Chapter Text
The world was ending in pieces.
Concrete crumbled like ash in the wind. Car alarms screamed beneath the collapsing sky. A city meant to be safe was nothing more than dust, and blood, and echoes.
Nana Shimura stood alone.
Well—not alone. Not really. The man across from her was breathing heavy, his face shrouded in that warped mockery of a smile. All For One, the monster who hollowed out Japan one hero at a time.
Her cape was torn. Her ribs were cracked. Her limbs barely listened anymore.
But she was still standing.
"Still pretending you can win?" he asked.
Blood dripped down her chin. She grinned.
"No," she whispered. "But I can stall."
And she charged.
The battle didn’t end with a beam of light or a scream of triumph. It ended the way death usually does: suddenly.
His hand closed around her face.
And then—decay. Crumbling.
Her body turned to ash. Her legacy, to dust.
She didn’t scream.
She smiled.
Because the future was no longer hers.
Musutafu General Pediatrics – ? Years Later
The light above flickered, a soft buzz humming like a faulty memory.
Izuku Midoriya kicked his legs back and forth from the high plastic chair. His feet didn’t touch the floor yet. His mother sat beside him, wringing a damp tissue in her hands until it nearly tore.
The doctor walked in, lips pressed together in a line that said everything before he even opened the file.
“You said he’s four?”
“Yes,” Inko said quietly.
The doctor sighed. “Then I’m sorry to tell you… there’s no sign of Quirk development. The x-rays confirm it. He’s Quirkless.”
Silence.
Izuku tilted his head. “That’s okay. I can still be a hero, right?”
The doctor said nothing.
His mother broke instead. She turned away, shoulders shaking, trying to be quiet—but it was a losing battle.
Izuku stared at his knees, voice small:
“...That’s okay. I don’t need a Quirk.”
No one believed him.
A Week Later – The Sidewalk Beyond the Police Tape
The city felt too big for such a small boy. People bustled past, eyes glued to the sky, waiting for a glimpse of their golden god.
Izuku stood on tiptoes. The villain was huge, some kind of sludge-like thing, rampaging through the streets. Cops shouted. Civilians screamed. A building cracked from the pressure.
And then—
BOOM.
A streak of gold. A wave of wind. “I AM HERE!”
Izuku’s heart nearly burst.
All Might landed with the grace of a star descending. Muscles glistening, hair gleaming, voice thunderous. The crowd gasped in awe.
But Izuku saw more.
Trailing just behind him—half a step out of sync—was someone else. A woman.
She wasn’t glowing like All Might. She didn’t smile. She didn’t wave.
But she was there.
A strong jaw. Short dark hair. A torn cape that somehow still moved, even with no wind. She looked exhausted, but not defeated.
Izuku blinked.
And then pointed, loud and proud:
“CATCH ‘EM, ALL MIGHT! AND THE PRETTY LADY WITH YOU!”
The woman stopped. Dead still.
The world moved on—sirens, screams, shouts—but she turned to him, slow and uncertain.
Eyes like his. Tired. Warm.
Haunted.
No one else looked at her.
Not the heroes. Not the crowd.
Not even All Might.
But Izuku waved.
And the ghost waved back.
Nana Shimura hadn’t been seen in a long, long time.
She’d wandered for years—decades, maybe. Time didn’t work the same when you were dead. She’d watched Toshinori grow, fall, rise again. She watched him carry her Quirk, her dream, her guilt.
But he couldn’t see her.
None of them could.
And now… a child had.
She stepped back, dazed. Looked at him again.
He smiled at her like she mattered.
And just like that… she chose him.
She followed.
The world hadn’t gotten much kinder.
Bakugo still barked and bragged.
His followers still laughed when Izuku fell or cried.
And the teachers still smiled a little too softly when they told him to "play nice" or "try his best"—as if that would ever be enough.
But there was her.
The lady who followed him like a shadow. The one who always crouched beside him when he scraped his knee or sat on the swings when no one else would.
She had never told him her name.
So Izuku made one up.
“Hero Girl.”
She didn’t seem to mind.
“Why do you always call me that?” she asked one day, arms crossed as she hovered just a few feet away from where he sat curled up behind the schoolyard fence.
Izuku sniffled, blinking up at her. His backpack was muddy. His cheek was red where one of the other kids had pushed him. He was getting better at hiding the tears, but she always noticed.
“You… look like a hero,” he mumbled.
Hero Girl arched a brow. “I’m not wearing a costume.”
“But you’re nice.”
That shut her up.
She sat beside him, even if her weight didn’t bend the grass.
“Being nice doesn’t make someone a hero,” she said, voice distant. “I was—once. But that was a long time ago.”
Izuku nodded like he understood, even if he didn’t. He just liked when she talked.
The other kids wouldn’t play with him, but Hero Girl always listened. She helped him find the right crayon colors when he drew in his notebook. She made up fun facts about pro heroes and whispered them during nap time. Once, she even sang a little bit of a lullaby he didn’t know—but it made him feel warm.
She was kind.
Kind unlike Kacchan.
Kind unlike his lackeys.
Kind unlike the world.
One day, after another fight with Bakugo—after he refused to cry this time, refused to run—he sat on the swing set with his arms tightly crossed and his jaw clenched. Hero Girl appeared beside him like always.
"You didn’t cry," she said softly.
"I didn’t wanna."
She ruffled his hair with a ghostly hand that didn’t quite touch. “You don’t have to prove anything to them, you know.”
Izuku looked at her, tired but stubborn. “They said I can’t be a hero. But I wanna help people. Like All Might.”
She smiled then—truly smiled. Something aching in it. Something proud.
“Then you will.”
He didn’t know her name.
He didn’t know she was dead.
He didn’t know that some ghosts follow people not because they’re stuck… but because they’ve found something worth staying for.
To him, she was just Hero Girl.
And she was his.
It was raining outside, just lightly. That kind of soft drizzle that made the world go quiet, like even the sky was trying not to be too loud.
Izuku sat cross-legged on the windowsill, chin resting on his knees. His homework was still scattered across the floor, half-done. His mom had left dinner on the table, said she’d be working late again.
Hero Girl floated just behind him, arms crossed like usual. Watching. Waiting.
She didn’t need to speak. She never did.
But tonight, he wanted to ask her something.
"Hero Girl," he mumbled, eyes tracing the little raindrops sliding down the glass. "You said you weren’t wearing a costume before."
She tilted her head, curious. “I did.”
“But…” He looked over at her now, squinting. “I remember when I first saw you. You had a cape. It was really cool. It waved even when there was no wind.”
She was silent.
“And,” he added, a little quieter now, “how come only I can see you? And sometimes… sometimes I see other people too. But no one else pays attention. They just—” he made a face—“they just call me weird. Or creepy. Even Kacchan said I was cursed.”
Hero Girl knelt down beside him, her face suddenly serious in a way it rarely was. She studied him for a long time.
“You're not cursed,” she said softly.
“Then what am I?”
“You’re… different.”
“That’s what the doctor said when he told me I didn’t have a Quirk.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Izuku,” she said for the first time in a while, voice gentle. “Most people spend their lives looking forward. Moving on. They don’t look back. They can’t see what’s behind them—even if it’s following them around.”
His eyes widened.
“You… you are a ghost, aren’t you?”
She hesitated. Then nodded.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I’m dead, kiddo.”
He should’ve been scared. He wasn’t.
"Why me?" he asked.
She looked at him with something heavy in her eyes. Something almost motherly.
"Because you saw me. And I think... maybe I was meant to see you."
Izuku went quiet for a long moment. The rain kept tapping at the window. Outside, a car rolled by, headlights glinting like ghost eyes.
Then—
“Do you have a name?”
The woman’s mouth twitched like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry.
“…Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”
He waited, holding his breath.
“My name’s Nana. Nana Shimura.”
He repeated it softly.
Nana. It felt… warm.
“Okay,” he said, like that was all he needed.
And then, quieter, like a promise:
“I won’t forget.”
The words still echoed in his head.
“I’m dead, kiddo.”
“My name’s Nana Shimura.”
Izuku hugged his knees tighter, the rain still tapping at the window. It felt a little colder now. Or maybe that was just him.
He stared at Nana for a long time, watching how her shoulders rose and fell in a way that didn’t match breathing. Watching how her shadow never quite touched the floor.
“So then…” he said quietly, “I have a Quirk.”
Nana tilted her head.
He blinked at her. “It’s not… y’know, super strength or lasers or anything. But—if I can see you, and you’re a ghost, and other people can’t… that means I have a Quirk.”
His voice cracked near the end, trembling with a strange mixture of hope and dread.
Nana didn’t answer right away.
Then she smiled, gentle but sad. “Yeah, kid. I think maybe you do.”
Izuku’s lips curled slightly—then flattened again.
“That’s kinda scary…” he whispered. “I mean, at least you’re nice. But…”
He hesitated.
“Wait.” He looked up sharply. “The old lady at the train station. The one with the yellow coat and the candy bag—”
Nana’s smile vanished.
“—she always talks to me, and she smells like dust, and nobody else ever answers her. Is she… is she dead too?”
Nana didn’t move for a long moment.
Then she slowly sat beside him, her voice quiet.
“Yes. I’ve seen her too. She’s been there a long time.”
Izuku’s face paled. “But I told her I’d help her cross the street last week.”
“She probably just wanted someone to talk to,” Nana said. “Some ghosts… don’t even realize they’re gone. They repeat the same moments over and over. You gave her something different.”
He shivered.
“That’s…” He hugged his arms around himself tighter. “That’s really creepy.”
Nana chuckled softly, brushing his hair with an intangible hand. “It’s creepy. But it’s kind, too. You saw her. You helped her. That’s more than most people ever do.”
Izuku bit his lip, unsure whether to be proud or terrified.
“So…” he mumbled. “Am I gonna see ghosts forever?”
Nana’s voice was almost a whisper:
“I think you were meant to.”
By age nine, Izuku had learned three things about ghosts:
- Most didn’t realize they were dead.
- They stayed behind because of something they couldn’t let go.
- Not all of them were kind—but the ones who were? They broke his heart a little every time.
That morning, he’d found a man sitting on the park bench with a wrinkled letter in his lap and a frown that seemed carved from stone.
No one else noticed him.
Izuku did.
He approached slowly, holding his backpack close to his chest. Nana trailed beside him, arms folded, gaze watchful as always.
“You sure about this one?” she asked.
Izuku nodded.
“Okay,” he said gently, standing in front of the man. “I can see you. My name’s Izuku.”
The man blinked slowly, like waking from a long nap. “You… you can see me?”
Izuku nodded again, already used to the disbelief.
“Do you need help with something?”
The man looked down at the envelope in his lap. “I was… I think I was trying to mail this. But I didn’t get to. I was supposed to… I was going to…”
He looked lost again. Frustrated. Sad.
Izuku reached out carefully. The letter trembled—and passed into his hand like mist, but with just enough weight to tell him it was real.
“I’ll take care of it,” Izuku said. “I promise.”
He had to tape it to a fresh envelope—ghost letters don’t travel well—but the address was still legible, and the mailbox still worked.
He stood on his tiptoes and slid it in.
The ghost was gone before he turned around.
“Didn’t even say goodbye,” Izuku mumbled as he walked home, hands in his hoodie pockets. Nana floated beside him.
“That’s how you know it worked,” she said. “Some people only stick around until the weight comes off their chest. When it’s gone, so are they.”
Izuku smiled a little.
“Still,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least said thank you.”
Nana laughed. “You’re not in it for the thanks, kiddo.”
“I know.”
He looked up at her, the first stars twinkling above their heads.
“I just didn’t want him to be forgotten.”
She stared at him for a long moment—then ruffled his hair with a look in her eyes like she was the one who was going to cry this time.
“You won’t let anyone be,” she said.
The sky was that pale kind of blue that looked almost white, like a painting faded from age. Musutafu was quiet in the early morning. The air still smelled faintly of spring rain from the night before.
Izuku walked to school with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets and his backpack slightly lopsided. Beside him, half-gliding over the sidewalk, was Nana.
She always walked with him. Every day. Rain or shine.
Even when he didn’t say a word.
Today, though, he did.
“Nana?”
“Mm?” she hummed without looking at him.
“I’ve been trying to find stuff about you,” he said, a little hesitant, like he already felt silly for admitting it. “You know, like newspaper articles. Or a hero registry file. Something.”
Nana tilted her head, amused. “Playing detective now?”
“I just wanted to know more. I mean…” He frowned. “You always say you used to be a hero, but there’s nothing out there. I searched your real name, too—‘Nana Shimura’—but I didn’t find anything at all. Nothing.”
She stopped mid-step. Hovered in the air, quiet.
Izuku slowed, looking up at her.
“So,” he continued, “what was your hero name? Maybe I can try that—”
“Don’t bother.”
The words came out calm. A little too calm.
He blinked. “Huh?”
“I wasn’t anyone special,” she said, brushing something invisible from her sleeve. “Just another hero who got in over her head. There’s a lot of us. A lot of names people forget.”
Izuku’s heart sank. “That’s not true.”
Nana smiled, soft but distant. “Sure it is. You’ve seen how fast the world moves on.”
“But you’re—”
“I followed All Might for a long time,” she interrupted, gently. “Watched him become the symbol people needed. That was enough for me. I was just some cape who got lucky enough to tag along.”
Izuku’s brows knit together, eyes full of confusion and quiet hurt.
“You’re not just some cape,” he whispered. “You’re you. You’re kind. You help people. You help me. That’s not nothing.”
She looked at him for a long time.
She wanted to tell him. She ached to.
That she was his predecessor.
That she once held the power of a god in her hands.
That she trained the man he admired most.
That her name wasn’t forgotten—it had been buried.
But instead, she said:
“Thanks, kiddo. That means more than you know.”
Izuku looked up at her with something fierce in his chest. “Then I’m gonna remember you. Even if no one else does.”
Nana chuckled.
“You’re a weird little guy.”
“I get that a lot.”
They kept walking.
And in the quiet that followed, Nana floated just a little closer—close enough to almost brush his shoulder.
It was nearly spring, which meant Aldera Junior High smelled like teenage sweat, wet sneakers, and broken dreams. Izuku had three months left before graduation—three long, miserable months of Bakugo yelling, teachers ignoring him, and the school nurse quietly asking if he was sleeping enough.
Spoiler: He was not.
BZZZZZ. BZZZZZ.
The alarm blared from his nightstand like a demon screaming into a coffee can. It didn’t matter. Izuku lay face-down in bed, cocooned in blankets, one leg half-hanging off the edge like a drowned corpse floating in warm denial.
Then—
“IZUKU MIDORIYA IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR BONEY ASS OUT OF BED IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS I SWEAR TO ALL GODS LIVING AND DEAD I’LL POSSESS THE MICROWAVE AND BLOW IT UP!”
Izuku flinched so hard he almost rolled off the bed.
“Nghh—Nana, what the hell—!”
“I SAID GET UP.”
The ghost of Nana Shimura zoomed in rapid loops around the ceiling like an angry poltergeist on espresso. Her short hair flew wild behind her, and her voice bounced off the walls with the vengeance of a woman who used to punch buildings for a living.
“You were up until 2AM again reading ghost forums and watching that crap documentary about haunted dolls, weren’t you?!” she snapped, hovering upside down over him like some kind of spectral bat mom. “Do you want to be late again?”
Izuku groaned, yanking the blanket over his head. “Just five more—”
“NO.”
She dove directly into his mattress and popped back out through the other side.
“WE ARE NOT DOING THIS TODAY, SLEEPYHEAD. THIS IS THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK.”
“You don’t even sleep, why do you care so much—”
“Because if I let you show up late one more time, that wrinkly excuse for a homeroom teacher is gonna give you detention again, and then I’ll have to sit in silence for an hour while you doodle ghosts into your math book!”
“Those are field sketches,” he mumbled.
“Get up, brush your teeth, and don’t forget your lunch this time—yes, I saw you shove that bag of chips in your uniform jacket yesterday like a war criminal.”
Izuku peeled himself off the mattress, hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted.
Nana followed him as he stumbled toward the bathroom, still hovering with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
“I should be charging rent,” she muttered.
“You’re dead.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve compensation for ghost babysitting.”
Fifteen minutes later, Izuku was dressed—tie crooked, socks mismatched, and hair a nest of defiance. He stared at his reflection, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, while Nana stood behind him with the energy of a coach before a game.
“Alright,” she said, grinning. “Let’s go survive another day in teen purgatory. Just remember: if Bakugo gives you crap, you have my full permission to picture him getting dropkicked by an exorcist.”
Izuku spat into the sink, eyes tired but smiling.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Inko Midoriya was humming softly to herself in the kitchen, tying her apron as a pan sizzled with eggs and vegetables. The scent of miso and butter drifted lazily through the apartment, battling valiantly against the natural chaos of teenage boy funk wafting down the hall.
She flipped the eggs like a pro and called out over her shoulder:
“You talking with Nana, sweetie? What’s she doing this morning?”
There was a pause.
Then, from the bathroom:
“She threatened to blow up the microwave again!”
“Damn right I did!” Nana's voice echoed through the hallway like a ghostly thunderclap. “Boy was gonna sleep through another exam! I don’t care if I have to haunt the appliances—he’s getting to school on time today!”
Inko giggled. “Well, let her know I appreciate the backup.”
“Tell your mom I said she’s a national treasure.”
“Nana says you’re a national treasure.”
Inko flushed pink. “Oh, she’s too sweet.”
“Don’t let her fool you!” Izuku shouted. “She called me a ‘gremlin’ this morning!”
“I stand by that.”
Nana phased through the wall into the kitchen, hovering just over Inko’s shoulder as she added seasoning to the eggs.
Inko turned slightly, eyes softening when she felt the faint chill in the air—her way of “seeing” Nana. She didn’t always feel it, but when she did… it was kind of comforting.
“Thanks for looking after him,” she whispered under her breath, lips barely moving.
Nana gave a small smile. “Always.”
Back in the hall, Izuku was still fumbling with his tie when he shouted:
“Mom! Where’s my math book?”
“Check under your bed!”
“That’s where ghosts live, not textbooks—”
“Don’t drag me into this!” Nana yelled.
“You live in the walls, Nana!”
“AND I STILL HAVE MORE ORGANIZATION THAN YOU!”
Izuku finally appeared in the doorway a few minutes later—dressed, disheveled, and one missed bus away from disaster.
Inko set a bento box into his hands and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Eat all of it. You skipped lunch yesterday.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Nana gave him a thumbs up as she phased through the fridge. “Now run. And if that homeroom gremlin gives you a tardy slip, tell him the spirit of Heroism says to shove it.”
“I’m not doing that,” Izuku muttered, shoving his feet into his shoes.
“But you thought about it,” she grinned.
Izuku was running.
Bag bouncing against his back, tie flapping over his shoulder, breath fogging faintly in the morning chill. His shoes hit the pavement with uneven rhythm—he always wore them down too fast.
Nana floated beside him, arms crossed, gliding effortlessly.
“You know,” she said dryly, “if you just got up when I yelled the first time—”
“I did, technically!”
“You rolled over and mumbled something about ghost taxes.”
“Valid concern.”
She snorted.
They turned a corner—and that’s when Izuku’s pace faltered.
His eyes flicked to the side. There, across the street, was a building that hadn been standing last week.
Or rather—it had been standing. Before the villain attack.
The top floors were gone now. Blasted inward. The windows like broken teeth. The ground cordoned off with plastic fencing and caution tape that fluttered weakly in the wind.
Izuku slowed, then stopped.
He stared for a moment. Just long enough.
“I hope no one died,” he murmured.
Nana said nothing, watching with him.
“The news didn’t say the count yet,” he added.
She nodded once. “It’ll take time. They always try to spin it first.”
He looked down at his shoes. Thought about what it would be like to see a ghost standing in that wreckage. Alone. Confused. Waiting.
He didn’t want to see one there.
After a while, he kept running.
The world didn’t stop, after all. Not for ghosts. Not for guilt. Not for a boy trying to get to school before first period.
He reached the train station a few minutes later, lungs burning a little. His stride slowed as the familiar shape of the platform came into view—the iron rails, the gum-stained benches, the posters half-peeled from the walls.
And then his eyes drifted—out of habit—toward that spot.
The corner bench. The one with the chipped armrest. The one where the old lady in the yellow coat used to sit every morning, with her bag of hard candy and that faraway smile.
But the bench was empty now. Had been for years.
She’d been the first ghost he ever helped pass on.
The first time he realized he could.
He still remembered the way her eyes had gone soft when he handed her the letter. The way her voice had trembled when she said thank you. The way she’d vanished before he could say goodbye.
He still thought about her sometimes.
“Y’know,” Nana said softly, appearing beside him, “she wasn’t lost. Not really.”
Izuku looked at her.
“You gave her a little piece of peace,” Nana said. “That matters.”
He nodded. “It does.”
Then, quietly: “I hope someone does the same for me someday.”
Nana didn’t speak for a while.
Then she leaned in, ruffled his hair, and said, “Not for a long time, gremlin.”
Izuku huffed a laugh and looked toward the rails as the train rumbled closer.
Today sucked ass.
That was all Izuku Midoriya could think as he limped down the back stairwell of Aldera Junior High, cradling what used to be his Hero Notes but now looked like it had been deep-fried in sewage water and rage.
Ink bled down the pages.
The cover was torn.
His name had been scratched out.
And he could barely hear his own thoughts over the sound of Nana Shimura losing her ethereal mind two inches from his head.
“I’M GONNA DROP THAT BLONDE LITTLE GRENADE DOWN AN ELEVATOR SHAFT, I SWEAR ON MY UNDEAD SOUL—”
“Nana—”
“‘Swan dive off the roof’?! Really? That’s what that oatmeal-brained, anger-powered fart cloud thinks is witty banter?! I’ve seen ghosts with brain holes who were more creative than that!”
“Nana—”
“I’m gonna follow him home and possess his hair gel. He’ll wake up looking like a hedgehog exploded on his skull—”
“Nana please.”
She paused, floating upside-down now, staring at him with fire in her glowing, invisible-to-everyone-else eyes.
Izuku didn’t look up. He just held what was left of his notebook to his chest and kept walking. His ears were ringing. His hands were shaking.
He muttered, “Can you just—not scream in my ear today?”
There was a pause. The ghost equivalent of a dramatic inhale.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll whisper how much I hate him instead.”
“Nana.”
“Softly. Menacingly.”
“Nana.”
“Like a war crime lullaby.”
Izuku stopped walking.
“I’m serious.”
So was she, apparently, because she didn’t shut up.
“‘Oh look at me,’” she sneered in her best Bakugo impression, which somehow sounded like a cat choking on a firecracker. “‘I have explosions and unresolved childhood trauma! I compensate by verbally assaulting people shorter than me!’”
Izuku stared blankly at the lockers. His voice came out flat:
“He is taller than me.”
“Oh wow, barely. If I stacked your self-esteem and his brain cells, I’d still come up short.”
That earned the faintest snort from Izuku’s nose.
Nana grinned and floated around to face him. “There’s my boy. Don’t let that dollar store firework get in your head.”
Izuku didn’t answer. He just looked down at the destroyed notebook again.
“…He ruined my notes.”
“I know.”
“I worked on them for months.”
“I know.”
He swallowed. His voice got smaller.
“They were all I had.”
Nana’s smirk dropped.
She didn’t say anything for a moment.
Then, gently—but still with fire beneath it—she said:
“He doesn’t get to take that away from you.”
Izuku closed his eyes.
"Feels like he already did."
And Nana, floating beside him with fists clenched and cape fluttering like storm winds, didn’t know what else to say.
So she hovered there. Quiet for once.
Watching over him as he slowly walked home, the broken pieces of his day crumbling in his arms.
“I’m just saying,” Nana huffed, floating backwards with her arms crossed and a wicked grin on her face, “if I could touch things again, I’d make that brat’s life a living nightmare.”
Izuku trudged beside her, scuffed shoes dragging against the pavement. His wet notebook was tucked under one arm, his tie loose, and his hair—somehow—was even worse than this morning.
He gave a tired, but genuine, half-smile. “Like what?”
“Oh, you know. Classic ghost shit. Undo his pants mid-sprint. Trip him in front of a crowd. Make him fall face-first into the trash can. Bonus points if it's on spaghetti day.”
Izuku snorted. Like, actually laughed.
“You are so petty.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I’d pay money to see the trash can one.”
“You and me both, kid.”
They were walking the fast route now—under the bridge. It was quiet here. Shaded, cool, almost peaceful. Izuku didn’t even realize where they were until the light dimmed and the buzzing of city life above faded into a low hum.
That’s when he heard it.
A slick, wet noise.
Like something thick and slithering dragging across concrete.
And Nana went still.
Then she screamed—
“IZUKU—RUN!!”
But it was too late.
Something grabbed him.
Cold. Slimy. Alive.
It wrapped around his ankle like a serpent, yanked, and suddenly Izuku was on the ground, the air punched out of him. He tried to shout, but something wet slammed over his mouth and nose—too fast, too strong.
“You’ll be a good skin suit to escape All Might,” the thing rasped, its voice vibrating in his skull. “I need to lose the fuzz, kid. So be quiet, and just accept—”
Nana was screaming.
“LET HIM GO! LET HIM GO, YOU FILTHY SLUDGE-SUCKING FREAK! GET OFF HIM!”
She punched. Clawed. Pulled.
Her fists went through it.
Her voice broke with every useless hit.
She couldn’t touch it. She couldn’t move it.
She couldn’t save him.
Not again.
Izuku’s limbs kicked uselessly, his lungs burning. He couldn’t breathe. The sludge crept over his eyes, into his ears, down his throat—
He was dying.
And Nana was helpless.
Just like before.
Just like before.
She screamed his name until her voice cracked.
“IZUKU—PLEASE—NO—”
And then—
BOOM.
Wind. Light. Sound.
A voice like thunder cracked through the tunnel.
“I. AM. HERE.”
And everything shattered.
Darkness took him.
Nana screamed one last time—
“IZUKU!”
And then—
Silence.
Darkness clung to his thoughts like tar. Cold. Slow. Heavy.
Then—
SLAP.
His head lolled.
SLAP-SLAP.
“...ugh?”
“YOU DAMN IDIOT!” a voice shrieked.
Another smack across the cheek—gentle for an adult, but somehow still devastating.
Izuku groaned.
More slaps. Tiny. Angry. Still somehow effective.
And then—
SLAP.
“MY BOY—ARE YOU ALIVE?!”
That voice was new.
Loud. Deep. Echoing.
Like a motivational poster had learned to yell.
Izuku’s eyes cracked open.
And what he saw was horrifying.
“HOLY LEE SHIT—IS THAT FUCKING ALL MIGHT SLAPPING MY CHEEKS?!”
He shot upright with the velocity of a startled cat, flailing like someone had tasered his soul.
All Might—the All Might—stumbled back in shock, hands still hovering awkwardly like he didn’t know whether to check for injuries or give a high five.
“Oh thank god,” Nana muttered, floating nearby with her ghostly arms crossed. “If I had to explain to the afterlife that my favorite kid drowned in sludge on a Tuesday, I was gonna riot.”
Izuku blinked at her.
Then blinked at All Might.
Then blinked at the splattered remains of the sludge villain twitching in a bottle nearby.
“...What.”
“You passed out,” All Might said, beaming like this was completely normal. “But fear not, young man! I arrived in time!”
“Barely,” Nana hissed. “I was about to try possession, and you know how I feel about that. It’s messy. And illegal. And emotionally scarring.”
All Might did not react. He couldn’t see her.
Izuku stared up at the Symbol of Peace, mouth slightly open, brain buffering at 0.5 kbps.
He croaked, “I’m not wearing pants.”
All Might blinked. “You are.”
“Oh.”
He passed out again.
The first thing Izuku noticed was the breeze.
Cool. Sharp. Fresh.
Not sludge.
The second thing was the yelling.
“OH NOW YOU SHOW UP, TOSHINORI? YOU LET HIM GET HALF-ABSORBED LIKE A DAMN JELLY SHOT BEFORE YOU BOTHERED TO—HEY! YES, YOU! BIG DUMB SMILE! LOOK AT ME WHEN I YELL AT YOU!”
Izuku groaned, eyes fluttering open.
The sky above him was bright and endless. He blinked once. Twice. Slowly, the blurry edges of reality sharpened—and then a face leaned into view.
"Ahh, young man! You’re awake again! Thank goodness!"
Izuku stared.
All Might.
All. Freaking. Might.
Crouched beside him on a rooftop.
Why is All Might crouched beside me on a rooftop.
Why am I on a rooftop.
Am I naked? No. Still have pants. Okay.
Oh no I just remembered everything.
“Wh—” he croaked, his throat raw like he’d gargled fire. “What happened…?”
All Might laughed, relieved. “You were unconscious after a… scuffle with that villain. Don’t worry! I subdued him and rescued you in time!”
From somewhere nearby, Nana was still going.
“Scuffle? SCUFFLE?! THE KID WAS A BREATH AWAY FROM BEING A SKIN SUIT, TOSHINORI! IF I HAD FINGERS I’D RIP THAT HAIR OFF YOUR HEAD, YOU GILDED STICK FIGURE!”
Izuku coughed.
All Might beamed. “You’re quite lucky, my boy. That villain was a slippery one.”
Izuku winced, then glanced to his left where Nana was pacing in midair, arms flying, cape snapping behind her as if her rage alone controlled the wind.
“Why are you calling him Toshinori?” Izuku rasped.
Nana froze mid-rant.
All Might blinked. “Pardon?”
Realizing what he’d said, Izuku’s eyes widened slightly.
“I, uh… you were just… mumbling. I might be concussed,” he lied poorly.
All Might chuckled. “You may be a bit foggy, yes. That’s normal after such a shock.”
“Mumbling?! MUMBLING?! I WAS SCREAMING, IZUKU.” Nana spun toward him, furious. “AND I CALL HIM THAT BECAUSE THAT’S HIS NAME! TOSHINORI YAGI! JAPAN’S FAVORITE QUOTE MACHINE!”
Izuku exhaled slowly, ignoring the vein twitching in his temple. He tried to sit up, groaning.
All Might immediately put a hand on his shoulder. “Careful now, young man. Rest a bit longer. You’ve been through quite the ordeal.”
Izuku muttered under his breath. “You have no idea.”
“He really doesn’t,” Nana growled. “He didn’t see what I saw. Didn’t feel how close you were to—” her voice cracked slightly. “To disappearing.”
Izuku looked away.
All Might’s voice softened. “You’re brave, you know. Not many would’ve survived that. Even fewer would have fought back.”
Izuku blinked at him.
“I saw. You struggled. You fought.” His smile dimmed, but his eyes didn’t. “You didn’t give up. That’s more than most pro heroes could say.”
Izuku stared at him.
Nana floated closer, expression unreadable now. Watching both of them.
“You really wanna be a hero that badly?” All Might asked.
Izuku swallowed hard.
Then nodded.
The wind up on the rooftop bit through his uniform.
All Might had asked the question—Do you want to become a hero?—but before Izuku could find his voice, the Symbol of Peace turned away, shoulders tense. Like he already knew the answer would hurt.
Like he didn’t want to hear it.
“W-Wait!” Izuku shouted, stumbling upright, the words tumbling out before he could think.
“Please—wait! Can… can someone—someone whose Quirk isn’t for combat, or—or basically doesn’t have one at all… can someone like that still be a hero?!”
The rooftop went quiet.
All Might stopped in his tracks.
Izuku stood there, trembling, breathing hard, eyes glassy but burning. His fists clenched at his sides, his ruined notebook still tucked under one arm like a shield made of paper and ink and hope.
For a second, Toshinori didn’t move.
He turned slightly, just enough that Izuku could see the way his jaw tensed.
He hated this part.
The breaking.
The quiet shattering of someone’s dream.
Because the truth was…
He had told others before.
He had crushed boys with bright eyes and hopeful hearts.
He was about to crush another.
His mouth opened, the practiced speech sitting on his tongue.
"You can't be a hero, but that doesn't mean you can't help—"
And then—
He saw her.
Just over the boy’s shoulder. Standing barefoot on the rooftop like she’d never left.
Her arms were resting gently on Izuku’s shoulders.
She wasn’t yelling this time.
She wasn’t angry.
She was smiling.
Nana Shimura.
Her eyes met his.
And Toshinori Yagi’s heart cracked open.
His breath hitched. His bones shuddered. His chest burned in a way that had nothing to do with old wounds.
For a second, the world stopped.
He let out a soft, shaking breath.
And his form collapsed.
POOF.
The mighty All Might vanished in a cloud of steam—replaced by a thin, hunched man with sunken eyes and tired shoulders, his ribs sharp against the fabric of his shirt, blood staining the edge of his mouth.
Izuku’s eyes widened.
He had so many questions.
He didn’t know what he was seeing.
But none of that mattered—because the hero, his hero, had turned around.
And now he was really listening.
Izuku’s brain was still trying to restart after watching All Might evaporate into whatever this was. One second, the Symbol of Peace. The next?
Ragged. Thin. Bloody. Real.
And then Izuku screamed.
“A FAKE—!”
Before he could finish, a hand clamped over his mouth.
“Young man—please!” the skeletal figure wheezed. “I assure you—I am no fake!”
Izuku flailed slightly, muffled. Eyes wide. Panic-mode fully activated.
The guy looked like a walking corpse in a suit.
All Might—the real All Might—let him go after a second, wincing slightly as he coughed into a napkin, staining it red.
He pulled up his shirt to reveal the brutal scar on his side—deep, twisted, like someone had tried to rip him in half and almost succeeded.
“I was injured six years ago,” he explained quietly. “In a battle with a very powerful villain.”
Izuku, eyes still darting around like a chihuahua on caffeine, blurted:
“Wait—was it Toxic Chainsaw?!”
All Might actually paused.
Then laughed—quietly, hoarsely. “You know your stuff. But no. It wasn’t him.”
Izuku felt himself settling, just a bit. Still freaked out. Still shaky. But… okay. Okay, maybe not a fake. Probably not a villain. Probably.
Then All Might tilted his head.
“I do have a question, though.”
Izuku blinked.
“You called me Toshinori,” the hero said, his voice sharper now. Not unkind. But definitely curious. “That’s my true name. One known only by a very small circle of people I trust personally. So…”
He leaned in a little.
“How did you know it?”
Izuku’s face went pale. Nana, who had been floating nearby with her hands clasped like she was praying to ten different gods, immediately shook her head violently.
Do NOT say ghost. Do NOT say me. Do NOT out me, you gremlin.
Izuku’s mouth opened.
His eyes flicked to her.
She made a frantic slashing motion across her throat.
He closed his mouth.
And then—on instinct, desperation, and sheer nerd reflex—he lied.
“Oh! Uh! Um—I saw it in an old interview! Like, super old! Grainy footage. I-it was on this forum thread—deep net kinda thing—and they were talking about early hero registration errors? Someone might’ve leaked it by accident and then scrubbed it fast, but I took notes ‘cause I thought it sounded like a real name and… and… yeah!”
All Might stared at him.
Izuku smiled. Too wide.
Nana floated behind him with her hand over her mouth like she was watching a child discover improv in real-time.
All Might blinked.
“Well,” he said at last, chuckling, “you’re certainly… well-read.”
Izuku nearly collapsed with relief.
“Don’t spread that name around,” the man said gently. “Even accidentally. It’s not one I can afford to have public.”
“Yessir,” Izuku nodded so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Mum’s the word.”
“Mum’s the word?” Nana whispered. “Who says that, you adorable disaster?”
All Might—no, Toshinori now—lowered his shirt, the scar vanishing beneath fabric as he took a breath that sounded just a little too wet.
He glanced at the boy in front of him.
At Izuku Midoriya, who had fought when he should’ve curled up. Who had nearly died. Who had seen him, in every sense of the word.
“My boy,” he said softly, “I ask that you don’t say anything about what you saw today.”
He gestured loosely toward himself, his thin, hunched form backlit by the sunlight and still breathing a little too hard.
“I’m sure you understand the chaos it could cause if the public knew… what I truly looked like. What I’ve become.”
Izuku grimaced. “Yeah. Yeah, it’d be bad.”
He looked down at the roof tiles. His fingers twitched nervously near the edge of his ruined notebook.
“I mean—people would panic. It’d be like… finding out Santa Claus got hit by a bus.”
Toshinori chuckled, but it was dry.
“I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
He seemed distracted suddenly. His eyes weren’t on Izuku anymore—they’d drifted slightly, over his shoulder. Unfocused. Searching.
Izuku noticed.
“Are you… looking for someone?”
“What? No,” Toshinori said quickly, shaking his head. “No, sorry, my boy. Just—” he hesitated. “For a second, I thought I saw someone.”
Behind Izuku, Nana floated quietly, one hand over her chest, face unreadable.
Izuku didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. But he felt her there. The way he always did.
And Toshinori must’ve felt something too.
Not enough to see her.
But enough to remember a warmth long gone.
“Come on,” Toshinori said, forcing a lighter tone. “Let’s get off this roof, yeah?”
He turned, starting toward the stairs—then stopped suddenly.
“Oh. And yes,” he added, gesturing toward Izuku’s chest. “I’ll sign your notebook.”
Izuku blinked.
Looked down.
His hand was already holding it out.
He hadn’t even realized.
Toshinori smiled faintly. “You’re trembling, by the way.”
Izuku blushed. “I—I know.”
This is so weird, Izuku thought as he walked beside All Might—Toshinori—through the narrow back alleys behind the city’s main shopping district.
They looked like a mismatched pair: a lanky, exhausted teen still damp from sludge, and the skeletal form of Japan’s strongest hero disguised in a giant hoodie.
Izuku asked questions, quiet ones.
Things like, “Does it hurt?” and “How long have you had that scar?” and “Do you ever miss being loud all the time?”
Toshinori answered, equally quiet. Sometimes with a smile. Sometimes with a sigh.
Then—
BOOM.
The sky flashed orange in the distance.
A heavy shockwave pulsed through the concrete.
Toshinori flinched, immediately patting his pockets.
He froze.
“The bottle,” he said. “Where’s the bottle—?”
It was gone.
Izuku’s stomach dropped.
All Might’s eyes sharpened. He was already moving, sprinting down the street faster than Izuku could process.
Izuku blinked—
Then ran after him.
A chance to see All Might fight again?
Hell yes.
He could watch, take notes, maybe even get a picture—
That thought died the moment he reached the crowd.
The scene was chaos. Heroes everywhere—real heroes—were shouting, giving orders, backing civilians away. The air was thick with smoke and heat and panic. Sirens screamed. People pushed.
But no one was doing anything.
Then Izuku saw it.
The sludge villain.
Bigger now. Angrier.
And wrapped tightly around a boy who was thrashing, screaming, choking—
“Kacchan,” Izuku breathed, the word falling from his lips like a stone.
His eyes widened. His feet locked in place.
Toshinori—just behind him—clutched his side.
“Dammit,” he hissed. “I’m out of time today…”
He looked at Izuku, forcing a calm tone into his words.
“Don’t worry,” he started to say, “I’m sure the heroes—”
But Izuku was gone.
Nana screamed.
“OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, KID?!”
He didn’t answer.
He was running.
Bag bouncing behind him.
Shoes slapping the pavement.
Heart pounding so hard he thought he might puke.
The other heroes yelled too.
“HEY—KID—GET BACK—!”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“STOP HIM—!”
But Izuku didn’t stop.
He saw Bakugo’s eyes—wide, bloodshot, afraid.
And he knew.
He knew that feeling.
That helplessness.
That cold, sinking truth that no one was coming to save you.
So he threw his bag as hard as he could—
WHACK.
It nailed the sludge villain right in the eye.
The monster recoiled, shrieking in fury as its grip loosened, just for a second.
Bakugo gasped—air finally reaching his lungs.
“DAMN IT, DEKU!” he coughed. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
Izuku didn’t hesitate.
“I COULDN’T JUST WATCH YOU DIE, KACCHAN!” he screamed, charging forward.
“I COULDN’T!”
He launched himself at the villain, fists flying.
He punched, scratched, kicked—anything to make it let go.
His hands were burning. The goo was too strong.
Nana was screaming.
“NO—NO—IZUKU—STOP—YOU’LL DIE—!”
He didn’t hear her. Or maybe he did. But he didn’t care.
He couldn’t stop.
Not while Bakugo was still trapped.
Not while he was still breathing.
Then—
“NEVER FEAR…”
The voice boomed from the heavens.
“FOR I. AM. HERE.”
The wind hit like a truck.
Izuku was thrown backward, the blast of pressure knocking him off his feet and sending the sludge villain hurtling away in a spray of filth.
The crowd gasped.
The fire cracked.
Bakugo hit the ground coughing.
And Izuku—on his back, staring up at the sky—just smiled.
The dust hadn’t even settled.
Heroes rushed past the crowd, waving off civilians, barking orders. Bakugo sat on the curb, heaving breath, surrounded by people telling him how strong he was, how well he’d fought. One of them—Death Arms, Izuku realized—clapped him on the shoulder.
“Great composure, kid. Hell of a fight to hold on like that.”
Another voice followed. “You’ve got real potential.”
Izuku stood off to the side, chest still burning, hands raw from clawing at sludge.
He waited for someone to say something to him. Anything.
Then came the first bark.
“Hey—you!”
A tall pro stormed over, face pulled into a scowl.
“What were you thinking?! Charging into a scene like that? You could’ve been killed!”
Another joined in. “You’re not a hero. You’re not even trained. You’re lucky you didn’t get someone else hurt!”
And then—
“Yeah,” Bakugo added, glaring at him. “I didn’t need help from a quirkless loser like you anyway.”
That one hurt more than anything the pros said.
The heroes kept talking, voices louder, words sharper. Useless. Reckless. Dangerous. Stupid.
Izuku’s head lowered. His knuckles tightened. The ache in his chest swelled.
Then—
A hand.
Firm. Warm.
Wrapped around his shoulder.
And before he could speak or flinch—
WHOOSH.
The world blurred.
A blast of wind. The sound of air splitting.
They were off the ground, above the crowd, above the yelling.
Just the two of them—flying.
Then—
THUD.
They landed on another rooftop, the same one from earlier.
Izuku hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He sat there, stunned. Shaking. Watching All Might shrink again—back into Toshinori.
And for a moment, everything was quiet.
Izuku didn’t know what to think.
He had helped.
He had saved someone.
And still—people hated him.
Why?
Why?
Why does everyone hate me?
He stared at his hands. At the blood under his nails. At the dirt caked in his palms.
He expected All Might to scold him. To say what everyone else did. To call him a fool, a liability. A useless Deku.
But instead—
The man smiled.
Gentle. Tired. Warm.
“My boy,” he said softly, crouching beside him, “that was very stupid.”
Izuku winced.
“But also... very brave.”
Izuku looked up slowly, confused.
Toshinori’s face was serious now.
“Tell me. Why?” he asked. “Why did you do that? Why risk yourself for someone who clearly dislikes you—hates you, even?”
Izuku opened his mouth—but no words came.
His throat clenched. His heart felt too loud in his ears.
“I...”
His voice cracked.
He swallowed hard.
“I... I moved without thinking.”
Toshinori’s eyes widened just slightly.
“I didn’t mean to,” Izuku whispered. “It was like my body just... moved. I saw him. And he looked so scared. And I just... I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t just stand there.”
His voice fell to a hush.
“I couldn’t let him die.”
Toshinori Yagi—All Might—looked down at the boy sitting broken and shaking on the rooftop.
No.
Not a boy.
A young man.
Bloodied hands. Bruised knees. Quivering breath. And yet, he stood up when it mattered. a Quirk not meant for fighting. No glory. No crowd cheering. Just instinct. Just heart. Just the refusal to turn away.
Toshinori had seen courage before. He had lived beside it.
But this? This was something else.
Izuku Midoriya had been terrified. Powerless. Crushed. And still—he had moved.
Toshinori opened his mouth to speak, but then—
Out of the corner of his eye, something flickered.
A presence. Faint. Gentle. Familiar.
He looked up—and there she was.
Nana.
Floating behind the boy like a memory given shape. Her hands rested softly on Izuku’s shoulders, her expression full of something he hadn’t seen in her face since the war:
Hope.
She was smiling at him. At them.
And in that instant, the decision he hadn’t realized he was wrestling with… was made.
This wasn’t about strength.
It wasn’t about potential.
It wasn’t even about justice.
It was about heart.
And Izuku Midoriya’s heart was already that of a hero.
Toshinori knelt, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving the young man before him.
Izuku flinched slightly, like he still expected to be scolded.
But instead—
All Might smiled.
“Izuku Midoriya…”
Izuku blinked, wide-eyed, uncertain.
“You can be a hero.”
Izuku’s breath caught in his throat.
The words hit harder than any explosion ever could.
They filled every broken part of him with light.
But All Might wasn’t finished.
He held out his hand—scarred, calloused, strong.
“Not just any hero.”
Izuku’s hands trembled.
“A hero as great as me—no.”
He paused. His voice shook—not with doubt, but conviction.
“Greater than me.”
Izuku couldn’t breathe.
“With my power…” All Might said slowly, as if tasting the words. “With my Quirk. I can pass it down. That’s how it works. It’s a sacred torch, handed from one to another, and I’ve decided...”
He looked him straight in the eye.
“You are worthy.”
Izuku just stared at the hand.
At the symbol.
At the man who, just hours ago, had seemed untouchable.
And now?
Now he was asking him to carry the weight of legends.
Behind him, Nana Shimura smiled through tears.
And whispered into the wind:
“That’s my boy.”
The walk home felt unreal.
Like he wasn’t touching the ground.
Like his legs were moving without his permission.
He kept glancing down at his phone, just to make sure it was still there.
“Toshinori Yagi ☀️”
All Might had typed it in himself—well, grumbled it in with two giant thumbs and a muttered curse about “these infernal tiny buttons.”
Izuku had watched him do it.
Watched him explain everything.
The truth came in slow, gentle waves.
All Might—Toshinori—had been gravely injured six years ago.
A brutal battle with a villain too strong, too cruel, too much.
He hadn’t been the same since. His time as the Symbol of Peace was running out.
And his Quirk?
It wasn’t just power.
It was a legacy.
One For All. A Quirk built to be passed on. Strength layered across generations. A living torch. A burden. A gift.
And now…
He wanted to give it to Izuku.
But first?
“All that heart of yours won’t mean much if your body can’t handle it, my boy.”
So Izuku had nodded. Shaky. Speechless.
He’d said yes.
Now he was walking past his usual streets—the cracked sidewalk near the vending machines, the small corner store where he bought those weird limited-edition sodas, the alley that always smelled like burnt ramen.
But everything felt… different.
The world hadn’t changed.
He had.
Beside him, Nana floated quietly.
Too quietly.
No jokes. No screaming about diet soda. No snide remarks about Toshinori’s hair or the current pro rankings.
Izuku glanced at her.
She looked… stunned.
Not afraid.
Not sad.
But still. Like she was trying to hold something together inside her chest.
“Nana?”
She blinked, finally turning toward him.
Her voice was soft. “You said yes.”
He nodded slowly.
She looked away.
“I didn’t think you would,” she murmured.
Izuku frowned. “You… didn’t want me to?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, I just…”
She hovered a little higher, cape fluttering without wind.
“I watched that Quirk break Toshinori’s body. I watched it consume time, life, everything.”
She looked at him again—really looked.
“You’re already too much like him.”
Izuku stared down at the glowing contact in his phone again. His voice barely carried.
“Is that… a bad thing?”
Nana didn’t answer.
The sun had dipped behind the buildings by the time Izuku crossed into his neighborhood. The shadows stretched long on the sidewalk, and the streetlamps buzzed to life one by one.
His phone was still warm in his pocket.
Toshinori Yagi ☀️.
One text away from everything changing forever.
Nana hadn’t said a word in over ten minutes.
She drifted beside him, silent, cape trailing like smoke. Her face unreadable. Her eyes a little distant.
Izuku kept glancing at her.
Finally, as they reached the top of the hill, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Nana?”
She didn’t respond.
He stopped walking.
She stopped floating.
He turned toward her slowly.
“How did you know so much already? About him. About the Quirk. About everything.”
She blinked.
Izuku took a breath. “You called him Toshinori the first time you saw him. You knew he was out of time before he ever said a word. You even knew how One For All worked before he explained it to me.”
Nana didn’t move.
Izuku’s voice dropped, quieter now. “Who are you to him?”
There was a long pause.
Then she looked away.
“Like I said,” she murmured. “I’m a nobody.”
She hovered upside down, her hair falling toward the sky, her expression soft and tired in the fading light.
“Just a hero who died.”
Izuku frowned. “But—”
“And I followed him,” she cut in, “after I was gone. I watched his fights. I watched him laugh, bleed, cry. I watched him lose things. People. Pieces of himself.”
She stared at the clouds for a moment.
“I saw him win. And I saw him break.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
“I’ve seen a lot, Izuku.”
She floated closer now, just a few inches from his face. Her upside-down gaze met his—serious. Sad.
“Sometimes the dead don’t move on because they’re stuck. But sometimes… it’s because we’re afraid no one else will remember.”
Izuku’s breath hitched.
“…Was he someone important to you?” he asked quietly.
Nana looked at him for a long moment.
Then she smiled. Just a little.
“He still is.”
And then she flipped right-side-up again, and said in a suddenly too-bright voice:
“Anyway! You better rest up, kid! Muscle training starts tomorrow and I will be haunting you into early cardio if you slack off—don’t think I won’t.”
Izuku opened his mouth, but—
“NOPE. No more ghost feelings. Only sweat and maybe some light vomiting. Let’s go, loser!”
She took off down the street like a cape-wearing kite on caffeine.
Izuku stared after her.
He wasn’t sure what hurt more—what she’d said… or what she hadn’t.
They were walking past the ruins again.
The site from a few days ago—where a villain’s rampage had torn through two whole buildings and left a crater in the street. Caution tape flapped lazily in the breeze. A few police barriers remained, but most of the emergency teams were gone now. Just another scar on the city.
Nana floated beside him, quiet again. Watching. Always watching.
Then Izuku saw her.
A woman—twenties maybe. Pale. Shaking. Standing alone in front of the ruined building, her hands wringing in front of her like she didn’t know what else to do with them.
She looked so lost.
He stopped walking.
There was something off about her. The way she flickered. The way the sunlight didn’t quite hit her skin. Then—he saw it. A thin smear of red across her collar. Faint at first, then growing darker the longer he stared.
She was a ghost.
Izuku’s chest tightened.
He walked toward her.
“Hey there,” he said gently, voice soft like he was talking to a frightened animal. “Do you need help with something?”
She turned sharply—startled—and then gasped.
“You… you can see me?”
Izuku nodded. “Yeah.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed, nearly sobbing. “I—I need your help. Please. I—I didn’t mean to die. I just—”
Her hands flew up to her face, and for a second, her form glitched—like a broken signal on a TV screen. Her body shimmered, then shattered, showing flashes of her real condition: one arm twisted, blood across her temple, the side of her torso caved in.
Izuku didn’t flinch.
He just took a slow breath.
“It’s okay,” he said. Calm. Steady. “Take your time.”
The woman sniffled, calming just slightly. “My kitty. She’s still up there. In my apartment. I heard her crying after… after everything. It didn’t fall all the way down, and I just—I can’t help her. I can’t touch anything. I can’t get in. She’s scared. And I can’t—”
Her voice cracked.
“I can’t save her.”
Izuku nodded slowly, stepping closer, hands out to show he meant no harm.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “I’ll get her.”
She blinked.
“You will?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just lead me to your apartment. I’ll take care of it.”
Her lower lip trembled.
Then she turned and began to float toward the crumbling building.
Behind him, Nana said nothing.
But when he glanced back, she was hovering still in place—her expression unreadable.
And just before he turned to follow the ghost woman up the rubble path, he saw it:
Pride.
Grief.
Recognition.
He was already saving people.
Always had been.
Izuku stood nervously in the kitchen, arms tucked behind his back.
Nana was hovering near the ceiling, trying not to snicker. The new cat—a soft, wide-eyed gray puffball with a little bent ear—sat comfortably curled in Izuku’s hoodie pocket like she lived there rent-free.
Which, to be fair, she now did.
Inko turned around from the stove, blinking in that sweet “I’m-your-mom-and-I-love-you-but-what-are-you-about-to-say” kind of way.
Izuku cleared his throat.
“Uh… Mom?”
She smiled. “Yes, sweetie?”
He winced. “Please don’t be mad.”
“Oh no.”
Her smile tightened. “What did you do?”
Nana cackled softly above the fridge. The cat yawned.
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck.
“Soooo... I might’ve helped a ghost?”
Inko blinked. “...Like, one of your ghosts?”
“Yes.”
“A new one?”
“Yes.”
Inko’s lips pressed into a line.
“And helping her involved…?”
Izuku flinched. “Breaking into her ruined apartment.”
“Breaking into—Izuku Midoriya!”
“No one was home!! I swear!”
“Izuku—”
“Look, she couldn’t leave until she knew her cat was safe, and she was crying, Mom, she just wanted to hold her cat one last time, and I mean—” he reached into his hoodie and pulled out the tiny fluffball like a peace offering, “—can we keep her?”
Inko opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then stared at the cat.
The cat blinked up at her.
Let out a small meow.
Pawed gently at her apron.
Inko stared longer.
“I…”
She sighed.
“You broke the law, Izuku.”
“Yes.”
“You trespassed.”
“Yup.”
“And you brought home a ghost cat.”
“…Technically she’s not a ghost.”
Inko narrowed her eyes.
“…What’s her name?”
Izuku paused. Glanced up at Nana, who gave him a shrug.
“Uh... I was thinking Maru?”
Inko stared at the tiny cat, then at her son.
Then she sighed, walked over, and scratched Maru’s head gently.
“She stays in your room. And you clean her litter box.”
Izuku lit up like a Christmas tree.
“THANK YOU!”
Nana fist-pumped in the air.
Maru purred and made herself at home inside the hoodie.
Maru was curled up on his chest, her little body rising and falling with each soft breath. She was warm and content, purring quietly like a fuzzy heartbeat.
Izuku lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his room. The lights were off, save for the soft glow of the streetlamp outside casting pale lines across his posters. The air was still, peaceful in that fragile way nighttime always felt.
But his mind was loud.
Too loud.
The phone on his nightstand buzzed once. A text from Toshinori Yagi ☀️:
Training starts tomorrow. Bring gloves. And water. And courage.
Izuku huffed a tired laugh and picked up the phone just to stare at the name again. It still didn’t feel real.
Then his eyes drifted upward.
Nana hovered there, barely glowing in the dark. Silent. Arms folded over her chest, eyes unreadable.
She’d been that way since dinner.
Izuku bit his lip.
“…Nana?”
She looked down slowly.
“Yeah, kid?”
His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.
“Should I tell Mom?”
Nana blinked.
He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Maru. His hands folded in his lap. The moonlight kissed the edge of his jaw.
“I mean… about what’s going on with All Mi—Yagi-sensei,” he corrected quickly. “About the Quirk. The training. What he wants to give me.”
He swallowed.
“She’s always worried. I can tell. Even if she pretends not to be. She’s scared of me getting hurt. Of me chasing something I’ll never reach. I think it breaks her heart a little every time I say I want to be a hero.”
He looked down.
“…But now I actually can. I’ve been given a chance. A real one. And part of me wants to scream it from the rooftops.”
Nana didn’t answer right away.
He looked up again. “But… I also know if I tell her, she might beg me not to do it.”
Silence.
Then Nana floated down a little, coming eye level with him.
Her voice was soft. Thoughtful.
“What do you think she’ll see, Izuku?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“If you tell her,” Nana said gently, “what will she see? A hero in the making? Or her little boy walking toward something that might break him?”
He looked away.
“I don’t know.”
Nana drifted closer.
“You’ll have to decide if she needs the truth right now… or if she needs to see you standing stronger first.”
Izuku stared at the floor, shoulders tense.
“…I don’t want to lie to her.”
“You’re not,” Nana said. “Not if you’re just… waiting.”
She touched his shoulder gently, her ghostly hand brushing through him like wind.
“When you’re ready, you’ll know.”
He nodded slowly.
Then: “Will you be there? When I tell her?”
Nana smiled, sad and proud all at once.
“Always.”