The image, dubbed "Vestige: Green," hit the world not with a bang, but with a silent, pervasive explosion. It was on digital billboards in Shibuya, the stark, intimate portrait a jarring contrast to the neon chaos. It was in high-end fashion magazines, the full-page ad requiring readers to physically turn the magazine to follow the camera's panning journey. And, of course, it was all over the internet.
The reaction at U.A. was a study in chaos.
The common room for Class 3-A fell into a dead silence the first time the ad played on the evening news' culture segment. The room, usually a cacophony of bragging and banter, was frozen. Sero's tape dispenser clattered to the floor.
"IS THAT MIDORIYA?!" Mineta shrieked, his voice hitting a frequency only dogs could hear. He was pointing a trembling finger at the screen, where the camera was slowly panning down Izuku's sculpted lower abs.
Tenya Iida was a statue of conflicted propriety. His arms chopped the air in aborted, frantic motions. "Such—Such a public display of... of... anatomy! While undoubtedly a testament to Midoriya's physical discipline, the context is highly irregular for a aspiring hero!"
Uraraka's face was the color of a ripe tomato. She made a small, strangled noise, her hand floating up to touch her own cheek. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen, from the sharp, smirking confidence on Izuku's face—a look she had never seen before. It did things to her stomach that zero gravity never could.
"Wow, Deku..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Bakugo Katsuki stared for a full ten seconds, his crimson eyes wide. Then, a vein throbbed in his forehead. "WHAT THE HELL, DEKU?!" he roared, exploding a textbook in his hands. "SINCE WHEN DO YOU DO... THAT?! YOU NERD!" It was a rage born of pure, unadulterated confusion. This wasn't in the script of their rivalry.
Todoroki Tilted his head, his bi-colored eyes analytical.
Meanwhile, in the teachers' lounge, the scene was no less dramatic.
Present Mic was howling with laughter, slapping his knee. "SHOUTA! YOUR PROBLEM CHILD IS A SEX SYMBOL! YOU GOTTA SEE THIS!"
Aizawa Shota, buried deep in his yellow sleeping bag, didn't even open his eyes. "I've seen it. If it funds the school's budget and doesn't interfere with his studies, I don't care if he models nude on the roof." A long pause. "...His form is good, though. The core stability is evident."
All Might, who had been taking a sip of tea, choked spectacularly, spraying it across the table. He stared at the screen, his skeletal face a mask of profound, grandfatherly horror and confusion. "Young... Young Midoriya...?" he wheezed, the image of his successor's smirking, half-nude form searing itself into his brain. This was not part of the "Symbol of Peace" training manual.
But the most pivotal reaction was in a small, cozy apartment in Musutafu.
Inko Midoriya was watching her evening drama when a commercial break began. The familiar, sultry bassline started. She hummed, about to look away, when a face filled the screen. A sharp, handsome, mature face she knew better than her own.
Her knitting needles stilled.
She watched, her hand slowly rising to cover her open mouth, as the camera panned out, revealing a body that was so clearly her little boy's, yet so profoundly, undeniably a man's. She saw the powerful muscles, the defined lines, the sheer physical testament to the brutal, beautiful path he had chosen. Her eyes welled with tears, as they always did, but this time they were a complex mix of overwhelming maternal pride and sheer, unadulterated shock.
The camera panned down, and Inko let out a small, choked gasp, her face flushing. "Izuku" she whispered to the empty room.
Then, the camera returned to his face. And he smirked. That confident, knowing, quiet little smirk. And in that moment, Inko didn't see the nude model or the public sensation. She saw the ghost of Hisashi in her son's jawline, and she saw the unshakeable hero he was becoming in his eyes. The tears spilled over.
She grabbed her phone, her hands trembling. She had to call him. She had to say... something. But what did you say to your son after you'd just seen a national advertisement for his... his V-taper?
The phone rang only once before he picked up, his voice a nervous, familiar squeak, so at odds with the man on the screen.
"M-Mom? Hi! Uh... I... I guess you saw... the, um, the commercial?"
Inko took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "Izuku, honey," she said, her voice thick with emotion but steady. "You... you looked so handsome. And so strong." A small, watery laugh escaped her. "But we are going to have a very long talk about... about the context of your summer job, young man!"
The phone line crackled with the weight of the unsaid. Izuku's end was pure, unadulterated panic. "I'm so sorry, Mom! It was for a high-end agency, and it was about 'artistic expression' and 'raw humanity,' and they said it was tasteful and it wouldn't go below the... and the robe was very warm and
"Izuku," Inko interrupted, her voice softening, the initial shock giving way to her innate, overwhelming compassion. "Breathe, sweetie. I'm not angry. I'm just… surprised." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You looked… very grown up."
That was the understatement of the century. The image of her son, bathed in that golden light, his body a testament to a strength she could barely comprehend, was seared into her mind. But it was the smirk that truly undid her. That was not her little boy. That was a young man who knew his own power.
"Are you… are you okay with all of this?" Inko asked, her maternal instincts overriding everything else. "It's a lot of attention."
Back in his dorm room, Izuku sank onto his bed, the plush robe he'd been given suddenly feeling like a lead weight. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice small. "It was really strange. But… also a little… empowering? It's hard to explain." He couldn't tell her about the fleeting moment of looking at his own reflection through the camera's lens and not seeing the quirkless, fragile kid, but seeing a vessel of immense power, honed and purposeful.
"Well," Inko said, her tone firming up into what he called her 'Mom Mode.' "As long as you're being respected and paid appropriately, and it doesn't interfere with your hero studies… but Izuku, please, for the sake of my blood pressure, maybe stick to… athletic wear for the next one?"
A wet laugh escaped him. "I'll try, Mom."