What If Deku Had a Great White Shark Quirk but Wanted to Be a Marine Biologist

In a world where the extraordinary had become the mundane, the manifestation of a Quirk was the defining moment of a child’s life. It was the moment that answered the ultimate question: What kind of hero will you be?

 

For most children, this awakening happened around the age of four. It was usually accompanied by a dramatic flair—a sudden burst of sparks from the palms, a gentle levitation of building blocks, or the sudden ability to stretch a limb across the living room.

 

For Izuku Midoriya, the awakening did not come with sparks or floating toys. It came with the taste of blood, the tearing of fabric, and a terrified scream from his preschool teacher.

 

It happened on a humid Tuesday in mid-July. Four-year-old Izuku was sitting at a heavy, reinforced steel-and-wood desk, happily coloring a picture of All Might punching a villain. He was a small, fragile-looking boy with messy green hair and large, bright eyes. But as he reached for a blue crayon to fill in the sky, a sudden, searing pressure erupted along his spine.

 

Izuku dropped the crayon. He gasped, his small hands flying to his back. It felt as though something was trying to push its way out from beneath his skin.

 

“Izuku?” his teacher, Miss Aiko, asked, noticing his sudden distress. “Are you alright, sweetie?”

 

He couldn’t answer. A new, sharper pain flared along the sides of his neck. Izuku opened his mouth to cry, but the sound was choked off as three distinct, vertical slits ripped open on the left and right sides of his throat. He gasped, and strangely, the air felt different—thicker, colder as it passed through the newly formed gills.

 

Then came the tearing of cotton. With a sickening rip, a rigid, slate-grey dorsal fin, rough as sandpaper and hard as bone, burst through the back of his favorite All Might t-shirt.

 

Miss Aiko shrieked, dropping her clipboard. The other children scrambled backward, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror.

 

But the transformation wasn't over. The worst pain was in Izuku's mouth. His gums throbbed with an agonizing intensity. His baby teeth were being forcibly pushed out, clattering onto the desk like macabre pearls, instantly replaced by row upon row of jagged, serrated, triangular teeth. The pressure in his jaw was unbearable. His developing muscles demanded release. He needed to bite something. He needed to bite something now.

 

Driven by a sudden, primal instinct that bypassed his four-year-old brain entirely, Izuku lunged forward and clamped his jaws down on the edge of the reinforced steel-and-wood desk.

 

CRUNCH.

 

Wood splintered. Steel groaned and snapped. With a violent, thrashing jerk of his neck—a miniature death roll—Izuku tore a massive, crescent-shaped chunk entirely out of the desk. He spat the mangled wad of metal and wood onto the linoleum floor, panting heavily, his large green eyes wide and confused.

 

Silence fell over the classroom, broken only by the heavy, rhythmic flaring of the gills on the boy’s neck.

 

Katsuki Bakugo, a spiky-haired boy with a nascent explosion quirk, stood on a plastic chair across the room, his red eyes locked onto the mangled steel desk. Slowly, a fierce, manic grin spread across his face.

 

"Whoa," Katsuki breathed.

 

When Inko Midoriya rushed her son to the quirk specialist later that afternoon, the doctor reviewed the x-rays and genetic tests with profound fascination.

 

“It’s a mutant-type Quirk,” the doctor explained, adjusting his glasses. He gestured to the boy sitting on the examination table. Izuku was currently distracted, rubbing his newly formed, sandpaper-like skin against the smooth paper of the exam table. “We’re classifying it as Great White. He has inherited the physiological traits of a Carcharodon carcharias—a Great White Shark. Dorsal fin, functional gills, dermal denticles for skin, and a jaw structure capable of exerting hundreds of pounds of bite force, which will only increase as he grows.”

 

Inko clasped her hands over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, my poor baby… will he be in pain? Will he be okay?”

 

“He will be more than okay, Mrs. Midoriya,” the doctor smiled, clapping his hands together. “In fact, he’s hit the genetic lottery! That bite force? The natural armor of his skin? The sheer physical strength required to move a body like that? This is a top-tier combat Quirk. The Hero Public Safety Commission will be watching him closely. With training, your son has all the makings of an incredible Pro Hero!”

 

Inko beamed, looking at her son. Izuku looked back at her, offering a terrifying, jagged, multi-rowed smile.

 

Society immediately agreed with the doctor. In the days and weeks that followed, Izuku was the talk of the playground. Katsuki Bakugo, who usually demanded total subservience from his peers, practically claimed Izuku as his own.

 

“You’ve got a killer Quirk, Deku!” Katsuki declared one afternoon in the sandbox, punching his palm to create a small pop of caramel-scented smoke. “You can be the muscle! When we grow up, we’re gonna start an agency. I’ll be the Number One Hero, and you’ll be my terrifying Number Two! We’ll bite the heads off villains!”

 

Izuku had just nodded along, happy to have a friend, happy to be praised. He went home that day and carefully drew a picture of himself in a cape, standing next to Kacchan, biting a villain shaped like a giant squid.

 

But as the years passed, the expectations of society and the reality of Izuku Midoriya began to drift apart like continents on a tectonic plate.

 

 

 

By the time Izuku reached his third year at Aldera Junior High, the divergence was complete.

 

At fourteen years old, Izuku Midoriya was a physical anomaly. He was massive—standing a head and shoulders above his teachers, with a barrel chest and shoulders broad enough to block a doorway. His skin had taken on a permanent slate-grey hue, covered in microscopic, tooth-like scales called dermal denticles that made him entirely frictionless in water, but felt like coarse-grit sandpaper to anyone who brushed against him. His dorsal fin was prominent, forcing his mother to custom-alter every shirt and uniform jacket he owned.

 

His face was arguably his most intimidating feature. His jaw was heavy and pronounced, concealing rows of razor-sharp teeth that naturally replaced themselves every few weeks. When he was calm, his eyes were a soft, emerald green. But if he was startled, or if he smelled something metallic, a protective nictitating membrane would slide over his eyes, turning them pitch-black and soulless—the eyes of an apex predator.

 

To the rest of the school, he looked like a villain. To Katsuki Bakugo, he looked like the ultimate weapon, a powerhouse being tragically wasted.

 

Because Izuku Midoriya, despite his terrifying appearance and monstrous strength, was the gentlest, softest-spoken nerd in the entire prefecture.

 

He didn't care about hero rankings. He didn't care about combat training. The transition had been gradual, beginning around the age of eight. His quirk had made him hypersensitive to his environment. The Ampullae of Lorenzini—jelly-filled pores peppering his nose and snout—allowed him to sense the electrical fields generated by living creatures. In a crowded city like Musutafu, this was a nightmare. He could feel the buzzing electrical hum of cell towers, the frantic, panicked heartbeats of commuters, the overwhelming noise of terrestrial life.

 

But water… water grounded him. When Inko had first taken him to the municipal pool to help soothe his sensory overload, Izuku had discovered peace. Underwater, the chaotic electrical static of the city faded. The buoyancy relieved the heavy, dense weight of his shark-like musculature. He could breathe through his gills, tasting the crisp (albeit chlorinated) currents.

 

His childhood room, once a shrine to All Might, had slowly metamorphosed. The posters of the Symbol of Peace throwing a Texas Smash were replaced by detailed, laminated maps of the Marianas Trench and the Great Barrier Reef. His action figures were boxed away in the closet, making room for three massive, custom-built saltwater aquariums humming with filtration systems.

 

Instead of spending his allowance on limited-edition hero merchandise, Izuku bought high-grade scuba regulators, waterproof field journals, and encyclopedias on marine ecosystems. His famous, obsessively detailed notebooks, which society assumed were "Hero Analysis for the Future," actually bore titles like Benthic Zone Ecology Vol. 4 and Symbiotic Relationships in Quirks of Aquatic Flora.

 

The bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom. Mr. Suzuki, a balding man with a minor telekinetic quirk, tapped a stack of papers on his desk.

 

“Alright, settle down, everyone,” the teacher called out. “Since you’re all third years, it’s time to start thinking seriously about your futures. I’m passing out career aptitude printouts. But, I mean, let’s be honest…” Mr. Suzuki chuckled, tossing the papers into the air. “You all want to be heroes, right?!”

 

The classroom erupted into cheers. Students stood up, showing off glowing hands, stretching necks, and minor elemental bursts.

 

“Yes, yes, you all have wonderful quirks,” Mr. Suzuki said, waving them down. “But remember, no quirk usage in school! Ah, Bakugo. You’re aiming for U.A. High, aren’t you?”

 

Katsuki leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on his desk with a smug grin. “Don’t lump me in with these rejects, teach. I’m the real deal. I aced the mock tests, and I’m the only one here with the raw power to get into U.A. I’m going to surpass All Might himself.”

 

“Ah, speaking of U.A.,” Mr. Suzuki adjusted his glasses, looking at a clipboard. “Midoriya. You requested an application packet for U.A. as well, correct?”

 

The classroom went dead silent. Everyone turned to look at the back of the room.

 

Izuku was hunched over his desk, trying to make himself look as small as possible, which was a comical effort given his sheer mass. He was currently using a specialized, fine-tipped pen to meticulously sketch the cellular structure of a glowing bio-luminescent jellyfish he had read about.

 

At the mention of his name, Izuku looked up. His green eyes blinked. “O-Oh. Yes, sir. I did.”

 

Katsuki snapped his neck to the side, glaring at Izuku. A predatory grin stretched across the explosive blonde’s face. “Finally decided to stop playing with your fish tanks, Deku? Finally ready to put those jaws to use and crack some villain skulls? It’s about damn time! I was getting sick of waiting for you to man up.”

 

Izuku shrank slightly under Katsuki’s intense gaze. “Umm… actually, Kacchan… I’m not applying to the Hero Course.”

 

The silence in the room thickened. Katsuki’s smile vanished, replaced by a dangerous, twitching scowl. “What did you just say?”

 

“I-I’m applying to U.A.’s General Education department,” Izuku mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his gills fluttering nervously. “I read that U.A. has a billion-yen grant for their advanced science division. They have a private, coastal campus beach and exclusive access to a deep-water trench just offshore for environmental studies. Their marine biology electives are… they’re unparalleled.”

 

Katsuki’s hands sparked with violent, crackling pops. “Marine biology? Marine biology?!” He kicked his desk away, marching down the aisle until he was chest-to-chest with the massive shark-boy. Even though Izuku was significantly larger and could likely bite Katsuki in half, the blonde held zero fear.

 

“You have a quirk that could bite through a bank vault!” Katsuki yelled, his palms smoking. “You have skin that stops bullets! And you want to go look at seaweed?! You’re wasting it, Deku! You’re insulting me, and you’re insulting every extra in this room who wishes they had your power!”

 

Izuku sighed, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated in his broad chest. He didn't want to fight. He never wanted to fight. “Kacchan, we’ve talked about this. Fighting on land is… it’s loud. It’s dry. It gives me a headache. I don't want to punch people. I want to map the uncharted zones of the Pacific. Eighty percent of our oceans are unexplored, Kacchan. Don't you think that's exciting?”

 

“Nobody cares about fish!” Katsuki roared.

 

“I care about fish,” Izuku replied quietly.

 

Katsuki scoffed, turning away in disgust. “You’re a freak, Deku. A giant, scary monster of a freak who acts like a coward. Do whatever you want. But don't come crying to me when you realize playing in puddles doesn't make you great.”

 

Izuku watched his childhood friend walk away. He didn't feel angry. He just felt tired. He looked back down at his notebook, tracing the delicate lines of the jellyfish. He just wanted to go home, submerge himself in his saltwater meditation tank, and listen to the recorded songs of humpback whales.

 

 

 

The walk home from school was Izuku’s favorite part of the day, provided he took the long route. The long route followed the winding path of the municipal canal, a deep, slow-moving body of water that fed into Tokyo Bay.

 

As he walked beneath the overpass, Izuku closed his eyes and let his secondary senses take over. The Ampullae of Lorenzini on his snout tingled. He could feel the faint, rhythmic electrical pulses of the koi fish swimming blindly in the murky water below. He could sense a stray cat hiding in the bushes fifty yards away, its heart beating rapidly.

 

It was a beautiful, sensory-rich symphony.

 

Which was why the sudden, massive electrical disturbance jarred him so violently.

 

Izuku stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes snapped open. The pores on his nose burned as if someone had pressed a 9-volt battery against them. A massive, chaotic, sprawling electrical signature was surging up from the sewer grates near the canal. It didn't feel like a person. It felt like a sprawling, amorphous mass of biological energy.

 

Before Izuku could even turn around, the manhole cover ten feet behind him blew sky-high.

 

“A medium-sized meat-suit!” a gurgling, wet voice roared. “And this one looks sturdy! Perfect!”

 

Izuku spun around, dropping his bright yellow backpack. Rising from the sewer was a monstrous wave of dark, toxic sludge. Two large, manic eyes and a jagged mouth floated within the viscous liquid. It was a villain—a man composed entirely of sentient, semi-liquid sewage.

 

Izuku barely had time to raise his arms before the sludge surged forward like a tidal wave. The sheer force of the impact knocked Izuku off his feet, slamming him onto the concrete under the bridge.

 

In an instant, the sludge was everywhere. It wrapped around Izuku’s massive arms, pinning them to his sides. It surged over his chest, down his legs, and most terrifyingly, over his face.

 

“Don't struggle, kid!” the Sludge Villain laughed, his voice vibrating through the muck. “It’ll only hurt for about forty-five seconds! I just need to hijack your body so I can get out of town. That bastard All Might is chasing me!”

 

Izuku panicked. The sludge forced its way into his mouth and up his nose. He was suffocating. The physical pressure of the villain was immense, trying to crush his windpipe. Izuku thrashed, his heavy combat boots scraping fruitlessly against the pavement. He was strong—incredibly strong—but how do you punch a liquid?

 

His lungs burned. His vision began to spot with black. I’m going to die, Izuku thought, terror gripping his heart. I’m going to die here, on dry land, suffocated by garbage.

 

But then, biology took over.

 

As oxygen deprivation set in, Izuku’s mammalian respiratory system automatically shut down, deferring to his aquatic mutations. The three slits on either side of his neck—his gills—flared wide open in a desperate bid for survival.

 

The toxic, liquid sludge rushed into his gills.

 

Izuku gagged. The taste was horrific—a vile concoction of raw sewage, rusted metal, and stagnant canal water. It burned the delicate filaments of his gills. But as the fluid passed over his respiratory tissues, something miraculous happened.

 

The sludge was a liquid. And within that liquid, there was dissolved oxygen.

 

Izuku wasn't suffocating anymore. He was breathing.

 

The Sludge Villain paused, feeling the strange suction against his main mass. “What the hell? Are you… are you drinking me?! Stop that! Just die already!”

 

The villain squeezed harder, trying to snap the boy's neck. That was a mistake.

 

The pain in Izuku's neck triggered something deep, ancient, and entirely unrestrained within his hindbrain. It was an instinct older than humanity, older than quirks. It was the instinct of the apex predator, cornered and challenged.

 

Izuku’s emerald green eyes rolled back into his skull. In a fraction of a second, the nictitating membranes slid into place, turning his eyes into featureless pools of absolute black.

 

The panicked, gentle teenager vanished. In his place was four hundred pounds of primal, aquatic fury.

 

Izuku’s jaws clamped shut. He caught a dense, solid portion of the sludge—perhaps a cluster of vital organs hidden within the muck—between his serrated teeth.

 

The villain shrieked. “AGH! You little brat, what are you—”

 

Izuku didn't think. He reacted. He planted his boots firmly on the concrete. Using the immense, coiled musculature of his torso and thick neck, Izuku executed a violent, hyper-kinetic death roll.

 

He twisted his entire upper body with the force of a hydraulic press. The sludge was ripped and stretched. The villain screamed in agony as Izuku’s jaws sheared through the viscous mass. The boy's rough, denticle-covered hands broke free from the restraints. He grabbed the sludge, his fingers digging into the muck, and pulled.

 

“NO! WAIT! STOP!” the villain begged, the bravado completely gone, replaced by the stark terror of a prey animal realizing it had tried to eat a monster.

 

Izuku ignored him. He thrashed left, then right, smashing the villain's liquid body against the concrete pillars of the overpass. The sheer kinetic shockwaves of Izuku’s movements were splattering the villain into useless droplets.

 

With one final, monstrous heave, Izuku ripped his jaws backward, tearing the central mass of the villain completely in two.

 

The sludge lost its cohesion. The villain’s eyes rolled loosely on the pavement, groaning in pain, unable to reform.

 

Izuku stood over the scattered remains of the villain. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving. Sludge dripped from his jaws and his clothes. His black eyes stared blankly at the quivering puddle. Slowly, the metallic smell of adrenaline faded. The nictitating membranes retracted, revealing wide, horrified green eyes.

 

Izuku spat a foul-tasting chunk of debris onto the concrete, coughing violently to clear his gills of the sewage. “Oh my god,” he choked out, wiping his mouth. “Ew. Ew, ew, ew. That is unsanitary. That is a massive biohazard.”

 

“HAVE NO FEAR!”

 

A voice like thunder echoed through the underpass.

 

Izuku jumped, spinning around.

 

Standing at the entrance of the tunnel, framed by the afternoon sun, was a mountain of a man. He wore a white t-shirt and green cargo pants, but his sheer muscle mass and the iconic, V-shaped golden hair were unmistakable.

 

It was All Might. The Symbol of Peace.

 

All Might stood in a dynamic pose, a plastic grocery bag dangling from one massive hand. He looked ready to unleash a devastating smash. But as he surveyed the scene—the scattered, defeated sludge villain, and the terrifying, slate-grey teenager standing over him with sludge dripping from his serrated teeth—All Might’s heroic smile faltered just a fraction.

 

“I AM HERE!” All Might boomed, though he sounded slightly confused. He looked at the villain, then at Izuku. “To… ah… well, it seems I am slightly late!”

 

Izuku immediately bowed, a perfect, ninety-degree angle of utmost respect. “A-All Might, sir! It is an honor to meet you!”

 

All Might stepped forward, quickly producing two empty two-liter soda bottles from his grocery bag. Moving with a blur of speed, he scooped up the shivering, dismantled remains of the Sludge Villain, sealing them tightly within the plastic bottles.

 

Once the villain was secured in his pockets, All Might turned his full attention to the boy. He took in the dorsal fin, the gills, the terrifying jawline, and the raw, untapped physical power practically radiating from the teenager.

 

“My boy!” All Might boomed, placing his hands on his hips. “Are you unharmed? I tracked this villain from the shopping district, but he slipped into the sewers. I apologize for putting you in danger!”

 

“I’m fine, sir,” Izuku mumbled, wiping the last of the sludge from his face with the sleeve of his uniform. “My gills filtered the liquid, allowing me to process the dissolved oxygen. And then I just… well, I panicked and thrashed.”

 

All Might threw his head back and laughed, a booming, hearty sound. “Panicked and thrashed? Young man, you single-handedly subdued a villain that gave several Pro Heroes trouble earlier today! And you did it without a scratch!”

 

All Might stepped closer, his blue eyes gleaming with an intense, evaluating light. He had been looking for a successor. He had been searching for a vessel strong enough to inherit One For All. And standing before him was a boy with a body built like a tank, with the instincts of a survivor, and the power to rend a villain apart barehanded.

 

“Tell me, young man, what is your name?” All Might asked.

 

“Midoriya, sir. Izuku Midoriya.”

 

“Midoriya!” All Might clapped a heavy hand on Izuku’s broad shoulder. “You possess incredible raw strength! A powerful Quirk! The instincts of a warrior! Tell me, are you planning to apply to U.A. High School? The Hero Course, I presume?”

 

Izuku froze. The greatest hero in the world was standing in front of him, practically endorsing his future in heroism. Any other kid his age would be weeping tears of joy. Katsuki Bakugo would probably spontaneously combust from sheer pride.

 

Izuku just felt a mild sense of anxiety.

 

“Ah… well…” Izuku nervously rubbed his dorsal fin. “I am applying to U.A., yes. But… not the Hero Course.”

 

All Might blinked. His smile remained, but it looked distinctly frozen. “Not the Hero Course? Shiketsu High, perhaps? Or Ketsubutsu?”

 

“No, sir. I’m applying to the U.A. General Education Department.” Izuku took a deep breath. “I want to be a marine biologist.”

 

The silence that followed was louder than the fight with the Sludge Villain.

 

A small trickle of blood ran down from the corner of All Might’s mouth, which he quickly wiped away with his thumb. “A… marine biologist?” All Might repeated, as if the words were in a foreign language. “But… my boy! Your power! You have the perfect Quirk to fight villains! To save people! To be a symbol!”

 

Izuku looked at his hands. His rough, slate-grey hands, tipped with small claws. He thought about the blood frenzy that had overtaken him just moments ago. He thought about how easy it would have been to tear that villain entirely out of existence, and how terrifying that lack of control felt.

 

“I do want to save people, All Might,” Izuku said softly, his voice lacking the booming confidence of the hero before him, yet carrying a deep, oceanic weight. “But not on the streets. Fighting on land… it’s exhausting. The air is dry. The city is loud. I can hear every electrical wire humming, every siren blaring. It gives me a headache.”

 

Izuku looked up, his green eyes meeting All Might’s confused blue ones.

 

“Have you ever been deep underwater, All Might?” Izuku asked. “Past the photic zone, where the sunlight doesn't reach? It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. There are ecosystems down there that we don't understand, creatures that hold the keys to medical breakthroughs, to solving world hunger through sustainable kelp farming. We live on a planet that is seventy-one percent water, and we’ve only explored twenty percent of it. Heroes save people today. I want to save the oceans, so humanity has a tomorrow.”

 

All Might stood speechless. He was used to encountering fear, arrogance, determination, and awe. He was not used to encountering a terrifying shark-boy who spoke with the quiet, profound passion of a tenured university professor.

 

“I… see,” All Might said slowly, deflating just a fraction in his posture, though maintaining his muscle form. He looked at the boy, truly looked at him. There was no lack of courage in Izuku Midoriya. He just had a different battlefield.

 

“It is a noble dream, Young Midoriya,” All Might said, his tone shifting from booming to genuinely respectful. “The world needs scientists just as much as it needs heroes. Though… I admit, it feels like a shame to see such combat prowess go unused.”

 

Izuku smiled, a jagged but genuine expression. “Thank you, All Might. But I think I’ll leave the punching to you. I’ve got some trenches to map.”

 

All Might nodded slowly. With a final wave, the Symbol of Peace bent his knees and leapt into the air, soaring away into the sky, leaving Izuku alone under the bridge.

 

He’s an odd boy, All Might thought as he flew over the city, clutching the soda bottles in his pocket. Incredible power. A strong heart. But his path is set. I must keep searching for a successor. Perhaps… I should look into that third-year student Sir Nighteye recommended. Togata, was it?

 

Down below, Izuku picked up his bright yellow backpack. It was covered in sludge, which annoyed him. He slung it over his broad shoulder and continued his walk home. The encounter with the number one hero had been surreal, but it hadn't changed his mind. If anything, it had solidified it.

 

Later that evening, after a two-hour soak in his saltwater tank to wash away the stench of the sewer, Izuku sat at his desk. His computer screen illuminated his grey, denticle-covered face in a soft blue light.

 

He was logged into the U.A. High School admissions portal.

 

On the left side of the screen was the gleaming, gold-trimmed application for the Hero Course. It promised fame, glory, combat training, and a fast track to becoming a Pro Hero.

 

On the right side of the screen was the standard, blue-bordered application for the General Education Course. The description detailed the rigorous academic standards, the access to the multi-billion-yen private research facilities, the coastal marine biology labs, and the private beach.

 

Izuku didn't hesitate. He clicked on the right.

 

He quickly filled out his personal information. Name: Izuku Midoriya. Age: 14. Quirk: Great White.

 

Under the section labeled Reason for Application, he typed:

 

I intend to utilize U.A.’s advanced aquatic research facilities to map the benthic ecosystems of the coastal shelf, with a focus on the symbiotic relationships between marine flora and newly discovered aquatic quirk-fauna.

 

He reviewed the application one last time. It was perfect. It was exactly what he wanted. He clicked Submit.

 

A green checkmark appeared on the screen, confirming his application had been received.

 

Izuku leaned back in his heavy-duty desk chair, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. The quiet hum of the aquarium filters in his bedroom provided a soothing background noise. A small school of neon tetras darted back and forth behind the glass, oblivious to the world outside.

 

He knew Katsuki was going to be furious. He knew his middle school teachers would be confused. He knew society would look at his jagged teeth, his dead-black eyes, and his immense strength, and label him a waste of potential.

 

But Izuku didn't care. He closed his eyes, imagining the cold, crushing depths of the ocean. He imagined the silence. He imagined the vast, uncharted frontier waiting for him beneath the waves.

 

He wasn't going to be the Symbol of Peace. He wasn't going to be the Number One Hero.

 

He was going to be a marine biologist. And heaven help any aquatic villain or illegal poacher that got between him and his research.

 

 

 

 

U.A. High School was globally recognized as the premier institution for molding the next generation of Pro Heroes. Its halls were hallowed ground, polished to a mirror shine and built to accommodate teenagers who could spontaneously generate fire, alter gravity, or mutate into towering beasts.

 

Yet, for Izuku Midoriya, the most impressive feature of U.A. wasn’t the state-of-the-art training grounds or the high-tech security barriers. It was the fact that the school had actually managed to procure a desk that didn’t groan under his weight.

 

General Education Class 1-C was, by all metrics, a quiet room. The students here were those who had failed the grueling physical or practical exams of the Hero Course, or, in rarer cases, those who simply wanted a top-tier academic education without the pressure of fighting villains. The atmosphere was supposed to be one of studious tranquility.

 

However, tranquility was difficult to maintain when a four-hundred-pound apex predator was sitting in the back row.

 

Izuku meticulously copied the algebraic equations from the chalkboard into his notebook, his specialized thick-barreled pen looking like a toothpick in his massive, slate-grey hand. He was hyper-aware of the silence in the room. He was even more aware of the elevated heart rates of his classmates. His Ampullae of Lorenzini—the jelly-filled electroreceptive pores peppering his heavy snout—picked up the nervous, fluttering electrical pulses of the students sitting near him.

 

To his right, a girl with minor levitation abilities was holding her breath. In front of him, a boy with a subtle chameleon quirk was instinctively blending into his chair, trying not to draw attention.

 

Izuku let out a slow, rumbling sigh that sounded like a distant submarine engine. The girl to his right flinched.

 

I’m not going to eat you, Izuku thought wearily. I’m a vegetarian on Tuesdays.

 

He knew he looked terrifying. The U.A. uniform, a tailored grey blazer and green tie, did nothing to soften his appearance. His broad, barrel-chested torso stretched the fabric to its limits. His rigid dorsal fin protruded from a custom slit in the back of his jacket, and the gills on his thick neck flared rythmically with every breath he took. And then there was his face—a heavy, shark-like jawline hiding rows of jagged, serrated teeth, and large green eyes that most people actively avoided looking into.

 

When the bell finally rang for the lunch period, the classroom cleared out with record speed. Izuku didn’t mind. He preferred the quiet. Carefully packing away his math textbook, he swapped it for a thick, leather-bound volume titled Hydrothermal Vent Ecosystems & Extremophile Quirks.

 

“You know, you’re practically radiating anxiety.”

 

Izuku jumped, his head snapping to the side. His black nictitating membranes flashed briefly over his eyes in a momentary startle response before retracting back to emerald green.

 

Sitting two desks away was a boy with gravity-defying, indigo hair and deep, heavy bags under his eyes. Hitoshi Shinso had his chin propped on his hand, looking at Izuku with a mixture of boredom and mild curiosity.

 

“O-Oh. S-Sorry,” Izuku stammered, his deep, gravelly voice contrasting sharply with his nervous stutter. “Are my electrical signals too loud? I can try to suppress my bio-rhythms, but it requires a lot of concentration and—”

 

“No, I mean you’re literally sighing every three minutes and looking at the door like you want to escape,” Shinso interrupted, deadpan. “I’m Shinso.”

 

“Midoriya,” Izuku replied softly.

 

“You stick out like a sore thumb in Gen Ed, Midoriya,” Shinso noted, gesturing vaguely to Izuku’s massive frame. “With a mutation like that, you could have easily crushed the entrance exam’s robots. Why are you in the loser bracket with the rest of us?”

 

Izuku frowned slightly, a gesture that made his jagged teeth peek out. “It’s not a loser bracket. U.A.’s General Education science curriculum is second only to I-Island’s academy. I’m here to study marine biology.”

 

Shinso blinked. He looked at Izuku’s terrifying, villainous face, then down at the textbook on hydrothermal vents, and back up again. Slowly, a genuine, albeit small, smirk touched Shinso’s lips.

 

“A shark who wants to do homework instead of biting heroes. Right. Well, good luck with that, Midoriya. Try not to scare the freshmen in the cafeteria.”

 

Izuku watched Shinso leave, feeling a small spark of relief. Someone had actually spoken to him without trembling. It was a good start.

 

But Izuku didn’t go to the cafeteria. The smells of the cafeteria—fried pork, boiling broth, metallic cutlery—were an overwhelming sensory nightmare for his highly tuned olfactory system. Instead, he grabbed his specialized duffel bag and headed for the one place on campus where he truly felt at peace.

 

The U.A. Olympic-sized swimming facility.

 

Because of his aquatic mutation, Izuku’s skin required constant hydration. If he spent too long in dry air, his dermal denticles would chafe, and his gills would become inflamed. Principal Nedzu, the enigmatic, animal-like headmaster of U.A., had generously granted Izuku special permission to use the pool during his lunch break for "medical maintenance."

 

The natatorium was a vast, humid, glass-domed building. The smell of chlorine and ozone was crisp and clean. The massive pool was perfectly still, a mirror of deep, inviting blue.

 

Izuku quickly changed in the locker room, donning a specialized, reinforced pair of dark green swim trunks. He stepped out onto the tiled deck, feeling the heavy, oppressive weight of gravity pulling at his dense muscles.

 

Without hesitation, Izuku dove into the water.

 

There was barely a splash. His entry was flawless, cutting through the surface tension like a scalpel. The moment the cool water rushed over his gills, Izuku let out a long, stream of bubbles, feeling his entire nervous system reset. The chaotic buzzing of the school’s electrical grid vanished, replaced by the soothing, muffled silence of the underwater world.

 

He didn’t swim like a human. He didn't use a freestyle or breaststroke. Instead, he pressed his arms tightly against his sides. Engaging the massive, myomeric musculature of his core and thick neck, Izuku propelled himself forward through full-body undulation. His tail—a powerful extension of his spine—whipped side to side.

 

He moved with terrifying, frictionless velocity. To an observer on the surface, he was just a dark, torpedo-like shadow darting from one end of the fifty-meter pool to the other in seconds.

 

For twenty minutes, Izuku just swam. He let his instincts take over, enjoying the pure, kinetic joy of his hydrodynamics. He was so relaxed, in fact, that his electroreception was dialed down to a minimum.

 

Which was why he didn't notice he had company until he breached the surface for a breath of unfiltered air.

 

Ribbit.

 

Izuku halted his momentum, treading water. Sitting on the edge of the diving board, perched in a crouch that defied normal human bio-mechanics, was a girl with dark green hair tied into a bow at the bottom. She had exceptionally large, dark eyes and a wide mouth. She wore a standard U.A. school swimsuit, and she was watching him with unblinking intensity.

 

Izuku froze. His heart rate spiked. Oh no. I’m scaring a Hero Course student. I’m going to get reported.

 

“I’ve never seen a human move like that,” the girl said, her voice flat, calm, and incredibly blunt. She tilted her head. “Your hydrodynamics are incredible. You don't create any drag. Are your scales naturally frictionless?”

 

Izuku blinked, treading water. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Umm… y-yes. They’re called dermal denticles. They’re like tiny, overlapping teeth. They channel the water over my body to reduce drag and turbulence.”

 

The girl nodded slowly, a finger resting on her chin. “Fascinating. I’m Tsuyu Asui. Class 1-A. Call me Tsu. I have a Frog quirk. I was coming to get some laps in, but I couldn't help but watch. You’re from Gen Ed, right?”

 

“Y-Yes. Izuku Midoriya,” he stammered, slowly swimming toward the edge of the pool, resting his arms on the gutter. “You… you aren't scared of me?”

 

Tsuyu looked down at him, her large eyes devoid of judgment. “Why would I be? You look like a shark, sure. But your posture is submissive, you apologize too much, and you’re blushing. Sharks don't blush. It’s cute, in a weird way. Ribbit.”

 

Izuku’s face turned violently red. His gills fluttered rapidly. “I—uh—thank you? I think?”

 

Tsuyu gracefully hopped off the diving board, landing silently on the tiled deck next to him. She sat down, dangling her legs into the water. “So, if you have a quirk perfectly built for aquatic combat and rescue, why are you in General Education?”

 

It was the same question everyone asked, but Tsuyu asked it without the accusatory tone Bakugo or Shinso used. She was genuinely asking for biological context.

 

“I want to be a marine biologist,” Izuku admitted, resting his chin on his crossed arms at the pool's edge. “Hero work is… it’s too aggressive for me. I’m interested in the science of the ocean. How aquatic quirks like ours alter the local ecosystems. For example, your Frog quirk—do you secrete a natural mucus layer to retain moisture, or is your cellular membrane just naturally resistant to desiccation?”

 

Tsuyu’s eyes lit up slightly. “A mucus layer. It makes me resistant to temperature changes, but extreme cold still forces me into hibernation. What about you? How do you handle the pressure changes at deep depths?”

 

For the rest of the lunch period, the terrifying shark-boy and the blunt frog-girl sat by the pool, engaging in a deeply technical, incredibly nerdy conversation about marine biology, fluid dynamics, and the phylogenetic tree of aquatic quirks.

 

For the first time in his life, Izuku felt like he had found someone who spoke his language. Tsuyu didn't see him as a weapon, and she didn't see him as a monster. She just saw him as a fellow creature of the water.

 

 

 

Two weeks into the semester, an opportunity presented itself that Izuku simply could not pass up.

 

He was standing in the immaculate, high-tech office of Principal Nedzu. The chimera headmaster was sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup, his beady black eyes watching Izuku with calculating amusement. Sitting on the sofa next to Nedzu was the Space Hero: Thirteen, the U.A. rescue specialist.

 

“So, let me ensure I understand your request, Midoriya,” Nedzu squeaked, setting his teacup down. “You are asking for permission to be excused from your afternoon literature and history classes so that you may accompany Class 1-A on their rescue training exercise?”

 

“Y-Yes, sir,” Izuku said, bowing deeply. He was wearing a custom-tailored, dark grey U.A. wetsuit. It was thick, durable, and designed to stretch without tearing against his dermal denticles. Strapped to his chest and waist were several waterproof utility pouches filled with glass vials, digital thermometers, and a waterproof tablet.

 

“And you wish to do this,” Nedzu continued, his whiskers twitching, “not to participate in the rescue training, but to… collect water samples?”

 

“From the Flood Zone of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint, yes sir!” Izuku said, his voice rising with uncharacteristic excitement. He pulled a rolled-up proposal from his pouch and set it gently on Nedzu’s desk. “The USJ utilizes a closed-loop, million-gallon artificial saltwater ecosystem to simulate maritime disasters. I’ve read that Thirteen maintains a localized, artificial coral reef at the bottom to stabilize the water’s pH levels.”

 

Thirteen nodded enthusiastically inside their bulky astronaut suit. “I do! It’s quite beautiful down there. Helps filter the debris from the simulated shipwrecks.”

 

Izuku’s eyes gleamed. “Exactly! I want to study how the artificial reef adapts to the rapid, violent kinetic disturbances caused by the wave-generators used in your rescue simulations. It’s the perfect microcosm for studying the effects of coastal industrialization on natural barrier reefs! I just need an hour in the water to take core samples and measure the salinity gradients!”

 

Nedzu hummed, tapping his paws together. He had been keeping a close eye on Midoriya. The boy’s file from middle school documented the incident with the Sludge Villain. Nedzu knew exactly how much raw, terrifying power was hidden inside this polite, nerdy teenager. Allowing him into a high-grade training facility was an interesting variable.

 

“Very well, Midoriya,” Nedzu smiled warmly. “I approve your independent study. You may ride the bus with Class 1-A. However, you must stay strictly within the Flood Zone and not interfere with Mr. Aizawa’s lesson plan.”

 

“Thank you, Principal Nedzu! Thank you, Thirteen!” Izuku bowed again, his dorsal fin practically quivering with excitement.

 

An hour later, Izuku found himself sitting in the very back of the U.A. transport bus, surrounded by the boisterous, energetic students of Class 1-A.

 

He was actively trying to make himself look small, staring intensely out the window. He could feel the stares. He could hear the whispers.

 

“Dude, who is that guy?” a boy with spiky red hair and sharp teeth whispered loudly to a boy with elbows shaped like tape dispensers. “He looks like a villain. Is he a guest instructor?”

 

“I don't know, but he’s huge,” the tape-boy replied, shivering. “Look at those teeth.”

 

At the front of the bus, Katsuki Bakugo sat with his arms crossed, glaring a hole into the back of Izuku’s head. Katsuki had been furious when he saw Izuku board the bus wearing a wetsuit instead of a hero costume. The explosive blonde had sneered, muttered "Stupid Deku playing in puddles," and ignored him since.

 

The only person who made Izuku feel welcome was Tsuyu, who had casually hopped into the seat next to him, offering him a piece of kelp jerky she had brought as a snack.

 

When the bus finally arrived at the Unforeseen Simulation Joint (USJ), Izuku was in awe. The massive dome housed several different disaster zones—a ruined city, a landslide area, a mountain zone, and, taking up a massive portion of the facility, a sprawling artificial lake with a large ship resting in the center. The Flood Zone.

 

While the tired-looking homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa (Eraserhead), briefed Class 1-A on the rules of rescue training, Izuku quietly slipped away from the group. He walked down the stone steps toward the edge of the water.

 

He knelt by the shore, pulling a glass vial from his belt. He dipped his fingers into the water, rubbing the liquid between his rough digits. Perfect temperature. High salinity. He could sense the faint electrical hum of the filtration systems deep below the surface.

 

Izuku strapped his waterproof goggles over his eyes—not to see underwater, as his eyes were perfectly adapted for that, but to protect them from any chemical contaminants used in the simulation. He waded into the water, sinking effortlessly beneath the surface.

 

The underwater world of the USJ was stunning. The artificial reef Thirteen had cultivated was a vibrant explosion of neon corals and swaying anemones. Izuku pulled out his waterproof tablet and a specialized thermometer, getting to work. He swam slowly, gracefully, his massive tail fin propelling him with gentle, sweeping motions. He noted the pH levels. He scraped a small sample of algae from a piece of sunken debris.

 

He was completely immersed in his element. He was happy.

 

Then, his Ampullae of Lorenzini triggered a warning.

 

It wasn't a small pulse. It was a massive, chaotic explosion of erratic electrical energy, followed instantly by the terrified, spiking heart rates of two dozen teenagers on the surface.

 

Izuku stopped, floating motionless above the reef. His sensory pores burned. The water around him felt suddenly tense, vibrating with a low-frequency hum that didn't belong in this closed ecosystem.

 

On the surface, a swirling portal of dark, purple mist had opened in the central plaza of the USJ. Dozens of villains—real, bloodthirsty villains—were pouring out of it.

 

Izuku didn't know this yet. He only knew that something was wrong. Very wrong. He engaged his muscles, angling upward to breach the surface and see what was happening.

 

Before he could reach the top, the dark, purple mist materialized directly above the Flood Zone.

 

SPLASH. SPLASH. SPLASH.

 

Three figures plummeted from the mist, crashing violently into the water. Izuku darted behind a large piece of concrete debris, peering around it.

 

He recognized them immediately. It was Tsuyu, holding onto a small, purple-haired boy with spheres on his head (Minoru Mineta). They had been dropped right into the middle of the lake.

 

Izuku was about to swim up to help them when his electroreception flared again.

 

Heartbeats. Dozens of them. Surrounding the kids.

 

From the shadowy depths of the artificial lake, shapes began to move. Villains. Aquatic specialists. They had been lying in wait, perfectly camouflaged among the rocks and debris, armed with spearguns, rusted machetes, and weighted nets.

 

On the surface, Mineta was thrashing in panic. “Villains?! Real villains?! Why are they here?! We’re gonna die! We’re gonna get eaten!”

 

Tsuyu, remaining remarkably calm, treaded water beside him. “Calm down, Mineta. If they’re aquatic villains, they have the advantage in the water. We need to get to the boat.”

 

Below them, a villain with a face resembling an anglerfish grinned, raising his speargun, aiming directly at Tsuyu’s legs. “Too late, little frogs! The water is our domain! You’re fish food!”

 

The anglerfish villain pulled the trigger.

 

The spear shot through the water with deadly speed.

 

It never reached Tsuyu.

 

A grey blur, moving at a speed that defied the laws of physics, slammed into the anglerfish villain from the side. The impact was deafening, a concussive shockwave of displaced water that knocked the surrounding villains backward.

 

The spear veered off course, harmlessly striking the concrete bottom.

 

On the surface, Tsuyu and Mineta paused, looking down. The water below them had suddenly churned into a chaotic frenzy of bubbles and silt.

 

“What was that?!” Mineta shrieked, clutching his head. “Is there a sea monster too?!”

 

Tsuyu blinked, peering into the murky depths. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her wide mouth. “No. Not a monster. Just a biologist.”

 

Down in the depths, the villains were disoriented. The anglerfish villain groaned, clutching his ribs as he floated backward. He looked up, trying to find whatever had hit him.

 

The water cleared slightly.

 

Hovering between the villains and the two U.A. students was a massive, slate-grey figure.

 

Izuku Midoriya did not look like a hero. He did not strike a dynamic pose. He did not shout a catchphrase about justice.

 

He floated perfectly still, his arms loose at his sides. His heavy chest heaved, pulling oxygen from the water through his flared gills. The nictitating membranes had fully engaged, turning his emerald eyes into terrifying, soulless pits of absolute black. He slowly opened his mouth, water rushing over the rows of jagged, serrated teeth.

 

The message was clear, primal, and universally understood by every creature present.

 

You are in my territory. And you are threatening my friend.

 

“What the hell is that?!” a villain with shark-like features of his own yelled, gripping a machete. “Is that one of the students?!”

 

“Who cares?!” another villain with webbed hands yelled. “There are twenty of us and one of him! Get him!”

 

The villains surged forward, a coordinated pack of aquatic killers.

 

Izuku’s mind, usually buzzing with scientific theories and equations, went perfectly, beautifully silent. The logic of the surface world—holding back, pulling punches, worrying about property damage—washed away. Down here, there was only fluid dynamics. Down here, there was only the hunt.

 

A villain lunged at Izuku with a serrated combat knife, aiming for the boy's chest.

 

Izuku didn't dodge. He simply twisted his torso. The villain's blade struck Izuku’s side and violently scraped across the dermal denticles. The villain screamed, releasing the knife as the frictionless, sandpaper-like armor of Izuku’s skin shredded the skin right off the villain's knuckles.

 

Before the villain could recover, Izuku’s hand shot out, grabbing the man by his tactical vest. With a flick of his powerful wrist, Izuku hurled the grown man through the water like a ragdoll, sending him crashing into a concrete pillar with enough force to knock him instantly unconscious.

 

Three more villains closed in from behind, throwing a weighted, steel-mesh net.

 

Izuku’s Ampullae of Lorenzini tracked their movements perfectly without him even needing to look. He engaged his tail, kicking downward with explosive force. The pressure wave generated by his massive musculature was like a localized depth charge. The water violently displaced, throwing the net back into the villains' faces and concussing them instantly.

 

A villain with a harpoon gun managed to get behind him, leveling the weapon at Izuku’s back.

 

Izuku spun around, moving with the terrifying agility of a creature designed for murder. He didn't punch the harpoon gun. He lunged forward and bit it.

 

CRUNCH.

 

The solid steel barrel of the harpoon gun snapped perfectly in half between Izuku’s jaws. He ripped his head to the side, tearing the weapon from the villain's hands, then slammed the heavy, bony bridge of his snout directly into the villain's face, breaking his nose and knocking him out cold.

 

On the surface, Mineta was weeping, clinging to Tsuyu’s shoulder. He could see the shadows darting beneath the water. He could see the villains being dismantled with terrifying, ruthless efficiency.

 

“Tsu! Tsu, what is happening down there?!” Mineta sobbed. “Are they being eaten?! Oh god, there’s blood in the water! Someone got a bloody nose!”

 

“It’s Midoriya,” Tsuyu said calmly, easily swimming toward the abandoned ship in the center of the lake. “He’s securing the perimeter. He’s very good at his element.”

 

Beneath the waves, the remaining villains were realizing a horrifying truth. They had thought they were the predators in this scenario. They were wrong. They were trapped in a tank with a Megalodon.

 

Izuku moved in a blur. He didn't use flashy martial arts. He used the biomechanics of a shark. He struck with his heavy head, used his rough skin to disarm, and used the sheer, localized pressure waves of his tail-kicks to knock the breath out of his enemies. He paralyzed three villains simply by striking their nerve clusters with his hardened claws.

 

Within ninety seconds, the battle was over.

 

Twenty aquatic villains floated unconscious in the water, tied together by their own weighted nets and harpoon lines.

 

Izuku floated above them, his black eyes scanning the water for any remaining electrical signatures. Finding none, he closed his mouth. The metallic smell of the one villain's bloody nose hung in the water. It made Izuku’s heart race, a dark, primal hunger clawing at the edges of his mind.

 

No, Izuku thought, his rational mind fighting back. I am a scientist. I am a student. I am not a monster.

 

He blinked hard. The black membranes retracted, revealing his panicked, wide green eyes. He looked down at the unconscious men, then up at the surface. He felt sick. Not because of the violence, but because of how incredibly, terrifyingly easy it had been.

 

Izuku grabbed the massive bundle of netted villains with one hand and swam upward.

 

He breached the surface right next to the abandoned ship where Tsuyu had hauled Mineta aboard. With a heavy heave, Izuku tossed the bundle of unconscious villains onto the deck of the ship. They landed with a wet, heavy thud.

 

Izuku grabbed the railing of the ship, hauling his massive upper body out of the water. He pulled his waterproof goggles down around his neck. He was panting heavily, water streaming off his slate-grey skin.

 

Mineta took one look at Izuku—the terrifying jaw, the imposing dorsal fin, the cold, shark-like stare—and promptly screamed, fainting dead away on the deck.

 

Izuku immediately drooped, his terrifying aura vanishing, replaced by pure anxiety. “Oh no. Oh no, I scared him into a coma. I’m going to be expelled. Principal Nedzu is going to revoke my lab access.”

 

Tsuyu walked over, casually poking Mineta with her foot. “He’s fine, Midoriya. He’s just a coward. Ribbit.” She looked down at the pile of defeated villains, then back up at the massive shark-boy clinging to the side of the boat.

 

“That was incredible, Midoriya,” Tsuyu said, offering a small, genuine smile. “You didn't waste a single movement. You saved our lives.”

 

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, his gills fluttering rapidly. “I-I just reacted. They were polluting the water with their weapons, and they were trying to hurt you. It made me… angry. But my water samples are ruined! I dropped my thermometer during the fight!”

 

Tsuyu chuckled, a wet, croaking sound. “I think thirteen will excuse the incomplete homework, considering the circumstances.”

 

The rest of the USJ incident was a blur of chaos. All Might arrived, clashing titanically with a horrifying biological weapon called the Nomu. Izuku stayed in the water, guarding the ship and ensuring no other aquatic villains woke up. He watched the battle on land with a mix of awe and dread. The sheer destructive power thrown around by All Might and the villains was exactly why he hated the idea of terrestrial combat. It was messy. It was loud.

 

When the police and paramedics finally secured the facility, Izuku quietly slipped out of the water, dried off, and retreated to the back of the ambulance area, trying to avoid the press and the bewildered stares of Class 1-A.

 

 

 

Two days later, Izuku found himself sitting in Principal Nedzu’s office once again.

 

This time, however, the atmosphere was significantly heavier.

 

Nedzu sat behind his desk, his paws steepled. To his left stood Shota Aizawa, the Eraserhead hero, heavily wrapped in bandages from his fight with the villains. On the large monitor behind Nedzu’s desk, the security footage from the USJ’s underwater cameras was playing on a loop.

 

It showed Izuku’s fight. It showed the terrifying speed, the ruthless efficiency, the predatory supremacy of the Great White quirk.

 

Izuku sat on the sofa, staring at his knees, his hands nervously wringing his uniform pants. This is it, he thought. They’re kicking me out. I used excessive force. I acted like a monster.

 

“Midoriya,” Aizawa’s muffled voice broke the silence. The heavily bandaged hero pointed a wrapped finger at the screen. “I have been a Pro Hero for a long time. I have fought mutation quirks, elemental quirks, and emitter quirks. But I have rarely seen a student dismantle a coordinated ambush with the clinical, terrifying efficiency you displayed down there.”

 

Izuku swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, sir. I panicked.”

 

“You didn't panic,” Aizawa countered, his visible eye narrowing. “You adapted. You didn't waste energy on flashy hero moves or screaming catchphrases. You used your environment to your absolute advantage. You neutralized twenty armed combatants in under two minutes without sustaining a single injury. If you had been in the Hero Course, I would be giving you top marks.”

 

Izuku looked up, confused. “I’m… I’m not expelled?”

 

Nedzu chuckled, pouring a cup of tea. “Expelled? Heavens no, Midoriya! You protected your classmates. You acted within the parameters of self-defense. However, your performance has created… an administrative dilemma.”

 

Nedzu pressed a button, pausing the footage on a frame of Izuku staring down the villains with his black nictitating membranes engaged.

 

“You possess a quirk that is, frankly, wasted on simple academia,” Nedzu said smoothly, leaning forward. “The Hero Public Safety Commission has seen this footage. They are already knocking on my door, demanding to know why a student with such devastating combat potential is hidden away in the General Education science department.”

 

Izuku gripped his knees. “I don't want to be a hero, Principal Nedzu. I told you. I told All Might. I want to map the oceans. I want to study marine ecosystems. I don't want to fight.”

 

“And I respect that, Midoriya. Truly, I do,” Nedzu said, his black eyes glinting with a shrewd, calculating intelligence. “The world needs brilliant minds just as much as it needs strong fists. But U.A. is, first and foremost, a hero school. And as the Principal, it is my job to maximize the potential of all my students.”

 

Nedzu slid a thick, glossy folder across the desk.

 

“I propose a compromise,” Nedzu said.

 

Izuku slowly reached out and opened the folder. His breath hitched. Inside were blueprints, funding approvals, and expedition charts for a state-of-the-art oceanic research vessel, complete with a deep-sea submersible. It was the kind of equipment reserved for world-renowned scientists, not high school freshmen.

 

“If you agree to my terms,” Nedzu continued, his voice dropping into a serious, business-like tone, “U.A. High School will fully fund your marine biology university tuition upon graduation. Furthermore, we will grant you unlimited, unrestricted access to our advanced aquatic labs, and sponsor your independent research expeditions into the Marianas Trench.”

 

Izuku’s eyes were wide. He was looking at his dream, fully realized and paid for, handed to him on a silver platter.

 

“What… what are the terms?” Izuku asked, his voice trembling slightly.

 

Aizawa stepped forward. “You don't have to join the Hero Course, Midoriya. You don't have to patrol the streets, stop muggers, or deal with the media. But, in exchange for this funding, you will be officially registered as a U.A. Specialized Rescue Asset.”

 

Izuku blinked. “A rescue asset?”

 

“When there is a maritime disaster,” Aizawa explained. “A sinking ship, a flooded city, a deep-sea villain attack, or an underwater rescue that standard heroes cannot reach… you will answer the call. You will lend your quirk to save lives in the environments where we cannot operate.”

 

Nedzu smiled warmly. “You want to protect the oceans, Midoriya. Why not protect the people in them, as well? You can be a scientist first, and a hero when necessary. What do you say?”

 

Izuku looked down at the blueprints for the research vessel. He thought about the peace of the deep water. He thought about the uncharted trenches waiting for him. Then, he thought about Tsuyu and Mineta, terrified and helpless in the water, and the quiet satisfaction he had felt knowing he was perfectly equipped to protect them.

 

He didn't want to fight villains. But he could save people. If the battlefield was the ocean, it was his territory anyway.

 

Izuku closed the folder, his massive, slate-grey hands resting flat on the cover. He looked up, his green eyes meeting the chimera principal’s gaze. The anxiety and hesitation were gone, replaced by the quiet, heavy determination of the apex predator he was born to be.

 

“Do I get to pick the color of the submersible?” Izuku asked.

 

Nedzu’s smile widened into a sharp, toothy grin. “Any color you like, Midoriya.”

 

Izuku let out a long breath, his gills flaring as he nodded.

 

“Then we have a deal.”

 

 

 

The roar of the U.A. Sports Festival crowd was not like the roar of the ocean.

 

The ocean was a chaotic but balanced symphony—a blend of crashing waves, shifting tectonic plates, and the low, rhythmic hum of deep-water currents. It was a sound Izuku Midoriya found deeply comforting.

 

The stadium, however, was a nightmare of terrestrial noise.

 

Standing in the center of the massive arena alongside the entirety of the U.A. first-year student body, Izuku felt a migraine building behind his eyes. His Ampullae of Lorenzini—the electroreceptive pores dotting his heavy snout—were practically vibrating with the sheer, overwhelming electrical static of sixty thousand spectators. He could feel the buzzing of the stadium’s massive television monitors, the crackling of the hero Present Mic’s speaker system, and the frantic, adrenaline-fueled heartbeats of the students standing around him.

 

He closed his eyes, taking a slow, measured breath through his mouth to avoid the dry spring air irritating his gills. He reached to his hip, unhooking a specialized, pressurized hydration flask. He squeezed a generous mist of synthetic, mineral-rich saltwater over his neck and face, sighing in relief as his rough, slate-grey dermal denticles absorbed the moisture.

 

Just get through the day, Izuku reminded himself, his massive, barrel-chested frame towering over the other General Education students of Class 1-C. You’re just here to boost your academic resume. Principal Nedzu said making it to the second round guarantees a twenty percent increase in the marine department’s submersible budget.

 

He didn't care about the Pro Hero scouts watching from the stands. He didn't care about the gold medals. He just wanted better sonar equipment for his deep-sea research.

 

Up on the central stage, the R-Rated Hero: Midnight cracked her whip, silencing the crowd. “The first event of the U.A. Sports Festival is… an Obstacle Course Race! All first-year students will participate! The rules are simple: stay on the course, and anything goes! Now, take your places at the starting gate!”

 

Izuku shuffled toward the massive tunnel entrance along with the rest of the horde. The space was incredibly tight. As the countdown began, students began shoving and elbowing for position. Izuku didn't shove; he just stood his ground like a granite boulder. When a student with a hardening quirk accidentally bumped into Izuku’s back, the kid yelped, pulling his hand away as if he’d just scraped it across a coarse belt sander.

 

“START!” Midnight’s voice boomed.

 

Total chaos erupted. Todoroki Shoto, the prodigious son of the Number Two Hero, immediately unleashed a massive wave of ice, freezing the floor of the tunnel and trapping dozens of students in place.

 

Izuku felt the temperature drop drastically. For a cold-blooded creature, sudden freezing was dangerous. But Izuku’s mutation wasn't just aesthetic; he possessed the regional endothermy of a Great White Shark. His massive, red muscle web generated its own heat, keeping his core temperature perfectly regulated.

 

As the ice rushed toward his boots, Izuku didn't panic. He simply engaged the massive, myomeric musculature of his legs. With a heavy, thunderous stomp, he shattered the incoming ice sheet into harmless powder.

 

He broke into a run. He wasn't the fastest sprinter on land—his body was designed for fluid dynamics, not terrestrial aerodynamics—but his sheer stride length and terrifying momentum made him an unstoppable juggernaut.

 

He emerged from the tunnel just in time to see the first obstacle: the Robo Inferno. Massive, zero-point villain bots from the entrance exam towered over the course.

 

Students screamed, scattering as a giant robotic foot slammed into the dirt.

 

Izuku didn't slow down. He didn't have flashy explosions like Bakugo, who was currently blasting his way over the robots' heads. He didn't have ice like Todoroki. What Izuku had was a bone density three times that of a normal human and a localized pain tolerance built to withstand the crushing pressure of the oceanic twilight zone.

 

A one-point robot rolled directly into Izuku’s path, raising its metal arms to strike.

 

Izuku didn't even break his stride. He simply lowered his heavy shoulder and rammed directly into the machine’s central chassis.

 

CRUNCH.

 

The sound of twisting metal echoed over the broadcast. The robot didn't just break; it folded around Izuku’s shoulder like a crushed soda can before being violently launched twenty feet into the air by the sheer kinetic transfer of the shark-boy’s momentum.

 

In the stands, the Pro Heroes blinked in shock.

 

“Did… did that kid from Gen Ed just casually obliterate a combat robot with a tackle?” the hero Death Arms muttered, leaning over the railing.

 

“Look at the size of him,” Kamui Woods whispered. “That’s a top-tier mutation quirk. Why isn't he in the Hero Course?”

 

Izuku kept running. The second obstacle, the Fall—a canyon of tightropes—was annoying, but his heavy center of gravity and surprising grace allowed him to cross a rope without issue.

 

Then came the final obstacle: the Minefield.

 

Here, the front-runners like Bakugo and Todoroki were forced to slow down, carefully watching their steps to avoid triggering the pink, concussive landmines buried beneath the dirt.

 

Izuku stopped at the edge of the minefield. He closed his eyes. The nictitating membranes slid over them, turning his irises pitch black. He flared the pores on his snout.

 

To the normal human eye, the minefield was a game of Russian Roulette. But to Izuku’s Ampullae of Lorenzini, the field was lit up like a Christmas tree. Every single landmine had a dormant electrical charge waiting to be triggered. He could "see" the exact location of every explosive buried in the dirt.

 

Izuku opened his eyes, retracted the membranes, and began to jog. He weaved through the minefield with absolute, terrifying precision. Left, right, step over, sidestep. He moved fluidly, completely bypassing the traps, accelerating past a frustrated Bakugo and a bewildered Todoroki.

 

Izuku crossed the finish line in a comfortable third place, looking barely winded as he sprayed his neck with his saltwater flask.

 

He had secured his submersible funding. He was happy.

 

 

 

“You’re a monster, you know that?”

 

Izuku turned. Standing in the staging area for the second event—the Cavalry Battle—was Hitoshi Shinso. The purple-haired boy looked exhausted, but his eyes were sharp.

 

“I-I didn't mean to show off,” Izuku stammered, his posture immediately hunching in a submissive, apologetic stance that looked entirely ridiculous on a boy built like a tank. “I just… I needed to finish high enough to get the lab grant.”

 

Shinso chuckled dryly. “I’m not insulting you, Midoriya. I’m stating a fact. You have a quirk that terrifies people. You look like you eat raw meat for breakfast. Society looks at a face like yours and instantly slaps a ‘Villain’ or ‘Brute’ label on you.”

 

Izuku rubbed his dorsal fin, looking away. “I know. It’s… it’s why I prefer the ocean. Fish don't judge. They just swim away.”

 

“Well, I don't have a scary face, but I have a scary quirk,” Shinso said, stepping closer. “Brainwashing. The moment people find out, they think I’m going to make them commit crimes. We’re both dealing with society’s garbage prejudice. So, let’s use it. Team up with me for the Cavalry Battle. You’re practically an impenetrable fortress of muscle. You be the horse. I’ll be the rider. We’ll show these flashy Hero Course kids what happens when the ‘scary’ quirks work together.”

 

Izuku looked at Shinso. He saw the genuine frustration in the boy’s eyes, the desperate need to prove his worth to a society that had already written him off. Izuku couldn't help but relate.

 

“Okay,” Izuku smiled, his jagged teeth glinting in the sun. “But I call the front position. If I get hit from behind, my dorsal fin might tear the headbands.”

 

The Cavalry Battle was a dominant display of strange synergy. Izuku carried Shinso on his shoulders, entirely unbothered by the boy’s weight. With two other Gen Ed students forming the rear flanks, they became an unstoppable juggernaut. If any team got close enough to try and snatch their point headband, Shinso would goad them into speaking, instantly brainwashing them and forcing them to walk away. If a team tried to attack from a distance, Izuku would simply swat their projectiles away with his frictionless, heavily armored forearms.

 

They easily secured a spot in the top sixteen, advancing to the final event: the 1v1 Combat Tournament.

 

During the lunch intermission, Izuku retreated to a quiet, shaded corner of the stadium corridors. He sat on the cool concrete floor, resting his head against the wall, listening to the recorded sounds of humpback whales playing softly from his headphones. He was mentally preparing to politely forfeit his first match. He had made it to the finals; Nedzu’s deal was fulfilled. He didn't need to punch anyone.

 

“Stop hiding, Deku.”

 

Izuku opened his eyes, pulling his headphones down around his neck.

 

Standing at the end of the corridor, hands shoved deep into his pockets, was Katsuki Bakugo. The explosive blonde’s face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. His red eyes locked onto Izuku’s heavy, shark-like features.

 

“Hello, Kacchan,” Izuku said softly, not making a move to stand up.

 

“I saw the tournament bracket,” Katsuki growled, taking a slow step forward. Small, warning pops of caramel-scented explosions crackled in his palms. “First round. You and me.”

 

Izuku sighed. “I know. I was just going to step out of bounds when the match started. There’s no point in us fighting.”

 

The sheer rage that crossed Katsuki’s face was palpable. He marched forward, kicking Izuku’s heavy combat boot with his own.

 

“Don't you dare,” Katsuki hissed, his voice trembling with a terrifying intensity. “Don't you dare insult me like that. You’ve been insulting me since we were four years old, Deku. You get blessed with one of the most powerful, destructive, apex-predator quirks in the world, and you hide it away to look at fish!”

 

“Kacchan, my passions aren't an insult to you—”

 

“Yes, they are!” Katsuki yelled, the explosions in his hands flaring brighter. “You’re looking down on me! You’re looking down on the very concept of heroes! You’re standing there with the power to rip through villains like tissue paper, and you refuse to use it! It makes me sick. You’re a coward, Deku. You’re a giant, terrifying monster, but on the inside, you’re just a pathetic coward who's afraid of his own teeth!”

 

Izuku stood up. He rose to his full, imposing height, forcing Katsuki to crane his neck slightly to maintain eye contact. The air between them grew heavy. Izuku didn't engage his nictitating membranes, but his green eyes hardened with a quiet, deep-ocean resolve.

 

“I am not a coward, Kacchan,” Izuku said, his gravelly voice dropping an octave, vibrating against the concrete walls. “I’m just not interested in your war. I don't have to bleed for a crowd to prove my worth.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Katsuki sneered, turning on his heel. “If you try to step out of bounds, I’ll blast you so hard you’ll end up in the next prefecture. You’re going to fight me, Deku. I’m going to drag the monster out of you, and then I’m going to crush it.”

 

Izuku watched him walk away. A deep, uneasy knot twisted in his stomach.

 

 

 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME TO THE FIRST MATCH OF the 1V1 TOURNAMENT!” Present Mic’s voice shattered the sky. “IN THIS CORNER, THE EXPLOSIVE PRODIGY FROM CLASS 1-A, KATSUKI BAKUGO! AND IN THE OPPOSITE CORNER, THE MYSTERIOUS LEVIATHAN FROM GENERAL EDUCATION, IZUKU MIDORIYA!”

 

The crowd cheered, though the cheers for Izuku were noticeably mixed with nervous murmurs. As Izuku walked up the steps onto the concrete combat ring, his imposing, slate-grey silhouette cast a long shadow. He looked like a final boss from a video game who had accidentally wandered into a high school tournament.

 

Across the ring, Katsuki stood with his knees bent, a feral, bloodthirsty grin stretching across his face.

 

Just step out of bounds, Izuku told himself. Just turn around and walk away.

 

“Eighth match… START!” Midnight yelled, dropping her hand.

 

Izuku turned his body toward the boundary line.

 

BOOM!

 

Before Izuku could even take a step, Katsuki was upon him. The blonde used a massive explosion to launch himself across the ring in a fraction of a second. He spun in mid-air, bringing a blazing, concussive blast directly down onto Izuku’s back.

 

The heat was searing. The kinetic force was like a cannonball.

 

Izuku was blasted forward, his boots skidding heavily against the concrete. The blast had hit his dorsal fin directly. Pain flared up his spine.

 

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?!” Katsuki roared, landing gracefully and immediately launching himself forward again. “FIGHT BACK, YOU OVERGROWN SARDINE!”

 

Katsuki unleashed a barrage of rapid-fire explosions, aiming for Izuku’s chest and face. Izuku brought his massive arms up, crossing them in front of his head. The explosions battered against his dermal denticles. The friction-resistant scales were incredibly tough, dispersing the heat and force, but the continuous concussive impacts were beginning to bruise the muscle beneath.

 

He’s not going to let me walk away, Izuku realized, gritting his teeth behind his guard. He’s going to beat me unconscious.

 

Izuku engaged his leg muscles. He didn't want to hurt Katsuki, so he opted for defensive suppression. As Katsuki lunged in for a right hook, Izuku dropped his guard and surged forward, slamming his massive, heavy shoulder directly into Katsuki’s chest.

 

It was a standard, non-lethal shove.

 

But Izuku severely underestimated how much heavier he was.

 

The impact knocked the breath completely out of Katsuki. The blonde was sent flying backward, tumbling head over heels across the concrete ring.

 

The crowd gasped.

 

Katsuki hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop just a few feet from the boundary line. For a second, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he pushed himself up. His gym uniform was singed, and his hair was even messier than usual.

 

He touched his cheek.

 

During the tumble, Katsuki’s face had scraped violently against the rough, unforgiving concrete. A jagged gash had opened up along his cheekbone.

 

A single, thick drop of bright red blood welled up from the cut. It trailed down his cheek, heavy and warm. It dripped off his jaw and hit the concrete.

 

Drip.

 

To a normal human, the smell of a single drop of blood is imperceptible in an open-air stadium.

 

But Izuku Midoriya was not a normal human. His olfactory bulb—the part of the brain responsible for processing smells—was mutated, occupying a massive portion of his frontal lobe. A Great White Shark can detect a single drop of blood in a hundred million drops of water.

 

The afternoon wind shifted, carrying the microscopic aerosolized particles of Katsuki’s blood directly toward Izuku.

 

The moment the scent of copper and salt hit the delicate sensory tissues inside Izuku’s nasal cavity, the world completely changed.

 

The conscious, rational mind of Izuku Midoriya—the boy who loved marine biology, who worried about funding, who wanted to study kelp forests—was instantly, violently severed from the controls.

 

Millions of years of primal, evolutionary programming slammed into his nervous system like a freight train. It was an instinct older than humanity, older than language.

 

Prey is wounded.

Prey is bleeding.

Consume.

 

In the center of the ring, Izuku froze. His posture shifted. The slight hunch vanished. His spine straightened perfectly. His chest expanded, pulling in a massive breath of air through both his mouth and his violently flaring gills.

 

“Deku?” Katsuki wiped the blood from his cheek, grinning fiercely. “Finally taking this seriously? Come on then!”

 

Izuku didn't answer.

 

Slowly, terrifyingly, the nictitating membranes slid downward. The emerald green of his irises was swallowed by absolute, abyssal black. His jaws unhinged slightly, revealing the three rows of jagged, serrated, triangular teeth in full.

 

He didn't look like a student anymore. He looked like death incarnate.

 

The crowd, sensing the drastic, chilling shift in the atmosphere, went dead silent. Even Present Mic lowered his microphone.

 

“Midoriya?” Midnight asked, taking a hesitant step forward, raising her whip. “Are you…?”

 

Before she could finish her sentence, the concrete beneath Izuku’s boots exploded into dust.

 

He didn't run. He moved with a terrifying, predatory launch. The sheer kinetic force of his leg muscles propelled his four-hundred-pound frame forward at a speed that Katsuki’s eyes completely failed to track.

 

“What the—” Katsuki barely had time to raise his hands.

 

Izuku crashed into him. The impact was devastating. Izuku’s heavy, sandpaper-like hands clamped onto Katsuki’s shoulders with the grip of an industrial vice. His sheer momentum carried them both through the air, slamming Katsuki viciously into the concrete ground near the center of the ring.

 

The wind was knocked completely out of Katsuki’s lungs. He tried to ignite an explosion, but Izuku’s weight was pinning his arms to his sides.

 

Izuku straddled the blonde, his heavy slate-grey chest heaving. The smell of the blood was overwhelming, blinding, intoxicating.

 

Consume.

Tear.

Bite.

 

Izuku reared his head back. His jaws opened impossibly wide, preparing to strike downward and rip the blonde’s throat out.

 

Katsuki looked up. For the first time in his entire life, Katsuki Bakugo felt true, unadulterated fear. He wasn't looking at Deku, the crybaby. He wasn't looking at a rival. He was looking into the black, soulless eyes of an apex predator that was a fraction of a second away from executing him.

 

“Deku… stop!” Katsuki choked out, his voice cracking.

 

STOP.

 

The word, spoken in pure terror by his oldest friend, managed to pierce through the thick, bloody fog of Izuku’s hindbrain.

 

Izuku’s jaws clamped shut just two inches from Katsuki’s face. The heavy, metallic CLACK of his teeth snapping together echoed through the silent stadium like a gunshot.

 

Izuku froze. His heavy breathing slowed.

 

The scent of the blood was still there, urging him to finish the hunt. But slowly, agonizingly, the rational part of his brain began to claw its way back to the surface.

 

He blinked. The black nictitating membranes retracted, peeling back to reveal wide, horrified emerald green eyes.

 

Izuku stared down at what he was doing. He was pinning his childhood friend to the ground. His hands were gripping Katsuki’s shoulders so hard that his claws had torn through the fabric of the gym uniform and drawn blood of their own. Katsuki’s face, usually locked in a snarl of arrogant rage, was pale, his red eyes wide with genuine trauma.

 

Izuku looked up.

 

Sixty thousand people were staring at him in absolute silence.

 

He saw the faces in the front row. They weren't cheering. They were horrified. Mothers were covering their children’s eyes. Pro Heroes in the stands had half-risen from their seats, their quirks activated, ready to jump down and stop a murder.

 

He had proven them right.

 

Society looked at him and saw a monster. And for thirty terrifying seconds, he had absolutely been one.

 

A profound, crushing wave of self-loathing crashed over Izuku. The blood frenzy vanished, replaced entirely by cold, nauseating horror.

 

Izuku released Katsuki’s shoulders as if he had been burned. He scrambled backward, his boots slipping clumsily on the concrete.

 

He clamped his heavy hands over his mouth, hiding his terrifying teeth, his gills fluttering in rapid, panicked hyperventilation.

 

“I’m sorry,” Izuku choked out, his voice a muffled, trembling wreck. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

He turned around. He didn't walk; he practically bolted. He stumbled across the ring, completely ignoring the stunned Midnight, and stepped over the boundary line.

 

“M-Midoriya is out of bounds!” Midnight announced, her voice shaking slightly. “Bakugo advances to the second round!”

 

There was no cheering. The crowd remained locked in a stunned, uneasy silence as the massive, slate-grey boy wrapped his arms around his torso, hiding his face as he vanished into the dark tunnels of the stadium.

 

Katsuki remained on the ground for a long time, staring up at the bright blue sky, the phantom sensation of those jagged teeth still hovering over his throat.

 

 

 

The locker room beneath the stadium was cool, dark, and blessedly quiet.

 

Izuku sat perfectly still on the wooden bench in front of his locker. He hadn't changed out of his uniform. He was staring blankly at the tiled floor, his heavy hands resting on his knees.

 

The silence was a lie. Inside his head, a storm was raging.

 

I almost killed him, Izuku thought, his heart twisting painfully in his massive chest. I lost control. One drop of blood, and I completely lost my mind. Katsuki was right. I am a freak. How can I be a scientist? How can I do research? If I get a paper cut on a submarine, will I tear the crew apart?

 

Tears, hot and salty, welled up in his eyes, rolling down his rough cheeks. He felt like a prisoner inside his own biology. He had fought so hard to be seen as a mind, as an intellect, as a boy who loved the quiet mysteries of the ocean. But nature didn't care about his notebooks. Nature only cared about the hunt.

 

Maybe I don't belong anywhere, he thought miserably. Not in the ocean. Not on land.

 

Heavy footsteps echoed against the tiles.

 

Izuku didn't look up. He assumed it was one of the teachers, coming to reprimand him, or maybe a security guard coming to escort the "dangerous student" off the premises.

 

The footsteps stopped right in front of him. A massive shadow fell over him, completely blocking the dim overhead light.

 

“It is a terrifying thing,” a deep, resonant voice echoed, sounding as though it were rumbling up from the Mariana Trench itself, “to realize that your body possesses a darkness that your heart abhors.”

 

Izuku slowly raised his head.

 

Standing before him was a man as massive and imposing as Izuku himself. He wore a crisp, white, high-collared suit that made him look distinctly like a mafia boss. But it was his head that gave away his identity. The man’s face was smooth and rubbery, marked by distinct black and white patterns. A massive dorsal fin protruded from the back of his suit, and a set of sharp, conical teeth rested in a permanent, intimidating grin.

 

It was the Number Ten Pro Hero. The Killer Whale Hero: Gang Orca.

 

“Gang… Gang Orca, sir?” Izuku mumbled, hastily wiping the tears from his eyes and attempting to stand up and bow.

 

Gang Orca raised a massive, white-gloved hand, gently pushing Izuku back down onto the bench. “Sit, Midoriya. You have had a traumatic afternoon.”

 

Gang Orca pulled up a reinforced steel folding chair and sat down across from Izuku. The Pro Hero leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark, intelligent eyes locking onto Izuku’s green ones.

 

“I watched your match from the private boxes,” Orca began, his tone calm but carrying absolute authority. “I saw the blood frenzy. I saw the loss of control. And, more importantly, I saw the exact moment your willpower pulled you back from the brink. It was a remarkable display of mental fortitude, young man.”

 

Izuku looked down at his rough hands. “It wasn't fortitude, sir. I’m a monster. Kacchan had a tiny cut, and I… I wanted to eat him. I wanted to tear him apart. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be around people.”

 

“Nonsense,” Orca snapped, though not unkindly. “Do not let the ignorance of terrestrial society dictate your self-worth. You are an apex predator, Midoriya. Your biology is designed to react to stimuli in the water. Blood is a trigger. It is not an evil trait; it is an evolutionary survival mechanism. You are simply suffering from a lack of exposure and discipline.”

 

Izuku looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Discipline?”

 

“Look at my face, Midoriya,” Orca said, gesturing to his own imposing visage. “I am constantly ranked in the top three of heroes who ‘look like villains.’ Society sees my teeth, my size, and my killer whale physiology, and they fear me. But I do not let my biology rule my actions. I govern my instincts. I have learned to channel the ferocity of the Orca into precision, into focus, and into saving lives.”

 

Gang Orca reached into the breast pocket of his white suit. He pulled out a sleek, water-resistant business card and held it out.

 

“I reviewed your file with Principal Nedzu. I know about your passion for marine biology. I know about your deal to act as a rescue asset,” Orca said, a genuine smile softening his terrifying features. “You have an incredible mind, Midoriya. But if you do not learn to control the shark within you, it will eventually consume you.”

 

Izuku slowly reached out, taking the card. The emblem of the Gang Orca Agency—a stylized killer whale leaping over a wave—was embossed in silver.

 

“My agency is not just a hero outpost,” Orca continued, standing up to his full, towering height. “I run one of the largest private marine sanctuaries in Japan. We rehabilitate stranded wildlife, we protect the coral reefs from illegal poachers, and we handle deep-sea rescues that standard heroes cannot manage.”

 

Orca looked down at the boy. For the first time since his quirk had manifested ten years ago, Izuku felt completely, truly understood. He was looking at a man who walked the exact line Izuku was desperately trying to find—the line between the monster society saw, and the protector the ocean needed.

 

“When the workplace internships begin next week,” Gang Orca said, turning toward the locker room exit. “You will come to my agency. I will teach you how to master the frenzy. I will teach you how to use your electroreception to find the lost in the dark. And we will do some exceptional marine research along the way.”

 

Orca paused at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.

 

“You are not a monster, Izuku Midoriya. You are a Great White. It is time you learned how to swim like one.”

 

Gang Orca walked out, the heavy metal door clicking shut behind him.

 

Izuku sat alone in the quiet locker room. He looked down at the business card in his hand. The crushing weight of self-loathing that had suffocated him just minutes prior slowly began to lift, replaced by a cautious, fragile spark of hope.

 

He held the card up, running his rough thumb over the embossed silver wave.

 

He didn't have to be a villain. He didn't have to be a traditional hero, either.

 

He just had to learn to balance the blood in the water, with the heart in the sea.

 

 

 

 

The train ride to the Shizuoka Prefecture coast was a two-hour journey, but for Izuku Midoriya, it felt like an eternity.

 

He sat alone in the rear car, his massive, slate-grey frame taking up two seats. His custom-tailored U.A. uniform felt uncomfortably dry against his dermal denticles, and he rhythmically sprayed his neck with his saltwater hydration flask to keep his gills from chafing.

 

As the train emerged from the dense urban sprawl and the landscape opened up to reveal the vast, glittering expanse of the Pacific Ocean, Izuku felt a physical weight lift from his chest. The heavy, metallic hum of the city’s electrical grid faded, replaced by the chaotic but soothing natural rhythms of the sea.

 

This was the start of the U.A. Workplace Internships. While Katsuki Bakugo had gone to the Number Four Hero, Best Jeanist, to be "reformed," and Todoroki had reluctantly gone to his father, Endeavor, Izuku had secured an internship that confused nearly everyone in Class 1-C.

 

He hadn't gone to a standard rescue agency. He hadn't gone to a combat-focused hero. He had gone to the Number Ten Hero—a man whose face was plastered across "Villains Who Look Like Heroes" listicles nationwide.

 

The train came to a smooth halt at the coastal station. Izuku hoisted his heavy, waterproof duffel bag over his broad shoulder and stepped onto the platform. The air here was entirely different. It was heavy, wet, and laden with the crisp scent of iodine, brine, and sea kelp. Izuku flared his gills, taking a deep, rattling breath of the ocean air. It tasted like home.

 

He walked down the winding coastal road, following the GPS coordinates on his phone. The Gang Orca Agency was not a towering, glass-and-steel skyscraper in the middle of a metropolis. Instead, it was a massive, sprawling facility built directly into the side of a natural limestone cliff face, seamlessly integrating with a pristine, deep-water cove.

 

As Izuku approached the main gates, he was struck by the sheer scale of the operation. Massive, open-air saltwater filtration tanks hummed with quiet efficiency. Dozens of sidekicks, clad in matching black-and-white wetsuits, were bustling about, carrying clipboards, buckets of fish, and specialized medical equipment.

 

“Midoriya!”

 

Izuku stopped, his posture immediately hunching into his trademark submissive slouch.

 

Standing at the entrance of the main facility, hands clasped behind his back, was Gang Orca. The Number Ten Hero wore a crisp, tailored white suit over his muscular, cetacean frame. His massive dorsal fin stood proudly, and his black-and-white face was set in a permanent, toothy grimace that terrified civilians but currently radiated absolute authority.

 

“G-Good morning, Orca-sensei!” Izuku stammered, bowing so deeply and rapidly that his heavy snout nearly clipped his own knees. “Thank you so much for having me! I’m incredibly honored to be here, and I brought all my own field journals, and I reviewed the local coastal benthic ecology on the train ride over, and—”

 

“Breathe, Midoriya,” Orca rumbled, his deep, baritone voice echoing against the cliffs. He raised a massive, white-gloved hand. “You are not here to pass a written exam. You are here to learn how to exist in your own skin. Walk with me.”

 

Orca turned, his long white cape billowing in the sea breeze, and led Izuku into the facility.

 

If Izuku had been nervous, the interior of the agency instantly cured him. It was a marine biologist’s paradise. The walls were lined with massive glass observation windows that looked directly out into the underwater cove. Monitors displayed real-time data on ocean temperature, salinity, and local aquatic quirk-fauna migrations.

 

“As you know, my agency operates differently than the urban heroes,” Orca explained, walking with heavy, deliberate steps. “We respond to maritime disasters, yes. But our primary directive is conservation. We manage a two-hundred-square-mile marine sanctuary off this coast. We police illegal quirk-poaching, unauthorized deep-sea dredging, and ecological contamination.”

 

Orca led Izuku through a heavy set of double doors and out onto a massive, metal-grated walkway that spanned over several enormous indoor pools.

 

Izuku gasped. His emerald eyes widened in pure, unadulterated awe.

 

The pools were rehabilitation habitats. In one, a massive loggerhead sea turtle with a cracked shell was being carefully treated by a sidekick with a healing quirk. In another, a pod of juvenile dolphins was playfully tossing a reinforced rubber ball.

 

“You requested to be a rescue asset for U.A.,” Orca said, watching the boy’s reaction closely. “To save lives where others cannot reach. That is a noble goal. But the ocean is not a controlled environment like your school’s USJ facility. It is wild. It is unpredictable. And it is full of triggers.”

 

Izuku’s smile faded. The memory of the Sports Festival—the metallic scent of Katsuki’s blood, the blinding, terrifying hunger, the loss of his own mind—crashed over him. He instinctively reached up, gripping the edge of his U.A. jacket.

 

“I… I know,” Izuku whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “I almost killed my friend over a paper cut. If a ship sinks and there’s blood in the water… how can I rescue anyone? How do I know I won't just become another danger to them?”

 

Orca stopped walking. He turned to fully face the teenager.

 

“Society looks at us, Midoriya, and they see monsters,” Orca said quietly. “They see my teeth, they see your black eyes, and their mammalian brains tell them to run. Because of this, we are held to a higher standard of control than any other hero. A hero with a fire quirk accidentally burns a building, and it is a tragedy. If you or I lose control, we validate every prejudice the world holds against us.”

 

Orca stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on Izuku’s broad, slate-grey shoulder.

 

“You fear the frenzy. You fear the predator inside you. You suppress it, locking it in a cage. But a caged beast only grows more desperate. To be a hero—to be the scientist you wish to be—you cannot suppress the shark. You must master it.”

 

Izuku looked up into Orca’s dark eyes. “How?”

 

Orca smiled, a terrifying, toothy expression. “Put on your wetsuit, Midoriya. We are going to the deep tank. And we are going to make you bleed.”

 

 

 

The Deep Tank was a specialized, heavily reinforced cylinder that dropped fifty meters straight down into the bedrock of the facility. The water was pitch-black, pressurized, and cold.

 

Izuku floated at the bottom of the tank, wearing his custom dark-green U.A. wetsuit. He breathed steadily, the oxygenated water flowing effortlessly over the delicate filaments of his gills. It was completely dark, but he didn't need light. His Ampullae of Lorenzini were hyper-tuned, picking up the faint electrical hum of the filtration pumps and the massive, steady, thumping heartbeat of Gang Orca, who was floating twenty meters above him.

 

“Can you hear me, Midoriya?” Orca’s voice crackled through a waterproof bone-conduction earpiece pressed against Izuku’s skull.

 

“Yes, Sensei,” Izuku replied, his voice vibrating through the water via his specialized vocal cords.

 

“Good. We are going to induce a blood frenzy. I have synthesized a compound that perfectly mimics the olfactory and chemical signature of human blood. I am going to release it into the water.”

 

Izuku’s heart rate spiked violently. “Wait, right now?! I don't know if I can—”

 

“Do not fight the instinct to hunt,” Orca interrupted, his tone commanding. “If you fight the instinct, the instinct will overwhelm your conscious mind. That is what happened at the festival. You panicked. This time, do not panic. Accept the chemical trigger. Let the predator wake up. But you remain in the driver’s seat. Guide the frenzy. Turn the urge to consume… into the urge to protect.”

 

Izuku gripped his hands into tight fists. He closed his eyes.

 

“Releasing the compound now.”

 

For three seconds, nothing happened.

 

Then, the current shifted.

 

The scent hit Izuku’s olfactory bulb like a thunderbolt. Copper. Salt. Iron. Life.

 

The reaction was instantaneous and entirely involuntary. Izuku’s spine arched violently. The nictitating membranes snapped into place with an audible snick, turning his emerald eyes into terrifying, pitch-black voids. His heavy jaw unhinged, exposing all three rows of serrated teeth. The muscles in his massive tail coiled like a steel spring.

 

The primitive, ancient voice in his hindbrain screamed.

 

PREY. WOUNDED. CONSUME. KILL.

 

Izuku thrashed, a violent, kinetic death roll that sent massive shockwaves through the enclosed tank. He wanted to launch himself upward. He wanted to tear through the water and sink his teeth into the source of the scent.

 

“Hold your mind, Midoriya!” Orca’s voice boomed through the earpiece. “You are a scientist! Analyze the reaction! Do not become the reaction!”

 

Izuku’s hands clawed at his own head. The red fog of the frenzy was blinding. It was so agonizingly tempting to just let go, to let the shark take over completely. It was easy.

 

But then he remembered Katsuki’s terrified face. He remembered the horrified silence of the crowd. He remembered his mother, who loved his gentle heart.

 

I am Izuku Midoriya, he thought, his conscious mind desperately clawing against the crushing weight of the predator. I am a marine biologist. I am a rescue asset. I do not eat people!

 

He stopped thrashing. He forced his massive hands down to his sides. He hovered in the pitch-black water, his heavy chest heaving, his gills flaring wildly.

 

Focus, he commanded himself. What is the frenzy doing to my body?

 

As he stopped fighting the instinct and started observing it, the red fog began to shift. The frenzy wasn't just a hunger; it was a massive, biological adrenaline dump. It was hyper-awareness.

 

His Ampullae of Lorenzini, usually sensitive, suddenly exploded with clarity. In the pitch-black water, he could "see" everything. He could sense the microscopic electrical charges of the zooplankton in the water. He could sense the exact trajectory of the currents. He could sense the muscular contractions in Gang Orca’s arms twenty meters above him.

 

He didn't need to bite. He just needed to know.

 

Izuku slowly relaxed his jaw, though he kept his teeth bared to allow water to flow efficiently. He channeled the terrifying, primal energy of the Great White away from his stomach, and pushed it into his sensory organs and his musculature.

 

The red rage cooled into a freezing, terrifying, absolute blue clarity.

 

He swam upward. He didn't thrash. He moved with the silent, frictionless, terrifying grace of a true apex predator. He ascended the twenty meters in a fraction of a second, stopping exactly two inches in front of Gang Orca’s face.

 

Izuku hung in the water. His eyes were still pitch black. His teeth were bared. He looked like a monster.

 

But he reached up and tapped his bone-conduction earpiece with one rough, heavily clawed finger.

 

“I’m here, Sensei,” Izuku rumbled, perfectly calm, his voice steady despite the massive adrenaline coursing through his veins. “I am in control.”

 

Gang Orca’s permanent, toothy grin somehow seemed to widen.

 

“Excellent,” Orca said. “Now, the real training begins.”

 

 

 

For the next week, Izuku’s life was a grueling, beautiful, exhausting cycle of marine science and apex-predator conditioning.

 

In the mornings, he worked in the labs alongside the agency’s marine biologists. He analyzed core samples, charted the migratory patterns of quirk-mutated tuna, and gently administered antibiotics to injured coral reefs. The staff quickly realized that the terrifying-looking U.A. student was actually a massive, soft-spoken nerd who could identify species of benthic tube worms by sight alone.

 

In the afternoons, he was in the water with Gang Orca. They pushed his quirk to its absolute limits. Orca taught him how to use his immense, frictionless speed to create localized pressure waves—concussive blasts of water that could disarm a villain without leaving a single scratch. He taught him how to navigate entirely by electroreception, swimming blindfolded through jagged underwater obstacle courses.

 

Most importantly, they practiced triggering the frenzy. Over and over again, Orca would introduce synthetic blood or intense sonic stress into the environment, forcing Izuku to ride the razor’s edge between rational thought and primal violence.

 

By the end of the week, Izuku didn't fear the shark inside him anymore. He respected it. It was a tool—a terrifying, hyper-focused state of being that he could slip into and out of like a well-worn wetsuit.

 

On the sixth day of the internship, Izuku finally got to go out on a real field patrol.

 

It was a beautiful, overcast morning. The ocean was a deep, choppy slate-grey, perfectly matching Izuku’s skin. He stood on the deck of the Orca II, a state-of-the-art catamaran research vessel, wearing his dark green wetsuit, several waterproof utility pouches strapped to his chest, and a high-tech comms earpiece.

 

“Alright, Midoriya,” Gang Orca said, standing beside the captain’s chair. “Today is a standard ecological survey. We are heading out to the Otheon Atoll, about twelve miles offshore. It’s a protected breeding ground for a rare species of bio-luminescent manta rays. Your job is to dive down, take sediment samples, and measure the ambient water temperature. A simple, quiet day of science.”

 

Izuku beamed, his jagged teeth catching the dim morning light. “Yes, sir! I’ve read all about the Otheon Atoll! The coral formations there are supposed to be incredible. The calcium carbonate structures provide a unique acoustic environment for—”

 

He stopped.

 

Izuku grabbed the railing of the ship. His smile vanished. The nictitating membranes flashed over his eyes for a split second before retracting. He flared his gills, his heavy snout twitching aggressively.

 

“Midoriya?” Orca asked, instantly noticing the shift in his intern’s posture.

 

“The water,” Izuku said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble. “It tastes wrong.”

 

Even on the deck of the ship, Izuku’s hyper-sensitive olfactory bulb was picking up trace particles carried by the sea breeze and the ocean spray.

 

“Taste?” one of the sidekicks asked, looking confused. “We’re still two miles out from the Atoll.”

 

Izuku closed his eyes. He concentrated, engaging the hyper-awareness he had honed in the deep tank. He pushed his electroreception and his sense of smell to their absolute limits.

 

“Heavy metals,” Izuku listed off, his expression hardening. “Industrial lubricants. High-sulfur diesel exhaust. And… pulverized calcium carbonate. The reef… something is destroying the reef.”

 

Gang Orca’s demeanor instantly shifted from mentor to Pro Hero. “Captain! Full throttle to the Otheon Atoll! Sidekicks, prep your gear! Midoriya, what else do you sense?”

 

“Electrical signatures,” Izuku said, opening his eyes, a cold fury settling into his chest. Not the wild, uncontrollable rage of the frenzy, but the quiet, terrifying anger of a protector whose home was being violated. “Massive ones. Submersible engines, but they’re running silent. They’re dredging the reef, Sensei.”

 

When the Orca II arrived at the coordinates, the surface of the water was a nightmare.

 

Instead of pristine, crystal-clear blue, the ocean was churning with a thick, milky, toxic slurry. Plumes of sickly yellow chemicals were bubbling up from the depths, coating the surface in a suffocating film of oil and byproducts.

 

Izuku looked over the edge. His heart broke. The sheer ecological devastation was staggering. It would take decades for this localized ecosystem to recover.

 

“Eco-terrorists,” Orca growled, his fists clenching. “A smuggling ring. They use quirk-enhanced machinery to illegally mine rare earth metals hidden beneath the coral beds, and they dump the toxic refinement chemicals straight back into the water to save costs.”

 

“They’re down there right now,” Izuku said, pointing to a patch of water where the electrical hum was strongest. “Three submersible vehicles. Dozens of divers in heavily armored hardsuits. They have thermal cloaking. Standard sonar won't pick them up.”

 

Orca looked at Izuku. He saw the cold, controlled anger in the boy’s eyes.

 

“Can you track them, Midoriya?”

 

Izuku didn't smile. He just engaged his nictitating membranes, his eyes going pitch black. “They have electrical systems. They have beating hearts. They cannot hide from me in the water, Sensei.”

 

“Then we dive,” Orca commanded.

 

SPLASH.

 

Izuku hit the water flawlessly. The moment he was submerged, the true horror of the situation hit his senses. The water was choking with silt and pulverized coral. The toxic chemicals burned his gills slightly, but his regional endothermy and incredibly robust immune system fought off the immediate effects.

 

He looked down. The Otheon Atoll, once a vibrant explosion of life, was being violently chewed apart.

 

Three massive, cloaked mini-submarines hovered just above the ocean floor. They were utilizing massive, quirk-powered vacuum dredgers to rip the coral apart. Surrounding the subs were about twenty villains in high-tech, pressurized dive suits, armed with heavy spear-rifles and aquatic propulsion jets.

 

Izuku’s comms crackled. “Midoriya. Engage at will. Non-lethal takedowns only. Protect the ecosystem.”

 

Izuku engaged his massive tail musculature.

 

He didn't swim down. He launched himself.

 

To the villains below, the attack came out of absolutely nowhere. The water was too murky with their own toxic dumping for their visual sensors to pick up anything, and their thermal cloaking gave them a false sense of security.

 

Izuku slammed into the first diver like a freight train.

 

He didn't bite. He used the massive, bony bridge of his snout, headbutting the villain squarely in the chest plate of his dive suit. The kinetic transfer was monstrous. The villain’s propulsion pack shattered, and he was knocked instantly unconscious by the localized pressure wave, spiraling limply toward the sandy bottom.

 

“Intruder!” one of the villains yelled over their open radio channel, which Izuku could hear perfectly. “Port side! Open fire!”

 

Five divers turned, leveling heavy, pneumatic spear-rifles at Izuku’s slate-grey blur. They fired.

 

Izuku didn't dodge. He engaged his frenzy-focus. Time seemed to slow down. He could sense the electrical charge of the pneumatic triggers, the displacement of water as the spears launched. He contorted his body, his frictionless dermal denticles allowing him to slip between the high-velocity spears with terrifying, fluid grace.

 

He closed the distance in a millisecond.

 

He grabbed the barrel of a spear-rifle with his left hand, crushing the reinforced steel like wet cardboard. With his right hand, he delivered a massive, sweeping backhand. The coarse, sandpaper-like armor of his forearm struck two villains, the sheer concussive force shattering their face masks and instantly knocking them out.

 

Suddenly, a massive, deafening SCREECH ripped through the water.

 

Gang Orca had arrived.

 

The Number Ten Hero unleashed his signature move: a hypersonic, paralyzing sound wave. The sheer force of the acoustic blast rippled the water visibly, striking a cluster of ten villains. They seized up, their nervous systems completely overloaded by the sonic assault, and floated helplessly in the current.

 

Izuku was unaffected; his Great White physiology and lateral line system were built to withstand immense pressure changes, and Orca had carefully angled the blast away from him.

 

“The divers are handled!” Orca’s voice rumbled over the comms. “Take out the submersibles, Midoriya! Stop the dredging!”

 

Izuku pivoted. He locked his black, soulless eyes onto the nearest cloaked submarine. The machine was massive, heavily armored, and currently grinding a thousand-year-old coral head into dust.

 

A turret on the top of the sub pivoted, locking onto Izuku. It fired a massive, explosive torpedo.

 

Izuku kicked his tail, rocketing straight toward the incoming projectile. Just before impact, he executed a flawless barrel roll. The torpedo grazed his dorsal fin and detonated harmlessly in the empty water behind him.

 

Izuku collided with the submarine.

 

He didn't have tools to dismantle it. He didn't need them. He had a bite force capable of snapping a blue whale’s spine.

 

Izuku clamped his massive hands onto the metal hull of the submarine for leverage. He reared his head back, unhinged his jaw to its absolute maximum capacity, and lunged forward.

 

His triple rows of serrated teeth sank into the thick, reinforced titanium casing of the submarine's main propulsion shaft.

 

CRRRR-UNCH.

 

The sound of metal tearing underwater was horrific. Izuku thrashed his head in a violent death roll, putting the entire kinetic weight of his four-hundred-pound body into the twist.

 

The titanium shaft snapped. The hydraulic lines ruptured. The submarine’s propeller died instantly, the massive vehicle shuddering before sinking heavily into the sand, completely disabled.

 

Izuku spat a chunk of titanium out of his mouth, ignoring the metallic taste. He moved to the second sub, grabbing its dredging arm and physically bending the steel beam backward until the hydraulic pistons exploded.

 

Orca handled the third, unleashing a concentrated sonic blast that shattered the submarine's reinforced glass canopy, flooding the cockpit and forcing the villains inside to surrender immediately.

 

The battlefield went quiet. The dredging had stopped.

 

Izuku hovered in the water, panting. His black eyes scanned the murky depths. The villains were defeated. The threat was neutralized.

 

But his Ampullae of Lorenzini were still screaming.

 

Distress.

Pain.

Heartbeats.

 

Izuku whipped his head around, staring into the dense cloud of toxic, yellow chemicals that had been dumped by the submersibles.

 

“Midoriya, status?” Orca asked.

 

“There’s collateral, Sensei,” Izuku rumbled, his voice tight with panic. “In the toxic plume. I’m going in.”

 

Izuku didn't wait for a response. He darted into the thick, blinding yellow cloud of chemicals. The toxins burned his eyes, forcing him to rely entirely on his electroreception. He navigated through the murky water, following the frantic, terrified electrical pulses.

 

He found them.

 

A pod of wild dolphins. They had been caught in the crossfire. A heavy, weighted steel-mesh net, dropped by one of the submersibles during the fight, had entangled them. They were trapped at the bottom, unable to reach the surface to breathe, and the toxic chemicals were suffocating them.

 

The blood frenzy, the instinct to hunt, the apex predator—it all vanished instantly, replaced entirely by Izuku Midoriya, the rescue biologist.

 

Izuku crashed into the sea floor next to the entangled dolphins. They shrieked in panic, thrashing wildly, terrified of the massive shark-boy looming over them.

 

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Izuku vibrated through his vocal cords, trying to use a low, soothing frequency.

 

He grabbed the steel-mesh net. He didn't have time to untangle it. He jammed his heavy, rough hands into the links and pulled with all of his monstrous, brute strength.

 

The steel groaned, stretched, and finally snapped.

 

Izuku ripped the net entirely in half. He gently grabbed the two most exhausted dolphins, tucking one under each of his massive arms, being careful not to scratch their delicate skin with his dermal denticles.

 

He kicked his tail, rocketing upward through the toxic plume, the rest of the pod following closely behind him in his slipstream.

 

Izuku breached the surface, rocketing ten feet into the air.

 

He let go of the dolphins. They crashed into the clean water at the surface, immediately blowing their blowholes, taking massive, desperate gasps of fresh air. The rest of the pod breached around them, clicking and whistling in joyous relief.

 

Izuku landed heavily back in the water, floating on his back, panting heavily. The toxic chemicals had burned his gills, and his muscles ached from the sheer exertion of the fight, but as a dolphin swam up and gently nudged his heavy snout in thanks, Izuku couldn't help but smile. His jagged teeth gleamed in the overcast light, and his emerald eyes were bright and clear.

 

 

 

By the time Izuku and Orca had hauled the unconscious villains and the disabled submersibles to the surface, the Coast Guard and the maritime police had arrived in force.

 

Following closely behind them were three news helicopters and a half-dozen boats filled with local journalists.

 

The Orca II deck was a flurry of activity as police officers cuffed the eco-terrorists. Izuku sat on the edge of the ship’s swim step, his legs dangling in the water. He was exhausted. A medic had flushed his gills with a neutralizing saline solution, but he still felt thoroughly battered.

 

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

 

Izuku looked up. A reporter with a microphone, accompanied by a cameraman, had managed to hop aboard the Orca II and was rushing toward him.

 

“You’re the student from the U.A. Sports Festival! The Leviathan!” the reporter yelled, shoving the microphone toward Izuku’s face. “Incredible work today! You completely dismantled an armed eco-terrorist cell! Tell me, how does it feel to use that terrifying, villainous quirk of yours for heroism? Are you going to transfer to the Hero Course now? Give the camera a smile!”

 

Izuku stared at the microphone. He looked at the flashing light of the camera. He thought about Katsuki Bakugo. He thought about the crowds that cheered for violence and feared biology.

 

He hated the camera. He hated the narrative.

 

Izuku’s Ampullae of Lorenzini twitched. He sensed a faint, erratic electrical pulse in the water just off the starboard bow.

 

Without a word to the reporter, Izuku slipped off the edge of the boat and dropped back into the water.

 

“Hey! Wait! The interview!” the reporter squawked, leaning over the railing.

 

Izuku ignored him. He swam a few yards away from the ship, reaching into a patch of floating kelp that had been tainted by the oil slick.

 

He gently lifted a small, juvenile Hawksbill sea turtle out of the muck. The poor creature was completely coated in thick, black oil, its head drooping, barely clinging to life.

 

Izuku kicked his legs, treading water as he pulled a small, specialized vial of bio-degradable solvent from his utility pouch. Completely ignoring the flashing cameras, the shouting reporters, and the arrested villains, Izuku meticulously applied the solvent to the turtle’s eyes and nostrils.

 

He worked with absolute, focused gentleness. His massive, terrifying, heavily clawed hands moved with the precision of a surgeon, carefully wiping the suffocating oil away from the fragile creature’s face.

 

On the deck of the ship, the reporter stood dumbfounded, the camera rolling as the massive, terrifying shark-boy ignored the glory of battle to softly coo at a dying turtle.

 

Gang Orca walked up behind the reporter, placing a heavy, white-gloved hand on the man’s shoulder, effectively forcing him to lower the microphone.

 

Orca looked down at the water. He watched Izuku successfully clear the turtle’s airways, smiling a genuine, soft smile as the little creature weakly flapped its flippers in gratitude.

 

The Number Ten Hero felt a profound sense of pride swell in his chest.

 

“You asked him how it feels to use his quirk for heroism,” Gang Orca rumbled, his deep voice carrying over the sound of the helicopters.

 

Orca gestured toward Izuku, who was now carefully washing the rest of the oil from the turtle's shell, entirely at peace in his element.

 

“You are looking at it, journalist. He is not a monster. He is not a brawler. He is Izuku Midoriya. And he is going to save the oceans.”