Izuku couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. With hesitant curiosity, he reached out and gently patted the head of the small, floating creature who had introduced himself as Nooroo.
The being's surface was incredibly soft—so much so that Izuku couldn't help but stroke it again, earning a surprised expression from Nooroo, who clearly wasn't used to such tender treatment.
His previous wielders, after all, had been anything but gentle—serious, calculating, and often cruel.
"So, you're an… umawi?" Izuku asked, his voice laced with confusion as he tried to recall what exactly Nooroo had called himself moments ago.
Nooroo blinked, slightly startled by the boy's innocent mistake. Still, he kept his tone respectful, wary of offending his new master. "No, master. I'm a kwami. Think of me as something like a genie—but I don't grant wishes."
Izuku tilted his head, frowning slightly. "A genie who doesn't grant wishes? Then what are you, exactly?"
His curiosity was genuine but measured, the kind of interest that would later find its way into the meticulous pages of his hero analysis notebook.
"I'm the kwami of the Butterfly Miraculous," Nooroo explained patiently, gesturing toward the ornate locket brooch in Izuku's hand. "That item you're holding is the Miraculous itself. It grants you the power of transmission—the ability to sense strong emotions in others and bestow superpowers upon them. The process is called akumat—" he stopped himself abruptly, correcting, "—I mean, kamikotization."
"I… don't understand," Izuku admitted, glancing down at the locket with a mix of wonder and disbelief. "This little thing can really give me the power to grant others abilities? What is this Butterfly Miraculous, anyway?"
"The Butterfly Miraculous is one of nineteen Miraculouses," Nooroo replied, his voice soft but steady. "Each one is a mystical artifact that grants its chosen wielder powers through a kwami like me. And right now, master, you are the new holder of the Butterfly Miraculous."
Izuku's mind spun. Nineteen artifacts that could grant superpowers? It sounded nothing like the Quirks he knew from home. Then again, this wasn't his world. The rules here were entirely different—and so far, he hadn't seen a single Pro Hero patrolling the streets of this strange city.
"I didn't mean to take this," he said at last, guilt heavy in his tone. "I'm not a chosen wielder. I just… accidentally stole it. I should return it to its rightful owner."
"No, don't!" Nooroo cried out, his small body trembling in panic. "It's a good thing you took it, master! My previous wielder wanted to use my power for evil. I was too naïve to see it until it was too late. Please—don't send me back to him! Please!"
"Okay, okay," Izuku said quickly, raising his hands in reassurance. His expression softened with empathy as he recalled the unconscious man he had accidentally struck earlier—the wealthy-looking one in the mansion.
"I won't return you to him. But still… I don't think I can keep this power. You said it's strong, right? I'm not worthy of something like this. I'm just a Quirkless kid with nowhere to go. Maybe I should give you to someone better suited."
Nooroo was once again taken aback by Izuku's personality—so much so that, for a moment, it eclipsed the lingering fear that his previous master had instilled in him.
He could sense it clearly now: the unshakable heroism and purity radiating from this boy's heart. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered. Though the child's self-doubt and timidity were evident, they were overshadowed by the light within him—a light Nooroo had thought long extinguished in humankind.
When he had explained his power to past wielders, they had exploited the Miraculous to sow fear and create monsters. Yet this boy, this trembling and uncertain child, hesitated to use it at all.
He couldn't believe it. After all these years of servitude under the corrupt and the power-hungry, could it be that he had finally found a worthy master? Someone who wouldn't twist the Miraculous for selfish gain?
He focused on Izuku's heart once more, searching for even the faintest trace of malice—and found none. There was only sincerity, compassion, and a deep, aching desire to do good, restrained only by the boy's lack of ability.
Nooroo made his choice. Normally, he would have asked to be returned to Master Fu if a wielder refused the Miraculous, but after centuries of being forced to serve those who used his gift for evil, he couldn't let this chance slip away.
This boy was different. He was the one. The true, rightful wielder of the Butterfly Miraculous—someone who could finally use its power for heroism.
Shaking his head softly, Nooroo spoke with quiet conviction. "No, master. You are chosen. I chose you. You're unlike anyone I've ever met. You have a heart."
Izuku looked utterly bewildered. "What are you talking about? I can't have this power. You said it lets me give people abilities based on their emotions—that's way too tempting. I don't trust myself with something like that."
"You must trust your heart, master," Nooroo urged gently. "Don't you have a goal? Don't you want to be a hero in your world? To prove to everyone that you can be one? This is your chance—your moment to become a hero."
Izuku blinked, startled. "How do you know I'm not from this world?"
"We kwamis always know our masters' hearts," Nooroo replied with a small, reassuring smile. "And I know yours, master. You have the heart of a true hero. Believe me—you are more worthy of this Miraculous than any wielder I've ever served."
Izuku stood frozen, speechless. All his life, he had been told he could never be a hero because he was Quirkless. No one had ever seen him for who he truly was; the world only saw what he lacked.
As Kacchan had said so cruelly, he was beneath even the weak. Every voice around him had repeated the same message—he wasn't good enough, strong enough, or special enough to be a hero.
And yet, he had never stopped dreaming. No matter how much the words stung, no matter how often the tears came, he refused to let that dream die. He wanted to smile through the pain. He wanted to stand tall and reassure others that they didn't have to suffer alone. He wanted—more than anything—to become a hero like All Might.
But deep down, he knew that ideals meant little in a world where power defined worth. Without a Quirk, how could he ever hope to make a difference?
Now, in this unfamiliar world, fate had handed him a chance—a Miraculous that granted him the ability to give others power. It terrified him. Nooroo had told him this same gift had been used for evil, to corrupt and control.
But maybe… maybe he could prove it didn't have to be that way. Maybe he could show that power, when guided by kindness and selflessness, could bring hope instead of fear. Still, uncertainty gnawed at him.
Was he truly worthy of this responsibility?
"Master," Nooroo said softly, reading his thoughts, "there's no need to doubt yourself. The very fact that you hesitate means you are worthy. It shows you don't wish to misuse this gift or cause harm. And should you ever stray from your path, I'll be here to guide you back—to the path of heroism, with a smile."
Izuku stared down at the locket brooch in his hands. His mind drifted to the mysterious figure called Unknown, who had told him he had an important role to play somewhere in the multiverse.
Could this be that role? Was this what fate intended for him—to become a hero, even in a world that wasn't his own?
He didn't know. He understood so little of this strange place, and yet, here he was—offered both a burden and a purpose. Taking a deep breath, Izuku pinned the Butterfly Miraculous to his shirt. The locket shimmered faintly before camouflaging itself into an ordinary brooch.
Nooroo smiled, approval gleaming in his eyes. "And now, master, all you have to say is—"
Before he could finish, a sudden explosion echoed through the air. Flames erupted from a building in the distance. Without thinking, Izuku's body moved on its own.
He sprinted toward the scene, heart pounding, not even realizing he had cut Nooroo off mid-sentence. Instinct—pure, unshakable hero's instinct—drove him forward.