Chapter 317 - 2-3

Chapter 2: The Dragon's Den

Izuku's hand was small, cold, and shaking in Nejire Hado's, like a bird that had been flying for too long. She didn't squeeze him hard enough to scare him, but hard enough to let him know she wasn't letting go. Not now. Maybe not ever. And though she did not show it for Izuku's sake, that moment on the roof was honestly the scariest moment of the teenage girl's life.

After school and making sure she got a chance to say bye to Yuyu, Mirio, and Tamaki, Nejire quickly made her way to Ryukyu's agency to start her evening patrols. It was a beautiful evening, she might add. Once she finished clocking in and changing into her hero costume, she took to the streets. Wave Motion propelled her effortlessly, her Quirk converting vitality into powerful shockwaves, soaring through the air on spirals of vibrant energy.

The sky was Nejire's ocean, vast and deep and endlessly inviting.

Nejire swam through the air while the rest of the world was stuck on the ground, trying to get around the rigid grid of streets, stoplights, and crosswalks. It was the purest form of freedom. It was silent up here, the noise of the city—the honking horns, the shouting vendors, the rumble of trains—was just a low-frequency hum that vibrated harmlessly as she spiraled over the rooftops and alleys, scanning for any sign of trouble.

She embraced her heroic work with boundless enthusiasm.

~Hmm-hmmm, hm-hm-hm~

She hummed a tune she made up as she went along, keeping time with the pulsing beat of her Wave Motion. Golden spirals of energy twirled around her wrists and ankles, acting like thrusters to keep her floating against the pull of the earth. She felt like a jellyfish floating in a deep blue sea, not stinging anything, just gracefully being. The wind felt like a lover's caress, a reminder that she was alive and untethered.

She would pass by some people—students on their way home from school and adults going to or from work. They would spot her long blue hair flowing like a banner behind her and instantly recognize Nejire-Chan, the bubbly sidekick to the Dragoon Hero. She also got the occasional pervert who gawked at her bodysuit longer than she would have liked, but she ignored them. Still, the patrol had been slow today. Frustratingly so. Ryukyu had told her to do a final sweep of the commercial district before heading back to the agency.

"Keep your eyes open, Nejire-Chan. Villains love the shadows. But don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

Nejire pirouetted in mid-air, her hair fanning out like a halo caught in the slipstream. She loved Ryukyu—she was strong, intelligent, and she turned into a dragon, which was objectively the coolest thing ever—but sometimes Nejire felt like the agency treated her a bit too much like a fragile fairy.

"Be careful."

"Watch your output."

"Don't exhaust yourself."

They worried about her stamina; about the way her Quirk drew directly from her own life force. They treated her abundant energy like a finite resource to be hoarded rather than a gift to be shared.

She knew they meant well. Use too much, and she'd crash hard, sleeping for days. But she wanted to do more than conserve energy. She wanted to burn bright. She wanted to be a hero who made people smile just by showing up, as All Might did. She wanted to be the reason someone looked up at the sky and felt hope instead of fear.

She banked left, drifting over a cluster of grey office buildings, giving the alleyways and rooftops one last check out of habit rather than expectation.

That's when she saw him, and her stomach plummeted.

He was a smudge of darkness against the sky, a small, lonely figure standing on the wrong side of a rusted safety railing.

Nejire's humming cut off instantly. The melody died in her throat. The air in her lungs turned to ice.

They taught her the protocols for if or when she saw jumpers in U.A. training simulations.

Assess the situation. Call for backup. Do not engage aggressively. Maintain distance until a negotiator arrives.

But the simulations were just actors with scripted scenarios and safe outcomes. This was real! This was a boy, probably no older than her—maybe younger, judging by the curve of his shoulders—standing high atop a building on a ledge scarcely wider than his foot, his posture screaming despair.

No.

He was leaning forward, his body a rigid line of tension, defying the wind that tried to push him back.

Oh no, no, no!

Nejire didn't think. She didn't radio Ryukyu. She didn't calculate the wind shear or check her stamina reserves. She just moved. Her heart pounded so fast that it threatened to explode out of her chest. Without hesitation, she adjusted her trajectory, subtly channeling her Quirk to ascend quietly, careful not to startle him. Touching down on the rooftop a safe distance away, she prepared to intervene.

Seeing the green-haired, freckled boy trembling as he stood perilously close to the edge, his back to her, shoulders hunched in defeat. Nejire's mind raced; she'd trained for villains, rescues, and disasters, but this? This was raw, human fragility.

One wrong word, one sudden move, and he might tip over into the abyss.

If that happened, I don't think I'd ever be able to sleep at night again. I may have given up being a hero altogether.

But by some miracle, the wind that howled around them, carrying the distant hum of city life below, oblivious to the tragedy unfolding high above, quieted as Nejire took a steadying breath, forcing her usual bubbly energy into something softer, more anchoring—a part of her she rarely showed anyone. Even her closest friends. She knew what it was like to be overwhelmed.

Too many expectations.

Too much pressure.

Too many people who only cared about her Quirk and not about her.

When she was younger, adults praised her power but complained about her curiosity.

"You talk too much."

"You ask too many questions."

"You're exhausting."

She learned to hide the parts of herself that weren't "light" enough.

But she was able to push it all to the back of her mind and focus on making a connection. No heroics here—no flashy saves or powerful blasts. Just a connection.

And I thank God that it worked.

They slowly walked down the stairwell, their footsteps echoing softly. Izuku kept rubbing at his eyes, wiping away the last of the tears that kept threatening to fall again. But every time he stifled a shaky breath, Nejire would give his hand a light squeeze, and the shaky breath turned into something steadier.

I'm here, it's okay.

She and Izuku reached the first floor, passing flickering hallway lights, until they stepped out into an alley. "My agency's not far. They've got this cozy lounge with the best hot chocolate. Trust me, it'll help," Nejire said softly. Her blue hair caught the light from the streetlamp like a wave.

Izuku nodded without thinking, too tired to say anything. They walked in silence for a few blocks. Nejire would look at him with those big, curious eyes that looked like they were trying to see right through him. Eventually, exhaustion—both physical and mental—caught up with him as he fell asleep while walking, but Nejire caught him before he hit the sidewalk. She didn't protest carrying him the rest of the way.

"Hey? Hey? Izuku?"

Izuku slowly stirred, waking to realize they had arrived at the Ryukyu Agency, a sleek building with dark glass windows and dragon motifs etched into its glass doors. The feature that stood out the most was a billboard with Ryukyu advertising her clothing line, Dragoir.

Izuku didn't remember dozing off—it felt like only a couple of minutes, not the whole way there. Nejire-Chan held him close. So close that he noticed the scent of her shampoo—lemongrass and something floral, maybe jasmine. It was comforting. He could feel her hair softly brushing against his cheek, the faint warmth of her breath. She must have had to carry him the entire time.

"I'm—s-sorry—" Izuku stammered, his voice still raspy, sounding like dry leaves scraping together.

"Stop apologizing," Nejire-Chan whispered, pulling back only enough to study Izuku's face and brushing his hair from his forehead. "Are you feeling dizzy?"

He nodded weakly. "Everything seems so far away. And loud. And quiet. I don't know."

"That's fine." She put her forehead softly against his. "It's okay to feel strange. But you can do this. One step at a time. Okay?"

Nejire-Chan was the first to walk into the agency, and Izuku followed her half a step behind, shoulders hunched and holding his notebook to his chest like a shield. His notebook, which was old and worn out, with dog-eared pages and smudged graphite, shook in his hand. He didn't know how tightly he was holding it until his knuckles hurt.

Nejire led him further inside to the brightly lit lobby and to the reception desk, which was run by a woman with light blue skin and shoulder-length dark blue hair, wearing an outfit that could be described, in the simplest terms, as a sexy rescue diver's suit. Her name was displayed on the plaque on the left-hand side of the desk: Mizudaiba Awata.

"Hado?" She asked, noticing Nejire-Chan right away. "You're back early, and…" Her gaze turned to Izuku, then back to Nejire-Chan. "Hado, who is—"

"I know I'm on the clock, Aquawoman," Nejire-Chan apologized. "But we need access to the lounge and the café. Please."

The blue-skinned woman looked back at Izuku, her expression softening into sympathy, then sighed. "Go ahead, but I'll have to let Ryukyu know you're here and with a guest."

Nejire-Chan nodded. "Thank you."

Awata waved them through as Nejire-Chan led Izuku further into the building.

The lounge was exactly as Nejire-Chan described—warm and safe.

The interior was spacious and predominated in red. The design style and decoration were distinctly Chinese, featuring columns adorned with golden Chinese dragons, statues of guardian lions, and other decorative elements. There were office tables for paperwork, several shelves between some of the columns, and a plasma TV mounted on the wall.

The café area, on the other hand, felt more like a very fancy living room with soft couches, low tables, and a self-serve station with drinks and snacks. The aroma of coffee beans roasting filled the room, and the flickering vanilla-scented candles on the side tables somehow helped slow the frantic, rabbit-kick rhythm of Izuku's heart. This room was clearly meant for clients waiting out paperwork or recovering from minor incidents. Tonight, Nejire-Chan made it his sanctuary.

Not in a million years would Izuku have guessed that the headquarters of a Top Ten hero would be so cozy.

Nejire-Chan sat him on a plush, velvet sofa that was definitely too expensive for anyone like him to afford as she busied herself making two mugs of cocoa. She returned a while later, having changed out of her costume into a loose, oversized pastel hoodie that swallowed her frame. It made her look smaller, less like a powerhouse hero and more like a typical teenager. She was carrying a tray with two ceramic mugs, steam curling from them, and a plate of sugar cookies, and she placed it on the low mahogany table in front of him. One mug was plain, the other was piled high with marshmallows that bobbed like little clouds.

"Careful, it's hot!" Nejire-Chan chirped as she handed Izuku the cocoa with marshmallows. "I gave you the extra fluffy ones." It was too much for Izuku's liking, but he didn't want to appear rude. The ceramic was thick and warm, radiating heat into his palms. "It's the special agency blend. Double chocolate with a pinch of chili powder. Guaranteed to fight off the Dementors."

Izuku blinked; the pop-culture reference didn't register. "Dementors?"

"You know, the soul-sucking things from those wizard books?" Nejire-Chan sat beside him, legs swinging as she stayed close—too close, some might say—but Izuku didn't want her to move even a millimeter away. "Sadness is kind of like that. It makes everything cold and grey. So, hot chocolate! It's scientifically proven to help... I think. Or maybe I like hot chocolate. But not as much as jasmine tea. Wait, is tea more your thing? I should've asked."

Izuku took a sip. The sweetness hit his tongue first, followed by the rich, dark bitterness of the cocoa and a sudden, surprising kick of heat from the chili powder. It bloomed in his chest, thawing the ice that had settled there since All Might's rejection.

"Thank you, Nejire-Chan," he whispered.

"Just Nejire," she corrected with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "You can call me just Nejire. Or Hado, if you want to be formal, but Nejire is fine."

"Wait?" Izuku tilted his head. "Your hero name is also your real name?"

She giggled lightly. "It's actually a funny story. And you don't have to thank me. I just did what anyone would do. Anyway, drink up. And... if you want to talk more, I'm here. No rush."

Izuku looked down at the dark liquid, watching his own reflection ripple.

No. Most people would have walked past or recorded it on their phones. Or told me to go ahead and jump.

"So... that notebook you were holding onto really tight…" Nejire began as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her blue eyes locking onto Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13, lying on the table. It was still wet, smelling faintly of pond water and burnt paper. "Is it a diary?" Izuku stiffened, his shoulders hiking up to his ears. "There I go, being nosey. Just who I am. Sorry."

Izuku knew she didn't mean anything by it; she was trying to lift his mood. Still, his instinct to hide kicked in. "It's... It's nothing. Just garbage. Literally."

"It didn't look like garbage," Nejire pressed gently, her voice losing its teasing edge. "It looked like something important. Something you worked hard on. Can I see?"

Izuku hesitated. The ghost of Kacchan's explosion still lingered on the cover. Every time he showed someone his notebooks, the reaction was the same.

"Creep."

"Stalker."

"Nerd."

"Otaku."

"Disgusting."

But Nejire had saved his life. She had held him while he cried—probably getting snot all over her costume; probably explaining the change of clothes—and had brought him into her sanctuary and given him hot cocoa. Denying her seemed ungrateful, almost cruel.

With trembling fingers, he reached for the soggy, charred remains of the notebook, the title barely legible beneath the black scorch marks left by the explosion that had warped the cardboard.

Nejire picked it up carefully, treating the ruined pages with a reverence that made Izuku's chest ache. She didn't grimace at the smell or the dampness. She flipped it open to a random page, the wet paper tearing slightly. "Oops. Sorry." Then she gasped. "Whoa."

Izuku flinched, curling in on himself, waiting for the mockery.

"You drew this?" She pointed to a sketch of Mt. Lady in mid-kick. "The perspective is amazing! You really captured the motion. And... wait, what's all this writing?" As she read, her eyebrows climbed higher and higher toward her hairline.

"Gigantification involves the square-cube law. Mass increases faster than surface area. Her joints take immense strain, specifically the patellar tendons. If she focuses her growth on increasing her density shifting while maintaining a smaller size, she could increase her impact force by 300% without the collateral damage risk of full gigantification in urban environments. She needs a high-caloric intake immediately post-battle to prevent muscle atrophy. Current fighting style is too reliant on intimidation; against a piercing-type quirk, her size makes her a target, not a tank."

"Density shifting?" Nejire read aloud, stumbling slightly over the technical jargon. "I thought her Quirk was just 'Gigantification?' I didn't know she could do that?"

"She... she can," Izuku said, and the words came out before he could stop them. His analytical mind took over his nerves. "This morning, I saw her fight the purse snatcher for the first time. Not only did she get big when she attacked the bad guy, but she also got heavy. The streets broke under her heel before she even got to her full twenty meters. It implies mass manipulation, not just size expansion. Most people think she's just a giant. If she learned to control her density independently of her volume, she could be a powerhouse in tight corridors where she usually can't fit. She wouldn't be a liability in downtown areas anymore."

He slapped a hand over his mouth, his face burning hot enough to steam the glasses he wasn't wearing. "Sorry. I'm muttering. It's creepy. I know. I talk too much."

Nejire stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Then, a slow, wide grin spread across her face, bright enough to light up the room.

"Creepy?" She laughed, a bright, chiming sound that chased the shadows into the corners. "Izuku, that's not creepy. That's genius! You just solved her biggest problem with math! Oh, and I can totally relate to that whole high-caloric intake thing."

Izuku blinked, looking at her with some concern. "What do you mean?"

"See, my Quirk drains soooo much energy—it's like running a marathon, multiple times in a row, non-stop. I need like 5,000 calories per meal to keep up. If I don't, I'll be all wobbly and poof, no more spirals!" She demonstrated by wiggling her fingers in a mock-exhausted wave.

Izuku nodded slowly. "You're saying your Quirk converts your vitality into kinetic energy blasts. So, high caloric intake compensates for the metabolic drain. That makes sense—kind of like how Fat Gum stores fat for his Quirk, but in reverse!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Nejire beamed. "And on the upside, I can eat whatever I want and not gain any weight. And if I do, Yuyu says it goes in all the right places... whatever that means." She tilted her head innocently. "Oh, Yuyu's my friend from U.A., by the way."

Izuku felt his brain short-circuit and his face heat up. He knew exactly what her friend meant. He wasn't purposefully trying to think about it…

But the way her figure filled out her costume…

"U-Uh, y-yeah! I mean, that's... um... great? For hero work. Mobility and all that!"

Nejire blinked at him, her big eyes widening in curiosity. "Izuku? Why's your face all tomato-y? Oh, the chili powder must've kicked in, right? I knew I added too much. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, really," Izuku reassured her. "Honestly, this was the best cup of hot cocoa I've ever had. But…" He looked at her. "Why are you doing this for me? Why are you being so nice to me? You don't even know me."

Nejire dropped the cheerful facade. "People tell me that I'm an airhead a lot," she said, her voice lower, more grounded, losing its singsong quality. "They say, 'Oh, Nejire is so cute,' or 'Nejire has such a flashy Quirk.' They think that because I smile and ask questions, I don't understand things. They think I'm just a pretty face. A mascot."

She looked back at him. "It hurts, you know? To be seen as just one thing. To be reduced to a label. 'The Cute One.' 'The Airhead.' It makes you feel small. It makes you feel like no matter how hard you scream, no one hears you. They hear what they expect to hear."

Izuku stared at her, confused. "But... you're amazing. You have a Quirk. You can fly and fight villains. You're…" Izuku stopped himself before he could call her an angel. Which she is. But it felt excessively sappy. "I can't do any of that. How could anyone think you're not amazing?"

Nejire smiled, but it was a sad, small thing that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm not special. I'm just a girl who also gets tired, and not because Wave Motion drains my stamina like crazy. I have days when I can't get out of bed. I have days when I feel like I'm not strong enough. But do you know why I want to be a hero?"

Izuku slowly shook his head, mesmerized by her honesty.

"Because heroes don't just fight villains," Nejire said, leaning forward, which made him flinch, but he didn't pull away. "Villains are easy. You punch them, and they fall. Simple. But sadness? Despair? That feeling like you're drowning even when you're standing on a roof? That's the real enemy. That's the hardest villain to beat."

Izuku was at a loss for words. "You... you're really kind." He knew he was stating the obvious, but it was worth saying.

Nejire shifted closer. "Hey, Izuku? You're shaking again. Do you need more cocoa? Or water? Or a blanket? Ooh—Ryukyu keeps warm ones for stakeouts, you'd like—"

"Speaking of," a calm, authoritative voice cut through the air like a blade.

Izuku froze and looked behind him to see the Dragoon Hero herself, Ryukyu. Japan's ninth-ranked Pro Hero approached the teenagers quietly, her footsteps muffled on the carpeted floor, her presence commanding attention. Granted, Izuku had seen her on TV, in magazines, and on billboards like the one outside, but meeting her in person was completely different.

She was a tall woman with chin-length blonde hair and calm, gold, slit-pupiled eyes, wearing a dark red, traditional qipao that accentuated her regal posture, radiating strength that somehow made her look even more imposing than her dragon form.

"Nejire," she said, her voice calm but edged with concern. "Aquawoman informed me that you brought a civilian, a student, here without informing me first. And you didn't check in during patrol. I was worried."

Nejire jumped up, undeterred, and bowed her head apologetically. "Sorry, Ryukyu!"

The Pro Hero scanned the room with the precision of a predator until she noticed the cocoa, the cookies, the notebook, and finally, Izuku himself. He expected her to demand to know why a civilian teenager was here at her agency, drinking her cocoa, before telling him to get out. But she didn't. Her gaze softened instantly when she saw him. She just looked at his red-rimmed eyes, his disheveled uniform, the way he was curling in on himself, trying to take up as little space as possible, and she understood enough.

"What happened?" Ryukyu asked.

"Well, this is Izuku. He... uh... he had an awful day. Like, the worst day."

"I don't… I don't want to bother…" Izuku said, staring at his shoes, feeling ashamed that his actions may get Nejire in trouble. "I should go. Get home to Mom before…" Izuku suddenly blinked, startled as he checked his pockets, then pulled out his phone.

His stomach twisted as he looked at the screen.

7:42 PM.

Two missed calls from Mom. 

One voice message from Mom.

"Oh crap!" His voice rose, panicked. "I-I was supposed to be home by now! M-my mom! She's going to be so scared… she… she's probably freaking out! I didn't come home! I didn't even text!"

Nejire placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay! We'll let her know. Ryukyu's got it. Right Ryukyu?"

"Nejire, I need to have a word with you, in my office," Ryukyu said, voice softening like a dragon's rumble tamed, before returning her attention to Izuku. "Young man, you're safe here. Finish your cocoa."

"Is Nejire in trouble?" He asked.

"No, but I do need to speak with her in private. But first, your mother." Ryukyu had already pulled out her phone. "May I have her number?"

Izuku nodded aggressively and provided it to her as calmly as he could.

Ryukyu made the call.

One anxious half-hour later…

"Izuku!" Mom cried, bursting through the agency's doors like a whirlwind of maternal frenzy, hurrying past the reception desk, into the café, and to her son. She nearly collided with him on the sofa, crushing him in a hug as tears ran down her cheeks.

"M-mom!" Izuku gasped. "Air!"

She loosened her hold but refused to let go entirely, sobbing hysterically.

"Izuku, I was so worried. You didn't come home and…" Her voice cracked, her hands clutched at his uniform, checking for broken bones, checking for life. "You never… you're always home by 5:30! Why? Why didn't you come home? Why didn't you call? I called the school! I called the police! W-when Ms. Ryukyu called about you, I… Oh my God, Izuku! I was afraid something terrible had happened. I thought... I thought..."

Izuku looked down, feeling shame flooding through him. Her eyes were red and swollen, her hair a disheveled mess, her cardigan buttoned wrong. She looked smaller than he remembered, frailer.

"Mom, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Izuku cried, clinging to her, rocking her back and forth. "But I'm okay. I'm here."

Ryukyu and Nejire re-entered the café quietly, waiting for the initial wave of emotion to pass before approaching the mother and son. Nejire wiped her eyes discreetly, pretending she wasn't crying too. Not that Izuku could blame her.

When the sobs subsided to sniffles, Ryukyu stepped forward. "Mrs. Midoriya…"

But before she could speak, Mom turned around and took hold of the Dragoon Hero's hands, bowing her head. "Thank you…" she said, voice still trembling. "Thank you for finding my son."

Ryukyu shook her head. "It was Nejire who found him. Her timing made all the difference."

Nejire blushed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm just happy he's okay, Mrs. Midoriya…" Then her bright face shifted to a worried look. "But we need to tell you something."

Izuku's blood ran cold. How do you explain something to someone who loves you so completely? How do you admit something that feels like a scar carved into the soul?

But Nejire's right, she deserves to know the truth.

Ryukyu gestured for Mom to sit with Izuku and nodded for Nejire to continue. What followed was the most challenging conversation of Izuku's life.

They didn't say "suicide attempt" explicitly—the word was too heavy, too sharp for the fragile woman trembling on the sofa—but they didn't have to. The context was screaming as Nejire helped explain—in simple, careful words—what she saw on that rooftop, what Izuku had been about to do, how she pulled him back, how he broke down afterward.

Mom went pale, the color draining from her face until she looked like a ghost. She looked at Izuku, really looked at him, and saw the hollowness in his eyes that she had been trying to ignore for years. She saw the cracks she had helped create.

"Izuku… baby… is that true?" Her voice wavered, full of fear she had never imagined she'd feel toward her own son. "Did you really think about—"

He couldn't look at her.

"…yes."

Inko pressed a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?" Her tears dripped onto his shoulder. "I didn't… I didn't know you were hurting like this… I should have noticed. I should have—"

Izuku shook his head frantically. "Mom, no! Mom, please… It's not your fault!"

But Mom was crying too much, guilt crashing over her like a wave she couldn't stand against.

"You didn't. It's not you. It's... It's everything. It's the world. It's me."

Ryukyu placed a comforting hand on his back. "Midoriya," she said gently. "Would you like to tell us what led you to that rooftop?"

Izuku swallowed, throat tight.

"I wanted to be a hero," he whispered. "My whole life. But… I was born Quirkless. And today, someone I believed in told me that meant I never could be one."

Ryukyu and Mom exchanged a look—one part disbelief, one part fury.

"Who?" Ryukyu asked quietly.

Izuku hesitated—but the truth tumbled out. "All Might."

Mom's breath hitched.

Ryukyu's eyes narrowed ever so slightly—just enough that Izuku knew she was furious, though not at him.

After a long silence, Izuku spoke the words he had been avoiding.

"I just… I didn't want to exist anymore. If I'm not here," Izuku murmured, standing up on shaky legs. "I can't burden anyone anymore. I can't disappoint anyone anymore. And… I thought… if even All Might said I couldn't be a hero… then maybe you'd agree."

Mom shook her head furiously. "No. No, Izuku, I would never want you to… I would rather have you alive and Quirkless than lose you to something like this. You hear me?"

Izuku hugged her tighter.

"Mrs. Midoriya," Ryukyu spoke softly, her expression serious. "I need to ask you something. And it may be painful, but it's important."

Mom wiped her eyes, nodding shakily. "O-of course. Anything."

"Has Izuku ever shown signs of… hurting himself before today?" Ryukyu asked, voice respectful but direct. "Even indirectly?"

The room went still.

Izuku's breath hitched. Nejire looked at him in concern. Mom hesitated.

"I…" She was trying to recollect something, anything. "No. Or… maybe… I don't know. He was always so withdrawn. So sad after Katsuki stopped being his friend. I tried to help him, but he never said anything. He never shed a tear over it. Not in front of me." She gave her son a look. "Even when he came home with bruises and burns, he had a smile on his face... I thought it was just kids being kids. But this... I... I thought he was dealing with the bullying. And the lack of a Quirk. And school. And his dreams."

Her lips shook as new tears fell. "I thought Izuku was strong enough to... I didn't know he was doing it all alone!" Mom kept talking, her voice breaking. "I'm his mother. I should have known better. I should have known that he was in pain." She put her hands over her face. "I thought... I thought that if I just loved him enough and kept him safe, he would be happy. I should have... I had no idea my baby was in so much pain. I failed you, Izuku. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Izuku's chest felt tight. He didn't want her to blame herself. "No, Mom," he choked out.

"It isn't your failure," Ryukyu said gently. "Your son has carried this weight alone for a very long time. Too long."

"He was trying to spare your feelings," Nejire's voice rang in the quiet room with surprising firmness. "You can't blame yourself for not seeing what he didn't want you to see."

Inko slowly uncovered her face. "He's such a good boy. He deserves so much better than the world has given him."

"Midoriya," Ryukyu said softly to Izuku, kneeling before him. "I'm happy you're still here."

His eyes stung. More tears. "I don't know why I'm crying so much," he choked as he wiped at them furiously.

"Because you're exhausted," Ryukyu answered. "And frightened. And because you finally have room to breathe."

Izuku's breath broke.

And this time, when he cried, it wasn't sharp or panicked—it was slow, aching, like poison finally draining out.

Nejire and Mom wrapped an arm around him.

The quiet that followed was heavy.

An hour later, the storm of emotions had settled.

Mom looked at Ryukyu, desperation and determination warring in her eyes. "What do we do now? How do I help him?"

Ryukyu answered immediately. "Support, structure, and professional help. Your son will need ongoing therapy. I know someone who can help; I'll call him tomorrow to see if we can make an appointment. And if he ever needs a place to feel safe, my agency is always open."

Mom took a shaking breath. "I… I'll do whatever it takes."

"That's all we ask," Ryukyu said gently.

"Thank you again. Truly," Mom said, bowing deeply to Ryukyu, her voice thick with exhaustion but firm with gratitude. She turned to Nejire and bowed even lower. "And thank you… for saving my world."

Nejire waved her hands frantically, her cheeks dusting pink. "Please, Mrs. Midoriya! You don't have to bow! I just… I just happened to be there. I'm glad I was."

Ryukyu placed a hand on Inko's shoulder, stopping her. "Go home, Mrs. Midoriya. Rest. I will be in touch tomorrow regarding the therapist I mentioned. My agency will handle the costs."

"I couldn't possibly…"

"It is not a request," Ryukyu said gently, leaving no room for argument. "I'll have one of my staff escort you and Izuku home."

"Thank you, but we can make it to the train station on our own," Mom reassured the pro.

Her arm looped protectively around her son's shoulders. Izuku didn't mind. He needed the anchor as they prepared to leave through the glass doors.

"Wait! Izuku!" Nejire's shout stopped them. She darted back to the table and scooped up the notebook he had forgotten. "You almost left this." She held it out with both hands.

Izuku glanced at it, then back at her, a shy flush creeping up his neck. "Actually... you can… keep it," he said quietly. "If you want."

Nejire blinked, tilting her head. "Huh? But it's your hard work! I can't take it."

"But you seemed to like reading it… so… um… You can keep going. I-I mean, only if you want to. It's not too much trouble. I don't want to be a bother, and if it's weird or…"

Nejire's expression shifted from confusion to radiant, beaming excitement. She beamed so brightly that Izuku thought the room got warmer.

"I'd love to!" She hugged the soggy notebook to her chest. "There are so many pages I didn't get to read. And I have, like, a hundred questions—like, what about Ryukyu's dragon form? Have you analyzed that yet?" She paused, giggling at her own enthusiasm. "Okay, okay, I'll save them for next time." She clutched the notebook to her chest triumphantly.

"Next time…?" Izuku repeated, dazed.

"Well, yeah!" Nejire chirped. "I'm dropping this off at your place tomorrow after my afternoon shift!" She blinked, then added sheepishly, "Um… Actually, I don't know your address. Or your number. So… can I have it? Pretty please?"

Izuku's brain blue-screened.

His mother coughed softly—because she was still emotional, of course. Absolutely, only because she'd been crying. Definitely not because she found these two adorable.

"O-Oh! R-right!" Izuku fished out his phone, fumbling.

Nejire leaned in close—too close for his heart rate to remain medically safe—and typed in her number with a flourish.

"There! Now you can text me anytime. Or call. Or send pictures of puppies. Or ask about hero things. Anything!" She paused. "Just don't disappear, okay?"

Izuku looked at her. The blue hair, the kind eyes, the girl who had given him a reason to stay. He nodded quickly. "I won't." And he meant it.

Nejire waved them off at the lobby doors, bouncing on her toes. "Bye, Izuku! Bye, Mrs. Midoriya! See you tomorrow!"

Izuku and his mother didn't speak much as they walked toward the train station. There wasn't much left to say tonight that hadn't already been said in tears and apologies. Inko kept her arm wrapped tight around his shoulders.

They were waiting at the crosswalk when the adrenaline finally faded entirely, leaving Izuku's brain sluggish and hazy. He looked down at his phone, which was still clutched in his hand. The screen lit up with a notification.

New Contact Added—Nejire Hado/Nejire-Chan

A message followed shortly after.

"Get home safe! Can't wait to dive into your genius notes. Sweet dreams!"

He stared at the name and the cute emojis attached to it.

The events of the last few hours replayed in his mind like a fever dream. The rooftop. The breakdown. The cocoa. The way she had comforted him. The way she had looked at his notebook as if it were a treasure instead of trash.

And then, a singular, bewildered thought cut through the exhaustion, the trauma, and the lingering sadness, grounding him in a reality that was somehow even stranger than fiction.

I just gave my phone number to a girl.

He blinked, looking at the name on the screen again.

A really, really pretty girl.

An older high school girl. A Pro Hero's sidekick. An angel with bright blue hair and a smile like the sunrise had his number.

And tomorrow, he will be seeing her again.

Heat rushed to his face, cutting through the chill of the night wind. He stared at the screen so long his mom gently tugged his sleeve to get him walking again.

"Izuku? Are you okay?" Inko asked, feeling him flinch.

Izuku quickly shoved the phone into his pocket, ducking his head. "Y-Yeah, Mom," Izuku stammered before looking up at the night sky. The city lights drowned out the stars, but he knew they were there. He was unable to stop the tiny, stunned smile pulling at his lips. "I think… I think I'm going to be okay."

Tonight, he walked home beside his mom.

Tomorrow, he will meet with heroes who cared.

And somewhere in his notebook—now held in the hands of a girl who called him a genius.

A new chapter was waiting to be written.

He still felt small. Exposed. But… the crushing loneliness wasn't there. Not fully. Never again, he hoped. For the first time since the rooftop, he felt a fragile thread of hope. Not strong, not sure, and not a sudden cure. But it was there—the first step toward healing.

Chapter 3: A Mind Like A Hero's (Part 1)

Ryuko Tatsuma was in her office with a cup of herbal tea, still thinking about what had happened the night before and how Izuku Midoriya was doing. She had been in hero work long enough to know what a survivor looked like, and his story affected her. A kid without a Quirk was pushed to the edge by a world that valued power above all else.

Yesterday, she—along with other heroes—had aided Detective Tsukauchi and the police force in successfully taking down a sect of the Creature Rejection Clan. Each member was arrested, kicking and screaming their dogma as they were loaded into the vans. Shortly after, she received a call from Aquawoman, informing her that Nejire had brought a boy to the agency and that her sidekick sounded rattled.

That's when Ryuko began to worry. Nejire Hado did not scare easily. If she was rattled, the situation was dire.

After informing Tsukauchi of her reasons for leaving, she returned to her agency as quickly as possible. The moment she laid eyes on Izuku Midoriya, Ryuko's gaze softened. She saw signs she recognized all too well in the dull gloss of the boy's eyes.

He's trying not to fall apart.

The sight pulled old ghosts out of her mind—her first years as a hero, when every villain attack felt like drowning in expectations she couldn't possibly meet.

No one that young should look that hopeless.

Ryuko had asked Nejire to come into her office so they could talk somewhere private. She waited patiently, steadily, not pushing for information right away.

"Nejire. What happened?"

Nejire's lip trembled, but she held steady.

"He was on a rooftop. And he… he was going to jump."

Nejire didn't provide the grisly details; she wanted them to come from Izuku, but Ryuko could see that the boy was carrying a burden too heavy for one person to bear. She thanked Nejire for telling her the truth and praised her handling of the situation. Ryuko had done everything she could to protect her sidekick from situations like this—Nejire was talented, but also young, and Ryuko worried for her mental health as much as her physical safety.

She was no stranger to that weight. The Dragoon Hero built her agency on discipline and empathy, having forged her path to this point in fire and isolation.

No matter where I go, society always seems to discard the different. I won't let it claim another.

From the moment Ryuko drew her first breath in Okinawa, under a thatched roof in a modest home, the whispers started.

"Half-breed."

"Why does she look like that?"

"Her mom's not from here, right?"

Hiroshi, her Japanese father, took care of the family's small pineapple farm. She affectionately called him Baba. He was a quiet man with skin weathered by the sun, and a Quirk that made his hands as hard as stone for farm work. He would clench his jaw and pull Ryuko closer, but even he couldn't stop the pain.

Her Chinese mother, Mei—or Mama—wove baskets from pandanus leaves to help carry the fruit to the market. She had a gentle voice accented by the lilting tones of Mandarin, and she taught Ryuko songs from her childhood in Guangzhou. Those songs, beautiful as they were, only drew more sidelong glances when they echoed through the village paths.

By the time Ryuko was five, she sat apart from the other kids at the local kindergarten. The others, with their developing Quirks, chased each other in games of tag made exciting by bursts of sparks or floating toys. It didn't matter that her Quirk hadn't shown up yet. It was her face, her mannerisms, and the way she said some words with a slight accent from Mama's native tongue that made her an outcast.

One afternoon, Kenji—the local bully—and his gang of pint-sized tyrants snickered as they formed a circle around her during recess like a pack of yipping dogs. Their numbers dwarfed Ryuko's petite frame. Kenji, with a mop of unruly hair and a smirk that twisted his face into something ugly, flexed his fingers, summoning the pesky gusts of wind that were his meager Quirk. He used it to shove her around while the others casually spat taunts and slurs they could only have picked up from their parents.

"Freak."

"Chink."

"Mongrel."

The wind whipped up—not strong enough to harm, but plenty to shove her backward. Her sandals scraped against the gravel as the bullies howled with laughter, egging him on with more vile taunts they'd repeated from home.

Ryuko's small fists were clenched at her sides, her knuckles turning white as heat flooded her cheeks. It was a mix of shame and rage that burned hotter and hotter. She wanted to yell that Mama was strong and kind, and that her blood didn't make her any less Japanese than they were. But she couldn't muster the words—she was scared, and her voice was weak. She knew that fighting back would only make things worse. Her heart raced, and she breathed in short, ragged gasps as the circle got smaller and the wind pulled at her clothes.

The jeers got louder. More insistent.

Then, something inside her broke.

It didn't break with a crack; it broke with a deep, primal rumble that started in her chest, then spread as a wave of scales moved across her skin like wildfire. Her bones shifted with horrible pops as her body grew and her limbs turned into strong, clawed appendages. With a leathery snap, wings opened up from her back, and her face turned into a snarling mouth with eyes that glowed with an otherworldly rage. A low growl came out of her throat, loud and unintentional, shaking the playground equipment.

Her Quirk had manifested.

The bullies froze, their laughter dying in their throats. Kenji's wind Quirk fizzled out mid-gust, his face paling as he stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.

"M-Monster!"

The children shrieked, scrambling away in a panic, some tripping over their own feet as they fled toward the teachers. The rest of the school stared in horrified awe at the little girl who had turned into a giant dragon. Ryuko's newly awakened instincts took over as screams filled the playground. Her heart raced with fear, and without thinking, she took off into the sky. Her wings flapped wildly, the ground blurring into a green-and-blue haze. The wind howled past her scales, but it did nothing to drown out the echoes ringing in her ears.

Monster!

She didn't know how to control this strange body that felt both strong and completely wrong. She roared as she flew home, the only safe place she could think of, as tears fell and disappeared in the rush of flight.

The Tatsuma family's home was ahead, its thatched roof a familiar refuge in the rolling hills. But Ryuko's landing was anything but graceful. Her wings gave out in mid-air, muscles unused to the strain, and she plummeted into the pineapple field just outside the house. The impact sent up a spray of dirt and broken stalks, and her scaled body tumbled end over end until it came to a stop in a cloud of dust. The ground shook, and a low, animal-like groan escaped her maw.

Baba, always the protector, burst out the door, grabbing a hoe as a makeshift weapon. Mama followed, holding a kitchen towel close to her chest, her eyes wide with alarm. They skidded to a halt at the sight of the colossal dragon sprawled in their fields—nostrils flaring, wings crumpled awkwardly, and a tail lashing in distress.

Ryuko expected them to attack her. But for some reason—perhaps it was the indescribable bond between parents and their children—they knew.

"Ryuko?"

Ryuko whimpered, a sound so small and vulnerable amid her massive frame, curling in on herself like a scared child.

"It's her—our girl!"

They ran forward without hesitation, trampling the uprooted plants to get to the shaking figure. Mama slowly reached out to touch the scaled side, finding it warm and rough under her hand. She began to hum one of those old lullabies. Baba looked around, then ran back to the house, emerging moments later with a thick, woven blanket to throw over her. Ryuko didn't realize at the time that her sudden transformation had reduced her clothes to confetti.

"Breathe, Ryuko. Focus on us. You're safe."

Slowly, under their coaxing words and comforting presence, the scales began to recede. Ryuko's form shrank with pops and shifts that made her wince. Wings folded away, claws retracted into fingers, and soon enough, a tear-streaked five-year-old girl huddled beneath the blanket, shivering in her parents' arms.

The years that followed Ryuko's Quirk manifestation were a haze. The playground incident etched itself into the village's collective memory, and whispers gave way to outright jeers whenever she had the guts to go beyond the Tatsuma farm.

"Monster!"

At school, the kids who used to make fun of her for her heritage were now afraid of her, but fear quickly turned into cruelty. During class, they stayed away. But after the bell rang, groups of them would follow her home along the dusty paths, their small hands clutching stones picked up from the roadside. They threw them with enough force to split her skin and draw beads of blood.

"Go back to your cave, dragon freak!"

More stones came after that. First, there were pebbles, and then there were fist-sized chunks that hurt her arms and legs as she ran. They left small scars on her skin and big wounds in her heart. She didn't fight back. She didn't let the scales show. To calm her down, she remembered Mama telling her stories about Chinese dragons from long ago that were not monsters but protectors. Baba taught her how to control her anger—like a storm—by doing breathing exercises.

Control it, Ryuko—don't give them more reasons to hate.

But even their love couldn't erase the isolation, the way she flinched at her own reflection in the river, seeing only the potential for destruction.

The forests surrounding the village became her refuge. She hid in the dense thickets of bamboo and subtropical greenery where the air hummed with cicadas, and the scent of wild orchids masked her own fearful breaths. There, away from prying eyes, she could let her Quirk slip free, let the beast within take flight. It felt liberating and terrifying all at once.

By twelve, the village had settled into an uneasy truce with her—tolerating the "half-breed dragon" as long as she stayed small and human.

But peace was shattered one fateful night.

It didn't start with an alarm. It began with the smell—a thick, choking stench of sulfur and burning wood that woke Ryuko from a deep sleep. The air in her room was already sweltering.

Ryuko stumbled out of bed just as the first scream pierced the night.

The floorboards beneath her bare feet groaned, then snapped. A tremor violently shook the house, knocking family photos off the walls. Outside, the world had turned into hell. Fissures spiderwebbed across the pineapple fields, glowing with an angry, molten orange light. Magma was rising from the earth, not naturally, but pulled forth by something.

Baba kicked her door open. He was coughing, sweat slicking his face.

"Ryuko! We have to go! Now!"

They found Mama in the main room, desperately trying to grab the emergency bag, but the house gave a sickening lurch. The main support beam, eaten away by the unnatural heat rising from the soil, cracked with the sound of a gunshot.

"Look out!"

Baba lunged. He activated his stone-hand Quirk, catching the falling beam just before it could crush Mama. His knees buckled under the weight, his skin turning gray and rock-hard, but the heat was intense. The wood was already burning his hands.

"Hiroshi!"

Baba strained against the crushing weight of the collapsing roof.

"Run! Take Ryuko and run to the forest!"

Ryuko screamed, grabbing his arm, but the skin was searing hot.

"No! Baba!" 

A second tremor hit.

The villain, a hulking figure silhouetted against the burning village, stepped onto their property. He called himself Goliath. He was massive, his skin like obsidian, magma dripping from his pores. His laughter—a deep, rumbling sound—shook the ground more than his footsteps. With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent a wave of lava crashing through the front of the house.

The floor beneath them dissolved.

Baba looked at Ryuko one last time, his eyes filled with an infinite, heartbreaking love.

"Go!"

The roof gave way completely. Baba shoved Mama and Ryuko backward, shielding them with his own body as the burning timber and molten earth swallowed him whole.

"NO!"

The scream tore from Ryuko's throat, raw and bloody. Mama scrambled backward, clutching Ryuko, her own clothes catching fire. They were trapped in the debris, the heat becoming unbearable. Mama looked at Ryuko, her face streaked with soot and tears. She cupped Ryuko's face, her hands trembling.

"Ryuko... close your eyes."

Mama began to hum the lullaby from Guangzhou to calm her daughter. Her voice was weak, laced with the smoke she'd inhaled.

Goliath stepped closer, the heat radiating from him turning the air into a shimmering mirage.

"PATHETIC INSECTS."

He raised a massive fist, dripping with liquid rock, preparing to crush what remained of the house.

Mama hugged Ryuko tight, shielding the girl's head with her chest.

"I love you. I love you so mu—"

The fist came down.

The impact didn't kill Ryuko. Mama took the blow. Ryuko felt the warmth of her mother's body go rigid, then limp, shielding her daughter until the very end. The metallic tang of blood filled Ryuko's mouth. The silence that followed was louder than the screams.

Something inside Ryuko didn't just break this time; it was utterly destroyed. The fear that had shackled her for years, the shame of being a monster, the desire to stay small—it all burned away in the heat of her parents' pyre. A roar shattered the night—not the high-pitched shriek of a child, but the deafening, tectonic bellow of an apex predator.

Debris blasted outward. Goliath shielded his eyes as a massive shape erupted from the ruins of the farmhouse. Ryuko rose, her dragon form larger than it had ever been, fueled by pure, unadulterated grief. Her scales were harder, her claws sharper, her eyes glowing with a white-hot fury.

"WHAT THE—"

Goliath took a step back, his arrogance faltering.

Ryuko didn't give him time to speak. She lunged, her jaws clamping down on his magma-hardened shoulder. The heat seared the inside of her mouth, burning her tongue, but she didn't let go. She thrashed, tearing him off balance.

Goliath roared in pain and struck her side with a fist of magma, burning through her scales, scorching the flesh beneath. The pain was blinding, blinding enough to make her black out for a second, but the image of Mama's limp hand drove her forward.

She took to the air, dragging the heavy villain with her, her wings straining, tearing at the edges under the weight. She climbed higher, ignoring the lava burning her chest, ignoring Goliath's punches that cracked her ribs.

At the apex of her flight, she stopped. She looked into Goliath's eyes—eyes that now held the same fear he had inflicted on the village. She folded her wings and dove. They fell like a meteor, a streak of gray and orange against the night sky. Ryuko shifted her weight at the last second, slamming Goliath into the earth with the force of a crashing plane.

The impact cratered the pineapple field. The shockwave knocked the fires out in the immediate vicinity. Goliath lay broken in the center of the pit, his magma cooled, his consciousness gone.

Ryuko stood over him, heaving, bleeding, her left wing dragging uselessly in the dirt, the bone fractured from the impact. She threw her head back and let out a sound that was half-roar, half-sob into the smoke-choked sky.

Many lives were saved that night because Goliath was stopped before his rampage could spread to the village. But the victory felt hollow.

Ryuko crawled through the wreckage to where her parents were lying when the first light of dawn broke through the smoke. She was tired and back in human form. She saw them together. She pulled their bodies close together and linked their hands, a silent testament that they had faced the end together.

She sat there for hours, the screams of the night replaying in her mind, promising the silence that she would never again be too scared or too slow.

That promise—to protect the weak, to honor her parents, and to prove that differences were not a curse—fueled her decision to enter U.A. High. There, she met her best friend, Rumi Usagiyama. She was harsh, physical, and uncompromising, but also honest. She didn't care about Quirks or heritage; she only cared about spirit.

U.A. didn't just make Ryuko strong; it refined her. Her internship with Best Jeanist was the turning point. The Fiber Hero didn't teach her to suppress the beast; he taught her to make it look good.

"If you think of yourself as a monster, the world will agree. Elegance isn't about being soft, Tatsuma. It's all about control. If you make the dragon a queen, they will bow instead of run."

Years later, that advice led her to start the Dragoir clothing line, turning her unique style into a symbol of high fashion rather than fear. She moved up the ranks, got HPSC funding, and built an agency that ranked among the top ten in the industry.

But the scars lingered.

Ryuko shifted in her office chair, a phantom ache pulsing in her left shoulder, where her wing would sprout—a stiff, persistent reminder of the fracture from the fight with Goliath. It flared up when she was tired, or when the weather turned cold.

Mentoring Nejire had healed some of those emotional wounds; the girl's boundless energy echoed Ryuko's stifled youth. But now, seeing Izuku—a Quirkless boy mirroring her own outcast days; quivering, grief-worn, breaking—stirred a deep, maternal protectiveness within her that she hadn't felt in years.

I've clawed my way out of that pit, and Izuku Midoriya deserves the same chance. The fact that he's still here means his story isn't over. And we're going to help him write the next chapter.

It wasn't going to be a single conversation and a hug. It was going to take days. Weeks. Months. She would help him, protect him, strengthen him. She would not let this child become another casualty of hero society's blind spots.

Whatever it takes.

It was Sunday, which meant no school! That also meant Nejire had the morning to herself, free time to read more of Izuku's notebook before she had to clock in at the agency for her afternoon shift, patrol duty starting at 2:00 P.M. sharp. She wore an orange top, blue shorts, and knee-length socks, and her blue hair was tied back in a ponytail. A simple outfit perfect for relaxing.

She flipped it open, revealing pages crammed with sketches, notes, and diagrams—Quirk breakdowns, strategy trees, even hypothetical matchups. She then landed on a sketch of Kamui Woods, still visible despite some ink running and blurring the lines. Still, it was meticulous and detailed, just like Izuku's sketch of Mt. Lady.

Besides the drawing, the margins were crammed with dense, frantic handwriting—small text, scribbled in red and black pen, arrows pointing to joints and anchor points.

"Despite the tensile strength of Kamui Woods' Lacquer Chain Prison binding being estimated at 4000 PSI based on the concrete cracking in the Dagobah district fight, it only gets an 87% efficiency rating at best. And if he is surrounded by fire or is dehydrated, it is completely useless. He could make the structure 15% stronger if he braided the branches in a Fibonacci spiral instead of a regular weave. He also goes too far to the left when using it; a villain with a speed quirk could exploit the 0.4-second lag in his retraction."

Nejire flipped through the notebook to another random page, one she was hoping to find, her eyes widening in awe.

"I knew it!" She exclaimed. "He does have one on Ryukyu!"

Izuku had drawn an anatomical diagram of Ryukyu in her dragon form; the shading was precise, the joints articulated with tiny arrows showing direction of motion. Izuku had captured the curvature of her claws mid-swing and the exact shape of her wings, though there was a slight asymmetry to them.

There was a little note next to the sketch talking about her wing structure.

"While watching one of her fights against a giant villain, I noticed her left wing made micro-adjustments. A compensation pattern is evident when she makes tight turns. When she goes down a steep slope, her stamina usage increases. At high altitudes, wind shear can make a weak spot that can be exploited. To ease the strain, I would suggest either rotational warm-ups or alternating spiral descent techniques."

"Old injury?" Nejire blinked and sat up straight, knitting her eyebrows. "Ryukyu never mentioned anything about an old injury. And Izuku noticed that just by watching one of her fights?"

She flipped through the notebook again, going deeper in, page after page, entry after entry, all filled with meticulous breakdowns of different heroes like a tapestry.

She kept reading.

She found a section on Endeavor's Hellflame, dissected for heat thresholds and optimal combat ranges, and potential counter-strategies that he should be aware of.

She landed on one about Hawks' Quirk, Fierce Wings, broken down into easy-to-understand mechanics, with hypotheticals on aerial combat, predicted Quirk evolutions, and tactical countermeasures that Izuku hypothesized from detailing a battle with a villain from a recent new clip.

She flipped again, landing on other heroes like Edgeshot, Gran Torino, Death Arms, and even Backdraft, whose ability to control water was compared to fluid dynamics principles, and citations of the source Izuku got that information from, including the name of the book and the library where he found it.

There were a lot of hero entries, each filled with hyper-detailed analysis of their weaknesses, strengths, patterns, fight rhythms, and stamina profiles.

Nejire's eyes lit up like stars. "This is pro-level stuff!"

Izuku knew his heroes. In Nejire's humble opinion, he probably knew them better than they knew themselves. He knew their strengths, weaknesses, habits, and tells. He saw patterns in Quirks that others like her missed. He saw the math beneath the magic, the physics beneath the fantasy. He really was a genius with a mind like a hero.

Then she landed on a detailed sketch of All Might in his prime—muscles bulging, smile radiant—charting estimated power outputs and recovery times based on footage Izuku had watched of his fights.

"His estimated strength output is beyond measurable. Perhaps a strength amplification Quirk. The estimated power output is between 300% beyond human limits and possibly limitless. His Detroit Smash—based on velocity and impact—generates about 2.5 tons of force per square inch, but adjusts to minimize property damage and avoid harming nearby bystanders. As a side effect of his raw strength, All Might's punches grant him a form of weather manipulation whenever his fists impact his target. Wind pressure varies with the punch's angle, which a tactical opponent could exploit. If he rotates his fist at the moment of impact—corkscrewing the air pressure—he could create focused tunnels of vacuum rather than widespread blasts."

Beneath the analysis, Izuku had scrawled personal musings.

"If I had this, I could be like him."

Nejire flipped the pages again, so that she would not give in to the temptation of scribbling something rude in that part of Izuku's notebook.

"All Might is also a big meanie who crushes people's dreams!"

Or something along those lines.

Honestly, she was still angry that the Symbol of Peace, the Number One Hero, was the one who drove Izuku to… to… And that look on Ryukyu's face when she learned that from Izuku himself—if Nejire didn't know better, she would've assumed that her mentor was going to turn into a dragon, track down All Might, and eat him for dinner.

Nejire flipped through more pages until she landed on one featuring a hero she did not recognize.

Who's Katsuki Bakugo?

The drawing looked like a middle school student around Izuku's age with spikey blonde hair and an attitude that just resonated right off the paper. Explosions surrounded him, which made sense as that Explosion was his Quirk, and his title was written in big bold letters.

THE FUTURE NUMBER ONE HERO.

Below that was a chemical breakdown of how his Quirk worked, timestamps showing how much faster and stronger his explosions had become over the years, and even a detailed essay on Bakugo's evolution.

Unlike the other pages, though, his writing inside was cramped, obsessive, brilliant in places, yet painful in others. So much of it felt like Izuku was screaming his frustration on the paper.

But below that was something more personal. Nejire read it, not because he wanted to, but because her brain wouldn't leave her alone. Or so she told herself.

Age 4: Kacchan manifests Explosion and is encouraged by adults, praised as gifted. Exceptionally gifted with talent unmatched.

Age 5: Kacchan starts calling himself "the strongest," and students and teachers reinforce his behavior and overwhelming confidence.

Age 8: The first time Kacchan tells me to "stop following him" because a Quirkless person, a Deku, can only "drag him down."

Age 10: My first physical incident with Kacchan involved bruises and burns, showing off his natural combat instincts.

Age 11: Kacchan's pattern of aggression increases, suggesting insecurity? Or frustration?

Age 12: Kacchan's bullying escalates; he is ashamed of my Quirklessness and increases my isolation.

Rrrrip!

The sound snapped Nejire out of her trance. She looked down, horrified to see she had torn the bottom of the page in half, her grip having tightened unconsciously as she read.

"Oh no!" She gasped, realizing what she had done, and shut the notebook with shaky hands.

That must be him.

Nejire felt anger swell inside her, having a name and face to put to the childhood "friend" that Izuku mentioned on the roof. The one who told him it would be better if he were dead.

To Nejire, Bakugo's story sounds like a cautionary tale about too much potential and an ego that festered beyond control, and insecurities that twisted them into aggression as Quirks became the measure of worth.

He probably saw Izuku's persistence—not despite his Quirklessness, but because of it—as a threat to his own superiority. Bullying Izuku became his way of affirming his place at the top, a cruel custom to drown out the whispers of his own vulnerabilities.

Still, that didn't give Nejire the right to damage the notebook that Izuku entrusted her with. Hopefully, she could find some tape to fix it before returning it to Izuku.

"Nejire, lunch is ready!" Nejire's head perked up as she heard Dad's voice calling from the dining room, warm and familiar, laced with that gentle baritone that always made her feel like a kid again.

She glanced at the clock, realizing just how much time had passed while she was reading.

"Coming, Dad!"

Nejire skipped down the stairs of her family's cozy home, her ponytail bouncing with every enthusiastic movement. The aroma wafted from the kitchen, making her stomach rumble.

In front of her, where the table was set, was what others would call a veritable mountain of food, but she would call it a usual lunch. Three steaming bowls of udon, a plate piled high with karaage chicken, two oversized onigiri, a side of takoyaki, and—for dessert—a massive sundae that looked like it could feed a family of four.

Meanwhile, her dad—a tall man with periwinkle hair and a Quirk that allowed him to create sparkles—was already seated, with a steaming bowl of miso soup, a plate of rice, grilled fish, and some pickled vegetables.

"There you are. Thought you'd gotten lost on your way," he teased, gesturing to her seat. "Sit, sit. Your mom's out running errands, so it's just us today."

"Thanks, Dad!" Nejire plopped down, grabbing her chopsticks with enthusiasm. "This looks amazing. Did you really make all this yourself? It smells so good!" In a blur of motion that rivaled her Quirk, she demolished half a bowl of udon in seconds.

"Of course," he chuckled. "I can't let my pro-hero-in-training daughter go hungry before patrol. So, how are things going at the agency? Is Ms. Ryukyu keeping you on your toes?"

Nejire stopped in the middle of eating, with a noodle hanging from her chopsticks. "Mmmph?" With a smile, she slurped it up, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. "Oh, for sure!" Then she went after the karaage. Crumbs flew everywhere, and sauces splattered, but somehow they didn't get on her or her dad's clothes. One of the onigiris disappeared into her mouth. "Yum, tuna mayo!" She drank some of the broth from her udon to wash it down, enjoying the warmth. "What about you? How is work treating you?

Her dad nodded as he chewed his food. "Same old, same old at work. Nothing exciting as what you do. Mostly paperwork, meetings, and so on. But someone has to keep the wheels of bureaucracy turning." He paused, his expression softening. "And… how is Izuku doing? You okay talking about it? I don't want to pry if it's agency stuff."

The karaage on her chopstick hovered mid-air for a second, her usual cheer dimming just a touch. She set it down gently. "No, it's fine. And Izuku… he's keeping in contact with me, which is a good sign."

Her dad leaned back, folding his arms. "From what you told me last night, it sounds to me you were at the right place at the right time."

Nejire poked at her takoyaki, gathering her thoughts. "Izuku's had it rough." She didn't tell her dad about him being Quirkless, feeling it was something only Izuku should make known. "He got bullied a lot, and the pressure... it built up. I was flying patrol nearby when I spotted him on that rooftop. He was standing there, looking so lost and crushed."

Her dad's eyes widened slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"I landed and talked to him. Asked questions. Anything to get him to not… you know…" Nejire's voice softened, her fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth. "After I pulled him to safety, he broke down, telling me he felt worthless. It broke my heart, Dad. He's such a good kid who wants to help others. So, I just... listened."

"That sounds like my girl," Dad said as he reached across the table, squeezing her hand.

Nejire nodded, her eyes misty but bright. "Yeah. We talked, and I convinced him to come down, and Ryukyu is working on getting him a therapist. She was thinking of the counselor at U.A., Hound Dog."

Her dad smiled proudly. "I'm glad. And proud of you, Nejire. Not just for the hero stuff, but for being kind. That's what makes a real difference." He glanced at the clock. "But don't let me keep you—patrol awaits. Eat up and promise you'll be careful out there."

"I will, Dad." She finished her meal with renewed energy, nearly knocking over her sundae, which she devoured until the bowl was clean. "Thanks for lunch... and the talk." A few stray rice grains clung to her cheek, but she didn't seem to notice as she got up to put on her hero costume.

She was ready to go—her bag containing a fresh set of clothes and Izuku's notebook. Before leaving, she quickly turned around and hugged Dad tightly. "I love you! Say hi to Mom for me!"

"Love you too, kiddo." He kissed her forehead. "Now, go save the world."

Nejire took off with a soft burst of energy, the notebook tucked safely away, her resolve stronger than ever.

Ryuko quietly paced the length of her office as she dialed the number with a steady hand. Her phone was pressed to her ear, the Dragoon Hero's expression a mix of determination and quiet frustration. She had already gone through several of her contacts—even people who owed her favors—but they all told her "no." Even when she offered to pay them herself, they said "no." No justification. No explanation. Just "no."

I made a promise to Mrs. Midoriya, and I'm not going to break it.

The sight of the poor woman, eyes red from crying, clutching her son like he might slip away again, persisted in Ryuko's mind. Izuku needed help, real help.

The line clicked, and a familiar gruff voice barked through the speaker. "U.A. High School counseling office, this is Ryo Inui. Woof! Who's calling?"

"Ryukyu, Hound Dog," she said calmly, her voice holding the weight of her ranking. "I need to talk to you about making an appointment for a young man named Izuku Midoriya. He doesn't go to U.A., but he really needs a good therapist. I told his mother I would set something up after... an incident."

Please tell me you can squeeze him in.

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a low growl that might have been a sigh or a hint of curiosity. "The Dragoon Hero herself calling? If a pro like you is reaching out, Tatsuma, it must be serious, huh? Woof. Spill it! What's the pup's story?"

She leaned against her desk, swallowed hard, and chose her words carefully. "Midoriya's Quirkless, Inui. He lives in a world that doesn't see him. His whole life, people have bullied him, made him feel alone. It broke him, and if Hado hadn't found him on that roof and stopped him in time…" She could hear Hound Dog's breath hitch. "He's still alive... But I can't just leave it like this. He needs help from a professional. You are the best in the business, and U.A.'s resources are top-tier. Please, for a kid who's got nothing else."

"Quirkless... woof, that's a cruel hand to be dealt in this world." His answer was a sympathetic rumble that grew softer. "I've seen kids like that get chewed up and spat out. Woof... The poor pup has been through a lot. I'd drag him into my office myself if he were one of U.A.'s students and bark through every session until he could stand tall again. I'd fight for him tooth and nail."

Ryuko's grip tightened on the phone, hope surging like a flame in her chest.

Yes, this is it. I knew Hound Dog would get it.

"I feel for him, I really do." His tone dimmed, heavy with regret, as he continued. "But... I can't take on every stray that needs help."

The words landed like a punch to her gut. Ryuko stopped pacing, leaning heavily against her desk as conflicting emotions warred within her.

"My plate's full with U.A. students; heroes-in-training dealing with their own issues—controlling their Quirks, the pressure of becoming heroes. I wish I could help, but my duty is to the students here first. Resources are tight; I'm already stretched thin trying to keep them from breaking. Taking on people from outside... that wouldn't be fair to them. Sorry, Tatsuma. Woof... I hope you can understand."

Part of her, the practical hero who knew how hard it was to do patrols and paperwork, understood perfectly. Boundaries helped them stay sane and do their jobs well. Without them, every hero would fall apart from the stress and the constant need. But another part of her, the fierce protector who fought her way to the top ten so she could help the weak, rebelled.

How many more Izukus are out there? Slipping through the cracks because we're too busy saving the 'important' ones? I became a hero to change this, not to accept it. 

"I do understand," she said, voice edged with frustration she couldn't entirely hide.

Why does trying to save one life feel like I'm fighting the entire system?

Izuku's wide-eyed desperation flashed in her mind, the way he'd looked at Nejire like she was his last lifeline.

That boy... he deserves better than being turned away. He deserves a fighting chance, damn it! 

"Woof... yeah. It gnaws at me, too." A sympathetic growl echoed through the line. "Tell his mother to look into public counseling services or private therapists specializing in Quirkless support. Might not be U.A. level, but it's something. Keep fighting the good fight, Ryukyu. You're one of the best."

The call ended with a click, leaving Ryukyu staring at her phone.

Hound Dog was trying to be helpful, and at least he had a reason behind saying "no." Still, it would be easier to take All Might's place as the Number One Hero than to find anyone who fits his suggestions.

She set it down gently as she exhaled. The internal storm raged on—duty versus compassion, realism clashing with the idealistic fire that had driven her into this life.

I promised Mrs. Midoriya I'd help. But promises mean nothing if I can't deliver.

But she wouldn't stop here. She'd find another way—for Izuku, and for Mrs. Midoriya.

"Hey, Ryukyu." Ryuko looked up to see Nejire standing outside her office door. "Everything okay?"

"The people I had planned to help Midoriya…" Ryuko sighed. "They've been… frustrating."

"That bad?" Nejire asked.

Ryuko nodded. "I'm not giving up. I will find someone who can help Midoriya. But was there something you needed, Nejire?"

"I was just letting you know that Aquawoman gave me today's patrol route," Nejire answered. "But there's something I wanna talk about with you. It has to do with Izuku, and how we can help him."

Ryuko straightened her posture. "Go on."

"Well, you'll need to read this first," Nejire reached into her bag and pulled out a worn notebook that Izuku had lent her last night. "Let me know what you think when I get back, okay?"

Nejire left in a bubbly rush before Ryuko could even speak, leaving the notebook—the one labeled Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13—right in front of her. She was about to call her next contact, but stopped, her gaze falling back onto the notebook.

Ryuko always trusted Nejire's instincts. She was her sidekick after all and had to trust her to trust him when out in the field. And Izuku entrusted its contents to Nejire, who, in turn, is entrusting it to her… perhaps it would be worth a quick read.

Ryuko opened the notebook, flipping through it methodically and with care. Her brows furrowed at first, then raised in surprise as she read more and more of its contents.

She thinks she knows what Nejire has in mind.

Izuku thanked God that it was Sunday. He didn't know if he had the mental energy to deal with another miserable day at Aldera Middle School. Instead, he used that focus to begin his work on Hero Analysis for the Future No. 14. The title was pre-written with his usual enthusiasm; each character was sharp and neat. He had been planning to start it for a while, but he didn't know where to begin. Until today, that is—he already knew who to make his first entry on.

Nejire-Chan—Quirk: Wave Motion

He pulled up some news clips on his phone featuring the Ryukyu Agency in action, stopping villains. It's no wonder Izuku's never seen Nejire-Chan before; the cameras were more interested in capturing Ryukyu in her dragon form, and the clips of aerial footage were too shaky. Still, he was able to spot Nejire in some frames, helping out in the fights. Still, the video quality made accurate calculation difficult.

He drew a full-body sketch of Nejire in mid-air, with swirling energy lines forming rings around her, striking a cute pose he thought she would pull off.

He wrote down what he found.

"Her vitality drain is the main thing that limits her Quirk. After 38 seconds of constant fire, her spirals lose their shape; the waveforms change from a tightly coiled corkscrew to a loosely coiled cyclone. This could be because she is getting tired, not because she lacks control. Spiral density determines output efficiency, and an estimated 30% of that emitted energy is wasted in unnecessary wide-range attacks. If trained to modulate energy output with timed pulses, efficiency could increase by 22%. I noticed in footage how the trajectory arcs of the spirals could be tightened, which would result in a higher force and reduce stamina drain by maybe 15%."

Underneath, he added a personal note.

"She'd make a fantastic pro. She smiles a lot, like All Might. Despite my current feelings toward him, smiling is important in helping people feel safe. It also makes her look beautiful—with her eyes, and hair, and…"

Izuku turned scarlet, and he closed the notebook.

Stop it! This is supposed to be a professional notebook, Izuku!

Then he opened it again, looking at the sketch of Nejire, and felt his face heat up.

Wait, did I draw her proportions wrong? Did I make them too big? Is she gonna think I'm sexualizing her?

Then he closed it again. His thoughts shift from too loud to too quiet, then back to loud again. He exhaled slowly, trying to suck a full breath into lungs that didn't want to cooperate, but somehow managed to.

Why am I still doing these? Writing another notebook filled with stuff no one would read. 

Izuku always saw his notebooks as his lifeline, a testament to his unyielding passion—a way to feel connected to the heroic world that rejected him. He always thought he could see it. He could see how to make them—pro and amateur heroes alike—better. He knew how to help them save people more efficiently. He had the plans—fourteen notebooks worth, to be exact.

But what good was a mind like a library if the library was locked inside a useless building? What good was a strategy without the power to execute it? What good was a map if you didn't have a car to get you from point A to point B?

Izuku's hands no longer felt steady while holding the notebook.

"I tried," he sobbed, clutching the notebook to his chest, curling in on himself. "I really tried. I studied harder than anyone. I analyzed everything. I wanted it so bad."

BZZZ! BZZZ!

The screen of Izuku's phone lit up with a notification as it hummed.

Nejire Hado/Nejire-Chan: "Hey, Izuku! I'm currently on patrol, so I can't chat. But I will see you later to return your notebook. P.S. I may have accidentally ripped a page. I taped it up, though. I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

Izuku stared at the screen for a moment, feeling his heart swelling with warmth that snapped him out of his wallowing, before giving his response.

Izuku Midoriya: "No worries. And I can't wait to see you again."

Seconds after Izuku hit send, he realized what he had just typed.

"Oh, no, did I sound like I'm hitting on her?" Izuku asked himself aloud. "Lack of sleep last night must be making me reckless."

Izuku didn't get much sleep last night, given… everything that happened yesterday. Even after bringing tearful relief between him and his mom, receiving plenty of her warm hugs, and having her delicious home cooking, sleep evaded him. Nightmares of the rooftop replayed with vivid drops and winds. But his usual comfort was thrown off by his sleeping on the couch. He didn't want to return to his room, which was covered from top to bottom in All Might merchandise.

"Izuku!" Mom suddenly exited from the kitchen, her hands wringing together in her apron, her round face etched with worry. "I heard you crying. Are you—"

"Oh, Mom… I'm fine," Izuku cleared his throat. "I just… can I help you with cooking? And chores? I need something to take my mind off… everything." He had a desperate need for distraction—a need to be useful.

Mom had still felt guilt twisting at her since last night, blaming herself for Izuku's current state of despair, and questioning how she could have missed how much he was hurting.

But she feels this way because of me. I should've been honest with her from the start.

Mom blinked at him. "Of course, Izuku," she said softly. "But only if you're sure, sweetie. I don't want to burden you."

"It's no burden," Izuku insisted, his voice steadier than he felt. "It'll be good for both of us."

She stepped aside to let him into the kitchen. "We're making katsudon. I thought... I thought you might like some comfort food."

"Yeah. That sounds perfect." Izuku managed a smile—small, but real—and followed her into the kitchen. The familiar scent of simmering broth wrapped around him like a blanket.

The next hour was filled with the rhythmic sounds of the kitchen. Izuku took over the vegetable prep, his movements mechanical but precise.

Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip.

The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board as he focused entirely on the green onions, cutting perpendicular to the root with consistent width to ensure even caramelization.

"Careful with your fingers," Mom murmured after a pause while she busied herself with the pork cutlets, dipping one into the egg wash. Her concern was gentle but tight around the edges, the kind that came from a place far deeper than just kitchen safety.

"I've got it," he assured her, his voice wobbling only a little. It wasn't much, but the movement helped. His mind didn't have as much room to spiral when his hands were busy.

They worked in quiet harmony for a while. At one point, Izuku caught her watching him again, out of the corner of his eye. The silence between them wasn't just empty; it was heavy, filled with things unsaid—something like an apology swimming behind her eyes.

"Mom?"

Mom jumped slightly, nearly dropping the tongs. "Yes, sweetie?"

Izuku didn't look up from the cutting board. "The onions are done. Do you need me to start the rice?"

"Please," she breathed.

As Izuku moved to the rice cooker, the tension in the room shifted. He stopped, his hand resting on the lid of the appliance. He could feel her eyes on him. The guilt radiating off her was palpable, a physical weight in the small kitchen.

"You don't have to tiptoe around me," Izuku whispered, his back to her. "I know I scared you. I'm... I'm really sorry I made you worry."

Mom suddenly crossed the small distance between them and hugged him from behind, abandoning the pork as she buried her face between his shoulder blades. He stiffened at first, then melted into the contact.

"I was wrong," she muffled into his shirt. She took a shuddering breath. "I… I shouldn't have apologized… I should have told you that you could be a hero without a Quirk. I crushed your dreams before… before All Might…"

"You don't have to—"

"I do," she said immediately, then winced at her own suddenness. She softened her tone, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. "Izuku… I should've seen how much you were hurting. I'm your mother."

"Mom, you know none of this is your fault, right?" Izuku's throat tightened, but he forced a steady breath. "What happened yesterday... It's on me for not talking about it sooner. I didn't want to worry you."

"But I'm supposed to worry." She laughed wetly, brushing at her eyes. "That's my job. But I never pushed hard enough. And I know... I know why you slept on the couch last night."

Izuku gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. "I can't go in there, Mom." The bitterness in his voice was new, frightening. "Everywhere I look, he's staring back at me. Smiling. Telling me 'I Am Here,' when he... when he really wasn't."

"Then we'll change it," she said firmly, pulling back and turning him around to face her. Her eyes were wet, but her expression was determined.

"What?"

"The room," Mom declared. "After we eat. We'll take it all down—the posters, the figures, the bedsheets. We'll pack it all up. If looking at him hurts you, then he doesn't deserve to be on your walls."

Izuku stared at her, wide-eyed. That collection was his life, costing him so much yen and so many years of hero worship. The thought of taking it down felt like erasing his identity. But then he thought of All Might's skeletal form on the roof, the pity in his eyes, the crushing reality of his words.

"Young Midoriya… a Quirkless person… can't become a hero."

He looked at his mother, who was willing to tear apart her house to make him feel safe.

"Okay," Izuku croaked. "Okay. Let's take it down."

"Good." Mom squeezed his hands. "But first, we eat. You need your strength."

They returned to cooking, but the air felt lighter. The weight of the secrets and the trauma hadn't gone away, but it was easier to handle.

They sat down to eat, and the katsudon's savory steam rose between them.

Mom raised her chopsticks. "You know, you always calmed down when we cooked together," she said.

"I like to help," Izuku said. "It makes me feel useful."

"You are useful," she continued, squeezing his hand. "You always were."

Izuku took a bite. It tasted like warmth. It tasted like home. Sitting here, listening to his mother hum softly as she ate, and knowing he had a friend like Nejire waiting to see him again... maybe, just maybe, he could live with being plain old Izuku Midoriya.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Izuku?"

"This is really good. Thank you."

Mom smiled, and this time, it reached her eyes. "You're welcome, sweetie."