Chapter 1: The Other Midoriya
Most people believed the Midoriya family had only produced one miracle.
Izuku Midoriya—the Quirkless boy who inherited One For All, the green-haired symbol of impossible hope—was known across Japan. His story had been told, retold, and mythologized until it barely resembled the trembling child who once cried in front of a television screen.
What the world didn't talk about…
…was the other Midoriya.
Ryuji Midoriya was born a year after Hisashi Midoriya vanished from their lives, the product of a fractured marriage and a truth Inko never tried to hide. He had his mother's kindness, his father's sharp mind, and a quirk that should never have existed inside a human body.
When Ryuji was four years old, the hospital wing lost power for twelve seconds.
Twelve seconds was all it took.
The lights didn't flicker—they died. Machines stalled. Heart monitors froze mid-beat. A doctor dropped his clipboard as the air itself vibrated, pressure pressing down like the world was holding its breath.
And in the center of the room, a small boy screamed.
Not in fear.
In pain.
Ryuji's body glowed—not with fire, not with light, but with heat. Not burning heat. No flames. No radiation. Just raw, impossible energy, surging outward as if something inside him was trying to tear its way into the world.
When it stopped, he collapsed.
Alive. Barely.
The diagnosis came days later.
Quirk Name:Plus UltraClassification: UnknownThreat Level: Catastrophic (Self-Destructive)
The doctors explained it in terms simple enough for a child to understand but heavy enough to crush dreams.
Ryuji's quirk generated energy on a scale comparable to nuclear fusion—without radiation, without fallout—but with output that grew the longer it was active. The problem wasn't control.
The problem was capacity.
A human body was not meant to be a star.
Izuku was there the first time Ryuji woke up screaming because his bones felt like they were cracking from the inside. He was there when Inko cried quietly into her hands, apologizing over and over for something no one could have prevented.
And Ryuji?
Ryuji smiled.
"It's okay, Mom," he said, voice hoarse but gentle. "I'll figure it out."
He always said that.
As children, Izuku idolized heroes.
Ryuji studied schematics.
While Izuku filled notebooks with analysis of pro heroes, Ryuji filled his with equations, circuit diagrams, and impossible questions like What if quirk factors could be externally stabilized? and Is energy expression limited by DNA or neural pathways?
They trained together anyway.
Izuku ran until he collapsed.
Ryuji trained until his body started to glow—and then stopped, shaking, blood leaking from his nose as alarms in his support braces screamed warnings only he understood.
By the time they applied to U.A., the difference between them had become painfully clear.
Izuku was chosen for the Hero Course.
Ryuji was denied.
Not because he wasn't talented.
Because if he used his quirk freely—even once in real combat—it would kill him.
The letter from U.A. was kind. Respectful. Final.
Your quirk presents an unacceptable mortality risk under Hero Course conditions.
Ryuji folded the letter neatly and placed it on his desk.
Then he opened a new notebook.
Support Course.
If he couldn't be a hero on the frontlines…
…he would make sure heroes survived them.
U.A.'s Support Department had never seen anything like him.
He built machines that adapted mid-use. Power regulators that predicted quirk surges before they happened. He redesigned cooling systems for Endeavor's equipment without being asked—and then quietly fixed the flaws no one noticed.
Mei Hatsume called him "boring" the first time they met.
The second time, she dragged him into a workshop and refused to let him leave.
They worked together until sunrise.
Ryuji laughed more in the Support Course than he ever had before—but the glow never stopped haunting him. Every time his quirk activated, even slightly, it burned away pieces of him that medicine couldn't repair.
He knew it.
Everyone knew it.
And still… when the war began to loom, when All For One's shadow stretched across the future, Ryuji didn't hesitate.
He began work on his final project.
A machine that could withstand god-level output.
A system designed to accept power no human should ever hold.
A last answer to a question he'd been asking his entire life:
If I can't survive my quirk…
…can the world?
Izuku didn't know any of this yet.
He only knew that his little brother smiled more tiredly these days, that he worked later into the night, and that sometimes—when Ryuji thought no one was looking—his hands trembled as if they were already fading.
And somewhere deep inside Ryuji Midoriya, the energy continued to build.
Waiting.