Chapter Text
ACT 01
– – POV IZUKU – –
Izuku woke up a few seconds before his alarm rang and took a slow breath. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust to the faint light coming through the curtains. He stayed still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet of the apartment.
For a moment, he forgot. He searched for that warm feeling that used to live under his skin… and found only cold.
He remembered.
Like every morning, he closed his eyes and sighed.
His alarm rang, and he reached out to turn it off. The clock, with All Might’s face on it, gave him its usual big smile. Izuku gave it a smaller one in return.
It had been exactly four years since he lost One For All. Three years since he became… quirkless again.
Everything could have fallen apart after he lost his power. But he had good mentors… and, more than that, good friends.
With the last embers of One For All, he finished U.A. and got his Pro Hero license. With his diploma in hand, Principal Nezu offered him a teaching job right away, and Izuku said yes on the spot.
Even if he couldn’t go back to the field, his license currently on hold, he could still guide the next generation.
Two years had passed since he graduated. Two years since he started teaching at U.A.
He got out of bed and put his feet on the floor. The wood was cool beneath his feet, but he barely noticed. He stretched quickly, out of habit. His shoulders felt tight. He really needed to train more, otherwise Kacchan wouldn’t be happy.
In the kitchen, he started the coffee maker and opened the window. Fresh morning air filled the room.
His phone already had notifications. The Class A group chat had been active since early morning. He smiled as he scanned through the messages.
He drank his coffee and checked his schedule. Strategy class first. Rescue training in the afternoon. He had added a few changes inspired by Kacchan’s last moves. His students learned fast. Sometimes too fast.
His eyes drifted to the case on the table.
It was a gift from all his friends. His dream, back in his hands. The night he received it, Uraraka had told him who came up with the idea.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He kept looking at the case, and his heart skipped a beat.
Since then, every time he looked at it, he felt something warm again. Not loud. Just steady.
He ran his thumb over the smooth black plastic.
It wasn’t One For All. It would never be One For All.
But it was enough.
Kacchan hadn’t said anything. Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t need to.
Izuku’s smile softened before he even noticed.
One month already.
He put on his jacket, adjusted his bag strap, and grabbed the case. At 6:47, he left his apartment.
The subway was crowded, as always. Izuku found a spot near the door and let the train carry him. Two teens were talking loudly behind him. A tired worker was half asleep against the window.
It was normal.
It made him smile a little.
He got off two stops before U.A., like most mornings. Walking helped him think about his classes… and sometimes about patrol plans… and Kacchan.
U.A. came into view.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A special ringtone played—short and sharp.
Kacchan.
Izuku pulled out his phone right away. He was already smiling.
The message was exactly like him. Straight to the point:
“Patrol tonight. Food after.”
Izuku’s smile widened slightly.
He answered right away:
“I’m free at 6.”
He was walking through the gates when his phone buzzed again.
“Ok. I’ll pick you up.”
His thumb lingered on the screen for a second.
He could have sent something else. A joke. Something with meaning. But he didn’t.
He wasn’t sure he was ready to see the answer.
He put his phone away. The smile remained.
With lighter steps, Izuku started his day.
– – POV KATSUKI – –
Katsuki’s phone buzzed on the metal bench, drawing his attention mid-stretch. He glanced over, grabbed the towel beside him, and wiped the sweat from his jaw before checking the screen.
« I’m done at 6. »
He didn’t hesitate.
« Ok. I’ll pick you up. »
He locked the phone and set it aside.
The training room at Ground Zero Agency was nearly empty at this hour. The reinforced walls still bore the marks of previous sessions. He activated the moving targets, rolled his shoulders once, and launched the first blast.
The explosion rang sharp and controlled.
His body moved with it — a backward burst, a tight turn in the air, a clean landing. He flowed straight into the next sequence, each motion precise and practiced. Push. Pivot. Fire. Reset.
Sweat gathered quickly along his neck and arms as he increased the pace, chasing the familiar burn in his muscles. That was the point. The strain. The resistance. The feeling of earning it.
He didn’t stop until it felt right.
When he finally headed upstairs, he passed the large window overlooking the lobby. A few employees were arriving for the day, offering respectful nods as he walked by.
Kirishima was waiting near the coffee machine with two cups already in hand.
“You started early.”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow.
“You should try it if you want to get stronger.”
Kirishima laughed and handed him one of the cups before the two of them headed into their shared office. Katsuki was still holding his phone when they stepped inside, his thumb hovering near the screen for a brief second before he finally slipped it into his pocket.
Kirishima’s eyes followed the motion.
“You seem like you’re in a good mood.”
Katsuki glanced up, already irritated.
“I always look like this.”
A short silence settled between them. Kirishima bit back a grin.
“If you say so.”
The morning briefing went smoothly. Katsuki reviewed the priority zones, corrected a minor error on the map, and reassigned two teams without raising his voice once. No one questioned him.
At lunch, they sat in the break room, slightly apart from the others. Kirishima talked about a promising new sidekick and, as usual, found a way to bring Mina into the conversation.
Katsuki listened with half an ear, answering occasionally while focusing on his food.
Then, casually, as if it didn’t matter, Kirishima asked:
“So… you’re picking him up tonight?”
Katsuki looked up, frowning.
“What?”
Kirishima kept chewing, completely at ease.
“Midoriya.”
Silence settled between them.
A small pop sparked in Katsuki’s right palm — a reflex more than anything, but enough to betray his irritation.
Kirishima immediately raised both hands.
“Hey, hey. I was just asking.”
Katsuki looked away, his grip tightening slightly around his fork.
“I’m picking him up for patrol. That’s it.”
“Mm-hm.”
Kirishima shrugged, unconvinced.
Katsuki shot him a glare — the kind that would have shut up most people on the spot. Kirishima only held his gaze and smiled wider.
“Stop making that face.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
Kirishima laughed.
“Relax, man.”
Katsuki went back to his food, eating a little faster than before.
“Shut up and eat.”
Kirishima did. Still smiling.
By two in the afternoon, Katsuki was already patrolling above the city rooftops. Wind pressed against his costume as he moved from building to building in controlled bursts of explosions. A safety issue at a construction site was handled in minutes, and an illegal Quirk fight in a narrow alley ended the moment he arrived.
Nothing major followed.
Back at the agency, he spent close to an hour finishing reports and reviewing footage from the day’s patrol. He approved two requests for the next morning before finally closing the last file.
When he glanced up at the wall clock, it read 5:29.
He stood, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door.
“I’m heading out.”
Kirishima didn’t look up from his screen.
“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
There was a brief pause before he added, quieter, “Be careful.”
Katsuki didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He was always careful. Always in control.
He took the elevator down to the parking garage, started the engine, and pulled out without hesitation. The dashboard clock read 5:32 as he steered the car toward U.A.
– – POV IZUKU – –
When the last student left, Izuku remained behind his desk for a moment, checking his watch. About thirty minutes until Kacchan arrived. Enough time to pack without rushing.
He slipped his papers into his bag, reviewed tomorrow’s schedule, and closed his case. The motion felt automatic now, his hands moving without thought. As he stepped out of the classroom, he realized he had been distracted all day. His mind kept drifting back to tonight’s patrol. They had patrolled together countless times before, but ever since he got his suit back, something about it felt different.
Crossing campus, he found himself wondering what they would eat later. They would probably patrol first — somewhere in the city or near the docks — and decide afterward. Maybe a small restaurant they both liked. Or Kacchan’s place.
The thought brought a quiet smile to his lips.
Katsuki loved cooking, and he approached it with the same focus he gave everything else. The results were always impressive.
When he reached the gates, Izuku slowed, his gaze settling on the road ahead. He had been waiting all day, and it had shown. Aizawa had noticed at lunch. Izuku had tried to brush it off, then finally admitted he was patrolling with Kacchan that evening. Aizawa had given him a small, knowing look and simply said, “I see.”
Izuku had blushed.
The low growl of an engine pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up just as a black sedan with subtle orange accents turned the corner and slowed smoothly to a stop in front of the gate. The driver’s window rolled down.
Red eyes met his.
Katsuki tilted his head slightly toward the passenger seat with a lazy smile
“Get in.”
The tone was sharp, but familiar.
Izuku walked around the car and slid into the seat, placing his case at his feet. He fastened his seatbelt while Katsuki waited, one hand already resting on the gear shift. As soon as the buckle clicked, the car pulled back into traffic.
The interior still held the warmth of the day. The scent of leather mixed with a faint trace of smoke and something subtly sweet — something Izuku had come to associate with him. The realization that he could recognize it anywhere unsettled him more than he expected.
He drew in a slow breath and glanced sideways.
Katsuki was already in his hero costume, his forearms defined from constant training, his hands steady on the wheel. He drove the way he fought — controlled, precise, efficient.
Izuku didn’t ask where they were heading. It didn’t matter. Whatever the situation, they would adjust without needing to say much.
A comfortable silence settled between them as the sky deepened into evening. They left the main roads behind, heading toward the port district. The buildings grew larger and more spaced apart, the lighting harsher, more industrial. In the distance, cranes rose above stacks of shipping containers.
Katsuki slowed near the docks and parked with practiced precision.
They stepped out almost at the same time.
The air was cooler here, tinged with salt and metal.
Izuku flipped the case open and activated the mechanism inside. A soft electronic hiss accompanied the unfolding mechanism as reinforced plates slid into place along his legs, torso, and arms. Each section locked with a clean click while the support systems calibrated automatically.
A few steps away, Katsuki adjusted his gauntlets and checked his gear with calm focus. His costume broadened his silhouette, his posture already tight and ready.
They exchanged a brief look.
No need for a long discussion. They knew the area.
“We’ll start with the north docks,” Izuku said.
Katsuki nodded once.
They walked along the warehouses. Their footsteps were quiet on the concrete. A few trucks still moved in the distance. Someone smoked near a metal door. Cargo ships hummed low and steady nearby.
Nothing strange.
Not yet.
Izuku scanned the area, checking angles, rooftops, side paths. Next to him, Katsuki watched the shadows between containers and the tops of buildings.
They didn’t need to talk to work together. A small change in pace was enough.
Routine.
But it was a routine Izuku wouldn’t trade for anything.
They had been patrolling for about thirty minutes when a faint sound from an alley between two warehouses caught their attention. Low voices drifted through the air — too cautious to be innocent. The words were unclear, but the tone carried urgency.
They exchanged a look.
No discussion was needed.
Izuku silently activated the modules in his suit; the secondary thrusters glowed faintly as he triggered Float and sent a thin strand of Blackwhip toward the top of the nearest building. His body lifted from the ground without a sound, gliding smoothly up the metal wall before disappearing onto the rooftops.
Katsuki, meanwhile, didn’t slow down.
He stepped into the alley with steady strides, his boots echoing faintly against the damp concrete.
Two men stood there, bent over an open case resting on the ground. One was tall and thin, his features sharp, shoulders narrow beneath a jacket too light for the season. The other was shorter and heavier, visibly tense, his fingers dusted with white powder.
At their feet, the case revealed several neatly packaged bags of white powder.
The taller one looked up.
Then the other.
Silence thickened.
They recognized the costume immediately. The tall man’s pupils widened.
“Shit…”
Dynamight.
Even ranked fifteenth in the official charts, his name carried a very different weight in certain circles. You didn’t argue with him. You didn’t negotiate.
You ran.
Katsuki stopped a few meters away, his hands still relaxed at his sides.
“You’re done?” he asked, flashing a sharp, predatory smile.
A bead of sweat slid down the shorter man’s temple.
Above them, Izuku watched from the shadows, Blackwhip ready to strike at the slightest sudden movement.
The tension in the alley grew heavy.
And then the smaller man moved.
Without warning, he snapped the case shut, grabbed it, and turned, bolting toward the end of the alley as if speed alone would save him.
He didn’t make it three steps.
A dark tendril shot down from the rooftop with a soft whistle, coiling around his ankles with precise control. The sudden pull sent him crashing forward; before he hit the ground, another strand of Blackwhip wrapped around his wrists, then a third around his torso, pinning him firmly against the damp concrete. The case slipped from his grasp and burst open on impact.
Izuku landed lightly a few meters behind him, Float easing him down until his feet barely touched the ground.
“Don’t struggle,” he said calmly, his tone almost gentle as the bindings tightened with each attempt to resist.
The man quickly realized fighting would only make things worse.
While Izuku restrained the shorter one with effortless control, the taller man remained where he stood, jaw clenched.
His shoulders straightened abruptly, and beneath his jacket, his muscles began to swell visibly. Veins stood out along his forearms and neck as his frame expanded under the effect of his strengthening Quirk.
He charged without warning, his enhanced fist aimed straight for Katsuki’s face.
But Katsuki had already read the movement.
At the exact moment the punch cut through the air, he pivoted slightly, letting the blow pass within inches of his cheek. The movement was minimal, almost lazy, as if he’d merely adjusted for a minor miscalculation.
The reinforced fist slammed into the wall behind him, denting the metal with a violent crash.
“Too slow,” Katsuki muttered.
A short burst exploded from his palm, propelling him backward just enough to reset the distance and force his opponent to turn.
The man lunged again, wider this time, sloppier.
Katsuki didn’t wait for the strike to land.
A controlled blast detonated beneath his feet, and he vanished from the brute’s field of vision for a split second, reappearing at his flank in a clean, precise movement.
He drove a punch into the man’s abdomen, right where the reinforcement seemed most concentrated. The air rushed from his lungs. Before he could regain his footing, a second strike — backed by a tight, focused explosion — snapped his head back.
The strengthening protected muscle, but it didn’t fix bad form.
A final impact sent the man crashing into the metal wall of the alley. The sound echoed heavily as his body slid down to the ground.
He didn’t get back up.
Silence returned almost immediately.
Still bound by Blackwhip, the shorter man stopped struggling at once.
Katsuki adjusted his gauntlets in a casual, mechanical gesture, as if the exchange had been nothing more than a warm-up.
“That it?”
Izuku held back a smile. He had always liked that confidence.
He stepped closer, checking the unconscious man before glancing back at the blond.
“Looks like it.”
He activated the alert to the local authorities while Katsuki nudged the fallen case with his boot. The bags of white powder were clearly visible.
“Not very subtle,” Izuku remarked.
Katsuki gave a short scoff.
“Not very smart, either.”
They exchanged a brief smile and waited for the police to arrive and take the two men away.
A few minutes later, the two thugs were handed over to the police, securely restrained and far less confident than they had been at first. Katsuki briefly promised that a full report would be submitted the next day, then turned on his heel.
Without needing to discuss it, they headed back to the car.
Once inside, seatbelts fastened, Katsuki started the engine and pulled away from the docks. The harsh industrial lights gradually gave way to the livelier streets of the city center.
Izuku watched the orange reflections of streetlights slide across the window for a moment before asking, in a tone that was almost casual,
“So, where are we eating?”
Katsuki kept his eyes on the road.
“My place. I’ll make something simple.”
Izuku smiled faintly and turned his attention back to the city passing by. He knew exactly what “simple” meant when it came from Kacchan.
About fifteen minutes later, the car rolled into the underground parking garage of Katsuki’s residential complex. Katsuki parked with practiced precision, shut off the engine, and they made their way to the elevator.
When they reached his floor, Katsuki unlocked the door and stepped slightly aside with a vague gesture.
Izuku walked in first, as he always did.
He slipped off his shoes and lined them up neatly near the entrance, the motion instinctive after years of doing the same. The apartment was spotless — organized without feeling sterile. Everything had its place.
Katsuki headed straight to the bathroom to remove his hero costume and shower quickly, leaving behind a faint sweet scent from sweat and smoke.
Izuku, perfectly at ease in the space, set his case near the wall and settled onto the couch. He scrolled absently through the Class A group chat, skimming through messages and photos from the day.
The sound of running water stopped a few minutes later.
Katsuki came back out in more comfortable clothes, sleeves rolled up, hair still slightly damp, and walked into the kitchen without a word.
He opened the refrigerator, scanned its contents, and began preparing dinner with the same quiet focus he brought to everything else. His movements were precise, efficient, almost methodical. He hadn’t asked Izuku what he wanted to eat.
He already knew.
Izuku got up and walked over to the stereo. He hesitated for a second before sliding a Survive Said The Prophet CD into the player. The first notes, calm but vibrant, filled the room softly.
Katsuki shot him a sideways glance without commenting.
Izuku held his gaze a second too long before looking away. He had been doing that more often lately.
The smell of breaded pork soon filled the apartment.
They talked about nothing in particular while the rice cooked and the oil sizzled gently — about Izuku’s students, about a training exercise that had gone wrong but ended up funny, about a mission Katsuki had been forced to oversee that afternoon, about their former classmates.
The plates were set carefully, as always.
They ate in calm silence, music playing in the background, the city murmuring faintly beyond the windows.
Nothing extraordinary.
And yet, Izuku found himself wishing the moment wouldn’t end.
After dinner, the conversation faded naturally, replaced by the music still playing and the quiet clatter of dishes being put away.
They sat in the living room for a while, without any particular urgency.
Then, as usual, Izuku was the first to stand.
“I’ll take the guest room.”
Katsuki nodded.
“You still have stuff in there.”
He had never suggested that Izuku take it back.
– – UNKNOWN POV – –
Several blocks away, beneath a streetlamp that flickered every few seconds, a motionless figure stood in the shadows.
The student walked alone, her bag clutched close to her chest, earbuds in, music loud enough to dull the world around her. She moved quickly, eager to reach somewhere brighter, busier. She never noticed the man standing still across the street.
She never felt the weight of his gaze.
When she finally looked up, it was out of habit — a brief, unconscious check of her surroundings.
Their eyes met.
Her step faltered.
Then stopped.
The shift was subtle at first. A hesitation. A delay between intention and movement. Her fingers twitched, trying to pull out her earbuds, but they felt heavy, sluggish. Her breathing quickened as confusion turned into something sharper. She tried to take another step.
Nothing happened.
Her body still responded — just too slowly. As if she were moving through thick water. As if time itself had turned against her.
She understood.
She just couldn’t move.
The man crossed the distance between them at an unhurried pace. He watched her pupils widen, watched the moment comprehension set in. The way panic bloomed behind her eyes. The way awareness remained trapped inside a body that refused to obey.
That was the part he preferred.
The moment before surrender.
He withdrew a syringe from his coat pocket, already prepared, the clear liquid inside catching the weak streetlight. He stepped close enough to feel the tremor in her breath.
He held her gaze a second longer.
Then pressed the needle into the side of her neck.
Her eyes fluttered. Her body softened. Within seconds, the tension left her limbs entirely.
He caught her easily before she collapsed and guided her into the darkness between two warehouses.
He had chosen the location days ago.
Inside, where the light could not reach, the ritual unfolded slowly.
The cuts were shallow.
Intentional.
Even.
Not enough to kill quickly. Just enough to let time do the work. He worked with patience, adjusting pressure, observing how long it took for weakness to settle in. Three hours. Sometimes four. On rare occasions, closer to five.
He committed each detail to memory.
Time was not the enemy.
It was the experiment.
When it was over, he stood for a moment in the silence, listening to the distant hum of the harbor.
He did not see cruelty in what he did.
Only precision.
When he stepped back into the open air, dawn was beginning to stain the sky in pale grey.
Civilians had become predictable. Their fear lacked resistance. It faded too quickly. It ended too easily.
But a hero…
A hero would resist.
A hero would fight.
A hero would understand what was happening and try — desperately — to break eye contact.
The thought stirred something sharper in him. Something almost like anticipation.
He closed his eyes briefly, imagining the rush of resistance, the strain, the struggle.
Yes.
Soon.
– – POV IZUKU – –
The next morning, light filtered through the curtains of the guest room as Izuku woke. He stayed still for a few seconds, listening to the familiar sounds of the apartment — water running in the kitchen, the soft clink of a cup against the counter.
He pulled on a T-shirt and stepped out of the room.
Katsuki was already up, sleeves rolled back, focused on the pan in front of him. The smell of coffee mixed with reheated rice.
“You’re awake, nerd?” he called without turning around.
Izuku answered with a quiet hum and leaned lightly against the doorway. His eyes drifted, despite himself, to the broad line of Katsuki’s shoulders, to the subtle tension in his forearms as he chopped vegetables with practiced precision. Morning light caught the definition of muscle and cast faint shadows across his skin.
Izuku looked away quickly, heat rising to his cheeks.
They ate in near silence, as they often did. It wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable — just the quiet of two people used to sharing space.
After rinsing his plate, Izuku lingered by the sink a moment too long.
“Kacchan…”
Katsuki lifted his eyes from his cup and fixed him with that steady, intense gaze that had always unsettled him.
“What?”
Izuku drew in a slow breath.
“You…” He let out a nervous laugh. “Don’t you think that… maybe… we could…”
The words tangled together. His heart was beating too fast. He shouldn’t have started this. He looked away.
Katsuki set his cup down with a sharp sound.
“Since when do you stammer around me?”
Izuku swallowed.
“I was just thinking… we spend a lot of time together. And… well…”
His fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the counter.
“If one day you wanted to… I don’t know… try something else…”
The silence that followed stretched unbearably.
Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He kept looking at him, unreadable, before finally turning his gaze aside.
“We’re fine like this.” His fingers tightened briefly against the edge of the table.
The words weren’t cold. Just careful.
After a second, he added, “No need to complicate things.”
Izuku nodded too quickly, throat tight.
Of course. Obviously. He had known that.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I didn’t mean anything. I was just saying.”
He forced a light smile.
“Forget it.”
Katsuki frowned faintly, as if something about that smile bothered him, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he shifted the conversation, uneasy.
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
They left the apartment like they always did.
In the elevator, Izuku stared at the glowing numbers above the door. He wished he had been braver. That he had insisted. That he hadn’t almost apologized for speaking.
But he had learned a long time ago not to ask for too much. Being with Kacchan like this… it was already a lot.
Beside him, Katsuki kept his eyes fixed ahead, jaw slightly tense.
He told himself he was right. There was no reason to change anything. Things worked exactly as they were.
And yet, a quiet discomfort lingered.
He hated not understanding where it came from.
He would learn soon enough that ignoring that feeling could shatter the small routine he thought was safe.
And sometimes, you don’t see it coming until it’s already too late.
He didn’t know yet that this subtle imbalance would be the first crack in something fragile.