Chapter Text
Act Two - Chapter One: A World Unfamiliar
The city felt loud.
Izuku had forgotten what real noise was like.
In the Feywilds, the world sang, whispered, hummed with the breath of magic. Even in silence, there was a rhythm to everything—the rustle of enchanted leaves, the distant murmur of spirits, the pulse of the realm itself.
Here?
Here, everything was static.
The moment they left the hospital doors, the sheer density of people hit him like a spell gone wrong. The streets teemed with bodies, each person an individual presence, a mind, a will, a force. The air was thick with exhaust instead of mana, and the sudden blare of a car horn sent him flinching back on instinct, reaching for magic that wasn’t needed.
Euryale’s fingers clenched around his arm, tighter than before.
She hadn’t spoken a word since stepping outside, her ruby-red eyes darting around as she took in the overwhelming cityscape. Awe, fear, anticipation—they all warred for dominance in her expression.
This was not her world.
Not yet.
Izuku exhaled, forcing himself to loosen his shoulders, though his skin still prickled with unease. The absence of magic pressed on him like an itch he couldn’t scratch, the stillness unnatural.
He needed to focus on her instead.
“See that?” he murmured, pointing subtly as they walked down the street. "That’s a stoplight. It tells people when they can go or stop."
Euryale’s grip didn’t loosen, but her gaze flickered up, watching as the red glow changed to green, and the waves of people moved in near-perfect synchrony.
“…That’s unsettling,” she muttered under her breath.
Izuku chuckled, though it came out a little too hollow for his liking.
“I get it,” he admitted. “Everything’s… strict here. Organized. Nothing moves unless it’s supposed to. But it’s safe.”
Euryale didn’t look convinced.
As they waited at the curb, another car sped past, its engine a sharp growl in the evening air. Euryale jerked slightly, eyes wide.
Her fingers tightened even more around his arm.
“That’s a car,” Izuku explained, voice still gentle. "Wagons. Except they don’t need magic or horses to pull them."
Euryale blinked, staring as another vehicle rolled by. She looked both deeply impressed and slightly alarmed.
“…Mortals made that?”
Izuku grinned slightly. “Yep. Humans are kinda incredible like that.”
She hummed, her grip still tight, though she wasn’t shaking anymore.
They reached the curb, and Inko waved them toward a taxi, already waiting at the edge of the sidewalk.
Euryale stared at it, unmoving.
Izuku sighed, rubbing at his temple. “It’s safe. You just sit inside. It’ll take us home.”
“…Without magic?”
“Without magic.”
She narrowed her eyes. Suspicious.
Then, tentatively, she reached out, running a hand along the sleek metal frame. When it didn’t react, she huffed softly, nodded to herself, and finally allowed Izuku to guide her inside.
The moment the doors shut, she leaned into him just slightly, still holding his sleeve.
Izuku settled against the seat, watching as the city lights blurred past the window, still trying to shake the disconnect sitting at the base of his spine.
This was home.
So why did it feel like he had left it behind?
The taxi ride home was… interesting.
The hum of the engine filled the small space, a steady, mechanical purr beneath them. The city lights flashed through the windows in fleeting bursts, momentarily illuminating Euryale’s face, catching the gleam of her ruby-red eyes and the faint glimmer of her enchanted glasses.
She was tense at first, her fingers still curled lightly around Izuku’s sleeve, her body stiff as she tried to take in the unfamiliar world rushing past them. But it wasn’t the city outside that finally startled her.
It was Inko Midoriya’s sheer enthusiasm.
“So, Euryale!” Inko turned in her seat, her bright green eyes practically sparkling as she faced the girl beside her son. “You’re the first friend Izuku’s ever introduced to me—well, outside of Kacchan, but we don’t really talk about Kacchan—so tell me everything! How did you and Izuku meet?”
Euryale visibly jolted, blinking rapidly at the sudden assault of pure maternal energy.
She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, her expression vaguely resembling a deer caught in torchlight. She looked to Izuku for help.
He just grinned, unbothered, silently enjoying watching her flounder under his mother’s attention for once.
“…We, uh,” she began, shifting slightly, still holding onto Izuku’s sleeve like it was a lifeline. "We met a while ago, actually."
Inko blinked. "Oh? Really? How come you never mentioned her before, Izuku?"
Izuku shrugged, voice smooth and natural. “We just never had a reason to bring it up, I guess. Euryale and I met through some shared interests, and we’ve been hanging out ever since.”
Euryale nodded quickly, picking up on the excuse. “Yeah! We got along really well, so we kept in touch.”
Inko’s face softened, clearly happy her son had made a friend. "So you heard he was in the hospital and came to visit?"
“Exactly!” Euryale said, latching onto that explanation. “I was really worried when I heard what happened, so I rushed over as soon as I could.”
Inko gasped, clasping her hands together. "Oh, that’s so sweet! You must be such a good friend!"
Euryale hesitated, then smiled a little. “…I try.”
Izuku chuckled, nudging her slightly. “She’s a great friend.”
Inko sighed, shaking her head fondly. "Honestly, Izuku, I’m glad you have someone like her looking out for you. You never bring friends over!"
“Well, you’re meeting her now.” Izuku grinned.
"And I’m so glad I am!" Inko beamed, eyes warm. “Euryale, sweetheart, you’re welcome here anytime.”
Euryale’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her skirt before she nodded. “…Thank you.”
Izuku could tell—she wasn’t used to this.
Compassion. Comfort. A mother’s warmth.
Not in centuries.
Slowly, her grip on Izuku’s sleeve loosened, her posture relaxing just a bit.
“…Thank you,” she murmured, and for the first time, it sounded genuine.
Inko beamed. "Of course! Oh, Izuku, she’s adorable—how could I say no to letting her stay with us?"
Izuku choked.
Euryale flushed.
The taxi driver pretended not to listen.
And just like that, Euryale had her first true connection in this world.
The taxi rumbled along, the city lights streaking across the windows in fleeting flashes. Euryale had long since stopped trying to keep up with the sheer overwhelming amount of movement, sounds, and people. The city felt like a living beast, massive and unknowable, far different from the still, silent world she had called home for centuries.
At first, she had clung to Izuku’s sleeve, overwhelmed by the rush of passing cars and the sheer number of strangers she had seen in just a few short minutes. But Inko Midoriya's presence was... distracting.
Inko had not stopped talking.
It wasn’t in a bad way—her voice was gentle, warm, constantly seeking to draw Euryale in rather than interrogate her. It was curious, excited, like she truly wanted to know more about the first friend Izuku had ever introduced to her.
And Euryale had no idea what to do with that.
“So, Euryale,” Inko said, turning slightly in her seat to face her, “what kind of food do you like?”
Euryale hesitated.
The truth was, she didn’t know. She had not needed to eat for centuries. The first few decades, she had tried—but everything in her city was stone. Food, water, animals, even the very grass that once covered the fields—all of it turned to lifeless rock.
So, eventually, she stopped trying.
“…I don’t think I have an answer for that,” she admitted carefully.
Inko chuckled. “What, have you never had a favorite meal?”
Euryale hesitated. She had never needed to eat, and since everything had turned to stone in her city, she had simply… stopped trying. But saying that outright would raise too many questions, so instead, she answered carefully, “It’s… been a long time since I’ve eaten.”
“Oh?” Inko blinked. “How long?”
Euryale froze.
Izuku jumped in immediately with a casual laugh, waving a hand. “Oh, you know, Mom, she’s just joking. Exaggerating.”
Euryale looked at him in confusion, but thankfully kept her mouth shut.
Inko sighed in relief, laughing lightly. “Oh! You had me going there for a second! I thought you were about to say something ridiculous, like it’s been five hundred years or something.”
Euryale opened her mouth to correct her—
Izuku squeezed her hand under the seat as a silent please, do not elaborate.
Euryale frowned at him but slowly closed her mouth.
Inko continued on cheerfully, completely unaware. "Well, since it's been a while—however long that actually is—you’ll need to have something warm and comforting for your first meal! How about katsudon? It’s Izuku’s favorite!”
Izuku brightened at the mention of food. “Oh yeah! You’ll love it, Euryale. It’s got rice, eggs, and this crispy pork cutlet—”
“You should try it!" Inko added excitedly. "And then after dinner, we’ll have something sweet!"
Euryale, still mildly suspicious of Izuku's interruption, narrowed her eyes at him, but then turned back to Inko and nodded. “That sounds… nice.”
“Great! And after that, you absolutely need to try chocolate—”
Euryale, overwhelmed by Inko’s excitement, hesitated. “Chocolate?”
Inko gasped so dramatically the taxi driver flinched.
Izuku groaned. “Oh no.”
“Oh, sweetheart," Inko said, gripping Euryale’s hands as if she had just declared something truly tragic. "That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard."
Euryale, now concerned, looked at Izuku. "What is chocolate?"
"A gift from the heavens," Inko said solemnly.
Izuku sighed. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Euryale, still trying to process what just happened, suddenly felt like she had a very long journey ahead of her.
As soon as they stepped into the apartment, Inko was already bustling with excitement, eager to make Euryale feel welcome. She kicked off her shoes and gestured grandly, her smile warm and inviting.
“Welcome home, Euryale! It’s not much, but it’s cozy! Let me show you around!”
Euryale barely had time to react before Inko was already off, gesturing animatedly to different parts of the apartment.
“This is the kitchen! It’s where all the cooking happens! I’ll make sure you get a warm meal tonight—oh! Do you have any food allergies?”
Euryale blinked at the sudden question. “I… don’t think so?”
Inko beamed. “Great! We’ll figure out what you like later!”
Euryale wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, but Inko’s energy was infectious, if a little overwhelming.
“This is the living room,” Inko continued, practically bouncing as she moved. “It’s where we relax! We have a TV—it’s like… a moving picture box! We watch shows, movies, the news—it’s great! Izuku can show you how it works later.”
Euryale stared at the black rectangle on the wall. “Moving pictures…?”
Izuku nudged her lightly. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I feel like I won’t,” she muttered, still trying to process everything.
Inko led them down the hall, stopping in front of a door. “And this—this is the spare bedroom! It’s yours now, dear.”
Euryale hesitated before stepping inside, taking in the space. The room was small but warm, with a neatly made bed, soft bedding, and a window letting in the afternoon light. There was a small desk, a wardrobe, and some folded clothes sitting on the mattress.
“I put some extra clothes in here for you,” Inko said from the doorway. “I wasn’t sure what size you wore, so I guessed! We can go shopping soon to get you some things of your own.”
Euryale ran her fingers over the fabric, feeling its softness.
“This is… for me?” she asked, voice quiet.
“Of course!” Inko said, waving a hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re staying here, right? You’ll need something to wear!”
Euryale felt something tighten in her chest. The sheer generosity, the casual kindness—it was almost too much.
Izuku, sensing her emotions, smiled. “Mom’s like this. Just let it happen.”
Euryale swallowed, looking back at Inko. “Thank you.”
Inko grinned. “Oh, it’s nothing! You’re part of the family now! We take care of each other here.”
Euryale froze. Family. The word settled heavily in her chest, unfamiliar but… comforting.
Izuku squeezed her shoulder gently before pulling her toward the bed. “You should sit down. You’ve been hit with a lot all at once.”
Euryale let him guide her to the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. It was soft—softer than stone, softer than anything she had slept on in centuries.
Inko clapped her hands together. “Alright! I’ll start dinner! Make yourself at home, dear.”
Euryale watched as she left, her warm energy lingering in the apartment.
She turned to Izuku, finally exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.
“She’s… a lot.”
Izuku chuckled, sitting beside her. “Yeah. But she means well.”
Euryale nodded, fingers still gripping the sheets.
“…Home,” she murmured, more to herself than him.
Izuku smiled. “Yeah. Home.”
The first week passed in a blur.
Euryale adapted quickly. Too quickly, in Izuku’s opinion. She had spent centuries in solitude, surrounded by nothing but stone and silence, and yet she was taking to the modern world like she had simply woken up from a long sleep rather than being displaced from time itself.
She was a fast learner, watching and mimicking everything with quiet intensity. By the second day, she had figured out how to use the microwave—though she still squinted suspiciously at the buttons like they might attack her. By the fourth, she had successfully navigated the washing machine and dryer on her own. Technology fascinated her.
Reading, however, was a different beast entirely.
Izuku had enchanted her with a permanent translation effect for spoken language, but written text was still foreign to her. Every morning, she sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a beginner’s Japanese workbook while Inko made breakfast.
At first, her progress was slow.
“Why does ‘ha’ sometimes sound like ‘wa’?” she had grumbled at one point, rubbing her temples.
Izuku had chuckled. “Welcome to the nightmare that is learning Japanese.”
Despite her frustrations, she never gave up. By the end of the week, she could read at an elementary level, though writing was still slow-going.
She had also developed an intense fascination with technology.
“Izuku,” she had whispered conspiratorially one evening, eyes wide as she stared at his laptop screen, “are you telling me this… ‘Google’ contains all mortal knowledge?”
“Not all of it,” he had laughed, shaking his head. “But a lot.”
Her face had lit up like a child seeing fire for the first time.
“This is incredible,” she had breathed. “You don’t need libraries. You don’t need scholars. You can just—just type something, and the knowledge appears.”
“It’s not always accurate,” he warned.
But Euryale was already typing, her fingers awkward but determined on the keyboard.
He had peered over her shoulder at her search query: "How do cars work?"
Yep. She was hooked. Shame she couldn’t read the articles, but she discovered Youtube quickly enough. Izuku had to help her write thing out sometimes though.
Izuku, on the other hand, was struggling.
No matter how much he tried, the world didn’t feel right.
The lack of magic was suffocating. He kept reaching for it instinctively—to light a candle, to enhance his vision in the dark, to teleport across the room—only to stop himself at the last second. It had become so second nature to him that adjusting felt like being stripped of a limb.
The city was loud in a way the Feywilds never were. Car horns made him flinch. The constant buzz of electricity in the walls unsettled him. People brushed past him on the street, too close, too fast, nothing like the flowing, patient movement of the Fey courts.
He found himself gravitating toward quieter places, rooftops and abandoned corners where he could breathe.
More than once, he had caught Euryale watching him closely, her expression unreadable. She never pushed, but she knew. She understood.
They were both fish out of water—but at least they had each other.
By the time the week was up, Izuku had to face reality.
School was starting again.
That morning, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting his tie, staring at himself. He didn’t look the same.
His ears were pointed. His freckles glowed faintly. His hair was too long, too vibrant, shifting slightly like it was submerged underwater.
This wasn’t him.
This was Deku, the Feywild Mage, the boy who had spent years navigating magic and monsters.
But today, he had to be Midoriya Izuku, the normal student.
He took a deep breath. Just another day. Behind him, Euryale stood with her arms crossed, watching him carefully.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’ll be fine,” he lied.
She narrowed her eyes. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”
Izuku huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I figured.”
A soft pause stretched between them.
“…They’re going to notice you’re different,” she said at last.
Izuku exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I just have to hope they think it’s my quirk finally activating.”
Euryale wasn’t convinced. “And if they don’t?”
Izuku hesitated, then gave her a small, tired smile. “Then I’ll deal with it.”
She studied him for a long moment before nodding.
“Well,” she said, smirking slightly, “if anyone bothers you, let me know. I still have my snakes.”
Izuku laughed for real this time.
“Keep laughing,” he said, shouldering his bag and stepping toward the door, “you’ll be joining me there soon yourself.”
Euryale stilled.
“No.”
“Oh yes.”
“Izuku, no.”
“I already have everything in motion.”
“I—” Euryale stopped, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Wait. I’m not even registered as a citizen. How are you enrolling me in anything?”
Izuku smirked. “Funny thing about that… Mom and I have an appointment today to fix that.”
Euryale blinked. “What.”
“We’re getting you officially registered,” Izuku said, far too smug. “Legally, you’ll be a Japanese citizen. And after that, you’ll be getting your school records.”
Her horror grew. “I don’t have school records!”
“You will.”
Euryale stared at him, then groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Izuku, I’ve spent the past week dealing with your loud, unnatural metal wagons, terrifyingly advanced ‘Google’ magic, and that washing machine incident—and now you want me to fabricate an entire life history?”
“Yes,” he said cheerfully.
“…And you’re planning to just—what? Lie to the government?”
Izuku’s grin widened as he tapped his temple. “Finesse. Deception. And a little bit of magic.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not supposed to be using magic in public.”
“I won’t be,” he reassured her. “At least, not in a way anyone will notice.”
She sighed, rubbing her temples. “So let me get this straight. Today, we’re going to some government office, where you’re going to lie to officials, alter paperwork, and subtly weave magic into the system to make me a legal citizen?”
“Basically.”
“...You’re a menace.”
Izuku patted her shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”
She huffed, but he could see the wheels turning. She wasn’t against it. The thought of officially existing in this world, of having an identity, of being able to work on magi-tech without constantly looking over her shoulder, was… tempting.
“…Fine,” she muttered. “But if we get caught, I’m turning you into a statue.”
“Deal.”
With that, Izuku stepped through the door, off to face his first day back at school. Convincing the Japanese government that Euryale had always existed will come after.
By the time Izuku reached the school gates, the first wave of students were already gathered, chatting in small groups before the morning bell.
As soon as he stepped onto the grounds, all conversation stopped.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate, suffocating.
Dozens of eyes snapped toward him.
Izuku froze for half a second before forcing himself to keep walking.
Then the whispers started.
“…That’s Midoriya, right?”
“Yeah, but—he looks so different.”
“Did his ears always look like that?”
“His freckles are glowing—do you see that?”
“Did his quirk awaken late or something?”
“Was he hiding it this whole time?”
Izuku kept his expression neutral, schooling his face into something unreadable as he continued forward.
He had expected this.
His changes were too obvious to go unnoticed.
Stay calm. Don’t react.
He had already settled on his story for when someone inevitably asked:
“It’s my quirk.”
“It was always there, just dormant.”
“It awakened late.”
It was a believable enough lie—plenty of quirks developed in delayed or unusual ways.
But still, as he walked through the halls, he could feel their stares, their lingering uncertainty, like he was something alien.
Before, they had ignored him for being quirkless.
Now, they watched him for being too different.
Izuku clenched his fists and pushed forward, keeping his head high.
He refused to let them see doubt.
Izuku barely had time to process before something slammed into his chest, sending him stumbling back into the lockers with a loud metallic clang. The hallway went silent, conversations cutting off mid-sentence, all eyes snapping toward the commotion.
Katsuki Bakugo stood in front of him, fists clenched, explosions crackling at his palms. His crimson eyes blazed with fury, something sharp and raw simmering beneath the surface.
“The hell, Deku?!”
Izuku sighed. Of course.
“You’ve been hiding a damn quirk from me this whole time?!” Bakugo’s voice was sharp, laced with something deeper than just anger.
Izuku met his glare evenly. “I haven’t been hiding anything.”
“Bullshit!” Sparks burst from Bakugo’s hands, the heat radiating against Izuku’s skin.
The tension in the hallway thickened. Students shuffled back, giving them space, whispers rippling in the background.
“Is Bakugo seriously picking a fight already?”
“What’s his deal?”
“Midoriya looks way different… he’s not even flinching.”
“Honestly… he kinda looks cool.”
Izuku exhaled slowly, shoulders loose, posture relaxed in a way that made Bakugo’s eye twitch. “It’s the truth.”
“Like hell it is!” Bakugo lunged.
Izuku stepped aside.
Not dodged. Not flinched. Just… shifted. The movement was smooth, fluid, graceful . Bakugo’s explosion hit the lockers behind him instead, metal groaning under the impact.
Gasps filled the air, but Izuku barely reacted.
Bakugo spun, eyes widening just a fraction before narrowing again. “Don’t avoid me, damn it!”
Izuku tilted his head slightly. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you were hiding it.” Bakugo’s hands clenched, smoke curling between his fingers, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “That this whole damn time, you had something and just let everyone think you didn’t.” His breathing was sharp, jagged. “You were looking down on me, weren’t you?”
Izuku held his ground.
He should’ve expected this. Should’ve known that the worst part, for Bakugo, wasn’t that he had changed. It was that Bakugo hadn’t seen it first , hadn’t known, hadn’t been the strongest, hadn’t been above him. That Izuku had, in his mind, lied .
But he hadn’t.
And no matter what he said, Bakugo wouldn’t believe him.
“I wasn’t hiding anything,” Izuku said, voice even, unwavering.
The hall was suffocatingly quiet, the weight of dozens of eyes pressing down on them.
“Damn… Midoriya’s not backing down.”
“He looks completely unbothered.”
“Is it just me, or does he seem… confident?”
Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he was a second away from striking again. He was shaking. From anger or something else, Izuku couldn’t tell.
Then, after a long, tense pause, Bakugo clicked his tongue and shoved past him roughly, shoulder slamming into Izuku’s as he stormed toward the classroom.
“This ain’t over, Deku,” he muttered.
Izuku let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders.
No, he supposed it wasn’t.
The classroom felt different.
It wasn’t the walls, or the desks, or the low hum of the lights—it was the atmosphere.
Izuku could feel it, pressing against his skin like an unseen weight. He could hear it in the way the teacher’s voice had lost its usual edge when calling his name. He could see it in the way his classmates didn’t glance at him with the same pity or amusement they used to.
For years, he had been the Quirkless kid, the weak one, the nobody. Teachers rarely paid attention to him beyond singling him out for disappointment.
But now?
Now the teacher didn’t mock him when he answered a question. Didn’t talk down to him or imply he was wasting his time.
It should have felt good.
Instead, it made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
So this was how it was. The moment you weren’t powerless, people started treating you differently.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Izuku focused on his notes, ignoring the weight of attention as best he could.
When the lunch bell rang, he moved fast.
Too fast.
Izuku had one goal in mind—the roof. The one place no one ever bothered him, the one place he could breathe.
But he didn’t make it.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, he was swarmed.
“Midoriya!”
“Dude, wait—!”
“We have questions!”
A wall of students surrounded him before he could react.
Izuku barely stopped himself from instinctively slipping into mist and vanishing.
Dozens of voices overlapped, excitement and curiosity buzzing in the air.
“Is it just your appearance that changed, or can you do something cool now too?”
“What caused your quirk to awaken? Was it the slime villain incident?”
“I heard you were in the hospital, was that why?”
“Show us what you can do!”
“What happened to you? You seem so much more confident.”
“What’s your quirk called?”
Izuku exhaled sharply, schooling his face into something neutral.
This was not what he wanted.
But if he didn’t say anything, the rumors would spiral out of control.
It was better to control the narrative now.
So, he took a breath, chose his words carefully, and spoke.
“Yes, I can do ‘cool stuff’ now. It’s not just my appearance.” His voice was steady, practiced. “Yes, my quirk awakened during the slime villain incident. I was injured and ended up in the hospital. When I woke up, I looked like this.”
There was a pause as people absorbed that.
Izuku continued before they could interrupt. “Public quirk use is illegal, so I won’t be showing off.” He crossed his arms. “It’s called Fey Magic.”
He could feel the shift, the way the crowd latched onto that name.
Magic.
It sounded flashy, different, unique.
“And… I guess I was just tired of being weak,” he admitted. “Tired of being shy. So I decided to change.” He shrugged. “My friend, Euryale, was a big help.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“Lame, we use our quirks all the time and don’t get in trouble.”
“You have a friend?”
“A girl?”
“A girlfriend?”
Izuku flushed instantly, his ears burning as he looked away.
He shoved past the crowd, muttering a sharp, “Enough questions.”
“Wait, please—just show us something!”
Izuku exhaled. They weren’t going to let this go.
Izuku exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he tilted his hand upward, flicking his fingers in a precise motion.
The air around him shimmered faintly, and for a moment, soft green wisps of light flickered around his fingertips before drifting upward like fireflies.
A few quiet gasps rippled through the crowd.
Someone murmured, "That’s actually kinda cool."
Izuku barely paid attention, already letting the spell fade away as easily as breathing.
“Hah,” Bakugo scoffed from the sidelines, arms crossed. “That’s weak.”
Izuku rolled his eyes. “I can do more,” he said flatly, “but we’re inside. Wouldn’t want to cause property damage, Katsuki.”
Silence.
The hallway stilled.
Bakugo’s expression flickered, but Izuku had already turned away.
He slipped past the crowd, taking the stairs two at a time, pushing open the door to the roof, the city skyline stretching wide before him.
Only then did he exhale, sinking onto a bench, pulling out his lunch.
Finally. Peace.
Izuku finished the last bite of his lunch, letting the wind tug at his hair as he stared out at the city skyline. The peace was fleeting, but he had stolen it for a moment, and that was enough. With a quiet sigh, he packed up his things and made his way back inside before the next bell rang.
The rest of the school day passed uneventfully, or at least as uneventful as it could be when people wouldn’t stop staring. He felt the weight of their curiosity at every turn, hushed whispers trailing behind him, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He didn’t react. If he did, it would only encourage them more.
Still, it was a relief when the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day.
Izuku made his way toward the exit, opting for a quieter path through the school. The last thing he wanted was to deal with more questions.
That was his first mistake.
He barely rounded a corner before he felt it—the presence behind him, tense, radiating frustration.
Izuku knew who it was before he even turned around.
“Katsuki.”
Bakugo was standing in the middle of the empty hallway, arms loose at his sides, fists clenched just enough for sparks to crackle at his palms. His expression was unreadable—not the usual sneer, not the cocky smirk. His crimson eyes bore into Izuku with something far more raw.
Izuku’s fingers twitched slightly, but he kept his posture calm. Neutral. “You gonna say something, or are we just gonna stand here?”
Bakugo’s hands flexed. Then, finally, he spoke.
“You’re a liar.”
Izuku raised a brow. “Oh? How so?”
Bakugo took a step forward, and Izuku didn’t move.
“You said your quirk awakened late.” Another step. “That it just showed up overnight.” Another step. “That it’s ‘magic.’” His voice was dripping with something sharp. “You expect me to believe that?”
Izuku exhaled softly. “I don’t really care what you believe.”
That did it.
Bakugo lunged.
Izuku was already moving.
A flick of his wrist, a shift of his stance, and the moment Bakugo’s explosion ignited, it sputtered out.
The air between them shimmered, a faint glimmer of green weaving into the space, absorbing the blast before it could even begin. A simple Shield spell. Bakugo’s eyes widened a fraction, his momentum faltering for just a second—a second too long.
Izuku stepped forward and pressed two fingers against Bakugo’s chest.
A small pulse of energy surged between them—not an attack, not pain, just force. Enough to push him back, enough to knock him off balance. Not even a spell. Just raw mana.
Bakugo staggered, but Izuku didn’t press forward.
He just stood there, calm, unwavering.
"Enough is enough, Katsuki." His voice was steady, firm, absolute. "I'm not your punching bag anymore."
Bakugo’s breathing was sharp, uneven, his fists twitching at his sides. He looked at Izuku like he was seeing him for the first time.
Not as weak.
Not as lesser.
For the first time, Izuku didn’t back down.
The silence stretched between them.
Then, with a sharp, frustrated click of his tongue, Bakugo turned on his heel and stormed away.
Izuku let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair. "I'm too old for this," he muttered.
Then, he paused.
How old was he?
He blinked, trying to do the math in his head. 14… but also not.
Time in the Feywilds was fluid, strange, stretching in ways the mortal mind wasn’t meant to comprehend.
It had been years—not two, not four, but nearly eight.
He had grown up there.
Lived, trained, fought, loved.
And now, standing in this cramped school hallway, surrounded by the mundane worries of teenagers who had never fought for their lives, never faced gods, never unraveled ancient curses, he felt alien.
22.
That sounded about right. Weird.
No wonder he had no patience for Katsuki’s outbursts anymore.
Katsuki had never changed—he was the same loud, brash, angry boy who had tormented him since childhood.
But Izuku had.
Izuku had learned what respect looked like. What true friendship felt like.
Solus, with his unwavering support, his quiet but ever-present belief in Izuku’s strength.
Euryale, with her sharp mind, her fierce loyalty, her ability to challenge him and still stand by his side.
He had found companionship that didn’t hurt.
He had outgrown Katsuki Bakugo.
Izuku exhaled, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.
I know he has IED, but that’s still no excuse for his behavior. There has to be a line.
Maybe it was time to talk to his mom about switching to online school.