Chapter 5: First Day Jitters
"Fuck off! I don't need help!" Kacchan barked, coughing up the last foul remnants of sludge. He thrashed against the paramedics, who were desperately trying to check his vitals and scrape the villain's drying remains from his skin. Izuku, Nejire, and scattered bystanders who were also hurt were receiving the same treatment.
Of course. Even after almost dying, Kacchan is still Kacchan.
A few feet away, Izuku sat on the bumper of an ambulance, huddled under the heavy weight of a shock blanket. He rubbed his forearm where he'd taken a rough landing, watching the scene with an exhausted expression. Beside him, Nejire was being attended to by her own team. She looked uncharacteristically drained; her usual vibrant aura had dimmed, and she gripped an energy drink with both hands, sipping it to restore the vitality she'd burned through.
The sight made Izuku's chest tighten.
I couldn't just stand by and let Kacchan die. But Nejire had to push herself even harder to cover me...
"Now that's what I call guts, kid!" Death Arms clapped Kacchan on the back—a gesture meant to be gentle that still made the boy wince. "Holding out against that villain with those explosions? Impressive stuff. Most people would've blacked out, but you kept him busy until we arrived."
Slugger and a downsized Mt. Lady crowded around the blonde teenager.
"You're a tough one!" Slugger praised, leaning on his bat. "That Quirk of yours is flashy as hell. After the Sports Festival, come look at my agency."
"Yeah, those blasts were no joke," Mt. Lady added with a grin and a double thumbs-up. "Keep it up, you're Pro material for sure."
Bakugo scowled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tch. Whatever. I didn't need saving."
Izuku looked away.
His ego is too bruised even to allow himself a flicker of smug satisfaction.
The police were still swarming the area—filling out reports, taking photos of the scene, and cordoning off the street and collecting samples of the villain's remains from the burnt garbage and building sides. They were aided by Backdraft, whose precise water streams neutralized the lingering goo into harmless puddles to make sure the villain didn't come back for round two.
As the paramedics finished checking Izuku for burns—finding, miraculously, only scrapes and bruises—a shadow fell over him. It was heavy and imposing.
"And you," Death Arms barked, crossing his massive arms. Kamui Woods stood next to him and nodded in agreement. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Izuku's breath caught. "I'm—"
"Charging in like that?" The Punching Hero kept going, his voice getting louder. "You could have been killed and made our job twice as hard!"
"If that villain hadn't been distracted by Nejire-Chan, that would have been the end of you," Kamui Woods added, his voice like dry bark.
"I... I'm sorry," Izuku stammered. His shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head, trying to shrink into the ambulance. "I-I just... he was my friend, and I couldn't—"
"That's no excuse!" Death Arms scolded. "You don't have a license. Heck, I didn't see you use a Quirk at all! Interference like that is a liability."
The disparity stung like an open wound. Izuku knew they were right—he had broken the law. But he had acted because the Pros had been frozen; now, he was being treated like a nuisance while the victim was being scouted like a celebrity.
"Hey, hey, hold on a second!" Nejire hopped down from her ambulance. The usual bubbly sweetness in her tone had sharpened into an edge of cold steel. She marched over, placing a protective hand firmly atop Izuku's messy green curls, her blue eyes piercing as she looked the Pros up and down. "Are we forgetting something?"
"Nejire-Chan," Death Arms blinked, his tone softening slightly for a fellow hero, or at least, a highly respected sidekick. "We're just explaining to the civilian that—"
"You're scolding him for acting," Nejire cut in. "But if he hadn't run in, your 'impressive' kid over there would have suffocated. Literally suffocated. Izuku here was the only one moving while you guys were waiting for 'someone with the right Quirk' to show up."
The Pros shifted, their boots scraping awkwardly against the pavement.
"Civilians interfering is against protocol," Kamui Woods argued defensively. "Tactical patience is part of the job."
"And saving lives is the whole job," Nejire countered. She patted Izuku's head, subtly nudging him behind her. "Izuku starts at the Ryukyu Agency today. If he hadn't pointed out the villain's weak spot—the eyes, by the way—when none of you noticed, we might still be dealing with that mess. He created the opening, and he pulled the victim out himself. Sure, he was reckless—"
"Reckless doesn't even cover it," Slugger interrupted, Mt. Lady by his side, thumping his bat against his shoulder. "Kid, heroes know what they're doing. You should've left this to us."
Mt. Lady sighed dramatically, looking at Izuku with a patronizing tilt of her head. "Pros are called for a reason, sweetie."
"Izuku was the only one who didn't stay still!" Nejire reminded them, her voice rising. "So don't lecture the person who actually did something!"
The pros stopped and looked at each other while Death Arms rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… But rules are rules, no matter what. Kid needs to learn boundaries."
"Are we seriously going to let some sidekick talk to us Pros like that?" Mt. Lady snapped, her patience with Nejire wearing thin. "Just because you're the Ryukyu Agency's mascot, it doesn't change how things work. You're supposed to follow the lead of active Pros. Instead, you went and acted on your own. I'm starting to wonder what kind of students Ryukyu takes in if they can't follow simple orders."
Nejire's jaw tightened, a low growl catching in her throat, but Izuku reached out to touch her sleeve.
Don't.
Nejire took a deep breath, ignoring the Peak Hero. She turned to the paramedic. "Is he clear?"
The medic nodded quickly.
"Good. Come on, Izuku. Let's get to the agency before Ryukyu sees the news and has a heart attack." She flashed him a sunny smile that brooked no argument, though her eyes still held a lingering spark of indignation. "Thanks for the assist, everyone!"
Before the Pros could offer another rebuttal, Nejire grabbed Izuku's hand. With a sudden, golden burst of her Quirk, they lifted off the ground. "Come on, Izuku—up we go!" She steered them high above the street, soaring past a swarm of hungry reporters who were left shouting questions at the empty air.
Katsuki watched as that damn Deku was hauled into the air by the blue-haired sidekick, her spirals of energy propelling them skyward like they were just taking a stroll in the clouds. The crowd below 'oohed' and 'aahed,' phones out, snapping pics like a bunch of mindless extras at a fireworks show. As if flying off with some Pro's pet project made Deku hot shit.
The wind kicked up as they disappeared over the rooftops, and Katsuki clenched his jaw hard enough to ache.
So that's how it is.
"Fuckin' Deku," he muttered, shoving a paramedic's hand away for the umpteenth time. His palms still smoked faintly, the smell of burnt ozone mixing with the lingering stench of the sludge bastard.
He could still taste it in the back of his throat—oil, rot, and pure humiliation. He could still feel that suffocating weight crushing his chest, creeping into his lungs, cutting off his air. The world narrowed down to panic and the sound of his own explosions sputtering out.
I didn't need saving. I didn't need help. I didn't need fucking Deku!
The thought was sharp and automatic. It was the only thing keeping the shaking in Katsuki's hands at bay.
I could've handled it. But no, Deku—Quirkless, useless Deku—had to play hero. Rushing in like the idiot he is, grabbing at me like I was some fucking damsel in distress! And now? Now the nerd gets a free ride from Nejire-Chan of all people!
Katsuki's eyes narrowed, following their rise until they were just dots in the bright afternoon light.
What the hell was he doing at the Ryukyu Agency? Starting today? Bullshit!
Deku didn't fit in that world. The nerd couldn't even throw a punch last he checked, yet here he was, getting patted on the head and defended by a girl who treated Pros like they were the ones in the way.
But another thought followed, quieter and way more irritating.
…He noticed the eyes.
Through the haze of suffocation and rage, Katsuki remembered it now—Deku shouting. Pointing. Nejire-Chan had blasted the villain just enough for Katsuki to catch one desperate lungful of air.
"Damn it…" He slammed a palm into the side of the ambulance. The metal groaned under the strike, the ring of it echoing his frustration.
"Hey, kid!" Death Arms' voice cut in, hovering nearby. "You okay?"
Katsuki gave him a look that could have set off nitro. "Get lost. I don't want your pity."
He vaulted off the back of the ambulance, ignoring the sharp sting in his lungs. The Pros muttered and backed off, clearly deciding he wasn't worth the headache. They went back to milling about, preening for reporters as if they had actually done something.
I don't need their praise anyway.
But no matter how hard he tried to shake it, the image of Deku with Nejire-Chan stuck. They looked... natural. Like they belonged together in the air, leaving everyone else on the pavement.
Katsuki's teeth ground together. A spark popped in his palm, unbidden.
Why does he get noticed? Since when does Deku get someone bubbly chick to fight his battles for him? Am I jealous? Hell no. This pisses me off!
With a scoff, he stalked toward the police line, ignoring the reporters barking his name. He needed to get the hell out of here before he exploded something for real.
Fine. Let the nerd think he's climbing the ranks. I'm still going to U.A., and he isn't! I'll make sure Deku regrets ever thinking he could keep up.
Nejire adjusted her flight to a smoother, low-altitude glide to conserve what was left of her vitality. The wind carried away the last echoes of the cheering crowd, leaving them in a pocket of quiet as they touched down on a deserted residential side street.
She didn't let go of his wrist until his feet were firmly on the pavement. The silence between them was awkward as Izuku looked at the scuffs on his red sneakers, his heart racing against his ribs. He got ready for the real scolding to start.
Nejire turned around and got face-to-face with Izuku—too close to him for comfort, close enough for him to see the faint glow still fading from her eyes. She tilted her head and looked at him with a look that shifted from protective fire to soft, quiet thought.
Suddenly, she poked him hard in the forehead. "You were absolutely crazy back there, you know that?"
Izuku winced, his face heating up instantly. "I know. I-I'm sorry, Nejire. I know I scared you, and I didn't mean to—"
"No, seriously. Crazy," Nejire repeated. Her tone was light, but her brows were drawn together in genuine concern. "If I hadn't been there, you would be a green pancake right now. Ryukyu is probably going to yell at me, and your mom is definitely going to kill both of us for letting you almost die on day one!"
Izuku kept his head low, his throat tightening. "I'm sorry... I really am. I just... I couldn't watch. Not when I knew I could help."
Nejire sighed, her cheeks puffing out like a frustrated squirrel. "That's the part that makes me mad and proud at the same time."
He blinked, looking up in surprise. "Proud?"
Nejire raised a finger, her expression turning serious. "Your brain saved the day, Izuku. If you hadn't told me to aim for the eyes, my waves might have just splashed the villain around and hurt Bakugo. You gave me a target. Because of you, he's alive."
Izuku's eyes widened, shimmering with a mix of shock and relief. "Really? You... you actually think so?"
"I don't think so. I know so." She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze. "You were amazing." Then her voice dropped to a stern whisper. "But promise me you'll be careful. You aren't alone anymore; you've got a whole agency backing you up. Don't go trying to be a solo act yet."
She finished with a playful wink that sent a fresh wave of red to Izuku's ears. It wasn't the hollow praise the Pros gave Kacchan, nor the blind condemnation they'd thrown at him. It was an honest assessment. She saw his flaw, but she also saw his value.
"Thank you, Nejire," he whispered.
"Don't mention it!" She tried to spin playfully in the air, hair whirling behind her, but only gave a weak flutter before she landed back on her heels with a slight stumble. "Whoops. Out of gas. Now, let's get to the agency. Ryukyu's going to want to hear how her newest intern caused a massive scene before he even signed his paperwork."
Izuku paled, his stomach somersaulting.
"Oh, don't worry! She'll be proud of you, too," Nejire chirped, pulling out her phone. "Probably."
He was not reassured.
Nejire dialed a number on her cell. "Hey, Aquawoman? It's Nejire-Chan. Yeah... I'm a little tapped out. I don't think I can fly back carrying Izuku. Can you send Swift and Brock to pick us up? We're a few blocks north of the Tatooin Shopping District."
She stopped to listen to the answer. "Awesome! We'll wait right here. Oh, and make sure they bring that bag of mochi from the break room. I'm starving!"
About twenty minutes after Nejire's call, the Ryukyu Agency's personal vehicle—a sleek, grayish-white van emblazoned with the Dragoir logo—pulled to the curb. Its engine purred with the low, contented hum of a well-maintained beast.
The side door slid open, revealing two men who looked like they'd stepped out of two very different worlds. One had skin made of jagged, tectonic gray stone, wearing a blue-and-white striped leotard that gave him the look of a professional weight-lifter. Beside him was a leopard heteromorph with a rockstar aesthetic—piercings, a tattered leather jacket, and a permanent expression of boredom.
Nejire waved enthusiastically. "Hey, Brock! Hey, Swift!"
"Aquawoman said you were running on empty," the stone man—Brock—rumbled in a voice that sounded like grinding gravel. He held up a bag of mochi. "I brought the snacks. And I whipped up some green tea smoothies for the road."
"You're a lifesaver!" Nejire beamed. "C'mon, Izuku."
As Nejire hopped in, the leopard man—Swift—extended a clawed hand to block the door. He leaned down, his feline nose twitching as he sniffed the air. His tail flicked irritably behind him.
"Who's the stray?" Swift asked, his eyes narrowing. "Did someone lose their kid brother or something?"
"Nope!" Nejire puffed out her chest, looking proud. "This is Izuku Midoriya. He's the new analyst Ryukyu's hiring! He's super smart. He's the new brain to our brawn. He's already figured out Ryukyu's shoulder issue!"
The two heroes turned their gaze to Izuku. It wasn't a warm look; it was the heavy, professional skepticism of veterans looking at a new recruit who hadn't seen action yet. They saw the nervous stance, the big yellow backpack, and the plain middle school uniform that screamed "not qualified."
"He smells like fabric softener and fear," Swift said honestly, raising an eyebrow. He looked Izuku up and down with slow, deliberate judgment. "When Ryukyu said he was young, I was expecting a work-study student from U.A. This isn't a playground, kid. People get hurt badly in this line of work. Don't get in our way."
Izuku flinched, his fingers tightening around the straps of his bag. "I... I won't. I promise. I'll stay in the office. I won't be a burden."
"Be nice, Swift!" Nejire scolded, puffing out her cheeks in a pout. "Or I'll tell Ryukyu you haven't filed your reports from Tuesday because you were too busy playing mobile games in the breakroom."
Swift went pale beneath his spotted fur, his tail going stiff. "Just get in the damn van."
Nejire took Izuku's hand and pulled him into the plush interior. Swift climbed into the driver's seat, muttering something about 'snitches.'
"Don't mind him," Nejire whispered as they settled into the supple leather seats. "He's grumpy because he fell into a trap last week and his paw is still sore. He's actually a total softie—he spends half his paycheck feeding the stray cats behind the agency."
"It's okay," Izuku murmured, clicking his seatbelt into place. The luxury of the van felt alien to him, a cocoon of safety he didn't feel he deserved. "He's right. I'm not like you guys."
A thought like lead weighed in his stomach.
Do they know I'm Quirkless? Should I tell them now, or wait until they see me fail?
"Well, I for one am always happy to meet a new face," Brock said. He handed Izuku a cold smoothie and a piece of mochi with a hand that could crush a boulder. Yet, his touch was incredibly gentle, and he then gave the rest of the bag to Nejire, who was already slurping down her smoothie.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Brock," Izuku said, bowing his head slightly.
"Brock is the hero name. Call me Gizagiza Shindo if you like," the stone man said with a small, rocky smile. He pointed toward the driver. "And the grumpy cat is Jinsoku Hyo."
"Yeah, just read out our resumes for the whole world to hear," Swift snarked, throwing the van into gear. He pulled out into traffic, heading toward the heart of the city where the Dragoon Hero's agency awaited.
The van paused at a red light that felt ten times longer than it actually was. To fill the silence, Nejire launched into a story about a patrol mishap from her early days at the agency.
"So, this guy had an ice Quirk, right? He turned the whole street into a skating rink and was literally figure-skating away from us! I used my waves to shatter the ice—carefully, obviously—giving him little room to run, but then he starts chucking snowballs at me!"
"Snowballs?" Izuku asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"That's what I said! And just as I'm dodging, a flock of pigeons comes out of and then poof! Feathers everywhere."
"Oh, no…"
"I didn't hit them. I was so busy trying not to hit them that the guy almost got away. But fortunately, Ryukyu caught up with him—he surrendered right away because he's obviously not stupid enough to fight a dragon, and she made the arrest.
When I asked how I did, she just shook her head. I had feathers stuck in my hair and my costume. She told me I was 'efficient and energetic as always,'" Nejire mimicked her mentor's stern voice. "But I could tell she was dying to laugh."
Izuku chuckled softly. "I feel bad for the birds, but it sounds like you handled it well."
"I try!" Nejire chirped. Her eyes then fell on the yellow backpack in his lap. "Hey, hey? Have you started anything new in your notebooks?"
"Well, yes…" He brought it with him, figuring he'd need to fill the pages today. "The first entry is... It's you. Just based on news clips."
"Now I'm curious! Can I see?"
Izuku's face flushed. "W-wait, it's not finished, it's mostly just sketches and—"
Nejire laid a warm hand over his, her expression softening. "It's okay. I want to see how you see me."
Izuku took a shaky breath. "Y-yeah. Sure." He fished out Hero Analysis for The Future No. 14 and handed it over. Nejire flipped to the page.
Nejire-Chan—Quirk: Wave Motion.
Her eyes scanned the blocks of text in silence. Then, her lips parted in a small 'o' of surprise. "Izuku... this part about the thirty-eight-second limit on my spirals..."
"Yeah?"
"Me, Ryukyu, my teachers... we've been trying to figure out why my output drops during long fights for months. We thought it was hydration or blood sugar." She leaned in close, her hair brushing his shoulder. "You figured it out with geometry?"
"It's… It's just a working theory," Izuku mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "The video quality was grainy, so I had to guess the frame rate of your rotations. If I had better footage, I could give you a more precise interval of when the wave interference starts to cancel out your own momentum."
"I'm testing this in the training room today," Nejire said, her voice full of genuine wonder. Then, her grin turned mischievous. "Also... I saw your extra notes."
She must be referring to my personal notes! Oh, God! I feel like I'm going to die of embarrassment!
"You think I'm limitless?"
Huh? Oh, she's referring to those extra notes I made after she and Ryukyu left the apartment yesterday, not the… personal ones.
Izuku stammered, his heart skipping a beat. "I-I mean, objectively, yes! If the vectors are managed and we account for your caloric intake, your power ceiling could be like... like All Might's."
"You think I could be as strong as All Might?"
"Maybe even stronger," Izuku whispered. He immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide.
Did I really say that out loud?
Nejire didn't laugh. Instead, she hugged the notebook to her chest, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "You're so cool, Izuku."
"Me?"
"Yes, you!" She booped his nose playfully. "Though, I do have one tiny critique." She pointed to his memory-sketch of her in costume—specifically the chest area. "You drew my boobs a bit big."
The van seemed to plummet into a vacuum of silence. Izuku's face turned a shade of red that shouldn't be biologically possible. "I-I am so sorry! I was sketching from memory, and the perspective was—!"
"Hey, it's fine! I know you're not a pervert. It's a common mistake. But if you want to be accurate for the next drawing, my actual cup size is—"
"TOO MUCH INFORMATION, HADO!" Swift—thankfully—roared from the driver's seat. "Also, we're here. Get out."
Swift and Brock exited the van, and Izuku followed, his legs feeling like jelly. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he caught his reflection in the pristine glass of the Ryukyu Agency's building. Beside the polished heroes, he looked like a smudge on a masterpiece—a glitch in a high-definition broadcast.
"Hey," Izuku whispered, looking at his clothes. "Is there somewhere I can change inside? I don't want to meet Ms. Ryukyu looking like... this."
Nejire texted me last night to wear something comfortable, yet respectable.
"I'll show you the locker rooms, kid," Brock assured him, his rocky hand giving Izuku a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Don't sweat it. You'll do fine."
Izuku stared at his reflection in the changing room mirror and tried smoothing down a stray lock of green hair that refused to stay in place, feeling like an actor wearing a costume for a play he hadn't rehearsed.
He had swapped his school uniform for dark trousers that were slightly too long, bunching clumsily at his ankles. His mother had starched his white button-down to a stiffness that felt like it could stop a low-caliber bullet, and the collar itched at his neck with every breath.
But it was his feet that truly betrayed him. His signature red high-tops, scuffed from years of dodging bullies and worn down at the heels, glared back at him against the sterile, polished floor. They were civilian shoes. Walking shoes.
Running-away shoes.
He felt his chest tighten.
I can't do this. I'm just a middle schooler. I'm Quirkless. I'm Deku. They're going to realize it was a mistake the moment I open my mouth. They'll see right through the starch and the tuck and send me home with a participation sticker and a pity juice box.
He clutched the hem of his shirt until his knuckles turned bone-white. The instinct to bolt—to disappear back into his anonymous life—warred violently with his desperate need to belong. He turned on his heel, the rubber of his soles squeaking on the tile, ready to flee to the safety of the train station and his anonymous existence.
"Hey, hey? Are you okay in there, Izuku?" Nejire's voice cut through the fog of his panic. "You've been in there for fifteen minutes! Are you stuck?"
Izuku jumped, nearly knocking over a trash can. "I-I was just... checking the mirror! And... doing some mental preparation!"
"That's good! Mental prep is key," Nejire chirped from the other side of the door. "I do it before big raids—I picture myself winning, then eating mochi, then winning again. But come on! Ryukyu is waiting, and she hates waiting almost as much as she hates decaf coffee!"
"I'm coming!" Izuku shoved his old uniform into his locker, took one last shaky breath, and stepped out.
Nejire was leaning against the wall, but she straightened up the moment she saw him. "Ready for the grand tour?"
Izuku nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-Yeah. I'm... nervous."
Nejire's eyes softened, and she placed her hand on his shoulder. "That's okay. Remember, you're here because you're amazing. Come on! And don't worry, everyone's super friendly. Well, mostly."
They took a golden-doored elevator to the top floor. The hallway was quiet, smelling of expensive floor wax and old paper. When they entered Ryukyu's office, the Dragon Hero was buried behind a mountain of reports. She looked up, the sharp intensity of her gaze softening into a small, welcoming smile.
"Midoriya. Good to see you."
Izuku immediately doubled over in a deep bow. "Ms. Ryukyu! I am s-so sorry for being late on m-my first day! I know you told me not to be, but there was this villain and—"
"You're not in trouble," she interrupted gently. "I've already seen the news. I understand exactly why you were delayed."
"The media works fast, huh?" Nejire whispered, leaning toward Izuku.
Izuku looked up, hopeful. "So, you—"
But Ryukyu's expression turned serious. "However, I've already received calls from the HPSC following the incident. They were responding to complaints from the Pros on the scene regarding the 'unauthorized interference' of my staff and... a civilian."
"Are you in trouble because of us?" Nejire asked, her playful energy vanishing.
"Whatever issues the Commission has with how I run my agency are between them and me," Ryukyu said firmly, standing up from her desk. "I will not drag either of you into political squabbles." She stepped around the desk, stopping in front of Izuku. "But there is something you must understand, Midoriya."
Izuku swallowed hard, feeling very small.
"Sacrificing oneself to save others is the soul of heroics," Ryukyu said, her voice echoing in the large office. "But there is a stark difference between selflessness and foolishness. Your approach today was extremely reckless. I'm not telling you this to discourage your heart—I'm telling you because I want you to be more decisive. If you're going to act, you must have a plan that doesn't rely on luck."
"Yes, Ma'am," Izuku nodded, his voice cracking slightly. "I understand. I'll do better."
Ryukyu's warmth returned, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you will. Come with me now. Before I show you where you'll be working, I have a lot to show you about my agency."
Izuku was actually surprised by how huge the agency was. Ryukyu walked with a graceful stride, moving through the building as if it were an extension of her body. Izuku was already familiar with the lounge and café from his last visit, where various sidekicks were on break, inhaling hearty ramen bowls or towering parfaits.
Ryukyu showed him a room where sidekicks were filling out paperwork and managing other necessities to keep the agency afloat. She also showed him the agency's medical wing for agency members, as well as civilians and heroes who require immediate medical attention, which hummed with the sterile beep of monitors.
Finally, they descended three sublevels from the heart of the building. The elevator opened into a cavernous, reinforced-concrete bunker designed to withstand everything from high-yield explosions to the might of a dragon. It was filled with all kinds of equipment to train one's body and Quirk. The air here was different, echoing with grunts and impacts as sidekicks worked out or sparred with each other.
"I know an underground gym seems like overkill," Ryukyu began, her voice echoing off the impact-absorbing tiles. "But it is for good reason."
"No, it makes total sense," Izuku interrupted, his eyes scanning the reinforced pillars. "With how unpredictable and powerful Quirks can be, a surface-level gym would be a liability to the city and its people. You need a bunker to contain the shockwaves."
"This guy gets it!" A boisterous voice rang out.
Izuku jumped, spinning around. "Who—?"
He froze. A face—just a face—was sticking out of the solid concrete wall to his left. It had beady blue eyes and a cartoonish, cheerful smile.
Wait…
"AHHHHH!" Izuku let out a strangled yelp, stumbling backward so fast he nearly tackled Nejire.
She caught him by the shoulders, laughing. "Hey, hey! Mirio, you nearly gave the poor guy a heart attack," Nejire scolded. However, she sounded more amused than angry, as if this was completely normal.
"Sorry about that!" The face beamed. Suddenly, the rest of the young man's body phased through the wall as if the concrete were made of water. He was tall and built like a tank, wearing a hero costume that screamed 'Classic Era'—complete with a bold 1,000,000 stamped across his chest.
Before Izuku could process the physics of what he'd just seen, his hand was seized and shaken with enough vigor to rattle his teeth. "Mirio Togata! I'm one of Nejire's classmates from U.A. It's really nice to meet ya, Izuku Midoriya!"
Izuku's brain short-circuited. "Y-You know my name?"
"Well, yeah! Nejire hasn't stopped talking since yesterday about the genius analyst who's starting today."
Izuku made a sound that could only be described as a teapot whistle. Ryukyu turned a knowing look toward Nejire. "So, the entire Second Year class knows by now, I assume?"
Nejire rubbed the back of her head, giggling sheepishly. "Just my friends, I swear."
"Mirio..." A soft, trembling voice drifted from behind a nearby squat rack. A dark-haired teen in a massive white cloak peeked out, looking like a startled hermit crab. "Don't you think you're being... a bit much?"
Togata immediately let go of Izuku, hands raised. "Right! Sorry! It's just not every day you meet someone that Nejire is this hyped about. Especially when that someone is a middle schooler interning at a Top Ten agency."
The shy teen crept forward, staring intensely at the floor. "I-I'm Tamaki Amajiki. I'm... not good with... new people. But I hope... You like it here."
Nejire cooed. "Tamaki is so adorable when he tries to socialize!"
Amajiki immediately retreated into his high collar, his face aflame as he huddled into his coat collar, as if trying to fold himself into the fabric. Izuku watched him, stunned.
I never would have guessed a hero-in-training could be as shy as I am.
"It's nice to meet you both, Togata and Amajiki. But… Uh, Togata?" Izuku started, his analytical mind kicking in—a frantic, buzzing curiosity—as his voice got faster. "Your Quirk, the way you went through the wall—you looked like you were completely intangible. Does it work on a molecular level? Are you shifting your density? Or maybe it's a matter of vibrating your atoms to pass through solid matter? And what about your senses? If light and sound waves pass through you, you must be effectively blind and deaf while phased, right? How do you maintain your momentum without being able to see where you're going?"
The barrage of questions hit Togata, rapid fire. He blinked, then let out a booming laugh. "Whoa! Slow down there, Midoriya! You're sharp! Yeah, my Quirk is called Permeation. It lets me make any part of my body—or all of it—intangible so that I can slip through walls, floors, even people or attacks. And you're spot on—when I'm fully phased, I can't see, hear, or even breathe. It's like falling into a void. I had to train for years to learn how to 'pop' out of the floor without getting stuck or launched into space!"
"Mirio's... the best at it," Amajiki whispered, still looking at the floor, half-hiding. "He's like... a ghost that hits like a truck."
Nejire bounced on her toes, clapping her hands. "See? I told you guys Izuku's a total Quirk nerd! Hey, Izuku, you should show them one of your notebooks later."
Ryukyu cleared her throat, crossing her arms. "As much as I enjoy the networking, I assume you two are here for more than just scaring my intern?"
Togata's posture snapped into a professional salute. "Yes, Ma'am! Sir Nighteye wanted your eyes on a specific report regarding the investigation his agency is conducting. I passed it to Aquawoman."
Sir Nighteye? As in All Might's former sidekick?
"And Fat Gum..." Amajiki added. "Sent me to ask about... a joint patrol. There's been a spike in activity... in the red-light district. Nothing too big, but… still concerning. I also left his report… with Aquawoman."
"I'll review Sir Nighteye's report and Fat Gum's request once I've finished the tour," Ryukyu said. "The two of you should return to your respective agencies."
"Yes, Ma'am!" Togata turned back to Izuku with a thumb-up. "Good luck, Midoriya! I have a feeling you're going to shake things up around here."
Amajiki gave a tiny, almost invisible wave. "Good luck... surviving Nejire. It's harder than it looks..."
As they headed for the elevator, Izuku stood there, dazed. "Th-thank you… It means a lot!" He said it louder than he meant, drawing the attention of some of the sidekicks mid-workout. He didn't have time to feel embarrassed as they continued the tour. Izuku had just met Nejire's friends, sidekicks from other agencies, and they didn't look at him like a 'useless Deku.' They looked at him like a colleague they couldn't wait to work with.
Izuku got off the elevator, onto the third floor, which Ryukyu dubbed the "Bullpen"—a hive that appeared to look more like a stock market than a hero office. Sidekicks ran by with tablets in hand, barking into headsets about patrol routes and containment protocols. But they were mindful not to get in Ms. Ryukyu's way, giving her room to escort Izuku out of instinctual respect.
There was a stench of old coffee in the air. There were maps of different cities and wards in Japan on one wall. On the other wall, TV monitors showed live traffic, weather, and news from all the major networks. There were desks piled high with paperwork next to evidence bags waiting to be handed off to the police, and trash cans were full of plastic bottles, foam cups, and half-eaten meals. It was a place where heroes worked—it was not as clean as Izuku imagined. Yet, he felt like a glitch in the complicated machinery. He hunched his shoulders, trying to hide behind Nejire, but she was a human spotlight, drawing every eye in the room.
Izuku almost got distracted and bumped into one heroine—a ninja in a purple bodysuit with grey hair that he didn't even hear coming.
"Sorry about that," Izuku apologized, but didn't know if she heard him as she kept moving on.
"Don't mind her," Nejire said. "Lady Ghostblade doesn't talk much. It's part of her whole mysterious vibe."
"This is where you'll be working," Ryukyu said, leading him to a corner workstation equipped with three high-definition monitors that showed real-time data, a specialized ergonomic chair, and a noise-canceling headset. "Take your time getting a feel for everything. Then, when you're ready, start looking over the patrol logs and patterns of villain activity, and Quirk matchups."
Izuku bowed so deeply that his forehead nearly hit the desk. "Th-thank you, Ms. Ryukyu. I won't let you down!"
She nodded, her eyes assessing. "I know you won't. If you need me, use the corded phone. It's a direct line." She pointed at an old-looking phone with a cord on the right-hand side of Izuku's desk.
I didn't know they still made phones like those.
"Ma'am, we have a problem," Swift said as he jogged over with a tablet. "Shatterpoint is moving again."
Ryukyu's mood changed right away. Her warmth was gone, and in its place was the cold, sharp focus of a Top Ten Hero. "Are you sure?"
"Definitely." Swift gave her the tablet.
"Who's Shatterpoint?" Izuku asked, his interest piqued, momentarily overriding his nervousness.
"A thief," Ryukyu explained. "He has a Quirk that allows him to fire compressed air bullets from his fingertips, strong enough to pierce reinforced glass and dent steel. He's been hitting jewelry stores and high-end electronics shops for three weeks."
She handed Izuku a tablet, which he took with care. "Here's footage of his last five robberies. He's fast, he's efficient, and he leaves no tracks. My patrols have missed him by minutes every single time. Swift and others think he has a getaway driver with a cloaking Quirk, but there are never tire tracks at the scene."
"What do you think it could be?" Izuku asked.
"That's what I need you to find out, Midoriya." Ryukyu looked Izuku in the eye, her gaze searching for the brilliant mind Nejire had promised. "I need fresh eyes to watch the footage and tell us what we're missing."
Izuku looked at the device. The weight of it felt like a mountain. This was it. This was the test. If he failed here, he went back to being Deku, the useless boy who dreamed too big. He sat in the expensive chair—which made his small frame look even smaller—and felt Nejire pull up a seat beside him, watching him with expectant, trusting eyes.
Focus. Break it down. Forget the room. Forget the starch in your collar. Just look at the pixels.
He pulled on the headset. The silence was absolute, just white noise.
Izuku's world narrowed to the screens. He played the footage. Grainy security feeds showed a masked figure in tactical gear and a heavy trench coat—Shatterpoint—bursting into a shop.
Crack-Pop!
Air distorted. Reinforced glass shattered inward like ice. The figure vaulted the counter, stuffed jewels into a duffel bag with practiced efficiency, and ran out. Forty-five seconds.
Izuku played the second video, this time at an electronics store.
Crack-Pop! Pop!
The lock on the security cage exploded under the air blast's pressure, and Shatterpoint grabbed what he could and ran. Fifty-two seconds.
He played it again. Half speed. Quarter speed. He zoomed in until the image blurred into a mosaic of gray and black.
"Posture is consistent... He always slings his bag over his right shoulder to keep his left arm free. Possibly favors the left hand. The recoil from the air bullets suggests a PSI of at least 3000, which is similar to that of a high-caliber pistol. But the timing... why the pause?"
Izuku watched the third video, which was another electronics store, and zoomed in on the villain's hands, enhancing the image quality until the pixels blurred.
Fire. Fire. Pause. Shatterpoint's hand shakes. Fire.
Izuku pulled up the fourth robbery, a jewelry store.
Fire. Fire. Fire. Long pause. Shatterpoint grabs his wrist. Grimace is visible even through the mask. Fire.
Izuku put the tablet down and brought up a map on his monitors, typing in all the locations that were hit, his eyes darting across the three screens as he connected dots that only he could see, tracing an imaginary line between the robbery locations. "He hits targets that are exactly four blocks apart. He's not moving fast between targets because of someone else or their Quirk. He's moving fast because he knows the route perfectly. He might be using a skateboard or a bike, something silent and gravity-assisted to conserve energy. But his own Quirk... there's a biological limit. A tax on the body."
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he pulled up an anatomical diagram of the human hand and forearm, overlaying it with the physics of compressed air recoil.
"Ms. Ryukyu!" Izuku yelled, not remembering that the headphones were on—and forgetting that they were still next to him. He tore them off, and his face turned red. "Sorry! But I can see it!"
"You found something?" Ryukyu leaned over his shoulder and asked.
"He's hurting himself," Izuku said, pointing to a frame where the villain flinched. "Check the fingers every third shot. Not only is compressed air coming out, but it's also building up in his joints before release. It's a barometric spike. If he fires more than three times, the pressure backwashes into his nervous system. It's causing temporary paralysis and extreme pain."
Izuku looked up. His green eyes were no longer trembling; they were burning with the intensity of a strategist. "He has a hard cooldown of six seconds after a volley. He's not fast because of a getaway driver; he's fast because he has to be before his arm gives out."
Izuku pulled up a city map. "He's targeting glass fronts because they take fewer shots. He's moving east, away from the police. The next target that fits his profile is a store with a glass front, expensive goods, and an easy way out. Gemini Jewelers on Fourth Street." Izuku's grin was small and sharp. "But it has a heavy steel shutter that comes down at night."
"If he tries to blast through steel, he'll have to use at least two full volleys," Izuku continued. "He'll overheat his nerves. He'll be helpless for ten seconds—paralyzed by the pain. That's your window."
"You got all that from some hands shaking?" Swift scoffed, his tail lashing. "Maybe he just has a cramp, kid. We aren't staking out a shop on a middle-schooler's hunch."
"It's not a cramp," Izuku said, standing up. His voice was firm, cutting through Swift's skepticism. "It's a micro-fracture tell. I've seen it in Pro Heroes with impact Quirks like Death Arms. He will stop after the fifth shot. I'm certain."
The Bullpen went quiet. Even the sidekicks at the nearby desks looked over.
Ryukyu looked at the map, then back at Izuku to gauge how sure he was of himself and his theory. She saw the boy who had run into the sludge on the news, and the analyst who saw the world in vectors.
"Swift," Ryukyu commanded. "Take Brock. Go to Gemini Jewelers. Tell the owner to reinforce the shutters and set up a stakeout. Don't let anyone see you. Wait for Shatterpoint to show up. Don't move until he stops firing. Wait for the flinch."
Swift looked like he wanted to argue, but the Dragoon Hero's gaze was absolute. "Yes, Ma'am."
"Hey, hey! What about me?" Nejire asked, pouting.
"You're on recharge, Nejire," Ryukyu reminded her. "Besides, this is a stealth operation. You're not exactly quiet."
Nejire slumped in her chair, a playful pout on her lips that Izuku couldn't help but find adorable. He sat back down, his heart racing. He had just called a play for a Top Ten agency. Now, all he could do was wait to see if he was right.
The air over Fourth Street was cool, accompanied by the rhythmic hum of Tokyo's nighttime traffic. Jinsoku crouched on the edge of a fire escape two stories up, his tail flicking with restless agitation as he overlooked Gemini Jewelers. His feline eyes scanned the empty pavement below.
"This is a waste of time," Jinsoku whispered into his comms. He kept his voice low, a sub-vocal growl meant only for Shindo's ears. "Two hours of nothing, Brock. We're sitting here because a middle-schooler played connect-the-dots on a monitor."
"Ryukyu gave the order, Swift," Shindo's voice came back from the shadows of a dumpster below. "We're staying put. She thinks the kid's theory is right on the money."
"She's putting too much trust in a fanboy," Jinsoku said with a sneer, flexing his claws against the cold metal grating. "My gut tells me that Shatterpoint is hitting a target three districts away while we—"
"Shush," Shindo said. "Movement. Three o'clock.
Jinsoku went still, his ears swiveling forward. There were no footsteps. No engine. Just the faint, rhythmic clacking of wheels on asphalt. A figure emerged from the gloom, coasting on a skateboard with practiced ease. He wore the tactical trench coat and mask from the footage.
Jinsoku felt a jolt of adrenaline spike through his chest.
Well, I'll be damned.
Shatterpoint slowed to a halt in front of the jeweler's. He checked the street—left, then right—his movements sharp and arrogant. Seeing no patrols, he stepped off his board and approached the steel shutter.
The villain cracked his neck, his splayed fingers twitching.
CRACK-POP!
The sound was like a balloon bursting in the narrow street. An invisible bullet of compressed air slammed into the shutter. The steel warped instantly, a fist-sized crater appearing in the metal. The sidekicks reinforced bracing earlier, and so far, it has held firm.
Shatterpoint tilted his head, seemingly annoyed. He raised his hand again.
CRACK-POP! POP!
Two more massive dents appeared, the steel screeching as the rivets were strained to their limit.
"He's getting frustrated," Shindo whispered.
Shatterpoint growled, the sound muffled by his mask. He planted his feet, leaning into his right arm for a final, brute-force barrage.
CRACK-POP! POP! POP! POP!
The air pressure in the alley dropped noticeably with every shot. The shutter was being hammered into scrap metal, sparks flying as the locking mechanism began to tear. Shatterpoint raised his hand for one last blast that would surely rip it open.
CRACK-POP!
"AGH!"
It happened exactly on the fifth shot. Shatterpoint's arm jerked violently back as if he'd been struck by lightning. He let out a strangled cry of agony, his knees buckling. The compressed air had backfired into his own joints. He collapsed, clutching his right wrist with his left hand, his entire body shaking with tremors.
The flinch.
"NOW!" Jinsoku roared.
He launched himself off the fire escape, a blur of yellow and black. He didn't just fall; he pounced, twisting in mid-air to drive his boots into the villain's chest. The impact sent Shatterpoint skidding across the asphalt, his mask flying off.
"Get... off... me!" Shatterpoint wheezed, his left hand twitching as he tried to aim a desperate shot.
"Not a chance!" Shindo shouted, charging out of the alley like a landslide.
CRACK-POP!
The villain fired a weak, frantic air bullet, but it merely dusted the grime off Shindo's rocky chest. The stone hero reached down, hoisted the villain off the ground by his collar, and slammed him against the brick wall.
"Don't try it," Shindo rumbled, his stone face inches from the thief's. "You're done."
Jinsoku was already slapping the cuffs on the villain's wrists. As he tightened them, he caught a glimpse of Shatterpoint's right arm. It was swollen, the veins bulging and purple, twitching.
"My arm... it feels like it's on fire..." the villain bemoaned, tears streaming down his face. "I can't feel my fingers."
Jinsoku stared at the injury.
Radial nerve injury. Barometric pressure buildup. The kid hadn't been guessing.
Jinsoku stood up, dusting off his knees, his tail swishing thoughtfully. He looked at Shindo, who was wearing a massive, rocky smirk.
"Don't say it," Jinsoku grumbled, tapping his earpiece.
"What?" Shindo teased. "That the 'fanboy' just saved us three weeks of chasing a ghost?"
"Just... shut up." Jinsoku connected the line to the Bullpen. "This is Swift. Shatterpoint is secured. Repeat: target is secure. Minor property damage, no injuries."
He looked down at the groaning villain, then let out a long, heavy sigh.
"And... tell the new analyst he was right. Down to the second. The suspect's arm is toast, just like he predicted." Jinsoku looked up at the moon, shaking his head. "Scary little nerd," he muttered. There was no venom left in his voice—only a grudging, genuine respect.
Izuku's leg bounced with the frantic rhythm of a jackhammer. Every minute of silence from the comms felt like an hour, allowing doubt to creep in, insidious and cold.
What if I'm wrong? What if he doesn't show? What if he has a support item I missed? What if someone gets hurt because I was so eager to be a hero?
Nejire was doodling on a notepad next to him and humming a light, airy tune. She looked completely calm, but every few minutes she would lean over and nudge his shoulder with hers, giving him a small, reassuring smile.
"Confirmed!" Aquawoman's voice rang out through the Bullpen. "Swift and Brock have successfully apprehended Shatterpoint. He requires immediate medical attention for a self-inflicted nerve injury."
The Bullpen erupted with surprised whistles and low murmurs of approval as once-skeptical sidekicks were now glancing toward the corner desk with newfound curiosity.
"Tell Swift and Brock to return to the agency," Ryukyu commanded, her voice steady but carrying a hint of pride. "Get a medical team on standby for the suspect's arrival."
"Yes, Ma'am!" Aquawoman nodded and hurried toward the med-bay.
Ryukyu turned toward Izuku. He instinctively tried to shrink into his chair, overwhelmed by the sudden weight of dozens of gazes, his face burning. But he stopped when he saw Ryukyu holding two steaming cups of tea.
"Midoriya."
Izuku scrambled to his feet.
"You just saved my team weeks of wasted resources, prevented a robbery, and stopped a villain before he could escalate his violence," she said, handing him one of the cups. "Excellent work."
Before he could stammer out a thank you, Nejire threw her arms around his neck from behind, nearly sending his tea flying. She rested her chin on top of his messy green curls, beaming at the room. "I told you! I told you he was a genius! Oh, I wish I could've seen Swift's face—he probably looked so confused! He owes you an apology, Izuku! And a smoothie! A big one! No, make it two!"
Izuku felt the heat rush to his face, turning his ears beet-red. But for the first time in his life, the heat wasn't born of shame. It was a warm, golden glow of pride. He hadn't thrown a single punch. He hadn't used a Quirk. He hadn't broken a single bone in his body. But he had won.
"I helped," he whispered to himself, a genuine, teary smile finally breaking through his lingering anxiety.
I actually helped.
"First day survived," Ryukyu said softly, watching him over the rim of her own cup. "How do you feel, Midoriya?"
Izuku took a sip of the tea, letting the warmth settle in his trembling hands. He looked around the Bullpen—at the high-tech monitors, the busy sidekicks, and the blue-haired girl still hanging off his shoulder.
"I feel..." he started, his voice finding its strength. "Like I finally belong somewhere."
Ryukyu's expression softened, a motherly warmth in her eyes. "You do. And the agency is lucky to have you."
Izuku felt a tightness in his throat as a silent promise formed in his chest.
I'll make you proud, Ms. Ryukyu. I'll show everyone that even if I'm not out there fighting, I can make a difference. I'll help make this agency the best in the world.