The other matches were called first. Kaminari vs Sero, Tokoyami vs Ashido, Kirishima vs Ojiro. All Might rotated between them, offering feedback, correcting stances, praising good technique.
Izuku watched the fights, analyzing unconsciously. Kaminari's electricity was powerful but indiscriminate. Tokoyami's Dark Shadow was strong but vulnerable to light. Kirishima's hardening was excellent for defense but limited his mobility.
Always studying, the voice observed. Always preparing. That's what makes us dangerous.
"NEXT MATCH!" All Might's voice boomed. "YOUNG BAKUGOU AND YOUNG MIDORIYA! TAKE YOUR POSITIONS!"
The training ground went quiet. Everyone stopped their conversations and turned to watch. The air felt heavy with anticipation.
They're curious, the voice noted. Wondering how the drug changed you. Whether you can actually fight now.
Izuku and Bakugou walked to opposite ends of the designated combat zone—a circular area about thirty meters in diameter, marked with white paint on the concrete.
Bakugou's expression was unreadable, which was somehow worse than his usual scowl. His red eyes fixed on Izuku with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
Neither of them spoke.
"ALRIGHT THEN!" All Might raised his hand. "STANDARD RULES! FIRST TO THREE SOLID HITS WINS! EXCESSIVE FORCE WILL BE PENALIZED! QUIRK USE IS PERMITTED BUT REMEMBER—THIS IS TRAINING, NOT A DEATH MATCH!"
A pause. Then—
"BEGIN!"
Bakugou moved first.
Explosions propelled him into the air, twin blasts from his palms sending him forward at incredible speed. He came at Izuku like a missile, palms already sparking for the next attack.
Fast, the voice assessed. But straightforward. Use it against him.
Izuku's hands moved without hesitation. Sand poured from his pouches, golden grains flowing like water. He shaped it mid-flight—a whip-like tendril that snapped forward like a striking serpent.
Bakugou's eyes widened. He tried to blast sideways, change his angle mid-air, but the tendril was faster. It wrapped around his right leg and yanked.
Hard.
Bakugou slammed into the ground with a force that made several students wince. Concrete cracked under the impact.
"ONE POINT FOR YOUNG MIDORIYA!" All Might called out. "BUT PLEASE REFRAIN FROM USING EXCESSIVE FORCE! THIS IS SPARRING, NOT VILLAIN COMBAT!"
That was excessive? the voice asked with amusement. We barely tried.
"Yes, sir!" Izuku called back, already recalling the sand tendril.
He looked back just in time to see Bakugou getting up. There was something different in his expression now—anger, yes, but also focus. Pure, concentrated aggression.
Bakugou charged again, but this time there was no aerial approach. He came in low and fast, explosions propelling him forward in short, rapid bursts. His movements were erratic, unpredictable—almost feral in their intensity.
He's adapting, the voice noted. Staying close to the ground so we can't use the same trick. Smart.
Izuku raised a sand wall between them. Bakugou blasted through it without slowing, scattering grains everywhere. His palm came up, aimed directly at Izuku's chest—
Izuku's torso transformed.
The explosion passed through sand harmlessly. Grains scattered but immediately reformed. Izuku was solid again in less than a second.
The training ground erupted in surprised murmurs.
"Did he just—"
"His body turned to sand!"
"That was instant!"
Bakugou didn't waste time being surprised. He was already moving, already adjusting. If transformation was Izuku's defense, he'd have to overwhelm it—attack faster than Izuku could react.
He's going to try to break our rhythm, the voice warned. Multiple attacks, different angles. Don't let him dictate the pace.
Bakugou came at him with a barrage of explosions. Left hand, right hand, both together, constant pressure. Each blast forced Izuku to move, to dodge, to transform parts of his body or raise sand barriers.
The arena became a storm of gold and orange—sand and explosions, defense and relentless offense.
"Too slow!" Bakugou snarled, getting closer with each exchange.
Izuku transformed his left arm, letting a blast pass through, then reformed it to grab Bakugou's wrist. His other hand came up—sand forming into a blunt fist that struck Bakugou's shoulder.
Not hard enough to injure, but solid enough to count.
"TWO POINTS TO YOUNG MIDORIYA!" All Might announced.
Bakugou ripped free, creating distance with a blast. His expression was dark, frustrated.
He's getting sloppy, the voice observed. Anger makes him predictable.
In an instant, Bakugou launched forward with a massive explosion, transitioning into a wild flip mid-air. At the apex, he brought both palms together and unleashed a combined blast—twice the size of his normal attacks.
Move! the voice shouted.
Izuku tried to raise a sand wall, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. The explosion hit the partially-formed barrier and tore through it. The concussive force caught Izuku square in the chest, throwing him backward.
He hit the ground hard, rolling across concrete.
"ONE POINT TO YOUNG BAKUGOU!" All Might called out.
2-1.
Get up, the voice commanded. Now.
Izuku rolled to his feet, something hot and sharp building in the back of his mind. Frustration. Annoyance that he'd been caught off-guard. The voice pushing, urging, demanding more.
Stop playing defensive. End this.
Both of Izuku's hands slammed onto the ground.
Sand erupted from the concrete in a line—sharp spikes launching forward like a wave of spears, each one aimed at Bakugou's position. Five, ten, fifteen spikes in rapid succession, forming a forest of compressed sand.
Good! More! Don't give him space to think!
Bakugou's eyes widened. He blasted upward, trying to vault over the spikes with his explosions, using the air to escape—
A sand tendril shot out from one of the spikes.
It wrapped around Bakugou's ankle mid-flight and yanked him higher into the air. Then another tendril formed, and another, creating a web of sand that held him suspended fifteen feet above the ground.
Now finish it, the voice urged. Show them what we can do.
The sand spikes dissolved into thousands of small pellets—compressed, hardened, fast. They launched upward in a barrage, pelting Bakugou from every angle. He tried to block with explosions, tried to burn through the tendrils, but there were too many.
Several pellets struck his arms, his chest, his legs. Then three hit his chin in rapid succession.
Bakugou's eyes rolled back. His body went limp.
Perfect.
The tendrils released immediately. Bakugou began to fall.
Izuku's sand responded before he consciously commanded it—forming a cloud beneath Bakugou, catching him softly, lowering him gently to the ground. The unconscious student was deposited at All Might's feet with care that contrasted sharply with the violence of the attack.
The training ground was silent.
Izuku stood in the center of the arena, sand still swirling around him, and looked directly at All Might.
"I think it's time I start taking things serious," he said, his voice calm and almost sheepish. "Before people start thinking I'm weak or something."
That's right, the voice approved. Let them see. Let them all see.
"T-THREE POINTS FOR YOUNG MIDORIYA!" All Might stammered, clearly caught off-guard by the sudden shift in intensity. He quickly regained his composure, his expression becoming more serious. "THAT IS THE END OF THE MATCH!"
Recovery Girl was already rushing over to check on Bakugou. The explosive student was breathing normally, just unconscious—a clean knockout with no serious injuries.
All Might looked at Izuku, and there was something new in his gaze. Concern, perhaps. Or reassessment.
"Young Midoriya," he said, his voice quieter now. "That was... quite the escalation. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," Izuku said, dismissing the sand back into his pouches. The hot, sharp feeling in his mind was fading, leaving behind a strange emptiness. "Just finished the match efficiently."
Efficiently, the voice echoed with satisfaction. That's what it was. Efficient.
All Might's eyes studied him carefully. "Though perhaps we should discuss appropriate force levels after class. This was meant to be a sparring match, not a takedown."
"He was coming at me with full power," Izuku pointed out, his tone flat. "I responded accordingly."
Several students were whispering now, their voices carrying across the training ground:
"Did you see that? He completely dominated Bakugou at the end—"
"Those sand spikes came out of nowhere—"
"He knocked him out cold—"
"I thought he was just good at defense, but that was—"
Uraraka was staring at him with wide eyes, her expression uncertain. Iida looked concerned, his hand-chopping forgotten. Even Kirishima, who'd been cheerful all day, seemed subdued.
They're afraid, the voice noted with something like pleasure. Good. Fear means respect.
"Is that really a good thing?" Izuku thought back.
In the slums, what did fear get you? Safety. Space. People not messing with you because they knew you could hurt them. The voice paused. These people are no different. Show weakness, they'll exploit it. Show strength, they'll think twice.
Bakugou groaned, starting to come around. Recovery Girl was checking his pupils, making sure there was no concussion despite the sand pellets' controlled force.
"He'll be fine," she announced. "Just knocked out. No lasting damage." She looked at Izuku with an expression that was hard to read. "Controlled violence is still violence, young man. Remember that."
"Yes, ma'am," Izuku said, though he wasn't sure he agreed.
She doesn't understand, the voice said. None of them do. They've never had to fight for real. Never had to prove they weren't prey.
Bakugou's eyes finally opened, hazy and confused. "What... the hell..."
"You lost," Izuku said simply. "Three to one."
Bakugou's expression cycled through confusion, recognition, and then fury. "You knocked me out? You actually knocked me out?!"
"You wanted me to fight seriously." Izuku's voice was flat, emotionless. "I did."
"That wasn't serious, that was—" Bakugou tried to sit up, but Recovery Girl pushed him back down.
"Stay still! I need to make sure you don't have a concussion!"
"I don't have a damn concussion, I just got—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "Whatever. Match is over."
All Might cleared his throat, drawing attention back to himself. "WELL THEN! THAT WAS... CERTAINLY A MATCH! YOUNG MIDORIYA DEMONSTRATED EXCELLENT QUIRK CONTROL AND TACTICAL ADAPTATION!" His tone was forcibly enthusiastic, trying to move past the tension. "HOWEVER! WE WILL BE HAVING A DISCUSSION ABOUT PROPORTIONAL RESPONSE IN TRAINING SCENARIOS!"
"Yes, sir," Izuku said again.
"NOW! NEXT MATCH! YOUNG TODOROKI AND YOUNG ASHIDO! TAKE YOUR POSITIONS!"
The class slowly returned to normal activity, though Izuku could feel eyes on him. Assessing. Wary. Some impressed, some disturbed.
He walked to the sidelines and stood alone. No one approached him immediately—not even Uraraka or Iida, who usually would have.
See? the voice said quietly. This is what power does. It creates distance. But distance is safety. Distance is survival.
"Is it though?" Izuku thought back, watching Todoroki and Mina take their positions. "Or is it just... being alone?"
In the slums, you were alone unless you counted your family. That didn't change just because you came to UA. These people aren't your family. They're competition.
Izuku wanted to argue. Wanted to say that Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu—they were his friends. That Saturday at the arcade had been real.
But the voice had a point. When it came down to it, when the Sports Festival arrived, they'd all be competing. Trying to beat each other. Prove they were stronger.
Maybe distance was safer after all.
"Midoriya-kun?"
He turned. Uraraka stood a few feet away, her expression concerned but not scared.
"Are you okay?" she asked quietly. "That match got... intense."
"I'm fine," Izuku said. "Just finished it efficiently."
"Yeah, but..." She hesitated. "You seemed different at the end. Colder, I guess? Not like how you were at the arcade."
"Bakugou wanted me to fight seriously," Izuku said, keeping his tone neutral. "So I did. That's all."
Uraraka studied his face for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Just... you know you can talk to us, right? If something's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Izuku said. "I'm just focused on the Sports Festival. Need to be ready."
"Right. The Sports Festival." She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, good match anyway. You were really impressive."
She walked back to join Iida and Tsuyu, leaving Izuku alone again.
You should have told her you were fine and asked about her day, the voice said, surprising him. Maintained the friendship facade. Being too cold will make them suspicious.
"I thought you said distance was safety?"
Distance, yes. But complete isolation draws attention. Be friendly enough to blend in. Cold enough to keep them from getting too close to the truth. A pause. To me.
Izuku watched the next match begin, Todoroki's ice spreading across the arena with overwhelming force while Mina tried to melt through it with her acid.
Twenty-three days until the Sports Festival.
Five days until training restrictions lifted.
And a voice in his head teaching him to be calculating about friendship.
This is survival, the voice said softly. Nothing more, nothing less. In the slums, you learned to protect yourself. At UA, you're learning to protect your secrets.
Same skill. Different application.
Izuku didn't respond. He just watched the matches and tried not to think about the look in Uraraka's eyes—concern mixed with uncertainty.
Tried not to think about how the voice was making more sense every day.
Tried not to wonder if that was a good thing or the beginning of something much worse.
The Morning After
Izuku woke at 4:30 AM out of habit, staring at the ceiling while Shinji snored beside him. His body was sore from yesterday's training, but that wasn't what kept him awake.
It was the silence.
The voice—usually present the moment he woke, commenting on something, analyzing, always there—was quiet. Not gone, just... dormant. Like it was sleeping or conserving energy.
Good morning, it finally said, and Izuku almost felt relieved. Ready for another day of pretending everything's normal?
"Is that what we're doing?" Izuku whispered.
What else would you call it? You knocked out Bakugou in front of the entire class, and now you're going to smile and act like you didn't enjoy it.
"I didn't enjoy it."
Didn't you? The voice was curious, not accusatory. That feeling when the sand spikes erupted. When you caught him mid-air. When you saw him go limp and knew you'd won completely. Tell me you didn't feel satisfaction.
Izuku didn't answer because he couldn't lie to himself. There had been satisfaction. A cold, sharp pleasure in proving he was stronger, in showing everyone he wasn't weak, wasn't a liability.
Exactly. And there's nothing wrong with that. Victory should feel good.
"But the way everyone looked at me afterward..."
Fear and respect are often the same thing. You'll see.
Izuku got ready for school mechanically. Shower, uniform, breakfast that Himari had prepared. His mother noticed his quietness but didn't comment—she'd learned over the years when to push and when to let him work through things alone.
The train ride to UA was longer than usual, or maybe it just felt that way. Izuku kept replaying the match in his head. The moment he'd decided to stop holding back. The look on All Might's face. Uraraka's concern.
Stop overthinking, the voice said. You did what needed to be done. Bakugou pushed, you pushed back harder. That's how these things work.
"In the slums, maybe. But this is UA."
Different location, same principles. Strength matters. Everything else is just noise.
Izuku arrived at Class 1-A's door and paused. Through the window, he could see students already inside, talking in clusters. Normal morning chatter.
Except several of them kept glancing toward his empty desk.
They're talking about you, the voice observed. Wondering if yesterday was a fluke or if you're actually that strong. Good. Let them wonder.
Izuku opened the door.
The classroom didn't exactly go silent, but there was a noticeable dip in volume. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Eyes tracked him as he walked to his desk.
Kaminari leaned over to whisper something to Sero. Jiro looked up from her phone, studied him for a moment, then looked away. Even Tokoyami, usually unreadable, seemed to regard him with new interest.
See? Respect, the voice said. Or fear. Either works.
Izuku sat down and pulled out his notebooks, trying to ignore the attention. He had homework to review before class started, hero analysis notes to organize—
"Midoriya-kun?"
Iida stood beside his desk, his expression serious but not unfriendly. "May I have a word?"
"Sure," Izuku said, though he had a feeling he knew what this was about.
Iida adjusted his glasses, a nervous gesture despite his formal posture. "I wanted to check on you after yesterday's match. It was... quite intense."
"I'm fine," Izuku said. "Bakugou's the one who got knocked out."
"Yes, about that." Iida's hand started its characteristic chopping motion. "While I understand the match was competitive, the level of force you used seemed excessive for a training exercise! Bakugou could have been seriously injured!"
Here we go, the voice muttered. The moral lecture.
"But he wasn't," Izuku pointed out calmly. "I controlled the sand pellets precisely. Enough force to knock him out, not enough to cause real damage. Recovery Girl confirmed he was fine."
"That's not the point!" Iida's chopping intensified. "The spirit of training is to improve together, not to dominate one's opponent! What if you had miscalculated? What if—"
"I didn't miscalculate," Izuku interrupted, his tone flat. "I knew exactly what I was doing. Every second of it."
Iida stopped, seeming taken aback by Izuku's cold certainty. "I... I see. Well, I felt it was my duty to express concern—"
"Concern noted," Izuku said, turning back to his notebook. "Is there anything else?"
Brutal, the voice commented with approval. But effective. He won't push further.
Iida stood there for a moment longer, clearly wanting to say more but unsure how to proceed. Finally, he just nodded stiffly and returned to his seat.
One down, the voice said. Wonder who's next.
The answer came in the form of Uraraka, approaching his desk with Tsuyu beside her. Both of them wore expressions of careful concern—the kind you used when you weren't sure if someone was okay or dangerous.
"Hey, Midoriya-kun," Uraraka said, her usual cheerfulness subdued. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Fine," Izuku said. "Why?"
"No reason, ribbit," Tsuyu said, though her large eyes studied him carefully. "Yesterday's match was just... surprising. You don't usually fight that aggressively."
They're trying to figure out if something's wrong with you, the voice observed. Be careful. Too cold and they'll report concerns to the teachers. Too friendly and they'll think you're faking.
"Bakugou wanted me to prove I could handle combat," Izuku said, striking what he hoped was a middle ground. "So I did. That's all."
"Yeah, but..." Uraraka hesitated. "You just seemed really different. Not like yourself."
"Maybe this is myself," Izuku said quietly. "Maybe everyone just assumed I was something else."
The two girls exchanged glances—a whole conversation in a look.
"We're still friends, right?" Uraraka asked, and there was genuine uncertainty in her voice. "Like, Saturday was fun. I thought we were becoming close."
Careful, the voice warned. This is important. Push her away and you lose social cover. But let her get too close and she'll notice more changes.
"Of course we're friends," Izuku said, forcing his voice to soften slightly. "Saturday was great. I just... I need to be more serious about training. The Sports Festival is coming up, and I can't afford to hold back."
"There's a difference between not holding back and being scary, ribbit," Tsuyu said bluntly. "Yesterday was scary."
Good, the voice said. Fear is respect.
"I don't want to be scary," Izuku said, and he meant it. "I just want to prove I'm not weak. That the drug didn't make me a liability."
That seemed to land. Both girls' expressions softened with understanding.
"You don't have to prove anything to us," Uraraka said. "We already know you're strong."
"But I have to prove it to everyone else," Izuku countered. "To Aizawa-sensei, to All Might, to the other students. They're all watching, waiting to see if I'll lose control or cause problems." He looked at them directly. "Yesterday I proved I'm in control. Perfectly in control."
That's it, the voice approved. Frame it as demonstrating control, not aggression. They'll accept that.
"I guess that makes sense," Uraraka said slowly. "Just... maybe warn us next time before you knock someone unconscious? It was kind of shocking."
"I'll try," Izuku said, though he wasn't sure that was a promise he could keep.
The classroom door slammed open, and Bakugou stalked in. His expression was thunderous, a bandage on his chin where the sand pellets had hit hardest. His eyes immediately locked onto Izuku.
The entire class went silent.
Bakugou walked straight to Izuku's desk, his hands shoved in his pockets, jaw clenched tight.
Here it comes, the voice said with anticipation. This should be interesting.
"You," Bakugou said, his voice low and dangerous. "That bullshit yesterday. Don't think it means anything."
"It means I won," Izuku said calmly. "Three to one."
Bakugou's eye twitched. "You got lucky. Caught me off guard. Next time—"
"There won't be a next time until the Sports Festival," Izuku interrupted. "And by then, I'll be even stronger."
Oh, nice, the voice purred. That was cold.
Bakugou leaned down, his face inches from Izuku's. "Listen, you slum rat piece of—"
"How do you even know that?" Izuku asked, his tone genuinely curious and cold at the same time.
Bakugou faltered for a second, clearly not expecting the question. "It was in the news reports, dumbass. 'UA student attacked in slums district.' Everyone knows."
"Ah." Izuku's expression didn't change. "Either way, doesn't matter. I still whooped your ass in front of everyone."
Oh, that's going to make him explode, the voice said with dark amusement.
The classroom went dead silent. Even the whispered conversations stopped. Everyone was staring now, waiting to see what would happen.
Bakugou's hands sparked dangerously, tiny explosions crackling at his palms. His face flushed red with rage. "You fucking—"
"Bakugou!" Iida was on his feet instantly. "Threatening behavior toward classmates is strictly prohibited!"
"I'm not threatening him," Bakugou said without looking away from Izuku. "I'm making a promise. Sports Festival. You and me. And this time, I'll make sure you don't get back up."
"Looking forward to it," Izuku said, his tone utterly flat.
Bakugou stared at him for a long moment, something like confusion flickering behind the rage. Like he'd expected a different reaction—fear, maybe, or an apology.
Finally, he straightened up and stalked to his seat, radiating fury.
He's rattled, the voice observed with satisfaction. You knocked him out and you're not even acting like it matters. That's eating at him.
"Good," Izuku thought back.
See? You're learning. Fear and respect. Same thing.
The door opened again—this time Aizawa, looking even more exhausted than usual. His eyes swept the classroom, lingering on Bakugou, then on Izuku.
"Everyone sit," he said flatly. "We need to talk about yesterday's training."
Oh no, the voice muttered. Here comes the lecture.
Aizawa's gaze fixed directly on Izuku. "Midoriya. Principal's office. Now. Again."
The classroom erupted in whispers. Izuku stood slowly, feeling every eye on him.
Stay calm, the voice instructed. They're testing you. Don't give them a reason to pull you from training.
"Yes, sir," Izuku said, grabbing his bag.
As he walked past Bakugou's desk, the explosive student muttered just loud enough for him to hear: "Told you. Unstable quirk user. They're gonna bench you."
Izuku didn't respond. He just followed Aizawa out of the classroom, the door closing on the sound of excited speculation.
This is fine, the voice said, though it sounded less certain now. All Might probably just wants to talk about proportional force. Nothing serious.
"And if it is serious?"
Then we convince them we're stable. That yesterday was calculated, controlled aggression. Not instability. A pause. Which it was, right?
Izuku didn't answer.
Because he honestly wasn't sure anymore.
The walk to the principal's office felt longer than it should have. Aizawa didn't speak, just led the way with his usual slouched posture, but there was tension in his shoulders.
When they arrived, the door was already open. Inside sat Principal Nedzu, Recovery Girl, and All Might in his deflated form—Toshinori Yagi, looking tired and concerned.
All three of them, the voice noted, and now there was definite worry in its tone. This isn't about proportional force. This is an intervention.
Izuku stepped inside, and the door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded far too much like finality.
"Sit, Midoriya-kun," Nedzu said, gesturing to a chair. His usual cheerful demeanor was subdued. "We need to discuss what happened yesterday."
Izuku sat, keeping his expression neutral even as his heart rate picked up.
Stay calm, the voice repeated. Don't let them see uncertainty. Confident, controlled, stable.
"I understand yesterday's match was more intense than expected," Izuku started, but Nedzu held up a paw.
"That's one way to phrase it, yes." The principal's eyes were sharp, calculating. "Tell me, Midoriya-kun—when you knocked Young Bakugou unconscious, were you in complete control of your actions?"
The question hung in the air, loaded with implications.
Careful, the voice warned. Very careful. The wrong answer ends your UA career.
"Yes," Izuku said firmly. "Complete control. Every sand pellet was precisely calibrated. I knew exactly how much force would knock him out without causing injury."
"That's what concerns me," Recovery Girl said, speaking for the first time. "You knew exactly how much force. That level of precision in violence suggests you've done it before."
Shit, the voice cursed. She's smart. Too smart.
"I've trained extensively," Izuku said, which wasn't a lie. "I know my quirk's capabilities."
"In the slums," Aizawa added, his voice flat. "Where knowing exactly how to incapacitate someone is a survival skill."
The room went very quiet.
They're connecting dots, the voice said urgently. Slums upbringing, attack by drug dealers, sudden aggressive behavior. They think you're traumatized and dangerous.
"I'm not dangerous," Izuku said, keeping his voice steady. "I'm careful. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Toshinori asked gently. "Young Midoriya, we're not accusing you of anything. We're concerned. Yesterday you went from defensive fighting to a level of controlled aggression that shocked everyone watching. Including us."
"Bakugou demanded I fight seriously," Izuku said. "I did."
"You knocked a classmate unconscious in a sparring match," Nedzu said. "That goes beyond 'fighting seriously.' That's the response of someone who sees training partners as threats."
Don't let them frame it that way, the voice urged. Reframe it. Make it about proving you're not a liability.
"I needed to prove I'm stable," Izuku said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "Everyone's been watching me since the attack, waiting to see if I'll lose control. If I'll be dangerous. Yesterday I showed I'm perfectly in control—I can unleash significant force and still pull back exactly when needed."
"By rendering someone unconscious?" Recovery Girl's tone was skeptical.
"By stopping before causing real injury," Izuku countered. "If I wanted to hurt him, I could have made those sand pellets sharp. Could have broken bones with the spikes. Could have slammed him into the ground instead of catching him. I didn't. Because I was in control the entire time."
He paused, then asked the question that had been building in his mind. "Would you be having this same conversation with Bakugou if I had been the one knocked out?"
The room went completely silent.
Oh, the voice said with surprise. Oh, that was good. Look at their faces.
Nedzu's expression didn't change, but his tail twitched—a tell Izuku had noticed before when the principal was caught off-guard. Recovery Girl looked away first. Toshinori's face showed something like guilt. Even Aizawa's perpetual scowl deepened slightly.
"That's what I thought," Izuku said quietly. "If Bakugou had knocked me out, you would have given him a small talking-to at the end of class. Maybe reminded him to watch his explosive power in training. But because I'm the one who won, because I'm the one who got attacked by drug dealers and had my quirk altered, I'm sitting here in the principal's office with all four of you looking at me like I'm a problem that needs to be solved."
"Midoriya-kun—" Toshinori started.
"I'm not wrong though, am I?" Izuku's voice was calm but there was an edge to it. "You're not concerned about excessive force. You're concerned that the kid from the slums who got drugged is showing he can actually fight. That he might be dangerous. That he might not be as controllable as you'd like."
Careful, the voice warned. Don't push too far. They have the power here.
"That's not fair, young man," Recovery Girl said, but her voice lacked conviction.
"Isn't it?" Izuku looked at each of them again. "Bakugou has been using excessive force since day one. He tried to attack me with his full power during the first quirk assessment test. He's blown up classmates in training before. Where were the mandatory counseling sessions then? The daily quirk stability checks?"
The four adults exchanged glances—another wordless conversation.
We're losing them, the voice said, panic creeping in. They don't believe us.
"Midoriya-kun," Nedzu said finally. "I'm going to ask you a direct question, and I need a direct answer. Since the drug attack, have you experienced any changes in personality? Increased aggression, difficulty controlling emotions, intrusive thoughts that don't feel like your own?"
Time seemed to stop.
Don't, the voice said urgently. Don't tell them about me. They'll pull you out. Put you under psychiatric evaluation. End everything.
"No," Izuku said, and the lie tasted like ash. "No changes like that. I'm just more focused on proving myself. On making sure people know I'm not weak."
Nedzu studied him for a long moment, those intelligent eyes seeing far too much.
"I see," he said finally. "Then here's what's going to happen. You're cleared to continue training and attend classes. However—" he raised a paw before Izuku could feel relieved, "—you will have mandatory counseling sessions twice a week. You will meet with Recovery Girl daily for quirk stability checks. And if there is even one more incident of excessive force in training, you will be suspended from all combat exercises pending full psychiatric evaluation. Am I clear?"
"Crystal clear, sir," Izuku said.
Counseling sessions, the voice said with dread. They're going to dig. Ask questions. Try to find out what's different.
"You're dismissed," Nedzu said. "But Midoriya-kun? We're here to help you. Whatever you're dealing with—trauma from the attack, pressure to perform, anything at all—you can talk to us. That's what we're here for."
"Thank you, sir," Izuku said, standing. "But I'm fine. Really."
He left the office, Aizawa escorting him back toward the classroom. They walked in silence until they were almost there.
"Kid," Aizawa said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what's going on in your head. But I've seen enough students burn out to recognize the signs. You're pushing too hard, and not in a healthy way."
"I'm fine," Izuku repeated.
"That's what they all say." Aizawa's eyes were tired but serious. "Right up until they're not fine anymore. And then it's too late."
"I appreciate that, sensei," Izuku said carefully. "I really do. But I promise you—I'm not burning out. I'm just finally showing what I'm actually capable of."
"That's what worries me," Aizawa said quietly. "The fact that you think overwhelming violence is what you're 'capable of' when I've seen you use your quirk with surgical precision for months. You're capable of so much more than hitting hard, Midoriya. Don't forget that."
He opened the classroom door and gestured for Izuku to enter.
The class was in the middle of a lesson—Present Mic at the board, dramatically explaining English grammar with his usual enthusiasm. Conversations stopped as Izuku entered, eyes tracking him to his seat.
They're all wondering what happened, the voice noted. Whether you got in trouble. Whether you're still allowed to train.
Izuku sat down and pulled out his notebook, trying to focus on the lesson. But he could feel the weight of attention, the curious and wary glances from his classmates.
A small piece of paper landed on his desk—a note, folded carefully. He glanced up. Uraraka was looking at him with concern, having clearly tossed it.
He unfolded it under his desk:
Are you okay? What did they say?
Izuku wrote back quickly: I'm fine. Just talking about the match. Nothing serious.
He tossed it back. Uraraka read it, looked at him with clear skepticism, but nodded and turned back to the lesson.
She doesn't believe you, the voice observed. But she's not going to push. Not here, at least.
The rest of the morning passed slowly. English with Present Mic, then Math with Ectoplasm. Normal classes, normal routine. Except nothing felt normal anymore.
Every teacher who looked at him seemed to be assessing, evaluating, watching for signs of instability. Every classmate who glanced his way seemed wary, uncertain how to treat him now.
He'd wanted respect. He'd gotten it.
But it came wrapped in fear and isolation.
This is fine, the voice insisted. Better to be feared and respected than pitied and weak. You'll see—when the Sports Festival comes, this distance will work in our favor. No one will want to fight us. They'll be too scared.
"And what about after?" Izuku thought back. "After the festival, after graduation? Do I just spend my whole hero career alone because everyone's too scared to get close?"
If that's what it takes to survive, yes, the voice said simply. Alone is safe. Close is vulnerable.
Lunch came, and Izuku grabbed his food—basic rice and vegetables—and looked for a place to sit. Uraraka was waving from her usual table with Iida and Tsuyu, gesturing for him to join them.
Social cover, the voice reminded him. Maintain the friendships enough to seem normal.
Izuku walked over and sat down, forcing a small smile. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," Uraraka said, her tone trying for cheerful but not quite making it. "So... counseling, huh?"
Word travels fast, the voice noted.
"How did you—"
"Iida overheard Aizawa-sensei talking to Midnight-sensei in the hallway," Tsuyu explained in her straightforward way. "Twice-weekly counseling sessions and daily quirk checks, ribbit."
"Standard protocol for quirk-altering incidents," Izuku said, which was technically true. "Nothing to worry about."
"We're not worried about you," Iida said, his hand-chopping subdued. "We're worried for you. Yesterday's match, this morning's meeting with the teachers, the counseling requirement—it's a lot to deal with."
"I'm handling it," Izuku said.
"That's what concerns us," Tsuyu said bluntly. "You keep saying you're handling it, but you also knocked out Bakugou with calculated violence and then acted like it didn't matter, ribbit. That doesn't seem like healthy coping."
She's too perceptive, the voice warned. Deflect.
"Maybe I'm both," Izuku said. "The person who has fun at arcades and the person who can fight when needed. People aren't one-dimensional."
"There's a difference between fighting when needed and fighting like you were trying to make a point," Uraraka said quietly. "Which one was yesterday?"
Izuku looked at her—at the genuine concern in her round face, the worry in her eyes. She was trying to help. They all were.
But they couldn't help with the voice in his head. Couldn't help with the thing he was hiding from everyone.
Tell them you were making a point, the voice suggested. That you needed to prove you weren't weak. They'll accept that. They understand proving yourself.
"Both," Izuku said finally. "I was fighting when needed and making a point. Bakugou said I was unstable, that I'd hold back the class. I proved him wrong. Maybe I proved it too aggressively, but I proved it."
The three of them exchanged glances—that silent communication again.
"Okay," Uraraka said slowly. "Just... promise us something? If you ever feel like things are getting too hard, too overwhelming, you'll tell someone? Not just say you're fine, but actually tell someone?"
Lie, the voice said immediately. Promise them. It doesn't mean anything.
"I promise," Izuku said, and tried not to feel guilty about the lie.
They ate in mostly comfortable silence after that, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—upcoming homework assignments, speculation about when hero training would resume for Izuku, Tsuyu's complaint about her family visiting next weekend.
Normal things.
Except nothing felt normal anymore.
Twenty-two days until the Sports Festival, the voice said as lunch ended and they headed back to class. Four days until you can train again. Twice weekly counseling starting tomorrow. Daily quirk checks with Recovery Girl.
This is going to be harder than we thought.
"We can handle it," Izuku thought back with more confidence than he felt.
We have to, the voice agreed. Because failing means losing everything. And we don't lose. Not anymore.