Thursday
The morning sun was already high when Izuku finally woke, disoriented and groggy. A glance at the clock showed it was past nine—he'd slept almost twelve hours straight.
Good, the voice approved. Your body needed it.
Dr. Yamamoto came by at 9:30 for final checks. Blood pressure normal. Temperature normal. Quirk factor readings stable. She had him transform various body parts one more time—hands, arms, legs, even trying his torso though that still felt strange and incomplete.
"Everything looks good," she said, signing off on his discharge papers. "Remember—no quirk training for the rest of the week. Light activity only. Your follow-up appointment is next Wednesday at 2 PM. Don't miss it."
"I won't," Izuku promised.
Himari arrived at 10 AM sharp, carrying the same borrowed car Daichi had used before. She looked tired—she'd probably taken time off work she couldn't afford to pick him up—but her smile was genuine when she saw him dressed in regular clothes instead of a hospital gown.
"Ready to come home?" she asked.
"More than ready."
The drive back to the slums was quiet. Izuku watched the city change through the window—clean streets giving way to worn ones, new buildings replaced by old, prosperity fading into survival. It should have felt depressing, returning to poverty after the hospital's clean efficiency. But instead, it felt like coming home.
The apartment was empty when they arrived—everyone at school or work. Himari immediately began fussing, making him tea, insisting he sit down and rest even though he'd done nothing but rest for two days.
"Mom, I'm fine," Izuku protested.
"You were poisoned," Himari said flatly. "You don't get to tell me you're fine until the doctors say you're fine. Now sit. Drink your tea. I made lunch."
Izuku sat. Drank his tea. Ate the lunch she'd prepared—actual meat, fresh vegetables, rice that wasn't stretched thin to feed seven people. She'd spent money they didn't have on this meal, and that knowledge sat heavy in his chest.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Himari just nodded, busying herself with cleaning dishes that were already clean.
The afternoon passed slowly. Izuku tried to study but couldn't focus. Tried to watch TV but nothing held his interest. Finally, he just lay on the futon and stared at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sounds of the slums—sirens, arguments, life happening beyond their thin walls.
Restless, the voice observed. You're not used to doing nothing.
"I have too much to do," Izuku muttered. "Too much to prepare for. Sitting here feels like wasting time."
It's called recovery. Your body is still adapting. Use this time to think, to plan. Mental preparation is just as important as physical training.
That was true. Izuku closed his eyes and began to mentally review what he knew about the Sports Festival format, potential matchups, strategies he could employ with his new abilities...
He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the apartment door was opening and Shinji was home, calling out.
"Izu! You're back!"
His older brother's enthusiasm was infectious. Soon Yumeko arrived, then Daichi, and by evening the whole family was home, crowded into their small space, talking and laughing and just being together.
Dinner was another elaborate meal—Himari had clearly been saving and planning for this. They ate and caught up, and for a few hours, everything felt normal.
Except for the voice in his head that only he could hear.
Friday
Friday morning, Izuku woke to find Shinji already gone to his trade school and the apartment quiet. Himari had left a note: Rest. I'll be home by 6. Don't train. - Mom
He smiled at the note, then spent the morning doing exactly what she'd ordered—resting. Or trying to. His body felt restless, charged with energy that had nowhere to go.
This is torture for you, isn't it? the voice asked with amusement. Being still. Having nothing to do.
"I'm not used to it," Izuku admitted, pacing the small apartment. "There's always something—training, studying, analyzing, preparing. Just... sitting here doing nothing feels wrong."
Then don't do nothing. Read. Study. Plan. The voice paused. Or you could explore what else changed. We know about the transformation speed. But what about everything else? Your sand manipulation, your constructs, your sensing range—have those changed too?
That was a good point. Izuku pulled out his notebooks and began documenting everything he could think of—how his quirk felt different, the way sand seemed to respond before he fully formed the thought, the sensation of being more connected to his quirk than ever before.
He was deep in analysis when his phone buzzed.
A text message from an unknown number. He opened it, confused.
Unknown: Hello Midoriya-kun! This is Yaoyorozu Momo. I got your number from the class contact list. I hope that's alright?
Izuku blinked, then quickly saved her contact information and replied.
Izuku: Hi Yaoyorozu-san! Of course it's alright. Is everything okay?
The reply came quickly.
Momo: Everything is fine! I was actually texting to see if you'd be interested in joining some of us tomorrow—Saturday. Ashido-san suggested we all hang out, and we thought it might be nice to include you. Nothing strenuous, just casual time together.
Izuku stared at his phone. They wanted to hang out? With him?
Another text arrived.
Momo: It would be myself, Ashido-san, Uraraka-san, Iida-kun, and Kirishima-kun. We're planning to meet around 11 AM at the shopping district near the station. Just walking around, maybe getting lunch. Very low-key.
They're reaching out, the voice observed. Your classmates. Your friends. This is good—social bonds make for better teamwork.
Izuku: I'd like that! Where should I meet you?
Momo: Wonderful! There's a cafe called "Sunrise Coffee" right by the east exit of Musutafu Station. We'll meet there at 11. Dress casually—this isn't a hero exercise, just friends spending time together.
Izuku: I'll be there. Thank you for inviting me.
Momo: Of course! We're looking forward to it. Rest well, Midoriya-kun. See you tomorrow!
Izuku set down his phone, a smile spreading across his face. Saturday. He had plans with his classmates. Actual social plans that didn't involve training or studying or hero work.
When was the last time that had happened?
Never, the voice supplied. You've never had friends like this before. People who actually want to spend time with you.
"Yeah," Izuku said softly, looking at the message thread. "Never."
He spent the rest of the day in a better mood, the restlessness fading into anticipation. Tomorrow he'd see his friends. Monday he'd face Aizawa. And after that, he could finally start training again.
Saturday
Saturday morning arrived with clear skies and unusually warm weather for the season. Izuku woke early—old habits died hard—and spent longer than necessary figuring out what to wear.
His wardrobe was limited. School uniform, training clothes, and a handful of casual items that were either hand-me-downs from Daichi or cheap purchases from the slums' secondhand stores. Nothing looked quite right.
"What are you doing?" Shinji asked, watching Izuku hold up a third shirt and frown at it.
"I have plans. With classmates. I don't know what to wear."
Shinji grinned. "Little bro has a social life? Did the drug do that too?"
"Shut up," Izuku said, but he was smiling. He finally settled on dark jeans that used to be Daichi's but fit him well enough, and a plain green shirt that brought out his eyes. His shoes were still the ones the family had bought him for the entrance exam—scuffed now but serviceable.
He looked in the mirror. Not rich-kid polished like some of his classmates, but clean and presentable. It would have to do.
"You look fine," Yumeko said, appearing in the doorway. "Very normal. Very 'I'm definitely not overthinking this.'"
"I'm not overthinking—"
"You've changed shirts four times."
She has a point, the voice said with amusement.
Izuku grabbed his phone and wallet. "I'm leaving."
"Have fun!" Yumeko called after him. "Don't talk about hero analysis the whole time!"
"I won't!"
You will, the voice predicted.
The train ride to Musutafu Station took forty minutes. Izuku spent the time watching the city pass by, mentally preparing for social interaction like it was a mission briefing. What would they talk about? What if he said something weird? What if—
Relax, the voice interrupted. They invited you. They want you there. Just be yourself.
"That's what I'm worried about," Izuku muttered.
He arrived at Sunrise Coffee at 10:55—early, because being late felt wrong. The cafe was a small, cheerful place with outdoor seating and the smell of fresh pastries wafting through open doors.
Uraraka and Mina were already there, sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Uraraka waved when she saw him.
"Midoriya-kun! You made it!"
"Of course," Izuku said, approaching their table. "Thank you again for inviting me."
"Dude, you look so nervous," Mina said with a laugh. "Relax! This is supposed to be fun!"
"I am relaxed," Izuku lied.
Terrible liar, the voice commented.
"Sure you are," Mina grinned. "Sit! We ordered coffee while we waited. Want something?"
"Just water is fine," Izuku said, sitting down carefully.
"Water? Boring!" Mina turned to call into the cafe. "One water for the boring boy!"
Uraraka giggled. "Ashido-san, be nice."
"I am being nice! I got him water, didn't I?"
Kirishima arrived next, his red hair unmistakable even from a distance. "Yo! Everyone here?"
"Just waiting on Yaomomo and Iida," Mina said.
"Yaomomo?" Izuku asked.
"Momo. Yaoyorozu. Yaomomo!" Mina said like it was obvious. "I've been trying to make it catch on."
"Please stop trying," Momo's voice came from behind them. She and Iida had arrived together, both looking polished and put-together in that way that came from money and good breeding.
"Midoriya-kun!" Iida said, his hand already chopping through the air. "I'm glad to see you looking well! How has your recovery been progressing?"
"Good," Izuku said. "Really good. The doctors cleared me to return to school Monday."
"Excellent news! Though you must continue to monitor your condition closely! Side effects can manifest days or even weeks after initial exposure to—"
"Iida," Kirishima interrupted gently. "Maybe we save the medical lecture for later?"
"Ah. Yes. Of course. My apologies."
"So!" Mina clapped her hands together. "Now that we're all here, where should we go first? Shopping? Food? There's an arcade two blocks from here that's supposed to be awesome!"
"I vote arcade," Kirishima said immediately.
"I've never been to an arcade," Izuku admitted.
Five pairs of eyes turned to stare at him.
"Never?" Uraraka asked.
"Never ever?" Mina pressed.
"I... no?" Izuku felt heat rising in his cheeks. "They're expensive, and I was usually training or studying, so..."
"That settles it!" Mina jumped up. "Arcade first! We're fixing this tragic gap in Midoriya's life experience!"
This should be interesting, the voice observed as the group began walking, Mina leading the charge with Kirishima beside her, Uraraka and Momo flanking Izuku, and Iida bringing up the rear like a concerned parent.
Try to have fun. You've earned it.
For once, Izuku thought the voice might be right.
He was going to try.
The Arcade
The arcade was called "Hero Zone" and it was absolutely massive. Three floors of flashing lights, electronic music, and the constant din of games being played. The entrance was decorated with giant posters of popular pro heroes, and a neon sign proclaimed "BIGGEST ARCADE IN MUSUTAFU!"
Izuku stopped just inside the entrance, momentarily overwhelmed. There were so many people, so much noise, so much... everything.
"Whoa," he breathed.
"Right?!" Mina grabbed his arm, practically bouncing with excitement. "This place is amazing! Come on, we need to get game cards!"
They pooled some money—Momo offered to pay for everyone, but Kirishima insisted that wasn't manly, and Iida said it was important for everyone to contribute equally. Izuku felt his stomach twist when he realized even the discounted group rate was more than he usually spent on entertainment in a month.
It's fine, the voice said, reading his hesitation. You have money saved. Your family gave you some for emergencies. This counts.
"You okay, Midoriya-kun?" Uraraka asked, noticing his pause.
"Yeah, just... figuring out how much to load on the card."
"Start with 2000 yen," Kirishima suggested. "That'll get you a decent amount of games, and you can always add more!"
Two thousand yen. That was nearly what Izuku spent on food for a week when he was being careful. But everyone else was loading similar amounts without hesitation, so he did the same, trying not to wince.
"Alright!" Mina held up her game card like a trophy. "Operation: Give Midoriya The Full Arcade Experience is now in effect! First stop—racing games!"
The racing game section had elaborate setups with actual car seats, steering wheels, and pedals. Mina immediately claimed one, with Kirishima taking the seat next to her.
"Midoriya-kun, you should try!" Uraraka said, gesturing to an empty seat.
"I don't know how to play," Izuku admitted.
"That's fine! It's easy—gas pedal to go, brake to stop, steering wheel to turn. Just try not to crash!" She grinned. "Though crashing is half the fun."
Izuku settled into the seat hesitantly. The game loaded—some racing game set on a pro hero themed track. The countdown started: 3... 2... 1... GO!
He immediately crashed into a wall.
"Turn before the wall, Midoriya!" Kirishima called out, laughing but not mean-spirited.
Izuku tried again. Crashed again. By the third lap, he was starting to get the hang of it, but he still finished dead last while Mina and Kirishima battled for first place.
"That was terrible," Izuku said, climbing out of the seat.
"That was your first try!" Uraraka said encouragingly. "You'll get better! Besides, racing games aren't for everyone. Let's try something else!"
They moved through the arcade like a small whirlwind. Mina dragged them to a dance game where she absolutely dominated while everyone else fumbled through the steps. Izuku managed to not trip over his own feet, which Mina declared a victory.
"You've got good rhythm!" she said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "For a first-timer!"
"My siblings taught me some basic footwork," Izuku admitted. "For fighting, not dancing, but I guess it transfers?"
"Fighting footwork?" Momo asked curiously as they moved to the next section.
"Yeah. Growing up in the slums, you learn to defend yourself. My brothers and sister made sure I knew how to move, how to dodge, basic combat stuff." Izuku shrugged. "It's just practical."
The group went quiet for a moment—that same uncomfortable silence from the hospital when he'd mentioned his neighborhood.
"That's actually really cool," Kirishima said, breaking the tension. "Like, having family that teaches you that stuff. My parents just made me do homework."
"Plus it clearly paid off," Mina added. "You got into UA! That doesn't happen without serious skills!"
The conversation moved on, and Izuku felt grateful they didn't press about the slums anymore.
Next was the fighting game section. Rows of cabinets with various fighting games, from realistic martial arts simulators to over-the-top anime-style brawlers.
"Oh, we have to do this one!" Kirishima pointed to a game called "Hero Clash" that featured caricatured versions of pro heroes as playable characters. "It's so dumb but so fun!"
They set up a tournament bracket—all six of them competing in elimination rounds. Momo picked a hero with a creation-based moveset. Mina chose one with acid attacks. Uraraka selected a gravity manipulator. Iida went for a speed-type character. Kirishima picked a tank with hardening abilities.
Izuku stared at the character select screen, overwhelmed by choices.
"Pick whoever looks cool!" Mina encouraged.
He selected a character with sand-based attacks—not because of any strategy, but because it felt familiar.
The first match was Izuku versus Uraraka.
"Go easy on me, Midoriya-kun!" Uraraka said with a grin.
"I don't even know the controls yet," Izuku protested.
The match started. Izuku mashed buttons randomly at first, his character launching sand attacks in every direction with no coordination. Uraraka was clearly more experienced, her character floating and dodging gracefully.
But then something clicked.
Movement patterns, the voice observed. She favors aerial approaches. Predict where she'll land.
Izuku's hands moved more deliberately. His character's sand trap caught Uraraka's mid-descent, setting up a combo that depleted half her health bar.
"Whoa!" Uraraka's eyes widened. "How did you—"
Izuku was already moving again, his fingers finding the controls intuitively now. Block, counter, special move cancel into another combo. His mind processed the game the same way it processed combat—patterns, timing, prediction.
He won the match.
"Okay, that was just beginner's luck!" Uraraka said, laughing.
But it wasn't. Izuku won the next match against Iida. Then Kirishima. Then Mina.
"Dude," Kirishima said, staring at the screen in disbelief. "Have you seriously never played this before?"
"Never," Izuku confirmed, feeling almost guilty.
"That's not fair!" Mina protested. "You can't be naturally good at fighting games! That's not how it works!"
It's pattern recognition, the voice explained. Reading opponents, predicting movements, reacting faster than they can adapt. You've trained these skills for years. The medium doesn't matter—fighting is fighting.
The final match was against Momo. She'd been watching his previous matches carefully, clearly analyzing his playstyle. When they started, she immediately switched to a defensive strategy, forcing him to approach.
"Yaoyorozu-san is really good," Izuku muttered, his character getting caught in one of her traps.
"Of course she is," Mina said. "She's good at everything. It's annoying."
"I can hear you, Ashido-san," Momo said without looking away from the screen.
The match was closer. Momo adapted to his patterns, countered his favorite moves, forced him into disadvantageous positions. But in the end, Izuku's reflexes were just slightly faster, his reads just slightly more accurate.
He won by a narrow margin.
"That was impressive, Midoriya-kun," Momo said, standing and offering a hand to shake. "You have excellent situational awareness and adaptation speed. Those skills will serve you well in the Sports Festival."
"Thanks," Izuku said, shaking her hand. "You almost had me. Your strategy was really smart."
"Next time I'll win," she said with a small smile.
They moved on to other games. Shooting games where Izuku's accuracy was concerning enough that Iida asked if he'd ever fired an actual weapon (he hadn't, just trained with projectiles). Puzzle games where Momo dominated. Rhythm games where Mina reigned supreme. Claw machines where Kirishima spent way too much money trying to win Uraraka a small All Might plushie (he eventually succeeded on his fifteenth try).
By the time they took a break for lunch, Izuku was actually having fun. Real, genuine fun that didn't involve training or studying or preparing for something.
They found a small restaurant nearby that served curry. The group squeezed into a booth, with Izuku ending up between Uraraka and Kirishima.
"So Midoriya," Mina said, pointing her spoon at him across the table, "what's your deal? How are you so good at games you've never played?"
"I'm not that good—"
"You won the entire fighting game tournament!" Kirishima interrupted. "On your first try! That's insane!"
"It's just pattern recognition," Izuku said, unconsciously falling into analysis mode. "Fighting games are about reading your opponent's tendencies, predicting their next move, and reacting faster than they can adjust. It's not that different from actual combat, just abstracted into button inputs and timing windows. Once you understand the underlying principles of spacing, frame advantage, and risk-reward calculations—"
He stopped, noticing everyone was staring at him.
"There it is," Yumeko's voice echoed in his memory. "Don't talk about hero analysis the whole time!"
"Sorry," Izuku said, feeling his face heat up. "I got carried away."
"Don't apologize!" Momo said, leaning forward with interest. "That was fascinating. You apply combat theory to gaming?"
"I apply it to everything," Izuku admitted. "It's kind of automatic at this point."
"That's actually really cool," Uraraka said. "Like, you see everything as a learning opportunity!"
"It must be exhausting, though," Momo observed thoughtfully. "Always analyzing, always thinking several steps ahead."
She's perceptive, the voice noted.
"Sometimes," Izuku admitted. "But it's also just how my brain works now. I don't really know how to turn it off."
"Maybe that's what today is for," Kirishima said, grinning. "Learning to have fun without overthinking everything!"
"Is that possible?" Izuku asked, genuinely uncertain.
"We'll find out!" Mina declared. "After lunch, we're hitting the photo booths. And Midoriya, you're not allowed to analyze anything. Just smile and be weird with us!"
This should be interesting, the voice commented with amusement.
The curry arrived, and conversation shifted to lighter topics—school gossip, hero news, speculation about the Sports Festival format. Izuku found himself relaxing, laughing at Mina's jokes, listening to Iida's passionate explanations of proper photo booth etiquette (apparently there was etiquette), and just... being normal.
When was the last time he'd felt this normal?
Never, the voice supplied. You've never had this before. People your age who want to spend time with you. Who think you're cool instead of weird. Who don't care that you're from the slums or that you overthink everything.
Treasure this.
"You okay, Midoriya?" Uraraka asked, noticing his thoughtful expression.
"Yeah," Izuku said, and he meant it. "Just... thank you. For inviting me. This is really nice."
"Of course!" Uraraka's smile was warm. "We're friends! This is what friends do!"
Friends.
The word settled into Izuku's chest like a warm coal.
Friends.
He had friends.
After lunch, they did hit the photo booths, and Mina insisted on the most ridiculous props and filters. Izuku found himself wearing cat ears and bunny noses, making peace signs and silly faces, laughing so hard his ribs hurt.
The photos printed out—little strips of memories captured in glossy paper. Mina immediately distributed them, making everyone take copies.
"Group photo!" she declared. "For prosperity!"
"Posterity," Momo corrected gently.
"That too!"
Izuku looked at his strip of photos. His face, surrounded by his classmates—his friends—all smiling and laughing and being ridiculous together.
He was going to keep these forever.
They spent another hour in the arcade, trying various games, competing and laughing and just existing together. By the time they finally left, it was mid-afternoon, and Izuku's game card was nearly empty.
"Same time next week?" Mina suggested as they stood outside the arcade.
"I'll have started training again by then," Izuku said. "So I might be sore, but yes. I'd like that."
"Text us during the week!" Uraraka said. "We have the class group chat, but you never post in it!"
"I... didn't want to bother anyone," Izuku admitted.
"Bother us!" Kirishima said, slapping him on the back. "That's what friends are for, man!"
There was that word again. Friends.
They said their goodbyes—Momo and Iida heading one direction, Mina and Kirishima another, Uraraka taking the same train line as Izuku for a few stops before splitting off.
By the time Izuku got back to the slums, the sun was setting, painting the rundown buildings in gold and orange light. His feet hurt from walking all day, his face hurt from smiling so much, and his wallet was significantly lighter.
But he felt good.
Really, genuinely good.
"How was your day?" Himari asked when he walked in.
"It was perfect," Izuku said honestly.
She smiled—a real smile, not the tired ones she usually wore. "Good. You deserve perfect days."
That night, lying on the futon beside Shinji, Izuku pulled out the photo strip and looked at it in the dim light filtering through their window.
Tomorrow is Sunday, he thought. Then Monday I face Aizawa. Then training can finally resume.
But today was perfect.
Today I got to just be fifteen.
Today I had friends.
He tucked the photos carefully into his notebook and closed his eyes.
Twenty-four days until the Sports Festival.
Six days until training could resume.
But tonight, he didn't think about any of that.
Tonight, he just smiled and drifted off to sleep, the voice in his head quiet for once, letting him have this moment of peace.
He'd earned it.
Sunday passed in a blur of rest and preparation. Izuku woke late again—his body still catching up on months of sleep debt. Himari made a proper breakfast, and the family actually ate together for once, everyone's schedules miraculously aligned.
"Big day tomorrow," Kaito said, watching Izuku over his tea. "Back to school. Back to normal."
"As normal as it gets after being attacked by drug dealers," Daichi muttered.
"Daichi," Himari warned.
"I'm just saying. The kid went through something intense. We're all just pretending everything's fine."
"Because it is fine," Izuku said firmly. "I'm fine. The doctors cleared me. I'm ready to go back."
"Are you though?" Akari asked. She'd come home for Sunday dinner, a rare occurrence. "Really ready? Because going back means facing questions, dealing with attention, and proving to your teachers that you're stable enough for hero training."
She's not wrong, the voice observed.
"I'm ready," Izuku repeated, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
The rest of Sunday was spent preparing. Izuku laid out his school uniform—freshly washed by Yumeko, pressed as well as their ancient iron could manage. He packed his bag: textbooks, notebooks, hero costume case, the small medical slip from Dr. Yamamoto to give to Recovery Girl.
He reviewed his story one more time. What he'd tell people, how much he'd reveal. The official version: attacked in the slums, injected with Trigger, survived, quirk may have been affected but he didn't know the full extent yet. Simple. Honest enough to be believable, vague enough to hide the voice.
Good, the voice approved. Consistency is key. If your story changes, people will notice.
"Talking to yourself?" Shinji asked, poking his head into the room.
"Just thinking," Izuku said quickly.
"About tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
Shinji sat down on the futon beside him. "You know, when I was younger, I used to think about what it would be like to go to UA. To be a hero." He held up his hand, activating his quirk. Three small stones stuck to his palm, barely bigger than pebbles. "Then I figured out this was all I'd ever have. Kind of killed the dream, you know?"
"Shinji—"
"I'm not looking for pity," his brother interrupted. "I'm just saying... you got out. You made it to UA. You're living the dream all of us had but couldn't reach. So when you go back tomorrow, when you face whatever comes next, remember that." He looked at Izuku seriously. "You're not just carrying your own dreams. You're carrying ours too. All of us."
The weight of that statement settled on Izuku's shoulders.
"No pressure, right?" he said weakly.
Shinji grinned. "Tons of pressure. But hey, you're a Midoriya. We're good under pressure."
After dinner, Izuku stood on the roof one last time. The slums stretched out beneath him, familiar and worn. This rooftop had been his training ground for years, the place where he'd built himself into someone strong enough for UA.
Tomorrow he'd face Aizawa. In six days, he could train again. In twenty-four days, the Sports Festival would begin.
Everything changes then, the voice said. Win or lose, nothing will be the same after.
"I know," Izuku whispered to the night air.
Are you scared?
"Terrified."
Good. Fear keeps you sharp. A pause. We're going to win, you know. At the festival. We're going to show everyone what sand can really do.
"We?"
You and me. Your conscious mind and your instincts. Your training and my battle sense. Together, we're stronger than either part alone.
Izuku didn't respond. He just stood there, watching the city lights flicker in the distance, feeling the cool night air on his skin, and tried to quiet the anxiety building in his chest.
Monday Morning
Izuku woke at 4:30 AM out of pure habit. For a moment, he considered going to the roof to train, then remembered: no training for six more days. Doctor's orders.
Frustrating, isn't it? the voice commented. All this energy and nowhere to put it.
He got ready slowly, methodically. Shower, uniform, breakfast that Himari had prepared the night before. His father had already left for the construction site, but Himari waited with him until it was time to leave.
"You'll do fine," she said, adjusting his collar one last time. "Just be honest with your teachers. Well, mostly honest."
"Mom—"
"I'm not stupid, Izuku. I know there are things you're not telling us about what that drug did." Her eyes were sharp. "But I also know you're smart enough not to do anything that would put yourself or others in danger. So whatever secrets you're keeping, I trust you have good reasons."
Izuku's throat tightened. "I'm sorry I can't—"
"Don't apologize. Just promise me that if it becomes dangerous, if you need help, you'll tell someone. Your teachers, your friends, us. Anyone."
"I promise."
She pulled him into a brief hug. "Now go. And make us proud."
The train ride to UA was surreal. Izuku kept expecting something to feel different, but everything looked the same. Same stations, same morning crowd, same view of the city passing by. Like he hadn't almost died a week ago.
The world doesn't stop for personal trauma, the voice observed. It just keeps moving.
UA's gates came into view, massive and imposing as always. Students streamed through in their uniforms, chatting and laughing. A few glanced at Izuku as he passed—recognition, curiosity, probably gossip about "that kid who got attacked."
Let them look, the voice said. Let them wonder. Mystery makes you more interesting.
Izuku made it to Class 1-A's door before his anxiety really kicked in. Behind that door were his classmates, his teachers, and whatever came next.
He took a breath and opened it.
"MIDORIYA!"
He was immediately mobbed. Kaminari, Sero, and Ashido descended on him with rapid-fire questions. Kirishima gave him an enthusiastic back-slap that nearly knocked him over. Even Todoroki nodded in acknowledgment from his seat.
"Dude, are you okay?"
"What was it like?"
"Did the drug really change your quirk?"
"Is it true you almost died?"
"Everyone, give him space!" Iida's voice cut through the chaos, his hands chopping through the air. "Midoriya-kun has just returned from a traumatic experience! He needs—"
"I'm fine," Izuku said, raising his hands. "Really. I'm okay."
"You don't look okay," Jiro observed from her desk. "You look exhausted."
"I've been resting all week. I'm just—"
The door opened again, and the room went silent.
Aizawa stood in the doorway, his sleeping bag conspicuously absent, his eyes fixed directly on Izuku.
"Midoriya. Principal's office. Now."
The class erupted in whispers. Izuku's stomach dropped.
"Yes, sir," he managed.
The walk to the principal's office felt like a march to execution. Aizawa walked slightly ahead, not speaking, his usual slouched posture somehow more tense than normal.
He's worried about you, the voice observed. Probably trying to figure out if you're a liability now.
Principal Nedzu's office was exactly as intimidating as Izuku remembered—pristine, organized, with the small white creature sitting behind a desk that made him look even smaller.
"Ah, Midoriya-kun!" Nedzu's voice was cheerful, but his eyes were calculating. "Please, sit. Would you like tea?"
"No thank you, sir."
"Aizawa-kun, please stay. Recovery Girl will be joining us shortly." Nedzu steepled his paws on his desk. "Now then. Let's discuss what happened to you."
Izuku launched into his prepared story. Jogging in the slums. Eight gang members. Forced injection of Trigger. Waking up in the hospital. The police involvement. The medical evaluation.
Nedzu listened without interrupting, his expression giving nothing away.
"And your quirk?" he asked when Izuku finished. "Dr. Yamamoto's report indicates significant changes to your quirk factor."
"Yes, sir. My quirk feels different. Faster to respond. The doctors said the Trigger enhanced my neural pathways or something like that."
"Something like that," Nedzu repeated, and there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. "How diplomatic. Aizawa, your assessment?"
Aizawa had been silent this entire time, just watching Izuku with those tired, penetrating eyes.
"The kid's hiding something," he said bluntly.
Izuku's heart rate spiked.
Stay calm, the voice commanded. Don't react defensively. That's what guilty people do.
"I'm not—"
"I didn't say you were lying," Aizawa interrupted. "I said you're hiding something. There's a difference." He leaned forward. "Look, problem child. I've been doing this job for over a decade. I can tell when a student is keeping secrets. And you? You're keeping big ones."
"Aizawa-kun, perhaps a gentler approach—" Nedzu started.
"No. He needs to hear this." Aizawa's eyes never left Izuku. "That drug should have killed you. Multiple doctors have confirmed that the dosage was lethal. But you survived because your quirk adapted. Consumed the Trigger and integrated it. That's not normal. That suggests your quirk has capabilities we don't understand."
He's sharp, the voice admitted. Much sharper than I gave him credit for.
"I don't understand them either," Izuku said honestly. "The doctors explained what happened, but I don't know what it means long-term. I'm still figuring it out."
"That's fair," Aizawa said. "But here's what I need to know: Are you in control? Of your quirk, of yourself? Can I trust you in combat training scenarios, or are you a risk to yourself and others?"
The door opened before Izuku could answer. Recovery Girl entered, her small frame commanding attention despite her size.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, pulling up a chair. "Had a student with a broken arm in the infirmary. Now then, Midoriya-kun, let's take a look at you."
She pulled out medical equipment—a quirk factor scanner, a blood pressure cuff, a small light to check his pupils.
"Healthy vitals," she muttered, checking readings. "Quirk factor elevated but stable. No signs of cellular degradation or neural damage." She looked up at him. "How are you sleeping?"
"Better than usual, actually."
"Appetite?"
"Normal."
"Any unusual thoughts? Mood swings? Aggressive impulses?"
Don't mention me, the voice warned unnecessarily.
"No, ma'am. Just... my quirk responds faster than I'm used to. I have to be more careful because it activates quicker than before."
Recovery Girl nodded, making notes. "That's consistent with enhanced neural pathways. Your brain-to-quirk communication has been optimized. It'll take adjustment, but it's not dangerous." She looked at Nedzu and Aizawa. "Physically, he's fine. Medically cleared for normal activities."
"But?" Aizawa pressed.
"But I recommend continued monitoring. Weekly check-ins with me for the next month. Any sign of instability, and we pull him from combat training immediately."
"That's reasonable," Nedzu said. "Midoriya-kun, are you comfortable with those terms?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. Then there's only one thing left." Nedzu's eyes gleamed with something that might have been excitement. "A practical demonstration. Aizawa, if you would?"
Aizawa stood. "Gym Gamma. Now. I want to see this enhanced quirk for myself."
Finally, the voice said with satisfaction. Time to show them what we can do.
Izuku stood, his heart pounding. This was it. The real test.
Time to prove he was still a hero in training.
Not a liability.
Not a risk.
Gym Gamma was empty when they arrived, the vast training space echoing with their footsteps. The facility was designed for quirk training—reinforced walls, adjustable terrain, observation deck above where Nedzu and Recovery Girl took their positions.
Aizawa stood in the center of the training floor, his capture weapon hanging loose around his neck.
"Alright, problem child," he said, his voice carrying in the empty space. "Here's how this works. I'm going to test your quirk control, your response time, and your ability to operate under pressure. If at any point I think you're losing control, I'll erase your quirk immediately. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
He's being cautious, the voice observed. Good. That means he respects what we can do.
"First test is simple. Show me your sand manipulation. Basic constructs, nothing fancy. I want to see speed and precision."
Izuku took a breath and reached for his quirk. It responded instantly—faster than before, almost eager. Sand poured from his pouches and from the training floor itself, particles rising at his command.
He formed a sphere first. Perfect geometry, rotating slowly. Then a cube, edges sharp and clean. A pyramid. A spiral. Each one forming in less than a second, each one holding stable.
"Faster than your entrance exam footage," Aizawa noted. "Continue."
Izuku formed blades next. Not the eight he used to manage—twelve, all orbiting him in precise formation. Then sixteen. Twenty. Each one sharp, each one under perfect control.
"Duration?" Aizawa asked.
"I can hold this indefinitely," Izuku said, and realized it was true. The mental strain that used to build after a few minutes was barely present. "Or at least, much longer than before."
"Dismiss them. Next test—transformation."
This was it. The ability the drug had accelerated.
Izuku held up his right hand and transformed it. Flesh became sand in an instant, grains swirling and reforming. Then back to flesh just as quickly.
Aizawa's eyes narrowed. "Again. Other hand."
Left hand. Instant transformation. Back.
"Both hands."
Both hands became sand simultaneously, then reformed.
"Your arm."
His entire right arm shifted to sand, held it for three seconds, reformed.
"Faster," Aizawa commanded. "I want to see your absolute maximum speed."
Show him, the voice urged. Show him we're in control.
Izuku's hands blurred through transformations—flesh to sand to flesh, over and over, so fast it looked like his hands were flickering between states. Ten transformations in five seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
He stopped, breathing slightly harder but not exhausted.
"That's not training," Aizawa said flatly. "That's not something you could have developed in weeks. That's the drug."
"Yes, sir," Izuku admitted. "The doctors said it accelerated the neural pathway development. What should have taken months or years happened in one night."
"And you can control it? No accidental transformations?"
"I've been careful, but no. No accidents."
Yet, the voice added privately. We're still adapting. There could be surprises.
"Next test," Aizawa said. "Combat scenario. I'm going to attack you. You defend using any technique you want. The goal is to demonstrate control under pressure."
Izuku's stomach tightened. Sparring against Aizawa. Against someone who could erase his quirk with a glance.
He's testing more than just your quirk, the voice said. He's testing your instincts. How you react when threatened. This is important.
"Ready?" Aizawa asked.
"Yes, sir."
Aizawa moved.
He was fast—faster than Izuku expected for someone who looked perpetually exhausted. His capture weapon lashed out, multiple strips trying to bind Izuku's arms.
Izuku transformed both hands instantly, letting the capture weapon pass through sand. He rolled backward, creating distance, reforming his hands as he moved.
Good, the voice approved. Stay defensive. Don't give him a reason to think you're aggressive.
Aizawa came at him again, this time from a different angle. Izuku raised a sand wall between them—not thick enough to completely block vision, just enough to obscure his position. He circled around it, maintaining distance.
"Not bad," Aizawa said, and there was approval in his voice. "But you're too passive. Show me offense."
Izuku hesitated. Attacking a teacher felt wrong.
He asked for it, the voice said. Give him what he wants. Controlled aggression.
Izuku sent four floating blades at Aizawa—slow enough to be defensive, fast enough to require attention. Aizawa dodged two, used his capture weapon to deflect the others.
"Faster," Aizawa commanded.
Eight blades. Twelve. Coming from different angles, forcing Aizawa to move, to adapt. The pro hero handled them easily, but Izuku could see he was taking it seriously now.
"Better. Now show me what you were really working on before the attack."
The transformation. Using it in combat.
Aizawa's capture weapon came at him from the left. Izuku transformed his left arm, let it pass through, grabbed the weapon with his right hand while his left reformed. He pulled, trying to off-balance the teacher.
Aizawa was already moving, using the pull to close distance. His fist came at Izuku's face.
Izuku's head transformed—just his head, just for a fraction of a second—and the punch passed through harmlessly. He reformed instantly and created distance with a sand wave.
The training floor went silent.
"Did you just—" Aizawa started.
"Partial transformation," Izuku said quickly. "I've been practicing with extremities, but I can do it with any body part if I'm fast enough."
That got his attention, the voice said with satisfaction.
"How long have you been able to do that?" Aizawa asked, his tone sharp.
"The speed? Since the drug. But I've been training the technique for weeks before the attack." Izuku lowered his hands, letting the sand settle. "I can show you my training logs if you want. The progression is documented."
Aizawa was silent for a long moment, just staring at him. Then he looked up at the observation deck.
"Nedzu? Your assessment?"
The principal's voice came through speakers. "Fascinating! The boy shows remarkable control, excellent tactical awareness, and no signs of aggression or instability. His quirk responds precisely to his intentions with no apparent lag or overreaction."
"Recovery Girl?" Aizawa prompted.
"Vitals remained stable throughout. Heart rate elevated but appropriate for combat scenarios. No signs of stress-induced quirk fluctuation." A pause. "He's fine, Aizawa. Stop being paranoid."
Aizawa turned back to Izuku. "One more test. The hardest one."
He activated his quirk.
Izuku felt his sand manipulation vanish, cut off completely. The blades he'd been maintaining dissolved instantly. His connection to the particles around him disappeared.
And for a terrifying moment, the voice went silent too.
Still here, it said after a heartbeat, quieter but present. Just... muffled. Interesting.
"How do you feel?" Aizawa asked, his eyes glowing red, quirk active.
"Disconnected," Izuku said honestly. "Like part of me is missing. But I'm okay."
"Any panic? Anxiety beyond normal?"
"No, sir. It's uncomfortable but manageable."
Aizawa held it for thirty seconds—long enough for Izuku to really feel the absence, to understand what it meant to have his quirk completely shut down. Then he blinked, releasing the erasure.
Izuku's quirk flooded back instantly. The sand responded before he even consciously called it, particles rising around him in greeting.
Eager, the voice noted. We wanted to come back. That's good. It means the integration is complete.
"Excessive response?" Aizawa asked, watching the sand carefully.
Izuku quickly calmed it, bringing the particles back under tight control. "Sorry. It just... reacted."
"Natural response after erasure," Aizawa said. "Some quirks do that. As long as you can control it afterward." He deactivated his quirk completely and turned toward the observation deck. "I'm satisfied. The kid's in control."
Nedzu's voice crackled through the speakers again. "Excellent! Then we have only one administrative matter to address."
The three of them joined the principal and Recovery Girl in the observation room. Nedzu had a tablet ready, already displaying what looked like official forms.
"Standard protocol following a quirk-altering incident," Nedzu explained. "We need to update your quirk registration with the government. New capabilities, new applications, all properly documented. It's bureaucratic but necessary."
"What do I need to do?" Izuku asked.
"Be honest about the changes. Enhanced speed, transformation capability, improved control. We'll file it as a 'quirk evolution following traumatic trigger exposure'—completely legal and properly documented." Nedzu's eyes gleamed. "It also means the Sports Festival will have you listed with updated quirk parameters. Your opponents will know you can transform."
Good, the voice said. No need to hide it anyway. Let them prepare. We'll still win.
"There is one more thing," Recovery Girl said, her tone serious. "Young man, you experienced something traumatic. Being attacked, poisoned, nearly dying—that affects people mentally as well as physically. I'm recommending counseling sessions. Optional, but strongly encouraged."
"I'm fine—"
"That's what everyone says," Recovery Girl interrupted. "And then three months later, they're having panic attacks in the middle of class. Trauma doesn't always show up immediately."
She's not wrong, the voice admitted. But you can't do counseling. They'll ask about symptoms, and you'll have to lie about me.
"I'll think about it," Izuku said carefully.
"See that you do." Recovery Girl gave him a stern look. "You're cleared for classes, including hero training. But if you show any signs of instability—physical or mental—you come to me immediately. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Now get to class. You've already missed homeroom."
Back In the classroom
By the time Izuku made it back to the classroom, it was second period—English with Present Mic. The enthusiastic hero paused mid-lesson when Izuku entered.
"MIDORIYA! WELCOME BACK!" His voice was somehow even louder than usual. "TAKE YOUR SEAT! WE'RE COVERING PAST TENSE VERB CONJUGATIONS!"
The class erupted in whispers as Izuku made his way to his desk. Uraraka gave him a thumbs up. Iida nodded seriously. Even Bakugou glanced over, though his expression was unreadable.
They're curious, the voice observed. Wondering what the evaluation revealed. Whether you passed or failed.
As if reading his thoughts, Kaminari leaned over the moment Present Mic turned to write on the board.
"So? What happened? Are you cleared?"
"Later," Izuku whispered back.
"But—"
"KAMINARI! EYES FORWARD! UNLESS YOU WANT TO CONJUGATE VERBS IN FRONT OF THE CLASS!"
Kaminari snapped to attention. Izuku allowed himself a small smile.
Normal. This was normal.
The rest of the school day passed in a strange mix of familiar and different. Classes were the same—Present Mic's enthusiasm, Ectoplasm's mathematical precision, Midnight's... unique teaching style. But every teacher pulled him aside at some point, asking variations of the same questions: How was he feeling? Was he comfortable being back? Did he need any accommodations?
By lunch, Izuku was exhausted from reassuring people he was fine.
The cafeteria was packed as usual. Izuku grabbed his lunch—basic rice and vegetables, nothing fancy—and looked for a place to sit. Usually he sat alone or with whoever happened to be nearby.
"Midoriya! Over here!" Uraraka was waving from a table where she sat with Iida and Tsuyu.
Your friends, the voice said. Remember Saturday. They actually want you around.
Izuku joined them, settling into a chair across from Tsuyu.
"How was the evaluation?" Iida asked immediately, his hand-chopping barely contained.
"Fine. I'm cleared for everything, including hero training." Izuku opened his lunch. "They just want me to do weekly check-ins with Recovery Girl."
"That's reasonable," Tsuyu said in her characteristic blunt way. "You were poisoned with an illegal drug. Weekly monitoring seems prudent, ribbit."
"What did they test?" Uraraka asked, leaning forward with curiosity.
"Basic quirk control, combat scenarios, response time. Aizawa-sensei wanted to see the changes firsthand."
"And?" Uraraka pressed. "What did change? You said you didn't know at the hospital."
Izuku hesitated. They were his friends. They'd visited him in the hospital, invited him out on Saturday. They deserved some honesty.
"My quirk responds faster now," he said carefully. "Things that used to take seconds happen almost instantly. The doctors said the drug enhanced my neural pathways—like it forced my quirk to optimize itself."
"That sounds dangerous," Iida said, concern evident. "Forced optimization could lead to instability!"
"That's what they were testing for. But I'm stable. Just... faster."
"Can you show us?" Uraraka asked, then quickly added, "I mean, if you're allowed to. I don't want you to get in trouble."
Izuku glanced around the cafeteria. Several students were watching their table, clearly listening.
Everyone's curious, the voice noted. Show them something small. Establish the new normal.
He held up his hand under the table, where only his friends could see. His hand transformed to sand, held it for a second, then reformed.
Three pairs of eyes widened.
"That was instant," Tsuyu observed.
"Yeah. That's the main change. Speed." Izuku lowered his hand. "Everything else is just refinement of what I could already do."
Smooth, the voice approved. Truth without revealing everything.
"That's going to be incredibly useful in the Sports Festival," Tsuyu said thoughtfully. "Instant transformation means you can dodge attacks by becoming intangible, ribbit."
"If you can control it precisely enough," Iida added, adjusting his glasses. "Partial transformation in combat requires split-second timing."
"I've been practicing," Izuku said, which was true. "Before the attack, I mean. I've been working on body transformation for weeks."
They continued eating, the conversation shifting to the Sports Festival, speculation about the format, discussing strategies. Normal things. Hero student things.
It felt good.
This is what you wanted, isn't it? the voice asked. To be normal. To have friends. To fit in.
"Yeah," Izuku murmured quietly, too low for anyone else to hear.
Then don't waste it. Train hard, fight harder, and show them all what you're capable of. That's how you keep this.
The afternoon passed quickly. History with Midnight, Math with Ectoplasm, and finally—the class everyone had been waiting for—Hero Basic Training with All Might.
The Symbol of Peace burst through the door with his characteristic energy. "I AM... COMING THROUGH THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"
The class laughed, tension breaking immediately.
"TODAY'S LESSON IS SIMPLE!" All Might announced. "BASIC COMBAT DRILLS! EVERYONE IN YOUR COSTUMES! MEET AT TRAINING GROUND BETA IN TEN MINUTES!"
The locker room was a flurry of activity. Izuku pulled on his costume—simple and practical, designed for mobility and sand manipulation. Dark colors, reinforced fabric, pouches for carrying sand.
"Hey, Midoriya," Kirishima called from across the room. "Good to have you back, man!"
"Thanks, Kirishima."
"And seriously, if those gang members show up, you let me know. We'll handle them the manly way."
He means well, the voice observed with amusement.
Training Ground Beta was a sprawling urban combat environment. All Might stood in the center, his massive form impossible to miss.
"ALRIGHT, YOUNG HEROES! TODAY WE'RE FOCUSING ON ADAPTABILITY!" He pulled out a box of numbered balls. "YOU'LL EACH DRAW A NUMBER AND FACE OFF IN PAIRS! SIMPLE SPARRING—FIRST TO THREE SOLID HITS WINS! I'LL BE OBSERVING AND PROVIDING FEEDBACK!"
Finally, the voice said eagerly. Real combat. Let's see what this new body can do.
Izuku drew his number: 7.
His opponent?
Number 14.
Katsuki Bakugou.
Oh, the voice purred. This is going to be interesting.