Upstairs, Izuku sat hunched over his desk, the soft morning light casting long shadows across his open notebooks and spell diagrams. The leather-bound spellbook from Momo lay open beside him, glowing faintly with faint green runes that shimmered and shifted as he touched the page.
He wasn't trying to rediscover the Shield of the Seraphim—he knew what it felt like now. He just didn't fully understand why it had worked. Not yet.
His notes were organized in columns: rune structures, elemental symbology, chaos-magic resonance. Alongside those, he'd jotted side comments: emotional charge, protective intent, healing pulse – unexpected.
He tapped his pencil against the edge of the desk, eyes narrowing as he compared sketches of the spell's radiant shape to earlier shielding spells he'd attempted. They weren't even in the same category. One was structured. The other—this new shield—was alive.
A soft knock tapped against his doorframe.
"Come in," he murmured, not looking up.
Inko stepped in with a tray of miso soup, rice, and grilled salmon. "Studying the shield again?"
"Reviewing everything," Izuku replied, flipping a page. "I want to know what triggered it—not just emotionally, but magically. There was a resonance I haven't felt before. Like something ancient was answering me back."
She set the tray down beside him and crossed her arms. "Maybe it was."
He glanced up at her. "You think so?"
"I don't know." She smiled gently. "But I do know that shield didn't come out of nowhere. You've been working toward it for months—discipline, instinct, compassion. Maybe it was waiting for the right moment."
Izuku looked back down at his notes. "I just don't want it to be a one-time thing. If I can understand it—break it down, even just partially—I can start integrating it into a wider set of protections. Something for civilians. Maybe even the runes I've been using around Mustafu."
Inko nodded. "You sound like someone who passed his exam."
That made him smile, finally. "I still haven't gotten anything official yet."
She raised an eyebrow. "Please. You vaporized a zero pointer, saved half the street, and summoned a glowing shield of celestial energy. If they don't let you in after that, I'll write a letter."
"A magic letter?"
She winked. "Maybe."
Two days later, an envelope arrived.
There was no label. No insignia on the outside. Only a pale, cream-colored fold tucked beneath the door.
Izuku stood there, hand trembling, the spellbook forgotten on his bed.
He opened it slowly. The screen flickered to life.
"YEEEOOOOOWWW!!" Present Mic's voice exploded out of the letter hologram. "IF YOU'RE SEEIN' THIS, KID, THAT MEANS YOU KILLED IT AT THE PRACTICAL EXAM!"
Izuku blinked as the projection lit up his room in brilliant colors.
"AND I MEAN KILLED IT. Destroyed that zero-pointer, saved civilians, AND—get this—managed to rack up rescue points like you were playin' on co-op mode! That's right! Rescue points. And you got a LOT of them!"
The screen shifted, and Principal Nezu's voice came through next—calm and composed.
"Midoriya Izuku. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Heroics Course at U.A. High School."
There was no mention of the shield.
No hint that any teacher had seen something unusual.
No mention of his vigilante past. No whispers of magic. No raised eyebrows.
Just a simple, clear statement:
You passed. Welcome to U.A.
Later That Night
Izuku stood on the apartment rooftop. A light breeze passed through the Mustafu skyline, calmer than usual. Less noise. Fewer shouts. A city that had grown, subtly, quieter.
Was it his rune network doing that? Or the people beginning to hope again?
Down below, two kids laughed, running after a bouncing ball in the street. One of them looked up.
"It's them again!" the girl whispered excitedly, clutching her brother's sleeve. "They helped that time near 6th Street, remember?"
The boy grinned. "We saw them!"
Izuku stepped back from the edge, heart full.
Back in his room, he sat down and picked up his spellbook again. Fingers gliding over the page, he began to write:
Shield of the Seraphim – Chaos-based protective construct. Unknown healing properties. Requires further study. Triggered by emotional urgency and protective instinct. Repeating it… may not be easy. But it mattered. They were safe.
He closed the book.
Tomorrow, everything changed.
But tonight—tonight he could breathe.