what if deku was bakugou little brother

 

The smell of rain and ozone would forever be etched into Izuku’s earliest memories, inextricably linked to the scent of burnt sugar and the suffocating feeling of a home that was no longer his.

 

He was only three years old when the world tilted on its axis and never quite righted itself.

 

Izuku didn’t understand the hushed, somber voices in the hospital waiting room. He didn’t understand why the kind nurses looked at him with eyes brimming with pity, or why his mother, with her warm green hair and soft, comforting smiles, wasn’t coming through the double doors to pick him up. All he had was his All Might action figure, clutched so tightly in his small, chubby hands that the plastic corners dug painfully into his palms.

 

Then, the doors swung open, but it wasn't Inko Midoriya who walked through.

 

It was Mitsuki Bakugou.

 

She looked a mess, which was entirely wrong. Auntie Mitsuki was always fierce, immaculately loud, and practically invincible. Today, her ash-blonde hair was plastered to her forehead by the rain, her mascara was smeared in dark, jagged lines down her cheeks, and her usually sharp crimson eyes were dull, bloodshot, and wide with a grief that a three-year-old could not name, but could certainly feel.

 

Behind her stood Uncle Masaru, his shoulders slumped, his hand resting on the back of his wife’s neck in a silent, desperate attempt to hold her together. Beside him was Katsuki.

 

Katsuki, who was only a few months older than Izuku, looked deeply confused. His spiky ash-blonde hair was relatively dry, tucked beneath a yellow rainhat. He had a scowl on his face—a permanent fixture, really—but his red eyes darted around the sterile white room, searching for the threat so he could yell at it.

 

Mitsuki dropped to her knees the moment she saw Izuku sitting on the vinyl waiting room chair. She didn't care about the muddy puddles her coat left on the pristine linoleum. She threw her arms around the small boy, burying her face in his unruly mess of green curls, and let out a sob that seemed to tear its way out of her chest.

 

"I'm sorry, Izuku," she wailed, her voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry. I promised her. I promised Inko I'd look after you."

 

Izuku blinked, his large green eyes welling up with sympathetic tears simply because Auntie was crying. He patted her back clumsily with the hand that held All Might. "Auntie? Where's Mama?"

 

Mitsuki only cried harder, her grip tightening until it was almost painful. Masaru knelt beside them, wrapping his long arms around both his wife and the little boy. "She's... she's gone away, Izuku," Masaru choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears. "But you're coming home with us now. You're going to stay with us."

 

From a few feet away, Katsuki watched the scene unfold. His brow furrowed. He marched forward, his little yellow rain boots squeaking aggressively against the floor. He stopped right in front of the huddle, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

"Why is he crying?" Katsuki demanded, his loud voice cutting through the heavy grief of the room. "And why is the nerd coming to our house? Is Auntie Inko making dinner there?"

 

Masaru looked up at his son, his expression breaking. "Katsuki... Auntie Inko isn't coming back. Izuku is going to live with us from now on. He's... he's your brother now."

 

Katsuki’s crimson eyes widened. He looked at Izuku, who was currently burying his face in Mitsuki’s coat, whimpering softly as the realization that his mother wasn't coming back slowly began to seep into his toddler brain. Katsuki looked at his mother’s shattered expression. He looked at his father’s tears.

 

A heavy, solemn silence descended upon the boy. For a moment, Katsuki didn't say anything. He simply stared at the trembling, sobbing ball of green hair. Then, with a huff that sounded remarkably like his mother, Katsuki uncrossed his arms, reached out, and forcefully grabbed the back of Izuku's shirt.

 

"Stop crying, Izuku," Katsuki ordered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. It was surprisingly firm, carrying an unexpected weight for a toddler. "If you're my brother now, you can't be a crybaby. I'm gonna be the Number One Hero, which means nobody is allowed to mess with you. I'll beat 'em up. So stop crying."

 

Izuku sniffled, looking up through tear-soaked lashes. Katsuki was glaring down at him, but he wasn't pulling away. In fact, Katsuki stepped closer, awkwardly patting Izuku on the head in a rough, clumsy imitation of comfort.

 

That was the day Izuku Midoriya ceased to exist, and Izuku Bakugou was born.

 

 

 

The transition was not easy.

 

The Bakugou household was the polar opposite of the Midoriya apartment. Where Inko had been quiet, soft-spoken, and infinitely gentle, the Bakugous were loud, explosive, and aggressively affectionate. For the first few months, Izuku was a ghost haunting the hallways of their spacious home. He would wake up in the middle of the night crying for his mother, his wails echoing through the dark.

 

Every time, without fail, Mitsuki would be there, scooping him up and rocking him back to sleep while shedding silent tears of her own. But surprisingly, often Katsuki would be there too.

 

Katsuki had taken to his role as an older brother with a terrifying, possessive intensity. Izuku was his little brother. The toys in the house were to be shared (though Katsuki usually dictated how they were shared). The television shows they watched were Katsuki’s choice (which meant non-stop All Might documentaries and hero cartoons). But God forbid anyone else try to tell Izuku what to do.

 

When they started preschool together, the dynamic solidified. Katsuki was the undeniable king of the playground, a fiery comet of energy and confidence that naturally drew other children into his orbit. Izuku, by contrast, was a quiet, timid satellite that hovered just behind Katsuki's shoulder.

 

"Hey, Katsuki, let's go play in the sandbox!" a kid with small, budding wings on his back called out one sunny afternoon.

 

"Yeah!" chimed in another boy whose fingers could stretch like rubber.

 

Katsuki stood proudly at the top of the jungle gym, a wooden stick held aloft like a sword. "Alright, extras! We're playing Heroes and Villains! I'm All Might, obviously." He glanced down at the bottom of the slide, where Izuku was sitting quietly, examining a strange bug in the dirt.

 

"Oi, Izuku! Come on! You're my sidekick!" Katsuki yelled.

 

Izuku’s head snapped up, his green eyes brightening. "C-Coming, Kacchan!"

 

Kacchan. The nickname had slipped out of Izuku’s mouth a few weeks after moving in, a product of his inability to pronounce 'Katsuki' around his newly missing front tooth. Katsuki had originally balked at the cutesy moniker, but when Izuku had started crying at the scolding, Katsuki had quickly backpedaled. Now, he wore the nickname like a badge of honor. It was a title. It meant he was the older brother.

 

The winged kid frowned. "Aw, do we have to play with Izuku? He's so quiet. He doesn't even want to fight the villains."

 

Before the kid could blink, Katsuki had slid down the slide and marched right up to him, his small face contorted into a fearsome glare. He shoved the winged boy hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backward.

 

"Shut up!" Katsuki roared. "Izuku is my brother! He plays with us, or I'll beat you into the dirt! He's my sidekick, got it?!"

 

The winged boy nodded furiously, eyes wide with terror. "G-Got it, Katsuki!"

 

Katsuki huffed, turning around to grab Izuku by the wrist and hauling him to his feet. "Come on, Izuku. Let's go save the day."

 

Izuku beamed, his small hand gripping Katsuki’s tightly. To Izuku, Katsuki was nothing short of magnificent. He was brave, he was strong, and he was completely fearless. Kacchan was the sun, and Izuku was perfectly content to bask in his light. As they ran across the playground, Izuku felt a profound sense of safety. He had lost his mother, a wound that still throbbed painfully in his chest, but he hadn't been left alone in the dark. He had a family. He had a brother who would fight the whole world for him.

 

 

 

The spark ignited when they were four years old.

 

It was a Tuesday evening. Mitsuki was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with aggressive precision, while Masaru was sitting at the dining table, attempting to read a newspaper over the deafening noise of the TV in the living room.

 

Izuku and Katsuki were wrestling on the carpet over a limited-edition Silver Age All Might action figure.

 

"Give it, Izuku! It's my turn to make him use the Detroit Smash!" Katsuki yelled, grappling with his brother.

 

"But I didn't get to finish saving the civilians from the lava pit!" Izuku protested, giggling as he tried to squirm out of Katsuki’s headlock.

 

"I'm the older brother! The hero always listens to the—"

 

POP. SNAP. CRACKLE.

 

The sound was sharp, like miniature firecrackers going off in the living room.

 

Katsuki froze. Izuku froze.

 

The boys looked down. From the palms of Katsuki’s hands, small, bright flashes of light were sparking into existence. A sudden, sweet scent akin to burnt caramel filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of ozone.

 

Katsuki released Izuku, holding his hands up to his face in absolute awe. He clenched his fists, and larger sparks popped against his skin, leaving tiny trails of smoke. It didn't hurt. It felt warm, thrilling, and powerful.

 

"Mom! Dad!" Katsuki screamed, his voice pitching high with excitement. "Look! Look!"

 

Mitsuki dropped her knife, rushing into the living room with Masaru right behind her. When they saw the sparks dancing on their son's palms, Mitsuki let out a loud, triumphant cheer. "Haha! That's my boy! It's a combination of our quirks, Masaru! Acid sweat and glycerin!"

 

Masaru smiled warmly, adjusting his glasses. "It's quite a powerful manifestation, Katsuki. You're going to have an amazing quirk."

 

Katsuki looked like he had just conquered the world. His red eyes were blazing, his chest puffed out with undeniable pride. He turned to Izuku, who was still sitting on the carpet, staring at Katsuki's hands with stars in his eyes.

 

"Did you see that, Izuku?!" Katsuki yelled, popping off a few more sparks for emphasis. "Explosions! I can make explosions! I'm gonna be the strongest hero in the world! I'll surpass All Might in no time!"

 

Izuku scrambled to his feet, clapping his hands together. "That's so cool, Kacchan! It's amazing! You're gonna be a great hero!"

 

"Darn right I am!" Katsuki grinned fiercely. He stomped over to Izuku and clapped a hand on his shoulder—careful not to spark while doing it. "And when you get your quirk, we're gonna be the best hero team ever! The Wonder Duo! But I'll still be the boss, obviously."

 

"Obviously!" Izuku agreed, his heart hammering with excitement.

 

If Kacchan’s quirk was this amazing, what would his be? His mother could pull small objects, and his father (whom he had never known) could breathe fire. Maybe he could breathe explosive fire! Or pull things with fire! The possibilities were endless, and for the first time in a year, Izuku went to bed that night with a smile that reached his eyes, dreaming of the day his own power would awaken.

 

 

 

But the day didn't come.

 

Weeks bled into months. Katsuki's explosions grew stronger, louder, and more controlled. He was the undisputed king of preschool, heralded as a prodigy by the teachers and worshipped by the other kids. His ego swelled, matching the vastness of his ambition.

 

Yet, as time marched on, a subtle, creeping anxiety began to take root in the Bakugou household.

 

Izuku turned four and a half. Nothing.

 

He turned five. Still nothing.

 

Izuku spent hours sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, staring intensely at a small green plastic cup, trying with all his might to pull it toward him like his mother used to do with his toys. He would strain until his face turned purple, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing, hoping, praying for even a slight quiver from the plastic.

 

The cup never moved.

 

He tried breathing fire, standing in the backyard and huffing air until he was dizzy and lightheaded. Katsuki would sit on the porch steps, watching him with a mixture of impatience and an underlying, unspoken worry.

 

"You're doing it wrong, nerd," Katsuki would say, standing up and marching over. "You gotta feel it in your gut. Like a spark! Look!" Katsuki would thrust his palm out, letting off a loud BANG that made Izuku jump. "See? Now try again."

 

Izuku would try again. And again. And again.

 

Inside the house, Mitsuki and Masaru would watch through the kitchen window, their expressions tight with concern.

 

"He's late," Mitsuki murmured one evening, aggressively scrubbing a dish that was already clean. "Very late. Most kids manifest by four. He's past five now."

 

Masaru sighed heavily, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist. "Let's not jump to conclusions, Mitsuki. Late bloomers exist. Tomorrow is his appointment with the specialist. We'll find out then. Just... be prepared for anything."

 

Mitsuki's jaw clenched. "I don't care if he has a quirk or not. He's my son now. I just... I know how much it means to him. To both of them."

 

Outside, Katsuki was yelling at Izuku to try harder, but there was a frantic edge to his voice. For all his bravado, Katsuki was fiercely protective of his territory, and Izuku was his. In Katsuki's mind, a world where Izuku didn't get a quirk was unacceptable, because it meant Izuku would be left behind. And Katsuki refused to leave his brother behind.

 

"Come on, Izuku!" Katsuki barked, grabbing Izuku by the shoulders and shaking him slightly. "Stop being lazy! Just shoot fire out of your mouth already!"

 

Izuku looked up at Katsuki, his lower lip trembling. The frustration, the fear, and the sheer exhaustion of trying and failing for a year finally caught up to him. Large, fat tears spilled over his cheeks. "I'm trying, Kacchan! I'm trying really hard, but nothing is happening!"

 

Katsuki recoiled as if he had been burned. Seeing Izuku cry always made something tight and uncomfortable twist in his chest. It made him feel entirely helpless, a sensation Katsuki violently despised.

 

"Don't cry!" Katsuki yelled, louder than necessary to mask his own panic. "I told you, no crying! You'll get it! Even if it's a weak, stupid quirk, you'll get it! And until you do, I'll just have to be strong enough for both of us! So stop crying!"

 

Izuku sniffled, wiping his eyes with the back of his arm. "O-Okay, Kacchan. I'll stop."

 

Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s hand and practically dragged him back inside the house. "Mom! Izuku's hungry! Give us katsudon!"

 

But despite Katsuki's forceful demands, the air in the house that night was heavy with an impending storm. The unspoken fear loomed over them all, a dark cloud gathering on the horizon.

 

 

 

The specialist’s office smelled like bleach, old paper, and stale coffee. It was a smell Izuku would come to associate with the end of the world.

 

He sat on a paper-covered exam table, his legs swinging back and forth, entirely unable to touch the floor. Mitsuki stood beside him, her hand resting protectively on his messy green curls. Masaru was seated in a chair nearby, while Katsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, glaring at the doctor as if the man were a villain who needed to be intimidated.

 

The doctor, a stout, bald man with a bushy mustache, sighed as he pinned an X-ray to the light board on the wall. The stark white glow illuminated the skeletal structure of a small foot.

 

"You should probably give it up."

 

The words were spoken casually, almost carelessly, as if the doctor were telling them it might rain later in the afternoon.

 

Izuku stopped swinging his legs. The All Might action figure in his hand suddenly felt ten times heavier.

 

Mitsuki bristled, her red eyes flashing dangerously. "Excuse me? What the hell did you just say to my son?"

 

The doctor didn't flinch, accustomed to the emotional outbursts of parents. He tapped the X-ray with a pen. "I’m saying that you need to be realistic. Look at this X-ray, Mrs. Bakugou. See this joint right here? It's the pinky toe."

 

"I know what a toe is, doc," Mitsuki snapped, her voice rising in volume. "Get to the point!"

 

"When quirks first started appearing, research was conducted to find out what caused them," the doctor explained in a tired monotone. "They found a link to the absence of a specific joint in the pinky toe. Human evolution, you see. The body shedding unnecessary parts to make room for the new genetic mutations. People with quirks have one joint in their pinky toes. People without them have two."

 

The doctor pointed the pen directly at the screen. "Izuku has two joints. He has no genetic markers for a quirk. He is Quirkless."

 

The silence that followed was absolute, suffocating, and terrifyingly cold.

 

Izuku stared at the X-ray, his five-year-old brain struggling to process the monumental weight of the words. Quirkless. It was a word he had heard whispered on the news, usually followed by tones of pity or disdain. It meant broken. It meant normal. It meant he wasn't like Kacchan. It meant he couldn't be All Might.

 

The action figure slipped from his numb fingers, clattering loudly against the linoleum floor.

 

"That's... that's impossible," Masaru whispered, standing up. "Both of his biological parents had quirks. His mother could pull small objects, and his father could breathe fire. Surely there's a mistake."

 

"Genetics can be unpredictable, Mr. Bakugou," the doctor replied, taking down the X-ray. "Sometimes it skips generations, or recessive genes align just right to block the mutation. Regardless of his parentage, the anatomical evidence is irrefutable. Izuku will never manifest a quirk."

 

"You're lying!"

 

Everyone turned to the wall. Katsuki had pushed himself off it, his small fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Tiny, uncontrolled sparks popped from his palms, singing the wallpaper. His face was a mask of pure, unfiltered outrage.

 

"Katsuki, calm down," Masaru warned gently.

 

"No!" Katsuki shouted, marching right up to the doctor. He looked ridiculous, a five-year-old trying to intimidate a grown man, but the sheer ferocity in his red eyes was startling. "You're a stupid, lying quack! Izuku is my brother! He's gonna be a hero with me! You just don't know what you're looking at!"

 

"Kacchan..." Izuku's voice was barely a whisper, frail and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

 

Mitsuki knelt down, grabbing Katsuki by the shoulders. "Katsuki, enough," she said, her voice shaking. She looked up at the doctor, her eyes blazing with unshed tears and profound fury. "We're leaving."

 

She didn't ask for a second opinion. She didn't ask for pamphlets on how to raise a quirkless child. She simply picked up the fallen All Might toy, scooped Izuku into her arms, and walked out of the room, her husband and eldest son following closely behind.

 

The car ride home was the quietest Izuku had ever experienced.

 

Usually, the Bakugou car was filled with arguments over the radio station, Katsuki yelling about something he saw out the window, and Mitsuki yelling back. Today, there was only the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump-thump of the tires against the asphalt.

 

Izuku sat in his booster seat, staring blankly out the window. The world outside was bright and sunny, completely at odds with the gaping, hollow void that had suddenly opened up in his chest. I can't be a hero. The thought repeated on a loop, a cruel, mocking mantra. I'm broken. Just like Mama broke. I'm broken.

 

Beside him, Katsuki was staring at Izuku. Katsuki’s brow was furrowed so deeply it looked painful. He was chewing on his lower lip, a nervous habit he rarely displayed. Katsuki didn't fully comprehend the societal implications of being Quirkless, but he understood the basics: Quirkless meant weak. Quirkless meant helpless. Quirkless meant Izuku couldn't fight.

 

And if Izuku couldn't fight, how was he going to survive?

 

A deep, primal fear began to unfurl in Katsuki’s stomach. It was the same fear he had felt the day he realized Auntie Inko wasn't ever coming back. It was the realization that the world was dangerous, and people could be taken away forever. Katsuki had promised to protect Izuku. He had promised. But if Izuku was going to try and fight villains without a quirk... he would die.

 

The thought made Katsuki feel physically sick.

 

When they arrived home, Izuku didn't say a word. He climbed out of the car, walked into the house, and went straight to the room he shared with Katsuki. He climbed into his bed, pulled the covers over his head, and vanished into the dark.

 

 

 

Later that night, the house was dark, but a flickering blue light spilled from beneath the crack of the boys' bedroom door.

 

Mitsuki stood in the hallway, her back pressed against the wall, one hand covering her mouth as she tried to stifle the sound of her own sobbing. Masaru was downstairs, pacing the living room, trying to figure out how to navigate this new, devastating reality.

 

Inside the bedroom, Izuku sat in front of the family computer.

 

He was watching the video. The video. The debut of All Might, carrying a dozen people from a burning disaster site, laughing a booming, fearless laugh.

 

"Fear not, citizens! Why? Because I am here!"

 

The audio was turned down low, but it echoed loudly in the quiet room. Izuku sat in the rolling chair, clutching his knees to his chest. Tears streamed down his face in silent, unbroken rivers.

 

The door creaked open slightly. Katsuki stood in the doorway, wearing his All Might pajamas. He looked from his crying mother in the hallway, to the hunched, vibrating back of his younger brother in the dark room.

 

Katsuki stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. He walked slowly toward the desk.

 

Izuku didn't turn around. He pointed a trembling, pale finger at the screen, at the smiling face of his ultimate idol.

 

"Kacchan..." Izuku's voice broke, shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. "He saves everyone with a smile. No matter how scary it is... he always smiles. Mom always smiled too."

 

Izuku slowly turned his chair around. His face was a mess of tears and snot, his large green eyes reflecting the blue light of the monitor, filled with a desperate, agonizing plea for a lie. He didn't want the truth. He wanted his big brother to fix it, like Katsuki always did.

 

"Can I... can I still be a hero, Kacchan? Even if I don't have a quirk? Can I be like him?"

 

Katsuki froze.

 

The words struck him like a physical blow. He looked at Izuku’s tear-streaked face. He looked at the frail, skinny arms clutching the knees. He remembered the doctor's blunt words. He remembered the winged kid pushing Izuku at the park.

 

If Izuku tried to be a hero, he would be crushed. He would be killed. The world would chew him up and spit him out, and Katsuki would be left alone. He would lose his brother, just like Izuku had lost his mother.

 

Panic, hot and searing, spiked in Katsuki’s veins. It bypassed his rational thought and fed directly into his pride and his aggressive instincts. I have to stop him. I have to make him quit, or he's going to die.

 

But how do you make someone quit their dream?

 

You destroy it.

 

Katsuki swallowed hard, pushing the empathy down, down, down until it was buried beneath a fortress of anger and arrogance. He squared his shoulders, his face hardening into a scowl that looked far too old for a five-year-old boy.

 

"Don't be stupid," Katsuki said, his voice harsh and loud in the quiet room.

 

Izuku flinched, his eyes widening.

 

"You can't be a hero without a quirk, idiot," Katsuki continued, taking a step forward. He forced himself to sneer. "Did you hear the doctor? You're completely empty. You're... you're a Deku!"

 

Izuku blinked, the tears momentarily halting in shock. "D-Deku?"

 

"Yeah! Deku! It means someone who can't do anything!" Katsuki yelled, his palms sparking involuntarily with his rising agitation. "You can't fight villains! You're weak! You'd just get in the way and get killed!"

 

Izuku recoiled as if Katsuki had slapped him. The devastation on his brother's face made Katsuki want to vomit, but he doubled down, fueled by the sheer terror of losing him.

 

"I'm gonna be the Number One Hero!" Katsuki proclaimed, slamming his fist into his palm with a loud CRACK. "I have the best quirk in the world! You don't have anything! So stop crying, stop watching these stupid videos, and give up! You're just a Quirkless nobody! I'll do the hero work. You just... stay behind me!"

 

Izuku stared at Katsuki. The sun, his bright, invincible brother, had just burned him.

 

Izuku didn't argue. He didn't yell back. He simply turned back to the computer screen, pulled his knees tighter to his chest, and buried his face in his arms. His small shoulders shook with silent, agonizing sobs.

 

Katsuki stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving, his hands shaking slightly. He had done it. He had laid the law down. He had protected Izuku.

 

So why did he feel like the villain?

 

With a frustrated growl, Katsuki turned and marched to his own bed, throwing himself under the covers. He clamped his hands over his ears to block out the sound of Izuku's crying, but the sound seemed to echo inside his own head.

 

I'm doing this to protect him, Katsuki told himself fiercely. I'll just have to be so strong that he never has to fight. I'll be enough for both of us.

 

 

 

The true shift in their dynamic didn't solidify in the bedroom; it was hammered into stone three days later at the neighborhood park.

 

The news of Izuku's diagnosis had spread through the preschool grapevine with the speed of a wildfire. Children are remarkably observant, but they are also profoundly cruel in their simplicity. In a world where 80% of the population possessed a superpower, being part of the 20% wasn't just a minority; it was an anomaly. It was a defect.

 

It was a Tuesday afternoon. Mitsuki had dragged the boys to the park to get them out of the suffocating tension of the house. Katsuki had immediately run off to climb the highest structure he could find, leaving Izuku sitting quietly on the edge of the sandbox, absentmindedly drawing in the dirt with a stick.

 

"Hey, look! It's the Quirkless kid!"

 

Izuku looked up. Standing a few feet away were three boys from their preschool class. The one in the middle was the boy with the budding red wings. To his left was the boy with the stretchy fingers, and to his right was a boy who could make his teeth grow into sharp fangs.

 

Izuku instinctively shrank back, pulling his knees to his chest. "H-Hi, Tsubasa."

 

Tsubasa, the winged boy, sneered. It was a perfect imitation of the disdain he had likely seen his parents display. "My mom says you have a disease. She says we shouldn't play with you because you're defective."

 

Izuku's grip on the stick tightened. "I don't have a disease. I just... I don't have a quirk."

 

"Same thing," the stretchy-fingered kid laughed. "You're a nobody. Katsuki told everyone yesterday. He called you a 'Deku'. That means you're useless!"

 

Izuku's heart plummeted into his stomach. Katsuki had told them? His own brother had broadcasted his greatest shame to the world? The betrayal stung worse than any physical blow.

 

"I'm not useless," Izuku whispered, though he didn't believe it himself.

 

"Yeah, you are!" Tsubasa stepped forward, kicking a spray of sand directly into Izuku's face.

 

Izuku cried out, dropping the stick and rubbing his eyes as the abrasive grains scratched his corneas. Before he could recover, the boy with the fangs shoved him hard in the shoulder. Izuku tumbled backward, landing hard in the dirt.

 

"Crybaby Deku!" they chanted, closing in on him.

 

Izuku scrambled backward, his vision blurry with tears and sand. He raised his arms to protect his head, terrified. He had never been in a fight. He had never needed to be. Katsuki had always been there to scare the bad guys away.

 

Where is Kacchan?

 

"Hey! Get the hell away from him!"

 

The roar was so loud, so filled with absolute, murderous fury, that the three bullies froze in their tracks.

 

Izuku lowered his arms.

 

Katsuki was standing at the edge of the sandbox, breathing heavily. He had leaped off the top of the jungle gym and sprinted across the park. His red eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with a terrifying blend of panic and rage. Seeing Izuku on the ground, cowering, surrounded by people who wanted to hurt him—it was Katsuki's worst nightmare made flesh.

 

"K-Katsuki!" Tsubasa stammered, taking a step back. "We were just... we were just putting the Quirkless kid in his place! You said he was useless!"

 

Katsuki didn't speak. He didn't rationalize. He simply attacked.

 

He launched himself at Tsubasa, his palms outstretched. BANG! BANG! Two perfectly aimed explosions detonated right in front of the winged boy's face. The force of the blast sent Tsubasa flying backward onto his rear end, his hair singed and his face covered in black soot.

 

The stretchy-fingered boy and the fanged boy screamed in terror, turning and sprinting away as fast as their legs could carry them. Tsubasa scrambled to his feet, crying hysterically, and chased after his friends, leaving the sandbox in absolute silence.

 

Izuku sat in the dirt, wiping the remaining sand from his eyes. He looked up at Katsuki, a wave of profound relief washing over him. Kacchan had come. Kacchan had saved him. Despite what he had said the other night, Kacchan still cared.

 

"Th-Thank you, Kacchan," Izuku sniffled, reaching a hand up, waiting for Katsuki to pull him to his feet like he always did.

 

Katsuki didn't take the hand.

 

He stood over Izuku, his chest heaving, his palms smoking. He looked at Izuku’s trembling hand, then at the tears streaming down his bruised, dirt-streaked face.

 

The terror Katsuki had felt seconds ago—the paralyzing fear that Izuku was going to be hurt, or broken, or killed—coagulated rapidly into a blinding, defensive anger. It was anger at the bullies, yes. But more intensely, it was anger at Izuku.

 

Why is he so weak? Katsuki thought frantically. Why didn't he fight back? If I wasn't here, they would have kept hurting him! If he tries to fight real villains, he's going to die! He's going to die and I won't be able to stop it!

 

Katsuki’s five-year-old brain couldn't process the nuance of trauma, weakness, and support. He only understood strength and survival. If Izuku was too weak to survive in the world of heroes, then Katsuki had to make sure Izuku never entered that world. He had to make Izuku hate the idea of fighting. He had to break his spirit to save his life.

 

Katsuki slapped Izuku’s outstretched hand away.

 

Izuku gasped, cradling his hand to his chest, looking up at his brother in absolute shock.

 

"Don't look at me like that!" Katsuki screamed, his voice cracking with the strain of his emotions. "You're pathetic! You couldn't even fight back against three stupid extras!"

 

"Th-They pushed me..." Izuku stammered, fresh tears welling in his eyes.

 

"So push them back!" Katsuki roared, sparking an explosion into the sand next to Izuku, making the boy flinch violently. "But you can't! Because you're a Quirkless Deku! You're nothing! If you try to play hero, you're just going to die, and then Mom will cry again, and it will be all your fault!"

 

The words were a brutal, jagged knife, aimed flawlessly at Izuku's deepest, most vulnerable insecurities. The memory of his mother, the guilt of his existence, the crushing weight of his uselessness. It all slammed into him at once.

 

"I'm sorry," Izuku choked out, curling into a tight ball in the dirt, sobbing openly now. "I'm sorry, Kacchan. I'm sorry."

 

Katsuki looked down at the broken, sobbing form of his brother. His heart ached so fiercely he thought it might crack his ribs, but he gritted his teeth, forcing the empathy down. He was doing this for Izuku. It was the only way.

 

"I told you," Katsuki said, his voice dropping into a cold, hard sneer that would become his mask for the next decade. "I'm the only one who gets to be a hero in this family. I'm going to be Number One. You're just a pebble in my path. So stay down, Deku. Stay down where it's safe, or I'll blow you away myself."

 

Katsuki turned his back on his brother and walked away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his small shoulders tight with a burden he was far too young to carry.

 

Behind him, in the sandbox, Izuku Bakugou wept. He wept for his mother. He wept for his dream. And most of all, he wept for his brother, the brilliant, explosive sun who had just cast him forever into the void of his shadow.

 

The spark and the void had been defined. The lines of their toxic, desperate brotherhood were drawn in the sand, destined to define every interaction, every fight, and every secret they would share for the next ten years.

 

Katsuki would be the monster to keep the real monsters away.

 

And Izuku, deep down in the stubborn core of his heart, would silently vow to one day prove his brother wrong. He would climb out of the void. He would stand in the light.

 

Even if it killed him.

 

The morning sun bled through the blinds of the Bakugou household, casting long, prison-bar shadows across the floor of Izuku’s bedroom.

 

The digital clock on his bedside table clicked to 6:00 AM, and a millisecond later, an alarm began to blare—a cheerful, booming recording of All Might yelling, "I AM HERE! AND IT IS TIME TO WAKE UP!"

 

Before All Might could repeat the phrase, Izuku’s hand shot out from beneath his All Might-themed duvet and slapped the snooze button. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sounds of the house waking up.

 

Ten years. It had been ten years since the sterile smell of that hospital room, ten years since Inko Midoriya had been laid to rest, and ten years since Katsuki had drawn a line in the sand that defined their entire existence.

 

Izuku sat up, rubbing the sleep from his large green eyes. At fourteen years old, he had grown into a boy who looked perpetually nervous, his posture slightly hunched as if expecting a blow, his unruly curls a wild halo around a face dotted with freckles. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet finding the worn carpet, and began the daily ritual of armor-donning.

 

Uniform on. Tie straightened. Yellow backpack packed with his textbooks, and more importantly, his Hero Analysis for the Future notebook—number thirteen.

 

He opened his door just as the door across the hall swung open violently, rebounding off the wall with a loud thwack.

 

Katsuki stepped out into the hallway. He hadn't changed much in ten years, save for getting taller, broader, and infinitely more intimidating. His ash-blonde hair still defied gravity, and his permanent scowl seemed etched into his bone structure. He wore the Aldera Junior High uniform with aggressive disrespect—the jacket unbuttoned, the tie loose, and his pants sagging just enough to be a middle finger to authority.

 

Katsuki stopped, his crimson eyes locking onto Izuku. The air in the hallway immediately thickened, dropping ten degrees.

 

"Morning, Kacchan," Izuku said, his voice soft, a habit born of a decade of trying not to trigger the explosives.

 

Katsuki’s eyes swept up and down Izuku’s frame, lingering for a fraction of a second on the way Izuku’s tie was perfectly knotted. Katsuki scoffed, a harsh sound in the quiet morning. "Your tie looks stupid, Deku. You look like a damn corporate drone. Fix it."

 

Izuku’s hands nervously fluttered to his collar. "O-Oh. I just... it's the school rules..."

 

"Screw the rules," Katsuki growled, shoving past Izuku and intentionally bumping his shoulder against his brother's. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it was enough to knock Izuku off balance. "Hurry up and get downstairs before the old hag eats all the bacon."

 

Izuku sighed softly as Katsuki's heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs. Walking on eggshells. That was the only way to describe living with Katsuki Bakugou.

 

When Izuku reached the kitchen, the daily war was already in full swing.

 

Mitsuki Bakugou was standing by the stove, a spatula wielded like a broadsword in her hand. "Sit up straight, you little brat!" she yelled, smacking the back of Katsuki's head. "You look like a delinquent!"

 

"I am sitting straight, you old hag!" Katsuki roared back, sparks literally flying from his palms and dancing across the kitchen island. "Don't touch my hair!"

 

"I'll touch whatever I want, I brought you into this world!" Mitsuki retorted, slamming a plate of eggs and bacon onto the table in front of him.

 

At the end of the table, Masaru Bakugou calmly sipped his black coffee, reading the morning paper on his tablet. He looked up, adjusting his glasses. "Good morning, Izuku," he said warmly, his voice a peaceful oasis in the desert of screaming.

 

"Good morning, Uncle Masaru. Good morning, Auntie," Izuku smiled, pulling out his chair and sitting next to Katsuki.

 

Mitsuki’s fierce expression instantly melted into a warm, affectionate grin. "Morning, Izuku! Eat up, sweetie, you need to put some meat on those bones." She placed a plate in front of him, the portion noticeably larger than Katsuki's.

 

Katsuki noticed immediately. "Hey! Why does the nerd get more bacon than me?!"

 

"Because he actually uses his manners!" Mitsuki barked. "And because he's a twig! A strong wind could blow him into traffic, and we both know you'd be the one crying about it!"

 

Katsuki’s face flushed a brilliant, explosive red. "I WOULD NOT CRY! I'D LAUGH!"

 

"Oh, please," Mitsuki scoffed, rolling her eyes and turning back to the sink. "You cried for three hours when he scraped his knee off his bicycle in the third grade."

 

"THAT WAS BECAUSE HE BLED ON MY FAVORITE SHIRT!" Katsuki screamed, his palms popping loudly.

 

Izuku kept his head down, quickly shoveling rice and eggs into his mouth to hide his small smile. This was his family. It was loud, chaotic, and fundamentally dysfunctional, but it was real. Beneath the screaming, there was an ironclad foundation of love. Mitsuki and Masaru treated Izuku exactly as they treated Katsuki—as their own son.

 

But with Katsuki, the love was twisted into a barbed wire fence.

 

"You two are on trash duty this morning," Mitsuki announced over her shoulder as she scrubbed a pan. "Don't forget."

 

"Make Deku do it, it's his turn!" Katsuki argued.

 

"It's a two-man job, Katsuki. Go!"

 

Ten minutes later, the two brothers were standing on the curb in front of their house. The humid spring air of Musutafu was already thick, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms and exhaust fumes. Izuku grabbed the handles of the heavy green trash bag, straining slightly as he lifted it from the bin to carry it to the collection point down the street.

 

Before he could take a step, a hand grabbed the plastic collar of the bag.

 

"Let go, idiot," Katsuki muttered, effortlessly hoisting the heavy bag over his shoulder.

 

"I can do it, Kacchan," Izuku protested gently. "Auntie said it's a two-man job."

 

"Auntie is blind," Katsuki sneered, not looking at him as he began walking down the sidewalk. "Your noodle arms are gonna snap if you carry this all the way to the corner. I don't need the hag yelling at me because I let you break a bone over garbage."

 

Izuku hurried to keep up with Katsuki’s long, aggressive strides. He looked at his older brother's back. Katsuki's uniform jacket stretched tightly over the muscles he had spent years meticulously building. Katsuki was a physical powerhouse, bred for combat, driven by an unyielding obsession with perfection.

 

Izuku looked down at his own thin, uncalloused hands. The physical disparity between them was a chasm that only widened with every passing year.

 

"Thanks, Kacchan," Izuku said quietly.

 

Katsuki just clicked his tongue. "Whatever. Just stay behind me and don't wander off. You'll get run over."

 

The walk to Aldera Junior High was always the same. Katsuki walked half a pace ahead, a fiery vanguard that parted the sea of morning commuters. People naturally gave Katsuki a wide berth, intimidated by his permanent scowl and the faint, warning crackle of explosions that sometimes echoed from his palms when he was annoyed.

 

Izuku walked in his slipstream, protected but utterly obscured.

 

When they reached the school gates, the domestic facade shattered, replaced by the brutal hierarchy of teenage society. Katsuki didn't just walk into the school; he conquered it.

 

"Hey, Bakugou! Morning!"

 

Izuku flinched as Tsubasa and his lackeys fell into step beside them. Tsubasa’s red wings had grown substantially since they were five, and so had his cruelty. They were Katsuki’s self-proclaimed 'entourage', a group of sycophants who followed the strongest dog in the yard.

 

Katsuki didn't even look at them. "Out of my way, extras."

 

Tsubasa laughed as if Katsuki had made a brilliant joke, but his eyes darted to Izuku, who was keeping his head down, trying to become invisible. "Hey, look, it's the Quirkless wonder. Got your hero notebook, Deku? Gonna take notes on how to be a janitor?"

 

The goons snickered. Izuku felt his cheeks burn, his grip tightening on the straps of his yellow backpack. He kept his eyes glued to the floor tiles.

 

Before Tsubasa could continue, Katsuki stopped dead in his tracks.

 

The entire hallway seemed to freeze. Katsuki slowly turned his head, his crimson eyes locking onto Tsubasa with the intensity of a laser sight. The air grew heavy with the scent of burnt sugar.

 

"Did I say you could talk to him?" Katsuki's voice was deathly quiet, a stark contrast to his usual yelling. It was the tone he used right before something exploded.

 

Tsubasa paled, taking a step back, his wings pressing flat against his back. "W-What? No, I just... he's Deku..."

 

Katsuki grabbed Tsubasa by the collar of his uniform, lifting the boy onto his tiptoes. Smoke began to curl from Katsuki’s fingertips, singeing the fabric of Tsubasa's shirt.

 

"Listen to me, you winged freak," Katsuki snarled, his face inches from Tsubasa's. "He's a useless Deku. But he's my useless Deku. He's my brother. Only I get to mess with him. If I catch you looking at him, breathing on him, or talking to him again, I'll pluck your stupid feathers out one by one and roast them. Do we have a problem?"

 

"N-No! No problem, Bakugou! S-Sorry!" Tsubasa squeaked, absolute terror in his eyes.

 

Katsuki shoved him away violently, sending Tsubasa crashing into the lockers. Katsuki turned around, his scowl deepening. "Keep walking, Deku. Stop dawdling."

 

Izuku hurried after him, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was a bizarre, torturous duality. Katsuki defended him with the ferocity of a starving wolf protecting its cub, but the defense was always laced with venom. Katsuki made sure no one else in the school dared lay a finger on Izuku, but the price Izuku paid was utter, total isolation. No one spoke to him. No one befriended him. They were too afraid of Katsuki's wrath.

 

Izuku was perfectly safe in the eye of the hurricane, but he was completely alone.

 

 

 

Third period was Career Counseling.

 

The classroom was buzzing with restless energy. Mr. Tanaka, a balding man with a quirk that made his nose occasionally glow blue, stood at the front of the room holding a thick stack of papers.

 

Izuku sat in his desk near the back, his head down, frantically scribbling in Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. He was currently sketching Mt. Lady's debut from that morning, calculating the exact limitations of her gigantification in urban environments. The scratch of his pencil was a frantic, desperate rhythm—a physical manifestation of a dream he refused to let die, no matter how much dirt was piled on top of it.

 

Katsuki sat two rows ahead, his feet kicked up on his desk, staring out the window with bored, violent apathy.

 

"Since you're all third-years, it's time for you to think seriously about your futures," Mr. Tanaka announced, his voice carrying over the chatter. "I'll pass out these printouts for your desired career paths, but..."

 

The teacher paused, a wide smile breaking across his face. He suddenly threw the stack of papers into the air, letting them rain down like confetti. "...you all want to be heroes, right?!"

 

The classroom erupted. Quirks flashed across the room—students stretching their necks, firing small bursts of water, hardening their skin. It was a cacophony of power, a celebration of the genetic lottery that Izuku had lost.

 

Izuku shrank down in his seat, his pencil halting. He didn't raise his hand. He didn't show off a quirk. He just tried to make himself as small as possible.

 

"Yes, yes, you all have wonderful quirks!" Mr. Tanaka laughed. "But remember, using your quirks during school hours is against the rules!"

 

"Sensei!"

 

The loud, arrogant voice cut through the noise like a machete. Everyone silenced immediately, turning to look.

 

Katsuki hadn't moved his feet from the desk, but he was leaning back, a feral, confident smirk on his face. "Don't lump me in with these losers. They'll be lucky to end up as sidekicks to some D-lister in a back alley. I'm the real deal."

 

The class erupted in outrage, yelling insults, but Katsuki just laughed, popping a few warning explosions from his palms that immediately shut them up.

 

"You've all got weak quirks!" Katsuki mocked, standing up and standing on his chair for good measure. "I'm the only one in this garbage school who's got the right stuff. I aced all the mock tests! I'm the only one from Aldera who's going to U.A. High School! I'll surpass All Might and become the top hero, and I'll carve my name into the history books!"

 

Mr. Tanaka looked at his clipboard. "Ah, yes, Bakugou. You are aiming for U.A. High. It's a difficult path, but you certainly have the aptitude." The teacher paused, scanning the document further, his brow furrowing slightly. "Oh... Midoriya. You're... you're applying for U.A. too, aren't you?"

 

The classroom went dead silent.

 

A pin dropping would have sounded like a bomb.

 

Izuku froze. His blood ran cold. His pencil slipped from his trembling fingers, rolling off his desk and hitting the floor with a hollow tap. He slowly raised his head, his wide green eyes meeting the staring faces of his classmates.

 

Then, the laughter started.

 

It wasn't just a chuckle; it was roaring, mocking laughter that shook the walls.

 

"Deku?! U.A.?!"

"Is he serious?!"

"There's no way you can get into the hero course without a quirk!"

"They got rid of that rule, but it doesn't mean a Quirkless nobody has a chance!"

 

Izuku stood up quickly, his hands waving in defense, his face burning with humiliation. "T-They got rid of that rule! I-It's not impossible! I just... I want to try! Even if I have to work harder than anyone else, I can still—!"

 

BOOOOOOM!

 

The explosion was deafening.

 

Before Izuku could blink, Katsuki had crossed the room. His hand slammed down violently onto Izuku’s desk. The wood splintered and blackened instantly under the sheer heat and force of the blast. The shockwave threw Izuku backward, causing him to trip over his chair and land hard on the linoleum floor.

 

The laughter died instantly. The classroom fell into a terrified silence.

 

Katsuki stood over Izuku’s destroyed desk, his entire body trembling. The smirk was gone. In its place was a look of pure, unadulterated fury mixed with an absolute, terrifying panic. His red eyes were wide, the pupils blown completely out, making him look deranged.

 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Katsuki's voice wasn't a yell. It was a low, vibrating growl that shook the air in Izuku's lungs.

 

Izuku stared up at his brother, terrified. "K-Kacchan, I... I just..."

 

"U.A.?!" Katsuki finally screamed, the volume returning with a vengeance. He leaned over the ruined desk, pointing a smoking finger at Izuku's face. "The hardest hero school in the country?! The place where they pit students against giant robots and real villains?! You think you can stand in the same ring as me?! You don't have a quirk, Deku! You'll be a red smear on the pavement in three seconds!"

 

Izuku scrambled backward on the floor, his breath hitching. "I-I'm not trying to compete with you, Kacchan! I swear! I just... it's my dream! I have to try!"

 

"You're going to get yourself killed playing pretend!" Katsuki roared, kicking Izuku’s broken chair out of the way. He took a step toward Izuku, looking as if he was going to physically drag him out of the room. "You're not going! I won't let you!"

 

"Bakugou! That's enough!" Mr. Tanaka finally intervened, stepping forward, his quirk activating in his panic as his nose glowed bright blue. "Return to your seat immediately! And Midoriya, pick yourself up."

 

Katsuki glared at the teacher, his hands sparking, but he slowly lowered his arms. He looked back down at Izuku, his chest heaving. The look in Katsuki's eyes wasn't just anger; it was a desperate, suffocating terror.

 

"You're an idiot," Katsuki hissed, turning his back and stomping back to his desk.

 

Izuku slowly picked himself off the floor, his heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. He righted his broken chair and sat back down, his head bowed. He didn't look up for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

When the final bell rang, the classroom emptied in record time. Nobody wanted to be caught in the blast radius of whatever mood Bakugou was in.

 

Izuku stayed in his seat, mechanically packing his bag. He slid his notebooks in, one by one. His hands were shaking. He felt utterly drained, a hollow shell of a boy holding onto a dream that everyone—especially his brother—wanted to burn to the ground.

 

He reached for Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13, but a hand snatched it off the desk before his fingers could brush the cover.

 

Izuku looked up. Katsuki was standing there, his face an unreadable mask. Tsubasa and another lackey were hovering by the door, but Katsuki waved a hand backward without looking at them.

 

"Get lost," Katsuki ordered. "I'm dealing with him."

 

Tsubasa didn't need to be told twice. He bolted down the hallway.

 

Katsuki looked down at the notebook in his hand. He stared at the messy, passionate scrawl on the cover. Hero Analysis for the Future. Katsuki flipped it open.

 

Izuku stood up, panic flaring. "Kacchan, please. Give it back. I wasn't... I wasn't doing anything wrong."

 

Katsuki ignored him. His eyes scanned the pages. He saw the detailed sketches of Mt. Lady, Kamui Woods, and Backdraft. He saw the paragraphs of cramped handwriting, breaking down their quirk limitations, their combat styles, their weaknesses, and how a person without a strength-enhancing quirk could hypothetically assist them in a fight.

 

Katsuki felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

 

He had always known Izuku was a nerd. He knew Izuku watched hero fights. But Katsuki had convinced himself it was just a hobby. A childish fantasy that Izuku would eventually outgrow.

 

But looking at this notebook... this wasn't a hobby. This was a blueprint.

 

Izuku wasn't just dreaming; he was planning. He was actively studying how to inject himself into life-or-death situations. He was trying to figure out how a frail, Quirkless boy could stand in the crossfire of gods and monsters.

 

It was a suicide note written in pencil.

 

"What is this?" Katsuki asked, his voice deathly quiet.

 

"I-It's for my future," Izuku stammered, holding his hands out pleadingly. "Please, Kacchan. I worked really hard on it."

 

Katsuki looked up from the book, his crimson eyes locking onto Izuku’s green ones. All the rage, the fear, and the ten years of toxic pressure bubbled to the surface, overflowing in a wave of utter desperation.

 

"You think villains care about your notes, Deku?" Katsuki said, his voice trembling slightly. "You think a villain with a knife, or a gun, or a quirk that melts flesh is going to wait for you to pull out your little notebook and figure out their weakness?"

 

"No, I know they won't, but—!"

 

"But nothing!" Katsuki stepped forward, backing Izuku up against the chalkboard. "You don't get it! You've never been in a real fight! You flinch when I pop a spark! You're soft, you're weak, and you are going to die if you try this!"

 

"I have to try!" Izuku cried out, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "I don't have anything else, Kacchan! This is all I've ever wanted! Why can't you just believe in me?!"

 

"Because you have no quirk!" Katsuki screamed, slamming his fist against the chalkboard next to Izuku's head. The loud CLACK echoed through the empty room. "Because I don't want to come home one day and find out my stupid, weak little brother got his head caved in by a villain because he thought he could play hero! I am not going to let you do it!"

 

Katsuki looked down at the notebook in his hand. If this book was the anchor keeping Izuku tied to this suicidal dream, then Katsuki had to sever the rope.

 

He clamped his hand over the cover. BOOM.

 

A concentrated explosion went off in Katsuki’s palm. The notebook ignited instantly, the pages scorching brown and black, the edges crumbling into ash. Izuku let out a choked gasp, reaching forward, but Katsuki pushed him back with his other hand.

 

Katsuki turned and walked to the open window. Without hesitation, he tossed the smoking, ruined notebook out into the courtyard below.

 

Izuku ran to the window, watching his life’s work fall into a small koi pond below. The splash sounded like a gunshot to his heart.

 

"Why..." Izuku whispered, gripping the windowsill until his knuckles turned white. "Why do you have to be so mean?"

 

Katsuki stood next to him, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He couldn't look at Izuku. He couldn't look at the tears. His own heart was beating so fast he felt sick, but he had to finish the job. He had to extinguish the spark completely, or Izuku would burn alive.

 

Katsuki swallowed the lump in his throat, channeling every ounce of cruelty he had built up over a decade. He turned his head, his eyes cold and dead.

 

"If you want to be a hero so badly, there's only one way it's going to end," Katsuki said, his voice dropping to a chilling, venomous whisper. "So just give it up, Deku. Give it up before I have to bury you next to Auntie Inko."

 

Izuku stopped breathing.

 

The words hit him with the force of a freight train. It was a violation of the most sacred, unspoken rule in their household. They didn't talk about Inko's death. They didn't weaponize it.

 

Izuku slowly turned his head to look at Katsuki. His green eyes, usually so bright and expressive, were completely hollow. The light had finally been snuffed out.

 

Katsuki felt a sharp, agonizing twist in his gut. He had gone too far. He knew he had gone too far. The look of absolute, shattered devastation on Izuku’s face was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

 

But it worked.

 

Izuku didn't argue. He didn't cry anymore. He just slowly turned around, picked up his yellow backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. He walked out of the classroom without looking back, his footsteps eerily silent.

 

Katsuki stood in the empty classroom for a long time, listening to the silence. He looked at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably. He balled them into fists, digging his nails into his palms until they bled.

 

"Stupid nerd," Katsuki whispered to the empty air, his voice cracking. "I'm just trying to keep you alive."

 

 

 

The afternoon sun was sinking, casting the world in a bruised, orange hue.

 

Izuku stood by the koi pond behind the school. He reached a trembling hand into the murky water, retrieving the soggy, charred remains of Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. A fat orange carp swam away, disappointed that the floating object wasn't food.

 

"Stupid fish," Izuku muttered, his voice hoarse. "It's not fish food. It's my notebook."

 

He cradled the ruined book to his chest, the water seeping into his school uniform. He felt numb. A deep, pervasive cold had settled into his bones, rendering the warm spring air entirely ineffective.

 

Bury you next to Auntie Inko.

 

The words echoed in his skull, bouncing off the walls of his empty confidence. He knew Katsuki hadn't meant it as a threat. He knew, deep down, that it was a twisted, horrifying expression of Katsuki's fear of loss. Izuku had spent ten years studying Katsuki Bakugou closer than he studied any Pro Hero. He knew Katsuki's tells. He knew the slight tremor in Katsuki's hands when he lied, and the way he avoided eye contact when he felt guilty.

 

Kacchan loved him. Kacchan wanted him alive.

 

But the realization didn't make the words hurt any less. In fact, it made them hurt more. If the person who loved him most in the world, the person who knew him better than anyone else, believed with absolute certainty that Izuku was completely useless... maybe it was true.

 

Maybe the doctor had been right ten years ago. Maybe he was just a defect.

 

Izuku didn't want to go home. He didn't want to see Katsuki, didn't want to sit across from him at the dinner table and pretend the world hadn't just ended. He couldn't face Mitsuki's worried glances or Masaru's gentle sighs.

 

So, Izuku took a detour.

 

Instead of walking the main street home, he turned down a quiet residential alleyway that led to an old, graffiti-covered underpass. It was a longer route, but it was quiet. He needed quiet.

 

As he approached the dark tunnel, Izuku’s thoughts spiraled.

 

He looked down at his ruined notebook. Maybe I should just give up. I could be a police officer. They help people. Or a doctor, like Uncle Masaru wanted me to think about. It's safer. Kacchan wouldn't be so angry all the time. Our family could just be normal.

 

He stepped into the cool, damp shadows of the underpass. The sound of cars driving on the road above echoed rhythmically, a steady, hypnotic beat.

 

But... if I give up... what was the point of all this? What was the point of suffering through the bullying, the isolation, the feeling of being less than human? If I give up, it means Tsubasa was right. It means Kacchan was right. It means I really am just Deku.

 

Izuku stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the dark tunnel, his fists clenching around the straps of his backpack.

 

"I don't want to be Deku," he whispered to the empty tunnel. A fresh wave of tears pricked his eyes. "I just want to save people with a smile. Why is that so wrong? Why is it a crime to want to help?"

 

Gloop. Slop.

 

The sound was wet, heavy, and sickeningly close.

 

Izuku froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He hadn't heard anyone walk into the tunnel. The air suddenly smelled foul—a horrific mixture of raw sewage, rotten eggs, and stagnant canal water.

 

He slowly turned around.

 

Rising from a manhole cover behind him was a nightmare. It wasn't a person. It was a massive, undulating mass of dark green sludge. The slime shifted and bubbled, forming a vaguely humanoid shape. Two massive, bloodshot eyeballs rolled to the front of the sludge, locking onto Izuku with terrifying, manic glee. A jagged mouth formed, revealing rows of sharp, mismatched teeth.

 

"A medium-sized meat suit..." the Sludge Villain gurgled, its voice wet and bubbling. "Perfect. I was starting to think I wouldn't find a place to hide."

 

Izuku couldn't breathe. His brain misfired, a thousand alarm bells ringing simultaneously, but his legs refused to move. This wasn't a hero analysis video on his computer. This wasn't Kacchan bullying him in a classroom.

 

This was real. This was death.

 

Before Izuku could even formulate a scream, the villain lunged.

 

A massive tentacle of foul-smelling slime shot forward, wrapping around Izuku's waist with the force of a python. Izuku was yanked off his feet, his backpack flying off and skidding across the concrete. The ruined notebook spilled onto the ground.

 

"Don't struggle, kid," the villain hissed, the sludge crawling rapidly up Izuku's chest, enveloping his arms and pinning them to his sides. "It'll only hurt for about forty-five seconds. Then it'll all be over."

 

No!

 

Izuku kicked wildly, his sneakers scraping uselessly against the slime. He opened his mouth to scream for help—for a hero, for anyone, for Kacchan—but the moment his jaw parted, the sludge forced its way inside.

 

The taste was indescribably horrific. It tasted like death and decay. The thick mud surged down his throat, blocking his windpipe, filling his mouth and nose.

 

Izuku choked, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated agony. He couldn't breathe. His lungs burned, screaming for oxygen that was being violently replaced by toxic mud. He clawed frantically at the slime covering his face, his fingernails tearing at the gelatinous mass, but it was like trying to grab water. His fingers just slipped through, achieving nothing.

 

I'm dying.

 

The realization hit him with a cold, terrifying clarity.

 

Kacchan was right.

 

As the edges of his vision began to darken, giving way to a starry blackness, Izuku’s frantic struggles began to slow. His lungs were on fire, his heart pounding a frantic, dying rhythm against his ribs.

 

He said I would die if I tried to be a hero. Izuku thought, a strange, detached sorrow washing over him. I didn't even get to try. I'm just dying in a tunnel.

 

He thought of Mitsuki, who had cried for him ten years ago and raised him as her own. He thought of Masaru, who always made sure he had a quiet place to study. And he thought of Katsuki. Katsuki, who had yelled at him, burned his notebook, and told him to give up, all in a desperate, twisted bid to stop exactly this from happening.

 

I'm sorry, Kacchan, Izuku thought as his eyelids fluttered shut, his hands falling limply to his sides. You were right. I am useless.

 

The darkness rushed in to claim him, the roar of the villain's laughter fading into silence, the spark completely, utterly extinguished.

 

The darkness was absolute, suffocating, and terrifyingly cold.

 

Izuku floated in a void devoid of sound, light, or air, entirely consumed by the vile, rotting taste of the Sludge Villain. His lungs burned with an agonizing fire, screaming for oxygen that didn't exist. His conscious mind was slipping, fraying at the edges like a burnt photograph.

 

So this is it, a distant, detached voice echoed in his fading mind. Kacchan was right. I couldn’t even last a minute against a real villain.

 

“Hey! Hey! Wake up!”

 

Slap. Slap. Slap.

 

The darkness fractured. A sharp, stinging sensation bloomed across Izuku’s right cheek. The agonizing burn in his chest was suddenly replaced by the sharp, glorious rush of oxygen as he sucked in a desperate, rattling breath.

 

Izuku’s eyes snapped open. The blurred, shadowed ceiling of the underpass slowly came into focus. Standing above him, silhouetted against the afternoon light filtering into the tunnel, was a mountain of a man.

 

"Ah! Good! You are awake! I thought I lost you there for a second!"

 

Izuku blinked, his vision swimming. The man was practically glowing, his muscular physique straining against a pristine white t-shirt. His blonde hair was slicked back, save for two massive, iconic tufts that stood up like rabbit ears. His smile was blinding, confident, and impossible to mistake.

 

Izuku scrambled backward, his hands scraping against the concrete. "A-A-All Might?!"

 

"In the flesh!" The Number One Hero boomed, striking a pose that made the air itself seem to vibrate. "Apologies for getting you caught up in my villain pursuit, young man! The sewer system in this city is quite the labyrinth, and I lost my bearings!"

 

All Might held up two large plastic soda bottles. Inside them, the Sludge Villain was trapped, swirling uselessly against the plastic, entirely subdued.

 

Izuku stared, his jaw hanging open. His brain, still starved for oxygen, struggled to process the sheer impossibility of the situation. His idol—the man he and his brother had worshipped since they could walk—was standing right in front of him. In Musutafu. In a dirty underpass.

 

"I... you... the villain..." Izuku stammered, frantically searching his pockets. His notebook! He needed an autograph! It was a family tradition; Kacchan would kill him if he met All Might and didn't get something signed!

 

Izuku looked down and saw his ruined, scorched Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13 lying on the ground. The pages were wet with sludge and singed black from Katsuki's explosion. With trembling hands, Izuku opened it to a blank, semi-dry two-page spread.

 

To his absolute shock, a massive, sprawling signature taking up both pages was already there.

 

"HE ALREADY SIGNED IT!" Izuku shrieked, bowing so fast he nearly cracked his forehead against the concrete. "Thank you! Thank you so much! It will be a family heirloom! I’ll frame it! M-My brother is going to lose his mind!"

 

All Might laughed, a hearty, booming sound. "Excellent! But now, I must bring this evildoer to the police! Stay out of trouble, young man!"

 

All Might turned, his massive leg muscles tensing as he prepared to leap.

 

Wait, Izuku thought, a sudden, desperate panic seizing his chest. No, wait. He can't leave yet. I have to know.

 

Ten years of being told he was useless. Ten years of his brother's aggressive, toxic protection. The doctor's diagnosis, Tsubasa's bullying, the laughter of his entire classroom just hours ago. Give it up before I have to bury you next to Auntie Inko.

 

Izuku needed to hear it from the one person whose opinion was absolute. If All Might said it was impossible, then it was impossible.

 

"Wait!" Izuku cried out.

 

"A pro hero has no time to spare!" All Might yelled, kicking off the ground.

 

The wind pressure was immense, kicking up dust and trash as the Number One Hero launched himself into the sky like a ballistic missile. But as All Might soared over the city, feeling the rush of the wind, he suddenly felt a strange, heavy drag on his right leg.

 

He looked down.

 

Izuku was clinging to All Might’s pant leg, his face contorted in sheer terror as the wind tore at his skin, his eyes wide and watering from the altitude.

 

"Hey, hey, hey! What do you think you're doing?!" All Might shouted, frantically trying to push the boy off, then realizing that dropping him would mean certain death. "Let go! This is too dangerous!"

 

"If I let go now, I'll die!" Izuku screamed back, his voice swallowed by the roaring wind.

 

"Right! Good point! Just hold on and close your eyes!"

 

A minute later, they landed with a heavy thud on the roof of a three-story commercial building. Izuku instantly collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath, his legs trembling violently.

 

"Good grief," All Might sighed, adjusting his trousers. "That was incredibly reckless, young man. You could have been killed. Now, please knock on the access door. I'm sure someone will let you downstairs. I have to go!"

 

"Wait!" Izuku shouted, forcing himself to stand. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenched at his sides. "I... I have to ask you something! Something important!"

 

All Might stopped, hand resting on his belt. But suddenly, the hero grimaced. A sharp hiss of steam escaped his body, and a violent spasm wracked his massive frame. No, not here, All Might thought, panic flaring. I’m out of time!

 

Izuku didn't see the steam. His head was bowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

 

"Everyone tells me I can't do it," Izuku began, his voice trembling, pouring ten years of bottled agony into the open air. "My classmates laugh at me. The doctors said I was empty. M-My older brother... he tells me I'll die if I try. He burns my notebooks and yells at me because he thinks I'm going to get myself killed."

 

Izuku took a deep, shuddering breath, finally raising his head.

 

"Even if I don't have a quirk... can I still be a hero? Can someone without power ever be someone who saves people... like you?!"

 

Izuku opened his eyes, desperately hoping to see the smiling, invincible face of his idol.

 

Instead, he saw a skeletal, emaciated man in baggy clothes, coughing up a terrifying amount of blood.

 

Izuku screamed. "W-What?! Where did he go?! You’re an imposter! You’re deflating!"

 

The skeletal man wiped the blood from his chin, sighing exhaustedly. He slumped against the chain-link fence at the edge of the roof, sliding down until he was sitting on the concrete. "I am All Might," he rasped, his voice lacking all of its previous booming resonance. "Just... think of it like a guy at the pool holding his gut in. It's a facade."

 

Over the next five minutes, All Might revealed the horrific truth. The agonizing battle from five years ago. The respiratory system destroyed, the stomach completely removed. The terrifyingly short time limit of three hours a day.

 

Izuku sat on his knees, horrified. The invincible god of his childhood was broken. The symbol of peace was bleeding out behind a smile.

 

"Pros are always risking their lives," All Might said, his sunken blue eyes fixing entirely on Izuku. The hero's gaze was heavy with the weight of countless tragedies. "Some villains simply can't be beaten without power. Can you be a hero without a quirk? No. I honestly don't think you can."

 

The words dropped like an anvil.

 

Izuku stopped breathing. The air left his lungs just as violently as it had when he was drowning in the sludge.

 

"It's a noble dream," All Might continued softly, his voice devoid of malice but filled with a crushing pragmatism. "But you have to be realistic, kid. If you want to help people, become a police officer. They get a lot of grief because villains get handed to them, but it’s an honorable profession."

 

All Might stood up, walking toward the access door. He opened it, pausing for a brief moment in the doorway. "Your brother... he sounds harsh. But he’s right to be worried. This world is brutal. Don't throw your life away on a fantasy."

 

The metal door clicked shut, the sound echoing with finality.

 

Izuku was alone on the roof.

 

He didn't cry. He didn't scream. The grief was too profound for such loud expressions. It was a cold, absolute silence that settled over his soul.

 

Don't throw your life away on a fantasy.

 

Give it up before I have to bury you next to Auntie Inko.

 

The voices of his idol and his brother blended into a singular, undeniable truth. Izuku looked down at his hands. They were trembling, pale, and entirely powerless. For a decade, he had clung to a spark of hope, shielding it from Katsuki’s explosions, from society's scorn, from the statistical impossibility of his existence.

 

Now, All Might had stepped on it. The spark was dead.

 

Izuku slowly stood up. He walked to the roof access door, pushed it open, and began the long, quiet descent down the stairs.

 

 

 

The city of Musutafu was usually vibrant, loud, and bustling with evening commuters. To Izuku, it all felt like a muted film. He walked down the sidewalk with his head bowed, dragging his feet.

 

He needed to go home. He needed to apologize to Kacchan.

 

I'll tell him he was right, Izuku thought dully. I'll tell him I'm giving up on U.A. I'll throw away the rest of my notebooks. He won't have to be angry anymore. He won't have to be scared for me. Auntie and Uncle won't have to worry. I'll just... be normal.

 

BOOM!

 

The ground beneath Izuku's feet trembled. A massive explosion rocked the air, followed by a chorus of panicked screams.

 

Izuku flinched, his head snapping up. A few blocks away, a thick plume of black smoke was billowing into the orange evening sky.

 

A villain attack? Izuku's old habits flared instantly. His brain began cataloging the heroes who patrolled this district, calculating the fastest route to the scene. He took a step forward, a frantic excitement stirring in his chest.

 

Then, he stopped.

 

No. I'm done with that. It doesn't matter who is fighting. It's not my world.

 

He forced himself to turn away. But as he began to walk in the opposite direction, the memory of All Might's deflated form flashed in his mind. Wait... All Might was out of time. If a villain is attacking now, he can't help.

 

Drawn by a morbid, guilty curiosity, Izuku's feet betrayed him. He turned back toward the smoke, his pace quickening into a jog, then a full sprint, until he reached the edge of Tatooin Shopping District.

 

The scene was pure chaos.

 

Fires raged across the street, licking the sides of commercial buildings. A massive crowd had formed behind a haphazard police barricade. Pro heroes were scattered around the perimeter, looking desperate and completely ineffective. Kamui Woods was holding back civilians, Mt. Lady was stuck in a narrow alleyway unable to grow, and Death Arms was shouting in frustration.

 

Izuku pushed his way to the front of the crowd, his eyes scanning the disaster zone.

 

In the center of the flaming street was the Sludge Villain.

 

Izuku’s blood ran colder than ice. No. It can't be.

 

He remembered clinging to All Might’s leg. He remembered the violent wind tearing at them. The bottles. They must have dropped from his pocket when I grabbed him.

 

This is my fault.

 

The villain had grown massive, fueled by the panic and the ambient heat of the fires. It roared, its sludge lashing out, smashing into a storefront.

 

"Why aren't the heroes doing anything?!" a man in the crowd yelled.

 

"The villain captured a kid!" a woman replied, pointing frantically. "He's using a middle schooler as a hostage! And the kid's quirk is going crazy! He's causing all these explosions, and the heroes can't get close!"

 

Explosions.

 

The word dropped into Izuku’s stomach like a lead weight.

 

He looked closely at the center of the sludge monster. Struggling furiously, trapped within the vile, suffocating mud, was a figure in an Aldera Junior High uniform. The sludge was wrapped around the hostage's throat, muffling his screams.

 

Spiky, ash-blonde hair.

 

"Kacchan..."

 

Izuku’s voice was a barely audible rasp.

 

He stared at the scene, absolute horror paralyzing his limbs. Katsuki Bakugou, the invincible, explosive sun of Izuku’s universe, was dying.

 

Izuku could see it. He could see Katsuki’s hands throwing desperate, erratic explosions, but they were growing weaker, muffled by the sheer mass of the sludge. He could see Katsuki’s face, half-swallowed by the mud, twisted in absolute agony.

 

But worst of all, Izuku could see Katsuki’s eyes.

 

Those crimson eyes, always so full of arrogant fire, always glaring at Izuku with that fierce, terrifying need to protect, were wide open. They were darting around wildly, terrified, pleading.

 

He's suffocating. He can't breathe. It hurts so much, Kacchan, I know it hurts.

 

"We just have to wait for someone with a suitable quirk!" Death Arms shouted, gritting his teeth as another explosion pushed him back. "Just hold on a little longer, kid!"

 

Hold on? Izuku thought, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He can't hold on! He's dying right now!

 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The roaring flames, the screaming crowd, the ineffective heroes—they all faded into a dull, muffled hum. The only thing in the world that existed was the suffocating darkness swallowing Katsuki, and the terrified, pleading look in his brother’s eyes.

 

When Katsuki’s eyes locked onto Izuku’s in the crowd, the world stopped entirely.

 

In that single, agonizing fraction of a second, years of history flooded the space between them. Izuku saw the toddler who had grabbed him by the shirt and promised to protect him. He saw the boy who had blasted bullies away at the park. He saw the teenager who burned his notebooks, not out of hatred, but out of a desperate, twisted terror that Izuku would end up exactly where Katsuki was right now.

 

Katsuki had spent his entire life trying to be strong enough for both of them. He had alienated Izuku, bullied him, and terrorized him, all to build a fortress that villains could never breach.

 

And now, the fortress was crumbling. The invincible brother was falling.

 

I won't let you.

 

Before his brain could process the danger, before logic could remind him he was Quirkless, useless, and weak, Izuku’s body moved.

 

He tore past Kamui Woods, bursting through the police barricade and sprinting full speed into the inferno.

 

"Hey! Kid! Stop!" Death Arms screamed, reaching for him but missing by an inch. "Are you suicidal?!"

 

Izuku didn't hear him. He didn't feel the blistering heat of the fires on his skin. He didn't smell the sulfur. He was a missile locked onto a single target.

 

Inside the sludge, Katsuki’s vision was darkening. The taste of sewage was invading his throat, extinguishing the fire in his lungs. He felt cold. He felt weak. The invincible armor he had worn for a decade was cracking, exposing the terrified five-year-old boy beneath.

 

Through the haze of his failing consciousness, Katsuki saw a flash of green.

 

He blinked, the sludge stinging his eyes. It couldn't be.

 

It was Izuku.

 

The useless, Quirkless, crying Deku. The boy Katsuki had just told to give up and die. Izuku was sprinting across the burning asphalt, his face twisted not in fear, but in a furious, blinding desperation.

 

What are you doing, you idiot?! Katsuki’s mind screamed, panic surging through him harder than the lack of oxygen. Run away! You're going to get killed! Run away, Deku!

 

Izuku reached back, grabbing the straps of his heavy, book-filled yellow backpack. With a primal, ragged scream, he hurled it directly at the villain's face.

 

The heavy metal corner of a textbook caught the Sludge Villain right in the eyeball.

 

"AGH! You little brat!" the villain shrieked, the sludge recoiling instinctively from the pain.

 

The grip around Katsuki’s face loosened just enough. Katsuki sucked in a ragged, gasping breath of air, coughing violently as the slime retreated from his mouth.

 

Izuku didn't stop. He threw himself forward, his bare, uncalloused hands digging directly into the foul, burning sludge. He clawed at the mud, his fingers slipping, sliding, tearing at the viscous mass with the ferocity of a wild animal.

 

"Kacchan!" Izuku screamed, his voice cracking, tears streaming down his face as he desperately tried to pull the slime away from his brother's chest.

 

Katsuki stared at Izuku, inches away. The sheer, overwhelming vulnerability on Izuku's face shattered something deep inside Katsuki's soul.

 

For ten years, Katsuki had believed that Izuku’s dream of heroism was an insult. He thought Izuku's notebooks and analyses were a way of saying, I don't need your protection. I can do it myself. I'm going to look down on you.

 

But looking at Izuku now—crying, screaming, tearing his own fingernails to the quick against a monster he couldn't possibly defeat—Katsuki realized how horribly, tragically wrong he had been.

 

Izuku wasn't looking down on him. Izuku was looking at him.

 

"What the hell are you doing?!" Katsuki choked out, his voice raw, fresh tears mixing with the sludge on his face. "Why are you here?! You'll die!"

 

Izuku looked up, his green eyes blazing with a fire that Katsuki’s explosions could never match.

 

"Because you were crying!" Izuku screamed back, grabbing Katsuki’s uniform collar and pulling with all his pathetic, Quirkless might. "I don't care what you say! I won't let him kill my brother!"

 

My brother.

 

The words struck Katsuki with the force of a Detroit Smash. The twisted, toxic knot of arrogance, fear, and protective complex that had dictated Katsuki's entire life unraveled in a single heartbeat. Izuku loved him. Despite the bullying, the burning, the cruelty... Izuku loved him enough to throw his life away just to buy Katsuki one more breath.

 

"You fool!" the Sludge Villain roared, recovering from the blow to his eye. "I'll kill you both! You're just a meaningless double-feature!"

 

A massive, spike-shaped tendril of sludge reared back, aimed directly at Izuku’s unprotected back.

 

Izuku closed his eyes, throwing his arms around Katsuki’s shoulders, shielding his brother with his own frail body. If we die, we die together.

 

Katsuki’s eyes widened in horror. "IZUKU!"

 

But the blow never landed.

 

A hand, large and heavily muscled, gripped Izuku’s shoulder and pulled him gently backward.

 

Izuku opened his eyes.

 

Standing between them and the towering sludge monster was All Might. The Number One Hero was practically vibrating with fury, steam rolling off his expanding, muscular form. Blood was leaking from the corner of his wide, iconic smile, but his blue eyes were completely hidden in shadow.

 

"I really am pathetic," All Might growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "I told you what it takes to make a great champion... but I didn't live up to my own ideal!"

 

All Might reached back, grabbing Katsuki by the collar and ripping him entirely out of the sludge with effortless power. He pushed Katsuki behind him, next to Izuku.

 

"Pros are always risking their lives!" All Might roared, drawing his right fist back.

 

The air pressure in the street plummeted. The flames instantly flickered out, sucked toward the vacuum of All Might’s fist.

 

"DETROIT..."

 

The villain screamed, trying to attack.

 

"SMASH!"

 

All Might threw the punch.

 

He didn't make contact with the villain. He didn't have to. The sheer kinetic force of the punch compressed the air into a physical shockwave. The wind tore through the street like a Category 5 hurricane, obliterating the Sludge Villain into a million splattering droplets.

 

Izuku and Katsuki were blown backward, tumbling over the asphalt. The wind howled, shattering the remaining glass in the storefronts and kicking up a massive cloud of dust and debris.

 

And then, it was over.

 

Silence descended on the Tatooin Shopping District.

 

Izuku sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at the sky. A drop of water hit his cheek. Then another.

 

The shockwave had been so powerful it had altered the air pressure in the atmosphere, creating a localized rainstorm.

 

"He changed the weather..." a civilian whispered in the deathly quiet street.

 

Then, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers.

 

 

 

The aftermath was a blur of flashing red and blue lights, shouting heroes, and stinging antiseptic.

 

Izuku sat on the bumper of an ambulance, a thin blanket draped over his shoulders. Kamui Woods and Death Arms were standing over him, their expressions stern and furious.

 

"That was incredibly foolish, kid," Death Arms scolded, pointing a thick finger at Izuku. "There was absolutely no reason for you to run in there! You just got in the way and put yourself in more danger! Leave it to the pros next time!"

 

"Are you even listening?!" Kamui Woods added, arms crossed. "You could have died!"

 

Izuku kept his head bowed, staring at his scuffed red sneakers. He nodded silently, accepting the verbal lashing. They were right. He hadn't done anything. He had thrown a backpack and clawed at mud. He was useless.

 

A few yards away, Katsuki was sitting on the back of a different ambulance, being treated by paramedics. A circle of Pro Heroes, including Mt. Lady and Backdraft, surrounded him.

 

"Incredible quirk, kid!" Backdraft praised, patting Katsuki on the shoulder. "The resilience you showed, holding out against a monster like that for so long! You're going to make an amazing hero one day!"

 

"With explosions like that, you should definitely look into my agency when you graduate!" Mt. Lady beamed.

 

Under normal circumstances, Katsuki would have been glowing with arrogant pride. He would have smirked, told them he was going to be better than all of them, and basked in the validation.

 

But right now, Katsuki felt nothing but a sickening, hollow nausea.

 

He didn't look at the heroes. He was staring past them, his crimson eyes locked entirely on Izuku.

 

He watched the heroes yell at his brother. He watched Izuku shrink in on himself, taking the blame, taking the insults, wrapping himself in that familiar, protective shell of inferiority.

 

He saved me, Katsuki thought, his hands gripping the edges of the ambulance bumper so tightly the metal groaned. I was dying. I couldn't do a damn thing. My quirk was useless. And he... he ran in.

 

Katsuki remembered the look in Izuku’s eyes. I won't let him kill my brother.

 

Katsuki felt a hot, humiliating tear burn the corner of his eye. He furiously wiped it away, his chest heaving with conflicting emotions. He felt weak. He felt exposed. But underneath the bruised ego, for the first time in his life, Katsuki felt an overwhelming, terrifying surge of gratitude.

 

"I'm fine," Katsuki snapped at the paramedics, aggressively pushing the oxygen mask away. He hopped off the bumper, ignoring the protests of the Pro Heroes, and marched over to the other ambulance.

 

Death Arms turned as Katsuki approached. "Ah, Bakugou. Take your friend home. And make sure he learns a lesson about—"

 

"Shut up."

 

The heroes blinked in shock.

 

Katsuki stood between the Pro Heroes and Izuku. He wasn't yelling, and he wasn't sparking explosions, which somehow made him infinitely more intimidating. His red eyes were dark, devoid of their usual fiery arrogance, replaced by a cold, deadly serious glare.

 

"Leave him alone," Katsuki growled, his voice low and vibrating. "He did more than any of you extras did. So back off."

 

Death Arms opened his mouth to argue, but there was something so fundamentally unhinged in the teenager’s eyes that the adult hero actually took a step back.

 

Katsuki turned his back on them. He looked down at Izuku, who was staring up at him with wide, shocked green eyes. Katsuki didn't offer a hand. He didn't offer a smile. But he didn't offer an insult, either.

 

"Get up, Deku," Katsuki said quietly. "We're going home."

 

Izuku slowly stood, letting the blanket fall to the ground. He picked up his backpack, which one of the police officers had retrieved, and fell into step behind his brother.

 

The walk home was agonizingly silent.

 

The sun had set, plunging the city into a cool, blue twilight. The streetlights flickered on, casting long, overlapping shadows of the two boys on the pavement.

 

Izuku kept waiting for the explosion. He waited for Katsuki to stop, turn around, and scream at him. Why did you run in?! You made me look weak! You got in the way! He braced himself for the inevitable rage that always followed Katsuki’s moments of vulnerability.

 

But the rage never came.

 

Katsuki walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. His mind was a chaotic, warring battlefield. The foundation of his entire reality had been cracked open. The strong protect the weak. That was the rule. But the weak had just protected the strong. Where did that leave them? What did that make Katsuki?

 

He stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Izuku stopped behind him, staring at the soot stains on Katsuki's uniform.

 

Katsuki opened his mouth. He wanted to say something. He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say I'm sorry I burned your book. He wanted to say I was so scared.

 

But the words wouldn't come out. Ten years of building emotional walls couldn't be dismantled in an hour. His pride, battered and bruised, choked the words in his throat.

 

The light turned green. Katsuki closed his mouth and kept walking.

 

When they finally turned onto their street, Izuku felt his stomach drop.

 

Every light in the Bakugou house was blazing. The front door was wide open. Standing on the porch, illuminated by the porch light, was Mitsuki. Masaru stood right behind her, looking pale and frantic.

 

Mitsuki had seen the news.

 

As soon as she saw the two boys walking up the driveway, Mitsuki flew off the porch. She moved faster than a Pro Hero, crossing the yard in a heartbeat.

 

"Katsuki!"

 

She crashed into her eldest son. Katsuki grunted as his mother’s arms wrapped around him in a vice-like grip. For a second, Katsuki stood stiff, his usual instinct being to push her away and yell at her for being clingy.

 

But then, Mitsuki let out a choked, horrific sob. It was a sound Katsuki had only heard once before, ten years ago, in a sterile hospital waiting room.

 

Katsuki froze. Slowly, his hands came out of his pockets, and he awkwardly wrapped his arms around his mother's back.

 

Smack.

 

Mitsuki pulled back and slapped Katsuki open-palmed on the shoulder, hard enough to leave a sting.

 

"Ow! Hag, what the hell?!" Katsuki yelped, startled.

 

"You stupid, reckless brat!" Mitsuki screamed, fresh tears streaming down her face. Her red eyes, a perfect mirror of her son's, were wild with terror. "What were you doing getting caught by a villain?! Why were you using your quirk like a maniac instead of letting the heroes handle it?! Do you have any idea what it felt like watching that on TV?! I thought I was watching you die!"

 

"I didn't try to get caught!" Katsuki yelled back, defensive instinct kicking in. "He jumped me in an alley!"

 

"You're grounded!" Mitsuki roared, shaking him by the shoulders. "You're grounded until you're thirty! I'm putting a lock on your door! I'm taking your phone!"

 

"You can't ground me, I'm the victim!"

 

"I am your mother, I can do whatever I want!" Mitsuki screamed, before pulling him back into another crushing, desperate hug, burying her face in his smoky hair. "Don't you ever do that to me again. Do you hear me, Katsuki? Never again."

 

Katsuki swallowed hard, the fight draining out of him. "Yeah. I hear you."

 

Mitsuki finally let him go. She wiped her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and turned to Izuku.

 

Izuku flinched, instinctively taking a half-step back, expecting the wrath to turn on him. He had run into a villain fight. He had been on TV too. He had been reckless and stupid.

 

Mitsuki closed the distance between them.

 

Smack.

 

She slapped Izuku on the shoulder, identical to how she had hit Katsuki, though with a fraction less force.

 

"And YOU!" Mitsuki cried, her voice cracking entirely as she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Izuku and pulling him tightly against her chest.

 

Izuku gasped, his eyes widening as Auntie Mitsuki buried her face in his green curls.

 

"You brave, stupid, wonderful idiot," Mitsuki sobbed, her grip so tight Izuku could barely breathe. "What were you thinking?! Running into a fire without a quirk?! You could have been killed, Izuku! You could have burned to death!"

 

"I-I'm sorry, Auntie," Izuku stuttered, tears immediately springing to his eyes, his hands coming up to grip the fabric of her shirt. "I'm sorry, I just... Kacchan was..."

 

"I know," Mitsuki wept, rocking him slightly. "I saw it. I saw what you did. You're so brave, baby. You're so brave. But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will chain you to the radiator. I can't lose you. I promised her I'd protect you, and I can't lose you too."

 

Izuku buried his face in her shoulder, finally letting the tears fall. The adrenaline crash hit him all at once, leaving him exhausted, trembling, and profoundly overwhelmed by the sheer, terrifying love of his adopted family.

 

Masaru stepped off the porch, wrapping his long arms around his wife and his youngest son, resting his chin on Mitsuki's head. He looked over at Katsuki, who was standing a few feet away, watching the embrace with an unreadable expression.

 

Masaru reached out a hand.

 

Katsuki hesitated. Then, looking down at the pavement, he took a step forward, allowing his father's hand to rest heavily and warmly on his shoulder, completing the circle.

 

They stood in the driveway for a long time, a fractured, screaming, chaotic family, holding onto each other as if the world might end if they let go.

 

 

 

Dinner that night was quiet.

 

Mitsuki had made katsudon, Izuku's favorite, but no one had much of an appetite. Katsuki pushed his food around his plate, his eyes locked onto the table. Izuku ate silently, his bruised ribs aching with every breath.

 

When the meal was over, Katsuki stood up, taking his plate to the sink.

 

"I'm going to my room," Katsuki muttered, not looking at anyone.

 

"No electronics," Mitsuki reminded him gently, her voice devoid of its usual aggressive bite.

 

Katsuki just nodded and walked up the stairs, the heavy thud of his footsteps echoing in the quiet house.

 

Izuku watched him go. He knew Katsuki needed space. The invincible armor was cracked, and Katsuki would need time to rebuild it, or perhaps, build something entirely new.

 

"I'll take the trash out," Izuku offered, standing up and gathering the remaining plates.

 

"You've had a long day, Izuku, I can do it," Masaru said kindly.

 

"It's okay, Uncle," Izuku smiled, a small, tired curve of his lips. "I need the fresh air."

 

Izuku grabbed the heavy black trash bags from the kitchen bin and walked out the back door. The cool night air hit him instantly, a soothing balm against his soot-stained skin. The crickets were chirping in the small backyard, oblivious to the fact that the world had almost ended twice today.

 

Izuku hoisted the bags into the large green bin by the fence, slamming the lid shut with a heavy sigh.

 

He leaned against the plastic bin, tilting his head back to look up at the stars. The adrenaline was completely gone, leaving a hollow, aching void in his chest.

 

Today had been the most chaotic, terrifying day of his life. He had been told to give up by his idol. He had almost died. He had almost watched his brother die. He had run into the fire.

 

And for what?

 

Nothing had changed. He was still Quirkless. He was still Deku. Tomorrow, he would have to wake up and figure out what to do with the rest of his life, because the hero dream was officially, undeniably dead.

 

"I AM HERE!"

 

Izuku screamed, jumping three feet in the air and scrambling backward into the fence.

 

Bursting from the alleyway beside the Bakugou house, sliding on his polished shoes like a runaway train, was All Might in his full, muscle-bound glory.

 

"A-A-All Might?!" Izuku shrieked, clutching his chest as his heart tried to beat its way out of his ribs. "What are you doing here?! How did you find my house?!"

 

"I followed you from the police station!" All Might boomed, striking a heroic pose in the dark alleyway. "And wait, hold on—!"

 

The hero suddenly grimaced, his body convulsing as a massive cloud of steam exploded from his pores. Izuku coughed, waving the steam away, only to find the skeletal, blood-spitting form of the hero leaning heavily against the brick wall of the alley.

 

All Might wiped the blood from his mouth, panting heavily.

 

"S-Sorry about that," All Might rasped, his sunken eyes locking onto Izuku. "I had to make an entrance. But I... I came to thank you, young man. And to apologize."

 

Izuku blinked, thoroughly confused. "Apologize? To me?"

 

"Yes." All Might stepped out of the shadows, walking slowly toward Izuku. The hero's expression was grave, stripped of the media persona, baring the soul of the man beneath. "If you hadn't been there today... if you hadn't told me about your life, and if you hadn't run into that fire... I would have been a worthless bystander watching a tragedy unfold."

 

Izuku shook his head frantically. "No, you saved us! I didn't do anything! I just threw my bag and got in the way! The heroes yelled at me, they told me—"

 

"I don't care what the heroes said," Allight interrupted, his voice firm and commanding.

 

Izuku fell silent.

 

All Might looked down at the small, frail, Quirkless boy standing by the trash bins.

 

"Of all the people at that scene," All Might said softly, his voice carrying the weight of a sacred confession. "Of all the citizens, and all the Pro Heroes with their flashy quirks and power... you were the only one who acted. You, a timid, Quirkless boy, were the most heroic of them all."

 

Izuku stopped breathing.

 

His eyes widened, rapidly filling with tears.

 

"Top heroes have stories about them from their school days," All Might continued, stepping closer, his blue eyes shining with profound respect. "Most of their stories have one thing in common: their bodies moved before they had a chance to think."

 

Izuku let out a choked gasp. My body moved on its own.

 

"That was true for you today, wasn't it?" All Might asked.

 

Izuku’s knees buckled. He fell to the grass, clutching his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. The tears he had held back all day, the pain of a decade of being told he was worthless, of his brother burning his dreams, of society throwing him away—it all poured out of him in a desperate, agonizing flood.

 

"Yes," Izuku choked out, pressing his forehead to the dirt. "Yes, it was."

 

All Might looked down at him, smiling warmly. Not the boisterous, plastic smile of the Symbol of Peace, but the gentle, proud smile of a mentor who had finally found what he was looking for.

 

"You are worthy," All Might said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty in the quiet night. "You can become a hero."

 

Izuku sobbed harder, the words washing over his shattered soul like a healing rain. He had waited ten years to hear those words. He had almost died for them.

 

"But how?" Izuku managed to ask, looking up through his tears. "I don't have a quirk. I'm completely empty."

 

"It's true that you are Quirkless," All Might nodded. "But I have a proposition for you, young man."

 

All Might knelt down, bringing himself to eye level with the weeping boy.

 

"I deem you worthy of my power," All Might said softly. "My quirk to pass on to you."

 

Izuku stopped crying, his brain short-circuiting entirely. "P-Pass on? Your quirk? But... but quirks are genetic! You can't just give someone a quirk! That's biologically impossible!"

 

All Might chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Always the analyst. What I'm about to tell you is a secret, young man. A secret known only to a trusted few. The true nature of my power is a sacred torch, passed from generation to generation."

 

All Might stood up, raising his hand toward the stars, his silhouette dark against the night sky.

 

"It is a power cultivated by one person, and passed to another, who cultivates it and passes it on again. A crystallized network of power meant to save those in need. It is called... One For All."

 

"One... For All..." Izuku whispered, the name sending a shiver of electricity down his spine.

 

"And I want you to inherit it," All Might said, looking back down at Izuku. "I have been looking for a successor for a long time. Today, you showed me that the heart of a hero is more important than the vessel that carries it. Will you accept my power, Izuku?"

 

Izuku sat in the grass, his mind racing a million miles an hour.

 

He thought of Katsuki, sitting in his room right now, traumatized and angry. Katsuki, who had tried to force Izuku to quit because he didn't want him to die. Katsuki, who promised to be strong enough for both of them.

 

I don't want you to protect me anymore, Kacchan, Izuku thought, a new, fiery determination igniting in his chest. The spark, which had been crushed only hours before, flared back to life, burning brighter and hotter than a supernova. I want to stand next to you. I want to protect you, too.

 

Izuku stood up. He wiped the dirt and tears from his face, his expression hardening into absolute resolve. He looked All Might directly in the eye, nodding firmly.

 

"Yes," Izuku said, his voice completely steady for the first time in his life. "I accept."

 

All Might smiled broadly. "Excellent! No hesitation! But be warned, young man... accepting this power means walking a path of unimaginable hardship. Your body is currently an unbaked vessel. If I gave you my power now, your limbs would blow off!"

 

Izuku paled, taking a step back. "B-Blow off?!"

 

"Indeed!" All Might laughed. "Which is why we have ten months until the U.A. Entrance Exam! Ten months to turn you into a suitable vessel! Meet me at Dagobah Municipal Beach Park tomorrow at 6:00 AM sharp! Don't be late!"

 

"Dagobah Beach?" Izuku asked, bewildered. "But that place is a massive illegal garbage dump."

 

"Exactly!" All Might grinned fiercely. "See you tomorrow, young Izuku!"

 

With that, the skeletal hero turned and jogged awkwardly down the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows of the Musutafu night.

 

Izuku stood alone in the backyard. He looked down at his hands, clenching them into tight fists. He felt the phantom weight of a destiny he had never imagined possible.

 

He turned around and looked up at the second story of the house. The light in Katsuki’s bedroom window was on.

 

I'm going to do it, Kacchan, Izuku thought silently, staring at the window. I'm going to U.A. I'm going to get a quirk, and I'm going to become a hero. And I promise... I won't ever make you feel like you have to carry me again.

 

Izuku walked back into the house, quietly closing the door behind him, ready to begin a secret war that would change both of their lives forever.