u/Connect-Meat8230

Floating several meters above the ground, his pristine suit fluttering to the rhythm of the thermal updrafts, All For One weighed the perfect strike to destroy the Symbol of Peace once and for all. Before him stood a haggard, bleeding All Might, barely clinging to the dying embers of his flame. Victory was not merely imminent: it had been engineered with millimeter precision.

Then, the emperor of the underworld descended slowly, setting his polished dress shoes upon the rubble to take in the scenery and savor the moment. His quirk-radar swept the perimeter, surveying the surroundings.

And that was when his sensors picked it up.

About forty meters away, half-hidden behind a collapsed pillar, was Izuku. His little, fragile, freckled Izu. The very same boy he used to read feudal lord tales to before pretending to leave on business trips abroad.

Except Izuku wasn’t alone. He was on his knees, shielding with his own body a tiny, white-haired girl sporting a small horn on her forehead. The little girl trembled from head to toe, clutching the torn fabric of Izuku’s green costume as if it were her only anchor in the entire universe.

"Daddy… I’m scared," the girl sobbed, burying her face into the boy’s chest.

AFO.exe has stopped working.

All For One froze entirely. The hum of raw strength quirks, muscle enhancers, and shockwaves died down inside him, one after another. His brain, capable of orchestrating nationwide conspiracies for over a century, crashed against a single, unforeseen variable.

Daddy?, My Izu… a father?, She’s like six years old! How early did this boy start? Who is the mother? Why didn’t anyone throw him a gender reveal party?!

I’m a grandfather!

All Might, fist raised and face drenched in blood, readied himself for the final clash, his breathing ragged.

"All For One! This ends here and n—!"

"Shut up for a second, Toshinori, I’m in the middle of something important," the villain dismissed with absolute disdain, putting a hand up to shush him.

From within the folds of his black suit jacket, the man who plunged Japan into a dark age pulled out a cell phone. With surprisingly hurried fingers, he dialed the number saved on speed dial under the contact name Gorgeous Wife.

Barely two rings went by.

"Inko? Yes, it's me, Hisashi," he said, turning his back completely on the Pro Heroes. "Listen to me closely, I’m in a work meeting and it’s pretty loud here. What do you mean I’m a grandfather?"

On the other end of the line, Inko’s voice sounded somewhere between bewildered and mildly exasperated:

"Hisashi? What on earth are you talking about? Where are you? You said you were coming back from California last month and—"

"Inko, don’t change the subject!" he exclaimed, dropping his voice to an urgent whisper. "I am looking at our son this very second. He has a little girl in his arms. An adorable, pale little creature with a precious tiny horn. And she just called him daddy! Why am I only finding out now that I have a granddaughter? Where was I? Why didn’t you send me an ultrasound picture?!"

All Might slowly lowered his arms, blinking in an utter stupor that hurt far worse than his internal injuries. A few meters away, Izuku froze petrified, his gaze darting between the terror of the battlefield and the sheer horror of hearing his father’s voice echoing through the helmet of the country’s worst nightmare.

"What little girl, Hisashi?!" Inko shrieked through the receiver. "Izuku is sixteen years old, he barely knows how to cook rice without burning it!"

"Well, it looks like he matured ahead of schedule, Inko! And the child is cold, she’s terrified in the middle of a dump. Hold on, don’t hang up."

All For One pulled the phone away for a second, locked his eyeless visor straight onto Izuku, and, in the booming authoritative tone of a father at Christmas dinner, barked across the crater:

"Izuku Midoriya! Why is my granddaughter in the middle of an active war zone?! Get that child to safety right this instant or I swear I'm confiscating your action figures until you turn thirty!"

Izuku felt reality unraveling faster than the crumbling buildings around him. Did All For One—All Might’s living nightmare, the titan of destruction—just threaten to seize his All Might collection while on the phone with his mom?

"D-Dad...?" the freckled boy stammered, pale as a sheet, still holding Eri protectively against his chest.

Before he could piece together a single coherent thought, a blast of wind and dust kicked up before them. With a brutal crash that splintered the asphalt, an athletic silhouette dropped into a low crouch right in front of Izuku and the girl.

Mirko snapped upright, rabbit ears erect on maximum alert, muscles taut and combat-ready, a defiant grin plastered across her bloodied face.

"Hang tight, kid!" the Number 5 hero roared, flexing legs packed with pure dynamite. "I don’t know what the hell this masked sack of potatoes is rambling about, but he’ll lay a finger on you over my dead body!"

All For One regarded the rabbit woman with a clinical, calculating gaze. His brain, a supercomputer sharpened across centuries of Machiavellian plots, processed the scene in micro-fractions of a second:

* Long, voluminous white hair: present on the rabbit heroine.

* Long, voluminous white hair: present on the child.

* Visible mutant traits: present on the heroine.

* Visible mutant traits: present on the child.

* A feral, instinctual beast throwing herself between danger and her offspring: archetypal maternal behavior.

* Izuku had always harbored a weakness for intense personalities with high-tier quirks.

A spark of absolute epiphany flashed behind the villain's visor.

He leveled an accusatory finger, trembling faintly with a mix of outrage and familial shock.

"YOU!!" All For One bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder across the ruined landscape.

Mirko scowled, stepping forward with clenched fists.

"What’s your problem, egghead? You want a piece of me? Come get it!"

"Don’t you dare take that tone with me, young lady!" the dark lord shot back. "WHY IS MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW ALLOWING MY GRANDDAUGHTER IN AN ACTIVE COMBAT ZONE?!"

Mirko blinked. One of her ears flopped slightly to the side.

"Daughter-in-law? What the sh—"

"I am talking about basic responsibility, Miss Rabbit!" AFO cut her off, gesturing wildly with both hands. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to juggle a marriage and a double life in the criminal underworld, only to find out behind my back that my son hooked up with a Top 10 hero?! And not just that! You two had a child! Did you give any thought whatsoever to the girl's financial future?! Izuku hasn't even graduated from U.A.! Who is paying for her health insurance?! Who is buying the diapers?! Are you keeping her in an underground daycare while the two of you play cops and robbers?!"

Silence smothered Kamino once more. All Might stared blankly up at the sky, desperately wishing some rogue quirk would render him deaf.

Mirko, processing every syllable through a brand of logic that completely bypassed common sense, looked at All For One. Then she looked down: she saw the pale, white-haired girl with red eyes identical to her own, shivering in the arms of the freckled kid. She looked back at Izuku, and then at the girl again.

Inside her adrenaline-fueled, kick-happy brain—entirely devoid of diplomatic filters—something clicked.

Moving with terrifying speed, she pivoted and got right up in a horrified Izuku's face, glaring down at him with a murderous scowl.

"Hey, BROCCOLI!!" Mirko shouted, barely an inch away, pointing a sharp finger at Eri. "Why the hell didn't you tell me we had a daughter?!"

"WHAAAAAT?!!!" Izuku shrieked. "RUMI-SAN, NO!! YOU AND I NEVER EVEN SPOKE UNTIL THREE WEEKS AGO AT THAT ONE PRESS BRIEFING!! THIS IS NOT BIOLOGICALLY POSSIBLE!!"

"Don’t hit me with weird medical excuses, freckles!" Mirko barked, clutching her own head, thoroughly offended. "The kid is my spitting image! Look at my hair! Look at hers! She’s got red eyes and looks like she wants to dropkick someone! When did this happen?! Was it after some agency bash where I had way too much fermented juice?! Are you hiding custody of my own kid from me, you reckless little brat?!"

The principal’s office smelled of lukewarm barley tea and cheap disinfectant.

Resting on the wooden desk was the corpus delicti: a janitor's broom with its handle splintered right down the middle and three plastic bristles singed by an accidental spark. Flanking the desk, two chairs held the six-year-old troublemakers, their legs dangling without quite touching the floor.

Katsuki kept his arms crossed so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Right on the crown of his head, nestled in his mess of spiky blonde hair, a walnut-sized bump was beginning to bloom. His crimson eyes drilled into the wall with silent fury, refusing to blink, refusing to admit that his head pounded as though an anvil had been dropped on it.

Beside him, Izuku was a trembling bundle of freckles and held-back tears. His hands rested swollen and red on his knees, palms stinging from the friction of the impact, his clothes slightly scorched, and his gaze glued to the tips of his scuffed red sneakers.

"Let me see if I have this straight," the principal said, adjusting her glasses and skimming the scrawled report from the yard monitor. "Bakugo-kun, you handed the broom to Midoriya-kun."

"Yeah," Katsuki growled through gritted teeth, not bothering to look at her.

"And you explicitly ordered him to hit you on the head."

"I told him to hit me hard. But he's an idiot who doesn't even know how to hold a stick—I barely felt it."

"It sounded like a drum, Katsuki-kun!" the woman exclaimed, rubbing her temples. "The four-year-olds' teacher thought an entire bookcase had collapsed out in the yard. And you, Midoriya-kun... why did you listen to him?"

Izuku shrank back into his chair so far he seemed on the verge of vanishing entirely into his school sweater.

"I-It’s just... Kacchan said that... if I didn't... it wouldn't be fair," he whispered, hiccuping through tears. "That heroes don't fight with an advantage against people who don't have anything... and that if he was using sparks, I had to... had to even the odds..."

"Shut up, you damn Deku!" Katsuki roared suddenly, spinning around with his teeth clenched. "Nobody told you to flap your mouth!"

"Bakugo-kun, watch your language!"

"He's just an idiot!" Katsuki hopped off his chair in a single bound, squaring up before the desk with his pride puffed out and his chin held high, ignoring the sharp throb pulsing through his skull from moving so fast. "If he's gonna be a useless nuisance getting in the way all the time, blabbering about being a hero without a damn Quirk, he's gotta learn how to break things! Villains aren't gonna cut him slack just 'cause he's Quirkless! If I didn't teach him how to hit, he'd end up dead in a ditch on day one of his debut!"

The office fell into a dead silence, broken only by the soft hiss of the kettle in the corner and the muffled sniffling of Izuku, who stared at him with a terrifying blend of utter awe and sheer panic.

The principal blinked, completely disarmed by the prodigy child's twisted logic and the sheer lunacy of the recess training session she had just been dragged into.

"Both of you are in detention," the woman finally decreed, bringing her stamp down onto the desk with a sharp thud. "No recess for the rest of the week. And I am calling both your mothers right now to come pick you up."

"Next time I'm getting you a metal pipe, useless. Let's see if that stops you from crying every time you swing."

Rumi Usagiyama gritted her teeth so hard that she nearly snapped the toothpick clamped between her molars. On her phone screen, notification after notification flashed across the trending tab, "Mirko's Mating Season?", paired with links to shady forums, dubious fan art, and dozens of threads flippantly debating her biology.

She tossed the phone onto the coffee table with a snort of pure disgust.

The whole idea was utterly ridiculous—a grotesque invention cooked up in the idle minds of doujinshi artists with too much time on their hands. As if having long ears and powerful hind legs doomed her to turn into an unhinged beast twice a year, ready to jump the first unsuspecting fool in sight.

The worst part wasn't the nonsense itself, but the invisible leash tying her hands. As a "respectable pro hero"—and one sitting right near the top of the national charts, no less—the Hero Public Safety Commission scrutinized her every public appearance under a surgical microscope. She couldn't call a press conference just to yell into the microphones that she wasn't in heat, nor could she post a video online telling half the internet to go to hell. Stepping into that territory, uttering the word "sexual," or trying to debunk a bedroom rumor would trigger a massive PR disaster and an endless stack of disciplinary warnings. Clearing the air was, ironically, the fastest way to drag herself deeper into the media mud.

The reality was far more grounded and mundane.

Rumi was no ice queen. Her rabbit mutation didn't just give her devastating lower-body strength and insane reflexes; it also came with a metabolic rate that burned calories at breakneck speed and a cardiovascular system that pumped blood with the fury of a supercharged engine. All that physical vitality, combined with her hyperactive nature, naturally translated into a high, intense, and unapologetic libido.

Yet between that and losing control lay a massive gulf. There were no wild trances, no lapses in judgment, and none of the blind, feral horniness that internet freaks pinned on her as if she were a caged animal in heat. When Rumi wanted something, she went after it on her own terms, with the very same drive and autonomy she brought to street patrols: in absolute control of her impulses, no hormonal excuses needed.

She leaned back against the couch, clasped her hands behind her neck, and flicked one of her long ears in annoyance.

If any villain—or any clueless civilian—dared insinuate that garbage to her face during her next patrol, they’d learn the hard way that the only thing in her body firing off unchecked was the speed of her kicks.

Izuku walked in shirtless, drenched in sweat and utterly out of breath, scratches raking across his entire torso alongside the occasional distinct bite mark. Right beside him, escorting him back, was Midnight.

The silence inside Class 1-A's common room hung thick and heavy. In the dead center of the lounge, Minoru Mineta trembled with pure, unadulterated outrage, his eyes completely bloodshot and his hands clenched into overdramatic fists.

"I can't take this anymore!" Mineta exploded, leveling an accusatory finger straight at Izuku Midoriya. "Midnight-sensei, confess! Are you having sex with Midoriya?!"

The question dropped like a bomb. Iida’s arms immediately spun into a frantic helicopter blur as he shouted about basic decency and academy regulations, while Mina and Kaminari exchanged looks of pure, jaw-dropped shock. The dots seemed to connect themselves: Midoriya had been returning to the dorms with his clothes shredded to ribbons, suspicious bruises mottling his neck, blatant bite marks across his forearms, and deep scratch lines clawed down his back. Worse still, whenever anyone asked about his mysterious "late-night remedial sessions," the boy turned so aggressively red he looked seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

The reality was infinitely more painful and straightforward: Nemuri Kayama was putting the successor of One For All through a draconian regime of Quirkless hand-to-hand combat and raw survival tactics. The "bites" were street-brawling escape counters meant to break close-quarters ambush holds, and the scratches were just from skidding across gravel during pursuit drills. Izuku wasn't blushing out of lust; it was sheer, blistering humiliation at getting thrashed on a daily basis without landing a single clean hit.

Midnight, however, true to her chaotic reputation, crossed her arms beneath her chest, curved her lips into a wicked grin, and narrowed her eyes with feline amusement. She pinned Mineta with a sharp gaze, then swept her eyes over the petrified class with theatrical disdain.

"Even if I were having sex with Midoriya, my dear Mineta, it wouldn't be any of your business," she purred, her voice dripping like honey. "What happens behind closed doors during his 'special training' is strictly between the two of us."

Izuku buried his face in both hands and let out a muffled squeak, sinking into the sofa cushions until he practically vanished, while the rest of the room erupted into an absolute frenzy of screaming, wild accusations, and full-blown existential crises.

In Burning's defense, she didn't do it on purpose. For the first time in weeks, the blame fell squarely on Class 1-A's completely warped, collective gutter minds.

Burning had been dispatched to U.A. on Endeavor's orders to evaluate the first-years' physical conditioning under extreme thermal environments. Izuku, predictably, had volunteered for the most brutal trial: an endurance session inside an enclosed gym, lifting weights while she pushed the ambient temperature to the absolute brink to test his stamina management without his Quirk.

When the session wrapped, Izuku dragged himself back to the Heights Alliance common room. He was utterly dehydrated, the skin on his cheeks and arms flushed a vivid, swollen crimson from the heat, his soaked shirt plastered tight against his frame. He breathed heavily through an open mouth, panting as his trembling fingers fumbled uselessly against the cap of a water bottle.

Right behind him strolled Burning, wiping her brow with the back of her forearm and tossing her fiery mane with an exhausted sigh. There wasn't a single shred of malice in her; she was simply a tired pro delivering a routine technical evaluation.

"Whew..." Burning let out, collapsing onto one of the lounge chairs and looking at Izuku with genuine professional respect. "Man, Midoriya, I gotta hand it to you: you can take a lot more than you look like you can."

Izuku stammered something unintelligible, far too dizzy to string a coherent sentence together.

"At first I thought you'd pass out the second we cranked up the heat," Burning continued with casual indifference, completely oblivious to the room freezing dead around her. "But you moved damn well in there. You got really hard when things started burning up, and honestly, I didn't expect you to last so many rounds with me without slowing down."

A drinking glass shattered on the floor. It slipped from Uraraka's grip, her eyes wide as saucers, her face drained of every ounce of color.

Mineta clutched his skull with both hands, letting loose a strangled screech that sounded like an injured animal, while Kirishima covered his eyes, frantically muttering prayers for the sudden death of manly innocence on campus. Todoroki, with chilling composure, pulled out his notebook and drew a crisp, direct line linking his father's agency straight to Izuku.

"B-Burning-san!" Izuku gasped out, realizing far too late how terrible that sounded. "T-The technical report! P-Please explain you mean the gym, the heat!"

Burning blinked, bewildered by the hysterical wave of panic washing over the room.

"Huh? Yeah, the heat, obviously. It was blazing in there," she shrugged, unknowingly rubbing heaps of salt into the class's open wound. "Though next time you'd better strip off more clothes if you want to stay cool till the end, or you're gonna dry out completely before I'm done with you."

Before Izuku could scream a frantic clarification, Mineta fainted dead away, keeling over backward onto the carpet, while Iida began hyperventilating against the nearest wall.

The joint work study at Ryukyu’s agency had officially wrapped up. Outside the building’s towering glass doors, Class 1-A stood grouped together waiting to head back to the U.A. dorms, still nursing lingering post-traumatic stress from the past several weeks.

The automatic doors slid open with a hiss, and Izuku stepped out. He had his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, a bandage taped across his chin, and fresh athletic wraps winding around both wrists, though he managed a tired smile upon spotting his classmates. Behind him, seeing him off, stepped out several sidekicks and tactical support heroines from the agency staff.

One of the rookie heroines—an athletic woman with bright turquoise hair who had served as his primary sparring partner during the submission-grappling block—stepped forward with a friendly bow.

"Great work these past couple of weeks, Midoriya," she said with a bright, earnest grin. "Honestly, I've never had a partner stay so firm; you were crazy hard the whole time, and you reacted great every single time I got on top of you to pin you down."

Izuku stopped dead in his tracks.

He couldn't take another step. His pupils dilated, the blood vanished entirely from his face, and every joint in his body locked into absolute paralysis. He stared blankly ahead, watching as barely ten meters away, Mineta started hyperventilating, Uraraka's jaw dropped in silent horror, and Bakugo's knuckles popped, sparks snapping violently against his palms.

Seeing the boy turn ghost-white and freeze, the rookie panicked. She immediately assumed her praise had sounded patronizing or that she had bruised his martial pride.

"A-Ah! Don't take it the wrong way!" the rookie squeaked, frantically waving her hands. "I didn't mean you struggled! You were fantastic! Your stamina is insane; most guys tap out after five minutes, but you took my pounding over and over without ever asking me to stop!"

Izuku's left eyelid developed a violent, visible twitch. His mouth parted, but the only sound that escaped was a weak, high-pitched hiss, like steam venting from a pressure cooker.

Noticing her teammate flailing and the kid looking visibly overwhelmed, a second heroine—tall, heavily built, and specializing in heavy-impact rescue—stepped in to smooth things over, immediately steering the disaster straight off a cliff.

"She's right, Midoriya, you've got nothing to be ashamed of!" the second woman boomed with hearty, supportive back-patting energy. "For your first time with us, you gave it everything you had! You were so stiff and closed off at the start, but once you got comfortable, you loosened right up. You've got incredible endurance back there, even when taken from behind!"

"P-Please... stop..." Izuku wheezed, his voice cracking, entirely unable to move his legs as he felt the combined murderous, shattered aura of his entire class burning into his skull.

A third staff member—a petite veteran who supervised night patrols—chimed in to ensure the student left with a warm impression of the agency's hospitality.

"Exactly, kiddo!" the veteran chimed in, radiating devastatingly wholesome, maternal warmth. "Very few boys your age could please so many of us at once without complaining about back pain the next morning. It's rare for a rookie to leave us this satisfied with his ongoing performance. Come back whenever you want—our doors are always open for you at night!"

Izuku simply let go of his duffel bag. The dull thud of the luggage hitting the pavement sounded like a final gavel strike on his soul.

Across the sidewalk, Mineta unleashed a guttural howl, dropping to his knees and smashing his forehead repeatedly against the asphalt. Iida stood completely catatonic, his arms frozen mid-chop, and Kirishima slapped both hands over his mouth, frantically whispering prayers about the green-haired kid's horrifying, incomprehensible stamina, while Izuku prayed with every fiber of his being that the earth would simply open up and swallow him whole.

After a few months, Izuku let his guard down... grave mistake...

They were a few wonderful months of relative peace, until an underpaid clerk failed to double-check what kind of caregivers were on the list he was reviewing.

At U.A., the tension was thick.

The silence that fell over Class 1-A wasn't an ordinary silence; it was a seismological void, the kind that heralds the end of a geological era. Shoto Todoroki wasn't yelling. He was standing right next to his desk, eyes locked squarely on Izuku Midoriya. The right side of his body gave off frost so thick the linoleum floor creaked under his shoes, while a thin wisp of hot smoke drifted off his left shoulder.

"Midoriya..." Shoto said, with a calm so icy it nearly froze the air in the room. "Why does my mother have a collar just like the ones on your sex slaves?"

"T-THEY'RE NOT SEX SLAVES, TODOROKI-KUN!!!" Izuku shrieked, sweating cold bullets from head to toe.

At the back of the teacher's platform, tucked inside his yellow sleeping bag, Shota Aizawa couldn't help but crack open an irritated, bloodshot eye. He blinked once, processed the sentence, and realized his teaching salary did not cover this tier of institutional degradation.

"My mother...."

"It was a bureaucratic error!!" Izuku screamed. "Mom texted me saying a very polite lady showed up at the house with a teapot and cookies, but I didn't ask for this!!"

"Are you saying my mother isn't your pet?" Shoto asked, face utterly blank

"OF COURSE NOT! SHE'S A LADY WHO DESERVES RESPECT AND PEACE OF MIND!!"

Right at that exact second, the classroom's sliding door flew open unannounced. Nemuri Kayama strolled in with a clipboard tucked under her arm, her domino mask firmly in place, holding headbands with faux animal ears.

"Master, which ears would look better on Rei-san? Polar bear or arctic fox?" she asked, holding up the headbands.

It all started during a break at the Hero Public Safety Commission headquarters. Tatsuma Ryuko was sitting in the lounge, sipping green tea with enviable serenity and looking immaculate... except for the gleaming titanium-and-leather band with a golden tag around her neck.

Nemuri Kayama, who was trudging past with a mountain of U.A. folders and three double espressos in hand, stopped dead in her tracks upon spotting the accessory.

"Hey, Ryukyu... what on earth are you wearing around your neck? Did you join some underground club or something?"

"It's a municipal emotional support animal registration," Ryukyu replied with total nonchalance and a satisfied smile. "I live with a middle school boy named Izuku Midoriya. His mother's cooking is delicious, I sleep eight uninterrupted hours in their living room, and legally, the Commission can no longer force me to do paperwork for more than an hour a day because my priority is the boy's well-being. He takes care of feeding me and taking me on walks. Plus, I'm no longer forced to maintain my fully human form outside of working hours—you have no idea how good it feels to just stretch my wings."

Midnight's coffee thermos slipped from her hand and hit the floor.

The next day, Izuku was heading back from buying bread for the afternoon snack when a shadow cut him off in the alley near his apartment building. Before he could react, Nemuri Kayama dropped straight to her knees on the asphalt in front of him, clasping her hands together with desperate eyes and three-week-deep dark circles

"Please, adopt me too!" Midnight begged, on the verge of tears. "Between the Commission's paperwork and U.A.'s, I can't take it anymore! I'll be your sex slave, just please free me from this bureaucratic hell!"

Izuku's brain short-circuited instantly, the bag of bread nearly slipping from his grip as he flailed his arms in absolute panic

"I-I-I DON'T WANT A SEX SLAVE!!!"

Midnight blinked, pointing toward the street corner where Mirko was chewing on a lollipop and Ryukyu was waiting patiently

"You already have two, why not a third?"

"You'd be the fourth... AND THEY'RE NOT MY SEX SLAVES!!" Izuku shrieked, his face blazing like a supernova and his voice cracking in three different registers

Midnight snapped to her feet, her eyes widening in sheer bewilderment and utter moral outrage

"You have the sexiest heroes in the country as pets and you aren't having sex with them?!" Nemuri clutched her head, scandalized to her very core. "What kind of hormonal teenager are you?! If you adopt me, I promise to take your virginity before the day is over!"

"STOP RIGHT THERE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YOU'RE COMMITTING LIKE FOUR FEDERAL OFFENSES IN THIS CONVERSATION ALONE!!!" Izuku cried out, collapsing to his knees while burying his face in his hands, praying for someone to just put him out of his misery.

The doorbell rang at the Bakugo household. Katsuki, fully prepared to verbally eviscerate whichever stupid salesman was on the other side, couldn't utter a single word the moment he opened the door, freezing completely in place.

To the left stood Aunt Inko, but to the right... Izuku. An Izuku with toned muscles, a damn skirt, and—are those tits? It had been a whole year since he last saw Izuku; ever since the U.A. Entrance Exam, he hadn't crossed paths with him once, leading Katsuki to assume the nerd had simply given up

The dull thud of Mitsuki’s smack echoed against Katsuki’s skull before he could even form an insult. He clutched his head, still dumbfounded, as his crimson eyes darted frantically between Izuku’s blushing face, the defined waist, and the undeniable shape prominent beneath the pristine blazer of Seiai Academy

"Shut your mouth before you start drooling, you rude brat!" Mitsuki scolded with a purely malicious grin, crossing her arms. "You shouldn't be staring at a girl's chest like that, you animal"

"A girl?!" Katsuki roared, tiny sparks crackling involuntarily across his palms in sheer frustration. "Have you lost your damn mind, you old hag?! That’s the fucking nerd Izuku! He’s a—!"

"K-Kacchan, please don't yell..." The voice that slipped from Izuku’s lips wasn't his usual frantic stammer, but a soft, controlled modulation—a habit hammered into him after months of grueling training with his classmates.

Izuku looked unnervingly flawless. A subtle touch of makeup smoothed away any rough edges on his features, while the pleated skirt showed off remarkably toned legs. Thanks to medical-grade silicone prosthetics and custom orthopedic corsets designed by Seiai’s top support students, the feminine facade was completely airtight.

Inko held out a box of snacks with a nervous smile as Mitsuki practically dragged Izuku into the foyer, thoroughly delighted by her son’s utter breakdown

"Just look at her, Inko. Izu-chan is an absolute darling!" Mitsuki exclaimed, planting an affectionate smack on Izuku’s back that nearly knocked him off balance. "Those Seiai girls work absolute miracles. So refined, so strong... the complete opposite of the wild savage I have for a son."

Katsuki remained paralyzed in the entryway, feeling every single neuron in his brain short-circuit at the exact same time. Seiai? The prestigious all-girls academy? The useless Deku he thought was done for hadn't just gotten into an elite hero course—now he was a girl, and absolutely nobody in this house seemed to think anything was wrong with that picture?

From down the hall, Izuku shot him a look packed with sheer panic and desperate apologies, praying silently that his secret would survive this afternoon tea

Katsuki stood there racking his brain, genuinely trying to remember if he had accidentally stepped through some bizarre portal into an alternate dimension

(Well, my apologies for the previous post—I hadn't realized the point got a bit lost, but back to our regularly scheduled programming)

The public always assumed that Midnight's costume was nothing more than a publicity stunt with a provocative aesthetic. Nobody could have imagined the logistical nightmare the Support Course had to deal with every single week, going through entire rolls of ultra-lightweight, single-use polymer

The truth behind Nemuri Kayama’s Quirk was far more complex and treacherous than UA's initial records suggested. Her sleep-inducing scent didn’t just manifest as the dense pink mist she released at will; her sweat also carried a residual concentration of the chemical compound. The effect was mild and slow-acting, practically unnoticeable during homeroom lectures, but lethal after an hour of intense physical training.

At first, nobody connected the dots. Shota Aizawa spent half his day slumped against classroom walls or cocooned inside his sleeping bag, so his chronic exhaustion never raised any eyebrows. If Shota dozed off mid-conversation in the locker rooms after hand-to-hand combat drills with Nemuri, everyone simply chalked it up to him being him.

The real trouble started when Hizashi Yamada collapsed for the third time in a single week.

The first time was blamed on mild dehydration. The second, on a sudden drop in blood sugar from yelling too loud during field exercises. But the third happened right in the cafeteria, seconds after a sweat-drenched Nemuri—wearing her old tight, elastic suit—sat down next to him for lunch. Hizashi dropped face-first straight into his bowl of rice, snoring so loud he nearly triggered his own Quirk by pure reflex.

It took the infirmary and the Support Department two full days to realize that regular synthetic fabric soaked up Nemuri's saturated sweat, turning her gear into a walk-in knockout sponge that floored any ally standing within three feet of her.

The definitive fix wasn’t a sealed, airtight suit, but the complete opposite: an ultra-thin, easily tearable, single-use material. Tearing it open mid-battle not only let her vent her gas instantly, but it also prevented moisture from building up against her skin. The moment a mission wrapped up, she could simply rip off the remnants, toss them into an airtight disposal container, and keep her squad from dropping like flies on the ride back.

Obviously, she wasn't left completely topless either—she wore pasties under the white mesh.

The silence in the hallway of the Midoriya apartment was usually comforting, but that afternoon it carried a strangely dramatic vibe.

Inko Midoriya had just walked through the front door, slipping off her shoes with a long sigh of relief. Her work shift had ended a couple of hours earlier than expected, and all she wanted to do was unwind. However, barely three steps toward the kitchen, a dull sound stopped her dead in her tracks.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It sounded like clapping... or at least rhythmic thuds echoing down the hall. And then, filtering through the wall of her son's bedroom, came a female voice—raspy, breathless, and completely unfiltered:

"Ah, yes! Come on, harder! Ahhh!"

Inko froze. Her face went from pale to crimson red in a matter of milliseconds. The tray in her hands trembled slightly.

Vanilla muffins. Think about vanilla muffins, she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath

Inko was not oblivious to how the world worked. She had read enough manga and watched plenty of rom-coms on her days off to know exactly how this cliché played out.

This is a misunderstanding, she reasoned with a superhuman calm she didn't know she possessed. Izuku is probably just training. Or maybe he's helping a classmate from U.A. do sit-ups, and she's exaggerating the exertion. Or they're playing an intense fighting game. Yes, that must be it. I am not going to be the typical dirty-minded mother who jumps to conclusions and ruins the moment.

Determined to act like the mature, supportive mother she was, she adjusted the plate of fresh cookies she had bought on her way home. She put on a tender smile, drew a breath, and made her way toward the green-haired boy's bedroom door.

"Izuku, sweetie, I'm home early and brought some cookies for you and your frie—"

Inko knocked, turned the knob, and swung the door wide open with a beaming smile.

The word "friend" caught squarely in her throat. The plate of cookies nearly defied the laws of gravity.

It was not a misunderstanding. It was not sit-up training. Nor was it a fighting game. It was, with absolute and indisputable clarity, exactly what it seemed.

And the girl was none other than Momo Yaoyorozu, the heiress to the multimillion-dollar Yaoyorozu enterprise.

"Hello," Momo murmured, raising a hand timidly while trying to cover herself.

"—M-M-M-MOM!—" Izuku shrieked, tumbling out of bed in the process with a loud thud.

Inko stood motionless in the doorframe. She held the frozen smile on her face for three whole seconds, processing the sight of the country's most prim, elegant, and wealthy girl in bed with her son.

She blinked once. She blinked twice.

"I will... I'll go make some tea," Inko said in an eerily calm voice.

She turned around, closed the door gently, and walked toward the kitchen.

All For One had grown up in a harsh world. His mother abandoned them, and his father died while they were still young. Everyone was terrified by the emergence of quirks. The early years were brutal, and he had to do truly vile things just to survive—to protect his brother. The authorities wouldn't lift a finger for him, so he decided to seize order through his own strength and power.

He built a system, claimed ultimate power, and became the Demon Lord.

...Yoichi died... and no one would ever take what was his again.

All Might grew up in a world ravaged by despair. Innocents suffered under rampant crime and the chaos of recent years. He chose to carry the weight of the world on his own shoulders to become the light that would banish fear: an unbreakable Symbol of Peace.

Five years ago, the clash between the two titans leveled everything in its path.

The building collapsed. All Might felt One For All slipping away from his grasp, yet he spotted a woman trapped beneath the rubble. "One last push," he thought as he dragged himself over to help.

All For One had been transformed into a woman due to a bizarre reaction during the clash of their quirks. Exhausted, weakened, and pinned under the debris, she watched a frail, wounded man approach to save her. "What does this idiot think he's doing?"

Once clear of the wreckage, Yagi collapsed. All For One caught him purely on instinct.

Both were rushed to the hospital. Without recognizing one another, they supported each other through their recoveries. Without wanting to admit it, All For One began falling for this utterly selfless man. He was the exact opposite of that attention-seeking blonde buffoon. Still, she refused to acknowledge it—she despised owing anything to anyone.

You could cut the air in Class 1-A’s common room with a knife. Bakugo had just returned from a particularly grueling morning training session with Aizawa. He came in with a stiff neck, a back as straight as a board, and that signature "don't look at me or I'll blow your face off" posture. He walked with heavy, rigid steps, as if the joints in his legs had been welded shut.

Eri was sitting on the rug, surrounded by crayons and drawings of apples. She looked up right as Bakugo’s boots passed half a meter from her nose. She tilted her head, observing the blond boy’s stiff walk with a terrifyingly analytical focus.

"Bakugo-san..." she said in that sweet, soft little voice.

Bakugo stopped dead in his tracks. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and made a superhuman effort not to put on a serial killer face so he wouldn't scare the kid. He turned around slowly, keeping his hands shoved in his pockets.

"What do you want, brat? I'm busy," he grunted in his usual unfriendly tone, though keeping his voice down.

Eri looked him straight in the eyes, without a single trace of malice, pure curiosity radiating from the six-year-old.

"Why are you walking like you have a stick shoved up your ass?"

An atomic silence swallowed the room whole.

Kaminari, who was taking a sip of water a few feet away, spit a full jet straight onto the floor and started coughing uncontrollably. Kirishima slapped both hands over his mouth, turning bright red as his shoulders shook in a desperate attempt to suppress a laugh that would cost him his life. Sero just froze, TV remote in hand, staring at the little girl as if he had just seen a god descend from the heavens.

Bakugo didn't move. His pupils shrank to the size of pinheads. The vein on his forehead began to throb with hydraulic force, and tiny orange sparks emitting a threatening "pop, pop" started snapping from his knuckles inside his pockets.

"W-What... the hell did you just say?" Bakugo managed to articulate, his voice trembling somewhere between absolute rage and a mental breakdown.

"If you have a stick up your ass," Eri repeated, blinking slowly and pointing her red crayon at the boy's lower back. "You walk really stiff. Does it hurt?"

"WHO THE HELL TAUGHT YOU THAT WORD?!" Bakugo roared, completely losing his composure and pointing a trembling finger at her. "TELL ME WHO IT WAS SO I CAN GO BLOW THEIR FACE OFF RIGHT NOW!"

"Aizawa-san said it to Mic-san yesterday when you didn't want to get up for training," Eri answered with absolute serenity, holding up a drawing. "He said, 'That brat walks like he has...' "

"ENOUGH!" Bakugo yelled, clapping his hands over the girl's ears in visible panic as he darted his eyes toward the stairs as if their homeroom teacher might appear and erase him from existence. "Forget that phrase! Wipe it from your apple-head right now, or I'm telling Deku not to give you any more sweets!"

Eri just stared at him, bewildered by all the drama, while in the background, Kirishima was already rolling on the floor, gasping for air from holding in his laughter.

The marketing meeting at the former Class 1-A joint agency had started like any other: with Bakugo complaining and Midoriya taking frantic notes in his notebook.

However, the collectible figure company representative—a man in a sharp suit who looked like he was about to have a heart attack—placed the new exclusive line on the table: "Evolution Line: From Aspirants to Legends." The idea was simple and commercially brilliant: release action figures based on the initial sketches the students had submitted to U.A. along with their enrollment applications

"For Izuku, we have the design of the first green jumpsuit his mother made him," the representative explained. "For Bakugo, the massive grenades from the original sketch... And for Yaoyorozu-san... well."

The executive slowly lifted the cloth covering the prototype figure of Creati.

A deathly silence fell over the room.

A silence so dense that not even the involuntary tiny sparks from Bakugo's palms dared to make a sound.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS THAT?!" shrieked Kyoka Jiro, spitting out the tea she had just taken a sip of.

Momo Yaoyorozu froze. Her eyes went wide as the color drained completely from her face.

The finely detailed sculpted figure represented the original sketch a young Momo had sent to U.A. before the support department enforced a minimum level of public decency. The suit wasn't a leotard. It wasn't even a swimsuit. It was, essentially, two strategically placed patches over her chest, a single strap for the bottom, a gigantic belt resting low on her hips, and... practically nothing else.

"T-T-That is a public relations nightmare!" squealed Mina Ashido, barely holding back an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Momo! That’s not a hero costume, that's an indecent exposure lawsuit waiting to happen!"

"I CAN EXPLAIN!" Momo yelled. "It was pure scientific optimization!"

"That's not optimization, Yaomomo, that's duct tape and a belt!" Sero mocked, leaning on the table, unable to breathe from laughing so hard.

Izuku, trying to maintain professionalism with his face turning completely bright red, stared intently at the original sketch printed in the product folder.

"Technically... the lipid flow required to create a 105mm cannon demands maximum exposed surface area..." Izuku muttered out of analytical habit, right before being whacked on the back of the head by Ochako's notebook.

"Deku-kun, don't defend the nudist! If that figure hits the market, all our sponsorships will get canceled!"

The metallic screech of the train brakes over the loudspeakers could barely drown out the usual noise of the transfer station. Katsuki Bakugo was leaning against a concrete pillar, hands shoved into his pants pockets and eyes fixed on the arrival board. Kirishima and Kaminari were running late buying drinks at the vending machines, but Bakugo didn't mind waiting a couple extra minutes; his mind was where it always belonged: at the top.

He was the number one in his class at U.A., an unstoppable force taking giant strides toward the No. 1 Hero spot. Everything was going strictly according to plan. Aldera was in the past, a mere forgotten stepping stone on his path. And along with that school, the damn Quirkless nerd who had followed him for years was also left behind. He hadn't seen Deku since graduation day.

He assumed the nerd had resigned himself to a mediocre life, exactly where he belonged.

Then, the crowd parted slightly between platform four and the transfer platform.

A flash of curly green hair caught his attention purely by instinct.

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. The height, the posture, the way they held the strap of a backpack... It was unmistakable. Huge green eyes, freckles scattered across the cheeks, the frame of the face. It was Deku.

But something made Katsuki's brain slam into a brick wall.

The uniform was... the uniform of Seiai Academy... an institution strictly exclusive to women.

"What the hell...? The useless nerd? In Seiai? Wearing that skirt? Her...? Him...?"

Before Katsuki could process the overload of questions threatening to make his head explode, the green-haired figure turned their face slightly. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second across the sea of people.

There was no panic in those green eyes. There was no usual trembling or servile fear that Katsuki had seen throughout his entire childhood. Instead, the figure's lips curled into a smile... a completely sarcastic and mocking smirk that didn't fit the nerd's face at all, as if knowing the exact mental short-circuit they had just caused him.

The doors of the express train slid open. The figure took a fluid step into the carriage, the Seiai uniform fluttering slightly in the draft.

"Hey, Bakugo! Sorry we're late, Kaminari couldn't decide which tea to get!" Kirishima shouted, appearing beside him and slapping his shoulder.

Bakugo didn't even look at them; he collapsed straight onto the floor.

Bakugo.exe has stopped working.

Endeavor’s grip tightened around the collar of the tiny yellow shirt, holding the girl suspended a few inches off the ground.

"I AM ALL MIGHT!" the little girl, no older than nine, shrieked, kicking her legs furiously in the air. Her blue eyes sparked with anger, and two tufts of blonde hair fell over her forehead in an strangely familiar way.

"Shut up already, brat," Endeavor grunted, a growl echoing through his flames. "I don't know how an elementary schooler bypassed security, but I don't have time for this nonsense."

"I am not a brat, Enji, you walking cheap torch!" she protested. "I demand you put me back on the ground!"

"Now, now, little one, calm down..." Ryukyu crouched down to her eye level, offering a patient smile as she pulled a small, shiny wrapper from her suit pocket. "Look what I have here. It's strawberry. If you stop kicking the number two hero and tell us where your parents are, you can have it. How does that sound?"

The girl froze mid-air. She stared at the candy with a mixture of absolute outrage and a treacherous spark of childhood temptation.

"You're not going to bribe me with sweets, Ryukyu!"

Bueno, ya lo hablamos, todo bien, resulta que si sabia que no era una propuesta de matrimonio tal cual pero no sabia como más expresarse, despues de hablar sobre el futuro de la relacion tuvimos una noche apasionada y no siento las piernas pero todo lo sentimental en orden

Ya en un par de años revisamos lo del matrimonio gay con un abogado por si hay papeleo extra o algo

Para no hacer el cuento largo, mi novia tuvo una discusión acalorada con su madre por lo de ser lesbiana y bueno, le habia comprado un anillo como regalo asi que pense que darle el regalo y palabras de consuelo le mejorarían el ánimo pero juro que no era una propuesta de matrimonio, no se me habia cruzado el como se veria, solo le queria agradecer la oportunidad al aceptar ser mi novia y defenderme de su familia

El punto como ya imaginaran, se lo tomó como una propuesta de matrimonios ahora no se si improvisar y seguir adelante o explicar la situación, todo esto fue ya en privado

A Pro Hero's utility belt used to be a marvel of modern engineering. All Might's carried candy for kids, Eraser Head's stored his signature eye drops and flashbangs, Kamui Woods'... well, he didn't usually wear a belt, but the point was clear: hero logistics was serious business

Then there was Nemuri Kayama. Midnight

"Nemuri... tell me I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing," Aizawa sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a heaviness accumulated over several years

Both of them were in the Heroes' Agency waiting room before the night shift

Midnight was sitting on a table, adjusting her leather boots and restocking her tactical belt. From one of the side compartments, she had just pulled out a familiar, brightly colored box featuring the reflective logo of a well-known sexual health brand

"What's wrong, Shouta? Never seen a condom wrapper before?" she replied in a playful tone, casually opening the box and pulling out several individual foils. "I thought you'd had 'the talk' by your age"

"I'm talking about why on earth you're putting condoms in your official patrol gear," Aizawa said, pointing an accusing finger at the compartment. "If the Safety Commission or the media catch a glimpse of that on your belt, the agency's PR is going to collapse in five minutes. We already have enough on our hands with the complaints about your suit"

Midnight let out a mocking giggle, waving a small gold packet between her perfectly manicured fingers.

"Oh, please. The media always find something to complain about. Besides, this isn't for what your puritanical mind is thinking... although I admit the product's versatility is fantastic"

With the dexterity of someone who had done this a thousand times, Midnight tore open the wrapper. She pulled out the stretchy latex condom and brought it close to her lips

That signature sweet, purple mist began to billow out: her Quirk, Somnambulist

The latex started to inflate rapidly, trapping the dense gas inside until it formed a small, surprisingly firm, airtight sphere. With a swift movement, she tied off the neck using a specialized string, leaving a short tail hanging out like a fuse

Aizawa stared at the scene, moving from sheer stupor to deep resignation

"It's... a sleep-inducing smoke bomb," he muttered

"Bingo!" Midnight exclaimed, giving the inflated sphere a playful tap. "You know... for when I can't get close enough myself"

"I don't get paid enough to deal with you"

"They match my theme"

The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly on the courtyard of Aldera Middle School. Inside the classroom, the atmosphere was tense, thick with a heavy vibration that had nothing to do with the weather

Katsuki Bakugo slammed both palms onto the wooden desk, causing sparks to fly and scorch the surface

"Listen to me carefully, you damn Quirkless bastard!" Bakugo growled, leaning over the desk of the boy in front of him. "I don't know who the hell you think you are just because you have those muscles for show, but you're not applying to U.A. A piece-of-shit Quirkless has no business being among heroes. From today on, you're *Deku*, because you're useless, and you—"

Rumi Midoriya didn't even look up from his notebook.

With tanned skin, long white hair tied back in a messy ponytail, and shoulders that threatened to burst the seams of his school uniform, Rumi simply sighed. A sigh filled with absolute boredom

"Bakugo," Rumi said, his deep, raspy voice cutting through the blonde's monologue. "You're blocking my light. And your little sparks smell like burnt sugar. You stink"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU DAMN—?!"

Rumi didn't wait for him to finish. He stood up with speed that was borderline inhuman for someone without a Quirk. Grabbing Bakugo by his uniform collar, he hoisted him up like a sack of potatoes and, with a fluid whip of his hips, tossed him straight out the open window

CRASH!

The window glass shattered completely as Bakugo went sailing into the courtyard below

"Aaaagh, Bakugo-kun!" shouted one of his cronies, pale as a ghost, peering nervously over the ledge

"Hey, Midoriya... that's the third floor!" the other exclaimed, trembling

"Relax, don't exaggerate," Rumi said, sitting back down and calmly cracking his knuckles. "It's just the third floor; he's not gonna die. Besides, he has his explosions to break the fall... I guess. If he survives, tell him that if he calls me *Deku* again, next time I'm throwing him off the roof"

While explosions of rage and the muffled curses of a heavily bruised Bakugo echoed from the courtyard, Rumi turned his attention to the massive TV screen hanging in the corner of the classroom

On the live news broadcast, chaos reigned in the commercial district. A giant villain made of sludge was wrecking cars and cornering the police. The local heroes couldn't do much

Suddenly, the camera shook. A blurry figure descended from the sky like a meteor, slamming into the pavement with a muffled roar

"S-She's here! The No. 2 Hero has arrived on the scene!" the reporter yelled frantically

The dust cleared to reveal Izuku Usagiyama, the Rabbit Hero: Mirko

She was an imposing woman with insanely toned, muscular legs, fair skin lightly dusted with freckles across her cheeks, and a pair of long, emerald-green rabbit ears twitching in rhythm with her breathing. Her fluffy, wild green hair cascaded down her back, and her unitard was predominantly green with red accents and a silver moon emblem on the chest

The sludge villain roared, attempting to intimidate her.

Izuku, visibly nervous, pressed her hands together near her chest. Her ears flattened back in a clear display of shyness

"U-Um... excuse me, Mr. Villain," Izuku spoke in a soft, almost melodic voice that echoed surprisingly clear across the street. "I-I know you must be going through a tough time, or maybe traffic stressed you out, but... could you please stop destroying public property and turn yourself in to the police? I r-really don't want to use force. If you surrender now, we can settle this peacefully..."

The villain burst into a booming laugh, swiping a claw made of sludge toward her

"Shut up, you stupid bunny! I'm gonna absorb you!"

Back in the classroom, Rumi watched the TV screen, shook his head, and smirked

"Poor idiot," Rumi muttered. "He didn't listen the first time"

On screen, Izuku's expression didn't shift to anger, but rather to deep compassion and resignation

"Ah... what a shame," the No. 2 Hero whispered

In the blink of an eye, the air surrounding Izuku seemed to implode. She vanished from everyone's sight. The villain didn't even have time to react before his mass was cleaved into three by an ascending kick that generated a shockwave capable of shattering the glass of surrounding buildings

BOOOOM!

"LUNA RING!" the heroine yelled as she spun mid-air with terrifying grace

The impact didn't just pulverize the villain's attack; the sheer air pressure completely disarticulated the perpetrator's amorphous structure, leaving his vital organs "reallocated" in biomechanically impossible ways

The guy was knocked out instantly, splattered on the ground in a position that would make any orthopedic surgeon weep

Izuku landed softly on both feet, adjusting her white suit and glancing shyly at the crowd

"I-I'm so sorry..." Izuku said, bowing deeply toward the camera with her ears drooping. "I told him to surrender... I hope the ambulance doesn't take too long, I think I dislocated his hip and three ribs. B-But he just wouldn't listen!"

Back in the Aldera Middle School classroom, the students stared at the screen, utterly terrified

Rumi got up from his seat, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked toward the exit. He passed by the broken window to look down at Bakugo, who was stomping up the stairs like a demon, fuming and covered in scrapes

"Mirko won again," Rumi said, crossing his arms as he met Bakugo's eyes. "She tries to be polite, you know? She gives people a chance. I'm not as patient as Rabbit No. 2, Katsuki. So tell me... are we going to have to relocate one of your limbs today, or are you going to let me walk home in peace?"

Bakugo clenched his teeth, trembling with pure fury. But taking in Rumi's relaxed posture and remembering the sensation of flying down three stories, he could only let out a muffled grunt and step aside

Rumi smirked, adjusting his white ponytail

"Good boy"

Why Mirko Became the Top 2 Hero

Mirko was the ultimate blend of softness and extreme violence—a combination that neither the hero society nor the internet could resist

Her rise to the Top 2 was a total pop-culture phenomenon for several reasons:

1. The Ultimate "Gap Moe" Effect

In Japan (and in the hero world), the contradiction between a gentle attitude and raw, terrifying power sells millions. On one hand, you have a nearly six-foot-tall heroine with godlike muscle tone, adorable rabbit ears, and a sweet, good-girl voice asking you to *please stop breaking the law*. On the other hand, if you blink, she’s just performed unsolicited facial reconstruction surgery on you with a kick delivered at the speed of sound. That "apologizing while breaking your spine" contrast made her the nation's supreme waifu

2. Terrifying Efficiency (Zero Collateral Damage)

Unlike Endeavor, who leaves a trail of fire and rage wherever he goes, or All Might, who almost always ends up flattening several city blocks despite holding back, Izuku was remarkably "clean." She tried to de-escalate through dialogue. When that failed (which was 99% of the time), she neutralized the threat in a single strike. Her fights lasted three seconds. The press loved her because she didn't destroy city blocks—she only destroyed criminals' dignity and bones

3. TV Interviews Were Pure Gold

Every time she won a battle and reporters swarmed her, Izuku suffered a social panic attack:

"Usagiyama-san! You just took down a gang of 20 villains in under a minute!"

"A-Ah... yeah... it's just... they were yelling mean things at me and I got nervous... P-Please don't stare at me so much! I'm so sorry about the injuries!"* (she’d say, her ears twitching from sheer shyness)

Those clips went viral in minutes. Her fan clubs exploded, driving merch sales through the roof (muscular green rabbit plushies sold out in seconds)

What did Rumi Midoriya think about all this?

Rumi would watch the news from home while powering through his daily 500 weighted squats. Seeing Izuku apologize on national TV for sending a 260-pound guy to the hospital with a kick to the face, Rumi would just smirk, roll his eyes, and chuckle:

"That woman needs to stop apologizing for being so damn awesome. If you broke the jaw of a guy trying to rob a bank, own it with pride, Bunny!"

Deep down, though, Rumi respected Izuku more than any other hero. Because Rumi knew better than anyone that real power doesn't need to shout to make a point... even if he personally enjoyed throwing Bakugo out a window to get his own across.

Izuku Midoriya pressed both hands against the edges of the cold porcelain sink and slowly looked up. From the bathroom mirror, her reflection stared back with an expression of pure weariness.

The person looking back from the other side of the glass was a girl with messy, short, green hair, large emerald eyes, and undeniably soft, feminine features.

She let out a heavy sigh and looked down at her naked body. She had developing breasts, a narrower waist, and wider hips, but right there, defying all traditional biological logic, remained the same penis she had been born with nearly fifteen years ago.

Once, when he was just a little boy full of hope, he had dreamed of inheriting an incredible combination of his parents' gifts. He imagined breathing telekinetic fire, or perhaps awakening a spectacular mutation of pure strength—something that would put him on the same level as his greatest idol, All Might.

But instead, he had this.

He tried to look on the bright side, because giving up wasn't in his nature.

First: technically, he was no longer quirkless. The damn diagnosis from the shoeless doctor years ago had finally been debunked (albeit in the strangest way possible).

Second: hitting a girl was terribly frowned upon by society. Perhaps, just perhaps, Kacchan would think twice before using his explosions against someone who now looked like a fragile teenage girl.

Still, the bureaucracy and awkward questions were another problem. Izuku already had his lie ready for the curious. If someone at school, or some busybody asked, her official quirk would be "Unique Physiological Reconfiguration." She would shrug, put on a nervous smile, and say that she was lucky, that it was a relief the change was just a sex change and not suddenly turning into a pigeon or a fish.

What she would never, under any circumstances, not even under torture, admit out loud was that her quirk was a hentai subgenre. She would take that humiliating secret to the grave.

Izuku splashed cold water on his face, trying to erase the frustration from his mind. He shut off the faucet with a jerk, gritting his teeth.

How was that fair? He lived in a world where a pro hero could manipulate wood at will. A world where the number two hero spewed fire. A world where a woman could, literally, turn into a majestic mythical dragon to fight crime.

And him... he was a green-haired girl with a surprise who had to avoid public restrooms.

Definitely, quirks were nonsense.

"Midoriya! Are you okay in there?" his classmate's voice, Hatsume Mei, resonated through the door. Her tone, normally focused solely on her "babies," now distilled genuine concern. "You’ve been locked in there for way too long... or locked in! Please, tell me you’re okay!"

"Open the door or I'm going to have to blow it up with the electromagnetic pulse screwdriver!"

Izuku swallowed hard, quickly adjusting the loose t-shirt that now fit strangely over his chest. Reality wasn't going to wait for him to solve his identity crisis.

"I-I'm coming out, Hatsume!" he replied, closing his eyes upon hearing the undeniable high-pitched crack in his own voice. "Please, don't blow up the door!"

The hallway to the Support Department workshop always smelled of motor oil, burnt metal, and stale coffee—a blend of aromas that Izuku found strangely comforting after the crisis in the bathroom. He walked shoulder to shoulder with Hatsume Mei, distractedly dodging a couple of second-year students carrying a half-disassembled motor.

Izuku glanced at her out of the corner of his eye for a second. He was genuinely grateful to have a friend like her. If he had ended up surrounded by other people, dealing with someone as cloying, enthusiastic, and loud as that pink-skinned girl he had seen a couple of times hovering around the hero course students, he probably would have lost his mind in his first week.

Mei, like the rest of the handful of girls in the Support course, was pragmatic to the core. They all understood that Izuku had been inhabiting this "new chassis"—as one of his classmates had christened it—for less than a year, and they gave him his space. There was no pressure, no awkward interrogations about clothes, no forced dragging to the mall to do "girl things." He didn't think he would have survived that.

"So," Mei said, gesturing wildly with a wrench as they walked, "as I was telling you, gir... uh, bo... I mean, Midoriya. If we manage to isolate the main cooling duct, my new baby won't explode in three seconds. It'll be at least five!"

Izuku let out a small laugh, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. Mei's constant short-circuits when trying to choose the right pronoun never bothered him; in fact, he found them endearing.

Several floors away, in the impeccable and silent principal's office, the atmosphere was diametrically opposed to the chaos of the workshops.

Nezu took a slow sip of his black tea. His small, dark, and intelligent eyes were fixed on the large security monitor mounted on the wall, whose live feed showed the two first-year students crossing the doors of Workshop 1-H.

Without looking away from the screen, the director's small, furry white paw rested on an object that clashed completely with the neatness of his mahogany desk. It was an ordinary school notebook, with visibly scorched edges and slightly deformed paper.

On the cover, written in tight, meticulous calligraphy, the title stood out: Hero Analysis for the Future, No. 13.

Nezu tapped his claws softly on the cardboard cover. Current society tended to get distracted too easily; they obsessed over the spectacular nature of gifts, unusual body mutations, and sudden physiological changes. They focused so much on the packaging that they often forgot to check the contents.

The author of that notebook—the same person he was now watching through the security cameras—hid under their insecurities and their strange anatomical situation one of the sharpest, most terrifying, and fascinating analytical minds the director had encountered in a long time.

A small, unsettling smile appeared on Nezu's snout, revealing a row of sharp teeth. Oh, without a doubt, this school year was going to be extremely entertaining.

The battlefield was a graveyard of twisted steel. One For All was burning through the last remnants of Izuku Midoriya's strength, and he could barely breathe. Across from him, All For One was little more than a corpse refusing to fall.

"It's over..." Izuku whispered, exhausted.

They had won.

Then the Symbol of Evil began to laugh.

A laugh filled with pure venom.

All For One had been many things.

But above all else...

He was petty.

"You really think..." he rasped, raising a trembling hand as a dull gray light began to flicker around it, "...I'm going to let you enjoy this?"

"Temporal Regression. It sends a person's consciousness into the past. If I can't win... then you'll never get to enjoy your victory."

The world vanished.

---

Darkness.

Silence.

Then a splitting metallic headache.

Izuku slowly opened his eyes.

A white ceiling.

A small bedroom.

He tried to sit up and immediately realized something was terribly wrong. His center of gravity felt completely different. His body was much smaller, lighter, and slimmer.

He raised a hand.

Thin.

Pale.

With surprisingly long fingernails.

His breathing quickened.

He stumbled toward a mirror.

The world shattered all over again.

Messy blonde hair tied into two buns.

Bright golden eyes.

Sharp canine teeth.

He knew that face perfectly from future police files.

A much younger Himiko Toga.

About fifteen years old.

"If I'm here... then this is before U.A. Before One For All..."

His heart sank.

All For One hadn't killed him.

He had stolen his life and forced him to begin again from scratch inside the body of a future villain.

Izuku gripped the sink with both hands and took a long, steady breath.

"I don't care what body I'm in..."

His golden eyes hardened with determination.

"...I'll kick your ass as many times as it takes."

---

The first major obstacle wasn't the Quirk.

It was the environment.

Izuku immediately sought help.

With the support of a kind classmate named Yui, he arranged a meeting with the school's medical specialist to evaluate the biological requirements of Toga's blood-ingestion Quirk and treat it as a regulated medical condition through voluntary, ethical blood donations.

The real problem, however...

Was Himiko's parents.

When the specialist invited them in and explained that their daughter's condition was manageable and that her Quirk could be safely monitored under medical supervision, her mother responded with nothing but silent disgust.

"If she has to drink blood just to be normal..."

"...then she'll never be a normal daughter."

"She's defective."

"A disgrace to this family."

Listening to those words, Izuku felt a deep anger at the injustice the original Himiko had endured.

He realized there was no saving a relationship with people who would rather watch their daughter destroy herself than accept her biology.

With the specialist's support and an official report documenting a neglectful home environment, Izuku successfully petitioned for legal emancipation.

From that day forward, Himiko Toga became legally independent, living alone in a small government-subsidized apartment.

---

Living alone came with responsibilities.

And even Izuku Midoriya's strategic mind could make ordinary human mistakes.

Like forgetting to do the laundry.

One morning, after stepping out of the shower, he discovered that the only clean underwear left at the bottom of the drawer was a black lace lingerie set with sheer fabric—something the original Himiko had apparently bought on a whim.

There wasn't enough time to wash and dry anything else before school.

With no other choice, he put it on beneath his uniform.

The walk to school became psychological torture.

Every step reminded him it offered almost no real coverage, making him feel painfully exposed despite being fully dressed.

---

That weekend, Izuku began extensive testing of Toga's Quirk.

Using a donated blood sample from Yui, he attempted to transform while still wearing his school uniform.

The result was disastrous.

The gray biomass erupted from his body as expected—but instead of replacing his clothes, it attempted to recreate Yui's outfit over the clothes he was already wearing.

Layers of fabric fused together grotesquely.

Seams overlapped.

The pressure tightened around his chest until breathing became difficult.

He was forced to cancel the transformation immediately, collapsing onto the bathroom floor in pain.

As he sat there catching his breath, the realization struck him instantly.

"It wasn't exhibitionism..."

"...it's a physical limitation."

Toga's Quirk didn't erase existing clothing.

It generated an exact biological replica around the user's body.

If clothing was already there, both layers collided and collapsed into one another.

For the transformation to work safely, the user had to be completely unclothed beforehand.

---

Determined to solve the problem like a hero, Izuku researched the possibility of creating a costume woven from his own hair, similar to Mirio Togata's costume.

The results were even worse.

Toga's Quirk didn't phase through matter.

It transformed the user's outer biological layer.

When the transformation ended, every bit of generated biomass dissolved into gray sludge before falling away.

Any costume made from his own hair would fuse into that biomass...

...and melt away with it.

His Quirk wasn't simply inconvenient.

It was a clothing shredder.

---

Setting aside the pride he still carried from his previous life, Izuku accepted reality with cold pragmatism.

He crossed out dozens of technological costume designs from his notebook.

Only two practical options remained.

A highly elastic modular suit that could be removed in the blink of an eye through superhuman speed...

Or...

A thick tactical cloak secured by a single industrial magnetic clasp, worn while operating exclusively under the cover of darkness, with nothing underneath that could interfere with his Quirk.

He chose the cloak.

All For One had tried to condemn him to humiliation and social disgrace.

Instead...

Izuku embraced his new identity, adapted his strategist's mindset to nighttime operations, and prepared to turn what should have been his greatest biological curse into the ultimate infiltration ability.

---

Operating only at night beneath the tactical cloak solved the Quirk problem.

It did nothing for Izuku's daytime life.

By now he had fully adapted to Himiko's fifteen-year-old body, moving with effortless speed, flexibility, and feline grace.

His heroic instincts, however, never rested.

His primary daytime objective had a name.

Katsuki Bakugo.

His first intervention near Aldera Junior High was entirely instinctive.

Wearing his own school's uniform—with black athletic shorts beneath the skirt now serving as his personal rule—Izuku spotted the scene from an elevated walkway.

Bakugo.

His two usual lackeys.

An innocent student cornered against a wall.

Small explosions.

The same bullying Izuku remembered all too well.

His blood boiled.

He grabbed a discarded newspaper from a nearby bench, rolled it tightly, vaulted the railing with effortless agility, and landed directly in front of them.

Smack!

The rolled newspaper landed squarely on the top of Bakugo's head.

"The hell—?!"

Sparks erupted from Bakugo's palms as he spun around in fury, only to freeze at the sight of an unfamiliar blonde girl with twin buns and piercing golden eyes.

"Who the hell are you, you crazy blonde?!"

"Enough."

Izuku held the newspaper upright like an official disciplinary baton.

"Does picking on someone weaker make you feel strong? A real hero protects people."

He gave Bakugo another light tap on the forehead.

"Bad."

"Bad Pomeranian."

Smack.

Bakugo's friends stood frozen, desperately trying not to laugh.

That tactical humiliation marked the beginning of a war of attrition.

For the next four weeks, Izuku appeared seemingly out of nowhere every single time Bakugo crossed the line.

Smack in the schoolyard.

Smack on the rooftop.

Finally, during the fifth week...

"I'M SICK OF YOU!"

Bakugo launched a genuine attack.

A direct explosion.

Izuku didn't even blink.

Combining Himiko's natural agility with the footwork Gran Torino had drilled into him years ago, he became a blur.

He slipped past the blast.

Used its momentum to close the distance.

Swept Bakugo's center of gravity with perfect timing.

Thud!

Bakugo hit the ground hard.

A second later, Izuku was sitting on his chest, pinning one wrist with a clean restraint while pressing the rolled newspaper against his forehead.

His tracksuit and athletic shorts kept everything practical and secure despite the movement.

Bakugo stared up in complete disbelief.

The strange girl with the twin buns...

Had beaten him.

"I warned you," Izuku whispered.

"Control your anger..."

"...or it'll control you."

From the other side of the yard, Bakugo's friends burst into laughter.

"Bakugo got tamed by the vampire girl!"

"It's official! He's in love!"

Bakugo's face turned bright red.

Whether from rage...

Or something he refused to acknowledge...

Even he couldn't tell.

When Izuku finally stood up...

He offered him a hand.