What if Deku was deadpool reincarnation

“If you want to be a hero that badly, there’s a quick way to do it. Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life and take a swan dive off the roof of the building!”

The words echoed in the narrow, humid space of the underpass. They bounced off the concrete walls, each reverberation driving the nail a little deeper into the coffin of Izuku Midoriya’s dreams. 

Fourteen-year-old Izuku walked with his shoulders hunched so far forward he was practically inspecting the pavement. In his right hand, he loosely gripped a charred, soggy notebook. Hero Analysis for the Future, No. 13. The spine was ruined, the pages smelled like a wet campfire, and a fish had very nearly taken a bite out of All Might’s signature on the inside cover. 

A swan dive. 

Katsuki Bakugo had always been cruel. Since the day his Quirk manifested, turning his sweat into nitroglycerin and his ego into an impenetrable fortress, he had looked down on Izuku. But today was different. Telling him to commit suicide? That wasn’t just bullying. That was something darker, something that made Izuku’s chest ache with a hollow, suffocating pressure. 

"Idiot," Izuku muttered to himself, his voice cracking. A single tear escaped, cutting a clean trail through the soot on his cheek. "If I actually did it... he'd be charged with instigating suicide. He wouldn't be able to get into U.A. He's not thinking..." 

Izuku sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his gakuran uniform sleeve. He stopped walking and looked up at the sliver of blue sky visible between the towering apartment complexes of Musutafu. The world was saturated with heroes. People with powers that defied physics, logic, and biology. And then there was him. A relic of human evolution. An extra joint in his pinky toe. Quirkless. Useless. Deku.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands. "I just... I just have to keep trying. I'll go home, I'll rewrite the notes that got burned, and I'll—"

BOOM!

The ground shook violently, vibrating through the soles of Izuku’s red sneakers. A block away, the blare of police sirens was instantly drowned out by the sound of tearing metal and shattering glass. Dust billowed out from the intersection ahead, rolling down the street like a localized sandstorm.

Izuku’s head snapped up. The depression that had clouded his mind only a second ago was instantly overridden by the ingrained, Pavlovian response of a hardcore hero fanboy. A villain attack! 

Despite the heavy ache in his heart, his legs moved on their own. He sprinted toward the intersection, coughing as the concrete dust coated his lungs. When he rounded the corner, the scene was absolute chaos. 

A villain with a Quirk that seemed to manipulate tectonic pressure had cornered a group of police officers. The villain was massive, his skin entirely replaced by jagged, shifting plates of asphalt. He roared, slamming a fist into the street. A fissure ripped through the tarmac, overturning a police cruiser. 

"Where are the pros?" someone in the panicked crowd shouted. 

"Death Arms is on his way! Kamui Woods is dealing with a purse snatcher a few blocks over!" 

Izuku clutched his burned notebook to his chest, his green eyes darting around the battlefield. He was already analyzing. The villain's quirk relies on physical contact with the ground. If someone with an aerial quirk could lift him, or if someone could freeze the ground...

Suddenly, the villain let out a frustrated bellow. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!" 

He swung his massive arm, striking the support pillar of a half-constructed commercial building on the corner. The pillar snapped like a dry twig. The groan of stressed steel echoed through the street. Time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl. 

Izuku looked up. 

A massive slab of concrete, rebar, and glass was detaching from the fourth floor. And it was falling. Not toward the police. Not toward the villain. 

It was falling directly toward a little girl who had been separated from her mother, standing frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, clutching a stuffed rabbit. 

Izuku didn’t think. If he had thought about it, logic would have told him that he was a Quirkless, ninety-pound teenager with the muscle mass of wet spaghetti. Logic would have told him to scream for a hero. But Izuku didn't have time for logic. He dropped his notebook. 

He ran. 

"Hey, kid! STOP!" a police officer screamed.

Izuku dove. He hit the pavement hard, wrapping his arms around the little girl and rolling them both frantically toward the safety of the nearest storefront. He managed to heave her out of the drop zone just as the shadow engulfed him. 

Izuku looked up, the jagged face of a two-ton concrete slab filling his vision. 

Ah, Izuku thought, his mind weirdly peaceful in the final millisecond. Mom... I'm sorry.

CRUNCH.

The world didn't just go black. It shattered. 

[Well, that’s going to leave a mark.]

Actually, considering the mass of the object and the terminal velocity, it’s going to leave a smear. A puddle, if you will.

"Would you two shut up? I'm trying to figure out where the hell we are."

Izuku slowly opened his eyes. He wasn't on the street anymore. He wasn't anywhere. He was floating in a vast, infinite void of swirling purples and blacks. It looked like the deep space background of a cheap 90s sci-fi movie. He looked down at his hands. They were translucent, glowing with a faint green light. 

"Am I... dead?" Izuku whispered. 

"Ding, ding, ding! Give the kid a cigar! Wait, no, he's fourteen. Give him a... what do Japanese kids like? Pocky? A waifu body pillow?" 

Izuku spun around. Floating a few feet away from him was a man. Well, 'man' might have been a loose term. He was wearing a skin-tight, head-to-toe suit of crimson red and black spandex. He had two katanas strapped to his back, a utility belt loaded with pouches, and twin holsters on his thighs. He was floating cross-legged, munching on what appeared to be a very messy, greasy chimichanga.

"Who... who are you?" Izuku stammered, frantically patting his ghostly pockets for his notebook, which was obviously not there. "Are you a Pro Hero? Is this your Quirk? Did you save me?" 

The red-suited man stopped chewing. He stared at Izuku through the white, expressive eyes of his mask. Then, he threw his head back and burst into a fit of maniacal laughter. 

"A Pro Hero?! Oh, that's rich. Oh, my sides. No, kiddo. I'm not a hero. I'm the guy they call when the heroes are too busy having moral dilemmas to get the job done." The man floated closer, wiping a smudge of salsa off his mask. "The name’s Deadpool. Wade Wilson. The Merc with a Mouth. The Regenerating Degenerate. And, unfortunately for you, your new roommate."

Izuku blinked. "Roommate? But... I don't have a roommate. I live with my mom. Wait. You said I'm dead. Is this heaven? It doesn't look like heaven. It smells like... gunpowder and old taco meat."

[He’s got a good nose.]

He's observant. But clearly traumatized. We should probably break the news gently.

"Gently? Pfft. Since when do we do anything gently?" Wade waved his hand dismissively at the empty air. "Listen up, broccoli boy. You died. Squished. Flattened like a pancake in a cartoon. Wile E. Coyote style. It was tragic, really. I was watching. Good form on the dive, though. 8.5 out of 10."

Izuku felt his ghostly heart drop. "I'm... dead. My mom. Oh god, Mom. She's going to be all alone..." Tears welled up in his eyes. 

"Woah, woah, hey, no waterworks!" Wade panicked, floating upside down to look Izuku in the face. "Look, here’s the kicker. You were dead. But then, the universe—or maybe the sweaty guy writing this fanfiction on a keyboard covered in Cheeto dust—decided to pull a fast one."

Izuku looked deeply confused. "Fanfiction? Cheeto dust? What?"

"Don't worry about it. Fourth wall stuff. Above your paygrade right now," Wade said, patting Izuku on his ghostly shoulder. "Here's the deal, Izuku Midoriya. You've been carrying a dormant Quirk this whole time. Turns out, your body couldn't handle it, so it stayed locked away. Until now."

Izuku’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "A... a Quirk? I have a Quirk?! But the doctor said the extra joint in my toe meant—"

"Yeah, that doctor was a quack. Probably secretly working for an evil bald guy in a wheelchair. Who knows?" Wade shrugged. "Your Quirk is Extreme Cellular Regeneration. Basically, you can heal from anything. A papercut, a bullet to the brain, being crushed by two tons of cheap concrete. But it needed a hard reboot to activate. You had to die to turn it on."

"I... I can heal? Like... like Wolverine?" Izuku asked, his otaku brain slowly rebooting. 

"Ooooh, do not mention that hairy Canadian in front of me," Wade pointed a finger at him. "But yes. Just like him. Only cooler, and with less brooding. But here’s the catch, kid. Your soul was on its way out the door when the Quirk activated. It needed an anchor. And, for some ridiculous, cosmic, isekai-bullshit reason... it pulled my soul out of the ether to plug the hole."

Wade put his hands on his hips. "So, congratulations! You didn't just get a healing factor. You got all my memories, my combat skills, my unparalleled wit, my tragic backstory, and... well, my voices."

[Hi, Izuku! I like your shoes!]

Do not engage with the host, you idiot. We are symbiotes now.

Izuku grabbed his head, which was suddenly throbbing despite being a ghost. "Voices?! Why am I hearing voices in my head?!"

"Oh, you get used to them. Yellow is fun, White is a bit of a stick-in-the-mud," Wade explained cheerfully. "Anyway, time's up. Your body is done knitting itself back together in the real world. We're about to merge. It’s gonna be a bit weird. You're still gonna be you, but you're also gonna be me. It's like pouring two different flavors of soda into the same cup. It's either going to be delicious, or it's going to taste like battery acid."

"Wait! Merge?! What does that mean?! Are you taking over my body?!" Izuku panicked, trying to back away.

"Nah, kid. You're the driver. I'm just the incredibly handsome, heavily armed GPS system," Wade said. He reached out and grabbed Izuku by the shoulders. Suddenly, Wade’s body began to dissolve into glowing red energy, funneling into Izuku’s chest. 

"Wait, I have so many questions! What anime is this?! Is this a Shōnen?! Am I the protagonist?!" Wade yelled as he dissolved. 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Izuku screamed.

"Just remember!" Wade shouted, his head the only thing left. "Whenever you talk to the audience, look directly past the fourth wall! And for the love of God, don't let them censor our jokes! MAXIMUM EFFORT!" 

With a flash of blinding light, Wade Wilson vanished. 

Izuku felt a rush of foreign, terrifying information flood his brain. He felt the phantom pain of a thousand bullets, the muscle memory of a hundred martial arts, the taste of a thousand chimichangas, and an overwhelming, irrepressible urge to cause absolute, unmitigated chaos. 

And then, he woke up.

Crunch. Squelch. Snap.

Izuku gasped, his eyes flying open. It was pitch black. The air was freezing cold, smelling heavily of formaldehyde, bleach, and something distinctly metallic. Blood. His blood. 

He tried to sit up, but something was blocking him. He pushed his hands up and hit a flat, metal surface just inches above his nose. 

Oh. I'm in a drawer. Izuku thought, remarkably calm. 

[A morgue drawer! Spooky! Do we get to be zombies now?]

Negative. Pulse is steady at 60 beats per minute. Brain activity is normal. We are alive. Well, mostly.

Izuku pushed against the metal door at his feet. With a loud CLANG, the latch gave way, and the tray he was lying on rolled outward on its tracks. Bright, sterile fluorescent light flooded his vision. 

Izuku sat up, and the sounds that echoed through the quiet morgue were horrific. 

CRACK-POP-SQUELCH.

His spine, which had been pulverized into fine powder, knit itself together in a split second, the vertebrae snapping into perfect alignment. Snap, snap, snap. His shattered ribs pushed themselves out of his lungs and locked back into place around his sternum. A massive laceration across his chest stitched itself shut, the flesh writhing like a nest of pink worms until the skin was completely smooth and unblemished. 

"Hoo boy," Izuku exhaled. His voice sounded like his own, but the cadence... the cadence was different. It felt looser. Lazier. 

He looked down at himself. He was completely naked, save for a toe tag dangling from his right foot. 

Midoriya, Izuku. Cause of death: Massive blunt force trauma. Time of death: 4:12 PM.

"Massive blunt force trauma. Yeah, that's one way to put it," Izuku muttered. He swung his legs over the side of the metal slab, stretching his arms above his head. His joints popped pleasantly. He felt... incredible. His previously scrawny, Quirkless body felt exactly the same on the outside, but underneath the skin, his muscles felt coiled, dense, and vibrating with an unnatural energy. 

He hopped off the table. He looked around the morgue. There was a sink, a surgical table, and a pile of his ruined, bloody clothes sitting in a plastic evidence bag in the corner. 

Suddenly, the heavy metal door of the morgue swung open. 

A tired-looking mortician wearing a bloody apron walked in, holding a clipboard and sipping from a cup of coffee. He didn't look up. "Alright, let's get the Midoriya kid prepped for the autopsy. Tragic stuff. Fourteen years old..."

Izuku leaned against his open morgue drawer, crossing his arms and tapping his foot. 

The mortician looked up from his clipboard. 

He saw a fourteen-year-old boy, completely naked, covered in dried blood but otherwise perfectly healthy, casually leaning against the body cooler. 

The mortician’s eyes went wide. The clipboard clattered to the floor. The coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering on the tile and splashing hot liquid everywhere. 

"Ghost," the mortician whispered, his face draining of all color. "G-G-GHOST!"

Izuku sighed, rolling his eyes. He raised a hand, forming a finger gun, and winked. "Not a ghost, buddy. Just incredibly stubborn. Hey, quick question—you wouldn't happen to know where a guy could get a decent chimichanga in Musutafu, would you? Because my stomach is doing backflips, and I don't think it's from the pulverized intestines I just regenerated."

The mortician let out a high-pitched, terrified shriek, turned on his heel, and sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Rude," Izuku said to the empty room. 

[He didn't even offer us a sip of his coffee.]

Focus. We need clothes. We cannot commence our vigilante crusade in the nude. The authorities frown upon that.

"Right you are, voices in my head," Izuku said out loud. He walked over to the plastic evidence bag, ripping it open. His school uniform was ruined—shredded, soaked in blood, and caked in dust. He sighed. "Well, this is going to be a fun conversation with Mom." 

Izuku pulled on the blood-stained trousers, shivering as the cold, wet fabric clung to his legs. He tossed the ruined shirt aside, deciding to just wear the gakuran jacket buttoned all the way up to hide the blood. 

Once he was dressed, Izuku turned away from the door. He looked directly into the corner of the room, right at a blank security camera lens. But he wasn't looking at the camera. He was looking past it. 

Izuku smirked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on an invisible surface. 

"Hey there," Izuku said, staring directly at the reader. "Yeah, you. The one scrolling on your phone or staring at your monitor. Welcome to the show. I know what you're thinking. 'Izuku Midoriya? Deadpool? This fanfiction author has lost their goddamn mind.' And you know what? You're probably right. But buckle up, buttercup. Because this isn't your grandpappy's Shōnen anime anymore. We're skipping the ten-month crying montage on a trash beach. We're skipping the self-doubt. From here on out, it’s nothing but broken bones, broken fourth walls, and chimichangas."

He stood up straight, brushing imaginary dust off his bloody shoulders. 

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a woman a heart attack by telling her I died today. Cue the opening credits!" 

Izuku kicked the morgue door open and strolled out into the hallway, whistling the theme song to X-Men: The Animated Series. 

The Next Morning

Inko Midoriya was a nervous woman on a good day. Today was not a good day. 

When the police had called her yesterday afternoon to tell her that her only son had been caught in a villain attack, she had passed out. When she woke up, the police had called back, deeply apologetic and incredibly confused, to inform her that there had been a "medical anomaly" and her son was, in fact, perfectly fine. 

When Izuku had walked through the front door of their apartment, covered in dried blood and wearing a jacket that looked like it had been put through a meat grinder, Inko had cried so hard she nearly dehydrated herself. 

"Izuku, sweetie, are you absolutely sure you should be going to school today?" Inko asked, hovering nervously around the kitchen island. She was wringing a dish towel in her hands. "The hospital said they couldn't find a single scratch on you, but... you were under all that rubble! You should rest!"

Izuku sat at the kitchen table, aggressively shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. He was wearing his spare middle school uniform. 

Look at her, Wade’s memories supplied in Izuku’s mind. She is an angel. A saint. A pure cinnamon roll of a mother. If anyone ever hurts her, we will slowly dismantle them with a rusty grapefruit spoon.

[I call dibs on the kneecaps!]

Izuku swallowed his eggs and smiled brightly at his mother. "I'm totally fine, Mom! Honest! The doctor said my Quirk finally manifested. Extreme Cellular Regeneration! I'm practically indestructible!" 

Inko's eyes watered again. "A Quirk... oh, Izuku. I'm so happy for you. But still, death... you were legally dead for five minutes!" 

"It was a very restful five minutes," Izuku chirped, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Don't worry, Mom. I've never felt better. Plus, I have to go to school today. I have a very important appointment with a pomeranian." 

Inko blinked. "A... pomeranian?"

"Don't worry about it!" Izuku stood up, grabbing his yellow backpack. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Inko, giving her a tight, fierce hug. For a second, the manic energy faded, and the original Izuku—the boy who loved his mother more than anything—shone through. "I love you, Mom. Seriously. You're the best."

Inko sniffled, hugging him back. "I love you too, Izuku. Have a good day at school. And please... no more villain attacks today."

"No promises!" Izuku called out cheerily as he walked out the front door, letting it click shut behind him. 

The walk to Aldera Junior High was an experience. 

Izuku found himself viewing the world through a completely different lens. Before, he would walk with his head down, trying to avoid eye contact, analyzing the Quirks of passersby with a clinical, respectful curiosity. 

Now? Wade’s brain was running the commentary, and it was chaotic. 

Look at that guy with the long neck, Izuku thought as he passed a businessman. Sniping target. Too easy. Oh, and the lady with the purple skin? Disney lawyers are going to sue her for copyright infringement on Thanos. Careful, lady, the Mouse doesn't mess around.

[We should buy a gun. Do they sell guns at convenience stores in Japan?]

No. Japanese gun laws are incredibly strict. We will have to improvise. Or build our own.

"I am not building a gun," Izuku muttered out loud under his breath, earning a weird look from a passing student. "I'm a hero in training, not a mercenary. We're going to U.A. We have to be professional."

[Boring!]

As Izuku approached the gates of Aldera Junior High, a smirk crept onto his face. The fear that usually gripped his stomach when he looked at this building was entirely gone. It had been replaced by a bubbling, mischievous anticipation. 

He walked down the hallway, ignoring the whispers of the students. News of the villain attack yesterday had obviously hit the local news. They didn't know the full story, but they knew Izuku had been involved. 

He slid the door to his homeroom classroom open. 

The chatter instantly died. Every eye in the room turned to him. 

Izuku paused in the doorway. He looked around the room, taking in the generic faces of his classmates. 

"Ah," Izuku said out loud, his voice carrying clearly through the silent room. "The background characters. Look at you all. Completely devoid of unique character designs. You," he pointed at a boy with slightly elongated fingers. "You will work in middle management. And you," he pointed at a girl with a very minor levitation quirk, "will marry a guy named Kenji and have three average kids. None of you matter to the plot. It's almost sad."

The class stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Did Midoriya just talk? Without stuttering? And what the hell did he just say?

Izuku ignored their shock and strolled to his desk, sitting down and casually throwing his feet up onto the desk surface. He linked his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. 

"DEKU!" 

The roar rattled the windows. 

From the back of the classroom, Katsuki Bakugo stood up, kicking his desk aside. His spiky ash-blonde hair seemed to bristle with rage, and tiny explosions were already popping in the palms of his hands. His red eyes were locked onto Izuku with murderous intent. 

"What the hell are you doing here, you damn nerd?!" Bakugo growled, stomping down the aisle toward Izuku. "I saw the news! You got crushed by a damn building! Why aren't you in a hospital bed whining like a little bitch?!"

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't cower. He didn't apologize. 

Instead, he slowly lowered his feet from the desk, turned his head, and looked Bakugo dead in the eye. A wide, shark-like grin spread across his face. 

"Kacchan," Izuku said, his voice dripping with an unnatural, sickly-sweet sarcasm. "My favorite walking anger-management issue. How's the fragile masculinity treating you this morning? Still overcompensating for something?" 

The entire class gasped collectively. A pin could have dropped and sounded like a bomb. 

Bakugo froze, his brain momentarily short-circuiting. Did... did Deku just insult him? Did Deku just talk back? 

"What did you just say to me?" Bakugo’s voice dropped to a lethal, dangerous whisper. The explosions in his hands grew louder, smelling heavily of burnt sugar. 

That was it. Bakugo snapped. 

"I'LL KILL YOU!" 

Bakugo lunged forward, his right hand raised, a massive explosion already charging in his palm. He aimed it directly at Izuku's face, intending to blast the damn nerd out of his chair and back into his place. 

Before Bakugo’s hand could even cross the threshold of the desk, Izuku moved. 

It wasn't a panicked flinch. It was a calculated, blindingly fast strike. Muscle memory from years of mercenary wetwork took over. 

Izuku’s left hand shot up like a viper. He grabbed Bakugo by the wrist, stopping the explosive strike dead in its tracks. 

BOOM!

The explosion went off point-blank, engulfing Izuku’s left hand and forearm in fire, smoke, and concussive force. 

The girls in the front row screamed. The teacher, who had just walked in, dropped his attendance book. 

"MIDORIYA!" the teacher yelled. 

Bakugo smirked, the smoke clearing. "That'll teach you to run your mouth, you Quirkless piece of—"

Bakugo’s words died in his throat. 

Izuku’s grip on Bakugo’s wrist hadn't loosened. If anything, it had tightened to the point where Bakugo’s bones were grinding together. 

The smoke cleared entirely. 

Izuku’s left sleeve was blown completely to shreds, exposing his arm. The flesh from his wrist up to his elbow was charred black, severely burned, and smoking. 

But Izuku wasn't screaming. He was smiling. 

And as Bakugo watched, paralyzed by a sudden, icy shock of terror, the charred flesh on Izuku’s arm began to crack and peel. Underneath, pink, healthy skin was rapidly weaving itself back together. Within three seconds, the horrific third-degree burn was completely gone. Not even a scar remained. His arm was flawless. 

"You know," Izuku said calmly, his green eyes boring into Bakugo’s terrified red ones. "You told me yesterday to take a swan dive off the roof to get a Quirk."

Izuku slowly stood up from his chair, towering slightly over Bakugo, refusing to let go of his wrist. 

"Turns out, you were right, Kacchan," Izuku whispered, his voice laced with a dark, manic energy that made the hairs on the back of Bakugo’s neck stand up. "I died. I got crushed into a little green paste. And my Quirk woke up." 

Izuku stepped closer, his face mere inches from Bakugo's. 

"I can heal from anything. Fire. Explosions. Decapitation. Which means..." Izuku’s smile widened into something genuinely unhinged. "You can't hurt me anymore, Katsuki. Your explosions? They're basically just spicy massages to me now. You are absolutely, one-hundred-percent powerless against me."

Bakugo tried to pull his arm away, panicking, but Izuku’s grip was like an industrial vice. 

"Let go of me, you freak!" Bakugo yelled, his voice cracking slightly. 

"Sure thing, chief," Izuku said cheerily. 

Izuku let go of Bakugo’s wrist, but in the same fluid motion, he raised his hand and lightly flicked Bakugo right on the forehead. 

It wasn't a hard flick, but the sheer disrespect of the gesture sent Bakugo staggering backward, tripping over his own feet, and landing hard on his rear end in the middle of the aisle. 

The invincible Katsuki Bakugo was sitting on the floor, staring up at Izuku Midoriya in absolute, unadulterated shock. 

Izuku looked down at him, sighed, and shook his head. 

"Look at you. Sitting on the floor like a toddler who dropped his ice cream," Izuku mocked loudly, addressing the entire silent classroom. "This is the guy you all think is going to be the Number One hero? The guy who tells people to kill themselves? Please. He'd make a better villain. At least the villains have the decency to admit they're scumbags."

Izuku turned his back on Bakugo, picked up his yellow backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. 

"Mr. Teacher," Izuku called out to the pale, shaking man at the front of the room. "I’m going to the nurse’s office. Kacchan just blew up my favorite uniform, and I need a band-aid. Or maybe a chimichanga. Do they sell those in the cafeteria?"

The teacher couldn't speak. He just slowly nodded. 

Izuku whistled cheerfully, walking down the aisle. He stepped carefully over Bakugo’s legs. As he did, he paused, looking down at his former bully. 

"Oh, and Kacchan?" Izuku whispered so only Bakugo could hear. "If you ever mention a swan dive around me again... I'll take one of those fancy gauntlets you've been sketching in your notebook, and I will shove it so far up your ass you'll be sweating nitroglycerin out of your eyeballs. We clear?"

Bakugo didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was completely dry. 

Izuku patted Bakugo on the cheek, stood up straight, and walked out the door, sliding it shut behind him. 

Once he was in the empty hallway, Izuku let out a long, satisfied exhale. 

[Oh, that was glorious! The look on his face! We should have stabbed him a little bit, just for flavor!]

Negative. We demonstrated overwhelming superiority without lethal force. It was tactically sound. Though I agree, a minor stabbing would have been cathartic.

Izuku chuckled, walking down the hall. He stopped in front of a reflective glass display case holding the school's minor athletic trophies. He looked at his reflection. His messy green hair, his freckles, his wide green eyes. He looked exactly the same. 

But he wasn't. 

He leaned close to the glass, looking right into his own eyes, addressing his invisible audience once again. 

"Well, folks, how was that for a character arc?" Izuku smirked, leaning against the glass. "We’ve established the trauma, unlocked the overpowered Quirk, and completely mentally destroyed the primary antagonist of the first act. Honestly, pacing-wise, we are speeding through this script. I’m gunning for that U.A. Entrance Exam."

Izuku pushed off the glass, walking backward down the hall, pointing finger guns at the ceiling. 

Meanwhile, in a dark alleyway on the other side of Musutafu...

A mass of dark, liquid sludge slithered out from a sewer grate. Two large, googly eyes and a jagged set of teeth formed in the center of the viscous muck. 

"Damn heroes," the Sludge Villain grumbled, his voice a wet, gurgling rasp. "Running me out of town... I just need a body. A meat-suit. Something I can hide in until I can get out of this city. Some weak, pathetic, defenseless kid who won't fight back..."

The Sludge Villain dragged himself out of the alley, leaving a trail of foul-smelling slime behind him. He needed a victim. And he needed one soon. 

The afternoon sun hung low over Musutafu, casting long, dramatic shadows across the pavement. Izuku Midoriya was in a fantastic mood. 

Having thoroughly shattered Katsuki Bakugo’s fragile ego before first period had even ended, Izuku had decided that the rest of the school day was utterly beneath him. He had casually walked out of Aldera Junior High, citing a "severe allergic reaction to poorly written side characters," and spent the last few hours wandering the shopping district. 

Currently, he was wearing a brand-new, limited-edition, Silver Age All Might hoodie. It was obnoxious, brightly colored, and completely unapologetic in its fanboy aesthetic. He was also holding a plastic bag containing a highly unauthentic, convenience-store chimichanga. It was cold in the middle, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

We really need to find a Mexican restaurant. This culinary abomination is an insult to Wade’s heritage.

[Wade’s Canadian, idiot. But I agree! This tastes like a burrito that gave up on its dreams!]

"Look, guys, we’re in Japan. Authentic Tex-Mex is a mythological concept here," Izuku muttered out loud around a mouthful of cold beans, strolling beneath a concrete underpass. "We make do with what we have. Besides, I'm celebrating. Today was a good day."

"A meat suit... a perfect, unsuspecting meat suit..."

Izuku stopped chewing. A wet, gargling voice echoed from the sewer grate just a few feet ahead of him. 

A moment later, a massive geyser of foul-smelling, dark green sludge erupted from the grate. The viscous liquid coalesced into a towering, undulating mountain of muck. Two massive, cartoonish eyes and a jagged mouth full of rotting, yellow teeth formed in the center of the mass. It smelled like raw sewage, stagnant water, and a hint of expired milk. 

"You'll do nicely, kid!" the Sludge Villain hissed, his liquid body surging forward. "Don't fight it! It'll only hurt for about forty-five seconds! Then, I'll be driving!"

Izuku didn't run. He didn't drop his plastic bag. He didn't even drop his half-eaten faux-chimichanga. 

He just looked down at his chest. A massive glob of dirty sewer water had splashed directly onto his brand-new, limited-edition All Might hoodie, staining the bright yellow fabric with a dark, greasy smudge. 

Izuku’s left eye twitched. 

"Do you have any idea," Izuku said, his voice dropping an octave, "how hard it was to find this hoodie in a men's medium?"

"What?" the Sludge Villain blinked, confused by the lack of screaming. 

"I had to fight a middle-aged otaku on an online auction site for three days! I spent my allowance on this!" Izuku yelled, pointing a finger at the villain. "Do you know what dry-cleaning costs in this economy, you anthropomorphic booger?!"

"SHUT UP AND GIMME YOUR BODY!" the villain roared, lunging forward. 

A wave of sludge crashed over Izuku, knocking him to the ground. Thick, foul-tasting muck forced its way up his nose and down his throat. 

Hostile entity is infiltrating the respiratory system. Oxygen levels dropping rapidly. We are suffocating.

[Ooh! Ooh! Let's see what happens! Hold your breath! Wait, no, breathe it all in! For science!]

That is the single dumbest suggestion you have ever—

Izuku mentally tuned the voices out. He was actually quite curious himself. He had tested the blunt-force trauma yesterday, and the burn resistance this morning. How did Extreme Cellular Regeneration handle asphyxiation?

Izuku deliberately opened his mouth wide and took a massive, deep breath of the sludge. 

The villain laughed maniacally as he forced himself down Izuku's windpipe. "That's it, kid! Drink it in! You're mine now!"

Izuku’s lungs filled with liquid. His vision swam with black spots. His chest burned with the agonizing fire of oxygen deprivation. Ten seconds later, Izuku Midoriya’s brain ceased functioning. He died. Again. 

In the dark void of Izuku’s subconscious, Wade Wilson’s ghost sat in a lawn chair, wearing a pair of 3D glasses and eating popcorn. "Okay, let's reset the meat-clock. Three, two, one..."

Snap.

Izuku’s eyes snapped open. They were glowing with a feral, emerald light. 

His Quirk flared to life. As the sludge starved his brain of oxygen, killing his cells, his healing factor instantly resurrected them. He was dying and coming back to life simultaneously, thousands of times a second. His lungs adapted, the tissue violently reconstructing itself to tolerate the invasive liquid. 

Izuku wasn't suffocating anymore. He was just annoyed. 

The Sludge Villain suddenly paused, his googly eyes widening in confusion. "Wait... what the hell? Why aren't you going limp? Why is your heart rate speeding up?!"

Inside the cocoon of slime, Izuku raised his hands. He couldn't speak, but he could certainly bite. Izuku clamped his jaw shut as hard as he could, biting directly into a thick tendril of the villain's sludge. 

"YEEOUCH!" The Sludge Villain shrieked, instantly recoiling. The muck shot out of Izuku’s lungs and throat like a geyser. "DID YOU JUST BITE ME?! YOU SICK FREAK, I'M MADE OF SEWAGE!"

Izuku sat up on the pavement, coughing violently. He spat a mouthful of foul-tasting sludge onto the concrete. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, glaring at the villain. 

"Tastes like expired cabbage and bad life choices," Izuku gagged. "0 out of 10. Would not recommend on Yelp."

"What are you?!" the villain backed away, genuinely terrified of the green-haired teenager who had just eaten a piece of him. 

Before Izuku could respond, a massive, booming voice rattled the underpass. 

"DO NOT FEAR, CITIZEN!"

A colossal shadow fell over the entrance of the tunnel. Heavy, rhythmic footsteps shook the ground. 

"FOR I AM HERE!"

Izuku gasped. He whipped his head around. 

Standing there, in all his muscular, Golden-Age glory, was the Symbol of Peace. All Might. He was carrying a plastic grocery bag in one hand, his legendary smile plastered across his chiseled face. 

Izuku’s original personality surged to the forefront, overpowering Wade’s cynicism for a split second. "ALL MIGHT!" Izuku squealed, his eyes turning into literal sparkling stars. "Oh my god, it's really him! The shading! The muscle mass! The undeniable presence of a copyright-friendly Superman analogue!"

"TEXAS..." All Might pulled his fist back, the sheer kinetic energy visibly distorting the air around him. "...SMASH!"

All Might threw the punch. He didn't even hit the villain. The wind pressure alone was like a localized F5 tornado. 

The shockwave blasted through the tunnel. The Sludge Villain let out a horrified scream before he was blown into a million splatter-painted pieces against the concrete walls. 

Izuku, unfortunately, was also caught in the crossfire. The wind pressure picked him up, violently ragdolled him through the air, and slammed him face-first into the roof of the underpass. 

Crack. His nose shattered. 

Crunch. His collarbone snapped. 

Izuku peeled off the ceiling and fell face-first onto the pavement. By the time he hit the ground, his nose had already audibly crunched back into place, and his collarbone had fused. He popped up instantly, brushing off his ruined hoodie. 

"Wow! That was exhilarating!" Izuku cheered, completely unfazed by the fact that he had just been turned into a human pinball. 

All Might stood frozen, his smile straining slightly as he stared at the boy. Did he just bounce off the ceiling? Why is he smiling? What is wrong with today's youth?

All Might quickly began scooping the scattered remains of the Sludge Villain into two empty plastic soda bottles. "WELL, THAT WAS A CLOSE CALL, YOUNG MAN! APOLOGIES FOR GETTING YOU CAUGHT UP IN MY JUSTICE! I USUALLY TRY NOT TO USE QUITE SO MUCH WIND PRESSURE IN ENCLOSED SPACES!"

Izuku practically teleported to All Might's side, pulling his soggy, burned Hero Analysis No. 13 notebook out of his backpack. "All Might! Sir! Please sign this! I'm your biggest fan! I have all your merch, I've watched the debut video ten thousand times—wait."

Izuku stopped. He squinted, tilting his head and leaning uncomfortably close to All Might's face. 

"Wait a second," Izuku murmured, his tone shifting from fanboy to critical art director. "Why do you have heavy, black ink lines across your cheekbones? It looks like cross-hatching. Are you cel-shaded? How does that even work in a three-dimensional plane? Are you emitting your own localized lighting source?"

All Might blinked, completely bewildered. "I... EXCUuUSE ME?"

Izuku poked All Might's massive bicep. "It's like looking at a comic book panel that escaped the printing press. The line-art is phenomenal, but realistically, you must use so much baby oil to maintain this level of shine."

[He's glorious. Ask him if he can bench-press a tank!]

Focus, Izuku. The plot requires us to move forward. The inciting incident is stalling.

"Right, right," Izuku muttered. He took a step back, taking the notebook as All Might quickly signed it (taking up two whole pages, as usual). "Thanks, big guy! This will sell for a fortune on eBay if I ever need to fund a mercenary outfit."

"HAHA... HA. YOU ARE VERY WELCOME, STRANGE CITIZEN!" All Might said, shoving the two soda bottles full of sludge into his cargo pants pockets. He crouched down, his leg muscles coiling like massive springs. "NOW, I MUST DELIVER THIS EVIL-DOER TO THE POLICE! STAY SAFE!"

"You too! Don't drop your pockets!" Izuku called out. 

All Might launched himself into the sky with a booming shockwave, vanishing into the clouds. 

Izuku stood in the alleyway alone. He slowly turned his head to the left, looking directly at the empty wall. 

"Now," Izuku told the audience, pointing up at the sky. "In the original draft of this story, this is where I would have clung to his leg like a pathetic barnacle, forced him to land on a roof, and asked him if a Quirkless loser could be a hero. He would have accidentally dropped the bottles, said no, crushed my dreams, and left me to cry."

Izuku reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Where did he get them? Don't ask. He put them to his eyes, watching All Might's distant silhouette soaring over the city. 

"But I already have a Quirk. So I don't need validation from a guy who looks like a walking American flag," Izuku smirked. "However, the plot demands a hostage situation to establish my heroic nature and traumatize Bakugo a little more. So..."

Through the binoculars, Izuku watched as All Might suddenly clutched his side in mid-air, a puff of steam escaping him. As he flinched, the two soda bottles slipped out of his cargo pockets and plummeted toward the shopping district blocks away. 

Izuku lowered the binoculars, looking back at the camera with a smug grin. "And there we have it. The contrivance. God, I love lazy writing. Come on, voices, let's go get another chimichanga while we wait for the screams."

Ten minutes later, the Tatooba Shopping District was a literal warzone. 

Fires raged through the alleyways, blowing out shop windows and sending black smoke billowing into the sky. The Sludge Villain had reformed, and this time, he had found a host. 

Katsuki Bakugo was trapped inside the mountain of muck. His face was barely visible, contorted in agony and rage as he desperately fired off explosions from his palms, trying to blast himself free. But the explosions only fueled the fires around them, creating an impenetrable wall of flames that kept the Pro Heroes at bay. 

Death Arms was coughing, his super-strength useless against a liquid enemy. 

Kamui Woods couldn't get close, his wooden limbs highly susceptible to the raging fires. 

Mt. Lady was stuck at the entrance of the street, complaining that she didn't have enough room to grow. 

"We just have to wait for someone with a suitable Quirk!" Death Arms yelled to the terrified crowd. "We can't do anything!"

Standing at the back of the crowd, licking the grease from his fingers after finishing his second (slightly better) chimichanga, Izuku rolled his eyes so hard he gave himself a minor headache. 

"Are you kidding me?" Izuku complained out loud, ignoring the screaming civilians around him. "This is the current state of hero society? 'My specific superpower doesn't perfectly counter this exact situation, therefore I will just stand here and watch a middle-schooler suffocate.' It's embarrassing. I'm embarrassed for them."

They are reliant on a rigid system. They lack lateral thinking and tactical improvisation.

[They lack balls! Let's show 'em how it's done!]

Izuku wiped his hands on his ruined pants. He looked through the crowd and locked eyes with Bakugo. The blonde boy’s red eyes were wide with genuine terror, pleading for help. 

Cue the music, Izuku thought. 

Suddenly, the sultry, smooth saxophone intro of George Michael's Careless Whisper began playing. Where was it coming from? Nowhere. Everywhere. It was the soundtrack of the fanfiction, and Izuku was directing. 

Izuku stepped past the police tape. 

"Hey, kid! Get back here! It's not safe!" a police officer yelled, reaching for him. 

Izuku fluidly side-stepped the officer, moving with a lazy, swaggering grace. He strolled directly into the raging inferno. 

"What is he doing?!" Death Arms screamed. "Kid, you'll burn alive!"

Izuku didn't stop. He walked straight through a wall of fire. The flames licked at his clothes, singeing his hair and blistering his skin. But the moment a blister formed, it popped and healed instantly. The fire couldn't consume him faster than his body could regenerate. It hurt—god, it hurt like standing on the surface of the sun—but Izuku just smiled. 

The saxophone music swelled in his head as he approached the towering Sludge Villain. 

The villain looked down, his massive eyes widening in horror as he recognized the boy walking out of the flames. "YOU! The kid who bit me!"

"Miss me, booger-breath?" Izuku asked casually. 

He didn't run. He didn't scream a battle cry. He simply reached into the back pocket of his pants and pulled out a heavy-duty, stainless steel butterfly knife. 

Where did we get a knife?

[Prison pocket! Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to!]

With a flick of his wrist, Izuku flipped the knife open, the blade catching the firelight. He spun it expertly in his fingers—muscle memory courtesy of Wade Wilson’s years as a mercenary. 

"I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY!" The villain roared, swinging a massive tendril of sludge directly at Izuku like a whip. 

Izuku didn't dodge. He let the heavy sludge strike him square in the chest. The impact shattered his ribs and launched him backward, but Izuku used the momentum to flip mid-air, his ribs snapping back into place before his feet hit the ground. He landed perfectly in a crouch, launching himself forward like a green-haired missile. 

He vaulted off a burning parked car, launching himself directly at the villain's massive face. 

"Let him go!" Izuku sang along to the imaginary saxophone solo. 

He landed directly on the villain's gooey eye, burying the butterfly knife straight into the massive pupil. 

"AGGGGGHHHHH!" the Sludge Villain shrieked, a horrific, gurgling scream that shook the windows. The pain was so intense that his form lost all cohesion. The grip on Bakugo instantly loosened. 

Izuku didn't waste a second. He grabbed Bakugo by the collar of his uniform and violently yanked him out of the sludge. 

They both tumbled to the ground, rolling across the scorched pavement. Izuku immediately sat up, casually dusting soot off his shoulders. He looked over at Bakugo, who was on his hands and knees, violently hacking up sludge and gasping for air. 

"You're welcome, Princess," Izuku said, giving Bakugo a two-finger salute. "Next time, try not to get kidnapped by a sentient septic tank. It's really bad for your street cred."

Bakugo glared at him, his eyes bloodshot, but he was too busy dry-heaving to yell. 

Before the Sludge Villain could recover, a massive, skeletal figure crashed down from the sky. It was All Might, blood leaking from his mouth, forcing himself past his limits to finish what he started. 

"DETROIT... SMASH!" 

The punch changed the weather. The shockwave blew the fires out instantly, scattering the Sludge Villain into a fine mist that rained down on the street. The clouds above parted, and a brief shower of rain fell over the shopping district. 

Izuku looked up at the sky, letting the rain wash the soot off his face. He turned his head slightly toward the camera. 

"And that’s how you handle a hostage situation," Izuku winked. "No crying, no hesitation, just a quick stab to the ocular nerve. Take notes, Shigaraki."

The aftermath was predictably tedious. 

Bakugo was currently being praised by the Pro Heroes for his "bravery" and his "incredible Quirk," despite the fact that he had done absolutely nothing but set the street on fire and play the damsel in distress. 

Izuku, on the other hand, was currently surrounded by Death Arms, Kamui Woods, and Mt. Lady. They did not look happy. 

"What were you thinking?!" Death Arms barked, pointing a massive, scolding finger at Izuku. "You could have gotten yourself killed! You don't have a license! You rushed into a hostage situation with no plan and a weapon! That was incredibly reckless!"

Izuku stood there, picking a piece of dirt out of his fingernail with the butterfly knife he still hadn't put away. He sighed heavily. 

"Are you done?" Izuku asked, his tone dripping with utter condescension. 

Death Arms blinked. "Excuse me?"

Izuku snapped the knife shut and pocketed it. He looked up at the three Pro Heroes, his green eyes cold and entirely devoid of the fanboy reverence they used to hold. 

"I asked if you were done making excuses for your own incompetence," Izuku said loudly, ensuring the press reporters nearby could hear him. "You three stood there and watched a fourteen-year-old choke to death because your Quirks weren't 'perfectly suited' for the situation. You prioritized your own safety and your public image over saving a life."

Mt. Lady looked deeply offended. "Listen here, kid—"

"No, you listen," Izuku cut her off, taking a step forward. Despite being a scrawny teenager, the sheer weight of Wade Wilson's killer intent bled into his aura. Kamui Woods actually took a step back. 

"A hero's job isn't to wait for the perfect conditions. It's to save people," Izuku snarled. "If you don't have a water Quirk, find a fire hydrant. If you can't touch the villain, throw a rock at his eye. But standing around doing nothing? That makes you a glorified mascot in spandex. So don't lecture me about being reckless. I did your job for you. You're welcome."

Izuku turned his back on the stunned Pros, waving dismissively over his shoulder. "Keep the change, ya filthy animals." 

He walked away, leaving the Pro Heroes speechless and the reporters frantically scribbling in their notepads. 

[Oh, that felt good. A little self-righteous, but good. We should start a podcast.]

A podcast about the systemic flaws of Hero Society? We would have millions of listeners. We could get a sponsorship from a VPN company.

Izuku chuckled as he walked down the quiet residential street leading back to his apartment. The adrenaline was fading, and his stomach was demanding more food to fuel the sheer caloric burn of regenerating his ribs, nose, and skin within the span of an hour. 

"I AM HERE!" 

Izuku stopped. He didn't even flinch. He just sighed. 

Out of a nearby alleyway, All Might dashed out in his massive, muscular form, striking a heroic pose in front of Izuku. 

"Ah, All Might. Tracking a minor to his home. A little creepy, not gonna lie," Izuku quipped, crossing his arms. 

"YOUNG MAN! I CAME TO THANK YOU, AND TO—" All Might suddenly coughed up a massive amount of blood. With a sound like a deflating balloon, the Symbol of Peace shrank, a cloud of steam enveloping him. 

When the steam cleared, standing in All Might's place was a skeletal, emaciated man with sunken eyes and clothes that hung off him like a scarecrow. 

All Might wiped the blood from his chin, waiting for the boy to scream, panic, or ask questions. 

Izuku just stared at him. He blinked twice. 

"Oh, cool. You have a terminal illness form. That makes so much more sense than the cel-shading," Izuku nodded approvingly. "Did you lose a lung? Stomach? Let me guess... toxic chainsaw attack? No, wait, All For One?"

All Might choked on his own spit. His skeletal eyes bugged out of his head. "H-H-How do you know that name?!" 

Izuku waved a hand dismissively. "I read the manga. Don't worry about it. So, what's up, skeleton-man? Make it quick, my mom is making katsudon tonight and I don't want it to get cold."

All Might stood frozen, his entire worldview completely derailed by this teenager. He took a deep, rattling breath, trying to regain control of the conversation. 

"Young man... today, you showed me something. You showed me what it truly means to be a hero," All Might began, his voice solemn and serious. "While the Pros stood and watched, you acted. You moved without thinking. That is the hallmark of a true hero."

Izuku mock-gasped, putting his hands to his cheeks. "Oh my gosh! Are you going to tell me I can be a hero?! Even with my incredibly overpowered healing Quirk?!"

All Might frowned, slightly confused. "Yes... well, wait, you have a healing Quirk? The police report said you were Quirkless."

"Bureaucratic error. I literally walked through a wall of fire today, All Might. Keep up," Izuku teased. "But please, continue the monologue. I love a good exposition dump."

All Might sighed, rubbing his temples. "Regardless. You possess the heart of a true hero. And because of that, I deem you worthy... to inherit my power."

Izuku stopped smiling. The voices in his head went dead silent. 

"Inherit... your power?" Izuku repeated, dropping the Wade persona for a second. 

"My Quirk is a sacred torch, passed down from generation to generation," All Might explained, raising a skeletal hand. "It is called One For All. It cultivates power, stockpiling it, and passing it on. I have been searching for a successor. Someone with the courage to step up when no one else will. Izuku Midoriya... I want you to take my Quirk."

Izuku stood in silence. His brain was working a million miles a minute. 

One For All. The ultimate strength-enhancing Quirk. But historically, it shatters the bones of an unprepared vessel.

[But we have Extreme Cellular Regeneration! If we break our bones, they heal instantly! We could use 100% of his power on day one without permanent consequence!]

It would be agonizingly painful. A continuous cycle of destruction and reconstruction. A living hell of shattered limbs and tearing muscles.

[...So, a Tuesday?]

Izuku looked up at All Might. A slow, terrifyingly wide grin spread across his face. It wasn't a heroic smile. It was the smile of a gamer who had just discovered an infinite-money glitch. 

"All Might," Izuku said, his voice trembling with barely contained excitement. "I accept."

All Might smiled proudly. "Excellent! But a warning, young Midoriya. Your body is not ready. If you were to receive my power now, your limbs would blow clean off! We must train you. A grueling, ten-month regimen to build your vessel!"

Izuku turned completely away from All Might. He looked directly at the invisible camera, zooming in on his grinning face. 

"Did you hear that, folks?" Izuku whispered to the audience, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at All Might. "He thinks I need to train to not blow my limbs off. Little does he know, blowing my limbs off is literally my new aesthetic. Healing factor plus super strength? Game over, universe. The villains don't stand a chance. Hell, the heroes don't stand a chance."

Izuku turned back to All Might, throwing an arm around the skeletal man's shoulder. 

"Sounds like a plan, boss! But skip the beach-cleaning montage. I have some very specific ideas on how to spend the next ten months. Do you know where I can buy a welder, twenty pounds of C4, and a paintball gun?"

All Might stared at him, a deep, sinking feeling settling in his gut. 

What have I done? All Might thought. Have I just handed the greatest power in the world to a lunatic?

"Right, let's get one thing straight before we start," Izuku said, leaning casually against a rusted-out refrigerator and crossing his arms. He looked directly past the sprawling piles of garbage on Dagobah Municipal Beach, locking eyes with empty space. 

"In a standard Shōnen manga, this is the part where you'd have to suffer through three to five episodes of me screaming, sweating, and crying while hauling trash. You'd get a lot of inner monologues about 'determination' and 'going beyond.' Maybe a few dramatic sunset shots. And I get it, character growth is important. But honestly? It's boring. And we are on a tight schedule. So, we're doing a montage. Maestro! Hit the 80s synth-pop!"

There is no maestro. We do not have a budget for licensed music.

[I'll hum! Dun-dun-dun, push it to the limit!]

"Close enough," Izuku grinned, clapping his hands together. "Let's weaponize some garbage!"

The next ten months on Dagobah Beach were not the traditional hero-training regimen All Might had envisioned. When the Symbol of Peace had presented his grand "Aim to Pass: American Dream Plan" to Izuku on the first day, the green-haired teen had taken one look at the meticulously crafted schedule, laughed until he wheezed, and eaten the paper. Literally. He chewed it up and swallowed it. 

"Carbohydrates!" Izuku had chirped. "Now, big guy, instead of just moving the trash from point A to point B to get swole, what if we repurposed the trash to prepare for a mechanized assault course?"

All Might, deeply unsettled but unwilling to argue with a teenager who could regenerate from a shotgun blast, had agreed. 

What followed was a ten-month descent into absolute madness. 

Izuku didn't just haul scrap; he built an unpermitted, highly dangerous outdoor forge. He cannibalized the engines of three abandoned sedans to power an arc welder. He spent his afternoons ripping the leaf springs out of rusted pickup trucks with his bare hands—because whenever a piece of jagged metal sliced his palms open, the flesh simply knitted back together with a wet squelch before the blood even hit the sand. 

By month four, Izuku had forged two slightly curved, entirely unsharpened katanas. 

"Young Midoriya," All Might had asked nervously, watching Izuku swing the heavy steel blades with terrifying, mercenary precision. "Why are the blades dull? If you intend to use them as hero support items..."

"Because, Toshi-boy, heroes don't kill!" Izuku had replied, striking a dramatic pose. "A sharp katana slices a villain in half. A blunt katana, swung with enough force, simply shatters their ribcage, collapses their lungs, and leaves them in a localized coma. It's called non-lethal pacification! Batman does it all the time!"

All Might had spent the rest of that evening staring at a wall, wondering if One For All was going to be used to commit war crimes. 

By month seven, Izuku had moved on to projectile weaponry. He salvaged three heavy-duty paintball markers from a discarded sporting goods container. Instead of paint, however, Izuku spent weeks extracting the corrosive fluid from hundreds of dead car batteries, mixing it with industrial dye, and pressurizing it into custom pellets. 

"Blind the optical sensors, melt the wiring," Izuku muttered to himself one Tuesday, surrounded by dismantled microwaves and copper wiring. "If U.A. uses the same standard robotic models from the previous three years, a shot to the primary cranial joint will cause a localized EMP effect."

"Who are you talking to, my boy?" All Might asked, leaning over a pile of tires. "You've been muttering to... no one... for an hour."

"Oh, just the voices," Izuku replied cheerfully, adjusting a pair of cracked welding goggles. "White is giving me the chemical breakdown of battery acid, and Yellow is suggesting we put C4 in the paintballs. Which we can't do, Yellow, because we are heroes, not domestic terrorists."

[Boring! Exploding paint is the future of home defense!]

It is a violation of the Geneva Conventions.

"See? White gets it," Izuku nodded to the empty air. 

All Might slowly backed away, pulling out a small notebook labeled 'How to Talk to Troubled Teens' and flipping frantically through the pages. 

By the dawn of the ten-month deadline, Dagobah Beach was entirely spotless. The towering mountains of illegal dumping had been cleared, condensed, or entirely vaporized in a series of "controlled" experiments that had resulted in several noise complaints from nearby residents. 

Standing on the pristine sand, the morning sun reflecting off the ocean, stood Izuku Midoriya. He wasn't the scrawny, trembling kid who had been told to take a swan dive. His body was lean, heavily muscled, and covered in a tapestry of faint, silvery scars that marked the split-seconds before his healing factor erased the damage completely. 

"YOU DID IT, YOUNG MIDORIYA!" All Might boomed in his muscular form, standing atop the sea wall. "YOU CLEARED THE ENTIRE BEACH! YOUR VESSEL IS READY!"

Izuku wiped a tear from his eye. "It's beautiful. Not a single used diaper in sight. I'm so proud of us." 

All Might reached up and, with a wince, plucked a single strand of golden blonde hair from his head. He held it out toward Izuku, the morning light catching the follicle dramatically. 

"NOW," All Might announced, his voice echoing with the weight of generations. "IT IS TIME TO INHERIT MY POWER. EAT THIS!"

Izuku stared at the hair. He stared at All Might. 

"You want me to eat your hair," Izuku deadpanned. 

"YES! TO INHERIT ONE FOR ALL, YOU MUST INGEST SOME OF MY DNA!"

"I mean, medically speaking, I get it," Izuku sighed. "But gastronomically? It's a texture nightmare. Hold on."

Izuku reached into his tactical fanny pack—a new addition to his wardrobe—and pulled out a small, travel-sized bottle of Sriracha hot sauce. He snatched the hair from All Might's fingers, coiled it up into a tiny ball, drowned it in a copious amount of red sauce, and popped it into his mouth like a spicy pill. 

He swallowed, immediately coughing. "Spicy! Tangy! Tastes like justice and keratin! Alright, let's go break some robots!"

Two hours later, Izuku stood before the towering, imposing gates of U.A. High School. 

He was wearing his Aldera Junior High uniform, but it had been heavily... modified. He was wearing a tactical utility belt loaded with heavy pouches, a pair of steel-toed combat boots, and he had a dark green duffel bag slung over his shoulder containing his "approved support items."

"Ah, U.A. High," Izuku said aloud, ignoring the hundreds of other teenagers milling around him. "The Harvard of superhero schools. The place where dreams come true, teenagers are repeatedly subjected to lethal danger without parental consent, and the security system is famously porous."

He took a step forward, full of confidence. And immediately tripped over his own steel-toed boot. 

We are highly trained assassins. How did we trip on flat pavement?

[Gravity is a cruel mistress! Brace for impact!]

Izuku didn't brace. He fully intended to just let his face slam into the brick walkway, shatter his nose, and pop back up to terrify the other applicants. 

But he never hit the ground. 

Suddenly, the pull of gravity vanished. Izuku floated mid-air, his limbs flailing comically as he slowly rotated upside down. 

"Are you okay?" 

Izuku twisted his head. Standing there was a girl with short, bobbed brown hair, permanent pink blush on her cheeks, and a wide, friendly smile. She was holding her hands out, her fingertips pressed together. 

Ochaco Uraraka. 

Izuku’s heart did a little flutter. The original, fanboy Izuku that lived deep beneath Wade's chaotic psychic overlay screamed internally. A GIRL! A CUTE GIRL JUST TOUCHED US! WE ARE FLOATING! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!

[Initiate romance sub-plot! Say something cool! Tell her she smells like strawberries and tax evasion!]

Do not say that. Say thank you.

Uraraka pressed her fingers together. "Release!" 

Izuku dropped the remaining three inches to the ground, landing lightly on his feet. 

"Sorry I used my Quirk on you without asking," Uraraka rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "But it would be bad luck to fall right before the exam, right? I'm super nervous, how about you?"

Izuku stood up straight, brushing off his uniform. He looked at her, then looked directly up at the sky, winking at the invisible camera hovering above them. 

"Ship secured, ladies and gentlemen. The rom-com has officially launched," Izuku announced to the heavens. 

Uraraka blinked, looking up at the clouds. "Huh? Ship? Did you say something about a ship?"

Izuku turned his attention back to her, hitting her with a million-watt, dangerously charismatic smile. "I said, it's a pleasure to meet you! The name’s Izuku Midoriya. And don't worry about being nervous. If any of those robots give you trouble today, just stand behind me. I brought enough concussive force to level a small city block."

Uraraka stared at him, her face flushing bright red at the sheer, unbridled confidence radiating off this weird, green-haired boy. "Oh! Um... wow. Okay! Well, good luck, Midoriya!"

She hurried off toward the auditorium, her hands covering her blushing cheeks. 

Izuku watched her go, a satisfied smirk on his face. 

"Like taking candy from a baby," Izuku muttered. "Alright, voices, let's go take a written test. Time to show this school what a guy with a photographic memory of military tactics and an encyclopedic knowledge of superhero trivia can do."

The written exam was a joke. Izuku finished it in twenty minutes, spent the next thirty drawing incredibly detailed, anatomically questionable sketches of Deadpool and All Might high-fiving on the back of his test booklet, and took a nap. 

But the real fun began in the orientation auditorium. 

"EVERYBODY SAY HEEEYYYY!" Present Mic, the Voice Hero, screamed from the podium, striking a dramatic pose. 

The auditorium of applicants was dead silent. 

"HEEEEYYYY!" Izuku screamed back at the top of his lungs from the middle row, throwing up rock-on hand signs. "LOVE THE RADIO SHOW, MIC! YOUR RATINGS IN THE 18-TO-24 DEMOGRAPHIC ARE UNDERRATED!"

Present Mic pointed a finger-gun directly at Izuku. "YEAAAH! WE GOT ONE COOL LISTENER IN THE HOUSE! THANKS, EXAMINEE NUMBER 7111!"

Izuku leaned back in his chair, putting his boots up on the back of the seat in front of him. 

Present Mic went on to explain the practical exam—a massive faux-city filled with three types of villain robots worth one, two, and three points respectively. 

"Excuse me! I have a question!" 

A tall, broad-shouldered boy with blue hair and glasses stood up, his arm raised so rigidly it looked like a flagpole. Tenya Iida. 

"On the printout, there are four types of villains!" Iida barked, adjusting his glasses. "If this is a misprint, then U.A., the most prominent school in Japan, should be ashamed of that foolish mistake! We examinees are here in this place because we wish to be molded into exemplary heroes!"

Iida then spun around, pointing an accusatory finger directly at Izuku, whose feet were still propped up on a chair. 

"In addition, you over there with the curly hair! You've been treating this entire presentation like a joke! Your casual attitude is an insult to the institution! If you think this is a pleasure trip, then leave this place at once!"

The auditorium fell silent. A hundred pairs of eyes turned to Izuku. 

Izuku didn't flinch. He didn't stutter, like the old Izuku would have. He slowly pulled his feet down, leaned forward, and rested his chin in his hands. He looked at Iida with the dead, tired eyes of a man who had dealt with too many strict middle-management types. 

"Tell me something, Sonic the Hedgehog," Izuku said, his voice carrying easily through the quiet room. 

Iida stiffened. "My name is not—"

"Do you know what a zero-pointer is in video game design?" Izuku interrupted, his tone sharp. "It's a hazard. An environmental obstacle. A giant, unkillable Goomba meant to force the player into a choke point. If you had an ounce of tactical awareness, you'd realize the handout clearly implies the fourth robot is an obstacle to be avoided, not engaged."

Izuku stood up, fixing Iida with a withering glare. 

"Furthermore, lecturing an applicant on their posture before the exam even starts screams of an inferiority complex," Izuku continued, absolutely tearing into the boy. "You're trying to establish dominance in a room full of strangers because you're terrified you're going to fail. So, do us all a favor, sit down, shut up, and let the man with the loudest voice in the room finish his PowerPoint presentation."

Silence. Complete and utter silence. 

Iida's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Thoroughly reprimanded and deeply embarrassed, he bowed rigidly. "I... I apologize! Thank you for the insight!" He sat down instantly. 

Izuku grinned, giving Present Mic a thumbs up. "The floor is yours, DJ!"

Present Mic cleared his throat, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "R-Right! Like listener 7111 said! The fourth robot is a Zero Pointer! An obstacle! My advice? Avoid it! Now, GET READY TO SHINE!"

Exam Battle Center B was a massive, sprawling replica of a modern urban city district. 

Hundreds of applicants stood nervously before the towering metal gates, stretching, doing breathing exercises, and whispering anxiously to one another. 

Izuku stood at the very front of the pack. He had changed into his U.A. approved gear. It wasn't a hero costume—just a pair of dark tactical cargo pants, a tight black compression shirt, and a web-gear harness. Strapped to his back in an X-formation were his two heavily modified, blunt-force steel katanas. In his hands, he held a sleek, heavily customized paintball rifle, an extra hopper of battery-acid-green paint strapped to his thigh. 

He cracked his neck, bouncing on his toes. He felt it. Deep in his gut. A glowing, dormant ember of sheer, unadulterated power. One For All. It felt like holding a nuclear reactor in his stomach. 

Status report, White’s voice echoed calmly. One For All has successfully integrated. However, current physical vessel can only handle approximately 5% of the power output without structural failure.

[Who cares about structural failure?! We have a healing factor! Let's crank that bad boy to 100% and punch the sun!]

"Not yet," Izuku muttered. "We save the big guns for the climax. For now... let's do some pest control."

"START!" Present Mic's voice blasted over the loudspeakers. 

The applicants hesitated. 

Izuku didn't. 

Before the heavy metal gates had even fully opened, Izuku sprinted forward, slipping through the gap like a ghost. 

"What are you waiting for?!" Present Mic yelled from the observation tower. "THERE ARE NO COUNTDOWNS IN REAL BATTLES! RUN, RUN, RUN!"

The crowd finally panicked and surged forward, but by then, Izuku was already two blocks deep into the city. 

A massive, one-point robot rolled out from an alleyway on treads, its singular red optical sensor locking onto Izuku. "Target acquired. Commencing—"

THWIP-THWIP-THWIP.

Izuku didn't even break his stride. He raised the paintball rifle with one hand and fired a three-round burst. The pressurized pellets struck the robot's glass eye-lens and violently burst. Thick, highly corrosive, industrial-grade acid splashed across the optics. 

The robot's wiring immediately hissed and sparked. "Error... optical sensors compromised... critical system failure..."

Izuku vaulted off a parked car, soaring over the blinded machine. In mid-air, he drew one of his blunt katanas from his back. Bringing the heavy slab of forged steel down with the momentum of his fall, he struck the robot squarely on the back of its neck-joint. 

CRAAANG!

The sheer blunt-force trauma shattered the central processor housing. The robot's head violently snapped off, sparking wildly as the machine crumpled to the asphalt. 

"One point," Izuku smirked, landing smoothly. "Too easy."

For the next eight minutes, Izuku Midoriya was a phantom of destruction. 

He didn't use a drop of One For All. He didn't need to. He combined Wade Wilson's legendary acrobatics, parkour, and lethal precision with an utter disregard for his own safety. 

A three-pointer fired a missile at him? Izuku casually let the explosion blow him through a plate-glass window. His skin charred, his ribs cracked, and a shard of glass embedded itself in his neck. Within a second, the glass was pushed out by regenerating tissue, his bones snapped back, and he jumped back out the window, sliding on his knees and shooting the robot in its joints with acid pellets until it collapsed. 

"Thirty-four points... forty-two points... fifty points," Izuku counted out loud, spinning a katana in his left hand and firing his rifle with his right. 

In the dark, heavily monitored observation room deep within U.A., the faculty was watching the screens in stunned silence. 

"Who the hell is this kid?" Snipe, the cowboy-themed hero, asked, leaning closer to the monitor. "His marksmanship is flawless. He's firing from the hip while mid-air and hitting optical sensors that are barely two inches wide."

"And look at his weapons," Ectoplasm noted. "Those swords have no edge. He's destroying reinforced steel chassis through sheer leverage and kinetic impact. His combat awareness is... unnatural for a fourteen-year-old."

Sitting in a large leather chair, Nezu, the principal of U.A., sipped from a teacup. The small, white, bear-mouse-dog hybrid narrowed his beady eyes. "Izuku Midoriya. Registered Quirk: Extreme Cellular Regeneration. Yet, he fights like a Quirkless commando. Fascinating. But... let us see how he handles true adversity." 

Nezu reached out and pressed a large, flashing red button on his console. 

Back in Battle Center B, the ground suddenly violently shook. 

Izuku paused mid-swing, decapitating a two-pointer. He looked down the main avenue. 

The buildings at the far end of the street were suddenly dwarfed by a colossal shadow. A mechanized titan, easily the size of a skyscraper, crushed an entire faux-apartment building beneath its treads as it rolled into the arena. 

The Zero Pointer. 

"LESS THAN TWO MINUTES REMAINING!" Present Mic announced over the PA system. 

The sheer size of the machine was horrifying. The other applicants immediately broke, screaming in terror and sprinting away from the mechanical behemoth. 

"Run away!" 

"That thing is impossible to fight!"

Izuku stood perfectly still in the middle of the street. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and slowly sheathed his katanas. 

"There it is," Izuku whispered, a manic grin spreading across his face. "The set piece."

He turned to run, intending to get a better angle, when a pained gasp caught his ear. 

Izuku stopped. He looked back. 

About fifty yards away, directly in the path of the approaching Zero Pointer, was Uraraka. She was pinned underneath a massive chunk of debris that had fallen from the crushed buildings. She was struggling to lift it, her face pale with pain and terror as the shadow of the giant robot fell over her. 

The Love Interest is in peril. 

[This is it! Maximum Effort! Crank the juice! Break out the cheat codes!]

Izuku took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. 

He reached deep inside himself, grabbing hold of the blinding, radiant sun that was One For All. He didn't try to pull a little bit of it. He didn't try to limit it to 5%. 

Izuku yanked the valve wide open. 100%. 

He channeled the entirety of All Might's stockpiled, catastrophic power directly into his legs. 

Red, glowing veins of energy suddenly erupted across Izuku's skin. Sparks of green lightning arced off his body, crackling against the pavement. The sheer power radiating from him was so intense it blew the dust away in a perfect circle. 

Izuku opened his eyes. They were glowing with a terrifying, radiant light. 

"Let's see what happens," Izuku whispered. 

He jumped. 

KABOOM!

The pavement beneath him didn't just crack; it vaporized. A crater ten feet wide and five feet deep was blasted into the street purely from the kinetic force of his leap. 

Izuku rocketed into the sky like a surface-to-air missile, breaking the sound barrier with a thunderous crack. 

Inside Izuku’s body, it was a massacre. The sheer force of the jump instantly pulverized the bones in both of his legs. His femurs shattered into a thousand pieces, his knee caps exploded inward, and his calf muscles tore themselves to ribbons. The pain was absolute, blinding, white-hot agony. 

But Izuku didn't scream. Because the moment his legs exploded, his Quirk reacted. 

Mid-air, soaring hundreds of feet above the city, the horrific sound of crunching bone and tearing flesh echoed from his legs. Within a fraction of a second, the bones re-fused. The muscles re-knit. The pulverized tissue was ejected and replaced with brand new, flawless cells. 

He healed so fast that he didn't even lose his upward momentum. 

"WOOHOO!" Izuku screamed with manic joy, rocketing upward until he was eye-level with the colossal face of the Zero Pointer. 

The giant robot's optical sensors locked onto him. 

Izuku pulled back his right arm. He channeled 100% of One For All into his fist. The green lightning flared so brightly it looked like a second sun had ignited in the sky. 

Hostile target engaged. Structural integrity of right arm at critical risk.

[PUNCH IT IN THE FACE! PUNCH IT IN THE FACE!]

Izuku grinned fiercely, his eyes wild. 

"SMAAAAAAASH!" 

Izuku drove his fist forward, striking the thick armor plating of the robot's face. 

The impact defied physics. The shockwave erupted from his knuckles in a visible, rippling dome of concussive force. The air itself seemed to shatter. 

The armor of the Zero Pointer crinkled like tin foil. The sheer force of the blow rippled through the machine's colossal frame, tearing through steel, wires, and reinforced structural supports. The head of the robot violently caved in on itself, and the entire massive machine was blown backward, lifting off its treads before crashing down into the city in a spectacular, fiery explosion. 

But the recoil of a 100% Smash was a two-way street. 

The moment Izuku’s fist connected, his right arm was obliterated. The bones from his knuckles to his shoulder didn't just break; they turned to dust. The skin split open in a horrific, spiraling laceration, spraying blood into the air. His arm went completely limp, dangling at his side like a wet noodle, the flesh looking like ground hamburger meat. 

Izuku began to freefall. 

In the observation room, an elderly, diminutive woman in a nurse's outfit—Recovery Girl—screamed, dropping her cane. 

"His arm! Good lord, he's completely destroyed his arm!" Recovery Girl gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "And he's falling from two hundred feet! He's going to die!"

Aizawa Shota, standing in the back of the room, watched the screen with wide eyes, his capture scarf twitching. Such reckless power... he has zero self-preservation.

Back in the air, Izuku was plummeting toward the earth. He looked over at his ruined, mangled right arm. 

"Ew," Izuku grimaced. "That's a lot of blood. Good thing I wore a black shirt."

SQUELCH. CRACK-CRACK-POP.

As he fell, the horrifying process of regeneration began. His shoulder joint snapped violently back into the socket. The splintered fragments of his humerus and radius shot together like magnetic filings, fusing instantly. The shredded meat of his forearm stitched itself closed, the skin zipping up from the wrist to the bicep. 

By the time he was fifty feet from the ground, his arm was perfectly healed. Not even a scratch remained. 

"Alright," Izuku smiled, looking down at the rapidly approaching pavement. "Superhero landing. Let's do this. It’s gonna be terrible on the knees."

Izuku shifted his weight mid-air, bringing one knee up and extending his right fist downward. 

He hit the asphalt like a meteor. 

CRUNCH!

The impact cratered the street. Izuku stuck the pose perfectly—fist on the ground, one knee down, head bowed. 

Underneath the dramatic pose, both of his femurs snapped entirely in half again, and his spine compressed violently. 

He held the pose for three seconds, his healing factor instantly crunching his legs and spine back together with a sickening sound of wet meat and bone fragments. 

"Ow," Izuku whispered, standing up slowly and brushing dust off his knees. "Worth it."

The entire battlefield was dead silent. 

Uraraka, who had been freed from the debris by the shockwave of the robot's destruction, sat on the ground, staring at Izuku with her jaw practically unhinged. She had seen his arm explode into a bloody mess, and now... now he was perfectly fine. Standing there like he had just gone for a light jog. 

"TIME'S UP!" Present Mic's voice finally crackled over the speakers, sounding slightly shaky. 

Izuku stretched his arms above his head, popping his shoulders. He turned toward Uraraka, walking over to her and offering his hand. 

"You okay, Uraraka?" Izuku asked gently, offering a kind, genuine smile that contrasted wildly with the sheer apocalyptic destruction he had just caused. 

"Y-You..." Uraraka stammered, taking his hand as he effortlessly pulled her to her feet. "Your arm... it was... but now..."

Izuku looked down at his right arm, flexing his fingers. "Oh, yeah. Extreme Cellular Regeneration. Don't worry about it. It looked worse than it felt. Actually, no, it felt exactly as bad as it looked. But it's fine now!"

Before Uraraka could comprehend what he was saying, a small, motorized cart drove up to the scene. Recovery Girl hopped off, rushing toward Izuku with a horrified expression. 

"Young man!" Recovery Girl scolded, whacking him in the shin with her cane. "What on earth were you thinking?! I saw your arm! You pulverized your own body!"

"Hey, Doc! Nice to meet you," Izuku chirped, entirely unbothered. "No need for the kissing Quirk today. I'm right as rain."

Izuku rolled up the sleeve of his compression shirt, exposing his perfectly healthy, unblemished right arm to the veteran heroine. 

Recovery Girl grabbed his arm, examining it with critical, highly trained eyes. She prodded the muscle, checked his pulse, and looked for any sign of internal bleeding. There was nothing. His arm was in perfect physiological condition. 

"I... I don't understand," Recovery Girl murmured, looking up at Izuku's smiling face. "A power that destructive... and a healing factor that rapid... you..." 

Recovery Girl took a step back, realizing the terrifying implication of what this boy was capable of. A boy with the power to level a city block, who suffers absolutely no permanent drawbacks from tearing his own body apart. 

Izuku turned away from the bewildered nurse and the awestruck examinees. He looked directly into the lens of one of the ruined robot's broken optical cameras. 

He leaned close, pointing a finger at the lens, speaking directly to the audience. 

The morning of Izuku Midoriya’s first day at U.A. High School began exactly as one might expect for a teenager sharing his brain with an unhinged, immortal Canadian mercenary. 

"I'm just saying, Mom, a tactical thigh holster really brings the uniform together."

Inko Midoriya stood in the kitchen, a spatula trembling in her hand as she stared at her son. Izuku was standing by the dining table, wearing the standard U.A. gray blazer, white button-down, and red tie. It looked incredibly sharp. It looked heroic. 

It did not look heroic with the black Kevlar utility belt strapped around his waist and the two blunt katanas crisscrossing over his blazer. 

"Izuku, sweetie," Inko said, her voice strained. "It's a high school. Not a war zone. I really don't think the teachers will allow you to bring weapons to homeroom."

"Mom, please. This is an anime high school," Izuku replied, casually tossing a grape into the air and catching it in his mouth. "By the end of the first semester, at least three of us will have severe PTSD, the campus will be invaded by a league of domestic terrorists, and the faculty will offer zero psychological support. The swords are just pragmatic."

Inko sighed, her shoulders slumping. Ever since the... incident... ten months ago, her sweet, stuttering boy had been replaced by a hyper-confident, wildly unpredictable, and deeply chaotic young man. The doctors had assured her it was just a psychological side-effect of his Quirk manifesting during a near-death experience. A "coping mechanism." 

If she only knew, White's cold, analytical voice echoed in Izuku’s mind. Technically, her son is co-piloting a meat-mech with a highly trained assassin.

[Meat-mech! Dibs on that band name!]

Izuku smiled warmly, walking over and kissing his mother on the cheek. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll leave the swords in my locker. Mostly." 

Inko sniffled, adjusting his red tie with trembling fingers. "Just... try to make some normal friends, okay? No more blowing up your own limbs."

"No promises on the limbs, but I'll definitely secure a diverse cast of supporting characters!" Izuku chirped. He grabbed his yellow backpack, which clanked suspiciously with the sound of loose metal and heavily modified paintball equipment, and headed for the door. "Love you! Don't wait up, I might be busy dismantling the fragile egos of my peers!"

The hallways of U.A. High were massive, sterile, and slightly intimidating. 

Izuku strolled through the corridors with his hands buried in his pockets, whistling the theme song from The Terminator. He completely ignored the stares of the upperclassmen who were deeply confused by the green-haired freshman wearing combat boots instead of standard indoor shoes. 

He finally reached his destination. He stopped in front of a door. 

It was a ridiculously, comically large door. It was painted red with the massive letters 1-A emblazoned across the front. It had to be at least twenty feet tall. 

Izuku stared at it for a long moment. He slowly turned his head to the right, looking directly at the empty wall beside him. 

"Okay, I get that they have to accommodate students with mutation Quirks, but this is a structural nightmare," Izuku whispered to the reader. "Look at the hinges on this thing. A strong gust of wind and this door is taking out a solid half-dozen teenagers. The insurance premiums at this school must be astronomical."

He reached out and slid the massive door open. 

Immediately, the chaotic sounds of a classroom in turmoil spilled out into the hallway. 

"Remove your feet from that desk at once!" a rigid, robotic voice commanded. 

"Hah?! Who the hell are you to tell me what to do, Four-Eyes?" a familiar, explosive voice snapped back. 

Izuku leaned against the doorframe, taking in the scene. 

Tenya Iida, the blue-haired boy from the entrance exam, was chopping his arm through the air like a malfunctioning metronome, lecturing Katsuki Bakugo. Bakugo, true to form, had his feet propped up on his desk and was glaring at Iida with the intensity of a rabid wolverine. 

"I am Tenya Iida from Somei Private Academy! And you are disrespecting the legacy of the upperclassmen who used this desk before you!" 

"Somei? So you're an elite, huh? I'm gonna have fun crushing you!" Bakugo grinned fiercely. 

Izuku let out a long, exaggerated groan. The sound was so loud and deeply annoyed that the entire classroom went dead silent, turning to look at the door. 

"Oh, thank god I got here when I did," Izuku said, walking into the room. "The dialogue in here was getting so incredibly cliché I think I almost developed a cavity."

Bakugo’s eyes widened, the smug grin instantly melting into a look of sheer, visceral panic. "D-Deku..."

Izuku ignored Bakugo completely. He began walking down the aisles between the desks, casually pointing a finger at his new classmates as he passed them, narrating their character tropes out loud. 

"Okay, let's do roll call. We’ve got the edgy rival who desperately needs a therapist," Izuku pointed at Bakugo, who gritted his teeth but didn't dare say a word. 

Izuku kept walking. "We’ve got the strict, stick-up-his-ass class president." He pointed at Iida, who looked utterly bewildered. 

Izuku paused next to a boy with half-white, half-red hair and a burn scar over his eye. "Oh, wow. Zuko? Is that you? Do you need to capture the Avatar to restore your honor? Classic tragic backstory trope. Love the character design, though. Very marketable." 

Shoto Todoroki just stared at him, blinking slowly. "...Who?"

Izuku continued down the row, passing a girl with a ponytail. "The rich girl who doesn't understand commoners. The guy with bird tape... whatever that is. The floating clothes... cool gimmick, saves on animation budget. And—oh, sweet Jesus."

Izuku stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down. 

Sitting at a desk was a tiny, purple boy with what appeared to be purple grapes for hair. Minoru Mineta was drooling slightly as he stared at the girls across the room. 

Warning. Degenerate lifeform detected. Initiate extermination protocols.

[Oh, he looks squishy! Step on him! Like a bug!]

Izuku leaned down until he was face-to-face with Mineta. The green-haired teen's eyes went completely dead, the jovial aura vanishing in an instant, replaced by the crushing, suffocating killing intent of a seasoned mercenary. 

"Listen to me very carefully, you walking sexual harassment lawsuit," Izuku whispered, his voice a low, terrifying rasp that only Mineta could hear. "If you ever breathe weirdly near any of the women in this class, I will personally pull your spine out through your nose and use it to jump rope. Nod if you understand."

Mineta turned pale white, trembling so violently his desk shook. He nodded frantically. 

"Good talk," Izuku smiled cheerfully, clapping his hands together and standing back up. 

"Midoriya!" Iida marched over, his arm doing the chopping motion again. "While your insight at the entrance exam was... helpful... your behavior right now is highly disruptive!"

Before Izuku could verbally dissect Iida again, a soft voice called out from the doorway. 

"Oh! It's you! The falling boy!" 

Izuku whipped around. Uraraka was standing in the doorway, wearing her U.A. uniform and blushing brightly. 

Izuku instantly adopted a suave posture, leaning against a random student's desk (much to the terror of the student sitting there) and offering Uraraka a dazzling smile. 

"Well, well. If it isn't the girl who completely swept me off my feet," Izuku winked. "Literally. How's the primary love interest doing today?"

Uraraka blushed harder, waving her hands. "Love interest?! I-I don't know what you're talking about! But thank you for saving me at the exam! I tried to give you some of my points, but they said you already passed!"

"Aww, you tried to give me your points? That's adorable. But unnecessary. I prefer to violently seize my own destiny," Izuku replied, miming a throat slash. 

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

The voice came from the floor. 

Everyone in the room, save for Izuku, jumped in shock. 

Lying on the floor in the hallway, looking like a massive, bright yellow, highly depressed caterpillar, was a man in a sleeping bag. He unzipped the bag and slowly stood up, looking like he hadn't slept since the mid-2000s. He had long, messy black hair, stubble, and a white capture scarf wrapped around his neck. 

He pulled a juice pouch out of his sleeping bag and took a loud, slurping sip. "It took you lot eight seconds to quiet down. Time is a limited resource. You kids aren't rational enough." 

Aizawa Shota. The Erasure Hero: Eraserhead. 

Izuku’s eyes lit up. Oh, this guy. The grumpy, tired teacher who secretly cares. The Kakashi clone. 

[He looks like he smells like stale coffee and regret. I like him!]

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

Aizawa turned to walk away, but paused. He glanced over his shoulder, his tired eyes locking directly onto Izuku. "Midoriya. Try not to blow your own arm off today. I don't want to deal with the paperwork."

Izuku offered a mock salute. "No promises, Teach!"

The locker room was exactly as chaotic as one would expect when twenty super-powered teenagers were forced to change in an enclosed space. 

"Hey, guys, look!" Mineta pointed to a small hole in the wall separating the boys' and girls' locker rooms. "A peephole! The legacy of our predecessors!" 

Mineta giggled, leaning forward to press his eye against the hole. 

THUNK.

A heavy, steel-toed combat boot slammed into the wall mere millimeters from Mineta's nose, cracking the plaster and burying itself into the drywall. 

Mineta froze, cross-eyed, staring at the sole of Izuku’s boot. 

Izuku was standing on one leg, stretching casually. He slowly lowered his leg, pulling his boot out of the wall. He didn't say a word. He just tapped the hilt of the blunt katana strapped to his backpack with a single finger. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Mineta whimpered, crawled into his locker, and shut the door. 

"You know," Kirishima, a boy with spiky red hair, said, looking at Izuku with admiration. "That was incredibly manly of you, Midoriya."

Izuku pulled his P.E. jacket on and zipped it up. "Respecting women is the bare minimum of human decency, Red Riot. Though if you want to see manly, wait until we get to the field."

The sun beat down on the U.A. P.E. grounds. Class 1-A stood in a loose gaggle, looking confused. 

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

"What about the entrance ceremony? Or guidance counseling?" Uraraka asked, stepping forward nervously. 

Aizawa stood before them, a clipboard in hand. "No time for that. Here at U.A., the teachers have absolute authority over how they run their classes. We're doing a physical fitness test, but you're allowed to use your Quirks." 

Aizawa turned to Bakugo. "Bakugo. You finished first in the practical exam. In junior high, what was your best result for the softball throw?" 

"Sixty-seven meters," Bakugo grunted, purposefully avoiding looking in Izuku's direction. 

"Try it with your Quirk," Aizawa instructed, tossing a baseball to the blonde. "Do whatever you want, just don't leave the circle." 

Bakugo stepped into the ring. He grinned, his confidence returning now that he was in his element. He wound his arm back, sparks igniting in his palm. 

"DIE!" Bakugo screamed, launching the ball with a massive explosion that sent a shockwave across the field. 

The ball rocketed into the sky. Aizawa held up a device. It beeped. 

"705.2 meters," Aizawa announced, showing the screen to the class. 

The class erupted in cheers. 

"Woah! 700 meters?! That's awesome!"

"We get to use our Quirks as much as we want? This looks like fun!" 

Aizawa’s eyes darkened. His capture scarf began to levitate around his neck, and his hair stood on end. "Fun? You have three years to become heroes. Do you think it's going to be games and playtime the whole way? Idiots." 

Aizawa smirked, a cruel, terrifying expression. "Fine. New rule. Whoever comes in last place in all eight tests will be judged to have no potential... and will be punished with immediate expulsion." 

The class gasped in horror. 

"Expulsion?! On the first day?!" Uraraka cried out. "That's not fair!"

"Natural disasters, highway pileups, rampaging villains. Japan is full of unfairness," Aizawa stated coldly, his eyes sweeping over the terrified faces of his students. "Heroes are the ones who reverse that unfairness. If you were hoping to spend your evenings hanging out at McDonald's, I'm sorry to tell you that for the next three years, U.A. will run you through the wringer. Go Plus Ultra."

It was an incredible speech. It was intimidating, inspiring, and set the tone for the entire series. 

Crunch. Crunch.

Aizawa’s eye twitched. The dramatic silence was ruined by a loud, obnoxious crunching sound. 

Aizawa slowly turned his head. 

Sitting at the very back of the group, completely separate from his classmates, was Izuku Midoriya. 

He was sitting on a green canvas folding chair. He had his legs crossed. In his lap was a large, family-sized bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. 

Izuku reached into the bag, pulled out a chip, and loudly bit into it. CRUNCH.

The entire class turned to stare at him. 

"Midoriya," Aizawa said, his voice dangerously low. "Where did you get that chair?"

Izuku swallowed his chip, licking the flavoring off his fingers. He looked at Aizawa, entirely unfazed. "From my backpack."

"Your backpack is not big enough to hold a folding chair," Aizawa countered logically. 

"Ah, but you see, Sensei," Izuku grinned, leaning back. "I possess a very rare secondary Quirk. It's called 'Hammer Space.' It allows me to pull comedically oversized items out of areas where they absolutely should not fit for the sake of a visual gag."

[Also known as the prison pocket! Highly versatile!]

Aizawa rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive migraine coming on. "Put the chips away, Midoriya. And stand up. You're taking this test."

"Righty-o, boss!" Izuku chirped. He stood up. In the blink of an eye, the folding chair simply vanished. He didn't fold it. He didn't put it anywhere. It just ceased to exist. 

Aizawa blinked. He decided not to ask. He didn't get paid enough to ask. 

"Test one. 50-meter dash," Aizawa instructed. 

The tests that followed were an absolute spectacle, but not for the reasons anyone expected. 

The class assumed Izuku would use his Quirk. They assumed he would do something flashy. Instead, Izuku Midoriya proceeded to shatter their expectations using nothing but the absurd, borderline-superhuman physical conditioning of Wade Wilson. 

Test 1: 50-Meter Dash. 

Izuku lined up against Iida. When the starting gun fired, Iida blasted off using his engine calves. Izuku didn't use One For All. He just ran. He ran with the explosive, fast-twitch muscle fiber efficiency of an Olympic sprinter who spent his weekends dodging machine-gun fire. 

Iida's time: 3.04 seconds. 

Izuku's time: 4.10 seconds. 

It wasn't faster than the Quirk, but for a base human, it was physically impossible. 

Test 2: Grip Strength. 

Shoji, the multi-armed student, crushed the machine with 540 kilograms. Izuku gripped the device. He squeezed until the veins in his forearm popped, the muscles coiling like steel cables. 

Izuku's score: 180 kilograms. 

Again, superhuman for a normal teenager, utterly devoid of Quirk enhancement. 

By the time they reached the final test, the softball throw, the class was staring at Izuku like he was a cryptid. He hadn't used a Quirk once, yet he was placing in the top five of almost every category purely on physical merit. 

"Midoriya," Aizawa called out. "You're up for the ball throw."

Izuku stretched his arms over his head, popping his shoulders. He strolled into the pitching circle, tossing the ball up and catching it. 

Uraraka had just scored an 'Infinity' by making the ball weightless. 

Izuku stood in the circle. He looked down at the ball. He could use One For All right now. He could channel 100%, shatter his arm into a fine powder, throw the ball into the stratosphere, and heal before the ball even landed. It would be a great flex. 

But as Izuku looked over at Aizawa, he noticed something. Aizawa's eyes were glowing red. His hair was floating. 

He's using his Erasure Quirk on us, White noted. He is suppressing One For All and the Healing Factor.

Izuku smirked. "Well, that's just rude."

Izuku wound up. He threw the ball as hard as his mercenary-honed muscles would allow. 

The ball sailed through the air, landing with a thud. 

Aizawa held up the scanner. "68 meters."

The class muttered in confusion. That was a completely normal, non-Quirk-assisted throw. 

Aizawa's capture scarf suddenly lashed out like a viper. Before Izuku could blink, the heavy, carbon-fiber cloth wrapped tightly around his torso, binding his arms to his sides. Aizawa pulled the scarf taut, yanking Izuku slightly toward him. 

"I erased your Quirk," Aizawa said coldly, his red eyes piercing into Izuku's soul. "I watched the footage of your entrance exam. You shattered your own limbs to destroy that Zero Pointer, and then miraculously healed them."

Aizawa stepped closer, his voice a harsh whisper. "A Quirk that requires you to destroy your own body to function is a liability. You lack self-preservation. You think a healing factor makes you invincible? What happens when a villain restrains you? What happens when you're knocked unconscious? You'd just be a liability waiting to be rescued."

Aizawa tightened the scarf. "You cannot become a hero with that power. Because you treat your own life like a joke."

The class watched in stunned silence. Aizawa was tearing Midoriya apart. 

Bakugo, standing in the back, grinned viciously. Yeah. Put the nerd in his place.

Izuku stood bound in the scarf. He didn't look scared. He didn't look ashamed. 

He looked bored. 

"Are you done monologuing, Teach?" Izuku sighed. 

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you're done," Izuku repeated, his voice losing all its jovial cheer. "Because you're making a lot of assumptions about me based on a highly restrictive testing environment."

"I am stating facts based on logical observation," Aizawa countered. "Your Quirk makes you reckless."

"My Quirk makes me efficient," Izuku snapped back. "And for the record, you didn't erase my Quirk." 

Aizawa scoffed. "My eyes are literally glowing, kid. Your healing factor is offline. If I broke your arm right now, it would stay broken."

Izuku’s smile returned, wide, unhinged, and terrifying. 

"Wanna bet?"

Faster than Aizawa could process, Izuku slipped his right hand completely free of the supposedly inescapable capture scarf. Mercenary escape tactic: dislocating the shoulder to slip the binding. 

Izuku didn't attack Aizawa. Instead, his hand shot to the tactical pouches on his belt. 

SHING.

Izuku pulled a seven-inch, serrated combat knife from his belt. 

Before Aizawa could yell, before Iida could chop his arm, before Uraraka could gasp...

Izuku raised the knife and violently plunged it directly through the back of his own left hand, which was still bound to his chest. 

SQUELCH.

The blade punched through flesh, muscle, and bone, the bloody point erupting from his palm and digging into the Kevlar of his uniform. Blood sprayed across the white fabric of his P.E. shirt. 

Several students screamed. Uraraka covered her mouth in horror. Mineta fainted. 

Aizawa gasped, his eyes going wide with pure shock. He instinctively blinked. 

The moment Aizawa's eyelids shut, his Quirk deactivated. His hair fell flat. 

In that microsecond, Izuku yanked the knife out of his hand, tossing it into the air. 

CRUNCH-SQUELCH.

By the time Aizawa's eyes opened a fraction of a second later, the massive, gaping hole in Izuku’s hand violently stitched itself shut. The bone fused. The skin smoothed over. The only evidence that he had just impaled himself was the blood soaking his sleeve and the clean slice in his glove. 

Izuku caught the knife by the handle as it fell, expertly spinning it in his fingers, before sliding it back into his belt. 

He easily shrugged off the loosened capture scarf, rubbing his wrist. 

Aizawa was frozen. He had seen horrible things in his career as an underground hero, but watching a fourteen-year-old student casually mutilate himself just to prove a point was entirely alien. 

"You see, Eraserhead," Izuku said, his voice deadly calm, echoing across the silent field. "You rely on your eyes. You erase a Quirk, you equalize the playing field, and you use your superior martial arts to take down the villain. It's a great strategy. But it requires you to blink eventually."

Izuku took a step toward Aizawa, closing the distance until they were inches apart. 

"And when you blink against me? Even for a millisecond?" Izuku smiled. "I heal. You say I lack self-preservation? You're right. I do. Because self-preservation is a survival instinct for people who can actually die, Teach. I don't have that luxury." 

Izuku patted a stunned Aizawa on the shoulder. 

"Now, if you don't mind, I need to retake my throw. You kinda ruined my momentum."

Izuku walked back to the pitching circle, picking up a fresh softball from the bucket. 

The class was paralyzed. They had just watched the green-haired kid absolutely mentally break their terrifying teacher. 

Izuku stood in the circle. He wound up again. 

This time, he didn't throw it normally. He threw it with a perfect pitcher's form, maximizing the kinetic energy. The ball soared into the air, reaching the apex of its arc at about seventy meters. 

Then, Izuku moved. 

He drew his modified paintball rifle from his back, tracking the softball in the sky. He didn't even aim down the sights. He fired from the hip. 

THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!

Three pressurized, heavy-duty paintballs rocketed into the sky, striking the softball consecutively in mid-air. The kinetic impacts acted like stage-boosters on a rocket, violently propelling the softball further and further into the horizon until it vanished from sight. 

Aizawa looked down at his scanner. It beeped. 

904.5 Meters.

Izuku slung the rifle over his shoulder, turning back to the class and giving them a cheesy thumbs-up. "And that's why we bring support items to gym class, kids!" 

"DEKUUUUUU!" 

The roar tore through the field like a bomb going off. 

Katsuki Bakugo had finally snapped. 

His entire worldview was crumbling. Deku was supposed to be a pebble on the side of the road. A Quirkless, useless, stuttering loser. But yesterday he had tanked an explosion to the face. Today he was talking back to teachers, stabbing himself, and throwing softballs further than Bakugo. 

It was unacceptable. 

Bakugo launched himself across the field, his palms crackling with massive, lethal explosions. He didn't care that Aizawa was there. He didn't care about the rules. He was going to kill Deku. 

"TELL ME HOW YOU DID THAT! WHAT KINDA TRICK ARE YOU PULLING, YOU DAMN NERD?!" Bakugo screamed, flying through the air, bringing an explosive right hook directly toward Izuku's face. 

"Bakugo, stop!" Aizawa yelled, reaching for his scarf. 

He wasn't fast enough. 

But Izuku was. 

Izuku didn't even flinch. He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Again with the yelling. Seriously, man, get a lozenge."

As Bakugo’s explosive fist closed in, Izuku simply... tilted his head to the left. 

The explosion blasted the empty air beside Izuku's ear, the heat singeing the tips of his green hair. 

Bakugo’s eyes widened in shock as he overextended his punch. 

Izuku moved with terrifying fluidity. He stepped inside Bakugo’s guard, entirely ignoring the residual fire. He raised his right hand and gently, almost mockingly, tapped Bakugo directly on the nose with his index finger. 

"Boop." 

Then, Izuku swept his leg out, hooking Bakugo’s ankle and pulling violently. 

Bakugo was airborne. He slammed flat on his back against the hard dirt of the field with a bone-rattling THUD, completely knocking the wind out of his lungs. 

Before Bakugo could even wheeze, Izuku had dropped his knee heavily onto Bakugo’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Izuku pulled the heavy paintball rifle off his back and pressed the barrel directly against Bakugo’s forehead. 

The entire class screamed in panic. Kirishima and Iida started running forward to stop what looked like an impending execution. 

"Move, and I'll paint the grass with his brains," Izuku warned the class, his tone suddenly devoid of all humor. 

The class stopped dead. 

Izuku looked down at Bakugo. The blonde boy was gasping for air, staring up the barrel of the rifle, genuine fear finally breaking through his rage. 

"Kacchan," Izuku whispered, leaning down so only Bakugo could hear him. "I told you yesterday. You have no power over me anymore. You are a noisy, insecure little dog barking at a tank. If you ever rush me like this again... I won't use the blunt end of my swords. Do we have an understanding?" 

Bakugo glared, tears of frustration and humiliation pricking the corners of his eyes. He gritted his teeth, but he didn't move. 

Suddenly, Aizawa's capture scarf wrapped tightly around Izuku's waist, yanking him aggressively off Bakugo and dragging him several feet back. 

"Enough," Aizawa commanded, his eyes glowing red again, his hair standing up. "Both of you. Stand down." 

Izuku casually slung the rifle back onto his shoulder, dusting off his knees. He smiled brightly at Aizawa. 

"Just defending myself, Teach! He's a very aggressive hugger!" Izuku chirped. 

Aizawa looked from Izuku to Bakugo, who was slowly picking himself up off the dirt, trembling with rage. Aizawa rubbed his temples. This class is going to be the death of me.

"The test is over," Aizawa sighed, releasing Izuku from the scarf. "I'm projecting the results. Take a look." 

A holographic projection appeared from Aizawa’s device. 

Izuku scanned the list. 

1. Yaoyorozu Momo.

2. Todoroki Shoto.

3. Bakugo Katsuki.

...

9. Midoriya Izuku. 

...

20. Mineta Minoru. 

Izuku nodded approvingly. Ninth place. Not bad for a guy who technically hadn't used an offensive Quirk the entire day. 

Mineta, seeing his name at the bottom, began to sob hysterically. "No! Expelled?! On the first day?! I never even got to touch the—"

"By the way, I lied about the expulsion," Aizawa interrupted flatly, hiding his face behind his scarf. 

The class froze. 

"It was a logical ruse," Aizawa smiled grimly. "To draw out the upper limits of your Quirks." 

"WHAAAAAT?!" the class shouted in unison. 

"Of course it was a lie," Yaoyorozu sighed, shaking her head. "If you thought about it logically, it was obvious." 

Izuku scoffed loudly. "Oh, please. It wasn't a ruse. He's expelled entire classes before. He just realized that expelling people on day one requires filling out a mountain of paperwork, and he's too lazy to do it."

Aizawa flinched slightly. The kid was entirely too perceptive. 

"We're done here," Aizawa turned away, walking back toward the school building. "There are handouts with your curriculum in the classroom. Midoriya. Go to Recovery Girl and get your hand checked. Even if you healed, I want a psychiatric evaluation on file for that little stunt."

"You got it, boss!" Izuku saluted. 

The class began to murmur among themselves, slowly making their way back toward the locker rooms. Uraraka jogged over to Izuku, her eyes still wide with concern. 

"Midoriya, are you really okay?!" she asked, grabbing his left hand and inspecting the glove. There was a clean cut in the fabric, stained with blood, but the skin underneath was flawless. "That was... that was the scariest thing I've ever seen!"

"Aww, thanks, Uraraka," Izuku smiled genuinely. "But seriously, I'm fine. It's just a flesh wound! They happen all the time in my line of work."

"Your line of work?" she asked, confused. "You mean being a student?"

"Sure, let's go with that," Izuku nodded. 

As they walked back toward the school, Izuku deliberately lagged behind the rest of the class. He stopped, turning around to face the empty P.E. field. 

He looked directly up at the sky, breaking the fourth wall with a massive, satisfied grin. 

"Well, folks, that concludes the establishment phase of our story," Izuku announced to the readers. "We’ve asserted dominance over the edgy rival. We've traumatized the homeroom teacher. And we've successfully avoided doing any actual schoolwork."

He leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. 

 

Izuku pointed a finger-gun at the camera, clicking his tongue. 

"Maximum Effort, True Believers. I'll see you in the finale." 

Izuku spun around, doing a perfect moonwalk across the grass until he caught up with his classmates, leaving the chaotic echoes of his first day hanging in the air.