Title: With Flying Colors
Series: Fairy Heart
Category: Anime, Crossover, Action-Adventure
Ratings: PG-13
Pairings: None, Gen, Midoriyas & Shinsou, Midoriyas & All Might (plural Midoriyas)
Summary: Long ago the world was magical. Ages passed and the magic faded, returned and faded again, following the cycle of the stars. At the dawn of a new age of magic, Midoriya Izuku is born with a golden key in his hand and the power of a Celestial Spirit Wizard. He sets out to pass each test life throws at him, with old friends at his back and new ones on the horizon.
Words: 25,700
Notes: This is the only “finished” fic on my EAD, it’s my rough trade from March of 2022. I haven’t edited it and might ultimately change a lot of details/rewrite it, so it constitutes a lovely EAD piece. Crossover with the “Fairy Tail” anime, Midoriya Izuku is a wizard, I had him and Shinsou Skip a Grade, so they’re in the missing class “2A”
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, OCs
Chapter 5
On Monday, Izuku showed Shinsou the way down to Yagi-san’s shop. The third day of Shinsou’s stay with the Midoriyas is heralded with a brilliant sun that lights up the beachfront, the ocean walkway guiding them along Izuku’s usually running route to a slightly more urban area.
The outside of the shop wasn’t anything special.
The inside, however, was a bit of a surprise. Shinsou paused in the doorway after Izuku unlocked the door and walked through without a care.
It was an interesting mix, almost as if the man hadn’t been able to decide what to sell. Used books lined the shelves that covered three-fourths of the main room, which was large but modestly so.
The remaining wall, however, was entirely glass. Beyond it was an entirely glass room full of potted plants, running parallel to the main shop and providing an abundance of natural light.
The main room’s empty floor space was again split in two; the larger section filled with small, cozy little tables. The other half was split by the presence of a long glass counter, behind which some machinery was visible.
A large menu was written in chalk and a neat hand.
“Bookshop, plant shop… and tea-house?”
Izuku looked up from where he was flipping the ‘closed’ sign around to ‘open’, at the doors.
“Hm? Coffee shop, actually.” He said matter-of-factly. “Yagi-san has spent a lot of time in America.”
The green-haired boy walked through the space comfortably while Shinsou tried to un-hunch his shoulders. Izuku turned the lights on, then leaped up to sit upon the arm of the long counter with the cash register on it; he then swung his legs around until he was behind the register and wandered off into a door Shinsou hadn’t noticed. Some sort of kitchen, probably, since Izuku walked back out in an apron, drying his hands.
“You can sit and study at one of the tables if you want.” He threw over his shoulder as he started doing something complicated with what Shinsou guessed was a fancy coffee machine.
“Fair enough.” He visibly decided to just roll with it, dropping his backpack at a table tucked in close to the back-side of the counter, closest to the kitchen door.
“Want a cup?”
“Don’t have any money.” Shinsou answered.
“Not what I asked.”
“Abusing your employee privileges?” Shinsou drawled.
“Hardly.” Izuku snorted. “I know the rules here. Yagi-san has told me over and over that I should bring friends by, explicitly to drink free coffee. He’ll be thrilled that I’m doing it for once.”
“You barely know me.” Shinsou pointed out, as though the casual use of the word ‘friend’ didn’t burn the back of his throat.
“I know you don’t sleep enough, going by the bags under your eyes. You’ve got to be exhausted all the time.”
“I’ve got insomnia.” Shinsou said flatly. “Just give me coffee.”
Izuku laughed, looking pleased by the demand instead of put-off. It was unusual. Shinsou didn’t know what to do with his… anything. With his cheerful green everything.
Izuku brought him a cappuccino with a little chibi All Might drawn into it, immediately recognizable by his upright bangs and huge smile.
Shinsou curled his hands around it possessively. He’d never been able to just go out to a shop and get novelty drinks, much less hero-themed ones.
“There’s sugar and stuff at the counter if you want to doctor it more.” Izuku said distractedly. He took off his apron and wandered into the green-house room. Shinsou watched him smile a little as he watered the plants, smaller and softer than normal, and caught Izuku lifting his face to the sun. He looked peaceful. Calm.
The next day, Shinsou followed him in, offering to help. Izuku lit up, pointing out what each plant needed. When prompted, he was a neverending fount of knowledge about each species, smiling wildly and gesturing with his hands.
Forget ‘fun-facts’, he was like an encyclopedia of interesting information.
He learned Izuku worked in the shop whenever he wanted, but, legally, could only be paid for the hours before and after the school day. He counted the rest as volunteer hours and was ‘paid’ in free coffee, which he wasn’t stingy about sharing.
Yagi-san came in often, offering Shinsou small smiles of his own, as if he’d always been with the Midoriyas– as if he belonged. He beamed when he saw Shinsou learning the way of latte art with Izuku behind the counter, waving him away when Shinsou jumped up and tried to apologize.
They ruined a lot of cups of coffee that Shinsou drank in the name of refusing to waste them, and he laughed more in that one week than he had in the rest of his life combined.
None of the regular customers who came in so much as looked at him funny; a fair few of them looked pleased and delighted when Izuku introduced him as a ‘friend’, which he insisted on doing, with no regard for the way it turned Shinsou’s stomach upside-down every time.
On the next Saturday, they walked into the apartment’s kitchen to find Yagi-san and Inko at the table surrounded by paperwork.
“Mom? What’s…”
“Sit down, honey, we’ve got an offer for both of you.” Inko smiled tiredly, yawning. “Sorry, it’s been a long morning.”
“I’ll get some snacks.” Izuku volunteered immediately, bustling around the kitchen until he had leftover rice heated and fruit sliced.
Yagi-san slid a form forward.
“Young Midoriya, let me begin by saying I know your plans have changed. You’ve not shown it much but I know it must frustrate you, because you had a very detailed plan on how you would spend the next year. That training isn’t possible, now, and I can’t give you back the months you lost. However, I can offer you something to make up for it, if you’re willing.”
Inko shot him a fond smile and rolled her eyes as Izuku looked over the papers. He was fine until he caught the stationary heading, a stylized design that he would recognize anywhere.
“Wait– Mighty Agency?” He gasped lightly, looking up with bright green eyes. “The Agency you work for?”
“Well.” Yagi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Mighty Agency?” Izuku repeated, slightly higher-pitched. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He could be cool. He had to be cool. If he embarrassed himself every time he encountered something associated with All Might, he’d have a very hard time just going through his life.
Then his eyes focused and he realized what the papers were actually saying.
His head snapped up.
“Really?” He croaked.
Irrelevant thoughts were swirling through his head. Mighty Agency doesn’t take interns. I’m not qualified. Why would they take me? He pushed all that aside.
If Yagi-san said it was legitimate, it was legitimate.
“Yes.” Yagi nodded. “It’s unorthodox, but first year hero students are sometimes given a shadowing opportunity without any sort of licensure, so there’s precedent.”
Izuku couldn’t speak so it was well that he continued.
“You just need a pro to sign off on it, and my license is still quite valid. I’m… working on getting teaching credentials, so I can’t technically teach you anything about heroics, and without being enrolled in a hero course you can’t follow anyone on patrol, or anything.” He smiled at Izuku. “That said, there’s an in-between place where legacy kids usually fit, shadowing an agency to see the processes involved in heroics without doing any work. Those kids are also allowed to use the agency’s gyms and practice areas for quirk training if they have supervision and fill out the correct forms.”
He nodded to the form in front of Izuku.
“We won’t be taking the train all the way to Tokyo to use Mighty Tower’s–many– gyms, but I figured you would compromise to use your quirk on a bunch of beach junk instead.”
He smiled his wide, close-lipped smile, and it didn’t look as awkward as it should. He never looked awkward when he was smiling at Izuku, Shinsou had noticed.
None of them were prepared for Izuku to launch himself across the table; least of all, it seemed, Izuku. Yagi caught him with a bewildered, surprised laugh, accepting the hug as the teenager cried on him.
He looked unbearably fond. Shinsou looked away.
Inko looked watery around the edges, though, so he figured he’d have to resign himself to the waterworks eventually if he was going to live here. The thought made something hurt in his chest and he rubbed at it thoughtfully.
Izuku calmed down but didn’t leave his position draped over Yagi. He turned around in the man’s lap and smiled shyly but didn’t move. It looked an awful lot like a father and son; the scene was disgustingly domestic, actually, and worst of all Shinsou felt like a part of it. Two teenagers, a mother, and a father– he didn’t feel like an outsider looking in, and that was the absolute strangest thing.
“And for you, Shinsou-kun.” Yagi continued, as though not interrupted at all. “Well, the good news is you’re perfectly qualified for the scholarship I spoke of.”
“What– really?” He pulled the form in front of them to himself without thinking about it, then flushed dully as he realized that might have been rude, but Inko only smiled at him.
He tentatively smiled back, before looking at the document and reading it hungrily. He sat up in stunned disbelief.
“I thought it would be an application.” Shinsou said.
“Wait, what?” Izuku leaned over and snagged the paper. “Oh, wow! Congratulations!”
“I took the liberty of putting your name in, since the deadline was coming upon us.” Yagi admitted sheepishly. “When I got to the office, there were only hours left. This week was… uh… the selection process.”
“This is unreal.” Shinsou’s voice sounded far away to his own ears.
“You deserve it, young man. The Dark Horse Hero scholarship was designed for your case– that is, I mean.” Yagi coughed. “For cases just like yours. Ahem.”
Inko reached out, hesitating only briefly before letting her fingers comb through Shinsou’s hair. He had no real memory of that kind of touch. It felt nice, he was surprised to note. Comforting.
“Congratulations, kiddo.” She said. “A full ride.”
“If I even get in.” He said, by reflex, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was elated. A grin was spreading across his face and he couldn’t stop it. Part of him was in disbelief– his two biggest worries were solved basically overnight. A place to live and a way to go to school.
They celebrated again that night and a week made all the difference in the world. In only seven days his situation was practically upside-down.
Shinsou didn’t have a name for the feeling, as he sat on the couch and ate dessert after dinner and kept getting dragged into the conversation. They wanted his opinion, his reactions, his words. It was novel and yet it felt like they’d been doing it forever. To his shock, this was already familiar and he couldn’t even guard against it, because he was too happy. He had come to trust the Midoriyas over the course of a week and he should be terrified but…
Looking around at the little family in the cozy living room, for the first time in a long time… no part of him was afraid.
Chapter 6
“The exam scenarios are posted!” Izuku came into Shinsou’s room with his phone clutched in his hand. Shinsou startled awake to a green-haired teenager clambering carelessly into his bed.
His first reaction was to clutch his blankets tighter, eyes wide. Izuku bowled him over, shaking his shoulder until he focused on the phone.
Then Izuku’s words registered.
“Give me that!” Shinsou grabbed for it and Izuku could barely wait for him to read it, bouncing in place and nearly bursting with energy.
“The theme is water-based rescue this year…” He muttered, thumbing fast through the article. “The Water Hose duo will be there… the Wild Wild Pussycats for rescue work, and… Gang Orca’s Sea Wolf agency will be playing villains!?”
“I know!” Izuku couldn’t contain his energy, gushing. “They cycle through natural disasters to test our potential rescue work and this year is probably going to be flash-flooding, or maybe tsunami recovery, there’s a lot of options…”
He trailed off muttering to himself. Then he gasped and looked up, meeting Shinsou’s eyes with light jumping in his spring eyes.
“I need to go find Yagi-san!”
Then he was off, leaving Shinsou to scramble out of the covers and after him, realizing too late that he’s still in sleep wear.
By the time he doubles back and gets changed, Yagi Toshinori is being tugged into the apartment by Izuku and Inko is laughing with a hand over her mouth.
Izuku appears to have been telling him about it the whole time, unable to wait, and he doesn’t stop talking.
Shinsou is incredibly impressed that Yagi can keep up with that– but then, he has more practice.
“– and what disaster was it when you went through!?”
Izuku stopped to take a breath. It wasn’t the first question he’d asked, clearly, but Yagi took the opportunity to answer it.
“Hm, let’s see. For me it was the windstorm scenario. I had… well, my circumstances were a bit different. In hindsight, I should have worked more with my fellow heroes. That was a lesson that did not come until well into my schooling. Often society uses competition to drive us to our best, but the truth is that we can always work better, faster and save more lives together. Unfortunately, it’s not always easy to see that, when your grade, or even your livelihood as a hero depends on how easily you stand alone…” The man seemed to shake himself. He offered Izuku a smile.
“I know that won’t be a problem for you, my boy.” He puts a hand softly on Izuku’s mop of green curls. “You were born to work well with others.”
“Because of my quirk?” Guileless green eyes looked up at him– Yagi was freakishly tall.
“That, too.” Izuku huffed at the answer and turned around to look at Shinsou.
“And Shinsou-shonen is likewise gifted in that department.” The man adds thoughtfully. “Your power centers around working well with others.”
Shinsou can only blink but Izuku is already nodding.
“We’re stronger together.” Izuku clenches a fist, smiling– it’s not a smile Shinsou has seen before. This one is determined, but not quite grim. He says it like a promise. “Fairy Tail does things the right way. I’m going to do things the right way.”
Then, as if he’s said too much, he smooths his lips together and looks away.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Yagi says softly. “I know you have plans. Big plans– to change the world, even. You don’t have to tell me now because I’ll be watching, Izuku– the whole way. I’ll see it for myself.”
Izuku released a shuddery breath and his smile transformed into the familiar, wobbly thing that promised Midoriya-class tears.
There were in fact tears, and hugs, and eventually food, and Shinsou somehow slid from the fringes of it to the gooey center as they turned and pulled him into conversation, until before he knew it they were all talking about different complications someone could encounter in a water-damaged environment.
–
Billowing smog filled the air, heat rising from smoking craters. The area was filled with teenagers– scared, panicking, and utterly unprepared for the reality of so much destruction.
They had come expecting to deal with water damage. U.A. was well known for its commitment to the entrance exams– students from other years were graded for their ability to pitch in, teachers oversaw the operation to keep things safe amidst the chaos, and all efforts were made regarding authenticity.
If U.A. wanted a city with flood damage, they would build a real and functional city– and then flood it with real water.
They would even bring in pros: the Water Hose duo to cause the flooding, accompanied by other water heroes like Selkie for rescue operations, and even Gang Orca’s agency for villains. Work was put in to make the whole exam authentic.
The buildings had real wiring, real– if quirk-built and sparse– furniture, and real ‘civilians’ in ‘danger’.
Announcing some details about the scenario beforehand so that prospective students can plan is part of the process: the type of disaster, the Pros involved, and a map of the city are all provided.
It was months of planning and work from U.A. and a big deal every year.
They had come planning to deal with water damage, but the world around Izuku was on fire.
At first, things had gone normally, as he expected with some surprises here and there– his heart had raced, he’d summoned a few Spirits, and rescued a few ‘victims’. The students had their choice of where to go– to demonstrate their rescue capabilities with the heroes, to help with recovery aspects, or to engage in some mock ‘combat’ with the ‘villains.’
Smart students banked on a combination of all three components: rescue, recovery, and combat.
He doesn’t know what’s gone wrong. Initially, he thought it was part of the test. As things destabilized further, it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t and couldn’t be planned.
Some of the other test-takers frantically looked for help, calling out for adults, for heroes. There were none, of course. Only a few heroes had been in the testing area. The city was supposed to be safe, contained.
Even the planned hazards were set up well in advance, small inconveniences that could be thwarted with clever thinking or a helpful quirk.
The ‘civilians’ in need of rescue were just robots designed by the support kids, with voice boxes and marked ‘injuries’ as they recorded your progress in helping them.
There wasn’t supposed to be screaming.
The other hopefuls didn’t know what to do or where to turn, looking for safety or help, panic in their young eyes.
U.A. had built a city far away from everything– out in the middle of the woods, at least twenty miles away from civilization. No heroes would be coming. They were on their own.
Something changed in Izuku.
Nerves for the test faded away; his anxiety about his performance drained out of him, so fast he was almost dizzy with it. An arbitrary exam with made-up rules, something he’d have to struggle to pass–
All thought of grades went out the proverbial window, and Izuku allowed himself one deep breath before a Fairy Tail Wizard stood in his place.
He’d been nervous about the exam, but this was real life. Real people in danger, real people in trouble, real people who needed help. A new anxiety rose, worry that he wouldn’t be in time or be enough, but Izuku was never alone and that was a familiar qualm; made it easy enough to hide fear away behind a smile as he reached into his pocket.
Priorities shifted with the surety of the tide, a test became reality, and Izuku’s role crystalized in an instant. The world was on fire and he knew exactly what to do.
–
Izuku had been in the rescue zone. He couldn’t help himself, of course– he had been determined to show his hand for all three categories. He’d started with villains and had planned to work his way over to recovery.
None of that was important now.
Izuku was in the rescue zone, full of half-collapsed and flooded areas already by design, and those students who had been navigating the water ‘rescues’ for the test were now dealing with very real fire and smoke. The ground had shaken horribly a few minutes ago, heralding a genuine earthquake, and already-damaged foundations now threatened to fall apart.
Izuku did not have the stamina to summon endless spirit after spirit, so he had to be careful. The first move, however, was obvious.
The world was on fire, so he summoned to hand a golden key with blue accents on the head.
“Open, Gate of the Waterbearer! Aquarius!”
In a rush of water pulled up from the original flooding, which lingered in the streets despite the heat and wreckage, Aquarius appeared before him.
“Is this your test, then?” She asked, smirking, but Izuku was already shaking his head and her expression fell.
“Something’s gone wrong. People are in trouble. Can you put these fires out?”
Aquarius looked around shrewdly. Another building exploded a few streets away.
“Yes, but I’ll have to go slow to prevent further structural damage. Do what you can to evacuate.”
Izuku nodded tersely as she readied her urn and started moving the water of the area. He stumbled over a trace of vestigial embarrassment for a split second before getting over himself and climbing to higher ground, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Does anyone have a good quirk to locate people!?” He yelled. The crowd was sparse, examinees having mostly run away—or run into unstable buildings for shelter before the quake, causing more problems.
There were no heroes around, of course. There were only panicked students and those trapped in the disaster.
“Please—we need to get people evacuated if we can! Can anyone track or find casualties?”
A girl with long brown hair eventually broke off from the retreating tide of faces, breathing hard. Her skin was pale, and sweat dotted her temples from exertion, bits of dust and debris stuck to her.
“I can—kind of.” She climbed Izuku’s high-rise. “I’ve never really used my quirk for that, but I can…”
She gestured and a spectral, transparent dragon appeared, roughly the size of a small cat in the air between them.
“My quirk, Dragon Scout.” She said. “I don’t usually summon too many but…” She looked up at met Izuku’s eyes with startlingly familiar green eyes, only a few shades darker than his own. “This is an emergency, right?”
“Right.” Izuku nodded grimly. “How many can you summon? I’m Midoriya, by the way.”
“Yamamoto.” She bit off, jaw set, eyes starting to glow–intense–as scales manifested up her jaw and cheeks. “Let’s find out.”
Dragon after dragon appeared, each a different color. Yamamoto didn’t create an overwhelming force at first; mindful of her limits, she directed the first handful to nearby buildings.
“I need to be sure I can manage the feedback and mental control.” She admitted. Next to them, Aquarius was putting out what fires she could, and directing excess floodwater through the air into a bold arc outside of the city wall.
Yamamoto could see through the dragons’ eyes. She identified the first place they were needed.
“You stay here.” Izuku decided immediately. “We’ll use this high ground as a central hub. Try to see if you can get anyone else to help.”
Yamamoto nodded, not moving from her tense position directing the scouts. Her eyes continued the unearthly glow and she got as comfortable as possible, sitting on an upturned piece of concrete to conserve strength.
Izuku followed her initial directions to the right building. There was more than one injured person inside, but a dark-skinned boy was holding up a half-collapsed roof by himself.
He couldn’t help the noise he made as he crossed the room.
“Don’t worry, it’s—” He grunted. “It’s not that bad, honestly. My quirk lets me do this easily, it’s only—using my quirk for so long.”
“Can you hold until I get them out.” Izuku asked seriously.
“Yes—go.”
Izuku ran over to the others. Small fires had burned here but were put out. One student was unconscious, the other with a broken leg. Neither could escape on their own, so the boy couldn’t drop his burden with them here.
“We were trying to do first aid for the ‘robot victim’.” The person with the broken leg said miserably, blue and black hair slick to their face with sweat. “Then the place started coming down around us.”
“Her?” Izuku gestured to the unconscious girl, with short purple hair.
“She created a force-field of some sort to shield me, but it left her open to the debris—something knocked her on the head.”
There was a bit of blood at her temple.
“We have to move her anyway.” Izuku said. “I’ll get her out and then come back for you. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll have to be.” The student said, grimacing. “No, I will be—get her out.”
Izuku carefully picked up the fallen girl. You weren’t supposed to move someone with a head injury, but he had no choice. She wasn’t too heavy and he thanked the hours put in training.
He carefully maneuvered through the space and deposited her outside, whereupon another examinee rushed over to him.
A long-haired boy with dark skin took the girl from Izuku’s arms, frowning. Then he held out his hand and to Izuku’s surprise, a first aid kit flew into it.
“My quirk.” The boy said. “Utsumi Ren, by the way. Leave her to me.”
“Mn.” Izuku nodded and entered the building again.
“One more.” He told the guy holding up the entire building.
He hustled back to the student waiting. The blue-haired person was swaying, head tipping where they were sitting against the wall.
“Stay awake a little longer.” Izuku urged, and they jerked awake. “Here, let me be your crutch.”
“Anything to get out of here so Nakayama can put the fucking building down.” They agreed, gamely putting their arms around Izuku’s neck and supporting their weight on the uninjured foot.
Together they hobbled out, slower than a walking pace but not by much. Urgency quickened their movements.
Once they cleared the threshold, the student yelled back “CLEAR!” in a surprisingly carrying voice.
Nakayama—the boy with the firey gradient of dreads—grunted once and called out: “I’m not sure I can get to the door in time!”
“Wait, I’ve got an idea.” Utsumi said. Before Izuku could protest, he darted inside, long dark hair trailing behind him.
They couldn’t see what happened too clearly, but all at once the building gave an almighty rumble and started to collapse. Izuku’s heart leapt into his throat but the two of them were already clearing the doorway at a run that looked more like a dive.
“My quirk.” Utsumi said, out of breath. “Limited Telekinesis. Very limited, but I held up part of the roof for a few seconds.”
Nakayami slapped him heartily on the back, jolting his entire body. You’d think he’d have looked bigger than life in his atlas impression, but Izuku was surprised to see the boy looked even larger outside of the building. He was huge; easily a head taller than him, his biceps the size of Izuku’s face.
“Okay.” Izuku stood up, acutely aware he’d done the least of any of them. “Back to the rally point. You two need first aid and we should regroup.”
“Deal.” The blue-haired person said. “It’s Chihiro, by the way. They/them.”
Izuku nodded.
“I got her.” He gestured to the unconscious girl. Adrenaline and magic sang in him; carrying her wouldn’t be a problem. “This way.”
“Her name is Takahashi.” Nakayama volunteered, pushing a lock of braided hair out of his face. “She actually held everything up for a few minutes, so I could get into place. Her quirk is some kind of force field. I’m Nakayama Kenji, by the way.”
“Midoriya Izuku.” He introduced, guiding them in the correct direction to Yamamoto.
They made their way back to the high-rise, to discover a few more people waiting on them.
“Oh, let me!” The most petite girl Izuku had ever seen jumped to their level, reaching out to take Takahashi without hesitation. He was still staring as muscle rippled over her. It only lasted for a split second before she put the other girl down next to Yamamoto, but it was enough to register her becoming nearly eight-foot-tall and entirely white.
Hell of a transformation quirk!
“We’ve gathered some more reinforcements.” Yamamoto said tersely. “I’ve reduced the number of scouts for quality over quantity. We’ve also grabbed some casualties and stranded folks.”
A girl entirely made of blue fire was sitting next to them, waved a hand in a two-fingered greeting.
“I was afraid to move at all.” She confessed. “Everything was already so dangerous and I have to be really careful not to burn anything, even when I’m calm.”
“Understandable.” The petite blonde said, her hair and skin so fair they were almost paper white. “Don’t beat yourself up, Shudoshi.”
“Incoming!” Yamamoto said suddenly, voice sharp. She looked up and Izuku boggled. A dragon scout in vivid gold was leading a group to them—through the air.
One guy was holding Shinsou over his shoulder in a fireman carry, another of indeterminate gender hustling behind. The incredible part was that they were walking as if on solid ground—despite being in mid-air, upside down.
“Shinsou!” Izuku hollered, concerned.
“I got him, I got him.” The guy carrying Shinsou said, close enough for him to register brown hair over tan skin. “Don’t worry.”
“He’s gonna worry, Stairway-to-Heaven. It’s how he’s made.”
Shinsou’s voice was wry, not pained. Izuku’s heart unclenched. “I’m fine, just got a little trapped. He had to carry me because of how his quirk works.”
“I just held his free hand.” The other person said, pushing short pink hair out of their forehead. “Fujimori Makoto, he/they.”
A round of introductions went again, Izuku learning Shinsou’s fireman hero was called Ichijouji Daisuke and could make his own personal staircases in any gravitational configuration.
“That represents such an amazing escape route for heroes.” Izuku said before he could stop himself.
In the distance, a bright light started flashing, clearly a beacon of some sort. Yamamoto reported some more stranded and injured.
“We’re going to have to split into teams.” Izuku realized. “Quick, what’s everyone’s quirks?”
Once they split, Izuku was on a team with Shinsou (Quirk: Hypnosis), Nakayama (Quirk: Arrested Momentum), and the petite blonde—Kotsuzui, whose quirk let her turn into a hulking monster with super strength, speed and claws.
Yamamoto continued to send her scouts for reconnaissance, but the blue-haired enby, Chihiro, turned out to have a similarly useful quirk: Noise Floor. They mostly used it to dampen sound and launch silent surprise attacks in practice, but found it had a useful application to keep them in contact—with a little effort Chihiro could make the teams able to hear each other, despite the distance.
Izuku’s team headed toward the bright light, still flashing intermittently.
They found a student half-pinned by rubble, upper-body sticking out of the debris pile. Izuku felt the blood leave his face.
“Chihiro, there’s a mermaid putting out fires near you. Ask her if she’s mostly finished.”
“Uh, okay.” A pause. “Yeah, the mermaid says she got the major fires, already.”
“Thanks.” Izuku closed Aquarius’ gate, rushing over. He needed all his options on the table.
“Alright, crush injuries are no joke. We need to get you out of here and to a hospital.” He told them, feeling around the edges of the pile.
“To U.A.—Recovery Girl is there.” Kotsuzui said without hesitation. “I can carry them. I’m fast when I need to be, and we can hop from building to building and over the city wall.”
“Good. Someone needs to tell the heroes, anyway, if nobody’s brought word.” Nakayama said.
It was hard to think that they could somehow not know, but then—despite the chaos, it had been less than an hour.
“It’s not just me.” The person trapped said, introducing themselves as Taiyo Hikari and a guy. “There’s someone buried under further down, she was in a basement. She’s fine—she can get herself out—but not with me here.”
Their voice was a gasping wheeze.
“Alright, we’ll get this off of you, then take you directly to the medics.” Izuku said, making eye contact. Taiyo had vivid, pink eyes.
“Don’t worry.” Izuku said. “Everything’ll be okay.”
“I believe you.” Taiyo smiled. “Now, hurry.”
Kotsuizui was able to lift the entire mess by herself, but she did so carefully- they didn’t know where the other person was, or how deep. While she disturbed the rubble, Izuku and Shinsou pulled Taiyo out as fast as they could.
Then Kotsuizui dropped the mess carefully. Izuku turned and got his first proper look at the form—which was somewhat intimidating. She was almost eight foot tall with white, alien skin. Pink accents here and there did not distract from the maw of sharp, huge teeth and fingers that ended in pointed claws.
“We are Marrow, like this.” She said and the voice was deep, echoey. Shinsou whistled.
“Remind me not to talk shit about my villain quirk anymore.” He said in an undertone. Izuku elbowed him.
“Hey, Kusuburi!” Taiyo called out, coughing. “I’m out, I’m good!”
“Okay, we’ve got you.” Marrow leaned down and gently picked up Taiyo before moving. Izuku could barely track the motion. Some part of him insisted someone so big shouldn’t be able to move that fast—it was like watching All Might, all mass and terrifying momentum.
She kicked off buildings and into the air, pinging from side to side.
“Everybody get back!” A muffled voice shouted from under the rubble. They all scrambled away.
Within seconds, the entire pile of debris started heating up and then Izuku’s mouth dropped as it turned molten, red-yellow lava abruptly taking up the space.
A girl climbed out, big in the way of mutation quirks—built like a tank, she had square shoulders and a square jaw. Her skin was a dull blue offset by the glow of lava, and her hair was in three plaits of pink, yellow and blue.
“I’m good, I’m good.” She waved them off. “I turned the rubble around me into lava right away, so that it wouldn’t push down on me, but I couldn’t turn it all or the flashy boy would have gotten cooked.”
She floated in molten lava all that time?
“Good thinking.” Nakayama said, grinning as he offered her a hand. She looked him up and down appraisingly before grinning right back.
“Not often I see a guy taller than me.” She said. “I like your hair.”
“Taller by an inch, maybe.” Nakayama’s laugh was booming. “And thanks—though it’s never made me think of literal lava before.”
His dreads were a deep crimson at the crown of his head, gradually lightening to an almost neon orange, until the very tips were bright yellow. It did bear a notable resemblance to the genuine lava next to them.
Even standing shoulder to shoulder with each other, Izuku didn’t see much difference in their height, but then—they were both over six feet tall, which was utterly ridiculous to begin with.
“We’ve set up some teams for rescue work.” Izuku explained to the newcomer. “Do you want to help us?”
“My quirk is kind of dangerous.” She frowned, suddenly serious. “So we’ll have to be careful, but yes—absolutely. We want to be heroes, right?”
“Mn.” Izuku nodded. “Chihiro, where’s the next area we’re needed?”
And then they were off.
Chapter 7
It felt like hours of rescue work. In reality, it was probably barely more than one. The heroes arrived, the police arrived, and they had a lot of questions.
So did Izuku’s family.
Some reached out with no idea what happened. Later that night, he and Shinsou exhausted and freshly-bathed, his phone chimed with a text.
Melissa: How was the test!? Did you make it in?
Me: FUBAR. Signed an NDA. Can’t talk about it.
Melissa: WHAT.
Melissa:… hang on.
Bemused and alarmed, Izuku waited almost thirty minutes before his phone lit up with an incoming call.
“Are NDAs even legally binding to a minor?” She demanded.
“Okay, first of all, you sound like my mother.” Izuku laughed tiredly, ignoring Shinsou’s curious expression. “Secondly, it wasn’t actually an NDA, but we still signed paperwork and can’t talk about it.”
“Sounds sus.” Melissa said shrewdly. “Anyway, when do the results come in?”
“Unclear.” Izuku rolled over and shoved a pillow under his belly. “I’d expected to wait a week for results, but now…”
His voice trailed off.
“Yeah, the entire exam getting sabotaged by maybe-villains, maybe eco-terrorists, maybe a horrible accident could do that.” She said wryly.
“I just said I couldn’t talk about it—wait. Did you hack the police servers!?”
Shinsou sat up in alarm. They were lounging on the floor in the living room in a pile of blankets, ostensibly having a ‘sleepover’ with snacks and video games.
Shinsou said that it didn’t count as a sleepover if you were living with the people; Izuku said that a first time is sacred and he should enjoy it even if it’s a little unorthodox.
“Oh, is that Melissa on the phone?” Inko called from the doorway. “Also, I didn’t hear any of that. Legally speaking.”
“Mm.” Izuku confirmed, looking back at his mother with his phone trapped between his shoulder and ear. “Who else? Anyway, stop doing illegal things, and especially stop telling me about them. It’s going to be really awkward when we’re heroes.”
Her voice softened.
“Alright, fine, keep your secrets. If I keep an eye on the investigation notes, I won’t spill the tea.”
“It’s uh, not actually spilling the tea anymore if potentially involves actual national security.” Izuku said. “But thank you for the plausible deniability. My mom says hi.”
“Hi, Auntie!” Melissa shouted back. Izuku winced, pulling the phone away from his ear.
“She can’t hear you—why do I bother? Anyway. Hello, Melissa, how are you?”
“I’m good. Somebody got involved with some sketchy shit, but he was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. Do you want to hear something amazing?”
“Hit me.” The rapid change in tracks was not a surprise.
Her voice settled down to a whisper.
“I finished it, Izzy.”
Mute incomprehension gripped his tired brain for a second. Then the world sped up.
“You finished it!?” He said, sitting straight up. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
“I know!”
“I need to be there. I need to—Mom, we need to book a plane ticket. Two plane tickets. Holy shit.”
“Language.” Inko chided, face lit up with amusement.
“You haven’t turned it on yet, have you? It? He? Her?” Izuku’s brain swam. “Tell me right now I haven’t missed it!”
“Of course not!” Indignant, but Izuku could hear the grin in her voice. “She’s yours, after all. I updated the hardware with your edits last week and then spent the last three days coding. You were right, by the way, in the direction we needed to take. I was going to send you the final proof, but dad came by and looked it over. We’re ready.”
“Really ready? Like, for real?” He’d known they were close but that final hurdle was the most difficult. He was hardly able to imagine it.
“You have no idea how badly I want to press that button, Izuku. Come as soon as you can.”
Izuku lowered the phone with a silly, stricken smile.
“Alright, who the heck was that?” Shinsou said, curbing the more powerful swear with a quick look Inkowards.
“My sister.” Izuku said, flushed and breathless. “Mom, we need to go ASAP. They’re waiting on me. It’s a girl, and she’s ready to be born.”
–
“You’re having a kid!?” Shinsou demanded. He looked between them like they were crazy.
“Holy crap, I am, aren’t I?” Izuku fell back into the pillows for a moment, stunned. “A daughter.”
Then he scrambled up.
“Shit, we’ve got to pack. We’ve got to pack. Mom, you can’t leave your case, right?”
“Right.” Inko said, amused. “But you boys have fun on your vacation. Call me as soon as you land. And then again when I’m a grandma.”
She bustled off somewhere.
Shinsou was still very confused.
“You have a sister? A pregnant sister?”
“What? No, of course not.” Izuku’s nose wrinkled. “Gross.”
“Then what the hell?”
“My sister, Melissa; yes. Yucky human pregnancy; no.” He cocked his head. “Incest; also no. With an extra helping of ew.”
“Well?” Shinsou threw out his hands. “Hold on a second and explain better.”
Izuku opened his mouth and then closed it.
“You know what? It’ll make more sense in person.” He threw a look over his shoulder. “Go pack. We’re taking the first flight out in the morning.”
“To where?” Shinsou said, bewildered. But Izuku was already out of earshot, talking a mile a minute with Inko.
–
“I can’t believe you regularly go to I-island.” Shinsou repeated for what felt like the thirtieth time as the plane descended. Outside the aircraft’s window, the island glittered like a jewel on the sea, metals and technology visible in the afternoon sun.
If their life resembled pre-quirk comics already with all the superheroes, I-island was the modern day Wakanda. It was a modern technological marvel in a world where technology was already pushed to the brink of innovation, as if to make up for the decades of progress that were lost in the first Quirk Wars.
And the pinnacle of that science and technology was spirited away to the extremely reclusive, extremely well-guarded island haven where the brightest of minds could really push the boundary between science and magic.
Even the plane they were on was no ordinary flight; it was only by technicality a commercial airline. It did not land so much as become swallowed by the metal that rose out of nowhere to catch the craft, a glass-and-silver lift that stretched up into a platform that they alighted on as lightly as a butterfly on a flower. The device lowered them to ground level.
Midoriya Hisashi greeted them at the strange reception that only loosely resembled an airport. He was a slim man with long, black hair, an easy smile, and dark red eyes. He also looked nothing like Izuku, aside from a few coincidences here and there– the shape of his nose, maybe something about the ears.
Where Izuku was freckled and tan, Hisashi was pale and almost ethereally beautiful; where Izuku was kind of short, Hisashi was willowy and tall.
He swept Izuku up into a spinning hug the moment he saw him, however, and in that moment they looked as much father and son as Hitoshi had ever seen.
“Hey, kid.” Hisashi put him down to ruffle his hair, grinning shamelessly.
“Dad.” Izuku breathed. “We’re only here for a week before school starts but she’s ready, right?”
“According to your sister.” Hisashi confirmed casually. He put a hand on Izuku’s shoulder and turned to Hitoshi.
“Nice to meet you.” He introduced himself. “And welcome to the home of the variously gifted, intelligent and overall ridiculous geniuses with more smarts than sense.”
“That’s not how the internet describes this place.” Izuku protested.
“Oh, yes it is.” Hisashi denied. “If we make it one day without someone breaking the laws of physics or nearly building a doomsday machine, I’ll eat my hat.”
“You’re not wearing a hat.”
Izuku got his hair noogied for that one.
“So, which one are you?” Shinsou asked curiously. “I mean, Izuku hasn’t told me what you do.”
“Oh, I’m a trophy husband.” Hisashi said smugly.
Shinsou boggled.
“What?”
Hisashi barked out a laugh at the look on his face.
He waved a hand, dismissing the notion.
“Just kidding, mostly. I’m a bodyguard for my husband. I run his personal security company– with this kind of clientele, we stay busy.”
“Wow.” Hitoshi blinked. “Wait, you’re a bodyguard? Like, for real?”
“Yep!” The man winked. “Though, half the time it feels like I’m saving David from himself.”
“He’s not that bad.” Izuku denied.
“You’re not the one pulling him out of some contraption three times a week, squirt.” Hisashi said wryly. “But I was speaking more to Scientists: the Care and Feeding of.”
“Oh.” Izuku laughed. “If I’ve gotten a call from Melissa at three AM once, I’ve gotten them a thousand times.”
“They get so involved in their projects they forget to eat or sleep.” Hisashi explained to Shinsou. “Convincing them to pace themselves or take breaks for little things– like basic self-care– is practically an art form around here.”
“But don’t take my word for it.” Hisashi said suddenly. He looked up and gestured out at the greater island, which was towering with gleaming metal spires and futuristic technology even in the silhouette. “You’ll see for yourself what it’s like in a city of super geniuses.”
–
“Izzy!” For the second time in as many hours, Shinsou witnessed a stranger pick Izuku up by the hips and spin him around. Seeing it come from a petite blonde girl was somewhat unexpected.
“Melissa!” Izuku shouted right back. “Shut up, put me down, stop hugging me– where is she?”
“You don’t want to unpack?” The girl asked with pseudo-innocence. “That new hero-themed restaurant opened last month, that you’ve been wanting to try for forever–”
“Melissa Shield you take me to our daughter right now.”
She laughed, the sound almost giddy it was so breathless.
“Come on then,” She tugged at his hand, pulling him into the doorway. “She’s waiting on you.”
They followed Melissa through the bowels of a tower that looked suspiciously familiar. Eventually they came to their destination– a laboratory tucked into the heart of the building.
“You’ll have to wait out here.” Melissa said to Shinsou. She gestured to stairs. “There’s an observation deck that I’ll key you into temporarily, but not even daddy can come into the lab.”
“It’s mine and hers.” Izuku elaborated. “We wanted this to be one hundred percent our project. No well-meaning fathers or step fathers allowed.”
Melissa nodded sagely. Eager to see what all the fuss was about, though he was beginning to get an inkling, Shinsou walked up the stairs with Melissa as she typed away at some sort of datapad next to the door. It scanned her eye.
“Retina scanner.” She said to a startled Shinsou.
He wondered what he’d gotten himself into, not for the first time since meeting Izuku.
–
His niggling suspicion had been wrong.
Hisashi and the man that must be his husband– he looked exactly like Melissa– were soon to join him, but Shinsou couldn’t take his eyes away from the lab space that was visible from the observatory.
–
His sister led him through all the security of the lab. It was familiar to him, except for the last two layers– a new door which had been erected once they reached the creche stage.
Izuku trembled at the threshold, simultaneously bursting with impatience and not yet ready. The emotions in him were too big to be named.
“She’s waiting for you.” Melissa repeated, smiling, holding out a hand. Izuku allowed himself to be tugged into the room proper.
Melissa had clearly set everything up already. His presence truly was the last variable in her activation sequence– his daughter’s very first awakening.
Lights lit up around the room, blue sequences around the paneling and the floor. It coalesced into the center of the room above an empty metal podium. The particles of air lit up with glowing refractions of light.
A voice sounded from the inbuilt speakers before she finished forming properly, as though she too couldn’t wait.
“Hello, Izuku.”
Melissa had designed most of the holographic interface she would need for the body, and set up some of the necessary software to host her, but for the majority of her nascent personality and life had been his doing.
They joked that she was his daughter but Melissa denied all parental authority; she was responsible for half the work, but as a surrogate at best, midwifing the program into the world.
Izuku’s daughter is an AI he and Melissa have been building for four years, since they realized the needs of the simulator were more robust than a regular computer could handle, when he first started to design the core of what would be her base code.
“Hello, ATLANTIS.” Izuku breathed out, stumbling forward with his hand raised.
She coalesced into the form of her choosing; though she hadn’t been properly activated, he and Melissa had been communicating with an extremely rudimentary version of her regarding the final– the initial– choices, in bits and pieces of programming language, more toggled switches and snatches of [if-yes-then] code than conversation.
There had been no true understanding.
She hadn’t been awake, then. She couldn’t begin to learn.
Atlantis awoke and chose from the vast array of options she’d been given, an algorithm of faces and features. It took long moments and they watched her first becoming, colors shifting until her chosen shades pixeled into view.
It both was and wasn’t a surprise to see she’d gone with what she knew, and what was before her now: the faces of her creators.
Green eyes and soft blonde hair looked back at him, familiar freckles appearing across her cheeks and spreading like constellations down her shoulders and arms. Her skin– all of it, for she had not yet bothered to clothe herself, as innocent in her nudity as a newborn child– formed tan from a sun she’d never seen.
Her hand, mirroring his, stretched out until the two could brush. Though he was expecting it, he still gasped to find he could feel it– her hand had mass; it tickled with something more than light, fingers curling tangibly into his.
“It’s nice to meet you.” She said shyly.
Izuku stepped forward until he could touch his forehead to hers, stopping as soon as he felt the tingle of connection.
He closed his eyes, bringing his other hand up to touch reverent fingertips to her shimmering cheek.
“Hello, Atlantis.” He repeated so, so softly. “Welcome to the world.”
–
“Shield.” Shinsou hissed under his breath, when next he saw Izuku. “Melissa Shield. David Shield.”
“Oh.” Izuku said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Haha. Did I forget to mention that somewhere along the way?”
“Yes, you forgot to mention that your father married into the most prolific family of inventors on the planet. This is Wakanda and your dad married Tony Stark.”
“Tony Stark didn’t live in Wakanda.” Izuku protested automatically. Then, with great delight: “You read pre-quirk comics?”
“Public libraries are free and have scans of pre-quirk media; don’t change the subject.”
“Yeah, they’re those Shields.” Izuku admitted without a trace of shame, though he was a bit sheepish. “Sorry to surprise you with that, I forgot.”
“You forgot.” Shinsou huffed. “Well, whatever– thanks for showing me the most restricted and classified place on earth and letting me see the birth of your daughter, I guess.”
Izuku immediately went starry-eyed.
“She’s perfect.” He said. “Isn’t she perfect, Shinsou? It’s so strange to see her and talk to her when she’s just been this little code that could barely communicate for almost a year.”
“I thought you’d spent four years designing her?”
“Yes, but the last stages of her growth were– hm, explosive. Most of that was building her and she only started helping with the process– code propagating from code– about nine months ago.”
“Wait– really?” Shinsou snorted hard.
“What?” Izuku blinked.
“Really? Nine months?”
Color rushed hot across the bridge of Izuku’s nose.
“No.” He said immediately.
“Hey, if you build the world’s first genuine artificial intelligence, why not let her take nine months to gestate?”
“Melissa built her; I coded her.” Izuku corrected absently. “Well, for the most part. The initial stages had a lot of overlap, and we helped each other throughout. I’d still say seventy-thirty both ways, though. I’m not an engineer.”
Shinsou snapped his fingers in front of Izuku’s face to get him back from the tangent.
“Anyway, what’s this simulation you built her for?”
“Oh!” Izuku brightened. “Well, it was the original idea, but the creation of Atlantis quickly became the real focal point. I didn’t just code her; I finished the code integration for the simulator.”
“Which I built.” Melissa said smugly, throwing an arm around Izuku’s shoulder as she entered the room from behind them. “Using my genuine, newly-forged, original, invented, patented hard light technology.”
“You’re into pre-quirk media– have you ever seen Star Trek?” Izuku asked.
“Yeah, actually– the library near my previous foster family had a digital library of old films. That was during the ‘space race’, right? It’s part of the reason people think we could have gone to the moon if quirks hadn’t happened in the middle of the 20th century.”
“There’s a conspiracy ‘archivist’ group convinced we did go to space and beyond because of those shows, even though we can literally replicate the practical effects they used.” Melissa said. “But they have those conspiracy groups for practically everything pre-quirk.”
“I met someone in elementary school who convinced Doctor Who was real and the Doctor and aliens brought us quirks.” Shinsou said. “I was like, dude, we’re seven– but I guess he picked it up from his family.”
“Anyway.” Izuku interrupted easily. “You know the Holodeck on Star Trek?”
“Yes?” Shinsou questioned, expecting another tangent. The word simulator clicked. “No. You didn’t. That’s super sci-fi.”
“We realized there was absolutely no way to do it with a simple computer or even a super computer. The hologram stuff was my brain child ever since I binge-watched the show when I was nine, but even when I got the proof for the math on that– there was no way to run anything so advanced with our current computer tech.” Melissa said matter-of-factly. “It just wasn’t smart enough to create a virtual reality.”
“So you two built an A.I.?” Shinsou said, as though he hadn’t just seen her.
“Well,” Izuku said in his defense. “It had to be a program that could learn for itself, to get to the level we needed it– and not just a program, but the physical technology as well. We decided the best chance for a real virtual reality was to marry both aspects.”
“Atlantis is playing with the simulator facility right now.” Melissa confirmed. “We’re not done with the simulator yet, of course. We needed her online to move into the finicky bits.”
“The finicky bits.” Izuku repeated amusedly. “That’s one way to call it.”
“I don’t want to know.” Shinsou said immediately. “I thought I was smart, sheesh. How are you only testing out of one grade?”
Izuku flushed again, pink creeping down his neck.
“Yeah, Izzy, how are you only testing out of one grade?” Melissa teased.
He covered his eyes with one hand and muttered something.
“What was that?” Melissa sing-songed. “We didn’t hear you. Confess, brother-mine.”
“I spent four years obsessively coding an AI and they don’t have code or even robust science classes at Aldera Middle School. When I wasn’t being generally harassed, I was learning next to nothing in school, and when I wasn’t coding Atlantis, I was writing obsessively about heroes and quirk statistics, are you happy?”
Melissa leant over to noogie Izuku’s hair.
“Priorities, little brother.” He squawked with outrage. “Maybe you’ll get some now that you’ve tested out of mediocre purgatory and are living your dream at U.A.”
“You are three months older than me!” He protested. “Barely anything. We had six months of gestational overlap.”
A pause.
“Also, we’re not sure if we got in. They might throw out the test results entirely.” His shoulders slumped. Melissa patted his back consolingly.
“There, there. Our idea,” She turned to Shinsou, “Is to field test the simulator as a heroics practice arena, and what better place than U.A.?”
“Of course it ties back into heroics.” Shinsou laughed, startled and pleased to be so startled. To his immense shock, he found he liked her– or was at least incredibly amused by her.
“Well, this is I-island.” She gestured broadly at the giant building they were even now in. “We don’t just build things for no reason– everything that has a use can be funneled into heroes and heroics. We’re the capital of support items for the world.”
And coming from Melissa Shield, that ‘we’ was appropriately possessive.
“We’re hopeful it’ll be field-ready in the next few months, and you can test it then.” Izuku said, voice brightening. “By next year, the kinks should be worked out and the next class of students can be our fresh blind testers.”
“The idea is to train the next generation of heroes without all of the risk.” Melissa added, a note of victory in her voice. “Even experienced heroes will get something out of this, especially if we can get it standardized across the board– even if it’s only to donate their memories and experiences for other, younger heroes to fight through in a simulation.”
Shinsou’s mouth dropped open, imagining the plethora of possibilities. Instead of going off stories and news clippings, new heroes could live the tests and trials without real lives on the line, cutting their teeth and gaining valuable experience with none of the losses.
As an aspiring hero himself, he knew the value of having that much more edge on freshly graduated sidekicks. Real world experience was what really made a difference one you escaped the thralls of high school.
It was why U.A., with its full Pro staff, was a cut above the rest.
“And Atlantis is going to run it all?” He asked, awed all over again by the things he’s seen since he got off that plane.
Izuku turned to him, the blue light of the top and bottom trimming lighting up his eyes like aurora. The paneled line of lights and tech ran through every room of the building, allowing the newly-born A.I. to manifest physically in any area.
“Atlantis is going to build worlds.” Izuku vowed, the weight of the words ringing through the hall more like promise than prophecy.
Chapter 8
Twenty years ago, shortly after All Might graduated but before he went to America—he was only a top 100 hero at the time, so it’s only retroactively that historians measure by his personal timeline– U.A. was destroyed by villains in a devastating battle, along with six city blocks.
Anyone would have expected it to be a crushing blow for the school; particularly as a new principal had just taken office, and U.A. was not yet the monolith of hero schools that it would become. It was a good school, yes, and definitely top ten—but it did not yet dominate all competition. It was not yet All Might’s alma mater, for the symbol of peace had yet to singlehandedly reshape society.
U.A. was, however, in possession of a new principal, at the time completely unknown. If they thought about it at all, anyone could be forgiven for thinking that it was a career-ending event to have the entire campus destroyed three weeks after they took the position, or that their tenure would be devoted solely to rebuilding for years to come.
Nezdu was not thwarted by the destruction. If anything, Nezdu—not yet the terror of the academic world—took to the challenge with glee in his heart.
He grabbed the reigns and made it an opportunity—to rebuild bigger and better. But not by any sane metric. Oh no. U.A. bought up those six city blocks and swept them under its rapidly expanding aegis.
Instead of rebuilding what had once been a simple, hastily-converted pre-quirk college campus, they built a sprawling labyrinth of modern learning.
U.A. started completely over as Nezdu’s beautiful, terrifying brain child and stopped being anything like reasonable or even predictable since.
It was like the story of the three little pigs, but instead of rebuilding with wood or bricks, they slapped down a fortress-worthy citadel with no weakness or equal. And that was just the beginning of Nedzu’s empire.
Izuku knew this very well—he’d spent years researching his preferred high school—and yet walking into the campus still had his jaw open.
With Nezdu at the helm for the last two decades, the school had gone from interesting to impossible. Aggressive recruitment led to it being the first school with pro-hero teachers only on staff, which was logistically ridiculous.
It then proceeded to set the golden standard for heroics training to the point that even the closest competitors—Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu for the last few years—were left in the dust.
The fake city outside of civilization was a good example of just what resources they brought to the table, but it was still incredible to see. The quality of the school was evident in every building, the layout itself, and even the doorways—built large enough to accommodate all but the truly ridiculous mutation quirks.
Ordinarily, they’d attend the orientation and then be handed off to their respective homeroom teachers for a tour of the campus, but Izuku’s class had been asked to come in early.
All students who received an invitation to attend, despite the horror of the botched entrance exam, were asked to come early.
Izuku saw a few familiar faces as he found the right classroom, but there was something in the air—almost solemn. The hallway was quiet and Izuku didn’t break that atmosphere as he sat down in an open seat amongst his classmates.
Some of the excitement of going to U.A.—of attending a hero school, the hero school!—had dimmed in the light of the exam. Streaked with dirt and ash and silted water from the flood, Izuku and the others had spent another hour pulling people to safety before the heroes had arrived.
All at once the door opened and a man walked in—immediately recognizable. With gold-tanned skin and even brighter hair, Present Mic was one of the top 50 heroes. His normal smile was not as wide as it was in posters and on TV.
“Hello, little listeners!” He grinned at them briefly before it fell. “You’ll have to give us some time before we get into your hero academia. There’s something to see first.”
He took up a remote and pressed a button; the wall itself started rolling down like a car’s window, revealing a sheet of glass—and beyond it, the next room.
“There was some debate about the staff about how to handle this situation and whether you should be allowed to witness it, but the fact of the matter is—you were there. You’re already involved. Yes, this is with regard to the exam.”
Present Mic inhaled and looked at them all for a moment. On the other side of the screen, another class of students sat. The change of atmosphere was shocking; they were laughing amongst themselves, most of them grinning. Some few looked smug.
“What you don’t know, and what won’t be released to the press, is that there is an ongoing investigation by the police and pros. Normally, and especially as those involved are underaged, you wouldn’t find out the results of such an investigation.”
Mic stood the left of the screen. He swept his gaze across the room. It was odd to see such a bright, cheerful hero so serious.
“The multiple disasters at the exam weren’t caused by any accident. They were purposefully engineered by a group of examinees.”
He clicked a button and sound came through. They heard the students joking around, laughing. The door opened. A man strode through, with pale skin and dark, messy hair.
What proceeded was the most terrifying dressing down that Izuku had ever heard, and he was only witnessing it secondhand. They stared in absolute shock as the conspiracy was revealed. It had started off innocently enough, with a handful of students on forums talking about the exams—Izuku had done the same thing.
Then, several students realized they were from the same school. They made a private chat. They started discussing their quirks, the area. They made plans. Some bright idiot got it into their head that they could combine quirk effects and really make an impression.
It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t meant to be a natural disaster. But it continued on without regard for safety as more and more dangerous combinations arrived—and once implemented, quickly spiraled out of control.
A combination of quirks had taken out Gang Orca early on. A profoundly stupid approach to stopping the flood effect entirely had caused the simulated earthquake, damaging the buildings. The fire broke out, quickly spreading.
Several students had come forward and confessed, obviously horrified with themselves once they saw the destruction. They weren’t present in the classroom. They also wouldn’t become heroes.
Neither, the unnamed pro said, would any of these students, all wearing the U.A. uniform.
The twenty-or-so students identified as being behind the stunt were led out of U.A. by police. They’d been invited only to be expelled and escorted to the station where they’d have to give a detailed accounting of their criminal stupidity.
The hero looked at the screen, straight into the eyes of Izuku’s class, who were watching. The microphones picked up his deep, low voice.
“Originally, we were going to scrap the entire exam. Aside from the culpability of those who knowingly risked the safety of everyone around them when they tried to rig the tests, who were ‘accepted’ under false pretenses, the thought was that we could get no measurable data about future students from how they reacted.”
He slumped against the desk behind him, red eyes tired but unwavering.
“We can’t evaluate the actions of children whose lives were in very real danger. If they ran—it was what they were supposed to do. If they took shelter and decided not to make the situation worse with their own quirk, waiting for a hero to rescue them, that was the best choice they could make, and not one we could evaluate them for.”
“The only fair, rational thing to do would be dismiss the results entirely, and have no incoming class of students this year. Even the business, support and general examinees take the practical exam for evaluation, an exam that was interrupted so thoroughly we have no conclusive results. We decided to give all the prospective students another attempt at next year’s exam.”
Izuku’s heart lurched. Already, an entire class had been expelled. While he had no knowledge of any such collaboration for sabotage and cheating, the thought of losing his chance after coming this far had him shaking.
“But then…” The Pro sighed. “You lot had to go and prove us all wrong. We watched the tapes. We heard testimony from other examinees and the police you debriefed with.”
Unexpectedly, he cracked a manic smile.
“Laws exist for a reason. Public quirk use is forbidden. Vigilantism is forbidden. None of you had a license, or even any supervision. You should have run, or hidden, or kept yourself safe as an absolute last resort.”
“But you’d signed a single piece of paper authorizing you for quirk use under very specific conditions. Within the confines of the testing site, for one day only, you could use your quirks—for combat, for rescue, and for recovery efforts.”
Red eyes slowly panned across the room, locking onto every single one of them.
“You didn’t run away. You foolishly put yourselves in danger, leaving relative safety to run right back into the crumbling buildings, the flooded basements, the very real fires and without any true medical training, started treating casualties.”
Fear and indignation welled up in Izuku, so suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Were they being berated for it? Were they going to be in trouble?
His hands shook, body literally trembling with a slow budding anger.
“What were we supposed to do!?” A boy stood up, black hair and tan skin, blue eyes blazing with emotion. “You said it yourself—legally, we were authorized to use our quirks.”
“Yes.” The hero snapped, frowning. “In a supervised training environment. Which this adamantly wasn’t. However.”
He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. His frown eased into something almost a smile.
“Despite every reason why you shouldn’t have, you did run right back into danger. With no heroes around and people’s actual lives in jeopardy, you stepped up to the plate. When faced with the choice between inaction or human casualties, you didn’t hesitate to save people—other children who might not have made it out alive.”
“Don’t mistake me; this incident is the single greatest failure on the part of this institution since U.A. was founded. You were supposed to be safe. All of you. And you weren’t. That’s on us—U.A. staff, and our lack of failsafes. You can be assured that the exam next year will be completely different. There will be full supervision, close to U.A.’s main campus, with heroes on immediate standby for emergencies—and no opportunity for collaboration between students. It wouldn’t surprise me if the decision was made to eschew revealing any details of the exam in advance.”
“We weren’t going to take any hero students this year. We were going to make an example out of the others. They had amazing quirks, incredible potential– and none of it mattered, at all, when they refused to apply even a modicum of common sense or accountability for the damage they could cause with their quirks, and their actions.”
“That said… you twenty proved without a doubt that you deserve a chance to be here. I won’t say you’re already heroes, because that would go to your adolescent heads, but you did the work of heroes several years older than yourselves, and you did it well. Your class will be the only class this year, Class 1. Don’t make us regret it.”
The window dimmed immediately. Present Mic must have clicked the button, because soon the wall climbed up to hide the dull, opaque glass.
Present Mic turned to them. He was subdued for another second before he grinned.
“He and I were supposed to take on the two hero classes this year, but with only one class—well, I won the coin toss. It helps that he absolutely wanted to be the one to read them the riot act. I’ll be your homeroom teacher this year and—” He checked his watch. “It’s just about time for orientation. Welcome to your hero academia, kids!”
Chapter 9
“I can’t believe it! We got in! We’re a class!” Shudoshi Willow, the girl on fire, yelled. Her hands flew up and the monkey brain part of Izuku’s brain tracked the motion, unable to look away with literal fire in the room.
Well, since they were Confirmed Classmates, he might actually get used to it. A smile curved along his lips.
She looked around to share her joy and was greeted with smiles. The fabric of the class was still very unknit, like a fishing net– they didn’t know each other yet.
Well, except Shinsou and Izuku.
“Present Mic said he’s going to lead us to orientation.” Shinsou leaned over and nudged Izuku’s shoulder, speaking in an undertone and dragging him out of his thoughts.
“Present Mic-Sensei.” Izuku said, unable to stop the grin from spreading. Shinsou’s eyes widened, then his own smile crept up, even as he tried to hide it.
“Yeah.” He agreed, positively giddy–for Shinsou. The rest of the class was standing so Izuku quickly left his desk. He nodded to the ones he knew from the botched exam– some by name, and others he’d seen around.
Out of eighteen students, he could name eight besides Shudoshi Willow– which put him at an even half. Izuku brightened. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to make friends, after all?
Especially when he already had a friend to begin with, and wasn’t that a novelty?
So Izuku’s hopes were quite high as they entered orientation as a class. He was not prepared for everyone to turn and stare.
“Oh, that makes sense.” He realized belatedly. Of course the upper classman– years 2 and 3– would find something off about the one class of incoming new students.
U.A. has management, support, and general studies classes in addition to heroics– each year has classes regularly number 1/2/3A-K
A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K.
At least eleven classes, each with a minimum of twenty students, meant well over two hundred students joining the school each year.
The two upper years, consisting of just shy of five hundred students, all turned to stare at Izuku’s class of measly 20. He did not know what they’d been told.
However, contrary to what Izuku would expect from a large crowd of students, or an angry mob in general, nobody looked angry. Whispers erupted into talking, and then noise.
Izuku flinched back. It took him a second to realize they were cheering. And clapping.
It took Nezdu ten bemused minutes to get the auditorium to order, because all the second years and third years were determined to show their baffling support of the students who managed to be so goddamned heroic that they got in despite the clusterfuck of the exam.
He knew U.A. school pride ran deep– literally the entire country and half the rest of the world watched the sports festival as religiously as the Olympics used to be followed– but to be praised for going ‘Plus Ultra’ was dizzying.
I’m really at U.A., Izuku thought. We made it. We’re here.
Next to him, Shinsou seemed to be having similarly amazed revelations.
“This is the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.” A male-presenting person said quietly next to him. Izuku looked over– a classmate he didn’t know.
The boy had a shock of bright green hair, several shades brighter than Izuku’s own. His skin was a tawny beige– except for where small green scales dusted his cheeks and jaw. Small green horns, like a dragon’s curled away from his temples.
He caught Izuku looking and grinned. Amber eyes met his and winked.
Izuku couldn’t help but grin back, though he didn’t have time to introduce himself before Nedzu tapped the mic twice and the noise finally died down for the final time.
“Yes, they did ‘go beyond’, didn’t they?” The bear-mouse-dog said, amused. “But now all my lovely students will listen as we begin this year’s orientation. Hold still, now.”
He waved a paw and suddenly the ground under Izuku rumbled. He wasn’t the only one to yell, but all of the older years who shouted came down laughing.
Under each student the floor rose until it was a chair, complete with a back somehow. The end result was that everyone was standing in the seat of their new chair.
Each of them hopped down and seated themselves, the twenty new faces sheepish and the old guard grinning with sharklike expressions that promised plenty more to come.
“Now,” Nezdu said pleasantly. “You might have been told this is your hero academia. You might even believe it. You think this is your classes’ time to shine, that it is even y’all’s hero academia. You’d be wrong. Because this?”
He gestured out at the room and the walls of the auditorium fell– no, they were of the same technology as the window earlier, and all four walls merely sank into the floor, revealing windows that tipped and came together until they were in a dome of glass. The ground rumbled once more as if with an earthquake.
But no– the whole room was rising, like a cake on a stand, until they were higher than all the other buildings and could see the whole of the campus spread out before them.
“This is my hero academia.” Nedzu said with a flourish and a wide, wide smile. “And at my school, you’re here to become heroes or die trying.”
Izuku laughed, but he was one of the few who did.
“He’s joking, right?” A first year behind him whispered. Nearby older students laughed, though not unkindly. “He’s joking, right?”
Another spattering of laughter.
Nedzu leaned into the mic. His tone did not change. He was still smiling.
“Be welcome, but be afraid– because here you’re going to be pushed beyond your limits until you’re the most plus ultra version of yourself– and the best hero you can be.”
Like a shadow lifted from the room, Nedzu leaned back, and the smile was somehow less terrifying. It felt like the entire room leaned back with him, breathing out a sigh of relief.
“And now to Vlad King for the orientation’s itinerary.” He said, in a chipper voice.
“Did that just happen?” Shinsou asked under his breath, so low Izuku could barely hear it.
A hand clapped on his shoulder. Pro Hero Present Mic— who was somehow their homeroom teacher this year, but Izuku would never get used to turning around to see a Pro– had been walking down the aisle at the exact right moment to overhear.
He laughed, quietly for a man with a legendary voice quirk.
“The other teacher you saw, Aizawa? He doesn’t bring his classes to Orientation– he says Nezdu traumatizes the kids for no reason. Me? I think it’s hilarious.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Next year, it’ll be your favorite part– when you get to watch the new kids learn in real time that everything you’ve ever heard about the Principal is true.”
He then patted Shinsou’s shoulder and kept walking, whistling under his breath as Vlad King outlined what teacher would be presenting what information to them, and the order of the speakers.
Apparently, they’d get out for lunch at 10. Lunch was provided by Pro Hero Lunch Rush.
Shinsou slumped like a puppet with cut strings.
“If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.” He told Izuku. For his part, Izuku nodded weakly.
The damnedest thing was, he couldn’t keep the bewilderment from turning into a confused little grin, which then grew into a giggle and a proper smile– and it was contagious.
The lot of them was grinning like loons the whole time– the whole day, really– and by the time they returned to home room to pick up their class schedules and book lists for the semester, Izuku and the other first years had been clapped on the back by what felt like the entire student body, all grinning just as broadly.
First day of school was one thing, but the first day of Yuuei was like a dream come true– and everybody knew it.
By the end of the last hour, they could even joke about it. The first twenty minutes and last forty minutes were for homeroom– Izuku was not the only one relaxed and chatting as the day wrapped up.
He learned the name of all his fellow classmates and couldn’t help but tip forward until his forehead touched his desk, laughing exhaustedly into the wood.
“It doesn’t feel real yet, does it?” Shinsou asked, sounding equally amused.
Izuku propped his cheek up on his hand and looked at his class schedule, with teacher names on it like Cementoss and Midnight, Ectoplasm and Thirteen.
“No, that’s not it– it finally does.” Izuku said with open wonder, laughter in his own voice. “It feels like I’ve jumped but haven’t come down. For you?”
He stroked his name on top– Midoriya Izuku, Class 1– so similar to the forms he’d signed the day they met, but almost an entirely different person. He had Present Mic’s phone number saved into his contact list.
“Like I’m over the moon.” Shinsou agreed, smiling back despite himself. “On cloud nine, even.”
“It feels impossible. Amazing.” Izuku admitted, green eyes glittering bright. The students around him were equally awed. “Like I just passed the hardest test in the world.”
Shinsou snorted, then grinned wider– cheshire-like as he leaned in.
“Well, in a way– we kind of did. See? We passed the exit exams, and then we got into U.A. Despite all odds, you know? We didn’t just pass that test.” He leaned forward on his forearms, the cat that ate the canary. “We aced it.”
Izuku thought of all the grins and the cheering crowd waiting for them in the auditorium– the pride in the faces of not just his peers or future heroes, but his future fellow heroes.
Joy bubbled into disbelief and back into raucous joy again, pride at last settling into his bones. The impossible made possible, made manifest. He could barely believe it.
“We didn’t barely make the cut. We’re not just scraping by.” Izuku tested the words out loud, marveling. “We did everything right. We passed with flying colors.”
It was every dream come true.
And it was only the beginning.