What if Deku was a Mutant with the Blacklight Virus

 All men are not created equal.

 

It was a harsh, immutable truth of the world, one that Izuku Midoriya learned at the tender age of four. Most children learned this lesson when they realized they couldn't breathe fire as brightly as their peers, or when their telekinesis could only lift a pebble while their classmate could levitate a desk. They learned it through playground hierarchies and the petty squabbles of kindergarten.

 

Izuku didn't learn it that way. He learned it through the screaming.

 

It was a warm Tuesday afternoon. The preschool classroom was buzzing with the chaotic energy of children manifesting their new powers. Katsuki Bakugo, Izuku’s best friend, had just proudly displayed his Quirk. Little pops and crackles of light burst from his palms, smelling sweet like burnt caramel. The teachers had cooed and clapped, predicting a bright future in heroics for the explosive boy.

 

Izuku had watched with wide, starry eyes, bouncing on his heels. When is it my turn? he had thought, looking down at his small, unblemished hands. What kind of hero will I be?

 

The answer did not come with a bright flash of light or a gentle float into the air. It came with an itch.

 

It started deep in his right forearm, beneath the skin, beneath the muscle. It felt as though his marrow was vibrating, humming to a frequency no one else could hear. Izuku scratched at his arm, but the itch wasn't on the surface. It was inside him.

 

"Izuku? Are you alright?" his teacher had asked, her voice cutting through the chatter.

 

"My arm," Izuku mumbled, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. "It hurts. It feels… too tight."

 

The humming grew into a violent thrum. The pain spiked, sudden and blinding. It wasn't the pain of a scraped knee or a bumped head. It was the agony of cellular deconstruction. Izuku let out a piercing shriek that silenced the entire room. He fell to his knees, clutching his right arm.

 

Before the terrified eyes of his teacher and classmates, Izuku’s skin began to bubble.

 

Rip. Tear. Squelch.

 

His small, fragile arm burst open. But there was no blood. There was no bone. Instead, a mass of writhing, sinewy tendrils erupted from his flesh. They were a violent, glossy crimson interwoven with an abyssal, shifting black. The mass of biological cables tangled and whipped wildly in the air, thick as muscle fiber, shifting and snapping like a nest of vipers made of raw meat and obsidian wire.

 

The sound was nauseating—a wet, tearing noise mixed with the sound of heavy cables sliding against one another. The tendrils spiraled, expanding until Izuku’s arm was twice its normal size, ending in a blunt, hardened mass of pulsating black tissue.

 

The classroom descended into absolute pandemonium.

 

Children screamed, scrambling backward away from the boy on the floor. Bakugo stared, his red eyes wide with a mixture of shock and sheer, unadulterated horror. The teacher fell backward over a chair, her hand over her mouth, choking on a sob of terror.

 

"Monster!" one of the children shrieked.

 

Izuku sat in the center of the room, looking at the monstrous appendage extending from his shoulder. His heart hammered against his ribs. He couldn't feel his fingers. He could only feel the shifting, hungry mass of something else.

 

"Mommy," Izuku whimpered, but his voice was drowned out by the screams.

 

 

 

"It is a Mutation-type Quirk, though calling it a Quirk almost feels like a medical inaccuracy," Dr. Tsubasa said, adjusting his round glasses. He held up an X-ray to the harsh fluorescent light of the clinic.

 

Inko Midoriya sat in the hard plastic chair, trembling, her hands gripping Izuku’s small shoulders. Izuku sat on the examination table, looking down at his shoes. His right arm was back to normal—soft, pale, and small. But he knew what was hiding inside it.

 

"What do you mean, Doctor?" Inko asked, her voice wavering. "Is my baby okay? Is he sick?"

 

"He is in perfect physical health, Mrs. Midoriya. But his biology... is unprecedented," the doctor explained, pointing to the X-ray. Instead of a solid white humerus and radius, the bones in Izuku's arm looked fragmented, surrounded by a dense, cloudy network that didn't match human anatomy. "Your son lacks the vestigial toe joint, which is the universal indicator of a Quirk factor. However, his Quirk doesn't seem to stem from a specific localized factor in his brain or body. His Quirk is his body."

 

Dr. Tsubasa placed the X-ray down and folded his hands. "At a cellular level, Izuku’s DNA is highly unstable, yet perfectly controlled. From the blood samples we took, we observed that his cells can instantly break down and rebuild themselves into new forms of biomass. It acts almost like a macroscopic virus. When his Quirk activated today, his body rapidly generated and weaponized organic matter."

 

"A... virus?" Inko whispered, the word hanging in the sterile air like a curse.

 

"A viral mutation, yes. For official registry purposes, we will classify it as a Transformation/Mutant hybrid. I suggest the name Blacklight, given the dark, light-absorbing nature of the hardened cells we observed. But Mrs. Midoriya, I must warn you..." The doctor leaned forward, his expression grave. "The structural density and sheer force of the biomass he generated today is lethal. This is not an emitter quirk that can be easily turned off. His body is, for all intents and purposes, a biological weapon. He will need intense counseling and quirk counseling to ensure he never accidentally unleashes it again."

 

Inko pulled Izuku closer, burying her face into his unruly green hair, sobbing quietly.

 

Izuku just stared at his hands. A weapon. He didn't want to be a weapon. He wanted to be a hero, like All Might. He wanted to save people with a fearless smile. But how could he smile when his very existence made his own mother cry?

 

 

 

The years that followed were a masterclass in isolation.

 

Society in a superhuman world was quick to categorize. There were heroes, there were civilians, and there were villains. The categories were often decided before a child even entered middle school, based entirely on the aesthetic and function of their Quirk. A boy with wings was an angel. A girl who could create water was a savior.

 

A boy whose flesh tore open to reveal writhing black tentacles of hyper-dense, shape-shifting biomass? He was a monster. A tragedy waiting to happen. A future villain.

 

Izuku learned to hide. He wore long sleeves, even in the sweltering heat of summer. He learned to suppress the humming in his blood, pushing down the instincts of the thing that lived inside his skin. He discovered, in secret, that his powers went far beyond what had happened in preschool.

 

When he was seven, he accidentally cut his finger on a kitchen knife. Before a single drop of blood could hit the floor, tiny red tendrils shot across the wound, weaving the flesh back together instantly. He healed so fast it was as if he had never been injured.

 

When he was ten, he jumped off a swing set that was far too high. Instead of breaking his ankles, his legs absorbed the kinetic energy, the muscles beneath his skin instantly shifting, expanding, and hardening to take the blow before reverting to normal. He didn't even bruise.

 

He was virtually indestructible. A perfect, self-sustaining biological organism. An apex predator hiding in the skin of a timid, stuttering boy.

 

And Katsuki Bakugo hated him for it.

 

"Deku," Bakugo snarled, cornering Izuku behind the middle school building. Izuku was fourteen now, his uniform slightly rumpled, a burnt hero analysis notebook clutched to his chest. "You think you can actually get into U.A.? A gross, freakish villain like you?"

 

"K-Kacchan," Izuku stammered, backing up against the brick wall. "I'm not—I just want to try. I want to save people."

 

"Save people? You?" Bakugo let out a sharp, mocking laugh, small explosions popping in his palms. His two cronies snickered behind him. "You’re a walking horror movie, Deku! The only thing you're good for is giving people nightmares. No one wants a hero who looks like a monster!"

 

Bakugo lunged, slamming a smoking, explosive palm against Izuku’s shoulder.

 

The heat was intense, the concussive force enough to shatter a normal kid's collarbone. But the Blacklight virus did not tolerate damage. Without Izuku’s conscious permission, his body reacted.

 

Beneath his uniform, the skin of his shoulder instantly calcified. The soft flesh turned pitch-black and dense as tungsten. Bakugo’s explosion blasted against it, tearing the fabric of the uniform, but deflecting completely off the hardened armor. The recoil sent a shockwave up Bakugo’s arm, making the blonde wince and step back.

 

Bakugo stared at the black, armored plating visible through the hole in Izuku’s sleeve. The armor was already receding, shifting back into soft, pale skin with a sickening, wet squelch.

 

Bakugo’s face contorted in absolute disgust. "Freak," he spat, rubbing his wrist. "Keep that disgusting shit hidden, or I'll blast you to ash before you can even grow it. Don't you ever try to stand in the same ring as me."

 

Bakugo turned and stormed off, his lackeys shooting Izuku wary, fearful glances before scurrying after him.

 

Izuku slid down the brick wall, pulling his knees to his chest. He looked through the burnt hole in his sleeve. His skin was flawless. No burn, no bruise.

 

"I'm not a monster," Izuku whispered to the empty alleyway, his voice cracking. "I'm not."

 

He clutched his notebook—Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13. He studied heroes. He analyzed their moves, their quirks, their hearts. He knew what a hero was. It didn't matter what his body was made of. If he had a hero's heart, he could be a hero. He had to be.

 

 

 

The walk home was usually Izuku’s favorite time of day. It was quiet, giving him time to process his notes and daydream about U.A. High School. To avoid the populated streets where people might stare at his torn uniform, he took the shortcut under the bridge.

 

It was dark, the shadows stretching long against the concrete.

 

Clank.

 

Izuku paused. The sound echoed from a manhole cover a few yards ahead. Slowly, the heavy iron disc was pushed aside, grating against the pavement.

 

Before Izuku could turn back, a massive, putrid wave of dark green slime erupted from the sewer. The sludge slithered and expanded, towering over Izuku. Two massive, bulbous eyes and a jagged mouth formed in the center of the muck.

 

"A medium-sized meat suit," the Sludge Villain gurgled, his voice echoing wetly in the tunnel. "Perfect. You’ll do nicely to help me hide from him!"

 

Izuku’s eyes widened in terror. He turned to run, but his sneakers slipped on the damp concrete.

 

The sludge surged forward like a tidal wave. Heavy, suffocating slime slammed into Izuku, wrapping around his waist, his arms, his legs. He was hoisted into the air, struggling wildly. The sludge forced its way into his mouth, his nose, invading his airway with the taste of raw sewage and rotting garbage.

 

"Don't fight it, kid," the villain hissed, his liquid body tightening. "It'll only hurt for about forty-five seconds. Then it'll all be over. I'm just hijacking your body!"

 

Izuku clawed at his throat, but his fingers just slipped uselessly through the slime. His lungs burned. The edges of his vision began to darken, static creeping into his periphery.

 

He was dying. He was actually dying.

 

Deep within his cellular structure, an alarm bell rang.

 

For ten years, Izuku had suppressed his Quirk. He had forced his body to remain human, to remain small, soft, and fragile. He had commanded the virus to sleep, afraid of what it would do.

 

But the Blacklight virus had only one core directive: Survive at all costs.

 

As oxygen deprivation set in, Izuku’s conscious control slipped. The mental dam he had built over a decade shattered.

 

Warning. Host integrity compromised. Lethal threat detected. Engaging offensive countermeasures.

 

Izuku didn't hear a voice, but he felt the sudden, terrifying shift in his very being. The suffocating panic vanished, replaced by an ancient, predatory coldness. His heartbeat slowed. The burning in his lungs ceased as his cells temporarily shifted their metabolic needs, bypassing the need for immediate oxygen.

 

The Sludge Villain laughed, feeling the boy’s struggles slow down. "That's it, give up! You're mine n—"

 

The villain’s words died in his throat as a strange vibration shuddered through the sludge holding the boy.

 

Izuku’s eyes snapped open. The irises, normally a soft, vibrant green, were glowing a violent, luminescent crimson.

 

"What the—" the Sludge Villain gasped.

 

Izuku’s right arm twitched. The sleeve of his school jacket shredded instantly as the flesh beneath it violently expanded. The sound of tearing meat and snapping cables echoed off the walls of the tunnel, deafeningly loud.

 

Red and black tendrils burst from his shoulder, spiraling down his arm in a localized tornado of biomass. The mass condensed, hardening with a metallic screech.

 

In a fraction of a second, Izuku’s right arm was entirely gone. From the elbow down, it had been replaced by a massive, asymmetrical blade. It was the size of a longsword, forged of hyper-dense, obsidian-black organic metal, with a serrated, glowing red edge. It pulsed with a terrifying, rhythmic heartbeat.

 

The Blade.

 

Izuku didn't think. He didn't process. His body acted on pure, unadulterated instinct.

 

With a roar that sounded more like a guttural beast than a teenage boy, Izuku swung his body violently to the left. The Blade sliced through the thick, viscous sludge with zero resistance.

 

SCHWING.

 

A shockwave of sheer kinetic force followed the swing, carving a deep, jagged gash into the concrete wall of the tunnel.

 

The Sludge Villain screamed, a sound of absolute agony, as the organic metal severed his liquid body in two. The slime holding Izuku dissolved into messy puddles. Izuku dropped to the ground, landing in a three-point stance. The concrete beneath his boots cracked under his sudden, unnatural weight.

 

He gasped for air, coughing up a small amount of sludge, his glowing red eyes fixed on the remaining mass of the villain.

 

"You—what the hell are you?!" the Sludge Villain shrieked, struggling to pull his severed halves back together. "You're a monster!"

 

Monster.

 

The word echoed in Izuku's mind. The predatory coldness instantly shattered. The glowing red faded from his eyes, replaced by wide, terrified green. He looked down at his right arm.

 

The Blade was massive, terrifying, and dripping with green slime.

 

"No," Izuku whispered, his voice trembling. "No, no, no."

 

Panic, pure and human, flooded back into his system. He willed the Blade away, screaming internally for it to stop. The heavy, metallic mass lost its rigidity. With a sickening, wet slurp, the black and red tendrils unraveled, shrinking and weaving back together in milliseconds until they formed a pale, trembling human hand.

 

Izuku fell to his knees in the muck. He looked at the villain. The Sludge Villain wasn't moving, his liquid form scattered across the tunnel floor in a dozen disjointed puddles. The eyes were unblinking, the mouth slack.

 

"I killed him," Izuku hyperventilated, clutching his chest. "I used my Quirk, and I killed someone. I'm a murderer."

 

He grabbed his hair, sobbing in the dark. All his dreams of UA, of being a hero, turned to ash in his mouth. Bakugo was right. He wasn't a hero. He was a weapon. He was a villain waiting to happen.

 

But then, one of the puddles twitched. A small groan echoed from the sludge.

 

He's alive!

 

Izuku’s head snapped up. The hero in him, the boy who took notes and analyzed every rescue operation, overrode the panic.

 

He's alive, but he can't pull himself together! His form is destabilized. If he dries out, he'll die!

 

Izuku scrambled to his feet. He looked frantically around the tunnel. His eyes locked onto a discarded grocery bag a few feet away. Inside were two empty, two-liter plastic soda bottles.

 

He lunged for them, unscrewing the caps with trembling, slime-covered fingers.

 

"Hold on!" Izuku yelled, crawling on his hands and knees through the filth. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, please don't die!"

 

He began scooping the vile, putrid sludge into the bottles with his bare hands. He ignored the smell of sewage. He ignored the fact that this man had just tried to suffocate him to death. All he cared about was saving a life.

 

He frantically scooped up a puddle containing one of the villain’s eyeballs, gently pushing it through the plastic neck of the bottle. "I'm sorry," he kept chanting, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the grime on his cheeks. "Please just stay in here, it'll keep you wet. I'll call an ambulance."

 

"HAVE NO FEAR!"

 

A booming voice echoed from the manhole cover, vibrating through the very foundation of the bridge.

 

Izuku froze, his hands plunged deep into a puddle of villainous sludge.

 

A shadow fell over the tunnel entrance. A man stepped forward. He was practically a giant, wearing a white t-shirt and cargo pants. His muscles were impossibly huge, casting dramatic shadows, and a bright, blinding smile was etched onto his chiseled face.

 

"BECAUSE I AM HERE!" All Might announced, rearing back a massive fist to unleash a shockwave.

 

The Number One Hero paused.

 

The scene before him was... not what he expected. He had been chasing the Sludge Villain through the sewers for ten minutes. He expected to find the villain terrorizing a civilian.

 

Instead, he found the villain completely dismantled, scattered in pieces across the tunnel, with a massive gash carved into the concrete wall—a gash that looked like it had been made by a sword the size of a car.

 

And in the center of the carnage was a scrawny, green-haired middle schooler, weeping uncontrollably while frantically scooping the incapacitated villain into an empty soda bottle.

 

"Kid?" All Might asked, blinking, his booming voice dropping a few decibels in sheer confusion. "What... happened here?"

 

Izuku looked up. His jaw dropped. The empty bottle fell from his hands.

 

"A-All Might?" Izuku squeaked.

 

The adrenaline crashed. The sheer mental exhaustion of the near-death experience, the horrific use of his Quirk, and the sudden appearance of his lifelong idol was too much. Izuku’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed face-first into the remaining sludge, unconscious.

 

 

 

When Izuku awoke, he was laying on his back on solid concrete. The smell of sewage was gone, replaced by the crisp breeze of the afternoon air. He groaned, sitting up slowly.

 

"THOUGHT WE LOST YOU THERE!"

 

Izuku flinched, scrambling backward. He looked up.

 

He was on the roof of a high-rise building. And standing before him, hands on his hips, was the Symbol of Peace.

 

"All Might!" Izuku gasped, his heart leaping into his throat. "You—I—we're on a roof! The villain! Oh my god, the villain, I killed him, I didn't mean to—"

 

"PEACE, YOUNG MAN!" All Might boomed, holding up a large hand. In his other hand, he held up two two-liter soda bottles, both securely capped and filled to the brim with dark green sludge. The villain’s eyes glared out from the plastic, but he was very much alive and contained. "THANKS TO YOUR QUICK THINKING, THE VILLAIN IS SECURE! THOUGH I MUST ADMIT, I AM QUITE CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT TRANSPIRED IN THAT TUNNEL."

 

Izuku stared at the bottles, a massive wave of relief washing over him. He's alive. I didn't kill him.

 

Then, the reality of the situation crashed down on him. All Might had seen the aftermath. All Might had seen the destruction of the Blade.

 

Izuku looked away, shame burning in his cheeks. "I... I was attacked. He tried to take my body. I couldn't breathe. My Quirk... it activated on its own."

 

All Might's smile softened slightly. He walked over and set the bottles down by the rooftop access door. "A powerful Quirk, judging by the structural damage to that tunnel. You completely incapacitated a villain that gave even me the slip. What is your Quirk, young man?"

 

Izuku hugged his knees to his chest. "It's... it's called Blacklight. It’s a mutation. I can manipulate the biomass of my own body. I can make myself stronger, or heal, or... turn my limbs into weapons." He swallowed hard. "Lethal weapons."

 

All Might studied the boy. He noticed the tears welling up in the boy's eyes again. He noticed how small he made himself look, despite possessing a power that could cleave solid concrete.

 

"You don't like your Quirk," All Might observed gently, dropping his bombastic persona just a fraction.

 

"It's a villain's Quirk," Izuku whispered, the words he had heard his whole life finally spilling from his lips. "It's gross. It's violent. Whenever I use it, I feel like... like a monster. People look at me like I'm a monster. When he attacked me, my body just... it just wanted to cut him to pieces to survive. If I couldn't control it today, how could I ever be a hero? Heroes are supposed to save people, not rip them apart."

 

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the agreement. He waited for All Might to pat him on the head, tell him to be a police officer or an accountant, and leave.

 

Silence stretched on the rooftop for a long moment.

 

Then, a heavy, warm hand rested on Izuku's head.

 

Izuku opened his eyes and looked up. All Might was not smiling his trademark, blinding grin. Instead, his expression was one of profound, quiet solemnity. It was a look of deep respect.

 

"Young man," All Might said, his voice rich and steady. "Do you know what I saw when I emerged from the sewers today?"

 

Izuku shook his head.

 

"I saw a boy who had just survived a terrifying, near-death ordeal. A boy who had unleashed a devastating, terrifying power in self-defense. And yet, instead of running away, instead of revelling in his victory or succumbing to shock..." All Might crouched down so he was eye-level with Izuku. "I saw a boy covered in filth, crying his eyes out, desperately trying to save the life of the very villain who had just tried to kill him."

 

Izuku's breath hitched.

 

"Powers are just tools, young man," All Might continued, his blue eyes piercing straight through Izuku's insecurities. "A Quirk does not dictate a person's soul. Fire can burn a city to the ground, or it can warm a freezing home. A blade can take a life, or it can cut the ropes binding a hostage. It is not the Quirk that makes a hero or a monster. It is the heart of the one who wields it."

 

Tears, hot and fast, began to stream down Izuku's face. He had waited ten years to hear those words. He had waited ten long years for someone, anyone, to look past the writhing red and black flesh, past the blood and the blades, and see him.

 

"You possess a power that is dangerous, yes," All Might said, standing up tall. "But I have seen your heart. You are afraid of your power because you value human life. That fear is your greatest strength. It is proof that you are no monster."

 

All Might pointed a massive finger at Izuku. "You can become a hero."

 

Izuku broke. He clamped his hands over his mouth and sobbed, his shoulders shaking violently as years of repressed trauma, bullying, and self-hatred poured out of him. He bowed his head to the concrete, crying so hard his chest ached.

 

All Might let the boy cry, a melancholic smile on his face.

 

Such a gentle soul, Toshinori Yagi thought, feeling a twinge of pain in his left side where his old injury resided. He possesses the biology of an apex predator, yet he weeps for his prey. What an extraordinary young man.

 

When Izuku finally managed to compose himself, wiping his eyes with the back of his un-torn sleeve, he stood up, his legs shaking slightly. "Th-thank you, All Might. You don't know how much I needed to hear that."

 

"I think I have a good idea," All Might chuckled. He turned fully toward Izuku, crossing his massive arms. "However, acknowledging your heart is only the first step. You have raw power, but you lack control. If you truly wish to be a hero, a hero who saves rather than destroys, you must master the beast within your blood."

 

Izuku wiped his nose and nodded fiercely. "I will! I'll train harder than anyone!"

 

"I believe you will," All Might said. His eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of immense intensity behind them. "U.A. High School's entrance exam is in ten months. If you wish to attend, you cannot go in afraid of your own body. You need a mentor. Someone to push you to your absolute limits, to help you forge that lethal Quirk into a shield for the innocent."

 

Izuku blinked, his brain short-circuiting. "A mentor? But... who?"

 

All Might threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming across the cityscape. "WHO, YOU ASK? WHY, MYSELF, OF COURSE!"

 

Izuku's knees buckled. "Y-You?! The Number One Hero wants to train me?"

 

"Indeed!" All Might grinned, pointing a thumb at his chest. "I have never taken on an apprentice before, but you have thoroughly impressed me, young man! I will teach you to control your power. I will teach you to fight, to protect, and to smile in the face of fear! But be warned, my training will not be easy! It will test your body, your mind, and your spirit!"

 

Izuku stared at the towering hero. The fear that had gripped his heart for ten years—the fear of his own blood, of the virus that wrote his DNA—did not completely vanish. But for the first time in his life, it was eclipsed by something else.

 

Hope.

 

"I'll do it," Izuku said, his voice miraculously steady. He clenched his fists, looking down at his hands. They were human hands. For now. "I'll do whatever it takes. I will master my Quirk, and I will become a hero who saves everyone with a smile."

 

"EXCELLENT!" All Might boomed. "THEN MEET ME AT DAGOBAH MUNICIPAL BEACH TOMORROW AT 6:00 AM! WE HAVE TEN MONTHS TO TURN YOU FROM A SURVIVOR INTO A SYMBOL!"

 

With a mighty leap, All Might launched himself into the sky, the shockwave ruffling Izuku's hair.

 

Izuku stood on the roof alone, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the city. He looked down at his right arm. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He didn't push the virus down this time. He didn't command it to sleep. Instead, he reached out to it.

 

Hello, he thought.

 

His arm tingled. Beneath the skin, the Blacklight virus stirred, acknowledging its host.

 

With a conscious, deliberate command, Izuku willed his hand to change. Not into a blade. Not into a weapon of death.

 

Rip. Squelch.

 

Red and black tendrils snaked over his fingers, shifting and weaving. In a second, his hand and forearm were covered in dense, interlocking plates of obsidian-black armor. It looked menacing, yes. But as Izuku brought his armored hand up to the sunlight, he didn't see a monster.

 

He saw a shield.

 

Ten months, Izuku thought, commanding the armor to recede back into soft human skin. Ten months to become the apex hero.

 

He turned and walked toward the stairwell, his steps lighter than they had been in a decade. The virus within him was a weapon of mass destruction, a horrific anomaly of biology.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was going to show the world that even a monster could stand in the light.

 

 

 

Dagobah Municipal Beach Park was less of a beach and more of a monument to societal neglect. Piles of rusted refrigerators, hollowed-out cars, shattered televisions, and heaps of unidentifiable scrap metal formed artificial dunes that completely obscured the ocean. The air smelled of salt, rust, and rotting seaweed.

 

Izuku Midoriya stood at the edge of the boardwalk at 5:50 AM, the chilly morning wind biting through his thin windbreaker. He looked out over the sea of garbage, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. For ten years, he had tried to make himself as small as possible. He had tried to ignore the writhing, humming ecosystem of viral cells that made up his body.

 

"GOOD MORNING, YOUNG MIDORIYA!"

 

Izuku jumped, nearly leaping out of his red sneakers. All Might stood atop a precarious tower of washing machines, his imposing, muscular silhouette framed perfectly against the rising sun. With a mighty leap, the Number One Hero landed on the sand, the impact shaking the ground and rattling nearby scrap metal.

 

"You're early!" All Might beamed, flashing that trademark smile. "A hero is always punctual, but arriving early shows true dedication!"

 

"A-All Might!" Izuku stammered, scrambling down the concrete steps to the sand. "Thank you for coming! I mean, of course you came, you said you would, but I still can't believe this is actually happening..."

 

All Might chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. "Believe it, my boy! Today marks the first day of your journey. But before we begin, there is something you must know. Something the world does not."

 

Izuku blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

 

Suddenly, All Might groaned. His massive chest heaved, and a thick plume of steam erupted from his body, hissing like a broken radiator. The steam enveloped the giant hero, obscuring him completely.

 

Izuku stepped back, coughing as the steam washed over him. "All Might? Is this... is this part of your Quirk?"

 

As the steam cleared, Izuku's jaw dropped. The towering, mountain-sized man was gone. In his place stood a skeletal, gaunt figure with sunken cheeks, baggy clothes that hung off his frail frame like a scarecrow, and shadows under his eyes. He coughed violently into his fist, a small trickle of blood escaping his lips.

 

"A-An imposter?!" Izuku shrieked, his eyes wide.

 

"No, no, I am All Might," the skeletal man sighed, wiping the blood from his chin. "This is my true form, Young Midoriya."

 

Izuku's mind short-circuited. The Number One Hero, the Symbol of Peace, the invincible giant... was a fragile, sickly man? "But... how? What happened to you?"

 

All Might pulled up the oversized white t-shirt, revealing a horrific, sprawling scar that spider-webbed across the left side of his chest and abdomen. It looked as though half his respiratory system had been scooped out and hastily stitched together.

 

"Five years ago, a villain did this to me," All Might explained, his voice losing its bombastic echo, replaced by a solemn, raspy tone. "My respiratory system was nearly destroyed. I lost my entire stomach. Through repeated surgeries, I've managed to survive, but I can only maintain my 'hero form' for about three hours a day. The rest of the time, I look like this."

 

Izuku stared at the grotesque scar. As someone whose body possessed hyper-regeneration, looking at an injury so permanent, so debilitating, made his own flesh crawl in sympathy. "Five years ago... was it Toxic Chainsaw?"

 

"You know your stuff," All Might smiled faintly. "But no, that punk couldn't scratch me. This fight was kept strictly out of the public eye. I'm showing you this, Midoriya, because yesterday, you trusted me with your darkest secret. You showed me the monster society tells you that you are, and you trusted me to see the hero beneath."

 

All Might placed a skeletal hand on Izuku's shoulder. "A mentor and a student must have absolute trust. I trust you with my secret, just as you trusted me with yours. Do you understand?"

 

Izuku felt a lump form in his throat. He nodded firmly. "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

 

"I know you won't," All Might said. He gestured expansively to the miles of trash surrounding them. "Now, onto the training! Your Quirk—Blacklight, you called it—is a biological marvel. But right now, it operates on a hair-trigger survival instinct. To be a hero, you must be able to deploy it consciously, carefully, and without hesitation. Dagobah Beach is your new dojo."

 

"Am I... cleaning the beach?" Izuku asked, looking at a rusted-out pickup truck half-buried in the sand.

 

"Not just cleaning," All Might corrected. "Forging. I want you to use your Quirk to break down this trash, move it, and haul it away. No holding back. I want to see every weapon, every form, every mutation your body is capable of. We are going to tame the virus, Midoriya."

 

Izuku took a deep breath. He looked at his hands. For a decade, he had locked the virus away in a mental vault. Now, All Might was asking him to open the door and invite the beast out to play.

 

"Okay," Izuku whispered. He closed his eyes and found that humming sensation deep in his marrow. He didn't just allow it to wake up; he dragged it to the surface.

 

Crack. Snap. Squelch.

 

The sound was nauseating. Izuku's forearms violently expanded, his skin tearing open to reveal shifting masses of red and black tendrils. The biomass spiraled and wove itself together, hardening into massive, asymmetrical lumps of hyper-dense, obsidian biological metal. His hands were completely swallowed by the immense, club-like appendages.

 

Hammerfists.

 

Izuku grunted, feeling the immense weight of the biological bludgeons. Each arm felt like it weighed a ton, yet his shoulders and spine automatically adapted, his muscles expanding and reinforcing themselves to carry the load without breaking his posture.

 

All Might watched, his hollow eyes wide with awe. Fascinating. His body automatically adjusts its bone density and muscle mass to support the mutated limbs. The biomechanics are flawless.

 

"Alright, Midoriya!" All Might called out. "Show me what those can do! That refrigerator over there—smash it into something we can fit into a trash bag!"

 

Izuku lumbered toward a rusted, double-door refrigerator. He raised his right Hammerfist, pulling it back. He didn't just swing; his body instinctively coiled like a spring, maximizing kinetic output.

 

He slammed the massive black club down onto the appliance.

 

The impact sounded like a bomb going off. The refrigerator didn't just crush; it disintegrated. Shrapnel of white metal, plastic, and Freon tubing exploded outward in a shockwave of sheer concussive force, kicking up a massive cloud of sand. Izuku was blown back a foot, his Hammerfists instinctively crossing in front of his face to shield him from the flying debris.

 

When the dust cleared, the refrigerator was gone. In its place was a crater in the sand, lined with confetti-sized pieces of scrap metal.

 

Izuku looked down, horrified. "Oh no... I used too much force. I could have killed someone..."

 

"Stop right there," All Might commanded gently, walking over. "Midoriya, you are treating your power like an enemy. You are afraid of it. But it is a part of you. If you swing a baseball bat with all your might, you'll shatter a window. But if you tap a baseball bat against a window, it won't break. You must learn finesse."

 

All Might pointed to a nearby sedan that was missing its wheels. "Again. But this time, I want you to dent the hood. Don't shatter it. Dent it."

 

Izuku gritted his teeth. He approached the car. He raised his left Hammerfist. He tried to pull his strength back, but the sheer mass of the appendage made it difficult. He brought it down.

 

CRUNCH.

 

The hood crumpled inward, snapping the engine block in half.

 

"Still too much," All Might observed. "Try again."

 

And so began the grueling months of the Dagobah Beach restoration project.

 

For the first three months, Izuku focused entirely on control. It was maddening work. The Blacklight virus was designed for maximum efficiency and maximum lethality. Asking it to be gentle was like asking a great white shark to gently nibble on a seal.

 

But Izuku was stubborn. He spent hours striking discarded washing machines, slowly learning to dial back the kinetic output of his Hammerfists. He learned that the virus responded not just to physical commands, but to emotional intent. If he felt panicked, the virus made the weapons harder, heavier, deadlier. If he focused on calm, measured breathing, the biomass became more pliable, acting like shock absorbers rather than wrecking balls.

 

By the fourth month, Izuku could use his Hammerfists to delicately tap a glass bottle into the sand without shattering the glass.

 

Then came the mobility training.

 

"A hero must be able to traverse any terrain, quickly and safely!" All Might shouted one rainy Tuesday, holding an umbrella over his frail form. "Let's see what else you have in your arsenal, Midoriya!"

 

Izuku nodded. He let the Hammerfists unravel, the black and red tendrils receding back into his skin, reforming into pale human hands. He took a deep breath, focusing on his right arm.

 

Extend. Pierce. Grab.

 

With a sickening wet rip, Izuku's right arm shifted. A blade-like protrusion erupted from his wrist, connected to a long, segmented, razor-sharp cable of red and black biomass. It shot out like a harpoon.

 

The Whipfist.

 

The biological cable shot across the beach, burying its bladed tip deep into the chassis of a rusted pickup truck fifty feet away.

 

"Incredible," All Might muttered, taking notes in a small notepad. "The tensile strength must be off the charts."

 

"It's heavy," Izuku grunted, his boots sinking into the wet sand as he pulled. The Whipfist went taut, the muscles in Izuku's back bulging unnaturally to support the tension. With a primal roar, Izuku yanked his arm backward.

 

The pickup truck groaned, shifting in the sand, before being dragged roughly across the beach, carving a deep trench until it stopped at Izuku's feet. The Whipfist retracted instantly, snapping back into Izuku's arm like a tape measure.

 

"Excellent for rescue operations!" All Might cheered. "You could pull civilians out of rubble from a safe distance, or traverse cityscapes like a certain web-swinging hero from the pre-quirk comic books!"

 

But as Izuku smiled at the praise, his vision suddenly swam.

 

The world tilted on its axis. A wave of profound, agonizing nausea slammed into his gut. It felt as though his stomach was actively trying to consume itself. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the wet sand, gasping for air.

 

"Midoriya!" All Might cried, dropping his umbrella and rushing to the boy's side. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

 

"H-Hungry," Izuku gasped, his skin turning a sickly shade of gray. The virus beneath his skin felt agitated, squirming uncomfortably. "I feel so... empty. So weak."

 

All Might pulled a protein bar from his pocket. "Here, eat this!"

 

Izuku tore the wrapper off and shoved the bar into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, but the agonizing emptiness didn't fade. "It's not... it's not enough. Calories... it's not enough."

 

Izuku's mind raced. He analyzed his own biology the way he analyzed pro heroes. The Blacklight virus manipulated biomass. It shifted cellular structures, increased mass, generated hyper-dense armor. But the law of conservation of mass dictated that matter could not be created from nothing.

 

Every time Izuku shifted his limbs, every time he healed, every time he used his powers, he was burning through his body's internal reservoir of biomass. Human food, broken down by normal digestion, was too slow and too inefficient to refuel a weaponized viral system.

 

He needed raw, unfiltered organic matter. He needed to Consume.

 

Izuku's glowing red eyes snapped open. He could smell it.

 

He dragged himself across the sand, his fingernails digging into the dirt, toward the shoreline. High tide had washed up a massive pile of dead kelp and several large, dead silverfish.

 

"Midoriya, what are you doing?" All Might asked, alarmed.

 

Izuku didn't answer. He reached the pile of rotting fish and kelp. He didn't eat it with his mouth. Instead, he placed both his hands onto the slimy organic matter.

 

Consume.

 

The skin on Izuku's hands split open, revealing a web of microscopic, glowing red tendrils. The tendrils shot out, latching onto the fish and the kelp.

 

Before All Might's horrified eyes, the organic matter began to dissolve. The fish didn't rot; they were systematically deconstructed at a cellular level, turning into liquid biological sludge that was rapidly absorbed directly into Izuku's hands. The pile of kelp vanished in seconds, sucked into Izuku's body like water into a sponge.

 

Izuku gasped, his spine arching as the influx of raw biomass hit his system. The sickly gray pallor vanished from his skin. The nausea evaporated, replaced by a surge of electric, terrifying vitality.

 

He sat up, looking at his perfectly clean hands. The fish were gone. Completely assimilated.

 

"Midoriya..." All Might whispered, utterly stunned. "Did you just... absorb them?"

 

Izuku hugged his knees to his chest, looking deeply ashamed. "My Quirk... it burns through my cells. I have a biomass reservoir. If it gets too low, I start to shut down. The only way to replenish it instantly is to... to Consume organic matter. I don't digest it. The virus just... steals the cells and makes them part of me."

 

All Might looked at the empty patch of sand. He thought about the implications. If Izuku could absorb fish... could he absorb a person?

 

"I won't do it to people," Izuku said quickly, reading his mentor's expression. Tears pricked his eyes. "I swear, All Might. I'll never use it on a living person. I'll stick to plants, or... or animals if I absolutely have to. But never a person."

 

All Might knelt down, putting a hand on Izuku's head. "I believe you, Izuku. But this is a vital discovery. A hero must know their limits and their weaknesses. Your weakness is a biological fuel gauge. You must monitor your biomass constantly during combat. If you run out during a fight to the death..."

 

"I become human again," Izuku realized. "Fragile and helpless."

 

"Precisely," All Might nodded. "From now on, we include biological refueling in your training. You must learn how much biomass each of your forms consumes."

 

 

 

Months six through ten were a blur of grueling, visceral evolution.

 

Izuku's body fundamentally changed. Even in his "human" form, the virus optimized him. He didn't bulk up like a bodybuilder; instead, his physique became incredibly lean, corded with dense, coiled muscle that felt as hard as steel wire. He stopped slouching. His reflexes became terrifyingly fast. He could hear a seagull flap its wings a mile down the coast. He was becoming an apex predator, perfectly disguised as a teenage boy.

 

By the dawn of the tenth month, Dagobah Beach was unrecognizable.

 

The towering dunes of trash were gone. The pristine, white sand sparkled under the morning sun, kissed by the gentle waves of the ocean.

 

All Might stood on the boardwalk, in his muscular hero form, looking out at the immaculate beach. Izuku stood beside him, breathing heavily, sweat rolling down his face.

 

"You did it, Young Midoriya," All Might said proudly, gesturing to the beach. "You have forged your vessel. You have taken a power of chaos and destruction, and you have bent it to your will. You are no longer just surviving the virus. You are commanding it."

 

Izuku looked at his hands. He shifted his fingers, turning them into sharp, obsidian talons for a fraction of a second before willing them back to flesh. The shift was completely painless, instantaneous, and perfectly controlled.

 

"I couldn't have done it without you, All Might," Izuku smiled, a genuine, confident smile.

 

All Might laughed, clapping Izuku on the back hard enough to stagger a normal man, though Izuku merely swayed. "The U.A. Entrance Exam is today. The practical test will push you. But remember this, Izuku: do not let them fear you. Show them the hero you are."

 

"I will," Izuku promised.

 

 

 

The gates of U.A. High School loomed like the entrance to a fortress. The massive, H-shaped building gleamed in the morning sun, a symbol of hope and prestige.

 

Hundreds of teenagers swarmed the courtyard, chattering excitedly. Among them walked Izuku Midoriya.

 

Despite the relatively warm spring weather, Izuku was wearing a long, heavy, olive-green trench coat over his school uniform. He kept his hands stuffed deep into the pockets, the collar popped up to obscure his neck. It was a conscious choice. He knew his fighting style was going to be gruesome. He knew his body was going to warp, tear, and shift in ways that terrified normal people. The coat was a physical barrier, a way to conceal the horrific mechanics of his Quirk from the other applicants for as long as possible.

 

Just keep a low profile, Izuku thought, stepping onto the paved walkway. Focus on the robots. Don't scare anyone.

 

"Out of my way, Deku!"

 

Izuku paused. He didn't flinch. He didn't cower. He slowly turned his head to see Katsuki Bakugo marching toward him, a scowl etched onto his face.

 

"Kacchan," Izuku said, his voice remarkably steady.

 

Bakugo stopped, his red eyes narrowing. For ten years, Deku had always trembled in his presence. Deku had stuttered, looked at the ground, and shrunk away. But today, standing in his oversized coat, Deku was looking him dead in the eye. And there was something deeply unnerving behind the nerd's green irises. A quiet, predatory stillness.

 

"Don't get in my way today, freak," Bakugo snarled, shoving past Izuku's shoulder.

 

Izuku barely registered the shove. His physical mass and density made Bakugo feel like a gentle breeze. Izuku watched him walk away, feeling a strange sense of detachment. The bullying that used to destroy him now felt completely irrelevant.

 

Turning back to the path, Izuku took a step forward, completely forgot to watch where he was going, and tripped over his own oversized boot.

 

Oh no. First day and I'm eating concrete, he thought, bracing for impact.

 

But the impact never came.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

Izuku opened his eyes. He was floating an inch off the ground. He turned his head to see a girl with a cute bob of brown hair and rosy cheeks smiling at him, her hand touching his shoulder.

 

"It's my Quirk," she chirped, pressing her fingertips together. Izuku immediately dropped to his feet, stumbling slightly. "Sorry for using it without asking, but it'd be bad luck if you fell right before the exam, right?"

 

"O-Oh! Um, thank you!" Izuku stammered, his calm, predatory demeanor instantly shattering back into his nervous, teenage-boy baseline. He pulled his trench coat tighter around himself.

 

"I'm Ochaco Uraraka! Let's do our best today!" she smiled brightly before jogging off toward the auditorium.

 

Izuku watched her go, a small smile playing on his lips. She didn't look at me like a freak.

 

 

 

The orientation in the auditorium went smoothly. Pro Hero Present Mic explained the rules: a massive mock city, filled with three types of robotic villains worth one, two, or three points. Destroy the robots, rack up points. Avoid the Zero Pointer, which was an obstacle to be avoided at all costs.

 

Robots, Izuku thought, sitting in the dark auditorium. That's a problem.

 

His Quirk was entirely biological. If he took damage, or if he burned through too much stamina shifting his limbs, he needed organic matter to consume and refuel. Robots were made of steel, copper, and oil. There was zero biomass to harvest. This exam was a marathon, and he was going in with a half-empty gas tank.

 

I'll have to rely on high-impact, low-maintenance forms, Izuku strategized. No heavy armor. It drains too much energy to maintain. Stick to quick strikes.

 

Thirty minutes later, Izuku stood before the towering gates of Battle Center B. He was surrounded by dozens of other applicants, all stretching and hyping themselves up. Izuku remained perfectly still, his hands in his trench coat pockets.

 

"START!" Present Mic's voice blasted over the speakers. "What are you waiting for?! There are no countdowns in real fights! RUN, RUN, RUN!"

 

The crowd surged forward.

 

Izuku didn't run. He sprinted.

 

He channeled a fraction of the virus into his legs, increasing the muscle density in his calves and thighs. He exploded off the starting line, a sonic boom cracking the air behind him. The concrete beneath his boots shattered as he launched himself forward, instantly outpacing the rest of the applicants and entering the mock city first.

 

Three One-Pointer robots rolled out from an alleyway, their red optical sensors locking onto him.

 

"Target acquired," they buzzed simultaneously.

 

Izuku didn't slow down. He didn't pull his hands out of his pockets. As he closed the distance, the virus responded to his silent command.

 

Schwing.

 

From beneath the right sleeve of his coat, a massive, three-foot-long talon of jagged, hyper-dense bone and black tissue shot outward. The Claws.

 

Izuku leaped into the air, twisting his body. He brought his right arm down in a sweeping arc. The Claws sliced through the air with a horrific shrieking sound, connecting with the first two robots. The organic blades carved through the titanium armor as if it were wet tissue paper, slicing the machines clean in half.

 

He landed on the chassis of the third robot, unceremoniously stomping his foot down with increased mass, crushing its head unit into a shower of sparks.

 

Three points, Izuku thought, his Claws retracting back into his arm with a wet squelch, hidden once again by the heavy coat.

 

He moved like a phantom through the mock city. To the other applicants, he was a blur of olive-green. They would hear a horrific, wet tearing sound, followed by the screech of rending metal, and by the time they arrived, there was nothing left but mechanically vivisected robots.

 

Izuku danced between a group of Two-Pointers. He shifted his hands into the Hammerfists for mere seconds at a time—just long enough to cave in their metal chests before retracting them to save stamina. He was a perfect machine of destruction, a viral storm wearing a trench coat.

 

Thirty-two points. Forty-five points. Fifty-two points, Izuku counted in his head as he tore through a Three-Pointer with his Whipfist, decapitating it from thirty feet away.

 

But the toll was mounting.

 

Izuku ducked into an alleyway, leaning heavily against a brick wall. His breathing was ragged. His vision was swimming with black spots. The virus beneath his skin felt like a nest of starving insects, biting and gnawing at his own cells for sustenance.

 

I'm burning through my reserves, Izuku panted, clutching his stomach. No biomass to consume. I have to slow down, or my body will start cannibalizing its own vital organs to maintain the Quirk.

 

 

 

High above the mock cities, in a darkened observation room overlooking a bank of massive monitors, the faculty of U.A. High School watched the applicants.

 

"We have a strong crop this year!" Midnight smiled, pointing to a screen showing Bakugo blowing up a group of robots. "That explosive boy has excellent combat instincts."

 

"Indeed," Nezu, the principal, hummed from his high chair. But his beady black eyes were fixed on a different monitor. Monitor B-4.

 

On the screen, a boy in a trench coat was moving with terrifying efficiency. The cameras couldn't quite capture the nature of his Quirk. One second, he had normal hands; the next, a blur of black and red decimated a steel robot, and then his hands were normal again.

 

"Eraserhead," Nezu called out. "What do you make of Applicant Midoriya?"

 

Shota Aizawa, pro hero Eraserhead, leaned forward in his sleeping bag, his tired eyes narrowing as he watched Izuku fight. "Brutal. Efficient. Almost disturbingly so. His Quirk seems to be a high-tier mutant transformation, but he's actively hiding it under that coat. He's trying to obscure his methodology from the others."

 

"Perhaps he is self-conscious?" All Might suggested, leaning against the wall in his muscle form, sweating profusely as he tried to act casual.

 

"Perhaps," Aizawa muttered. "But look at his movements. He's not celebrating. He's not posing. He's just dismantling the targets. It's the fighting style of a predator. An executioner. I don't like it. It lacks... humanity."

 

All Might frowned, resisting the urge to defend his student. Just watch, Aizawa. He will show you his heart.

 

"Let's see how they handle a true hopeless situation," Nezu smiled sadistically, pressing a large red button on his console.

 

 

 

A low, rumbling tremor shook Battle Center B.

 

Izuku, still leaning against the alleyway wall, looked up. The tremor grew into a violent earthquake. Windows shattered in the mock buildings. Dust poured from the rooftops.

 

At the end of the main street, a gargantuan shadow blotted out the sun.

 

The Zero Pointer.

 

It was easily the size of a skyscraper, a behemoth of green metal and glowing red eyes. Its massive tank treads crushed entire buildings into rubble as it rolled forward.

 

Panic erupted in the streets. Applicants screamed, turning and sprinting in the opposite direction.

 

"Run away!" a boy yelled.

 

Izuku pushed himself off the wall. His head spun. He was practically out of gas. Sixty points. That should be enough to pass, he thought. I just need to retreat and let the time run out.

 

He turned to follow the fleeing applicants.

 

"Ow! Help!"

 

The sound was faint, barely audible over the grinding gears of the behemoth. But Izuku's enhanced hearing caught it.

 

He whipped his head around. There, trapped beneath a massive slab of concrete rubble that had fallen from a crushed building, was the brown-haired girl. Uraraka.

 

The Zero Pointer raised a foot the size of a house, preparing to crush the street where she lay.

 

Izuku's mind didn't process the math. It didn't calculate the risk, or the lack of biomass, or the danger of exposing his monstrous quirk to the world.

 

His body moved.

 

He sprinted toward the giant robot, tearing off his heavy trench coat and tossing it aside as he ran. He needed total freedom of movement. He needed to unleash everything he had.

 

"What is he doing?!" an applicant screamed, watching the boy in the school uniform run toward the mechanical god.

 

Izuku closed the distance, planting his feet firmly in the cracked asphalt right in front of Uraraka. The giant robotic foot began its descent, casting a massive shadow over them.

 

I can't smash it, Izuku realized. If I hit it with the Hammerfists, the shrapnel will kill her. I have to catch it.

 

Izuku looked up at the descending mountain of metal. He threw his arms upward.

 

Override safety protocols, Izuku commanded the virus. Maximum output. Musclemass.

 

The Blacklight virus roared in response, flooding his system with every ounce of remaining biomass.

 

RIIIIIIIP!

 

The sleeves of Izuku's uniform exploded into shreds of fabric. His arms violently expanded, swelling to grotesque, terrifying proportions. The skin tore open, revealing massive, pulsating bundles of hyper-dense, crimson muscle fiber, layered over thick cables of black biological tissue. His arms became as thick as tree trunks, glowing with intense, internal heat as the cells burned themselves alive for power.

 

Izuku caught the descending foot of the Zero Pointer.

 

BOOM!

 

The shockwave cratered the street beneath him, throwing asphalt and dust into the air. The sheer kinetic force of the giant robot pressed down on Izuku. His knees buckled, the bones in his legs splintering and instantly healing, snapping and knitting back together in agonizing milliseconds.

 

Izuku screamed, blood spraying from his lips as his internal organs compressed.

 

"He... he stopped it!" Uraraka gasped, looking up in absolute terror and awe at the boy holding up a skyscraper's worth of weight with grotesque, monstrous arms of raw muscle.

 

It's too heavy, Izuku thought, his vision going completely white. I'm losing traction!

 

He needed leverage. He needed an anchor.

 

With a guttural roar, Izuku commanded the biomass in his back.

 

From his shoulder blades, four thick, razor-sharp Tendrils of black and red mass shot outward like harpoons. They pierced the asphalt behind him, burying themselves deep into the bedrock of the mock city. More tendrils shot from his calves, anchoring his legs to the street. He became a living, biological suspension bridge, locking himself in place to hold the weight of the machine.

 

In the observation room, there was dead silence. Aizawa was standing, his jaw tight, eyes wide in disbelief at the monstrous display of sheer, unadulterated power.

 

"Now!" Izuku roared, the sound distorted, carrying a dual, beastly echo.

 

He pushed.

 

With all the strength of his hyper-expanded muscles, Izuku thrust his arms upward. The immense force sent the Zero Pointer's foot flying backward. The colossal robot lost its balance, teetering backward on its treads before crashing through three mock buildings, landing on its back with an earth-shattering explosion.

 

Silence descended upon the mock city, save for the crackle of localized fires.

 

Izuku stood in the crater, gasping for air. The tendrils in his back snapped, dissolving into red mist. The grotesque, swollen muscle of his arms rapidly deflated, the skin weaving back together to hide the raw, red fibers, returning to his normal, pale, skinny arms.

 

He fell to his knees, utterly exhausted. His body was starving, running on absolute fumes. He looked back at Uraraka, giving her a weak, trembling thumbs-up.

 

"Are you... okay?" Izuku rasped, before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed face-first into the asphalt.

 

"TIME IS UP!" Present Mic's voice echoed through the city.

 

The applicants slowly crept out of the alleyways, staring in horrified awe at the collapsed boy, the destroyed behemoth, and the sheer, monstrous reality of Izuku Midoriya's power.

 

He had saved a life. But he had shown them the monster to do it.

 

 

 

The acceptance letter from U.A. High School had not arrived via a simple piece of paper. It had come as a holographic projection, delivered by the Number One Hero himself, All Might. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated triumph that had left Inko Midoriya crying a literal river of tears on their living room floor. Izuku had passed the written exam with flying colors, and despite his horrific display at the very end of the practical, he had scored sixty rescue points for saving Ochaco Uraraka.

 

He was in. He was going to be a hero.

 

But as Izuku stood in front of his bathroom mirror on his very first day of school, buttoning up his crisp gray uniform jacket, he couldn’t shake the heavy feeling in his gut.

 

He looked at his hands. They looked normal. They were pale, slightly calloused from ten months of hauling scrap metal, with slightly bitten fingernails. A teenager’s hands. But Izuku knew the truth. Beneath the microscopic top layer of skin, a dormant ocean of red and black biomass waited, hungry and restless.

 

The Blacklight virus was a part of him. It was him. And today, he was taking it into a classroom filled with nineteen other teenagers.

 

"Control," Izuku whispered to his reflection, adjusting his red tie. "You are Izuku Midoriya. You are in control."

 

Downstairs, a massive breakfast was waiting. Ever since Dagobah Beach, Izuku's caloric intake requirements had skyrocketed to absurd levels when he wasn't actively consuming pure biomass. Inko had cooked an entire side of bacon, a dozen eggs, and a mountain of rice. Izuku ate it with terrifying speed, his jaw unhinging slightly in a way that he quickly corrected before his mother could notice.

 

"Do you have your tissues? Your handkerchief?" Inko fussed, hovering near the front door as Izuku slipped on his signature red boots.

 

"I have everything, Mom," Izuku smiled warmly, picking up his bright yellow backpack.

 

Inko looked at her son. She knew about his Quirk, of course. She knew how terrifying it could be. But looking at him now—with his messy green curls, his freckles, and his gentle, reassuring smile—she couldn't see the monster the doctors had warned her about. She just saw her sweet boy.

 

"I'm so proud of you, Izuku," she said softly, reaching out to cup his cheek.

 

Izuku leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. "Thanks, Mom. I'll make you proud today."

 

 

 

The walk to U.A. High School was a battle of nerves. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, casting soft pink petals across the pavement, completely at odds with the violent, stormy anxiety brewing in Izuku's chest.

 

When he finally navigated the massive, labyrinthine corridors of the school, he found himself standing before a doorway so ridiculously large it looked like it was designed for a giant. Painted in bold red letters across the wood was 1-A.

 

Izuku took a deep breath. Just be normal. Don't let the virus out. Be friendly.

 

He reached out and slid the massive door open.

 

"Take your feet off that desk immediately!" a strict, robotic voice demanded.

 

"Hah?! Who the hell are you to tell me what to do, four-eyes?!" a much louder, much angrier voice shot back.

 

Izuku peeked inside. Standing at the front of the classroom was a tall boy with glasses and engines in his calves, violently chopping the air with his hand. Sitting at a desk in the back, leaning casually with his feet propped up, was Katsuki Bakugo.

 

"I am Tenya Iida, from Somei Private Academy! And putting your feet on the desk is highly disrespectful to the upperclassmen who sat there before you, and to the craftsmen who made it!" Iida barked.

 

"Somei, huh? A friggin' elite!" Bakugo sneered, small sparks popping off his palms. "I'll have fun crushing you."

 

Iida gasped in horror. "Crushing me?! Are you truly aiming to be a hero with an attitude like that?"

 

Izuku swallowed hard and took a step into the classroom. He had hoped to slip in unnoticed, but his red boots squeaked slightly on the pristine linoleum.

 

Iida’s head snapped toward the door. Bakugo’s red eyes followed. The rest of the class turned as well.

 

"Ah! It is you!" Iida marched toward Izuku with stiff, mechanical strides. "I am Tenya Iida—"

 

"I heard," Izuku squeaked, instinctively taking a step back, shrinking into his shoulders. "I-I'm Izuku Midoriya. It's nice to meet you, Iida-kun."

 

"Midoriya," Iida said, stopping a respectful distance away and bowing perfectly at a ninety-degree angle. "You realized there was a hidden rescue metric in the practical exam, didn't you? You acted when the rest of us fled. I must admit, I misjudged you. And the sheer... power you displayed. It was formidable."

 

A chill ran down Izuku's spine. Iida had seen it. He had seen the grotesque, mutated arms.

 

"He's right!" a cheerful voice piped up from the hallway behind Izuku.

 

Izuku turned to see the round-faced girl from the entrance exam, Ochaco Uraraka, beaming at him. "You were amazing out there! When you caught that giant robot's foot, your arms got all... BAM! And swoosh! And then you flipped it over! It was so cool, but also really scary, but mostly cool! I'm Ochaco Uraraka!"

 

The entire class was now murmuring.

 

"Wait, that's the guy who took down the Zero Pointer?" a boy with spiky red hair asked, leaning over his desk.

 

"I heard he literally caught it with his bare hands," a girl with pink skin and small horns whispered.

 

"Did you see the footage on the news? His skin like, ripped open," someone else muttered.

 

Izuku felt his face heat up, turning a brilliant shade of crimson. He began waving his hands frantically in front of his chest. "N-No! I mean, yes, I caught it, but I barely survived! And it wasn't graceful at all, and I passed out right after, and I'm really nothing special, please don't stare at me!"

 

He backed up until his waist hit the edge of a desk. He fumbled with his backpack, trying to find his seat, completely flustered by the attention. As he unzipped the bag, his finger caught the sharp edge of a plastic binder tab.

 

Slice.

 

It was a deep paper cut, right across the pad of his index finger.

 

"Ow," Izuku mumbled softly, pulling his hand back.

 

Uraraka, who had followed him into the room, gasped. "Oh no! Midoriya, you cut yourself! Let me see, I think I have a band-aid in my—"

 

She reached out and took his hand. She looked at his index finger, preparing to wipe away the blood.

 

But there was no blood.

 

Right before Uraraka and Iida's eyes, a microscopic lattice of red, thread-like tendrils shot out from the edges of the open wound. The red threads wove together with terrifying speed, pulling the two flaps of severed skin shut like a biological zipper. In less than a second, the skin seamlessly melted back into a smooth, unblemished surface. The cut vanished completely, leaving not even a scar.

 

Uraraka blinked. She rubbed her eyes and looked at his finger again. "Wait... where did it go?"

 

Iida adjusted his glasses, his expression turning serious. "Remarkable. A passive cellular regeneration Quirk? That activated in less than a second."

 

Izuku quickly snatched his hand away, shoving it deep into his pocket, his face burning even hotter. "Y-Yeah! It's just a... a minor mutation thing. Nothing big!"

 

The classroom went quiet. The students exchanged glances. A guy who got flustered by a compliment, yet possessed the power to shatter giant robots and passively heal injuries in real-time. The contrast was deeply jarring.

 

Bakugo just glared at Izuku from the back of the room, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth threatened to crack. Deku. You've been hiding this freakish power for ten years just to make me look like an idiot.

 

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

 

The voice was dry, deadpan, and sounded utterly exhausted.

 

The class froze. They looked out into the hallway. Lying on the floor, perfectly still like an oversized yellow caterpillar, was a man in a bright yellow sleeping bag. He unzipped the cocoon and stood up, revealing a scruffy face, bloodshot eyes, and long, messy black hair. He held a juice pouch in one hand, taking a slow sip.

 

"It took you lot exactly eight seconds to quiet down," the man said, stepping over the threshold into the classroom. "Time is a limited resource. You kids aren't rational enough."

 

Izuku’s encyclopedic knowledge of heroes booted up instantly. Goggles. Capture weapon. Underground hero. It’s Eraserhead!

 

"I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa," the man grunted, walking to the podium. He reached into his sleeping bag and pulled out a stack of blue and white tracksuits. "Nice to meet you. Now put these on and head out to the P.E. grounds."

 

As the class scrambled to grab their uniforms, Aizawa’s tired eyes drifted across the room. They locked onto Izuku.

 

Aizawa had read the file. He had watched the unedited security footage from the mock city. He had seen the way Izuku Midoriya tore through steel with bladed appendages, and the horrific, muscular mutation he used to stop the Zero Pointer. Nezu had labeled the Quirk Blacklight, a biological anomaly.

 

Aizawa didn't trust anomalies. He didn't trust raw, destructive power that lacked precision. To Aizawa, a Quirk that altered biology so violently was a liability. It was a villain's tool waiting to slip its leash. He intended to test exactly how tight a grip Midoriya had on that leash.

 

 

 

The morning sun beat down on the dirt P.E. field behind the school. Class 1-A stood in their gym uniforms, shivering slightly under Aizawa’s intense glare.

 

"A Quirk Apprehension Test?!" the class shouted in unison.

 

"What about the entrance ceremony? Or orientation?" Uraraka asked, clutching her hands to her chest.

 

"If you're going to become a hero, you don't have time for leisurely events," Aizawa said coldly, turning his back to them. "U.A.'s selling point is how unrestricted its traditions are. That's also how the teachers run their classes. You've been doing these fitness tests since junior high, but without your Quirks. The country still uses averages taken from results devoid of Quirks. It's not rational."

 

Aizawa tossed a softball to Bakugo. "Bakugo, you finished first in the practical exam. What was your best result for the softball throw in junior high?"

 

"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugo grunted, catching the ball.

 

"Try doing it with your Quirk," Aizawa instructed, pointing to a white circle painted on the dirt. "You can do whatever you want as long as you stay in the circle. Hurry up. Give it all you've got."

 

Bakugo stepped into the circle. He stretched his arms, a feral grin spreading across his face. He wound his arm back, sparks igniting in his palm. "DIE!" he roared, unleashing a massive explosion behind the ball as he hurled it.

 

The shockwave blasted dust into the air, forcing the students to shield their eyes. The ball rocketed into the stratosphere like a meteor.

 

Aizawa held up a digital device. It beeped. "Know your own maximum first. That is the most rational way to form the foundation of a hero." He turned the screen around.

 

705.2 meters.

 

The class erupted into cheers.

 

"Whoa, 705 meters?! That's awesome!"

"We can actually use our Quirks as much as we want! This looks like fun!"

 

Aizawa’s eyes darkened, glowing slightly red beneath his messy hair. "Fun, you say?"

 

The atmosphere on the field instantly plummeted to sub-zero. A heavy, suffocating aura of intimidation washed over the students. Izuku felt his heart rate spike. Deep within his marrow, the Blacklight virus reacted to the predatory threat of the teacher, whispering dark, violent instincts into his mind. Threat detected. Arm weapons.

 

Izuku squeezed his fists, forcing the virus back down. No. Calm down.

 

"You have three years to become heroes," Aizawa said, his voice dangerously low. "Will you have an attitude of 'fun' the whole time? Idiots. Fine. Whoever comes in last place in all eight tests will be judged to have no potential, and will be punished with expulsion."

 

"EXPULSION?!" the class shrieked.

 

"We're free to do what we want with our students. Welcome to U.A.'s hero course," Aizawa smiled, a terrifying, shark-like grin.

 

Izuku swallowed hard. The rules of engagement had just changed. He couldn't just coast by to keep a low profile. If he held back to hide his monstrous Quirk, he would come in last. He would be expelled. His dream would die here in the dirt.

 

He had to use the virus. But he had to use it smart.

 

The first test was the 50-meter dash.

 

Izuku lined up at the starting block next to Iida. Iida took a runner's stance, adjusting his glasses. "I intend to give this my all, Midoriya. I look forward to seeing your capabilities."

 

"R-Right," Izuku nodded.

 

Izuku knelt down. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to use the terrifying, massive muscles he had used on the robot. He needed speed, not raw strength. He visualized the anatomy of a cheetah—the elongated tibia, the digitigrade ankle structure, the dense, fast-twitch muscle fibers.

 

Beneath the baggy fabric of his P.E. pants, Izuku’s legs began to snap and realign.

 

The sound was muffled, but Iida heard it—a wet, crunching noise like snapping celery mixed with thick mud. Izuku’s calves lengthened. His ankles locked into a raised, backward-bending angle. His sneakers suddenly looked as though they were only barely holding his toes, the heels hovering completely off the ground.

 

"On your marks," a robotic voice chimed from a machine at the finish line.

 

Izuku opened his eyes. They flashed a brilliant, luminescent crimson.

 

"Get set."

 

Go.

 

The starting pistol didn't even echo before Izuku was gone.

 

BOOM.

 

The dirt at the starting line exploded backward, pelting Iida in the shins. Iida engaged his engines, but as he rocketed forward, he realized he was running completely alone.

 

A blur of green and red had already crossed the finish line.

 

"3.04 seconds," the machine announced as Iida crossed at 3.04 seconds.

 

Wait, no. That was Iida's time.

 

Izuku was already standing by the machine, his breathing completely normal. The machine had recorded his time first.

 

1.12 seconds.

 

The class stared in stunned silence. Izuku quickly willed his legs back to normal, his ankles snapping back into place with a sickening pop, letting his heels drop back into his sneakers.

 

Aizawa jotted down the time on his clipboard. He altered his bone structure for optimal locomotive efficiency, Aizawa analyzed. Instantaneous adaptation. Disgusting, but highly effective.

 

Test Two: Grip Strength.

 

Izuku stood by a small digital grip-strength meter. He knew he had to be careful. If he used the Hammerfists or the Armor, he would draw too much attention. He decided to just use a slight density increase.

 

Just make the muscle fibers denser, he commanded the virus.

 

He squeezed.

 

The machine beeped wildly. The numbers climbed from 100 kg to 200, then 400, then 800.

 

CRACK.

 

Izuku let out a small squeak of panic as the reinforced plastic and steel springs of the machine shattered in his hand, crumbling into metal dust and plastic shrapnel.

 

"Ah! I broke it! I'm sorry!" Izuku cried out, dropping the pieces onto the dirt, completely reverting to his anxious, stuttering self.

 

A large boy with multiple arms, Shoji, looked over from his own machine, which read 540 kg. He looked at Izuku's shattered machine, then at Izuku's incredibly skinny, un-muscled arm. Shoji swallowed hard.

 

Test Three: Standing Long Jump.

 

Izuku didn't even bother mutating for this one. He simply channeled a massive burst of kinetic energy into his normal leg muscles. He launched himself over the sandbox, clearing the entire pit and landing effortlessly on the grass on the other side.

 

Test Four: Repeated Side Steps.

 

This was a tricky one. Lateral movement wasn't about raw strength; it was about agility and anchoring.

 

Izuku stood between the two painted lines. When the whistle blew, he didn't jump back and forth. Instead, beneath the sleeves of his jacket, two incredibly thin, red tendrils shot out from his wrists. They were microscopic, thinner than fishing line, but made of hyper-dense biological wire.

 

He anchored one to the ground on the left, and one on the right.

 

Using the tendrils as high-tension bungee cords, Izuku pulled his body violently from side to side. To the naked eye, he didn't just side-step. He vibrated. He moved so fast he became a blur of green, racking up a score that broke the machine's counter.

 

"He's like a machine," Kaminari, a blonde boy with a lightning bolt in his hair, muttered, sweating nervously. "But... squishier."

 

Finally, it was time for Test Five: The Pitch.

 

Uraraka stepped up to the circle. She touched the ball, removing its gravity, and tossed it into the air. It kept going until it disappeared into the sky.

 

"Infinity," Aizawa showed the screen.

 

"Infinity?!" the class cheered.

 

"Midoriya. You're up," Aizawa called out, his voice cutting through the cheers.

 

Izuku walked to the circle. He picked up the softball. It felt ridiculously light in his hand. He looked out at the vast, empty field.

 

Aizawa watched him closely, unwinding his capture weapon slightly. He's been holding back, Aizawa thought. He's been using micro-mutations to ace the tests without showing his true colors. But he can't hide it here. To get a top score, he has to output maximum kinetic force. If he loses control of that monstrous Quirk like he did at the exam, he could level the school building. I'll erase it the second he goes too far.

 

Izuku stood in the circle. He looked at his right arm.

 

If I just throw it normally, I'll get maybe fifty meters. I need to use the Musclemass. But I have to control it. Don't let it consume the whole arm. Just the forearm and bicep.

 

Izuku closed his eyes and breathed in.

 

Activate.

 

The transformation was not silent this time.

 

RIIIIIIP. SQUELCH.

 

The entire right sleeve of Izuku's gym jacket tore open. The students gasped as Izuku's arm violently swelled. Pale skin tore away like wet paper, revealing a horrifying, pulsating mass of crimson muscle fibers, as thick as industrial cables, tightly woven over pitch-black tendons. The arm tripled in size, radiating a wave of intense, localized heat. Veins pulsing with black fluid bulged against the raw red muscle.

 

Uraraka clamped a hand over her mouth. Mineta, a short boy with purple balls on his head, actively whimpered and hid behind Iida.

 

Izuku didn't notice their fear. His eyes were glowing a brilliant red. He stepped back, winding the massive, monstrous arm behind him, preparing to unleash a shockwave of kinetic force.

 

Aizawa narrowed his eyes. Too much power. It's unstable. He's going to blow his own arm off or shatter the windows.

 

Aizawa’s eyes flared a brilliant, glowing red. His messy black hair defied gravity, standing straight up on his head. The capture scarf around his neck unraveled, floating like a viper ready to strike.

 

Erasure.

 

Aizawa activated his Quirk, locking his gaze onto the boy, targeting the Quirk factor in Izuku's DNA to shut off the monstrous transformation and force the arm back to normal.

 

Izuku stepped forward. He planted his foot. He swung his arm with the force of a falling meteor.

 

BOOOOOOM!

 

A sonic boom shattered the air. A shockwave of pure kinetic energy kicked up a hurricane of dust, blowing the other students backward. Uraraka had to grab Iida's arm just to keep from being blown away.

 

The softball was instantly crushed by the sheer G-force, turning into a flat disk of rubber before it ignited from the air friction, rocketing into the sky like a blazing comet.

 

As the dust settled, Izuku stood in the circle, his chest heaving. His right arm was still a grotesque, massive pillar of red muscle and black sinew. Steam rolled off the exposed fibers.

 

Slowly, deliberately, the muscle deflated. The red and black tendrils unraveled, pulling the torn skin back together, sewing it shut until Izuku’s arm was pale, skinny, and perfectly human again.

 

Izuku turned to look at the teacher. "How did I do, Aizawa-sensei?"

 

Aizawa didn't answer right away. He was standing perfectly still, his eyes still glowing red, his hair still floating. He looked at Izuku, then at his own hands, then back at Izuku.

 

My Quirk was active, Aizawa’s mind raced, a rare jolt of genuine shock piercing his usual apathy. I looked right at him. I targeted his Quirk factor. But... nothing happened. The mutation didn't stop. He didn't depower.

 

Aizawa blinked. His hair fell flat. His eyes returned to black. He looked down at the digital device in his hand.

 

985.4 meters.

 

"Aizawa-sensei?" Izuku asked nervously, shifting his weight.

 

Aizawa walked forward, his boots crunching in the dirt. He stopped a foot away from Izuku, towering over the boy. The heavy, intimidating aura returned tenfold.

 

"Midoriya," Aizawa said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Why didn't my Quirk work on you?"

 

The class, still recovering from the shockwave, strained to listen.

 

Izuku swallowed hard. He looked up at the intimidating pro hero. "Because... because you erase Quirk factors, Sensei. Your Quirk stops the genetic trigger that allows a person to emit power, or transform their baseline body."

 

"And your arm turning into a monstrous mass of raw muscle isn't a transformation?" Aizawa challenged, his eyes narrowing.

 

"Legally, my registry says it is," Izuku answered, his voice trembling slightly, but carrying a scientific certainty. "But biologically... it's not. I don't have a Quirk factor, Sensei. My DNA doesn't possess an 'on' or 'off' switch."

 

Izuku took a deep breath. "My entire cellular structure is a viral anomaly. Every single cell in my body is the Quirk. You can't erase my Quirk for the same reason you can't use Erasure to make Ojiro-kun's tail disappear, or turn Shoji-kun's arms into regular arms. I am a pure mutant. My baseline... is the virus."

 

Aizawa stared at the boy. The implications were staggering.

 

Shota Aizawa made a living out of leveling the playing field. His entire fighting style relied on dragging powerful emitters and transformers down to baseline human levels, then beating them with martial arts.

 

But Izuku Midoriya had no baseline human level. He was an apex predator at a microscopic scale. He was immune to the ultimate equalizer.

 

Aizawa smirked. A genuine, slightly unhinged smirk. Nezu, you mad rat. You didn't enroll a student. You enrolled a bioweapon with anxiety.

 

"I see," Aizawa said, turning his back to Izuku and walking back to the class. "Your control over your... biology... is adequate. But you destroyed your uniform sleeve. That's a lack of foresight. See to it you don't ruin school property again."

 

Izuku let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Yes, Sensei!"

 

"HEY!"

 

The scream was feral, filled with raw, unadulterated fury.

 

Izuku turned just in time to see Katsuki Bakugo charging at him like a rabid dog. Bakugo’s face was contorted in absolute rage, spittle flying from his lips. Small, rapid-fire explosions were popping in his palms, propelling him forward at terrifying speed.

 

"DEKU, YOU BASTARD!" Bakugo roared. "Tell me how you did that! You’ve been hiding this freakish, monstrous power for ten years?! You think you're better than me?! I'll kill you!"

 

"Bakugo, stand down!" Aizawa shouted, his eyes flashing red as he threw his capture weapon.

 

But Bakugo was too fast, fueled by a decade of superiority complex shattering in a single instant. He closed the distance to Izuku, raising his right hand, intending to unleash a point-blank explosion directly into Izuku's face.

 

Izuku didn't think. The Blacklight virus didn't require thought for self-defense.

 

Threat imminent. Deploy defensive countermeasures.

 

As Bakugo’s explosive palm came down, Izuku casually raised his left arm.

 

SHNK.

 

The transformation was instantaneous. Before the naked eye could even track the movement, Izuku's left arm exploded outward into a massive, kite-shaped buckler of hyper-dense, pitch-black biomass. It was easily three feet wide, covered in sharp, jagged protrusions, and thick as a bank vault door.

 

The Shield.

 

Bakugo's explosion slammed directly into the center of the Shield.

 

BOOM!

 

Flames and smoke washed over the two boys. But Izuku didn't budge a single millimeter. His boots remained firmly planted in the dirt. The Shield absorbed 100% of the concussive force and thermal energy, dissipating it harmlessly across the organic armor.

 

Bakugo, however, was not so lucky. The recoil of his own point-blank explosion against an immovable, indestructible object sent a violent shockwave back up his arm. Bakugo cried out in pain, stumbling backward, clutching his wrist.

 

Before Bakugo could recover, Aizawa's capture weapon wrapped around him like a python, binding his arms to his sides and pulling him taut.

 

"What the—this cloth is hard!" Bakugo struggled, gritting his teeth against the pain in his wrist.

 

"It's a carbon fiber woven with metal wire alloy," Aizawa said coldly, holding the end of the scarf. His eyes were glowing, erasing Bakugo's explosions. "Stop making me use my Quirk over and over. I have dry eye."

 

The class was absolutely silent.

 

They looked at Bakugo, the loud, aggressive powerhouse, completely restrained and wincing in pain.

 

Then they looked at Izuku.

 

Izuku was still standing in the circle. The massive, demonic black shield was still attached to his arm, a stark, terrifying contrast to his gentle, freckled face. Smoke from Bakugo's explosion drifted lazily off the jagged black spikes of the organic armor.

 

Izuku looked at the Shield, then looked at the terrified faces of his classmates. Uraraka looked pale. Mineta was shaking. Even Todoroki, the stoic boy with half-white, half-red hair, was eyeing Izuku with intense, guarded caution.

 

Izuku panicked.

 

He instantly willed the Shield away. The massive slab of black biomass melted, turning to a viscous black and red liquid that rapidly slurped back into his pores, knitting his pale skin back together in the blink of an eye.

 

"I-I'm so sorry!" Izuku bowed repeatedly, aiming his apologies at Aizawa, Bakugo, and the class in general. "It was an automated reflex! I didn't mean to use a defensive form! Please don't expel me for fighting, Sensei, I swear I didn't initiate it!"

 

Aizawa released Bakugo, the scarf unwinding rapidly. "Nobody is getting expelled. That was a rational defensive maneuver, Midoriya. Bakugo, if you attack another student again, you're out. Are we clear?"

 

Bakugo glared at Izuku, his red eyes burning with a hatred that could melt steel. He rubbed his sprained wrist and turned away, clicking his tongue. "Whatever."

 

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his dry eyes. "We're wasting time. Let's finish these tests."

 

As the class moved on to the next test, they gave Izuku a wide berth. Whispers followed him like a shadow.

 

Did you see that shield?

He just absorbed Bakugo's blast like it was nothing.

What is he made of?

 

Izuku walked with his head down, clutching his remaining sleeve. He had survived the tests. He wasn't going to be expelled. But the secret was out.

 

He was no longer just the timid, stuttering boy in Class 1-A.

 

He was the anomaly. The apex predator. The monster hiding in plain sight. And Izuku knew, looking at the weary, calculating gaze of Shota Aizawa, and the furious, hateful glare of Katsuki Bakugo, that his journey at U.A. High was going to be a war fought on two fronts.

 

He would have to fight villains to save society. And he would have to fight himself to keep his humanity.