Chapter 2 — Shadows and interest
—U.A. Faculty Room—
The faculty lounge at U.A. normally occupied by teachers but today, it had a different use. A projector whirred softly as a paused frame filled the wall , the grainy, now-viral news clip of Musutafu's sludge villain aftermath: a green-haired boy standing amid chaos, shadows coiling and striking as if they were living things.
Principal Nezu perched at the head of the table, paws folded around a porcelain cup, eyes bright with the kind of curiosity that made him more animal genius than administrator. All Might — in his gaunt and smaller true form — stood with his hands behind his back, the weight of what he'd seen written across his features. Aizawa leaned in the doorway, scarf long as always, expression like a tired drawn line,flat and unimpressed but attentive.
Nezu tapped the screen once more. "Remarkable. A previously quirkless student manifesting shadow manipulation under duress. If our records are correct, Midoriya Izuku was classified quirkless in childhood. This would be an unprecedented late emergence."
Aizawa's tone was practical, almost weary. "Looks more like panic than control. The shadows reacted to threat — instinctive response, not deliberate maneuvering. That doesn't mean it's harmless. We can't ignore that scale of manifestation."
All Might's voice was quieter than usual. "He nearly died. Whatever power he displayed… it answered to his heart in that moment. That alone matters."
Nezu's eyes twinkled. "And a heart for heroics is what we teach here, is it not? We should invite him — quietly. If training is where such a thing is meant to be shaped, it should be under our roof."
Aizawa snorted, one corner of his mouth twitching. "Bring him here and we monitor. If he's unstable, we contain; if he's not, we teach. Simple."
It was not simple, but the school had weathered stranger storms. As Nezu began typing into his tablet, All Might found his gaze returning to the frozen image of Izuku. The boy's eyes were wide, half-lit by the streetlamp and half-swallowed by shadow. There was fear there, yes, but also a kind of stubborn resolve that made All Might's chest tighten with both pride and something more protective.
"Keep it discreet," he said. "And notify the entrance exam committee. We might be taking in an extra recommendation student".
—Yaoyorozu Estate—
The news footage made the rounds quickly. By morning it had filtered into living rooms and phones across the city. For Momo Yaoyorozu, who usually preferred careful study and measured action, she found herself taking a break mid-lecture notes and with a half-drunk tea. Sitting on her
Phone with a certain video playing.
She watched the clip once, twice, then turned up the volume. The boy's silhouette was unmistakable — green hair, a haunted face, a storm of shadow protecting him. The report named him, Midoriya Izuku, and mentioned All Might's involvement. The anchor's practiced voice offered speculation and theories, but Momo only registered details like a scientist cataloging specimens: the speed of the shadow's response, the lack of finesse in its shape, the way it seemed to react to emotion rather than explicit direction.
She rose, stretching slowly after hours bent over textbooks; the motion was deliberate and elegant, with a roll of the shoulders. The lamplight caught the line of her figure, ample curves, a pretty and mature face many would kill to have, along with the long silk like black hair. For a moment she allowed herself to consider the boy's expression — terrified, yes, but resolute — the sort of expression that spoke of someone afraid but determined to protect.
U.A. entrance season was near. She set the cup aside and returned to her notes, a quiet, private thought lodged behind her mind. "Perhaps I'll meet him on campus." She did not act on it; curiosity was a small stone in her pocket for now.
—Nerissa ravencroft's Living Room—
In a small family home on the other side of the city, afternoon sunlight filtered through slatted blinds and spilled across a couch where Nerissa Ravencroft lounged. She looked every bit like a young woman on the verge of a new chapter in life: comfortable, confident, and lightly electric. Her outer hair was black with the inner layers being a solid, vibrant blue that caught the light with every lazy toss of her head. Her eyes were a soft, expressive pink, wide now as the same footage played on a local station.
She sat in a sports bra and shorts that showed off her ample chest, toned stomach and long legs,she sat relaxed and bored. The headline rolled across the bottom of the screen: Quirkless Teen Awakens Shadow Power During Villain Attack.
Nerissa sat up, her attention erasing the afternoon's boredom. The boy on screen — Midoriya Izuku — looked like any teen, except that in his case, the darkness around him moved with purpose, then retreated like a tide at his command. Stars, if such a thing existed in human eyes, seemed to flare in hers.
"That's actually amazing," she breathed. "It's, like, the total opposite of my powers, I wonder if that's all his quirk can do?" The soft grin that followed was bright and unabashed. For a moment she let herself imagine meeting him at U.A.: trading training tips, laughing through awkward orientation, testing the boundaries of what they could do together. Then she caught herself and grew embarrassed throwing her face into her pillow.
She rolled over and turned the TV off with a small, contented sigh. It was a simple thing — one more story in a city full of them — but something about it sparked the kind of excitement that would push her toward proving herself in ways she'd been told she couldn't. The idea settled pleasantly in her chest: I'll show them I can fight and heal.
—A Street in Musutafu — The Night After—
The city had settled into its late rhythm by the time Izuku made his way home. Streetlights painted long, wavering silhouettes across cracked pavement; the world felt farther away than the noise that had filled it earlier in the evening. He moved slowly, hands stuffed into his pockets, replaying the night's chaos in his head until the memory felt like a film reel stuck on repeat.
He stopped under a lamp and stared down at his feet. For the first time, his own shadow did not feel like a trivial outline. It seemed to have its own surface, a little deeper than it ought to be, as if the light were pooling somewhere beneath it. He flinched. A breath left him that might as well have been a confession.
"You saved me," he whispered to the emptiness, voice thin and raw. "You… you protected me."
The response wasn't a voice. It was a sensation — a faint, inexplicable warmth, as if something had pressed close and meant no harm. The tension in his fingers eased by a hair's breadth. For a moment, the terror that had polished his thoughts down to a hard edge softened.
Izuku exhaled and continued walking. He felt watched, yes, but not hunted. It made a difference.
—Midoriya Apartment— That Night
The click of the front door barely echoed. Inko Midoriya looked up from a kettle she had just set down, worry folding into her features the moment she took in her son's face.
"You were on the news," she said, voice small. "I—Are you all right?"
He stood there, breath coming shallow. "I don't know." The confession trembled out with the weight of the day. "He grabbed me, Mom. I thought I was going to die. Then — this thing inside — it moved. The shadows wrapped around me. I didn't tell them to. They just… came."
Her hands found his almost by instinct. She sat beside him on the couch and grasped it firmly to comfort him. "You're scared", she said. "It's okay to be. But whatever happened, you're home now."
He turned his palms toward her like they were evidence. For a moment, the black air that had once looked so alien seemed to rest at the edge of his vision, subdued by the domestic glow. His words tumbled out in a rush: worries about hurting others, about being a danger, about not being the kind of person who fights with things that feel unknowable.
Inko's response was the same as always, practical, steady with love. "We'll learn," she said. "We'll find someone to help you train. You don't have to face it alone."
It was not an answer that dispelled fear entirely, but it was an anchor. He let himself cling to it.
He went to bed that night with the lamp half on, watching the edges of his room. The shadows at the corners seemed softer somehow, less eager to swallow the light and more content to braid themselves harmlessly with it as the streetlights hummed outside. He felt a small, tentative calm settling over him.
Maybe it doesn't want to hurt me, he thought, hoping for a cautious new beginning to his life with these powers. Sleep took him with that small comfort held like fragile glass.
-END-