I was drowning on solid land. My skin burned like thermite, hot enough to melt through metal, through bone, through anything. My clothes felt like they were melting into me, becoming a second skin, suffocating. I clawed at my throat, desperate to breathe, but my lungs refused to work. My room spun wildly around me, the familiar walls and posters blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes.
I knew I should call for help. My mom was just down the hall. But my voice was trapped, locked behind teeth that chattered violently.
It's just a fever, I told myself. People survive fevers all the time. Even really bad ones.
I rolled onto my side, my body shaking so hard the entire bed frame rattled. My sweat had soaked through my sheets, the damp fabric clinging to me like a corpse's fingers. I kicked at the covers, suddenly desperate to be free of their weight.
Gotta get water, I thought, my cracked lips stinging. Just need water.
I tried to sit up. My body defied me, muscles locking in spasm. I collapsed back onto the mattress, whimpering as a fresh wave of pain ripped through me.
The shadows in my room seemed to stretch and twist, reaching toward me with eager fingers. They looked hungry. Predatory. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the hallucinations.
"What's happening to me?" I whispered, the words scraping my raw throat.
Behind my closed eyelids, images flashed like lightning—too quick to fully comprehend, too vivid to ignore. The doctor's office. That damn X-ray. The extra joint in my toe glowing white against the black background.
"I'm sorry, but it's not going to happen," the doctor said, his voice distorted, stretching and compressing like a broken audio file.
The X-ray flickered, static dancing across the image. For a heartbeat, a strange pattern overlaid the bones—a geometric web that pulsed with alien symmetry before vanishing.
The image shifted. All Might stood before me, gaunt and skeletal, his sunken eyes ringed with shadows.
"Be realistic, kid," he said, his iconic voice warped and wrong. "You need a Quirk to be a hero."
His face changed as he spoke, features rearranging themselves into something inhuman. Mandibles sprouted from his jaw. Eight eyes blinked open across his forehead, glittering with predatory intelligence. The monster wearing All Might's skin leaned closer, fangs dripping.
"You should give up," it whispered.
I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat.
The nightmare shifted again. Bakugo's palm erupted with familiar explosions, the blast rushing toward my face. But something was different. The world slowed to a crawl. I could see each individual spark, track the shockwave as it rippled through the air.
I knew exactly where to move. Exactly how to dodge.
Why couldn't I do this before? I wondered, my thoughts oddly clear despite the chaos of the fever dream.
The explosions faded, replaced by a gentle warmth. Soft sunlight streamed through unfamiliar curtains. I was small—four, maybe five years old. Sitting cross-legged on a carpet I didn't remember.
A tall man knelt before me, his face just out of focus no matter how hard I tried to see it. His hair was an unruly white.
"Don't you worry, Izuku," he said, his voice achingly familiar. "The world might think you lost the lottery, but Dad's working on something. Something really important."
Dad? The man who'd left when I was too young to remember? The ghost who existed only in worn photographs and my mother's sad, distant smiles?
"A way to... reshuffle the deck," he continued. "For people like you, kiddo." He ruffled my hair, the gesture filled with such love it made my chest ache. "We'll show them."
I reached for him, desperate to hold onto this fragment of memory. "Dad, wait—"
The vision shattered like glass. The room spun faster, images flicking past too quickly to grasp—the doctor, All Might, Bakugo, my father, the Oscorp labs, Harry Osborn, the spiders, fifteen spiders, fourteen visible, one missing—
The missing spider materialized before me, its segmented body shifting from perfect camouflage to startling visibility. Eight eyes fixed on me with terrifying intelligence. It reared back, fangs extended.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only watch as it lunged—
Sunlight hit my face, warm and gentle. I blinked awake, disoriented. My room looked normal. Peaceful. Dust motes danced in the golden beams streaming through my window.
I sat up slowly, bracing for pain, for nausea, for the burning fever that had consumed me. Nothing came. I felt... good. No, better than good. I felt incredible. Light. Strong. Like I'd been carrying weights all my life and someone had suddenly lifted them off me.
I flexed my fingers, surprised by how responsive they felt. I could sense each individual muscle and tendon working in perfect harmony. I rolled my shoulders, marveling at the absence of stiffness.
That was one hell of a fever, I thought, running a hand through my hair. It was still damp with dried sweat.
I glanced at the glass of water on my nightstand, suddenly aware of how thirsty I was. As I reached for it, I noticed something strange. The sound of water shifting in the glass was loud, as if someone had cranked up the volume on reality itself.
I could hear everything. The hum of my desk lamp. The faint buzz of electricity running through the walls. A pigeon landing on the roof above me. My mother breathing in her sleep three rooms away.
I frowned, confused. I picked up the glass, and for a brief moment, I could have sworn I felt each individual water molecule vibrating against the glass. I blinked, and the sensation vanished.
Just lingering weirdness from the fever, I decided, downing the entire glass in three greedy gulps.
The water felt amazing against my parched throat. I set the empty glass down and looked around my room. My vision seemed sharper, colors more vibrant. I could make out individual fibers in my All Might blanket from across the room.
The faint scent of miso soup and grilled fish drifted through my door—last night's dinner, the molecules still lingering in the air. My stomach growled aggressively, reminding me I hadn't eaten since the Oscorp cafeteria.
My eyes drifted to my alarm clock. 7:59 AM.
"Shit," I muttered, reality crashing back. I was supposed to meet Saki at the library. Today. Saturday morning.
I groaned and flopped back onto my pillow. After last night's fever, the last thing I wanted was to drag myself across town for a study session with Saki Ōtsuki.
The clock face flipped to 8:00 AM.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
My body moved before my brain could process what was happening. I threw myself sideways, desperate to escape the sonic assault. The world tilted and blurred. I braced for impact—with the wall, the floor, something.
Instead, there was just a soft thump.
The alarm continued shrieking below me. I opened my eyes, disoriented. I saw my desk. My chair. My All Might poster staring up at me from the wall.
Wait... up?
A wave of vertigo hit me as my brain caught up with my eyes. The room wasn't upside down.
I was on the ceiling.
I was on the fucking ceiling.
I stared down at my bedroom, my heart slamming against my ribs hard enough to hurt. My hands and feet were pressed flat against the plaster, holding me there like... like...
Like a spider.
No. That was impossible. People don't stick to ceilings. Not without a Quirk. And I was Quirkless. I had the X-ray to prove it. The extra joint in my toe. The genetic marker that meant I would never, ever manifest superhuman abilities.
Then why am I on the ceiling?
I tried to move my right hand, to push away from the surface. It resisted, stuck fast, before peeling away with a faint, sickening sound. I stared at my palm. It looked normal—no weird sticky pads, no barbs, no genetic mutation I could see.
I pressed it back against the ceiling. It stuck instantly, as if magnetized.
Wait, what?
That's when my grip on the ceiling failed entirely.
I crashed down onto my bed with enough force to crack the frame, springs screeching in protest. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs. I lay there, gasping, staring up at the ceiling—the normal, everyday ceiling that I had somehow been sticking to moments before.
"I'm losing my mind," I whispered, voice cracking. "That fever fried my brain."
The alarm kept blaring. I slammed my hand down on it, and the plastic casing shattered under my palm, pieces flying across the room.
I stared at the broken remains, then at my hand.
"What is happening to me?" I whispered.
I pushed myself off the bed and stood unsteadily. My body felt wrong—lighter, stronger, but also like my proportions had shifted somehow. I stumbled to my mirror, needing to confirm I was still myself.
The face that stared back was mine, but... different. My features seemed sharper, more defined. The baby fat that had clung to my cheeks was gone, replaced by angled planes. My eyes looked brighter, more alert. But most shocking was my physique. The lanky teenager with barely-there muscles had been replaced overnight with someone lean and corded with muscle definition I'd never had before.
I yanked up my shirt, staring in disbelief at the sculpted abdomen that had replaced my soft stomach. Six-pack abs. Actual, defined six-pack abs, like I'd been secretly working out for years.
"This isn't possible," I said, poking at my new muscles as if they might be an elaborate prosthetic. They were rock solid. Real.
A knock at my door made me jump—literally jump, straight up, my head nearly hitting the ceiling. I landed in a crouch on my bed, heart racing.
"Izuku?" My mother's voice came through the door. "Are you alright? I heard a crash."
I stared at my hands, at the mirror, at the broken alarm clock. Nothing about this was alright.
"Y-yeah," I called back, my voice cracking. "Just knocked over my alarm clock. Sorry."
"Okay, well, breakfast is ready when you are," she said. Her footsteps retreated down the hall.
I sank back onto my bed, mind racing. This had to be connected to last night's fever. To Oscorp. To that sharp pinch on my neck.
The spider. The missing, invisible spider.
"Specimen fifteen," I whispered, reaching up to touch the back of my neck. The skin was smooth, normal. No bite mark. No evidence.
I stood again, moving carefully, afraid I might stick to the floor or accidentally break something else. I needed answers. I needed to figure out what was happening to me.
My phone buzzed on my nightstand. A text. I picked it up gingerly, afraid I might crush it. The screen displayed a message from Saki.
On my way to the library! See you at 9? Bringing coffee as a bribe.
I stared at the message, reality hitting me like a truck. Normal life was continuing outside my door. The world hadn't stopped turning just because Izuku Midoriya had somehow gained the ability to stick to ceilings.
I typed a quick reply with shaking fingers.
Something came up. Need to reschedule. Sorry.
My thumb hesitated over the send button. If I canceled, Saki would think I was blowing her off. She'd never ask for help again. Which should be exactly what I wanted—fewer complications, fewer people getting close.
But suddenly, the idea of being alone with whatever was happening to me seemed terrifying.
I deleted the draft and typed a new message.
Running a little late. Be there by 9:30. Sorry.
Her reply was immediate. No problem! I'll save you a seat and that coffee.
I set the phone down and took a deep breath. I had an hour and a half to figure out how to act like a normal human being. How to control whatever was happening to me long enough to sit in a public library without revealing I'd somehow gained spider-like abilities overnight.
I looked up at the ceiling, then down at my hands. One insane, impossible thought kept running through my head on repeat.
I have a Quirk. Somehow, against all science and logic, I have a Quirk.
"Okay, Izuku," I whispered to myself. "Don't panic. Just figure this out. One step at a time."
I reached for the wall beside my bed, pressing my palm flat against it. It stuck instantly. I pulled myself up, then placed my other hand higher. It stuck too. Cautiously, I lifted my foot, pressed it against the wall. Stuck. I began to climb, moving slowly, testing each grip before trusting my weight to it.
Before I knew it, I was on the ceiling again, looking down at my room.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my chest. All my life, I'd dreamed of having a Quirk. Of having power. And now, through some twisted cosmic joke, I had exactly what I'd wished for.
"Holy shit," I said to the empty room below me, "I have a fucking quirk!"
{SAY SLIME! ATTENDANCE PLEASE!]