gets an interview for the OSS support tracks, let alone the operative program."

 

The teacher’s eyes scanned the room, settling on a boy sitting near the window, his feet propped disrespectfully up on his desk.

 

"However," the teacher's tone shifted to one of deep reverence. "It seems Aldera Middle School has produced a true prodigy this year. Katsuki Bakugo."

 

The room went dead silent. Izuku felt his stomach drop, an icy dread pooling in his gut. He looked over at the blonde-haired boy. Katsuki Bakugo. They had known each other since they were toddlers in diapers. Back then, they were just 'Kacchan' and 'Deku.' But as they grew, the gap between them widened into an uncrossable chasm.

 

Bakugo was practically bred for the OSS. He was a physical marvel. He held every athletic record in the school. He had a genius-level intellect when it came to tactical combat and situational awareness. His reflexes were inhuman; he once caught a baseball line-drive aimed at the back of his head without even turning around. But more than that, he had the killer instinct. The raw, unyielding aggression that the OSS Black Ops divisions salivated over.

 

"Bakugo," the teacher continued, holding up a sleek, black envelope stamped with the silver insignia of an eagle gripping a globe. "I received official word this morning. You've been accepted into the OSS Junior Cadet Program at U.A. Academy. You bypassed the written exams entirely based on your physical assessment scores alone."

 

The class erupted again, this time in genuine awe. U.A. Academy was the premiere training ground for the OSS. It was where Agent All Might himself had trained.

 

Bakugo didn't smile. He just scoffed, his crimson eyes narrowing in arrogance. He kicked his feet off the desk and stood up, looking around the room as if everyone else was an insect.

 

"Of course I did," Bakugo's voice was rough, dripping with confidence. "I'm not like the rest of you rejects. You're all going to end up pushing papers in some boring corporate office. I'm going to be the top agent in the world. I'm going to surpass All Might, and I'm going to make a fortune doing it. I'm the only one from this garbage school with the genetics to make it."

 

Izuku shrank down in his seat, trying to hide behind the student in front of him. He desperately wanted to be invisible.

 

"Oh, right," the teacher said, looking at his clipboard. "Midoriya. Didn't you apply for U.A. as well?"

 

The silence that fell over the room was absolute. For a second, nobody moved. Then, someone snickered. Then another. Within seconds, the entire classroom was howling with laughter.

 

"Midoriya? The quirkless wonder?!"

"He can't even do ten pushups without passing out!"

"What's he going to do, bore the enemy to death by reading them his notebooks?"

 

Izuku felt his face burn with a deep, humiliating crimson. He gripped his pencil so hard his knuckles turned white.

 

"It—It's not impossible!" Izuku stammered, his voice cracking, barely audible over the laughter. "They abolished the physical baseline rule two years ago! I... I could get in through the tactical analysis division! I want to help people!"

 

Suddenly, a massive force slammed into Izuku's desk. The wood cracked, and Izuku tumbled backward out of his chair, hitting the floor hard. He looked up, his heart pounding in his chest.

 

Bakugo was standing over him, his fist smoking slightly from the sheer friction of how hard he had struck the desk. His red eyes glared down at Izuku with a mixture of absolute disgust and rage.

 

"Listen to me, Deku," Bakugo growled, using the insulting nickname that meant 'useless'. "You don't have a single drop of talent in your entire body. You have no athletic ability. You have no combat sense. You're a liability. If you ever stepped onto a battlefield, you'd get yourself killed, and worse, you'd get your partner killed."

 

Bakugo reached down and snatched Izuku's notebook off the desk. Spy Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13.

 

"Kacchan, please, give that back!" Izuku pleaded, scrambling to his feet.

 

Bakugo flipped through the pages, his sneer deepening. "What is this garbage? Gadget schematics? Behavioral analysis of terrorists? You think knowing this crap makes you a spy? Spies don't read books, Deku. We take action. We break bones. We win."

 

With a sudden, violent motion, Bakugo clamped his hands on either side of the notebook and ripped. The thick spine tore, pages scattering like dead leaves.

 

"No!" Izuku cried out.

 

Not satisfied, Bakugo walked over to the open classroom window. "You want to be a hero, Deku? Here's a tip. Wake up, realize you're a worthless civilian, and pray you get better genetics in your next life."

 

He tossed the ruined notebook out the window. It fell three stories, landing with a depressing splash into the school’s decorative koi pond.

 

Bakugo turned his back on Izuku and walked back to his desk. The teacher coughed awkwardly, clearly intimidated by Bakugo, and clapped his hands. "Alright, alright, back to your seats. Let's begin the lesson."

 

Izuku stood frozen in the back of the room. He didn't cry. He was too numb to cry. He just stared out the window at the ripples in the koi pond, feeling smaller than he ever had in his entire life.

 

 

 

The walk home that afternoon felt like a march to the gallows. The sky had clouded over, a dreary gray matching Izuku's internal state.

 

He had retrieved his notebook from the pond. It was ruined. The ink had bled across the pages, turning his meticulous schematics and hopeful notes into an illegible blue blur. He held the soggy cardboard against his chest, staring blankly at the pavement as he walked.

 

Bakugo's words echoed in his head, a relentless drumbeat of reality. You're a liability. You're a worthless civilian. Pray you get better genetics.

 

Izuku stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Across the street, a massive digital billboard was playing an advertisement for the OSS. It showed a montage of elite agents skydiving from stealth jets, engaging in sleek hand-to-hand combat in rain-slicked neon alleys, and driving sports cars that transformed into submarines.

 

"Why can't I just give up?" Izuku whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "Everyone tells me I can't do it. Science tells me I can't do it. Why do I still want it so badly?"

 

He remembered being a little boy, wrapped in a blanket on the living room floor, watching the news footage of a massive disaster. A terrorist organization known as the 'Vanguard' had hijacked a monorail. Hundreds of hostages. The local police were powerless. And then, he arrived. Agent All Might, smiling fearlessly as he dismantled the bombs, evacuated the hostages, and incapacitated the terrorists, all within ten minutes.

 

Little Izuku had turned to his mother, his eyes shining with tears. "Mom... can I be a hero too? Can someone who is totally normal... save people like that?"

 

He remembered his mother pulling him into a desperate, crushing hug, crying into his hair, apologizing over and over. "I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm so sorry."

 

She hadn't said yes. She had apologized. Because she knew the world was cruel, and it didn't deal in dreams. It dealt in cold, hard reality.

 

The crosswalk light chimed softly, breaking him from his reverie. Izuku took a deep breath, clutching his ruined notebook tighter, and crossed the street. He needed to pull himself together. His parents were hosting the Cortez family tonight, and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin their evening with his pathetic depression.

 

As Izuku approached his apartment complex, a modest brick building in a quiet suburb, he noticed something odd. Parked down the street, obscured by the shadows of the elm trees, was a sleek, matte-black sedan with heavily tinted windows. It didn't have a license plate. Instead, a tiny, barely noticeable barcode was etched into the bumper.

 

Izuku’s analytical mind, trained by years of obsessive study, instantly flagged it. The tires are reinforced rubber, probably bulletproof. The chassis sits slightly lower than a standard sedan—it’s weighed down by heavy armor plating. And the engine block is too large for that model. That’s a pursuit vehicle.

 

He shook his head, slapping his own cheeks. "Stop it, Izuku. You're being paranoid. It's just a rich person's car. Not everything is a spy conspiracy."

 

He hurried inside the building and took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

 

As he approached the door to Apartment 402, he could smell the incredible aroma of his mother’s cooking. Roast pork, garlic, ginger, and something sweet baking in the oven. It smelled like home. It smelled safe.

 

He reached for the doorknob, but paused. The door was cracked open a fraction of an inch.

 

Izuku frowned. His mother was meticulous about security; she always double-locked the door. Always. He pushed the door open gently, intending to call out to her.

 

"...I don't care what Director Devlin says, this is an absolute violation of our severance agreement!"

 

Izuku froze in the entryway. The voice came from the kitchen. It was his mother. But... it didn't sound like his mother.

 

Inko Midoriya was a soft-spoken woman who apologized when she bumped into furniture. She sounded perpetually anxious and incredibly gentle.

 

The voice coming from the kitchen was steel. It was sharp, authoritative, and terrifyingly calm.

 

Izuku slipped off his shoes without making a sound—a habit he had developed from years of trying to sneak past bullies—and crept down the hallway, peering around the corner into the kitchen.

 

What he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

 

His mother was standing by the kitchen island. She wasn't wearing her usual apron. She was wearing a sleek, dark turtleneck. But that wasn't the shocking part.

 

Floating three inches above the kitchen counter was a glowing blue hologram of a man's head. The projection was originating from a silver, high-tech communicator watch strapped to Inko's left wrist. Izuku recognized the device instantly from his spy blogs. It was an Omega-Class OSS encrypted communicator. A piece of technology so advanced, it was highly illegal for civilians to even possess a photograph of it.

 

The holographic man looked stressed. He was wearing a sharp suit, and the background behind him looked like a massive, high-tech command center.

 

"Agent Emerald," the man said, his voice crackling slightly through the transmission. "You know I wouldn't contact you if it wasn't a Code Black scenario. The situation has escalated beyond our control."

 

Izuku's brain short-circuited. Agent Emerald? Who is Agent Emerald? Is he talking to Mom?!

 

"Hisashi and I have been retired for ten years, Devlin," Inko snapped, her eyes narrowing with a ferocity Izuku had never seen in her. "We gave you our best years. We gave you everything. We left the life to raise our son. You promised us we would never be called back."

 

"I know the terms of your retirement, Inko," Director Devlin said, rubbing his temples. "But this isn't a standard mission. We have a breach in the highest echelon. Seven of our top operatives have vanished in the last forty-eight hours."

 

Inko’s posture shifted. She didn't gasp or panic. She simply crossed her arms, her tactical mind clearly shifting gears. "Who?"

 

Devlin took a deep breath. "Agent Midnight. Agent Kamui. Agent Mirko. And..." Devlin paused, looking pained. "...Agent All Might."

 

In the hallway, Izuku accidentally dropped his ruined notebook. It hit the floor with a wet, heavy slap.

 

The reaction in the kitchen was instantaneous and terrifying.

 

Before Izuku could even blink, Inko had spun around. The hologram vanished. In a blur of motion that defied physics, she reached under the counter, pulled out a sleek, silver, suppressed tranquilizer pistol, and aimed it directly at the hallway, her stance a perfect weaver combat pose.

 

"Identify yourself," Inko commanded, her voice cold as ice.

 

Izuku stood frozen, staring down the barrel of a gun held by his mother. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

 

"M-Mom?" Izuku squeaked, raising his trembling hands in the air.

 

Inko's eyes went wide. The cold, lethal spy vanished in an instant, replaced by the panicked, loving mother Izuku knew. She hastily shoved the gun into a hidden compartment under the sink and rushed forward.

 

"Izuku! Oh my goodness, Izuku, sweetie, you're home early!" Inko stammered, her voice returning to its normal, high-pitched octave. She ran her hands over her turtleneck, trying to act casual, though a nervous sweat was beading on her forehead. "I—I was just... practicing for a play! Yes, a community theater play! It's a sci-fi thriller!"

 

Izuku slowly lowered his hands, his wide, emerald eyes staring at the space where the hologram had been, then at the sink where the gun was hidden. His hyper-analytical brain was piecing the puzzle together at lightspeed.

 

The martial-arts precision of her cooking. The absolute silence of her footsteps. The way my father is always away on 'business trips' in foreign countries. The way we miraculously afford to live in this district despite Dad's vaguely defined 'consulting' job. The unlisted sedan outside.

 

"Mom..." Izuku breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you... a spy?"

 

Inko swallowed hard, looking at her son. She opened her mouth to lie, to weave a cover story, to protect him from the dangerous world she had left behind.

 

Before she could speak, the front door swung open.

 

"Honey, I'm home!"

 

Hisashi Midoriya walked in. He was a tall man with slightly curly black hair, wearing a sharp grey suit. He looked like an ordinary, slightly tired businessman. He was carrying a briefcase in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

 

"Traffic was terrible," Hisashi chuckled, kicking off his shoes. "I think someone rear-ended a truck on the bridge. Hey, Izuku, how was school?"

 

Izuku just stared at his father, his mind racing.

 

Inko looked at Hisashi, her face pale. She subtly tapped her wrist, where the communicator watch was hidden beneath her sleeve. Hisashi's relaxed demeanor instantly evaporated. His posture straightened, his eyes darting to the kitchen sink, then to Izuku, then back to Inko. A silent, high-speed conversation passed between the two parents in a fraction of a second.

 

"They found him," Inko said, her voice dropping the motherly facade once again. "Devlin called. Code Black. All Might is gone."

 

Hisashi dropped the briefcase. It hit the floor and popped open. It wasn't filled with paperwork. It was packed to the brim with passports in various names, stacks of unmarked foreign currency, and specialized tactical gear.

 

"Dammit," Hisashi swore under his breath, loosening his tie. "Floop. It has to be Floop."

 

"Dad?" Izuku squeaked, feeling the world spinning around him. "You too?"

 

Hisashi looked at his son, a profound sadness in his eyes. "Izuku... listen to me. We wanted to tell you. We really did. But the number one rule of the OSS is that family comes second to the mission. We retired so we could put you first. We wanted you to have a normal life."

 

Izuku felt a sudden, irrational surge of anger. "Normal? You wanted me to be normal?! My whole life, I've been laughed at because I'm just a useless civilian! Because I don't have the genetics to be an agent! And you're telling me both of my parents are... are OSS operatives?!"

 

"Not just operatives, Izuku," a new voice boomed from the doorway.

 

Izuku whipped around. Standing in the entryway was a tall, distinguished man with a neatly trimmed mustache, wearing a tuxedo. Beside him was a breathtakingly elegant woman in a red evening gown.

 

It was Gregorio and Ingrid Cortez.

 

"Your parents were the best," Gregorio said, stepping into the apartment with a warm but serious smile. "Hisashi 'Dragonbreath' Midoriya and Inko 'The Emerald Phantom' Midoriya. They were the most lethal duo in the European theater until Ingrid and I came along."

 

"Gregorio," Hisashi greeted his old friend, a grim smile on his face. "I assume you got the call too."

 

"We did," Ingrid said, stepping forward to hug Inko. "The dinner party is officially canceled, I'm afraid. We have to move."

 

"Move where?" Izuku demanded, feeling entirely out of his depth.

 

Suddenly, two figures shoved past Gregorio and Ingrid.

 

"Move out of the way, I need to find the bathroom, I'm gonna throw up from that submarine ride!"

 

It was a girl, about fifteen years old, with dark hair and a fiercely confident expression, wearing a stylish leather jacket. Behind her trailed a slightly younger boy with curly hair, looking around the apartment with wide, anxious eyes, clutching a strange electronic gadget in his hands.

 

Carmen and Juni Cortez.

 

"Carmen, Juni," Izuku said, staring at his childhood friends. They looked entirely different from the toddlers he remembered. They looked... capable.

 

"Hey, Izuku," Carmen said, giving him a quick, appraising look. "Nice glasses. You look like a nerd. Are we using the escape pods yet?"

 

"Escape pods?!" Izuku yelled, his voice cracking.

 

"There's no time," Gregorio said, his tone turning deadly serious. He pulled a sleek device from his pocket that looked like a modified smartphone and tossed it to Hisashi. "The safehouse in San Inocencio is prepped. We drop the kids there, and then the four of us head to Floop's coordinates."

 

"Wait, you're leaving?!" Izuku panicked, rushing forward. "You can't just leave! You're retired! You said it yourself, Mom!"

 

Inko knelt down in front of Izuku, taking his trembling hands in hers. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Izuku... there is a bad man. A very bad man named Fegan Floop. He has taken our friends. He has taken All Might. If we don't go, the world is in terrible danger."

 

"But I can help!" Izuku pleaded. "I've studied them! I know All Might's combat patterns, I know the tactical layouts of—"

 

"No, Izuku," Hisashi said firmly, placing a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Espionage isn't a notebook. It's life and death. You have a brilliant mind, son. But out there? In the field? They will tear you apart. You are staying with Carmen and Juni at the safehouse. Do you understand?"

 

Izuku felt the familiar, crushing weight of rejection. Even his own parents, the greatest spies in the world, looked at him and saw a liability. A civilian. Someone who needed to be hidden away while the real heroes did the work.

 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down. "I understand."

 

"Good," Gregorio said. "Now, pack your bags. We have exactly four minutes before Floop's Thumb Thumbs track our signal to this location."

 

"Thumb Thumbs?" Izuku asked, looking up in confusion.

 

Before anyone could answer, the front wall of the apartment exploded.

 

Plaster, brick, and dust violently erupted into the living room, throwing everyone to the floor. The deafening roar of the explosion rattled Izuku's teeth. The fire alarm instantly began shrieking, water spraying from the ceiling sprinklers.

 

Through the massive, smoking hole in their fourth-floor wall, a transport chopper hovered outside, its searchlights blindingly bright. And repelling down ropes into their living room were the most bizarre, terrifying creatures Izuku had ever seen.

 

They were massive, towering over six feet tall, dressed in matching red uniforms. But they didn't have heads. Or arms. Or normal bodies. They were literally giant, muscular thumbs. A giant thumb for a head, a giant thumb for a torso, and thick, beefy thumbs for arms and legs.

 

"Thumb Thumbs!" Juni screamed, diving behind the sofa.

 

"Code Red!" Hisashi roared. In a flash, he drew a small, cylindrical device from his pocket, clicked a button, and it instantly expanded into a bo-staff crackling with electrical energy.

 

Inko didn't even flinch. She backflipped over the kitchen counter as one of the Thumb Thumbs lunged at her, kicking off the wall and landing a devastating spin-kick to the creature's midsection, sending it crashing through the television.

 

Gregorio and Ingrid were already moving in perfect synchronization. Ingrid tossed a handful of metallic spheres onto the floor, which exploded into blinding flashes of light, disorienting the invaders. Gregorio drew two modified laser-pistols, laying down precise suppressing fire.

 

It was a ballet of violence. Izuku lay on the floor, absolutely paralyzed, watching his parents—the gentle woman who packed his lunches, and the tired man who fell asleep reading the newspaper—fight with the lethal precision of elite assassins.

 

"Izuku! Move!" Carmen yelled, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him toward the hallway.

 

"We have to help them!" Izuku shouted, struggling against her grip.

 

"Are you an idiot?!" Carmen snapped, pulling him toward a bookshelf at the end of the hall. "We don't have weapons! We're liabilities right now!"

 

The word hit Izuku like a physical blow. Liability. She was right.

 

Inko fought her way to the hallway, deflecting a heavy punch from a Thumb Thumb. She slammed her hand against a hidden panel on the wall next to the bookshelf.

 

The bookshelf split open, revealing a dark, metallic shaft with three sleek, egg-shaped metal pods sitting inside.

 

"Get in the pods!" Inko ordered, her voice cutting through the chaos.

 

"Mom, please!" Izuku cried, tears streaming down his face.

 

"Izuku, look at me," Inko commanded, grabbing his face with both hands. Her eyes were fierce, filled with an unyielding strength. "You are my son. You are smarter than anyone I know. Keep Carmen and Juni safe. Do you hear me? Be brave."

 

She kissed his forehead, shoved him into the first pod, and hit a red button on the wall.

 

The glass hatch slammed shut over Izuku, sealing him inside. He pounded his fists against the glass, screaming for his mother, but the soundproofing of the pod muted his cries. He watched in slow motion as two more Thumb Thumbs tackled his father to the ground, Hisashi dropping his bo-staff. He saw Gregorio and Ingrid get surrounded.

 

And then, he saw Inko give him one last, reassuring smile before turning back to the fight.

 

The pod suddenly lurched, violently dropping into the darkness. Izuku was pressed deep into the seat by the G-force as the pod accelerated down a hidden subterranean chute, hurtling away from his home, his parents, and his normal life.

 

Above him, the apartment was lost to the shadows. Below him was an unknown destination.

 

Izuku Midoriya, the quirkless, talentless middle schooler who obsessively analyzed heroes, was plummeting headfirst into the world of espionage.

 

He didn't have super genetics. He didn't have martial arts training. He didn't even have his notebook. All he had was a head full of tactical data and a desperate, burning desire to save his parents.

 

The boy who wanted to be a spy was about to get his wish.

 

The descent was a violent, stomach-churning plunge into absolute darkness.

 

Inside the metal confines of the escape pod, Izuku Midoriya was pinned against the ergonomic, shock-absorbent gel seat by the sheer magnitude of G-force. His teeth rattled in his skull. The breath was stolen from his lungs, trapped behind a wall of pure panic. Outside the thick, reinforced glass of the pod’s visor, sparks shrieked against the metal hull as the capsule hurtled down a subterranean magnetic rail system at what felt like a hundred miles an hour.

 

Red light. Flashing. Flashing. Flashing.

 

An automated female voice, smooth and terrifyingly calm, echoed through the small cabin. "Descent trajectory confirmed. Magnetic dampeners at seventy percent. ETA to Safehouse Alpha: two minutes. Please remain seated. Do not attempt to open the cabin door."

 

Izuku couldn't have opened the door if he wanted to. His limbs felt like they were made of lead. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribcage, loud enough to drown out the screeching of the rails.

 

He closed his eyes, but the darkness behind his eyelids only offered a canvas for the nightmare he had just witnessed.

 

His mother. Sweet, anxious, overly protective Inko Midoriya, who cried when she dropped a plate and fretted over Izuku scraping his knees. He saw her backflipping off a wall, moving with the lethal, fluid grace of an apex predator. He saw her holding a suppressed firearm without a single tremble in her fingers. The Emerald Phantom.

 

His father. The tired businessman who fell asleep on the couch watching the evening news, complaining about spreadsheet errors and long commutes. He saw him wielding a high-voltage bo-staff, taking down a grotesque, thumb-shaped monster with the cold precision of a veteran commando. Hisashi 'Dragonbreath' Midoriya.

 

Thumb Thumbs.

 

The image of those grotesque, fleshy abominations made Izuku’s stomach pitch violently. He remembered them from an online cryptid forum he used to browse for rumored bio-weapons. They were considered a myth, a joke among the conspiracy theorists. They were supposedly the foot soldiers of Fegan Floop, the eccentric, reclusive host of the bizarre children's television program, Floop's Fooglies.

 

"It doesn't make sense," Izuku muttered, his voice barely a squeak over the roar of the pod. His hands gripped the armrests so tightly his knuckles were bone-white. "Floop is a TV host. A weird one, but... a TV host. Why does he have a private army? Why is he kidnapping OSS operatives? Why did he take Agent All Might?!"

 

“...the number one rule of the OSS is that family comes second to the mission. We retired so we could put you first.” His father's words echoed in his mind.

 

They had lied to him. For fourteen years, his entire life had been a meticulously constructed cover story. The times they couldn't attend his school plays, the sudden moves when he was a toddler, the inexplicable wealth that kept them in a high-end apartment despite his father's "consulting" job—it all clicked together like the tumblers of a vault lock.

 

Izuku felt a hot tear slide down his cheek, trailing over his freckles. He wasn't sure if he was crying out of fear, betrayal, or an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Even knowing they were spies, they had still looked at him—their own son—and deemed him a civilian. A liability. They had stuffed him in a pod and sent him away because he wasn't strong enough, fast enough, or genetically gifted enough to stand beside them.

 

"Be brave," his mother had told him.

 

"How?" Izuku sobbed to the empty pod. "I don't have a quirk. I don't have spy genetics. I'm just Deku."

 

Suddenly, the pod’s trajectory shifted. The vertical drop curved into a sharp horizontal trajectory. The G-force slammed Izuku forward against the heavy five-point harness strapped across his chest. The automated voice chimed again.

 

"Approaching terminus. Engaging repulsor brakes. Brace for impact."

 

Izuku braced his arms against the sides of the pod, clenching his jaw.

 

The deceleration was brutal. A massive, metallic groan reverberated through the capsule as the magnetic brakes engaged. The pod shuddered violently, throwing Izuku back into his seat, then forward again, before finally, mercifully, sliding to a smooth halt.

 

A loud hiss of pressurized air released, and the glass hatch of the pod unsealed, popping upward like the wing of a sports car.

 

Izuku didn't move at first. His hands were shaking too violently to unbuckle the harness. He took three deep, ragged breaths, trying to force his heart rate down. Observe your surroundings, his analytical brain whispered, a coping mechanism forged from years of hyper-fixating on hero and spy documentaries. Gather data. Assess the threat level.

 

He fumbled with the central buckle of his harness. With a solid clack, the straps retracted. Izuku shakily stood up, his legs feeling like overcooked noodles, and stepped out of the pod.

 

He was standing on a sleek, grated metal walkway in pitch darkness. The only light came from the emergency red LEDs running along the baseboards. The air was cool, smelling faintly of ozone, machine oil, and sea salt.

 

Sea salt? Izuku thought, his brow furrowing. Musutafu is coastal, but the subterranean water table is fresh. If there's a sea salt smell, we must be beneath the bay. An underwater installation?

 

Before he could theorize further, two loud metallic thuds echoed through the cavernous space.

 

Hiss. Pop.

Hiss. Pop.

 

Two more escape pods had arrived on adjacent rails, their hatches swinging open simultaneously.

 

"Ugh, I'm gonna be sick," a shaky voice groaned from the pod to Izuku's left. A mop of curly brown hair emerged, followed by a pale, terrified face. Juni Cortez stumbled out of his pod, clutching his stomach, his knees buckling the moment his boots hit the grated floor.

 

"Juni!" Izuku called out, his voice echoing in the vast, dark space. He rushed over to the younger boy, offering a hand. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

 

Juni looked up, his eyes wide and trembling behind his own set of gadgets. "Izuku? Oh, man, I thought I was dead. I thought we were all dead. Did you see those things?! They had no heads! How do they see? How do they eat?!"

 

"Quiet, both of you," a sharp, authoritative voice hissed from the third pod.

 

Carmen Cortez leaped gracefully from her pod, landing perfectly on her feet. Unlike Izuku and Juni, who looked like ruffled, terrified messes, Carmen looked angry. Her dark hair was slightly messy, but her jaw was set, her eyes darting around the dark room, searching for threats.

 

"Where are we?" Carmen demanded, walking toward them. She reached into her leather jacket and pulled out a small, cylindrical flashlight, clicking it on. The beam cut through the gloom, illuminating towering silhouettes of massive machines and endless rows of metal crates.

 

"The pod's computer said 'Safehouse Alpha,'" Izuku replied, adjusting his glasses, which had gone askew during the ride. "Judging by the descent time, the velocity, and the distinct smell of the air, I calculate we're roughly four hundred feet below Musutafu Bay. This is an off-the-grid OSS emergency bunker."

 

Carmen shined the flashlight directly into Izuku's eyes. "Nerd. I didn't ask for a geography lesson. I asked what this place is."

 

Izuku winced, shielding his eyes. "I just told you. It's a safehouse."

 

"Well, it's too dark," Juni whimpered, clutching Izuku’s sleeve. "I don't like the dark. Floop's Fooglies hide in the dark."

 

"Floop's Fooglies are a TV show, Juni. Grow up," Carmen snapped, though her voice wavered slightly, betraying her own fear. She swept the flashlight beam across the walls. "There has to be a light switch or a breaker box. Spies wouldn't just stumble around in the dark."

 

"It won't be a standard switch," Izuku said, his analytical mind kicking into high gear. He stepped away from Juni, his eyes scanning the dim red emergency lights. The fear was still there, a cold lump in his stomach, but the puzzle in front of him was an anchor. "The OSS uses biometric security for all Code Black installations. If this safehouse was jointly operated by our parents, their biometrics would be registered. But they aren't here."

 

"So we're stuck in the dark?" Carmen crossed her arms.

 

"No," Izuku muttered, walking toward a large, imposing steel door at the end of the walkway. Next to the door was a sleek, black glass panel. "The OSS handbook—well, the leaked 2012 manifesto that a hacker dumped on the dark web, which I cross-referenced with Agent Mirko's autobiography—states that all Tier-1 safehouses have a familial override protocol in case operatives are KIA and their dependents need extraction."

 

Carmen stared at him. "You read dark web spy manifestos in your free time?"

 

"I... I take notes," Izuku mumbled defensively, feeling his cheeks heat up. He stepped up to the black glass panel. "If I'm right, this panel should recognize our DNA signatures, or at least our retinal patterns, based on our parents' profiles."

 

Izuku leaned in close to the glass panel.

 

Instantly, a horizontal green laser swept across his face.

 

"Retinal scan in progress," a mechanical voice chimed. "Match found. Midoriya, Izuku. Dependent of Operatives Emerald and Dragonbreath. Warning: Primary operatives not present. Engaging Safehouse Protocol: Minor."

 

A heavy, pneumatic clunk echoed through the room.

 

Then, the lights came on.

 

It wasn't a flicker. It was a cascading explosion of brilliant, sterile white light that swept across the ceiling in a wave, illuminating a space so massive it could have housed a commercial airliner.

 

Izuku, Carmen, and Juni gasped in unison.

 

The "safehouse" was an underground cathedral of espionage. The floor was polished white resin, reflecting the overhead lights like a mirror. The walls were lined with towering glass display cases, holding dozens of sleek, black tactical suits, varying in size and design.

 

To the left was an armory. Racks upon racks of futuristic weaponry were displayed: shock-batons, sonic pulse rifles, EMP grenades, grapple-guns, and rows of silver tranquilizer pistols identical to the one Inko had pulled from the sink.

 

But it was the center of the room that truly stole Izuku's breath away.

 

Parked on a raised, rotating platform was a vehicle that defied all standard automotive engineering. It looked like a cross between a sleek European hypercar and a stealth fighter jet. It was painted matte black, with folding wings tucked against its sides, dual aquatic turbine engines in the rear, and a cockpit that seated four.

 

"Woah," Juni whispered, his mouth hanging open. "It's like a spaceship."

 

"It's the MASC," Izuku breathed, walking toward the platform as if in a trance. "The Multi-Amphibious Sub-Copter. Prototype phase. I read an article about its development in Modern Espionage Monthly. It was supposedly scrapped due to budget cuts! But here it is. Capable of Mach 2 in the air, eighty knots underwater. The chassis is woven vibranium-carbide mesh..."

 

"Okay, Fanboy, dial it back," Carmen said, walking past him. But even she couldn't hide the impressed smirk on her face. She ran her hand along the hood of the vehicle. "This is insane. Our parents have been hiding all this from us?"

 

"They lied to us," Juni said softly, the wonder fading from his voice, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. "Dad told me he designed orthotics for a living. He told me he made insoles."

 

Carmen’s expression softened, and she put a hand on her brother's shoulder. "I know, Juni. They lied to me, too. Mom said she was a corporate mediator."

 

Izuku stood silent, staring at a display case containing his mother's tactical gear. A green, form-fitting stealth suit with woven kevlar plating. Beside it was his father's gear, heavily padded and equipped with thermal-resistant layers.

 

"They were trying to protect us," Izuku said quietly. "They wanted us to be normal."

 

"Well, look where that got us," Carmen said bitterly. "They're gone. Kidnapped by walking thumbs."

 

"We have to find them," Izuku said, turning to face Carmen. His green eyes, usually wide and timid, suddenly held a spark of hard, unyielding determination. "We have to rescue them."

 

Carmen laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Rescue them? Are you crazy, Izuku? Look at us! I'm fifteen, you're fourteen, and Juni still sleeps with a nightlight!"

 

"I do not!" Juni protested indignantly.

 

"Yes, you do," Carmen fired back. "The point is, we aren't spies. We're kids. We don't have training. Bakugo goes to that fancy OSS prep school, right? Leave it to him. Leave it to the professionals. We just need to use this safehouse to call the police, or... or Director Devlin, whoever that is."

 

"Devlin is the head of the OSS," Izuku said, shaking his head. "And if he could save them, he wouldn't have called my parents out of retirement in the first place. My mom said seven top operatives vanished. Devlin is losing. The OSS is compromised."

 

Izuku began pacing the floor, his hands flying up to his face, his thumb tapping rapidly against his chin—his trademark thinking pose. He began to mutter, a rapid-fire stream of consciousness that he used to process massive amounts of data.

 

"Floop's Fooglies is broadcast from a private island in the South Pacific... the coordinates are heavily encrypted, but if Floop is using Thumb Thumbs, his bio-engineering budget must be astronomical. He can't be doing it alone. He has a backer. But who? Vanguard? The League? No, their M.O. is terrorism, not kidnapping. Kidnapping implies he needs them alive. Why does he need top agents alive? Extracting secrets? Brainwashing? Brainwashing fits the TV show aesthetic. The Fooglies are mutated, brainwashed creatures..."

 

"Izuku, you're doing that creepy mumbling thing again," Carmen interrupted, rubbing her temples.

 

Izuku stopped pacing and looked at her. "Carmen, I've spent my entire life analyzing how these people fight, how they think, and how they operate. My notebooks—" Izuku winced, remembering the ruined notebook sinking in the koi pond. He pushed the thought away. "My brain is filled with tactical data. The OSS thinks I'm a liability because I can't do a backflip or bench-press my own body weight. But espionage isn't just about punching. It's about intelligence. Information. And right now, we are the only ones who know exactly what took our parents."

 

Before Carmen could argue further, a loud chime echoed through the safehouse.

 

At the far end of the room, an enormous, multi-screen computer terminal flickered to life. The screens glowed with lines of scrolling green code, before coalescing into a single, massive video window.

 

"Incoming Code Black Transmission," the computer announced. "Decryption in progress. Authorized for dependents."

 

Izuku, Carmen, and Juni rushed to the terminal.

 

The screen cleared, revealing a shaky, poorly lit video feed. The camera was angled upward, as if placed hastily on a table.

 

Standing in front of the camera were their parents. Hisashi and Inko Midoriya, alongside Gregorio and Ingrid Cortez. They looked battered. Hisashi had a cut over his left eye, and Gregorio’s tuxedo jacket was torn. They were standing in what looked like a damp, stone dungeon.

 

"Mom! Dad!" Izuku yelled, slamming his hands against the console as if he could reach through the screen.

 

"Is this thing recording? Fast, Devlin, fast!" Hisashi’s voice barked from the speakers.

 

"It's on, go," Gregorio said, looking nervously over his shoulder.

 

Inko stepped closer to the camera. Her face was pale, but her eyes were filled with an intense, desperate love. "Izuku. If you are seeing this... it means the safehouse protocol activated. It means we didn't make it back."

 

"Carmen, Juni," Ingrid's voice trembled slightly. "We love you so much. We are so sorry for the lies. We just wanted you to have the childhood we never had."

 

"Listen carefully," Gregorio said, leaning into the frame. "We tracked Floop's signal to an uncharted island, coordinates 47-Niner-Bravo. But it was a trap. It's not just Floop. Floop is just the face. The man behind the curtain... the one building the technology... is Alexander Minion."

 

Izuku gasped. Alexander Minion. The name sent a shiver down his spine. Minion was a ghost story in the OSS community. A brilliant, disgraced scientist who had once worked in the OSS R&D department before being expelled for illegal human experimentation.

 

"Minion has developed a mutation engine," Hisashi continued, his voice grim. "He's not killing the agents. He's... changing them. Turning them into Fooglies for Floop's show, effectively neutralizing the world's best spies while mocking the OSS on global television."

 

"They're coming," Inko whispered, looking off-camera. The sound of heavy, stomping footsteps echoed through the audio feed.

 

"Kids, do not come after us," Gregorio ordered firmly. "Stay in the safehouse. The bunker has enough rations for six months. The perimeter is cloaked. Wait for Devlin's extraction team. Do not trust anyone else. The agency has a mole."

 

"Izuku," Inko said, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. "My brave boy. I love you. I'm so sorry."

 

The heavy iron door behind them burst open. Three Thumb Thumbs flooded into the room, followed by a tall, gaunt man with a pale face, a twisted, maniacal smile, and incredibly strange, multi-colored robotic hands. Alexander Minion.

 

"Well, well, well," Minion's voice hissed, oily and cold. "The retirees. How nice of you to join our little cast."

 

"Cut the feed!" Hisashi roared, diving toward the camera.

 

The screen went to static.

 

The silence in the safehouse was deafening. The only sound was the low hum of the massive supercomputer and Juni’s quiet, muffled sobbing.

 

Izuku stared at the static screen. His heart felt like it had been encased in ice. Alexander Minion. Fegan Floop. Mutation engines. His parents were trapped in a dungeon, waiting to be turned into grotesque caricatures for a children's television show.

 

"They said... they said to stay here," Carmen whispered, her voice hollow. She looked smaller than she ever had. The confident, bossy older girl was gone, replaced by a terrified teenager. "They said wait for Devlin."

 

"Devlin won't come," Izuku said. His voice was no longer shaking. The fear was still there, but it had been compressed, forged into a sharp, singular point of focus. "Uncle Gregorio said there's a mole in the agency. Minion knew they were coming. It was a trap. If we wait for the OSS, we're trusting the very people who sold our parents out."

 

"So what do we do?" Juni asked, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "We can't fly that spaceship. We don't have weapons."

 

Izuku turned away from the screen and looked at the armory, then at the display cases, and finally at the MASC vehicle.

 

"We don't need to fly it," Izuku said, his analytical mind assembling a plan from the scattered data points. "Carmen, your dad's brother. Uncle Machete."

 

Carmen frowned, confused. "Uncle Machete? We haven't seen him since I was six. Mom hates him. Dad and him had a huge falling out. He runs a spy-gadget shop in San Inocencio."

 

"Exactly," Izuku said, walking briskly toward the computer console. His fingers flew across the keyboard. He had never used an OSS supercomputer before, but the OS was remarkably similar to a Linux kernel he used to encrypt his hero-analysis blogs. "Uncle Machete is an independent contractor. He’s brilliant, he builds top-tier gear, and most importantly, he’s not affiliated with the OSS. He's outside the system."

 

"You want us to go to San Inocencio?" Carmen asked incredulously. "How? We can't drive!"

 

"We don't have to," Izuku said, hitting a final key. A holographic map of the globe materialized above the console. A red dotted line drew itself from Musutafu Bay across the ocean, landing on a small, coastal town in Mexico. "The safehouse has an automated transit network for low-profile insertion. It uses deep-sea submersibles. I just programmed it for San Inocencio."

 

Carmen stared at Izuku. Really stared at him. The stuttering, timid boy who was pushed around by Bakugo just hours ago was gone. In his place was a young man whose eyes burned with a terrifying intellect and an unshakeable resolve.

 

"Izuku..." Carmen started. "Are you sure about this? If we leave the safehouse, we're on our own. We're breaking the rules."

 

"Bakugo told me today that spies take action," Izuku said, his voice hard. "He was wrong about a lot of things. He thinks strength is the only thing that matters. But he was right about one thing. We can't just sit here."

 

Izuku walked over to the display cases. He bypassed the heavy, armored suits and stopped in front of a case containing a simple, lightweight tactical jumpsuit. It was black, with dark green accents. He pressed his hand against the glass. The biometric scanner chimed, and the glass slid open.

 

Izuku pulled the suit from the rack. It was small. Probably meant for a junior operative in training.

 

"I don't have a quirk," Izuku said, looking at the suit. "I don't have super strength. I might not be able to punch through a wall. But I have my brain. I know Alexander Minion's psychological profile. I know his tech is vulnerable to EMP blasts. I know the structural layout of standard island fortresses."

 

He turned to face Carmen and Juni. He held the tactical suit against his chest like a shield.

 

"I'm going to save my parents," Izuku declared. It wasn't a boast. It was a promise. "And I'm going to save All Might. If you guys want to stay here and wait for a rescue that might never come, I understand. I won't judge you. But I'm leaving."

 

Juni looked at the static on the computer screen, then looked at Izuku. The young boy took a deep breath, his chest puffing out slightly. "Floop's Fooglies scare me," Juni said, his voice trembling but honest. "But... but my dad gave me this."

 

Juni reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden figure. It looked like a little man with a wide smile. "He carved it for me. He told me it was a worry-doll. He said it would protect me. I... I want to protect him back."

 

Juni walked over to Izuku and stood by his side.

 

Carmen watched the two boys. She let out a long, heavy sigh, running a hand through her dark hair.

 

"You're both idiots," Carmen said. But a small, brave smile touched the corner of her lips. "Massive, suicidal idiots."

 

She walked over to the display case and grabbed a sleek, black leather tactical jacket that looked suspiciously like a smaller version of her mother's. She slipped it on, the material automatically tightening to fit her frame perfectly.

 

"But you're my idiots," Carmen said, zipping up the jacket. "And there is no way I'm letting a nerd and a crybaby go save the world without me."

 

Izuku felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of warmth in his chest. For the first time in his life, he wasn't alone. He wasn't just the useless kid trailing behind people better than him. He was part of a team.

 

"Okay," Izuku said, nodding firmly. He turned back to the computer console, his mind already calculating the logistics of the mission. "First, we gear up. Only take what we can carry. Focus on utility, not lethality. EMPs, trackers, multi-tools. We travel light."

 

"What about money?" Carmen asked, slipping a pair of sleek, silver goggles around her neck. "We can't just show up to Uncle Machete's empty-handed. He's a mercenary, basically. He doesn't work for free."

 

Izuku walked over to a metal crate near the MASC vehicle. He popped the latches and threw open the lid. Inside, stacked in neat, banded rows, were hundreds of thousands of dollars in unmarked, mixed currency, alongside several velvet pouches.

 

Izuku tossed one of the pouches to Carmen. She caught it, opening the drawstring. She gasped. It was filled with flawless, uncut diamonds.

 

"Emergency operational funds," Izuku said, quoting the OSS manifesto from memory. "We have enough capital to buy Uncle Machete's entire store if we need to."

 

"Okay," Carmen said, pocketing the diamonds. "I officially like being a spy."

 

For the next twenty minutes, the safehouse was a blur of activity. Izuku slipped into the black and green tactical suit. It felt incredibly strange—the material was incredibly light, yet it felt tougher than steel. It moved perfectly with his body, regulating his temperature and offering a sense of protection he had never felt before.

 

He strapped a utility belt around his waist, filling the pouches with compact, high-tech gadgets he recognized from his endless hours of research: laser-cutters the size of pens, adhesive tracker bugs no bigger than a grain of rice, and a pair of shock-resistant gloves.

 

Juni, meanwhile, was loading up a small backpack with an absurd amount of what looked like candy.

 

"Juni, what are you doing?" Carmen asked, exasperated, as Juni shoved a handful of colorful gumballs into his bag.

 

"They aren't candy," Izuku defended, pointing to the label on the dispenser. "Those are Electro-Shock Gumballs. You chew them to activate the kinetic battery, spit them, and they deliver a 50,000-volt shock on impact."

 

"Oh," Carmen said, blinking. "Well. Carry on, then."

 

Carmen herself opted for a pair of sleek, collapsible tonfas that magnetically attached to her thighs, and a wrist-mounted grappling hook.

 

Once they were equipped, Izuku led them to the rear of the safehouse. Behind a set of heavy blast doors was a pool of dark, churning water connecting directly to the bay outside. Floating in the water was a sleek, silver submersible pod, roughly the size of a minivan, completely devoid of windows.

 

"Automated transit sub," Izuku explained, opening the top hatch. "It uses a localized sonar-stealth drive. It will be completely invisible to radar and standard sonar. It will take us directly to the underwater coordinates of Machete's shop in San Inocencio."

 

"How long is the trip?" Carmen asked, climbing into the sub.

 

"About four hours," Izuku said, helping Juni down the ladder before climbing in himself.

 

The interior of the sub was cramped but comfortable, lined with plush seats and glowing blue monitors. Izuku settled into the pilot's chair, though there was no steering wheel, only a large green button that read ENGAGE.

 

He looked at Carmen and Juni. They looked terrified, exhausted, and incredibly out of their depth. But they also looked resolute.

 

"Are we really doing this?" Juni whispered, clutching his backpack of shock-gumballs.

 

"We are," Izuku said. He reached out and pressed the green button.

 

The heavy glass hatch slid shut, sealing them inside. The submersible hummed to life, a deep, resonant vibration that vibrated through their bones. The clamps holding the sub released, and the vessel dropped into the dark water of the bay.

 

As the sub accelerated into the crushing depths of the ocean, leaving Musutafu, their parents, and their old lives behind, Izuku Midoriya looked at his reflection in the dark monitor screen.

 

He didn't see Deku. He didn't see the boy who cried when Bakugo destroyed his notebook.

 

He saw a spy.

 

And Fegan Floop was not going to know what hit him.

 

The journey through the abyssal depths of the Pacific Ocean was a suffocatingly quiet affair.

 

Inside the automated transit submersible, the only sounds were the rhythmic, low-frequency hum of the sonar-stealth drive and the occasional shifting of water against the reinforced titanium hull. The cabin was bathed in the soft, bioluminescent blue glow of the control panels, casting long, eerie shadows across the faces of its three young passengers.

 

Izuku sat in the pilot's seat, though there was no piloting to be done. The vessel was entirely autonomous, guided by pre-programmed OSS navigation grids. With nothing to steer and nowhere to run, Izuku’s mind was left to race at a thousand miles an hour.

 

He had found a sleek, black digital datapad in the sub’s storage compartment. It was meant for logging mission reports, but Izuku had immediately repurposed it. With a standard-issue stylus, he was frantically sketching. His original notebook—Spy Analysis for the Future, Vol. 13—was gone, ruined by Bakugo and left to dissolve in a koi pond. But the data wasn't gone. It was all in his head.

 

His stylus tapped against the glass screen in a frantic staccato rhythm. He was drawing the Thumb Thumbs. He noted their center of gravity, their lack of peripheral vision (since they had no actual eyes, they must rely on echolocation or thermal sensors embedded in their thumb-knuckles), and their estimated physical density. Next to the Thumb Thumbs, he began sketching the layout of Fegan Floop's island fortress based on satellite topography he had glimpsed on the safehouse terminal.

 

"Izuku, you're going to break the screen," Carmen's voice cut through the silence.

 

Izuku blinked, pulling himself out of his trance. He looked over his shoulder. Carmen was sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest, her dark eyes looking exhausted. Beside her, Juni was fast asleep, his head resting against the cold metal wall, quietly snoring with his backpack of shock-gumballs clutched tightly to his chest like a teddy bear.

 

"Sorry," Izuku whispered, lowering the datapad. "I just... if I stop thinking about the plan, I start thinking about... everything else."

 

Carmen offered a sympathetic, albeit tired, smile. "I get it. My brain feels like it's going to explode. Thumb Thumbs. Minion. My parents are international super spies." She let out a dry laugh. "I used to get mad at my mom because she wouldn't let me stay out past curfew. Turns out she was probably worried I'd get assassinated by a rival syndicate."

 

"They really are the best," Izuku said, turning his chair around to face her. "Your parents, I mean. Gregorio and Ingrid Cortez. They revolutionized the OSS infiltration tactics in the late nineties. I read an unredacted file on them once. They never fail."

 

"They failed this time," Carmen said, her voice dropping to a whisper. She looked at her sleeping brother. "If we don't fix this, Izuku... Juni and I are orphans. You too."

 

"We won't be," Izuku said. The absolute certainty in his voice surprised even himself. "We have the element of surprise. Minion thinks he's dealing with the OSS bureaucracy. He expects Director Devlin to send a team of Tier-1 operators, which means he's prepared for highly trained adults. He isn't prepared for us."

 

"Because we're highly trained kids?"

 

"Because we're completely off his radar," Izuku corrected. "But we need gear. Good gear. Which brings us to Uncle Machete."

 

Carmen frowned, running a hand through her hair. "Look, Izuku, I don't want to burst your bubble, but Machete isn't exactly the 'friendly neighborhood gadget guy.' When I was little, my dad and Machete had this massive fight. Shouting, throwing things. My dad said Machete threw away his potential. Machete said my dad became a corporate lapdog. They haven't spoken in nine years. I don't even know if he'll let us in the door."

 

"He's family," Izuku pointed out. "And right now, he's the only asset we have who isn't monitored by Devlin's corrupted network. We have to try."

 

"Approaching destination: San Inocencio," the sub's automated voice announced, jarring Juni awake. "Engaging surface protocols. Please secure all loose items."

 

The sub tilted sharply upward. The water outside the reinforced windows shifted from pitch black to deep azure, then to a bright, blinding turquoise. With a sudden splash that rocked the cabin, the sub breached the surface.

 

The heavy top hatch hissed open, letting in a blast of sweltering, humid air that smelled strongly of salt, frying corn tortillas, and diesel fuel.

 

Izuku climbed up the ladder and poked his head out.

 

San Inocencio was a far cry from the sleek, futuristic metropolis of Musutafu. It was a sun-baked coastal town tucked away in a hidden cove somewhere in Central America. The buildings were painted in vibrant, peeling shades of pink, yellow, and blue. Cobblestone streets wound their way up a steep hillside, crowded with street vendors, stray dogs, and ancient, rusted pickup trucks. The town felt old, forgotten by the hyper-advanced world of the OSS.

 

The submersible had surfaced inside a dilapidated, corrugated-metal boathouse on the edge of the docks, hidden away from the prying eyes of the main port.

 

"Alright," Carmen said, climbing out after Izuku and pulling Juni up behind her. She adjusted her sunglasses against the glaring sun. "Let's find the black sheep of the Cortez family."

 

 

 

Finding Machete's shop was harder than Izuku had anticipated. According to the OSS coordinates, the shop was located in the town square. But when they arrived at the designated address, there was no sign of a high-tech spy armory.

 

Instead, they stood in front of a grimy, open-air storefront with a faded wooden sign that read: Machete's Custom Auto & Electronics - We Fix Everything (Eventually).

 

Inside the dimly lit garage, the air was thick with the smell of motor oil and burnt ozone. A rusted-out chassis of a 1970s muscle car sat on cinder blocks. Radios, toaster ovens, and CRT televisions were piled haphazardly in the corners. It looked like a junkyard.

 

"This is it?" Juni asked, kicking a stray lug nut. "This looks like a garbage dump. Are you sure he makes spy stuff?"

 

Izuku stepped into the garage, his eyes darting across the clutter. "Spies rely on misdirection. A state-of-the-art armory in a poor coastal town would draw too much attention. The mess is a camouflage."

 

Izuku walked toward a pegboard covered in rusted wrenches. He tilted his head, analyzing the layout. "The tools are dusty, meaning they haven't been touched in weeks. But look at the floor."

 

Carmen and Juni looked down. The concrete floor of the garage was stained with oil, except for a perfectly clean, semicircular groove etched into the stone, directly beneath the pegboard.

 

"A heavy door dragging against the floor," Carmen realized.

 

Izuku reached out and grasped a massive, ridiculously heavy pipe-wrench hanging on the board. He pulled it downward. It didn't come off the hook; instead, it clicked like a heavy lever.

 

With a deep, pneumatic hiss, the entire pegboard wall swung inward, revealing a brightly lit, sterile hallway made of brushed steel.

 

"Show-off," Carmen muttered, though she was smiling.

 

The trio stepped through the hidden door, the pegboard swinging shut and locking with a heavy thud behind them. They walked down the steel corridor, the sounds of the bustling street outside vanishing entirely, replaced by the low hum of heavy machinery and the sharp crack-crack-crack of electric welding.

 

At the end of the hallway, the space opened up into a massive, multi-level underground workshop. It was a chaotic wonderland of engineering. Blueprints were taped to every available surface. Robotic arms welded titanium plating on workbenches. Sparks showered from the ceiling.

 

In the center of the room, standing behind a large metal table, was a man.

 

He was broad-shouldered and imposing, wearing a stained leather apron over a black tank top. His arms were covered in intricate, faded tattoos. He had long, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and a face that looked like it had been carved from weathered stone. He was currently dragging a whetstone across the edge of a wicked-looking, custom-forged machete.

 

Shhhk. Shhhk. The sound of metal on stone was rhythmic and intimidating.

 

He didn't look up as the kids approached.

 

"Shop's closed," the man grunted. His voice was like grinding gravel. "Take your broken toasters somewhere else, kids."

 

"We don't have a toaster, Uncle Machete," Carmen said, her voice trying to sound confident, though it wavered slightly.

 

The grinding stopped.

 

Machete slowly lowered the blade. He lifted his head, his dark, piercing eyes locking onto Carmen, then shifting to Juni. A flicker of recognition—and perhaps a ghost of a painful memory—crossed his stoic face. He set the machete down on the table with a heavy clang.

 

"Carmen. Juni," Machete said softly. He didn't smile, but the hard edge in his voice vanished. "You're tall. And you..." He looked at Juni. "You still look like a frightened rabbit."

 

"I am a frightened rabbit," Juni squeaked.

 

Machete's gaze finally drifted to Izuku. He raised a thick eyebrow. "Who's the kid in the oversized glasses? He looks like he's going to hyperventilate."

 

"I'm Izuku Midoriya, sir," Izuku said, bowing deeply, a habit from his polite Japanese upbringing. "My parents are Hisashi and Inko Midoriya. They worked with your brother."

 

"Dragonbreath and the Phantom," Machete mused, crossing his massive arms. "I remember them. Good operatives. Too loyal for their own good. What are you three doing in San Inocencio? The last time I checked, Gregorio was too busy polishing Director Devlin's shoes to let his kids mingle with the disgraced side of the family."

 

"Our parents were taken," Carmen said, getting straight to the point. The urgency in her voice cut through the workshop's hum. "Floop. Alexander Minion. They were captured on an island coordinates 47-Niner-Bravo. Devlin doesn't know, or he's compromised. We need your help, Uncle Machete."

 

Machete’s face darkened at the mention of Minion's name. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He turned away from them, walking over to a large tool chest.

 

"No," Machete said flatly.

 

"No?" Carmen echoed, her jaw dropping. "Did you hear me? Your brother has been kidnapped by a madman!"

 

"I heard you fine, Carmen," Machete said, rummaging through the chest. "And my answer is no. I don't get involved in OSS affairs. The agency is a meat grinder. It chews up good people and spits them out in coffins. I told Gregorio years ago to get out. He didn't listen. Now, he's paying the price."

 

"That's not fair!" Juni cried out, his face turning red. "He's your brother!"

 

"This is the spy world, kid," Machete said coldly, slamming the tool chest shut. "Fair doesn't exist. You three need to get back in whatever pod you came in and go hide. Let the agency sort out its own mess."

 

Izuku took a step forward. His heart was pounding, but his mind was crystal clear. "You don't mean that."

 

Machete glared at the green-haired boy. "Excuse me?"

 

"You said you don't get involved in OSS affairs," Izuku said, pointing a finger at a sleek, disassembled drone on a nearby table. "But that's an RQ-170 Sentinel Drone chassis, heavily modified with an acoustic dampening field. The OSS uses those for stealth reconnaissance. And over there..." Izuku pointed to a rack of glass vials filled with glowing blue liquid. "...that's synthesized deep-sleep neurotoxin, a proprietary formula used only by OSS Tier-1 infiltrators. You don't work for the OSS, Mr. Machete, but you supply them. You're a shadow contractor."

 

Machete’s eyes narrowed. He took a slow, intimidating step toward Izuku. "You've got a big mouth for a little nerd."

 

Izuku didn't back down. "You left the agency because you hate the bureaucracy, not because you hate the mission. You still build gear to save people. Fegan Floop isn't just taking agents, he's mutating them. He's building an army of Fooglies. If he isn't stopped, the world falls apart. And... and if you won't fight, then you have to let us."

 

Silence stretched across the workshop. Machete stared down at Izuku. For a moment, Izuku was terrified the massive man was going to throw him through a wall.

 

Instead, a slow, rumbling chuckle vibrated from Machete's chest.

 

"You've got balls, kid. I'll give you that," Machete said, running a hand over his jaw. He looked back at Carmen and Juni. "He's right. I don't save the world anymore. I just make the things that do. If you three are stupid enough to storm a fortified island run by a sociopathic scientist, I won't stop you. I'll equip you."

 

Carmen let out a massive breath she didn't know she was holding. "Thank you, Uncle."

 

"Don't thank me yet," Machete grunted. "My gear is highly experimental. Half of it hasn't passed safety regulations."

 

"Safety regulations are for cowards and bureaucrats!"

 

A sudden, deafening explosion rocked the far side of the workshop.

 

A thick cloud of black smoke billowed out from an enclosed testing room. The door to the room was kicked open, and out strode the most chaotic human being Izuku had ever laid eyes on.

 

It was a girl, roughly Izuku's age. She was covered head-to-toe in black grease. She wore baggy, oil-stained overalls over a black tank top, heavy combat boots, and a thick pair of golden, steampunk-style goggles resting on her forehead. Her hair was a wild, untamable explosion of bright, neon-pink dreadlocks that seemed to defy gravity.

 

She was coughing through the smoke, holding the shattered, smoking remains of what looked like a laser-pistol.

 

"Baby Number 42 is a partial success!" the girl announced to the room, her voice incredibly loud and vibrating with pure, unadulterated manic energy. "The localized EMP burst worked perfectly! However, the thermal exhaust port melted the primary battery, which resulted in a minor, teeny-tiny, catastrophic detonation! I'll need more titanium casing for Baby Number 43!"

 

"Mei," Machete sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What did I tell you about testing thermal explosives inside the shop?"

 

"You said 'Don't do it, Mei, you'll blow up the structural supports!'" the pink-haired girl, Mei, quoted perfectly, wiping grease from her cheek, which only managed to smear it further. "But boss, inspiration waits for no man! Science demands sacrifice!"

 

Mei’s wild, golden eyes suddenly snapped to the three strangers standing in the room. Her gaze locked onto Izuku. More specifically, her eyes zoomed in on the digital datapad Izuku was holding.

 

In a blur of motion, Mei crossed the room, invading Izuku’s personal space so entirely that their noses were practically touching.

 

"What is that?" Mei demanded, her eyes wide with frantic curiosity.

 

"Uh... p-personal space?" Izuku squeaked, leaning backward so far he almost fell over.

 

Mei ignored him, snatching the datapad right out of his hands. "These schematics! Who drew these?! Did you draw these?!"

 

"Y-Yes," Izuku stammered, feeling his face turn beet red.

 

Mei rapidly scrolled through Izuku’s notes. She looked at his breakdown of the Thumb Thumb anatomy, his theoretical redesign of All Might's kinetic gauntlets, and his structural analysis of Fegan Floop's island.

 

"Oh my god," Mei whispered, her voice dropping an octave in sheer awe. She looked up at Izuku as if he were a deity. "You... you're a genius! Look at this thermal ventilation redirect! Look at this kinetic shock-absorption theory! Boss, look at this! This kid understands the beauty of babies!"

 

"Babies?" Juni whispered to Carmen, terrified.

 

"Gadgets," Machete translated with a weary groan. "She calls her inventions her babies. Mei Hatsume. She's my apprentice. She's a menace to society, but she's the best engineer I've ever seen. Mei, focus. These kids are heading into a Code Black combat zone. They need gear."

 

Mei’s eyes lit up like supernovas. She dropped the datapad onto a table and grabbed Izuku by the shoulders, shaking him excitedly.

 

"A combat zone?! Live field testing! This is incredible! Finally, some real data!" Mei spun around, practically flying toward a massive steel vault at the back of the room. She keyed in a passcode, and the heavy doors groaned open.

 

"Alright, let's see what we're working with!" Mei shouted from inside the vault. She emerged carrying an armful of sleek, dangerous-looking equipment. She dumped it unceremoniously onto a metal workbench.

 

"You, tall and bossy," Mei said, pointing at Carmen. "What's your combat style?"

 

"I don't have one," Carmen said, crossing her arms defensively. "But I'm quick. I need mobility and something that hits hard without being a gun."

 

"Mobility and blunt force trauma, say no more!" Mei dove back into the vault and emerged with a heavy, metallic backpack. She slammed it onto the table.

 

"Baby Number 18!" Mei announced proudly. "The X-7 Micro-Thruster Jetpack! Dual ion-propulsion engines. Top speed of sixty miles per hour. It has a localized gyroscopic stabilizer, so even an amateur won't crash into a wall! Probably."

 

"Probably?" Carmen asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

"Science is about risk!" Mei dismissed her concern, tossing a pair of sleek, black metal batons onto the jetpack. "And to pair with it, the Kinetic Tonfas. They charge kinetic energy with every strike. The harder you hit, the more energy they store, releasing a concussive shockwave on command. Put 'em on."

 

Carmen slipped her arms through the jetpack straps. It locked onto her back with a mechanical hum, incredibly light despite its size. She grabbed the tonfas, giving them an experimental twirl. They felt perfectly balanced. She looked at Machete and nodded approvingly.

 

"And you, curly fry," Mei said, pointing at Juni. "What do you do?"

 

"I... I hide," Juni admitted shamefully. "And I have these." He held up a handful of his shock-gumballs.

 

Mei snatched one from his hand, inspected it, and snorted. "Electro-gumballs? Standard issue. Boring! Weak! Let's spice it up!"

 

Mei ran over to a chemical workstation. With terrifying speed, she began mixing liquids from various beakers, injecting the neon fluids into a fresh batch of hollow gumballs.

 

"There! Baby Number 22!" Mei handed Juni a small, pressurized bandolier. "I swapped the kinetic batteries with a highly volatile, rapidly expanding foam compound. You throw these, and upon impact, they explode into a five-foot radius of fast-hardening polymer resin. Perfect for trapping enemies or creating instant cover! I call them Sticky-Bombs!"

 

"Woah," Juni breathed, his eyes wide as he strapped the bandolier across his chest. He suddenly looked much less like a frightened rabbit and much more like a very dangerous child.

 

Finally, Mei turned her attention back to Izuku. Her manic energy dialed back slightly, replaced by a profound, clinical intensity. She walked up to him and began poking his arms, prodding his chest, and examining his posture.

 

"Ow, hey, what are you doing?" Izuku yelped, trying to swat her hands away.

 

"Analyzing your physical baseline," Mei said, tapping her chin. "You have terrible muscle mass. Zero athletic conditioning. Your bone density is painfully average. You have absolutely no genetic enhancements whatsoever."

 

Izuku looked down, the familiar sting of Bakugo's words echoing in his mind. Useless civilian. No talent. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm a liability."

 

"Liability?!" Mei gasped, looking deeply offended. She grabbed his face again. "Are you kidding me?! You're the holy grail! You're the perfect test subject!"

 

Izuku blinked. "I... I am?"

 

"Yes! If I give my babies to an OSS super-soldier, I never know if the gadget succeeded because of my brilliant engineering or because the agent has super-strength!" Mei explained passionately. "But you? You're completely fragile! If you survive, it's 100% because my babies are flawless! It's pure, unadulterated scientific data!"

 

Machete groaned from the corner. "Mei, try not to actively encourage the kid to die."

 

"I would never!" Mei gasped defensively. She turned to Izuku, a wild grin spreading across her grease-stained face. "Izuku Midoriya. You have the mind of a tactician, but the body of a wet noodle. We need to bridge the gap. We need to give you physical superiority without requiring any actual strength."

 

Mei ran to the back of the workshop, rummaging through a heavily locked titanium crate. She grunted, hauling out two distinct pieces of hardware.

 

She slammed the first item onto the table. It was a pair of heavy, metallic boots. They extended up to the mid-calf, painted a deep, forest green with sleek black and red accents. They looked heavy, but as Mei picked one up, it moved with surprising fluidity.

 

"I call this the 'Shoot Style' system," Mei said, her eyes gleaming. "Baby Number 50. The pinnacle of my kinetic-absorption research."

 

"Shoot Style?" Izuku asked, tracing a finger over the smooth metal. "What does it do?"

 

"You know how Agent All Might can punch through a wall because he wears a kinetic-absorbent undersuit?" Mei asked, winking at him. She had read his notes. "I took that concept and reversed it. These boots are lined with micro-pneumatic pistons and a proprietary impact-redirection mesh."

 

Izuku’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates. His mind instantly grasped the physics of what she was saying. "Wait... you're saying... instead of just absorbing kinetic energy from an attack, the boots store the energy of the user's movement..."

 

"...and expel it outward upon impact!" Mei finished his sentence, jumping up and down. "Exactly! If you kick a wall wearing these, the pistons fire at the exact millisecond of impact. You won't break your leg, but the wall will shatter! Furthermore, there are compressed-air thrusters in the soles. They won't let you fly like Carmen's jetpack, but they will allow for high-speed evasive dashes and massive vertical leaps! They do all the heavy lifting!"

 

Izuku stared at the boots. It was everything he had ever dreamed of. It was power. Not born from genetics, but from intellect and engineering.

 

"Put them on," Mei commanded.

 

Izuku quickly kicked off his red sneakers and slid his feet into the heavy green boots. The moment his heels touched the base, the boots whirred to life. Internal mechanisms tightened around his calves, locking onto his legs like an exoskeleton. He took a tentative step. The boots felt weightless.

 

"And for your upper body," Mei said, lifting the second item from the table. It was a pair of sleek, black metallic bracers, worn on the forearms. At the wrist of each bracer was a small, high-tension spool of what looked like shimmering black ribbon.

 

"I call these the Capture Tape Gauntlets. Baby Number 51," Mei explained, strapping them onto Izuku's arms. "That black ribbon isn't cloth. It's a woven carbon-nanotube alloy interlaced with a neuro-reactive polymer. In English? It's stronger than steel cable and flexible as a whip. You flick your wrist, and the spool fires the tape out like a grappling hook. It can bind an enemy, swing you from a ceiling, or pull an object toward you. It responds to the micro-twitches in your forearm muscles."

 

Izuku flexed his hands. The black bracers gleamed under the workshop lights. He felt the hum of the 'Shoot Style' boots beneath him. He didn't feel like a scared middle schooler anymore. He felt like an agent.

 

"Give it a test drive," Machete suggested, leaning against a pillar. "Aim for the scrap pile in the corner."

 

Izuku took a deep breath. He looked at a rusted-out car door propped against the far wall. He analyzed the distance, the weight of the boots, and the mechanism of the gauntlets.

 

He flicked his right wrist.

 

THWIP.

 

A thick strand of black capture tape shot from his gauntlet with the speed of a bullet. It struck the car door, the adhesive tip instantly bonding to the metal. Izuku yanked his arm backward. The heavy car door was ripped from the pile, flying across the room toward him.

 

"Now kick it!" Mei screamed.

 

Izuku planted his left foot and spun, swinging his right leg in a wide arc. As his green 'Shoot Style' boot connected with the flying car door, the pneumatic pistons in the sole fired with a deafening CRACK.

 

The sheer concussive force of the kick sent the car door rocketing backward. It slammed into the reinforced concrete wall of the workshop, leaving a massive, spiderweb dent in the metal before clattering to the floor.

 

Izuku stood frozen, his leg still raised in the follow-through of the kick. He didn't feel a ounce of pain in his leg. The boots had absorbed the entire recoil.

 

"Incredible," Izuku whispered.

 

"IT WORKS! MORE DATA!" Mei shrieked, writing furiously on a clipboard she had seemingly pulled from nowhere.

 

"Not bad, kid," Machete said, a genuine smile finally cracking his stoic facade. "You pack a punch for a baseline."

 

Carmen walked over, her jetpack humming softly, and slung an arm around Izuku's shoulder. "Okay, so maybe you're not a total liability."

 

"Thanks," Izuku smiled, adjusting his glasses.

 

"Alright, enough playtime," Machete said, his tone turning serious as he walked over to a massive set of double doors at the far end of the workshop. He hit a red button on the wall. The doors slowly ground open, revealing a private, underground dock.

 

Floating in the water was a sleek, silver watercraft. It was longer than the submersible they had arrived in, equipped with dual hydrofoils and swept-back wings.

 

"This is the Manta," Machete said, walking them to the dock. "It's a hybrid aquatic-aerospace transport. It'll get you to Floop's island coordinates in two hours. The stealth drive will get you past his perimeter radar, but once you're on the beach, you're on your own."

 

"We can't thank you enough, Uncle Machete," Carmen said, turning to face him.

 

Machete looked at his niece, then at Juni, and finally at Izuku. The gruff, angry mercenary was gone, replaced by an uncle who was terrified for his family. He reached out and placed a massive hand on Carmen's shoulder.

 

"Your father and I... we let our pride get in the way," Machete said quietly. "If you see him... tell Gregorio that his big brother hasn't forgotten how to fight. And bring him home, Carmen. Bring them all home."

 

"We will," Carmen promised.

 

"And you, Izuku," Machete said, looking at the green-haired boy. "Don't let the agency define what makes a hero. A strong punch is useless without a strong mind to aim it. Keep your head on a swivel."

 

"Yes, sir," Izuku nodded, his eyes filled with determination.

 

"And Izuku!" Mei yelled, running up to him and shoving a massive, heavy backpack into his arms. "I packed extra fuel cells for the boots, replacement capture tape, and a few more highly volatile experimental babies! IF YOU DIE AND BREAK MY GADGETS, I WILL KILL YOU!"

 

"I'll do my best not to die, Mei," Izuku sweatdropped, hoisting the heavy backpack over his shoulders.

 

"Good luck, kids," Machete said, stepping back.

 

Izuku, Carmen, and Juni boarded the Manta. Izuku took the pilot's seat, his hands resting naturally on the sleek controls. He didn't need an autopilot this time. His mind was already memorizing the dashboard layout, mapping the route, and calculating their entry velocity.

 

The glass canopy sealed shut over them. The engines roared to life, a powerful, deep hum that vibrated through the hull.

 

As the Manta shot out of the underground tunnel and burst into the open waters of the Pacific, leaving San Inocencio behind, Izuku looked out at the horizon.

 

He was wearing experimental boots. He was armed with a mind full of tactical data. He was flying a stealth jet toward a fortress of mutated spies.

 

He was Izuku Midoriya.

 

And he was a Spy Kid.