What If Deku Had the Strongest Quirk But Wanted to Be a Farmer Instead

To understand the absolute, bewildering anomaly that was Izuku Midoriya, one first had to understand the world he inhabited.

 

In a society where eighty percent of the population possessed a genetic superpower known as a "Quirk," the extraordinary had long since become the mundane. Men who could breathe fire worked at barbecue joints; women who could levitate painted skyscrapers without scaffolding. But above all the blue-collar applications of these genetic lotteries sat the pinnacle of modern ambition: Pro Heroes. The stronger the Quirk, the more society demanded you monetize it, slap on a flashy costume, and punch villains in the face for the evening news.

 

It was a world obsessed with power scales, destruction limits, and flashy ultimate moves.

 

Izuku Midoriya, however, was obsessed with nitrogen levels in topsoil.

 

The divergence between society’s expectations and Izuku’s reality began on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon at a local Musutafu kindergarten. He was four years old, a round-cheeked, starry-eyed boy clutching a plastic green watering can. The playground was a drab expanse of sun-baked concrete, rusted swing sets, and a notoriously barren sandbox where nothing but weeds dared to survive.

 

Little Izuku had found a single, shriveled strawberry plant struggling to survive at the edge of the sandbox. Pitying the pathetic thing, he had waddled over, tilted his plastic watering can, and focused his very being on wishing the little plant to grow.

 

The doctors would later explain it as a spontaneous, catastrophic Quirk Awakening triggered by intense emotional empathy.

 

It started with a tremor. Then, an apocalyptic tearing sound as the concrete of the playground shattered.

 

Within the span of three seconds, a towering, prehistoric jungle erupted from the earth. Massive, thick vines the size of city buses crashed through the asphalt, intertwining and spiraling into the sky. Oak trees that would normally take a century to mature shot upward in the blink of an eye, their colossal canopies blotting out the afternoon sun. The rusted swing set was swallowed whole by a sudden, vicious bloom of radiant blue hydrangeas. The temperature plummeted, the air suddenly thick with the humid, rich scent of damp earth, blooming jasmine, and raw, untamed life.

 

The kindergarten teachers shrieked, scrambling over the violently shifting tectonic plates of the playground, clutching screaming children as a literal Amazonian rainforest colonized an entire city block in under a minute. Sirens wailed in the distance. Pro Heroes were scrambled. The media helicopters arrived within ten minutes, broadcasting the "Green Calamity" to the entire nation.

 

When the Pro Heroes finally chopped their way to the epicenter of the jungle, expecting to find a terrifying villain, they instead found four-year-old Izuku sitting peacefully in a massive crater of fertile soil.

 

He was perfectly safe. In fact, a protective cradle of soft moss had grown around him to shield him from the flying debris. In his lap, he held a single, radiant red strawberry. It was the size of a watermelon.

 

"Look, Mama," little Izuku had beamed as his terrified mother, Inko, broke past the police line to scoop him into her arms. "It grew."

 

The specialists who evaluated Izuku a week later were completely utterly speechless. His Quirk, officially registered as "Genesis"—though Izuku vastly preferred the term "Harvest"—was a genetic mutation so astronomically powerful it defied scientific classification. He possessed absolute, god-like dominion over plant life, earth manipulation, and localized weather. He could alter the molecular structure of seeds to grow instantly, command roots to crush steel, and manipulate the water table to summon rainstorms out of thin air.

 

"Ma'am," the lead Quirk counselor had told a pale Inko Midoriya, adjusting his glasses with a trembling hand. "Your son possesses an Emitter-type Quirk of cataclysmic potential. He could paralyze entire villain syndicates in seconds. He could rebuild destroyed cities. He has the potential to be the undisputed Number One Hero of his generation. He is, for all intents and purposes, a force of nature."

 

And so, the world waited for the Force of Nature to take his rightful place on the throne of Hero Society.

 

Eleven years later, the Force of Nature was wearing stained denim overalls, sweating profusely under the midday sun, and gently coaxing a row of prize-winning eggplants to reach their maximum plumpness.

 

"Come on, you beauties," Izuku muttered, his voice a low, soothing rumble. He ran a dirt-caked finger along the stem of a particularly stubborn plant. A faint, emerald aura shimmered from his fingertips, bleeding into the plant's vascular system. "Just a little more. You want to be the stars of the Musutafu Farmers' Market, don't you? Yes, you do. Drink up."

 

At fifteen years old, Izuku Midoriya was a far cry from the scrawny, trembling boy he might have been in another life. You do not spend eleven years wrestling with the earth, hauling two-hundred-pound sacks of organic fertilizer, and manually tilling acres of land without it showing.

 

Izuku was built like a brick house.

 

He stood a few inches taller than most boys his age, but it was his breadth that caught people off guard. His shoulders were incredibly broad, his arms thick with dense, functional muscle forged by years of grueling manual labor. Sun-kissed and perpetually speckled with dirt, he wore a simple white tank top, heavy-duty boots, and a straw hat that rested over his mop of unruly, dark green curls.

 

His sanctuary was "Midoriya Farms," a massive fifteen-acre plot of land on the rural outskirts of Musutafu. When Inko realized her son had zero interest in punching villains and an overwhelming, all-consuming passion for agriculture, she had taken out a massive loan to buy a struggling, barren farm. Within three days of Izuku moving in, the barren wasteland had transformed into the most fertile, high-yielding agricultural goldmine in the Eastern Hemisphere.

 

The farm was a masterpiece. Rows of perfectly symmetrical, impossibly vibrant crops stretched toward the horizon. Cherry tomato vines grew in perfect spirals, supported by self-weaving wooden trellises Izuku had grown from the ground up. An orchard of fruit trees bordering the property produced apples the size of softballs, infused with a faint, natural sweetness that local grocery stores paid top yen to stock.

 

Izuku wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of a calloused hand, taking a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air. It was a perfect Tuesday. The soil pH was exactly 6.5. The humidity was a comfortable forty percent. The world was at peace.

 

"DEKU! YOU BASTARD!"

 

Izuku sighed, the serene smile never leaving his face, though his eyes tired slightly. The world was at peace, but his childhood friend was not.

 

Stomping down the dirt path leading to the eggplant patches was Katsuki Bakugo. Ash-blonde, fiercely scowling, and practically radiating aggressive heat, Katsuki looked entirely out of place amidst the tranquil greenery. He wore his middle school uniform, his tie discarded, and his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

 

"Good afternoon, Kacchan," Izuku called out cheerfully, standing up to his full height. He picked up a wooden basket and began carefully snapping eggplants off their stems. "You're just in time. The Black Beauties are finally ready for harvest. Auntie Mitsuki said she was going to make moussaka tonight, right? I can pack a bag for you to take home."

 

Katsuki marched right up to Izuku, stopping inches away. Despite Katsuki's naturally intimidating posture, the height and sheer mass difference between them made the aggressive stance somewhat comical. Katsuki had to tilt his head back slightly to glare into Izuku's emerald eyes.

 

"I don't give a damn about your stupid eggplants," Katsuki snarled, small pops of caramel-scented explosions crackling in his palms. "I just submitted my application to U.A. High School. The Hero Course."

 

"That’s wonderful, Kacchan! Congratulations," Izuku said genuinely, his eyes crinkling with a warm smile. "You've been talking about U.A. since we were kids. You're going to ace the practical exam."

 

"Don't change the subject!" Katsuki yelled, his voice echoing across the silent fields, startling a flock of crows into the sky. "I checked the registry at school today, Deku! You put down general studies for some no-name agricultural college in the countryside! Are you out of your damn mind?!"

 

Izuku calmly placed an eggplant into his basket. "Shikoku Agronomy Institute is not a 'no-name' college, Kacchan. They have the best hydroponics program in the country. If I want to modernize the winter greenhouse, I need to understand fluid dynamics in nutrient solutions—"

 

"I don't care about your magic farming water!" Katsuki roared, grabbing the front of Izuku's denim overalls. Izuku didn't budge an inch. It was like Katsuki was trying to shake a deeply rooted oak tree. "You're mocking me! You have a Quirk that could level a city! You could snap your fingers and bury All Might in a mountain of trees! And you're wasting it playing in the dirt!"

 

This was an old argument. It had been the defining friction of their relationship for the past decade. Katsuki, driven by an insatiable need for victory and dominance, saw power solely as a tool for combat and heroism. To him, Izuku's refusal to use his god-tier Quirk for battle was a personal insult. It was as if Izuku was looking down on the very concept of heroism, holding back his true strength because the competition was beneath him.

 

But Izuku didn't see it that way. Izuku didn't look down on heroes; he just fundamentally didn't understand the appeal.

 

"Kacchan," Izuku said gently, reaching down and carefully peeling Katsuki's fiery hands off his overalls. His grip was entirely gentle, but completely immovable. "We've talked about this. Heroes are important. They save people from villains, they stop bank robberies, they rescue people from burning buildings. I respect what you want to do."

 

"Then fight me!" Katsuki demanded, his red eyes blazing. "Put on a costume, get into U.A., and prove whose Quirk is stronger! Prove you aren't just a coward hiding behind your cabbages!"

 

Izuku turned his back on Katsuki, walking a few paces down the row to inspect a drooping leaf. A brief flare of his emerald aura, and the leaf perked back up, vibrant and healthy.

 

"I don't need to fight you, Kacchan. I know your Quirk is incredible," Izuku said, his voice entirely devoid of sarcasm. He meant every word. "But my power isn't for hurting people. It's for growing things. Heroes save people from dying, but farmers keep people alive. You fight the villains. I'll make sure there's enough food on the table when everybody gets home."

 

Katsuki gritted his teeth, his hands trembling with a mixture of rage and profound frustration. He hated that logic. He hated the calm, unwavering look in Izuku's eyes. You couldn't provoke a mountain. You couldn't pick a fight with the earth itself.

 

"You're a waste of space, Deku," Katsuki spat, though the venom in his voice lacked its usual bite. It was a hollow insult, and they both knew it.

 

Izuku merely smiled, reaching into a separate pouch on his tool belt. He pulled out a small, intensely red pepper, roughly the size of a golf ball.

 

"I cross-bred the Carolina Reaper with a local habanero," Izuku offered, holding it out. "I know you like spicy food. The Scoville heat units on this one are off the charts. It's practically a weapon."

 

Katsuki glared at the pepper, then glared at Izuku. With a frustrated growl, he snatched the pepper out of Izuku's massive hand.

 

"If this doesn't burn my tongue off, I'm coming back to blow up your tomatoes," Katsuki threatened, turning on his heel and storming back up the dirt path toward the main road.

 

"Tell Auntie Mitsuki I said hello!" Izuku called after him, waving cheerfully.

 

Katsuki responded by throwing a middle finger over his shoulder without looking back.

 

Izuku chuckled, shaking his head. He loved Katsuki like a brother, but the boy desperately needed to learn how to relax. Maybe some chamomile tea would help. He made a mental note to grow a fresh batch of herbs and send them to the Bakugo household next week.

 

With the interruption handled, Izuku returned to his work. The afternoon sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and violet. For hours, Izuku moved methodically across the farm. He pruned the peach trees, used his Quirk to subtly shift the topsoil to aerate the roots of his cornfield, and checked the irrigation lines.

 

It was a life of quiet, rhythmic repetition. It was exactly the life he wanted.

 

He was just making his way toward the northern edge of the property to check on his pride and joy—the pumpkin patch—when the tranquility of the afternoon was violently shattered.

 

It began with a sound like a thunderclap, followed by the screeching of tires from the distant highway that bordered the northern woods of the farm. Izuku paused, leaning against his shovel, his brow furrowing. His connection to the earth wasn't just a matter of control; it was a sensory network. He could feel the vibrations in the soil through the soles of his boots.

 

Heavy, frantic footsteps. Several of them. Crashing through the tree line.

 

"Get back here, you scumbag!" a booming, theatrical voice echoed through the woods. Izuku recognized it vaguely from the television. Death Arms, a local Pro Hero known for his immense physical strength.

 

"Eat dirt, muscle-head!" a second, raspier voice shrieked.

 

Suddenly, the sturdy, ten-foot-tall wooden fence that Izuku had spent three days building by hand exploded inward in a shower of splintered cedar.

 

Izuku blinked, raising a hand to shield his face from the flying wood chips.

 

A man came tumbling through the breach, rolling wildly across the dirt before scrambling to his feet. He was a bizarre-looking villain, dressed in a ragged, sludge-covered tracksuit. His skin was a sickly, mottled gray, and his lower jaw was distended like a pelican's pouch. He was panting heavily, looking over his shoulder toward the woods.

 

"Can't catch me! My Acidic Spit melts through anything!" the villain cackled, wiping a trail of glowing, neon-green drool from his chin. To demonstrate, he spat a glob of the substance onto a discarded piece of Izuku's fence. The wood hissed violently, dissolving into a puddle of noxious, smoking sludge.

 

Izuku stood frozen about thirty yards away, his mind struggling to process the scene.

 

A villain. On his farm.

 

The villain, finally taking in his surroundings, let out a harsh laugh. "A farm? Perfect! I'll take a hostage. Hey, kid!"

 

The man turned his manic gaze toward Izuku. He took a step forward, raising his chin as his cheeks began to bulge, preparing another glob of highly corrosive acid.

 

But Izuku wasn't looking at the villain.

 

Izuku was looking down.

 

When the villain had crashed through the fence, he had landed directly in the center of Sector 4. Sector 4 was not just any plot of land. Sector 4 was a highly curated, deeply manicured, nutrient-dense plot of soil dedicated exclusively to the cultivation of "The Musutafu Mammoths"—Izuku's prized, giant pumpkins, carefully grown for the upcoming national agricultural fair.

 

The villain's heavy combat boots were currently planted squarely in the center of the largest, most magnificent pumpkin of the bunch. The massive, beautiful orange gourd had been completely smashed, its guts and seeds spilling out onto the dirt in a tragic display of ruined potential.

 

Izuku felt something cold and incredibly dark snap inside of his chest.

 

"Hey, farm boy! Did you hear me?!" the villain shouted, taking another heavy, stomping step forward, crushing a secondary pumpkin beneath his heel. "Don't move a muscle, or I'll melt your face off!"

 

The air pressure in the field suddenly dropped.

 

The birds in the nearby trees abruptly stopped singing. The wind died completely. A terrifying, oppressive silence fell over the fifteen acres of Midoriya Farms.

 

"You stepped on Penelope," Izuku whispered.

 

The villain paused, confused. "Huh? Who the hell is Penelope?"

 

Izuku slowly lifted his head. The straw hat cast a dark shadow over the top half of his face, leaving only his eyes visible. They were no longer the warm, friendly emerald green they had been minutes ago. They were glowing. It was a fierce, bioluminescent, radioactive green that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the earth itself.

 

The villain took a step back, suddenly feeling a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. His survival instincts, honed by years of street thuggery, began screaming at him. The teenager standing across the field wasn't taking a combat stance. He was just holding a shovel. But the sheer aura radiating from the boy felt heavier than any Pro Hero the villain had ever faced. It felt like standing at the base of a tsunami right before it crashed.

 

"I spent six months balancing the potassium levels in this soil," Izuku said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. It wasn't a shout. It was a quiet, resonant tone that seemed to echo from the dirt itself. "I sang to Penelope. I played her classical music. She was going to win the blue ribbon."

 

"L-look, kid, I don't know what you're talking about, but back off!" the villain stammered, his bravado failing. He puffed up his cheeks, his mouth glowing green. "I'm warning you! My acid will—"

 

Izuku didn't move. He simply tightened his grip on his shovel and whispered a single word.

 

"Genesis."

 

The earth rebelled.

 

There was no build-up, no flashy martial arts pose, no dramatic scream. The very ground beneath the villain's feet simply ceased to be a passive surface and became a living, furious weapon.

 

A localized earthquake, concentrated entirely within a ten-foot radius around the villain, violently shattered the ground. Before the man could even fire his acid spit, four massive, serpentine roots—each thick as a sequoia trunk and hard as forged titanium—erupted from the soil with the speed of a bullet.

 

The villain shrieked as the roots slammed into him. One wrapped around his right arm, another his left. A third coiled around his waist, lifting him violently into the air. The man struggled frantically, his jaw dropping open to spit his acid, but a fourth root, thinner but equally strong, whipped upward like a striking cobra and bound his jaw shut tight, cutting off his power completely.

 

The entire altercation lasted less than three seconds.

 

The villain was suspended ten feet in the air, spread-eagled and completely immobilized by the unbreakable embrace of nature, his muffled screams of sheer terror echoing across the silent farm.

 

Izuku stood in place, taking a slow, deep breath. The terrifying glow faded from his eyes, returning to their normal, gentle green. The oppressive aura vanished, and the wind began to rustle through the leaves once more.

 

"That was incredibly rude," Izuku muttered, adjusting his straw hat and walking over to the crushed remains of his prize pumpkin. He knelt down in the dirt, gently scooping up some of the ruined orange flesh, his face a picture of pure devastation. "Oh, Penelope. I'm so sorry. I couldn't protect you."

 

A massive crashing sound came from the tree line. Death Arms, panting heavily and covered in scratches from the briar patch, finally broke through the clearing. He raised his massive fists, his eyes scanning the field.

 

"Stop right there, villain! There's nowhere to—"

 

Death Arms froze.

 

His eyes locked onto the villain, who was currently whimpering, strung up in the air by massive, ancient-looking tree roots that had somehow burst through the cultivated soil. Then, his eyes drifted down to the incredibly muscular fifteen-year-old boy in overalls, who was currently kneeling in the dirt, mourning a crushed pumpkin.

 

Death Arms blinked. He rubbed his eyes with a massive hand, then looked again.

 

"Uh," the Pro Hero rumbled, his deep voice filled with utter bewilderment. "Did... did you do that, kid?"

 

Izuku looked up, his eyes welling with dramatic, anime-style tears as he held out a handful of pumpkin guts.

 

"He murdered her," Izuku sobbed, pointing an accusatory, dirt-caked finger at the suspended villain. "He just came out of nowhere and squashed her! She was eighty pounds! Eighty pounds of pure, organic perfection! Who does that?!"

 

Death Arms slowly lowered his fists, entirely unsure of how to proceed. As a Pro Hero, he was trained to handle hostage situations, terrorist attacks, and bank heists. He was not trained on how to console a heavily muscled farm boy crying over a vegetable.

 

"Right. Well. Good job... restraining him, son," Death Arms said awkwardly, reaching for the radio on his shoulder. "Dispatch, this is Death Arms. The suspect has been... apprehended. I'm at the rural farmlands on the north side. Yeah. No, I didn't catch him. A tree did. Yeah, you heard me."

 

While the hero called it in, Izuku stood up, sniffing softly and wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his tank top. He looked up at the villain, who was looking down at Izuku with an expression of pure, unadulterated horror.

 

"I'm going to have to aerate this entire sector again," Izuku sighed, pulling a small notebook and a pencil from his pocket, beginning to quickly jot down soil recovery calculations. "The acid from his saliva might have altered the pH of the surrounding dirt. I'll need to lay down a layer of lime and maybe plant a cover crop of clover to reintroduce nitrogen before the winter freeze..."

 

Unbeknownst to Izuku, the villain, or Death Arms, they were not alone.

 

Just beyond the shattered wooden fence, hiding behind a thick cluster of bushes on the edge of the public highway, was a young man in hiking gear. He had been walking the scenic route when he heard the commotion. When the villain had crashed through the fence, the hiker had pulled out his smartphone to record the Pro Hero fight he assumed was about to happen.

 

Instead, he had recorded the entirety of Izuku Midoriya.

 

His camera had captured the terrifying drop in atmosphere. It had captured the intense, glowing green eyes beneath the straw hat. And, most importantly, it had perfectly captured the instantaneous, earth-shattering manifestation of the roots that had subdued a B-rank villain with zero effort.

 

The hiker’s hands were shaking as he hit the 'stop recording' button. He stared at the screen, his mind racing.

 

Hero fan-forums were always hungry for new, unregistered Quirks. But this? This wasn't just a strong Quirk. This was Pro-Hero, top-ten billboard chart material. And it belonged to some random farm kid in overalls who looked like he could bench-press a tractor.

 

The hiker quickly opened his social media app. He typed in a caption: Unknown God-Tier Quirk found in Musutafu countryside?! Kid instantly solos villain to save a pumpkin!!

 

He hit upload.

 

By the time the police arrived at Midoriya Farms to formally arrest the villain and take Izuku’s statement, the video had a thousand views.

 

By the time Izuku finished repairing his fence using a brief burst of his Quirk to weave the cedar planks back together seamlessly, the video had fifty thousand views.

 

By midnight, as Izuku was peacefully sleeping in his farmhouse, dreaming of optimized drip-irrigation systems, the video had surpassed two million views. The internet had exploded. Speculation ran rampant. Was he a secret sidekick of Kamui Woods? Was he a genetic experiment? A new vigilante? The hashtag PumpkinHero was trending number one across Japan.

 

And, many miles away, in the prestigious, highly secure halls of U.A. High School, a single light remained on in the principal's office.

 

Principal Nezu, a small, incredibly intelligent creature resembling a hybrid of a mouse, a bear, and a dog, sat behind his massive mahogany desk. The only light in the room came from the glow of his computer monitor.

 

On the screen, the viral video played on a loop.

 

Nezu watched the footage for the twentieth time. He analyzed the boy's posture. The lack of hesitation. The sheer, overwhelming scale of the Quirk manifestation. But what fascinated Nezu the most was the boy's eyes. When the villain had threatened his life, the boy hadn't reacted. He had only reacted when the crop was destroyed.

 

Nezu paused the video exactly at the frame where Izuku's eyes glowed that terrifying, primal green.

 

The principal took a slow sip from a delicate porcelain teacup, a wide, predatory smile stretching across his furry face.

 

"Fascinating," Nezu murmured to the empty room. "Absolutely fascinating."

 

Nezu clicked open a new tab on his computer, accessing the national civilian Quirk registry. It took his genius-level intellect mere seconds to cross-reference the geographical location of the farm with municipal property records.

 

A profile popped up on the screen.

 

Name: Izuku Midoriya.

Age: 15.

Quirk: Genesis (Emitter/Mutant class).

Education Status: Applied to Shikoku Agronomy Institute.

 

Nezu chuckled, the sound a low, reedy chitter. "Agronomy Institute? Oh, I think not, Mr. Midoriya. A talent like yours belongs in a much larger field."

 

Nezu reached across his desk and pressed the intercom button.

 

"Aizawa, my apologies for the late hour," Nezu said cheerfully. "I realize it is past midnight, but I need you and Toshinori in my office first thing tomorrow morning. Clear your schedules. We are taking a field trip to the countryside."

 

A groggy, irritated groan crackled through the intercom. "Nezu, it is one in the morning. What is so important that it can't wait until the staff meeting?"

 

Nezu's smile widened. He looked back at the screen, at the image of the heavily muscled farm boy crying over a squashed vegetable.

 

"We, Eraserhead, are going recruiting," Nezu replied. "It appears I have found our newest student. And we are going to have to make him an offer he cannot refuse."

 

 

 

 

Dawn broke over Midoriya Farms not with a shout, but with a gentle, golden sigh.

 

Long before the citizens of Musutafu awoke to commute to their office jobs, and long before the Pro Heroes began their morning patrols, Izuku Midoriya was already neck-deep in the soil. The morning air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of morning dew and freshly turned earth. For Izuku, this was the sacred hour. The world was quiet, entirely free of explosions, villains, and shouting childhood friends.

 

Currently, Izuku was lying flat on his back beneath a massive, rusted red tractor. He held a three-hundred-pound steel axle perfectly steady with one hand while using his free hand to meticulously tighten a lug nut with a wrench.

 

He hummed a soft, cheerful tune, entirely oblivious to the fact that beyond the borders of his fifteen-acre sanctuary, the entire nation was losing its collective mind over him.

 

"Izuku!"

 

The frantic, high-pitched voice of his mother broke the serene silence of the morning. Izuku slid out from under the heavy machinery, sitting up and wiping axle grease from his cheek with the back of a calloused hand.

 

Inko Midoriya was sprinting down the dirt path from the main farmhouse, clutching a tablet to her chest as if it were a ticking bomb. Despite her son possessing the physique of a Greek statue and the power of a minor deity, Inko remained a perpetual ball of nervous energy.

 

"Good morning, Mom," Izuku smiled warmly, standing to his full, imposing height. "Careful on the mud. I just watered the sweet potatoes."

 

"Izuku! The internet! The news! You're on the television!" Inko gasped, finally reaching him and bending over to catch her breath. She thrust the tablet toward his face.

 

Izuku blinked, squinting at the glowing screen. It was a local news broadcast. The anchor was standing in front of a blurry, freeze-framed image of Izuku from yesterday afternoon. He looked particularly menacing in the shot, his eyes glowing a fierce, radioactive green from beneath the shadow of his straw hat, while the villain was suspended in the background by massive roots.

 

The chyron at the bottom of the screen read in bold, flashing red letters: THE PUMPKIN HERO? UNKNOWN TEENAGER SUBDUES VILLAIN IN SECONDS. IS THIS THE NEXT SYMBOL OF PEACE?

 

"Oh," Izuku said, his brow furrowing in mild distress. He took the tablet from his mother, scrolling down to see a clip of the video that had apparently garnered six million views overnight. He watched himself summon the roots. He watched himself kneel in the dirt.

 

"Oh dear," Izuku murmured, shaking his head.

 

"Izuku, this is huge!" Inko said, wringing her hands, tears of anxiety pricking the corners of her eyes. "You went viral! My phone hasn't stopped ringing! Auntie Mitsuki called me screaming at six in the morning asking why Katsuki was trying to blow up the television! Are you in trouble? Did you break a Quirk restriction law?!"

 

"No, Mom, I'm not in trouble," Izuku sighed, handing the tablet back. He looked deeply disappointed.

 

Inko looked at her son, confused. "Then... why do you look so sad, sweetie?"

 

Izuku pointed at the paused frame of the video. "They completely cut out the part where I explained the nutritional regimen I had Penelope on. The news didn't mention her weight, her symmetry, or her rich orange coloration at all! They only care about the villain. It's a complete disservice to the agricultural community."

 

Inko stared at him blankly for a long moment. She loved her son dearly, but there were times when she felt they were speaking two entirely different languages.

 

Before Inko could attempt to explain to her son that the media cared more about his god-tier combat abilities than his giant squash, the crunching of gravel interrupted them.

 

Both mother and son turned toward the long, winding driveway that led to the farmhouse. A vehicle was approaching. But this wasn't the battered pickup truck of Mr. Sato delivering fertilizer, nor was it the local grocer coming for a wholesale pickup.

 

It was a sleek, pitch-black luxury SUV with heavily tinted windows and government license plates.

 

The vehicle rolled to a smooth, silent stop near the tractor. For a moment, nothing happened. The morning air was tense, pregnant with expectation.

 

Then, the rear door swung open.

 

The first person to step out was a man who looked like he had not slept since the dawn of the millennium. He was tall, dressed entirely in baggy black clothing, with a thick grey scarf coiled around his neck like a sleeping serpent. Shota Aizawa—known in underground hero circles as Eraserhead—slouched against the door frame, his bloodshot eyes scanning the idyllic farm with an expression of profound irritation.

 

"Way too bright out here," Aizawa grumbled, pulling a bottle of eye drops from his pocket and tilting his head back.

 

"Nonsense, Aizawa! It is a glorious morning!"

 

The voice that boomed from the other side of the vehicle was akin to a clap of thunder. The passenger door opened, and a colossal figure stepped into the sunlight. Standing at a staggering seven feet, two inches tall, with muscles bulging against the fabric of a pinstripe yellow suit, was Toshinori Yagi. To the world at large, he was All Might, the undisputed Number One Hero and the Symbol of Peace. His signature golden bangs stood up like twin antennae, and his dazzling, larger-than-life smile practically radiated sunlight.

 

Inko let out a faint squeak and promptly fainted.

 

"Mom!" Izuku caught her instantly with one massive arm, gently lowering her unconscious form onto a nearby patch of soft, freshly grown moss that he manifested with a thought.

 

"Oh dear! I apologize!" All Might boomed, rushing forward in a blur of speed, though he stopped awkwardly when he saw Izuku was handling it perfectly. "Is the matriarch alright?"

 

"She's fine," Izuku said politely, though his tone was entirely calm. He didn't seem starstruck in the slightest. "She just gets overwhelmed easily. Can I help you gentlemen? We don't open for retail sales until nine o'clock."

 

"We are not here for produce, Mr. Midoriya."

 

The final occupant of the SUV stepped out. Or rather, climbed down. Principal Nezu, dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, adjusted his tie. He clasped his paws behind his back and offered Izuku a polite, calculating smile.

 

"I am Nezu, the Principal of U.A. High School," the chimera introduced himself. He gestured to his companions. "This is Mr. Aizawa, one of our esteemed homeroom teachers, and this is... well, I assume you know who this is."

 

"It's an honor to meet you, Principal Nezu. You too, Eraserhead," Izuku bowed respectfully.

 

Aizawa paused mid-eye-drop. He recognized me? A teenager in the middle of nowhere recognized an underground hero?

 

"And hello, All Might," Izuku added, nodding to the towering hero. "Though you really shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard this early in the morning. Your breathing is shallow, and you're sweating despite the cool temperature. You're holding onto that muscle form through sheer willpower, aren't you?"

 

Silence descended upon the farm.

 

All Might's smile froze. Aizawa's hand dropped to his capture scarf, his eyes narrowing sharply. Nezu's ears perked up, his smile widening slightly.

 

"I... I don't know what you mean, young man!" All Might laughed, a booming, nervous sound. "I am always in peak physical—!"

 

Before All Might could finish the sentence, a violent cough wracked his massive frame. A puff of steam enveloped him, and in the blink of an eye, the towering titan of muscle vanished. In his place stood a skeletal, gaunt man coughing a concerning amount of blood into a white handkerchief.

 

"Toshinori," Aizawa hissed in warning, stepping forward to shield the hero.

 

"It's alright, Aizawa," Nezu said mildly, raising a paw. "Mr. Midoriya does not strike me as a threat. Nor does he seem surprised."

 

"I read a lot of botany and medical journals," Izuku explained simply, walking over to the tractor and wiping his hands on a rag. "When the media showed footage of your fight with Toxic Chainsaw five years ago, I noticed the localized withering of the plant life in the background footage. Massive respiratory trauma and internal bleeding leave a specific aura. I figured your time limit was dropping."

 

Toshinori wiped his mouth, looking at the boy in utter astonishment. "You deduced my secret from the background foliage in a five-year-old news clip?"

 

"The earth tells you a lot if you know how to listen to it," Izuku smiled softly. He gestured toward the main farmhouse. "Please, follow me. You've traveled a long way. My mother will be out for a few more minutes, so let's talk on the porch. I'll make tea."

 

Ten minutes later, the most powerful faction in Japanese Hero Society found themselves sitting awkwardly on rustic wooden rocking chairs on the front porch of a farmhouse.

 

Izuku emerged from the kitchen carrying a wooden tray. On it rested a beautiful cast-iron teapot and three clay cups.

 

"I didn't have any loose-leaf chamomile prepared," Izuku apologized as he set the tray down on the small patio table. "So I had to improvise. I hope you don't mind."

 

Aizawa watched through narrowed eyes as Izuku picked up a small ceramic pot from the windowsill. It contained nothing but dirt. Izuku pressed his thumb against the soil.

 

Instantly, a small green sprout broke the surface. In a matter of two seconds, the sprout rapidly matured into a full, lush chamomile plant, blooming with perfect white and yellow flowers. Izuku casually plucked a handful of the flowers, dropped them directly into the teapot, and poured steaming hot water over them from a thermos.

 

He poured three cups of tea. The liquid was a flawless, vibrant gold. The aroma was intoxicating, instantly soothing the tension in Aizawa's shoulders and easing the chronic pain in Toshinori's side.

 

"Incredible," Nezu whispered, taking a sip from his tiny cup. His dark eyes sparkled. "Absolute, instantaneous cellular acceleration and molecular manipulation of organic matter. Not a hint of fatigue. No chanting, no dramatic gestures. Just... effortless mastery."

 

"It's just tea, sir," Izuku said, taking a seat on the porch steps, resting his elbows on his knees. "Now, what can I do for U.A. High School? Did you need a bulk order of vegetables for your cafeteria? I can offer you a wholesale discount if you buy by the ton."

 

"Mr. Midoriya," Nezu began, setting his teacup down with a gentle clink. "I am not here to buy your vegetables. I am here to buy your future."

 

Izuku tilted his head. "I'm not for sale."

 

"Let me be blunt," Aizawa interjected, leaning forward, his tired eyes fixing Izuku with an intense, penetrating stare. "The stunt you pulled yesterday went viral. The entire country saw it. What they saw was a fifteen-year-old boy effortlessly subdue a villain that was giving a seasoned Pro Hero trouble. You didn't just beat him, kid. You dominated him. You possess a Quirk of staggering, unprecedented power."

 

"It's a very good Quirk for farming, yes," Izuku agreed mildly.

 

"It's a Quirk for saving lives," Aizawa corrected sharply. "With power like that, it is your responsibility to use it for the betterment of society. Principal Nezu does not hand these out lightly, but we are here to offer you an official Recommendation Seat in U.A. High School's Hero Course. No entrance exam. Full ride. Fast track to becoming a licensed Pro Hero."

 

Aizawa sat back, expecting the boy to burst into tears of joy. That was the usual reaction. Kids would sell their own organs for a recommendation seat at U.A.

 

Izuku looked at Aizawa. Then he looked at Nezu. Then he looked out across his fields of corn, swaying gently in the morning breeze.

 

"No thank you," Izuku said politely.

 

The silence that followed was absolute. A crow cawed in the distance.

 

Toshinori choked on his tea. Aizawa’s jaw actually dropped a fraction of an inch, a rare break in his stoic facade. Nezu simply steepled his paws together, a glint of genuine amusement in his eyes.

 

"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you," Aizawa said, his voice dangerously low. "Did you just decline an official recommendation to the most prestigious hero academy in the world?"

 

"I did," Izuku nodded, completely unbothered by the rising tension. "It's a very generous offer, and I am honored that you came all this way. But I have already submitted my application to the Shikoku Agronomy Institute. I'm going to get my degree in agricultural science and take over this farm full-time."

 

"Young Midoriya," Toshinori spoke up, his hollow eyes filled with genuine concern. He leaned forward, attempting to summon some of his natural, charismatic authority. "I understand that the spotlight can be intimidating. But you have a gift! A true, heroic spirit! I saw the video. When that villain threatened you, you didn't run. You stood your ground. You have the heart of a hero!"

 

"I stood my ground because he stepped on my pumpkin, Mr. Yagi," Izuku corrected gently. "If he had been on the paved driveway, I would have just called the police and waited inside."

 

Toshinori deflated further, looking deeply distressed. "But... but the potential! You could be a Symbol! You could save thousands of people with a smile!"

 

Izuku sighed. It was a deep, weary sigh of a man who had had this exact conversation a hundred times before with Katsuki. He stood up from the porch steps, walking over to a wooden crate resting near the railing. He pulled back the tarp covering it, revealing dozens of perfectly round, vibrant red tomatoes.

 

Izuku picked one up and tossed it to Aizawa, who caught it on reflex.

 

"Eat it," Izuku instructed.

 

Aizawa raised an eyebrow but took a bite. His eyes widened. The flavor was explosive—sweet, perfectly acidic, and incredibly rich. But more than that, a sudden rush of energy flooded Aizawa’s system. The exhaustion that permanently clung to his bones seemed to recede, replaced by a strange, revitalizing warmth.

 

"What... what is this?" Aizawa muttered, staring at the half-eaten fruit.

 

"I manipulated the soil biome to inject the roots with enhanced macronutrients and naturally occurring medicinal compounds," Izuku explained, turning back to the Pro Heroes. "One of those tomatoes provides a full day's worth of calories, vitamins, and cellular repair properties. I donate three hundred crates of them to the local homeless shelters and underfunded orphanages every month."

 

Izuku walked back to the porch steps, towering over the sitting heroes. His eyes, usually so soft and gentle, hardened with a profound, unshakable conviction.

 

"Mr. Aizawa, you said I have a duty to society. You said my Quirk is for saving lives." Izuku looked down at his calloused, dirt-stained hands. "Do you know how many people die of starvation in this world? Do you know how many people suffer from malnutrition, or can't afford fresh, healthy food because of supply chain disruptions caused by villain attacks?"

 

Toshinori lowered his head, listening intently.

 

"Heroes are amazing," Izuku continued softly. "You save people from villains. You pull people out of burning buildings. But your job is inherently reactive. You only show up when the disaster is already happening. When society is already bleeding."

 

Izuku gestured broadly to his massive, sprawling farm.

 

"I am proactive. I grow food that heals people. I provide sustenance. A hero can save a man from being mugged in an alley, but a farmer ensures that man doesn't go hungry the next day. You punch things. I grow things. We just have different ways of saving the world."

 

The porch fell silent. The philosophical weight of the fifteen-year-old boy's words hung heavy in the air.

 

Toshinori looked at the boy, truly looked at him, and realized with a pang of awe that this was not a coward hiding from his potential. This was a young man who had already discovered his purpose. He was entirely, unshakeably secure in who he was.

 

Aizawa set the remainder of his tomato down. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "You're infuriatingly logical, you know that?"

 

"I get that a lot," Izuku smiled, the tension breaking.

 

"Well," Aizawa sighed, looking at Nezu. "He said no. I can't drag him to U.A. in handcuffs. The kid wants to be a farmer. Let's pack it up."

 

"Not quite yet, Eraserhead," Nezu finally spoke.

 

The chimera hopped down from his rocking chair, walking over to stand directly in front of Izuku. Nezu looked up, way up, into Izuku's eyes. The principal's smile was sharp, calculating, and entirely victorious.

 

"Mr. Midoriya, I applaud your philosophy. It is incredibly mature and fundamentally true," Nezu praised, his voice smooth as silk. "However, I believe you are laboring under a misconception. You seem to think that attending U.A. High School means you must become a Pro Hero."

 

Izuku blinked. "It's a hero school."

 

"It is an academy of excellence," Nezu corrected, raising a single paw. "We have a Support Course. We have a Business Course. And, most importantly, we have a General Education Department. Students in General Ed are not required to participate in combat training, hero internships, or villain apprehension."

 

Izuku frowned, suspicious. "Okay... but why would you want me there if I'm not going to fight? You just want to keep me under observation because my Quirk is a wild card."

 

"That is exactly why," Aizawa chimed in, brutally honest as always. "Your Quirk is a tactical nuke. If you go to some civilian agronomy college, you will be targeted by every villain syndicate in the country looking to exploit you or brainwash you. The League of Villains would kill to have a kid who can instantly generate organic barriers and trap Pro Heroes in unbreakable roots. At U.A., you would be safe behind our security grid."

 

Izuku crossed his arms. "I can protect myself. And my farm."

 

"I do not doubt your strength, Izuku," Nezu said softly. "But what about your mother? What about your crops? A villain might not defeat you, but a fire Quirk could burn this farm to the ash in seconds while you are distracted."

 

Izuku stiffened. His eyes darted toward the moss bed where his mother was still peacefully sleeping, then toward his beloved fields. Nezu had hit the exact nerve he was aiming for.

 

"Furthermore," Nezu continued, pulling a sleek, silver tablet from inside his suit jacket. He tapped the screen a few times and held it up for Izuku to see. "I am not an unreasonable principal. I believe in fostering the unique passions of my students. If you agree to enroll in U.A.'s General Education department, and agree to act as an occasional 'consultant' for our hero students to help with physical conditioning... I am prepared to offer you this."

 

Izuku leaned down to look at the screen.

 

His emerald eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. His breath hitched in his throat.

 

Displayed on the tablet were the architectural blueprints for a structure that belonged in a sci-fi utopia. It was a colossal, geodesic bio-dome, constructed of reinforced, quirk-resistant smart-glass.

 

"This is..." Izuku whispered, his hands trembling as he reached out to trace the glowing blue lines on the screen.

 

"The U.A. Experimental Agricultural Bio-Dome," Nezu purred, knowing he had hooked his fish. "Thirty thousand square feet of prime, unadulterated cultivation space. Fully automated climate control, capable of simulating any weather pattern on earth. A closed-loop hydroponics and aeroponics wing. Smart-soil beds with real-time nutrient sensors. Automated drone pollination. And, of course, a fully funded laboratory for genetic cross-breeding."

 

Izuku was panting softly. He looked like a man wandering the desert who had just been handed a glass of ice water. "The... the soil pH..."

 

"Fully automated and balanced daily via our underground artificial intelligence network," Nezu replied smoothly.

 

"And the irrigation?"

 

"Reverse-osmosis purified water, enriched with whatever macronutrient blend you desire, delivered via sub-surface drip lines."

 

Izuku fell to his knees in the dirt. He clutched his chest, staring at the tablet with an expression of pure, unadulterated religious ecstasy.

 

"It's... it's beautiful," Izuku wept, thick anime tears streaming down his cheeks. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

 

Aizawa stared down at the weeping, massively muscled teenager in profound disbelief. He leaned over to All Might and whispered, "Are we bribing him with a greenhouse?"

 

"It appears so," Toshinori whispered back, equally baffled. "The boy has a very specific love language."

 

"Mr. Midoriya," Nezu said, stepping closer, holding out a paw. "I have the discretionary budget of a small nation. I will build this dome for you on U.A. campus. You will have unlimited funding. Unlimited resources. You can grow the largest pumpkins the world has ever seen in absolute, heavily guarded safety. All I ask is that you wear our uniform, attend basic classes, and perhaps help our hero students understand the true meaning of hard work."

 

Izuku looked up at Nezu. He looked back at his rustic, manual-labor-intensive farm. He looked at the blueprints of the high-tech bio-dome.

 

The moral high ground was a wonderful thing, but perfectly balanced, automated soil pH was a temptation no mortal man could resist.

 

Izuku reached out his massive hand, dwarfing Nezu's paw entirely, and shook it gently.

 

"Principal Nezu," Izuku said, his voice choked with emotion. "I will be the best General Education student U.A. has ever seen. Just... promise me I can pick out the specific brand of LED grow lights."

 

"You have my word," Nezu smiled triumphantly.

 

As the heroes walked back to their SUV, having successfully secured the most terrifyingly powerful teenager in Japan using the promise of farming equipment, Aizawa let out a long, exhausted sigh.

 

"I have a terrible feeling about this, Nezu," Aizawa muttered, opening the car door. "He's not a hero student. He's not going to follow our rules. He's going to turn the campus into a jungle."

 

"Oh, I am counting on it," Nezu chuckled, climbing into the back seat. "U.A. has grown far too sterile, Aizawa. It is time we injected a little bit of nature back into the ecosystem."

 

Toshinori lingered for a moment, looking back at the porch. Izuku had picked up his mother, holding her effortlessly in his arms, and was carrying her inside the house, humming a happy tune.

 

The Symbol of Peace smiled warmly. The boy might not want to wear a cape, and he might not want to punch villains. But Toshinori had seen the look in Izuku's eyes. It was a look of absolute, unwavering dedication to nurturing life.

 

You can run from the hero title all you want, young Midoriya, Toshinori thought to himself as he climbed into the car. But a hero is defined by his heart. And your heart is as vast as the earth itself.

 

Izuku Midoriya was going to U.A. High School. And Hero Society was utterly unprepared for the harvest that was about to come.

 

 

 

The campus of U.A. High School was a monument to architectural hubris and superheroic grandeur. Its massive, H-shaped glass towers pierced the skyline of Musutafu, acting as a beacon of hope for the civilian populace and a glaring challenge to the criminal underworld. Every hallway, every training ground, and every cafeteria was designed to forge the next generation of demigods.

 

It was an environment engineered for high-stakes drama, explosive rivalries, and bone-shattering combat.

 

Izuku Midoriya, however, found it all a bit too noisy.

 

It had been two weeks since Izuku officially enrolled in the General Education Department, Class 1-C. His morning routine was delightfully mundane. He wore the standard U.A. uniform—though the blazer had to be custom-tailored to accommodate the sheer, lumberjack-esque width of his shoulders—and he sat quietly in the back row during subjects like Modern English, Mathematics, and Japanese History. He was an attentive, polite student. He took meticulous notes, never spoke out of turn, and possessed a gentle, dopey smile that made him quite popular with the girls in his homeroom.

 

But the moment the lunch bell rang, and the hero course students marched off to perform death-defying feats in their tactical costumes, Izuku transformed.

 

He would shed his blazer, loosen his tie, pull a worn pair of denim overalls and a straw hat from his locker, and make the half-mile trek to the farthest corner of the campus.

 

There, nestled behind a dense grove of cedar trees and completely shielded from the prying eyes of the main campus, sat the result of Principal Nezu’s blank check.

 

The U.A. Experimental Agricultural Bio-Dome.

 

It was a staggering feat of modern engineering. Spanning thirty thousand square feet, the colossal geodesic dome gleamed like a multifaceted diamond under the sun. It was constructed of quirk-resistant, hyper-insulating smart-glass, supported by a framework of brushed titanium.

 

When Izuku stepped through the heavy airlock doors, he entered paradise.

 

The air inside the dome was thick, warm, and fragrant with the scent of rich loam and blooming jasmine. The massive space was divided into specialized micro-climates. To the east, a terraced hydroponics bay circulated nutrient-dense water through thousands of leafy greens. To the west, an aeroponic orchard suspended exotic fruit trees in mid-air, their roots occasionally misted by automated drones. In the center lay a sprawling expanse of traditional, deep-soil cultivation beds where Izuku grew his heavy-duty root vegetables and, of course, his prize-winning pumpkins.

 

"Good afternoon, everyone," Izuku murmured, pulling on a pair of thick leather work gloves.

 

The plants seemed to rustle in response, leaves turning slightly toward him as if greeting an old friend. A faint, bioluminescent emerald aura flickered around Izuku’s fingertips. He didn't even need to consciously activate his Quirk; his sheer presence in the dome raised the ambient vitality of the flora by two hundred percent.

 

While Izuku was currently measuring the electrical conductivity of his tomato soil, a completely different atmosphere was boiling over in the cafeteria of the main building.

 

Class 1-A, the premier Hero Course students, were exhausted. They had just survived another grueling morning of combat training with Eraserhead, resulting in several bruises, scorched uniforms, and bruised egos.

 

Sitting at a long table, scarfing down massive bowls of rice and pork cutlets, the hero students were engaged in their favorite pastime: aggressive gossip.

 

"I'm telling you, it's a conspiracy," Denki Kaminari mumbled through a mouthful of rice, waving his chopsticks wildly. "I heard it from a third-year Support student who heard it from one of the construction bots. Nezu is hiding a secret weapon."

 

Mina Ashido leaned in, her pink skin flushed with excitement. "A secret weapon? Like, a robot?"

 

"No, a student!" Kaminari whispered dramatically. "They say he has a god-tier Quirk. Like, All Might levels of power. But Nezu is keeping him off the grid. They built an entire secret facility on the north side of the campus just to contain him."

 

Tenya Iida, Class 1-A's rigidly rule-abiding class representative, chopped his hand through the air. "Kaminari! It is unbecoming of a U.A. student to spread baseless rumors! If the principal had a student of such caliber, they would be in Class 1-A to foster a spirit of healthy competition!"

 

"It's not a baseless rumor, Four-Eyes," a low, venomous voice growled.

 

The table went silent. Katsuki Bakugo was sitting at the end of the table, violently stabbing a piece of spicy chicken with his fork. His red eyes were narrowed into slits, radiating a terrifying amount of heat.

 

"The nerd exists," Bakugo practically spat. "And he’s not a secret weapon. He's a cowardly, dirt-eating loser who’s wasting the strongest Quirk I’ve ever seen on a bunch of stupid vegetables."

 

Ochaco Uraraka, a sweet-natured girl with a permanent blush on her cheeks, tilted her head. "Wait, you know him, Bakugo? He grows vegetables?"

 

"Shut up, Round Face! Don't talk about him!" Bakugo yelled, small explosions popping in his palms, crisping the edges of his lunch tray. "He pisses me off! He's over there in his multi-million-yen glass bubble, probably singing to his cabbages, while we're out here busting our asses! It makes me sick!"

 

With that, Bakugo stood up, threw his empty tray into a nearby receptacle with unnecessary force, and stormed out of the cafeteria.

 

The remaining students stared after him.

 

Shoto Todoroki, a boy with half-white, half-red hair and an expression of perpetual, mild dissociation, paused with a piece of cold soba halfway to his mouth. "He said the student is in a glass bubble?"

 

"Wait," Uraraka said, her eyes widening. "Yesterday, when I was floating to clean the windows on the third floor, I saw a huge glass dome way out past the faux-city training grounds. I thought it was a botanical garden!"

 

Iida pushed his glasses up his nose, the lenses flashing with righteous curiosity. "If a student possesses a Quirk strong enough to genuinely irritate Bakugo—a feat, admittedly, not difficult to achieve, but rarely regarding someone's superior strength—then it is our duty as his peers to introduce ourselves and ascertain his intentions!"

 

Todoroki slurped his noodles. "He also said the student grows vegetables. Do you think he knows how to cultivate high-yield soybeans? Cold soba is heavily reliant on a good soy sauce."

 

Uraraka and Iida stared at Todoroki for a second.

 

"Right," Uraraka said, clapping her hands together. "Operation: Find the Secret Cabbage Hero is a go!"

 

Thirty minutes later, taking advantage of a free study period, the trio of Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki found themselves trekking through the dense woods on the outskirts of the U.A. property.

 

As they pushed through the final line of cedar trees, they stopped in their tracks.

 

"Good heavens," Iida breathed, his jaw dropping.

 

The Bio-Dome was monolithic. It shimmered in the afternoon sun, a futuristic cathedral of agriculture. The sheer amount of funding required to build such a structure was staggering.

 

"Let us approach with caution," Iida whispered, dropping into a ridiculous, exaggerated tactical crouch. "We do not know the nature of this student's power. Stay alert."

 

Uraraka nodded, touching her fingertips together, ready to use her Zero Gravity quirk at a moment's notice. Todoroki merely blinked, his hands shoved in his pockets, wondering if he could buy a snack inside.

 

They crept up to the massive glass walls, peeking through a clear panel into the central deep-soil beds.

 

What they saw shattered every expectation they had.

 

There was a tractor. It was not a small garden tractor; it was a massive, commercial-grade, bright green agricultural machine weighing upwards of two tons. It was currently hovering in the air.

 

No, it wasn't hovering.

 

Standing beneath the rear axle, wearing a straw hat, a white tank top, and dirt-stained overalls, was a teenager. He was humming a cheerful pop song. With his right arm—an arm wrapped in layers of dense, corded, terrifying muscle—he was casually holding the entire rear end of the two-ton tractor off the ground. With his left hand, he was leisurely swapping out a massive, blown-out rubber tire.

 

He wasn't sweating. He wasn't glowing with a Quirk activation. He was just... holding it. Like it was a slightly heavy bag of groceries.

 

Uraraka let out a faint, strangled squeak. "Is... is his Quirk super strength?"

 

Iida adjusted his glasses frantically. "No! Look closely! There are no stress lines on his musculature, no glowing energy! That is pure, unadulterated physical conditioning! He is violating a dozen safety protocols! He doesn't even have a jack stand!"

 

Todoroki stared at the boy's broad shoulders, his green hair, and his sheer, reality-defying physical presence. Todoroki's mind, prone to wild conspiracy theories regarding secret lineages, immediately went into overdrive.

 

"...He's green," Todoroki whispered. "All Might has blonde hair. But... the sheer power... is he All Might's secret love child with a forest spirit?"

 

Before Iida could reprimand Todoroki for such a ridiculous statement, Izuku finished tightening the final lug nut on the tire. He gently—almost delicately—lowered the two-ton tractor back to the earth. He dusted off his hands, picked up a towel to wipe his brow, and turned around.

 

He spotted the three hero students instantly.

 

Instead of looking panicked or defensive, Izuku's face lit up with a brilliant, blindingly pure smile. It was a smile so wholesome, so devoid of malice, that Uraraka actually felt a phantom arrow strike her heart.

 

Izuku waved them over, gesturing toward the main airlock door.

 

The trio exchanged glances, abandoned their stealth tactics, and walked through the entrance.

 

"Hello!" Izuku called out cheerfully as they stepped into the humid, sweet-smelling air of the dome. He jogged over, holding out a massive, calloused hand. "You're from Class 1-A, right? I've seen you guys on the sports festival footage from previous years. I'm Izuku Midoriya. I'm in Class 1-C."

 

Iida stepped forward, bowing at a perfect ninety-degree angle. "I am Tenya Iida! This is Ochaco Uraraka and Shoto Todoroki! We came to investigate rumors of a secret, incredibly powerful student residing in a hidden facility! However, we did not expect to find you performing unauthorized heavy machinery maintenance using only your bare hands!"

 

Izuku chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Oh, the tractor? The hydraulics on the lift gave out this morning. It was faster to just lift it myself than wait for the Support Course to fix it. The soil in Sector 3 really needed to be tilled before the afternoon humidity cycle."

 

Uraraka stared at Izuku’s biceps. They were roughly the size of her head. "You... you lifted two tons. Because you didn't want to wait for a mechanic?"

 

"Farming waits for no man, Uraraka-san," Izuku said, utterly serious for a split second, before returning to his cheerful demeanor. "Anyway, it's really nice to meet you all! Kacchan mentioned he had some strong classmates, but he usually just yells about how he's going to crush you all, so it's hard to get specifics."

 

"Kacchan?" Todoroki asked, deadpan.

 

"Oh, Katsuki Bakugo. We grew up together," Izuku explained, picking up a watering can. "He's very passionate."

 

"That is one word for it," Iida muttered.

 

"Well, since you're here, would you guys like some tea? Or some fruit?" Izuku offered, gesturing toward a lush canopy of trees nearby. "I just harvested a fresh batch of Honey-Crisp apples. I infused the soil with a faint trace of ambient energy, so they're incredibly good for muscle recovery."

 

"I would love an apple!" Uraraka beamed, her stomach betraying her with a loud rumble.

 

"Actually," Izuku paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. He looked at the three incredibly powerful hero students. He looked at the massive checklist of chores he had pinned to a nearby bulletin board.

 

A slightly devious, though entirely wholesome, glint appeared in Izuku's emerald eyes.

 

"You know," Izuku began, leaning against his tractor, "I was just thinking that I'm a bit behind schedule today. And Kacchan always says that true heroes are always looking for ways to push their limits and train their Quirks."

 

Iida stood at attention. "That is correct! A hero must always strive to improve!"

 

"Perfect," Izuku clapped his massive hands together, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "How would you three like to experience the ultimate, high-intensity, Quirk-enhancing training regimen?"

 

The hero students exchanged excited glances. A secret training regime from the guy who could bench-press a tractor? This was exactly the kind of anime protagonist power-up they were looking for!

 

"We accept!" Iida declared.

 

Ten minutes later, the illusion of a glamorous anime power-up was violently shattered.

 

Ochaco Uraraka was suspended twenty feet in the air, sweating profusely, her arms trembling as she desperately tried to rip a stubborn apple from a branch.

 

"Pull from your lats, Uraraka-san!" Izuku called out from the ground, holding a clipboard and nodding approvingly. "When you use Zero Gravity on yourself, you eliminate your weight, but you also eliminate your leverage! You have to rely entirely on your core strength and upper back muscles to manipulate objects! Keep pulling!"

 

"It... won't... budge!" Uraraka grunted, her face flushed red as she braced her feet against the trunk of the tree and hauled on the apple. With a final, desperate heave, the apple popped loose. Uraraka spun out of control in zero gravity, flailing wildly before Izuku gently caught her by the ankle and pulled her down to the soft moss below.

 

"Excellent work!" Izuku beamed, handing her a bottle of ice-cold water. "Thirty more trees to go!"

 

Uraraka groaned, collapsing onto the grass, her arms feeling like wet noodles.

 

Meanwhile, in Sector 4, Tenya Iida was discovering the limits of his internal combustion engine.

 

"Form is everything, Iida-kun!" Izuku shouted over the roaring of Iida's calf engines. "Speed is useless without precision!"

 

Iida was strapped into a heavy leather harness, dragging a rusted, heavily weighted manual plow behind him. He was sprinting up and down the hundred-yard dirt lanes.

 

"My... calves... are... burning!" Iida yelled, exhaust smoke billowing from his legs as he tore through the dirt, perfectly turning the soil.

 

"That's the lactic acid! Push through it! You're aerating the soil perfectly!" Izuku cheered, checking a stopwatch. "You're learning how to apply maximum torque at a sustained, low speed instead of just sprinting in bursts! It’s the difference between a race car and a freight train! Now, pivot and hit row twelve!"

 

"Understood!" Iida roared, deeply indoctrinated by the sheer authority of Izuku’s agricultural passion. He banked hard left, the plow digging deep into the earth.

 

But the most bizarre scene was taking place in the sealed, hyper-humid tropical wing.

 

Shoto Todoroki sat completely cross-legged on a bamboo mat in the center of the room. He was surrounded by dozens of rare, highly sensitive Dragon Fruit and Mango hybrid trees.

 

Izuku stood next to him, holding a digital thermometer.

 

"Okay, Shoto-kun, the ambient humidity is dropping slightly near the western wall," Izuku instructed gently. "I need you to output a steady, low-level wave of heat from your left side. Just enough to simulate a mild tropical breeze. But simultaneously, the roots of the mango trees need to stay cool, so output a very thin layer of frost from your right foot along the ground."

 

Todoroki’s brow was furrowed in extreme concentration. For his entire life, his father, the Number Two Hero Endeavor, had trained him to use his fire to incinerate, to destroy, to output maximum thermal energy. His ice was meant to freeze enemies solid, to create massive, jagged glaciers.

 

He had never, in his entire life, been asked to act as a precision thermostat for a papaya.

 

"Like... this?" Todoroki strained, a gentle wave of heat rippling from his left shoulder, while a thin, delicate sheet of cool mist rolled off his right side.

 

Izuku checked the thermometer. "Perfect! Exactly 82 degrees Fahrenheit. Hold that output for exactly ten minutes. You're teaching your body how to compartmentalize dual-output without relying on explosive bursts. It's the ultimate control training."

 

Todoroki stared at the fruit tree in front of him. He could feel the delicate balance of his own body. He wasn't fighting. He wasn't hurting anyone. He was just... warming up a fruit. The sheer, peaceful absurdity of it made a tiny, imperceptible smile tug at the corner of Todoroki's mouth.

 

"Midoriya," Todoroki said softly, his eyes focused on the leaves.

 

"Yes, Shoto-kun?"

 

"When this mango ripens... may I eat it?"

 

Izuku’s smile was blinding. "Absolutely. It’s going to be the best mango you've ever had."

 

Two hours later, the ultimate training session came to an end.

 

Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki were sprawled out on a massive, perfectly manicured lawn of Kentucky Bluegrass near the center of the dome. They were covered in dirt, sweating through their gym uniforms, and utterly exhausted. Every muscle in their bodies screamed in agony.

 

They had never felt better.

 

"I can't... feel my arms," Uraraka whimpered happily, staring up at the glass ceiling of the dome. "But I feel like I could punch a hole through a brick wall."

 

"My engine pipes are completely clear of carbon buildup," Iida noted, rubbing his calves in awe. "The sustained torque requirement forced my engines to run at optimal combustion temperatures. Midoriya, this is a revolutionary training method!"

 

Izuku chuckled, walking over with a large wooden tray. "You guys did great. You saved me a whole afternoon of work. As a reward, please, eat up."

 

On the tray were slices of the Honey-Crisp apples Uraraka had picked, thick wedges of chilled watermelon, and a bowl of the cherry tomatoes Izuku had grown specifically for Aizawa.

 

The trio eagerly grabbed the fruit. The moment the food touched their tongues, their eyes went wide.

 

It wasn't just the flavor—though it was objectively the most delicious, perfectly sweet, and rich fruit they had ever consumed. It was the effect.

 

The moment Uraraka swallowed a slice of apple, a rush of pure, revitalizing energy flooded her veins. The lactic acid in her muscles evaporated. Her exhaustion vanished, replaced by a deep, humming vitality. It was as if she had slept for twelve hours and woken up with a shot of adrenaline.

 

"What... what did you put in this?!" Todoroki asked, staring at a cherry tomato as if it were a holy relic.

 

"Just a little bit of my Quirk," Izuku smiled, taking a seat on the grass with them. "My Quirk is called Genesis. I can manipulate plant life. But I also discovered that if I feed my own ambient energy into the root systems, the plants absorb it and convert it into highly concentrated, cellular-repairing macronutrients. It's basically a natural healing potion."

 

Iida pushed his glasses up, looking at Izuku with newfound, profound respect. "Midoriya. You possess a Quirk that can heal fatigue, enhance physical recovery, and manipulate the environment. With your physical strength, you could easily be in the top five of our hero class. Why did you choose General Education?"

 

Izuku looked out over his crops, the setting sun casting a golden glow through the glass panels of the dome. He looked at the gentle sway of the leaves, the vibrant colors of the fruit, the peaceful, quiet rhythm of life that he had cultivated with his own two hands.

 

"Because," Izuku said softly, "fighting destroys things. I want to grow things. I don't want to be the guy who stops the bad guys. I want to be the guy who gives the good guys a warm meal and a place to rest when the fight is over."

 

The three hero students sat in silence, moved by the sheer, quiet dignity of the boy in overalls. Bakugo had called him a coward. They realized, in that moment, that Izuku Midoriya was perhaps the most secure, deeply courageous person they had ever met.

 

"Well," Uraraka smiled, raising her apple slice in a toast. "To the Cabbage Hero."

 

"To the Cabbage Hero!" Iida and Todoroki echoed, clinking their fruit together.

 

Izuku laughed, a rich, booming sound that echoed through the dome. For the first time since coming to U.A., he felt like he had actually made some friends.

 

The following Wednesday began like any other.

 

Izuku was in the Bio-Dome, carefully pruning the bonsai trees in the Zen garden sector. He had his headphones in, listening to a podcast about sustainable irrigation techniques in arid climates.

 

Class 1-A, meanwhile, had been loaded onto a bus and driven off-campus to a facility known as the Unforeseen Simulation Joint (USJ)—a massive, multi-zoned arena designed for rescue training.

 

Izuku hummed happily, carefully snipping a tiny, rogue branch off a miniature pine tree.

 

Suddenly, the music in his headphones cut out, replaced by a sharp, static hiss.

 

"Midoriya."

 

Izuku paused, tapping his earpiece. "Principal Nezu? I thought this frequency was only for emergencies regarding the dome's climate control."

 

"It is an emergency, Izuku, though not of the agricultural variety," Nezu’s voice was uncharacteristically tight, stripped of its usual cheerful lilt. "I am calling you because you are the only one on campus right now who has the physical capability and the necessary speed to reach the USJ facility in under three minutes."

 

Izuku frowned, setting down his pruning shears. "The USJ? Where Class 1-A went? What's wrong?"

 

"Villains," Nezu said simply. "A massive, coordinated incursion. The alarms have been tripped. The communication lines have been jammed by a localized electrical Quirk. We cannot reach Eraserhead or Thirteen. I have dispatched All Might and the staff, but they will take at least ten minutes to arrive."

 

Izuku stood up, wiping his hands on his overalls. His heart rate elevated slightly, but his mind remained practical. "Ten minutes is a long time in a fight. But sir, I'm not a hero. I don't have a license to fight villains."

 

"I am aware," Nezu replied. "And I am not asking you to fight, Izuku. I am asking you to perform a rescue. You are allowed to use your Quirk to protect human life in an emergency."

 

Izuku looked down at his calloused hands. He thought of Uraraka’s bright smile. He thought of Iida’s earnest dedication. He thought of Todoroki’s quiet appreciation of the mango tree.

 

"Okay," Izuku said, his voice dropping an octave, slipping into that resonant, earthy tone that had terrified the villain on his farm. "I'll go."

 

"Excellent," Nezu paused. A deeply cunning, manipulative note crept into the principal's voice. He knew exactly what buttons to press to unlock the true potential of the Force of Nature. "Oh, and Izuku? One more thing."

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

"The villains... they breached the USJ through the central plaza," Nezu sighed dramatically. "I fear they are currently trampling all over the facility's botanical garden. They are destroying the ancient, imported Baobab trees we use for the jungle simulation. The foliage is being... reduced to ash."

 

Silence stretched over the comms.

 

In the Bio-Dome, the ambient temperature suddenly plummeted by twenty degrees. The leaves on the trees shivered. The ground beneath Izuku's heavy boots cracked, spiderwebs of fissures spreading across the concrete pathway.

 

Izuku's eyes, usually warm and gentle, ignited into a blinding, radioactive green. The straw hat cast a dark shadow over his face, leaving only the furious, glowing orbs visible.

 

"They are hurting the trees?" Izuku whispered. The sound wasn't human. It sounded like two tectonic plates grinding together.

 

"I'm afraid so," Nezu said, entirely unapologetic for weaponizing the boy's bizarre priorities.

 

Izuku dropped his watering can. It hit the ground with a dull clang, water spilling across the concrete.

 

"I'll be there in two minutes," Izuku said softly.

 

He didn't run to the door. He simply slammed his boot into the ground. A massive, coiled root erupted from the earth beneath him, catapulting Izuku straight up toward the roof of the dome. With a casual wave of his hand, a panel of the smart-glass slid open, allowing him to launch out into the open sky.

 

He soared over the U.A. campus like a human cannonball, his trajectory aimed dead center at the distant dome of the USJ.

 

Izuku Midoriya did not care about hero rankings. He did not care about villain syndicates. He did not care about the ideological battle between good and evil.

 

But if you stepped on his friends, and you trampled a perfectly good botanical garden?

 

You were going to be composted.

 

 

 

Shota Aizawa was intimately familiar with the taste of his own blood. It was a hazard of the trade for an Underground Hero. But as he lay on the cracked concrete of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint’s central plaza, his vision swimming in a haze of crimson and agonizing pain, he realized this was an entirely different magnitude of defeat.

 

His right arm was shattered, bent at a horrific, unnatural angle. His orbital floor was fractured. Every time he tried to draw breath, his ribs ground together like jagged shards of glass.

 

Standing above him, blotting out the artificial lights of the USJ, was a monster ripped straight from a nightmare. The Nomu. It was a hulking, bio-engineered abomination of exposed brain matter, bulging, purple musculature, and bird-like features. It didn’t breathe so much as it hissed, waiting for its master's next command with vacant, soulless obedience.

 

A few yards away, Tomura Shigaraki scratched frantically at his neck. The pale, emaciated villain adorned with disembodied hands let out a dry, rasping laugh that echoed across the terrified silence of the plaza.

 

"Is this really it?" Shigaraki whined, sounding like a petulant child who had been promised a new toy and received a pair of socks instead. "Where is All Might? The schedule said the Symbol of Peace was supposed to be here. I went through all the trouble of bringing my anti-Symbol cheat code, and the final boss didn't even spawn. Just a bunch of low-level NPCs and a broken Eraser."

 

In the flooded Shipwreck Zone, Tsuyu Asui and Minoru Mineta watched in frozen horror. Near the entrance, Thirteen lay incapacitated, while a battered Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima, and Shoto Todoroki stood paralyzed by the sheer, suffocating aura of death radiating from the villains. Ochaco Uraraka and Tenya Iida were trapped near the steps, desperately trying to figure out a way to escape and call for help.

 

They were children, playing dress-up, who had suddenly been dropped into a slaughterhouse.

 

"Nomu," Shigaraki sighed boredly, gesturing lazily toward Aizawa's broken form. "Finish him off. Let's see if killing the teacher draws out the big boss."

 

The Nomu raised a massive, grotesque fist, the air screaming around the sheer velocity of the wind-up. Aizawa forced his heavy, bloodshot eyes open. He couldn't blink. He had to erase its Quirk, just for a second, to give his students a chance to run.

 

But Aizawa’s vision was failing. The fist descended. Uraraka screamed.

 

Then, the world ended.

 

Or, at least, that was what it sounded like.

 

A deafening, apocalyptic boom echoed through the colossal dome. The sound did not come from an explosion, nor did it come from the Nomu. It came from the reinforced, multi-ton titanium blast doors at the main entrance of the USJ.

 

Every head in the facility—hero and villain alike—snapped upward.

 

The titanium doors did not just open. They buckled inward with a horrific screech of tearing metal, bulging as if an unfathomable pressure was pushing against them from the outside. A split second later, the massive doors were completely blown off their hinges, flying through the air like discarded playing cards and crashing into the concrete stairwell with earth-shattering force.

 

But it wasn't a bomb that had breached the doors.

 

It was roots.

 

Massive, undulating coils of ancient wood, thick as subway cars, had burst through the steel frame, tearing the U.A. security grid to absolute shreds. The roots writhed for a moment, expanding the breach, before slowly retracting into the earth, leaving a gaping, jagged hole leading outside.

 

Through the cloud of settling dust and twisted metal, a figure stepped into the USJ.

 

The sheer atmospheric pressure in the dome changed instantaneously. The artificial, climate-controlled air of the facility was violently overridden by a wave of heavy, humid, suffocating atmosphere. It smelled of ozone, crushed pine needles, and the terrifying scent of an impending hurricane.

 

Shigaraki stopped scratching his neck. He squinted through the dust. "What... what is that? Is that a hidden boss?"

 

The dust cleared.

 

Standing at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the army of villains, was a fifteen-year-old boy. He was wearing heavy leather work boots, faded denim overalls, a white tank top, and a straw hat.

 

To the League of Villains, he looked like a lost civilian.

 

To Class 1-A, he looked like a descending god.

 

"Midoriya!" Uraraka cried out, tears of absolute relief spilling down her cheeks.

 

"The Cabbage Hero..." Todoroki breathed from the landslide zone, lowering his ice-covered hands.

 

Izuku Midoriya did not look at his classmates. He did not look at the shattered doors. He was looking at the plaza. He was looking at the dozens of thugs trampling the manicured flower beds. He was looking at the crater the Nomu had smashed into the earth.

 

Beneath the shadow of the straw hat, Izuku's eyes were glowing. It was a fierce, radioactive, bioluminescent green that cut through the gloom of the dome like twin laser beams. The air around him distorted, a visible aura of emerald energy radiating from his broad shoulders, warping the light itself.

 

Shigaraki stared at the boy, then let out a sharp, mocking cackle. "A farmer? U.A.'s backup is a literal farmer? Kurogiri, did they send the groundskeeper to fight us?"

 

The shadowy portal villain materialized beside Shigaraki, his yellow eyes narrowing. "Tomura Shigaraki. Do not be deceived by his attire. The readings on his biological output are... astronomical. I cannot fathom what kind of Quirk he possesses."

 

Izuku took a single step down the stairs. The concrete cracked under his boot.

 

"You're tracking mud onto the concourse," Izuku’s voice rolled across the massive facility. He wasn't yelling, but the sheer, resonant frequency of his voice vibrated in the chest cavities of everyone present. It was the sound of shifting tectonic plates.

 

Shigaraki’s eye twitched in annoyance. "Kill him. I don't care if he's an NPC. Swarm him."

 

At Shigaraki's command, fifty low-level villains stationed around the plaza let out a collective roar. Armed with various mutation Quirks—blades for arms, scaled skin, venomous fangs—they charged up the stairs toward the lone, overall-clad teenager. It was a tidal wave of violent intent, rushing upwards to drown him.

 

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't take a combat stance. He simply reached up with one massive, calloused hand, adjusted the brim of his straw hat, and sighed.

 

"Harvest," Izuku murmured. "Tiller."

 

He stomped his foot.

 

The very foundation of the USJ surrendered to his will. The concrete of the grand staircase and the entire central plaza instantly liquefied. It didn't turn to mud—it behaved as if the solid earth had suddenly become a churning, violent blender of soil and stone.

 

The charging horde of villains didn't even have time to scream.

 

The earth surged upward like a crashing wave, swallowing the fifty men whole. The ground churned, rotating and aerating itself with terrifying, industrial efficiency. For three agonizingly long seconds, the villains were tossed like rags in a washing machine of dirt.

 

Then, the ground solidified.

 

Class 1-A watched in utterly stunned silence. The fifty villains who had just charged Izuku were now buried in the concrete up to their necks. They were perfectly immobilized, their heads poking out of the pristine, newly leveled floor like a bizarre crop of very ugly cabbages. They were completely unharmed, but entirely trapped in the unbreakable grip of the earth.

 

Izuku hadn't even thrown a punch. He had simply reorganized the dirt.

 

Shigaraki staggered backward, a hand flying up to his face. "What? What was that?! He just one-shotted half my vanguard! He's a cheater! Kurogiri, he's using a cheat code!"

 

"I told you," Izuku said, walking slowly down the stairs, his glowing green eyes locked onto Shigaraki. "You're trespassing."

 

"Shut up! Shut up, you arrogant NPC!" Shigaraki shrieked, his childish temper flaring into genuine, destructive rage. "You think you're special because you have some flashy earth Quirk? You think you can talk down to me?!"

 

In his tantrum, Shigaraki lashed out. He spun around, slamming his five fingers onto the trunk of the massive, ancient Baobab tree that served as the centerpiece of the USJ’s botanical garden zone. It was a tree that had been imported from Madagascar, a majestic, two-hundred-year-old titan of nature.

 

Shigaraki's Decay Quirk activated.

 

The effect was instantaneous and horrific. The ancient bark turned ashen and brittle. The vibrant green canopy of leaves withered into dust. A sickening, dry crumbling sound filled the air as the two-hundred-year-old tree was reduced to a pile of grey ash in less than five seconds.

 

"Everything crumbles," Shigaraki panted, staring manic-eyed at Izuku. "Everything decays. Let's see you grow that back, farm boy."

 

A profound, unnatural silence fell over the USJ.

 

Izuku stopped walking.

 

He stared at the pile of ash. His connection to the plant life around him was empathic. He didn't just control the earth; he felt it. And he had just felt a two-hundred-year-old, peaceful living creature scream in agony as it was violently erased from existence.

 

The ambient temperature in the dome dropped to freezing.

 

The glowing green light radiating from Izuku’s eyes did not flare brighter; instead, it darkened. It shifted from the vibrant green of new spring grass to the deep, abyssal, terrifying green of a suffocating, lightless jungle.

 

Aizawa, still lying on the ground, felt a primal shudder run down his spine. The Underground Hero had faced serial killers, psychopaths, and monsters. But the aura pouring off of Izuku Midoriya in this exact moment was infinitely more terrifying. It wasn't malice. It wasn't human anger.

 

It was the indifferent, crushing wrath of Nature itself.

 

"You... you composted it," Izuku whispered, his voice completely devoid of its usual warmth. It was hollow. Empty. "Without letting it drop its seeds. You broke the cycle."

 

"Nomu!" Shigaraki screamed, suddenly feeling an overwhelming wave of biological terror screaming at him to run. "Kill him! Rip his head off!"

 

The bio-engineered abomination shrieked, a sound like tearing metal. It abandoned Aizawa, pivoting on its massive heels. The concrete shattered beneath its feet as the Nomu launched itself forward. It moved faster than the human eye could track, a blur of purple muscle and violent intent, closing the fifty-yard gap between itself and Izuku in a fraction of a second.

 

"Midoriya! Move!" Aizawa croaked out, his voice raw with panic.

 

Izuku did not move. He did not dodge.

 

He simply raised his left hand, opening his palm.

 

As the Nomu drew back its fist—a fist capable of matching All Might’s 100% Smash—Izuku’s Quirk flared. But he didn't manipulate the ground. He manipulated his own biology.

 

"Genesis: Ironwood Bark."

 

In a microsecond, the skin, muscle, and bone of Izuku’s left hand and forearm underwent a miraculous, violent transmutation. It shifted from human flesh into the dense, blackened, diamond-hard cellular structure of African Blackwood—the heaviest, most impenetrable timber on planet Earth.

 

The Nomu’s fist slammed into Izuku’s open palm.

 

The impact generated a massive shockwave that rippled through the dome. The remaining glass panels in the USJ’s ceiling shattered. The water in the Shipwreck Zone was violently blown backward. The wind pressure forced Shigaraki and the students to cover their faces.

 

When the dust cleared, the sight defied all known laws of physics.

 

Izuku Midoriya had caught the punch. He hadn't been pushed back a single inch. His overalls were violently fluttering in the wind, his straw hat blown completely off his head, revealing his dark green curls. But his posture was flawless. His Ironwood-coated hand held the Nomu’s massive fist in a vice grip.

 

The Nomu, lacking higher intelligence, tilted its exposed brain in confusion. It pulled, trying to rip its arm away.

 

Izuku's grip tightened. The sound of the Nomu's reinforced bones splintering under Izuku's grasp echoed like rifle shots. The monster shrieked in pain.

 

"You are strong," Izuku said softly, looking into the Nomu's dead, vacant eyes. The boy's voice was filled with a strange, melancholic pity. "But you're just a cut flower. You have no roots. You are already dead."

 

Izuku reached into the front pocket of his overalls with his free hand. He pulled out a single, tiny brown seed.

 

He pressed the seed directly into the exposed, fleshy wound on the Nomu's arm, right where he had shattered the bone.

 

"Genesis: Overgrowth."

 

Izuku let go and took a single step backward.

 

The Nomu raised its arm to swing again, but froze. A violent, emerald light began to pulse from inside the monster's purple musculature. The Nomu let out a garbled, terrified screech as its body began to bulge and distort.

 

The seed didn't just sprout; it aggressively colonized the host.

 

Thick, brown roots burst through the Nomu's skin, instantly replacing its veins and tendons with wood. A massive, jagged trunk of redwood began to erupt from the monster's chest, tearing through its shock-absorption Quirk as if it were tissue paper. The Nomu thrashed wildly, but it was already too late. The hyper-accelerated growth was unstoppable.

 

Within five seconds, the terrifying, bio-engineered monster was entirely gone.

 

In its place, perfectly centered in the plaza, stood a magnificent, fifty-foot-tall Coastal Redwood tree. The trunk was thick, the bark deep and rich, and the canopy stretched proudly toward the shattered glass ceiling of the dome. The Nomu wasn't dead, per se, but it was perfectly, permanently encased in thousands of tons of living timber. It had been neutralized not by brute force, but by the relentless, overpowering dominance of life itself.

 

Izuku dusted off his hands. He turned his glowing, abyssal eyes toward Shigaraki.

 

Shigaraki was trembling. He was clutching his own arms, scratching so hard his neck was bleeding profusely. His mind, conditioned to view the world as a video game, was entirely broken. This wasn't a hero. This wasn't a boss fight. This was a glitch. This was a developer coming into the server and deleting his character.

 

"He... he turned the Nomu into a tree," Shigaraki gasped, hyperventilating. "Kurogiri. Kurogiri, get me out of here. It's a bug. The game is bugged! We need to leave!"

 

"Understood, Tomura," Kurogiri said, his shadowy form expanding rapidly to swallow the panicked villain. "This entity... is beyond our current capabilities."

 

As the warp gate opened, Izuku narrowed his eyes.

 

"You don't get to leave a mess on my property and just walk away," Izuku stated.

 

With a flick of his wrist, a colossal, thorny vine the size of a freight train whipped out from the newly grown Redwood tree. It lashed across the plaza with the crack of a sonic boom.

 

It didn't impale Shigaraki. Izuku wasn't a killer. Instead, the flat side of the massive vine swatted Shigaraki and Kurogiri with the exact same motion and energy one might use to swat a particularly annoying mosquito.

 

The impact launched the two villains through the air, sending them tumbling violently into the swirling vortex of the warp gate just before it snapped shut behind them.

 

Then, it was over.

 

The intense, terrifying atmospheric pressure vanished. The oppressive humidity cleared. The ambient temperature returned to a comfortable, seventy-two degrees.

 

Izuku's eyes faded from abyssal green back to their soft, warm, friendly emerald hue. He let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. He walked over, picked up his straw hat from the dirt, dusted it off, and placed it back on his head.

 

"Well," Izuku muttered, looking around at the shattered plaza, the fifty heads sticking out of the concrete, and the new fifty-foot Redwood. "This is going to take a lot of mulch to fix."

 

Before anyone in Class 1-A could process the fact that their quiet, vegetable-growing classmate had just soloed a catastrophic villain invasion in under two minutes, the doors at the top of the stairs blew open again.

 

"FEAR NOT!" a booming voice echoed through the dome. "FOR I AM—!"

 

All Might stood at the entrance, no longer smiling. He was in his muscle form, radiating furious, desperate power. Behind him stood Principal Nezu, Snipe, Midnight, and Cementoss, ready for the fight of their lives.

 

The pro-heroes surveyed the USJ.

 

They expected carnage. They expected to find Aizawa dead and the students fighting for their lives.

 

Instead, they found a beautifully manicured, albeit heavily modified, indoor forest. They saw fifty villains neatly planted in the ground like radishes, entirely subdued. And they saw the towering Redwood tree in the center of the plaza.

 

All Might blinked. His furious aura sputtered out. "What... in the name of..."

 

Aizawa, still lying broken on the ground, let out a dry, rattling chuckle. It hurt his ribs, but he couldn't help it. He turned his head weakly, looking past the new Redwood tree.

 

Izuku Midoriya was not gloating. He wasn't celebrating his victory, nor was he checking on the villains.

 

The fifteen-year-old boy was kneeling in the dirt next to the pile of ash that used to be the Baobab tree. He was gently scooping the ash into a small wooden bucket he had grown from a nearby root. Big, heavy tears were streaming down his cheeks, splashing onto his denim overalls.

 

"Don't worry," Izuku was whispering to the ash, his voice thick with genuine, heartfelt sorrow. "I'll mix you with some high-quality sphagnum moss. We'll use you as fertilizer for the new saplings. You're going to feed so many new plants. I promise."

 

Principal Nezu walked down the stairs, carefully stepping over a villain's head. He looked at Izuku, then looked at the fifty-foot tree that had not been there this morning.

 

The chimera pulled out a small pocketbook and a pen.

 

"Cementoss," Nezu called out, a delighted, terrifying smile spreading across his furry face. "Please call the police to collect the... harvest. And Aizawa?"

 

"Yeah," Aizawa groaned from the floor.

 

"I believe Mr. Midoriya has definitively passed his mid-term exams for General Education," Nezu chuckled. "Though I suspect we are going to need to increase his agricultural budget. He clearly requires more space to work."

 

Up in the landslide zone, Bakugo Katsuki stared down at the plaza. His hands were trembling, not from fear of the villains, but from the absolute, shattering realization of reality.

 

Izuku hadn't been holding back because he looked down on them.

 

Izuku was holding back because if he ever actually decided to fight, the world would be swallowed by the earth in a matter of minutes.

 

"Stupid Deku," Bakugo muttered, though there was no real venom left in his voice. Just a tired, grudging respect. "You owe me a new pepper for this."