Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Izuku Midoriya met Katsuki Bakugo when he was three years old.

It wasn’t something either of them chose. Their mothers were friends — friends in the way adults become when they have children the same age and live close enough to make regular visits seem polite. Inko Midoriya and Mitsuki Bakugo had known each other since high school, and when they both had sons, it only made sense to raise them side by side.

So Izuku met Katsuki in a living room filled with the scent of fresh tea and the sound of birds singing in the background.

He had a green dinosaur plush in his lap, and Katsuki had already claimed the building blocks. They didn’t speak much that day. They didn’t need to

Katsuki started stacking towers, and Izuku clapped for every one that didn’t fall.

From that moment on, they were inseparable.

Every week, their mothers brought them together. To the park, to playdates, to the little daycare at the community center where toddlers chased each other in circles until they collapsed in dizzy laughter. And every time, Izuku clung to Katsuki’s side.

The other boy was fearless, the kind of kid who climbed too high, ran too fast, and jumped into mud puddles without hesitation. And Izuku… he admired that. He admired everything about him.

When they were four, they decided they were going to become “heroes” together.

They had seen it on TV, those brightly colored cartoon defenders of justice, who stood tall and saved the day.

Izuku declared he would be the smart one, the one who analyses everything. Katsuki said he would blow everything up and smile while doing it.

They drew themselves as superheroes in crayon and taped the papers to the walls of their bedrooms.

They were the best of the best. At least, that’s what Izuku believed.

But something changed that year.

He couldn’t name the moment exactly, not at first. It didn’t come with a warning. It came quietly, like a fog rolling in on a warm morning, until everything looked familiar but felt wrong. Katsuki started pulling away. Just slightly. Just enough that Izuku had to run a little faster to keep up.

He brushed it off. Kids were weird sometimes. Maybe Katsuki was just tired. Maybe he had a bad day.

But the distance kept growing.

Katsuki started playing with other boys at the park, louder ones, boys who could climb the jungle gym faster, who didn’t trip over their own feet or stutter when they got excited. Boys who didn’t bring their moms up in conversation or ask too many questions. Boys who didn’t cling.

Izuku noticed it first when they went to the playground behind the supermarket. It used to be their favorite place. They would pretend the slide was a volcano, the swings were escape pods. But that day, Katsuki didn’t want to play with volcanoes.

He wanted to wrestle with the other boys.

Izuku tried to join in. He reached for Katsuki’s arm, and got shoved, hard, onto the gravel.

At first, Katsuki laughed like it was part of the game. But then he said that word.

“Deku, get up.”

Izuku froze. His knees were scraped and his hands were trembling, but that wasn’t what hurt. Katsuki's tone, careless, sharp, like Izuku was something sticky on his shoe. Like he was embarrassed to know him.

He wasn’t useless. He didn’t deserve to be called “Deku”.

He laughed it off. Stood up. Tried to keep playing. But it kept happening.

The games turned rougher. The shoves got harder. The jokes stopped feeling like jokes. Every time Izuku spoke up, Katsuki rolled his eyes or ignored him completely. And when he didn’t ignore him, he mocked him. His voice twisted into something cruel, a caricature of the boy Izuku used to know.

He told himself it was temporary. That Katsuki was just growing up faster than he was. That things would go back to normal.

But things didn’t change.

By the time they were five, Katsuki was the king of the playground. Everyone admired him. He had fire in his eyes and a smirk that made other kids flinch. And Izuku — the boy who used to sit beside him on the swings, drawing heroes in notebooks and dreaming of their future, was now the target of that fire.

“Why do you always talk so weirdly?”

“You’re so damn slow.”

“Quit crying. You’re such a loser.”

The insults came easily now. They weren’t shouted in rage, they were said with casual disgust, like Katsuki was commenting on the weather. Izuku never knew what would trigger it. Sometimes it was the way he talked. Sometimes it was the way he looked. Sometimes it was just the fact that he was there.

Izuku stopped asking to play. He started hanging back. Watching Katsuki from a distance, always hoping, stupidly, desperately, that he’d turn around and ask Izuku to come back.

He never did.

By age six, the playground was a battlefield. Katsuki ruled with fire in his fists and an army of eager followers. Izuku was the outsider. The loner. The kid who brought comic books to recess and sat under the slide with a notebook and bruised elbows.

He still looked for Katsuki’s smile. Still clung to memories like anchors. Still remembered the warmth of those early days, the feeling of safety in Katsuki’s shadow, the laughter that once echoed between them.

But it wasn’t real anymore.

What was real were the bruises on his ribs, the sting of sand thrown in his face, the whispers behind his back. What was real was Katsuki’s laughter, louder when it was aimed at him, crueler with every year that passed.

Izuku didn’t tell his mother. What would he say?

That his best friend hated him now?

That he couldn’t sleep some nights because he didn’t know what he’d done wrong?

That the boy who once promised they’d be heroes together now pushed him down stairwells and called him worthless?

No. He kept it to himself. Held it in like a sickness.

He started writing more. Drawing more. Losing himself in stories where the underdog rose up, where the kind kid found power, where the bully always got what he deserved. He watched people more closely. Listened in silence. Learned how to disappear into a room and reappear when no one noticed.

He became good at hiding.

But he never stopped watching Katsuki. Never stopped wishing things had been different.

Even if deep down, he knew they never would be.

By the time he reached middle school, Izuku Midoriya had become very good at pretending.

Pretending he was okay. Pretending he didn’t hear the whispers, didn’t see the looks, didn’t feel the bruises blooming on his skin like mold.

He smiled sometimes, when teachers called on him. He nodded along when his mother asked about school, always using vague, gentle words like “fine” and “normal.” He said he didn’t mind eating lunch alone, that he preferred reading anyway.

He told himself the same lies at night. Over and over, until he could almost believe them.

But lately, it has been getting harder.

Bakugo’s bullying had grown colder over the years. Not just louder, or more aggressive, colder. He didn’t lash out just to feel better anymore. No, he waited. He picked moments like a predator waiting for a limp in the herd. He knew exactly how to humiliate Izuku with the least amount of effort and the greatest audience.

The name calling never stopped. “Deku” — useless, loser, waste. But the shoves had turned into slams. The slams had turned into kicks. Sometimes Izuku would find himself sprawled on the tile floor of the hallway, blinking up at ceiling lights that flickered like dying stars. Sometimes he couldn’t stand up right away. Sometimes he couldn’t.

There had been days, not often, but enough to remember, where he’d needed crutches. Bruised ribs, a sprained ankle, a dislocated wrist. And the worst part wasn’t the pain. It was the looks. The way everyone knew what had happened and no one said a thing. Not the teachers. Not the other students. Not even the nurse, who sighed every time he limped in, as if she was tired of him.

He was tired of him, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like a person.

He had become something else. A shape in the background. A placeholder...

And the thing was, he didn’t even know who he was angry at anymore. Not really. Katsuki? Himself? Everyone else?

It was all blending together now.

He felt it most at night. That pressure under his skin, like something crawling. Like something trying to get out. At first, he thought it was grief. Or depression. Or just that old, soft sadness he had gotten used to carrying. But this was different.

He was furious.

It was a fire with no direction. Just smoke in his lungs and poison in his teeth.

He hated everything

.

The classrooms. The colors of the walls. The scratch of pencil lead. The sound of Bakugo’s voice when he laughed. The way everyone looked at Katsuki like he was a god. The way no one even seemed to notice when Izuku flinched away from him.

He hated his own voice. His silence. His spine, which bent too easily. His mouth, which couldn’t stop trying to talk to him, to him of all people. No matter how many times it was punished for it.

He hated that he still cared.

And today?

Today, Bakugo told him to die.

It wasn’t new. The phrase had come before, usually in jest, always cruel. But something about the way he said it this time was different.

He hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t shouted it. He just leaned close, too close, and muttered it with a lazy sneer, his voice low.

“You should just do a swan dive off the roof, Deku. Do the world a favor.”

It had been loud enough for others to hear. No one laughed this time. A few people looked uncomfortable. But no one stopped him. No one said, That’s too far.

And Izuku had gotten up. Walked out of class. No one stopped him, either.

Now, he stood on the rooftop.

The sky was open and wide, streaked with the fading pink of late afternoon. The city stretched out below him like a broken machine, wires and lights and moving parts that didn’t seem to connect.

The edge was right there.

A few steps forward. That’s all it would take.

He hadn’t come up here to jump. At least, he didn’t think he had. But now, looking down, he couldn’t be sure anymore. The thought was there. The suggestion. Not as a command, not even as a plan, just a possibility. One more option in a world that offered him so few.

The ground was far.

It wouldn’t hurt. Not really. Not for long.

And no one would be surprised.

He could almost see it. The silence after. The way no one would say his name at first, just exchange glances. The way his desk would stay empty, maybe for a week. Maybe less. The way Bakugo would sneer at the mention of him and say, “What, am I supposed to feel bad?”

The way everyone would move on.

The way nothing would change.

A gust of wind pushed at his back. His toes curled over the ledge.

Is this what he wanted? Is this what they all wanted? Was he really so easy to erase?

His breath caught in his throat.

And then, something else bubbled up, not despair. Not even pain.

He was so damn angry.

Who the hell is Bakugo to tell me to die?

He thought it again, louder this time, more certain.

Who the hell is he?

He was nothing but a bully. A coward in confidence’s skin. A child with fire in his fists and venom in his mouth. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t strong. He just knew how to make people small. That’s all he ever did.

And yet—

Izuku still looked at him like a star.

Still felt his heart lurch when Katsuki entered the same room. Still searched his face for something familiar. Still waited,like a fool, for a moment of softness that would never come.

It made him sick.

But it also made him step back.

Because this, this wasn’t the answer. This wasn’t justice. It wasn’t revenge. It wasn’t anything.

It was surrender.

And Izuku wasn’t ready to surrender. Not to him. Not to any of them.

He turned away from the ledgez Walked down the stairs, one at a time. He didn’t know what he was going to do next.

But he knew what he wasn’t going to do.

The city was loud as he walked home.

His bag hung heavy off one shoulder, the strap digging into his collarbone. His eyes stung from the wind, or maybe something else. His shoes tapped softly on the pavement as he mumbled to himself, a steady, frantic rhythm.

“Stupid. Idiot. Why’d I even go up there, why would I even—fuck.”

His voice cracked. The sound of it was brittle, like glass threatening to shatter.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

The streets around him were nearly empty. Just the distant hum of traffic, the buzz of a flickering streetlight, the occasional honk from blocks away. The sun had dipped below the buildings now, and shadows pooled in every alleyway, dark and wide.

He should have gone straight home.

But his thoughts were a mess, crashing over each other in loops. Bakugo’s voice, the wind on the rooftop, the pressure behind his eyes, the way the ledge felt under his feet.

He took a shortcut. One he’d taken dozens of times. And that’s when it happened.

A figure stepped out from between two dumpsters. Quick. Sudden.

Izuku barely registered it before he was shoved, hard. The ground slammed into his back. His skull cracked against concrete. His lungs emptied in one violent breath.

Hands. One on his throat, the other yanking at his bag.

The man smelled like alcohol and old sweat. His grip was crushing. Izuku clawed at him, panic turning to instinct.

He couldn’t breathe.

Not like this. Not here. Not after everything.

He thrashed. Kicked. Bit.

And then — he pushed.

Hard. Harder than he thought he could.

The man stumbled back. Off balance. One foot caught on the curb behind him. He fell.

A sickening crack echoed from below.

Then nothing.

Izuku lay there. Frozen. His throat burned. His hands shook. His chest heaved like it was trying to escape his ribs.

He rolled to his side. Crawled up to his knees. Stared.

He didn’t feel anything when he watched the man fall over the ledge.

Izuku didn’t move for minutes. And the strangest part wasn’t that he didn’t feel guilty. It was that he didn’t feel afraid. Not really. Not the way he should have.

What he felt, underneath the adrenaline, underneath the noise, was clarity. A silence he hadn’t known in years

And something else.

Something new

He stood.

And walked home.

The man died that day at the hands of Izuku Midoriya.

He didn’t remember most of the walk home.

He remembered the sound of his shoes scraping the pavement. He remembered the quiet tap of his breath against his throat, too shallow and too fast.

He remembered the way his legs ached, how each step felt like he was moving through water. But everything else, the streets, the cars, the faces of people he passed — blurred into noise.

His mind was too loud.

Everything else just faded.

The front door creaked open with its usual tired groan. The hallway light was off, but the warm orange glow of the kitchen spilled into the space like it always did. The house smelled like miso soup and laundry detergent. Safe smells. Familiar ones.

It almost made him sick.

“Izuku?” his mother’s voice called out. A bowl clinked gently on the kitchen counter. “You’re home late, baby—what happened? Are you—?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t even look at her.

He walked past the kitchen in silence, head down, his shadow trailing behind him like a phantom. His mother stood halfway into the hallway, her eyes wide with concern. He felt her gaze on his back, but didn’t meet it.

“Izuku?”

Still nothing.

He climbed the stairs.The carpet muffled his steps.

When he reached his room, he shut the door. Locked it.

Then nothing.

He didn’t eat. Didn’t shower. Didn’t take off his shoes.

He stood in the center of his room like he didn’t belong to it anymore.

The posters on the wall…heroes, cartoons, bright eyed champions with clean morals and smiles. They looked unfamiliar now. Like relics from a story he no longer believed in.

He stared at them for a long time. Then turned away.

His school uniform was wrinkled. The collar was stained slightly with sweat and dust, his socks loose around his ankles. His hands were still scraped from the alley. He didn’t bother to clean them.

He didn’t move for hours.

Eventually, his legs gave out.

He sat on the bed.

Not in it, on it. Back against the wall, arms limp at his sides, eyes locked on the ceiling as if it would give him answers.

It didn’t.

The room was too quiet. Too still. But inside his head, everything was moving too fast. That moment, the fall, the silence afterward. It replayed again and again. Not in fear. Not in shock. Just... over and over, like static caught in a loop.

He thought about the man’s face. Or what little he saw of it. The smell of him. The weight of his hands on Izuku’s throat. The absence of any real struggle from him. The way he fell.

He thought about how fast it all happened.

And how he wasn’t sorry.

The hours passed in silence.

The sky outside the window turned purple, then black, then that washed-out blue that meant dawn was starting to creep in. He didn’t close his eyes once. Didn’t even try.

By the time the world began to stir, birdsong, car engines, his mother moving downstairs. Izuku hadn’t moved from the bed .Only at five in the morning, when the light turned gray and the silence stretched too thin, did he finally stand.

His legs felt foreign. His body heavy.

He approached the desk in the corner of his room. Sat down in the creaky chair.

His computer had dust on the screen. He hadn't used it for a while, not really. School didn’t hold his attention anymore. Online games bored him. But this… this felt different.

He moved with quiet purpose, opening the browser like someone returning to a place they’d always belonged.

And the moment his fingers hit the keys, he came alive.

Most people didn’t know how deep the internet really went. They just scrolled mindlessly, headlines, ads, distractions. They didn’t know how to look. But Izuku did. He had years of practice. Years of solitude. Years of being left alone with nothing but a screen and curiosity that refused to die.

He knew how to find things.

How to slip between layers of the net without being noticed. How to reach hidden forums. Private listings. Police databases with cracks in their walls. Blogs written by obsessive loners and amateur investigators. Places where the surface of reality peeled back.

And it didn’t take long.

The report appeared within minutes.

A local article. Buried beneath weather updates and ad-stuffed news blurbs.

“Unidentified Man Found Dead in Alley Near Natsume Street.” “Police suspect suicide.” “No foul play reported.”

Izuku’s eyes didn’t blink. He read every word.

The man’s age: 40. The injuries: consistent with a fall from a mid-level height. No family reported missing him. No coworkers listed. No real history, at least, not public.

But then, in a linked document buried in a forum, he found the rest.

The man was a registered ex-con. A past offender. Prison record longer than most novels. Assault. Battery. Abuse. Multiple reports from victims, mostly young boys. Teenage boys. Fragile ones. Ones who were ignored by police and schools and families.

Ones like Izuku.

And suddenly, the tension in his chest, the nausea, the shaking, it vanished. Just like that. He wasn’t a murderer. He had stopped a monster. A predator. A stain.

He had donesomething. Something right for once.

And even if it was wrong from other perspectives, even if someone found out, he didn’t care.

He didn’tcare. The world was better without that man in it. And the world hadn’t punished Izuku for making it that way.

If anything… it had thanked him.

The police knew. They had to.

No one really believed a man just fell backward off a ledge in the middle of an attempted mugging.

But no one looked deeper. No headlines followed. No interviews. No public investigation. Just a one-paragraph obituary and a silent shrug from the authorities.

The message was clear.

No one cared about trash.

Izuku stared at the screen.

His hands had stopped trembling.

He closed the tab. Stared at his reflection in the dark monitor. Watched the hollow bags under his eyes shift with every breath.

Then he got back into bed.

Still fully clothed. Still dirty.

He didn’t sleep.

The next few days passed like fog.

He went to school. On time. Sat in his seat. Answered questions when the teacher called on him. But he wasn’t there.

His thoughts stayed in alleyways, behind dumpsters, under headlines.

His body moved automatically, but his mind had been rewired. A new thread pulled through it, tight and unrelenting.

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

And that terrified him.

Bakugo noticed. He always did. That was the thing about Katsuki. For all his arrogance and cruelty, he noticed everything.

The change was subtle, but it was there. The moment Izuku walked into class that Thursday, something in the air shifted.

Bakugo didn’t say anything at first. But he watched. Watched the way Izuku’s hands shook when he picked up a pencil. Watched the way his eyes didn’t blink, didn’t focus, just darted from object to object like they were looking for a threat, or a target. Watched the way he sat perfectly still, breathing shallowly, skin pale, curls tangled like he hadn’t touched a brush in days.

The usual bullying came. But softer. No pushes. No kicks. Just a snide comment in passing. An insult dropped like a stone in a pond. And Izuku didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

He just turned his head and looked at Bakugo, really looked, and for the first time in years, Katsuki backed down.

Not much. Just a flicker in his eyes. A moment of silence. A tensing in his jaw. Izuku saw it. And he liked it

He liked the way Bakugo looked at him now, not with superiority, but with suspicion. With caution. With unease. He liked the way Katsuki’s gaze followed him when he chewed his fingernails until they bled. The way he seemed to be waiting for something, as if Izuku had become unpredictable..

Insane, maybe.

Maybe he was.

But for the first time, it felt like that was a good thing.

Four days passed.

Izuku didn’t sleep. He dozed in short bursts. He didn’t dream. Instead, he watched the news. Scrolled forums. Refreshed message boards.

And then, on the fourth night, he saw it.

Case closed. Cause of death: suicide. No follow-up investigation scheduled.

He stared at the words for a long time.Not in shock. Not in guilt. But in understanding.

The police knew. They knew it wasn’t a suicide. They knew what had happened. And they let it go.

Because trash like that didn’t matter. Because someone like Izuku, quiet, overlooked, invisible, had done what no one else had the guts to do.

And the world didn’t stop spinning. The world kept moving.

This is it, he thought. This is what I’m meant to do.

Not die. Not beg for mercy. Not cry over people who spat in his face. He had a purpose now. A reason to get up. A reason to stay alive. A reason to exist. And it was simple.

Get rid of people who didn’t deserve to live.

He didn’t need applause. He didn’t need forgiveness. He needed clarity.

And for the first time in his life, Izuku Midoriya felt clear.

The change didn’t happen overnight.

It started quietly, like frost creeping across glass, so subtle that no one noticed

Inko Midoriya watched her son come home later and later. At first, it was nine. Then ten. Then midnight. Eventually, she stopped checking the time altogether because it only made the tightness in her chest worse. His shoes were always dirty. His uniform, once a clean black, turned more wrinkled by the day. He didn’t speak at dinner anymore. Sometimes he didn’t eat at all. She tried to ask what was wrong. She left him notes. Texted. Waited. But all she got were soft, half hearted smiles that didn’t reach his eyes and vague answers like, “I’m just studying more,” or “I joined a club.”

He hadn’t joined a club. But he had joined something, something only he understood. Something no one could see.

Because Izuku had decided.

If the world wasn’t going to save itself… He would.

He started training the night after the article was published.

He didn’t plan it, not at first. It began because he couldn’t sit still. His mind wouldn’t stop. The silence of his room made him feel like he was drowning. So he dropped to the floor. Started doing push ups. Then sit ups. Then squats.

He kept going until his arms trembled and his vision blurred.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

The next day, he started running after school. At first, just around the block. Then through the neighborhoods. Then down to the river and back. It became a rhythm, a routine. He pushed harder with every step, ignoring the burning in his chest, the ache in his knees. It was the one time the noise in his head quieted. The one time he felt like his body and his mind were finally moving at the same speed.

It wasn’t just about getting stronger.

He added pull ups to his routine. Sit ups by the hundreds. He found abandoned gym equipment in a back alley near an old dojo that had long since shut down. Rusted bars, half cracked punching bags. He fixed them up with duct tape and stubbornness, and used them until his knuckles bled. Sometimes he’d climb scaffolding outside old apartment complexes just to practice scaling buildings. Sometimes he’d run the entire city loop twice just to prove he could.

Most nights, he didn’t get home until four in the morning. His mother waited by the door once. Just once. The look in her eyes had made his throat close.

But he couldn’t stop. He was working toward something now. Something bigger than pain or comfort or even guilt.

On weekends, while other students went to malls or arcades or study groups, Izuku disappeared into the city.

He walked alleyways no one dared enter. He took note of every dead end, every broken fence, every escape route. He mapped rooftops in his mind. Memorized which buildings had loose security and which fire escapes reached the top. Learned which stores had broken security cams. Which warehouses were left unlocked at night. The city became a puzzle, and he was learning how to solve it piece by piece.

He wore dark hoodies, old clothes, quiet sneakers.

He was already good at hiding, years of loneliness had made sure of that, but now, he could vanish into crowds without a second glance. Slip into shadows like they were made for him. Sometimes, even in broad daylight, people walked past him like he wasn’t even there.

It was perfect.

It was power.

He studied harder than he ever had before, not just on the streets, but in school too. His grades started climbing again, slowly at first, then with a sharpness no one expected. Teachers noticed. Praised him. Some even asked if he’d gotten a tutor. He just smiled.

He remembered his dream—the police academy. He’d wanted to go there since he was four. Since he and Bakugo sat cross legged on his living room floor, watching documentaries and pointing at uniforms, imagining themselves standing tall in them one day.

Bakugo never stopped talking about the dream years ago.Izuku was the same. Now he wanted it more than ever.

Because with a badge, no one would question his movements. With training, he could go deeper. Hunt smarter. Strike harder. If anyone asked, he was just an overachiever. Just another good student chasing justice.

No one would know what he really meant by justice.

The lack of sleep was starting to tear at his nerves. There were days his hands trembled so badly he could barely write. His eyelids felt like bricks. He lived on vending machine coffee and off brand energy drinks that made his heart feel like it was sprinting in his chest.

But he didn’t stop.

Every moment not spent training or studying was spent behind a screen. He started digging into the darkest corners of the internet. Forums meant to be hidden. Subreddits buried under layers of secrecy. Archive sites from the early 2000s where people still whispered about things most of the world had forgotten.

He learned how to clean blood. How to destroy evidence. How to lie without hesitation. How to track people online. How to access criminal records without credentials. How to find scum, the kind of people no one protected.

There were names. Faces. Patterns. Some of them even lived close by.

The urge to act again buzzed just beneath his skin. But he waited. He had time. He would pick carefully.

He wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t killing for fun.

He was cleaning.

School felt different now. Like a stage he no longer needed to perform on.

The bullying didn’t stop. Not entirely. Bakugo still shoved him in the halls. Still spat venom at his back. Still laughed when others followed his lead. But Izuku barely flinched anymore. He didn’t cower or cry or stumble.

He just looked at them, through them. And that scared them more than tears ever had.

There was a moment. One Thursday afternoon, after gym, when Bakugo slammed him into a locker, teeth bared, voice low and cruel.

“You think you’re better than me now, Deku?”

And Izuku didn’t speak. He just looked at him with those unreadable eyes, dark and sunken, with sparks buried deep beneath the surface.

And Bakugo stepped back.

He didn’t say why. Maybe he didn’t even know. But there was something in the air now. Something heavy. Something untouchable.

For the first time since they were kids, Bakugo didn’t know what Izuku was thinking.

And that confused him.

Izuku didn’t hate him.

Strangely, that truth never changed.

He didn’t blame Bakugo for being what he was. The world had broken him too, just in a different shape. And somewhere deep down, Izuku still admired the fire in him. The force. The raw, unapologetic confidence. He remembered those early days, the dreams, the laughter, the bond stronger than blood.

But he didn’t need him anymore. Didn’t need his approval. Didn’t crave his attention. Didn’t fear his fists.

Izuku had found something bigger than childhood dreams.

He was training his mind. Forging his body. Shaping his purpose.

While they laughed and kicked him, he was building himself into something else entirely.

He was still just a boy. But that wouldn’t last. Soon, they’d all see.

He wasn’t weak anymore.

From that point forward, he gave himself over to the process of becoming something else, something sharp, and useful. His body became lean, hardened through punishment and habit. He began taking late night martial arts classes under the guise of self defense training. He enrolled in weekend sports clubs, his excuse being that he wanted to make new friends.

But there were no friends. Not anymore. Only objectives. His runs started at 3 a.m. and ended when his legs could no longer hold him up, sometimes not until the first streaks of morning bled into the clouds.

When he came home drenched in sweat and bloodied from scrapes he didn’t bother covering, he quietly passed by his mother, who had long since stopped trying to get answers. He loved her. He really did. But the path he had taken didn’t have room for comforting words, or home cooked meals. The warmth made his skin itch now.

He used weekends to map the city. Every alleyway, every rooftop that could be climbed, every fence with weak points and gates with cameras too old to matter.

He spent long hours crouched in abandoned buildings, timing police patrols, studying habits of night workers, tracing the paths of buses and garbage trucks that could serve as both cover and escape.

Katsuki didn't say anything as he began to grow, but his glances had changed. He didn’t spit on him as often anymore. Maybe the bruises meant less when Izuku didn’t even flinch. Or maybe it was the quiet fire that never left Izuku's eyes.

By the time graduation rolled around, Izuku stood straighter, broader, and more silent than ever. His name was called with the others. He smiled. He walked to the stage, took the certificate, and loved every second of it.

Then came the entrance exam. The university he’d dreamed of entering since childhood, the place where he and Katsuki had once planned to go together before everything fell apart. He hadn’t forgotten. Not the way they used to point at campus brochures and make lists of what they’d do once they got there. He still wanted it. He deserved it.

The written exam was brutal, but Izuku’s mind was sharpened by sleepless nights and obsessive studying. He breezed through logic problems and ethics essays, finishing each section with time to spare.

Days later, he arrived at the physical exam. Hundreds of applicants were running, climbing, sweating through agonizing drills. But Izuku endured. He pushed harder. He had trained for this.

He passed. Not just scraped by, but with one of the highest scores posted.

As he scanned the board of names, he didn’t look for his first. He looked for Bakugo’s. And he found it, two names, one after the other. Midoriya Izuku. Bakugo Katsuki. Just like they’d planned, in another life.

They locked eyes for a moment as students left the testing hall. Bakugo didn’t smirk. He didn’t scoff. He just stared at him. The expression was something between surprise and expectation. Izuku didn’t say a word.

Neither did he.

Summer came. The calm before the next storm. But Izuku wasn’t resting. No, summer was when the real work began. He had kept his promise to himself, he had become stronger. Now it was time to fulfill the second part: to begin cleansing the world.

He sat in his room one early morning, the light of his laptop screen cutting through the darkness. The fan hummed low. His fingers moved across the keyboard, opening the dark corner of the internet he frequented. A forum, buried deep under layers of encryption. A place for those who had been wronged, those who needed justice when the world failed to deliver it. He scrolled to the section specific to his city, his eyes locking onto one bookmarked thread.

It was a case he’d been watching for weeks, a club owner, middle-aged, rich, untouchable. A manipulator. A predator. A man who laughed through lawsuits and paid off police. The kind of person who would die smiling, unless someone put a stop to it.

But when Izuku opened the thread again, a new notification blinked at the top. Someone else had bookmarked it.

Username: Dynamight.

The name hit him like a cold slap. His stomach clenched with curiosity. He clicked the profile. It was barely active, but there was a trail. Dynamight had been following similar cases. Similar criminals. Similar targets. All bookmarked.

For some reason, Izuku’s heart raced. He didn’t hesitate.

He opened the private message window and sent a short greeting.

Seconds later, the user came online.

[02:13 AM] GreenVigil: noticed you bookmarked the same guy

[02:14 AM] Dynamight: yeah been watching him a while

[02:15 AM] GreenVigil: he’s a parasite. no one’s gonna do anything so someone has to

[02:17 AM] Dynamight: he’s untouchable on paper but not in the real world not where people like us live

[02:19 AM] GreenVigil: you been doing this long?

[02:20 AM] Dynamight: long enough. not sure why you care

[02:20 AM] GreenVigil: because i’m not alone

[02:20 AM] Dynamight: hm. guess you’re not

[02:26 AM] GreenVigil: how do you pick them?

[02:26 AM] Dynamight: instinct reputation patterns that never get prosecuted

[02:27 AM] GreenVigil: i look at the ones who hide behind money or fake smiles or thin walls they think they’re untouchable but i can touch them

[02:27 AM] Dynamight: you sound like you’ve done it before

[02:29 AM] GreenVigil: i did once. he deserved it

[02:30 AM] Dynamight: good. don’t waste your time on regrets

[02:31 AM] GreenVigil: i don’t but i’ve been thinking about this one a lot and now you’re here too

[02:33 AM] Dynamight: maybe we’re thinking the same thing

[02:33 AM] GreenVigil: you ever consider teaming up?

[02:33 AM] Dynamight: not really i don’t trust people

[02:33 AM] GreenVigil: you don’t have to i’m not asking for names not asking for faces just help

[02:34 AM] Dynamight: what do you want?

[02:34 AM] GreenVigil: backup two shadows move faster than one the world’s full of trash i can’t clean it all alone

[02:34 AM] Dynamight: you serious about this?

[02:34 AM] GreenVigil: i stopped being anything else a long time ago i’m not here to play i’m here to erase the kind of people no one else will

[02:34 AM] Dynamight: you got rules?

[02:34 AM] GreenVigil: just one they have to deserve it no random shit no innocence lost

[02:34 AM] Dynamight: good then maybe we’re on the same page

[02:35 AM] GreenVigil: can we meet? neutral ground no real names just… allies

[02:35 AM] Dynamight: mask? voice mod?

[02:35 AM] GreenVigil: already prepared i’m not stupid.

[02:35 AM] Dynamight: where?

[02:37 AM] GreenVigil: abandoned railyard outside sector 6 sunday 1 am bring nothing but the intention.

[02:38 AM] Dynamight: fine if you try anything i’ll break your legs>

[02:38 AM] GreenVigil: don’t worry if you’re not trash i’m not interested in hurting you

Izuku closed the laptop slowly, the hinge creaking faintly in the silence of his dark room. His fingers lingered on the metal shell longer than they needed to, tense and reluctant to let go.

His screen went black, and with it, the faint illumination on his tired, sunken face vanished. He sat motionless in the glowless void, only the soft hum of his computer and the thrum of blood in his ears grounding him in place.

His eyes, heavy with the weight of insomnia, remained wide open.

He didn’t trust the other person. This “Dynamight.” He hadn’t trusted anyone in years. Not since the last fragments of his innocence were kicked out of him on the school floor, between metal lockers and muffled laughter.

Not since he'd realized people weren’t born cruel ,they chose it, and no one chose it more gleefully than the rich.

Trust was for fools and victims, and Izuku had grown tired of being both.

Still… something in him stirred. Not hope, no, that part of him was long buried, but something close.

Curiosity, maybe. A gnawing itch in his chest that someone else out there might feel the same thing crawling under their skin. Someone else disgusted by the filth that wore human skin and walked unpunished among the innocent.

He cracked his knuckles as he stood, stretching his sore, neglected muscles. The air in his room was thick and stagnant. Outside, the world was moving on without him, as it always had.

On the desk beside his bed sat a compact box. Inside was the voice modulator he’d tinkered with for months, customizing it to filter out all humanity in his tone. He didn’t want to sound like himself, not even close.

The mask he wore with it was matte black, minimalist. He had crafted it with care, using recycled plastics and resin molds he’d taught himself to make through late night tutorials. It had taken months. Someone, a stranger in a chatroom long ago, had planted the idea in his head.

“Justice needs no face,” they had said. “Only action.”

He’d never forgotten that. He will never forget “Stain”.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the tools of his nocturnal existence. His eyes stung, but he wasn’t sure if it was the light from the screen or the lack of sleep gnawing at his nerves like acid. He’d stopped counting how many days he’d gone without proper rest. He didn’t need rest. Rest was a luxury for people who weren’t haunted by everything they hadn’tdone.

He pulled on his usual clothes, dark hoodie, cargo pants, worn boots. Soft fabrics that didn’t make sound when he moved. They were comfortable. Efficient. He moved like a shadow out the door, quiet as ever, ignoring the creak of floorboards that might've woken his mother. She asked less questions these days, too afraid of the boy her son was becoming.

He loved her. But that didn’t mean he could protect her from what he was.

Outside, the air was heavy with summer humidity. The city didn’t sleep, not truly. Even at 4 a.m., cars still drifted lazily down the street, and stray dogs barked at nothing behind locked fences. Izuku walked unnoticed, eyes scanning everything, cataloging light sources, alley entry points, cameras. Always watching.

His destination was clear tonight. The man from the forum,the one who owned the club near the railyard, was still active. He’d been posted about repeatedly. Harassment, blackmail, threats, exploitation. Young workers terrified to speak, wife too scared to leave. A predator in a tailored suit. No prison record. No investigation.

Just another untouchable scumbag.

But Izuku wasn’t interested in just the club. He wanted more. He wanted to know the man’s routine. Where he lived. How he got home. Who he saw. How he moved when he thought no one was watching. Izuku would stalk him, carefully, obsessively. Because when the time came, there would be no room for error. And if this “Dynamight” turned out to be a liability, if he was just another thrill seeker pretending to give a damn, then Izuku would deal with him, too. Permanently.

This site… it wasn’t for opportunists. It was for the ones who truly wanted justice. For the ones who had drowned and clawed their way back up for vengeance, not attention.

He walked past the club once, lingering just long enough to see the lights still on inside. It was gaudy and loud even in the dead of night, red neon bleeding against cracked concrete. A few girls stood outside smoking, laughing too loudly, their makeup smeared with fatigue. He noted the exit points. The alley behind. The broken security camera above the rear door.

He’d return tomorrow. And the day after. Until he knew everything.

As he continued his route, the railyard loomed in the distance, quiet, mostly forgotten. That would be the meeting spot. He wasn’t ready to trust Dynamight. Not yet. But he was ready to test him. And if he failed…

Well.

Izuku would just have to clean up that mess, too.

Because only someone with a soul shattered beyond repair could understand what he was doing. Only someone truly broken would know that this wasn’t about revenge anymore.

It was about peace.

And this was the only thing that gave him any.