"Alright, class," All Might announced, clapping his hands together. "There were no injuries… aside from Iida's pride." He glanced down with a flat expression. "Seriously, buddy. It's not that big of a deal. You weren't actually a villain."
Iida was on his knees in the middle of the room, helmet clutched tightly to his chest, posture rigid—like a disgraced samurai begging forgiveness from his lord.
"Yes," Iida declared solemnly, voice trembling with intensity, "but I adopted the mindset of one… which, to me, is an even greater loss!"
A heavy silence followed.
Then the class collectively decided he did not exist.
A few students looked away. Someone yawned. Another leaned against the wall, scrolling through their phone. The dramatic tension died a quiet, unceremonious death.
All Might cleared his throat loudly. "A-anyway! You all did very well considering this was your first battle exercise. Excellent teamwork, impressive adaptability." He gave a broad thumbs-up. "Now go back and change—you have the rest of the day free. Bye!"
Before anyone could respond, he rocketed through the ceiling in a violent gust of wind, papers flying everywhere as the room was left in chaos.
Momo adjusted her sleeve and glanced up at the wall clock. "We only have two minutes left anyway."
"Wonder why he was in such a rush," Mineta said thoughtfully. "Maybe he has some ero manga ordered—"
"Not everyone is as weird as you," Shouji cut in flatly, not even looking at him.
Izuku didn't bother sticking around. He quietly headed to the locker room and changed back into his uniform, carefully tugging the jacket closed over his still-sore chest.
'…I should ask U.A. for a better suit tomorrow,' he thought.
'One that doesn't turn into ash.'
After that, he headed home.
He hadn't gone far when—
A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
Izuku reacted instantly.
"Damn, bro!" he snapped, spinning halfway around. "I get that you like me, but I genuinely don't swing that way. Keep that in your twisted fantasy, okay? I swear, you're acting like your fans right now."
Katsuki froze.
"…Huh?"
He blinked, genuinely stunned. "Fans? What fans? And I don't swing that way either! I had a ton of girls back in middle school!"
Izuku looked him up and down, unimpressed.
"Sure, buddy," he said dryly. "But every time I saw you, it was just a bunch of dudes hovering around you, ready to do literally anything you said."
He turned and started walking away.
Katsuki stared after him, veins bulging as he clenched his fists.
"Today was just a fluke!" he shouted after him. "The Sports Festival—that's where we'll really test who's stronger! So don't think—!"
Izuku didn't stop.
Didn't turn around.
Katsuki's voice faded behind him, swallowed by distance and street noise until it became nothing more than angry air.
By the time Izuku got home, the world felt quiet again.
"Welcome back," his mom called warmly from the kitchen.
"Hey," Izuku replied, slipping off his shoes.
They ate dinner together, simple and calm. Just food, conversation, and normalcy. Afterward, Izuku retreated to his room.
He closed the door behind him, the familiar click echoing softly through his room. The tension he'd been carrying all day finally caught up to him as he let out a long breath and flopped backward onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
'…I need a bath,' he thought.
His muscles still felt tight, skin faintly sore beneath his clothes. Without another second of hesitation, he pushed himself up and headed for the bathroom.
Warm water cascaded over him, steam quickly filling the small space as he washed away the grime, sweat, and lingering scent of smoke.
The heat seeped into his muscles, easing the last remnants of combat tension from his body. For the first time since the exercise ended, his mind began to quiet.
When he was done, he stood in front of the mirror, towel draped around his shoulders, leaning in slightly as he examined his reflection.
He lifted a hand and carefully ran his fingers through his damp hair, checking the hairline from different angles.
'Good,' he thought in relief.
'I'm not going bald.'
A small snort escaped him.
'I seriously thought breaking my limit would turn me into… him,' he mused.
'Guess not.'
Satisfied, he stepped back into his room and grabbed his phone—
It immediately exploded with vibration.
"—What the hell?" Izuku muttered, fumbling slightly as the device buzzed nonstop in his hand.
Confused, he unlocked the screen.
And froze.
Notifications flooded the display—messages piling on top of each other faster than he could read them. Someone had created a class group chat.
He sighed.
'…Of course they did.'
Messages kept rolling in.
Mina: Hey Izu! Wanna chat? 😄
Ochaco: Hi 👋☺️
Tsuyu: Kero 🐸
Momo: Good evening. I hope you're resting well.
Toru:
Izuku stared at Toru's message.
"…Is her text invisible?" he muttered.
'How did she even do that?'
There were more messages—some from the guys too—but he instinctively filtered those out.
Priorities.
He replied one by one, keeping things polite and casual.
Almost instantly—Replies. Every single time.
It was like they'd all been waiting, phones in hand, refreshing the chat.
Izuku blinked at the screen, thumb hovering awkwardly over the keyboard.
'…Do these girls already like me?' he wondered.
'I haven't even done anything yet.'
He paused.
Then his gaze drifted upward.
His reflection stared back at him from the darkened screen—clean, relaxed, faint smile tugging at his lips. Clear eyes. Calm posture. Someone who looked… confident.
Izuku smiled a little wider.
'…Well,' he thought, chuckling quietly to himself, 'maybe I did.'
The phone buzzed again in his hand.
Izuku glanced down at the screen, then let out a small breath through his nose, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
'…I know what I'm doing tonight,' he thought.
And that was exactly what he did.
He lay back against his pillows, phone held loosely in one hand as messages flew back and forth. Light teasing from Mina. Casual check-ins from Ochaco. Short, oddly endearing replies from Tsuyu. Even Toru somehow managed to participate—how, Izuku still didn't fully understand. Music talk with Jiro which was nice since she liked Kanye.
Time slipped by unnoticed. Minutes turned into an hour. Then another. Eventually, the chat narrowed down. Conversations faded one by one—until only one remained active.
Momo.
Her messages were thoughtful. Well-worded. Sometimes overly formal, but sincere. She asked about the exercise, his injuries, whether his suit could be repaired, whether U.A. provided replacements or if he'd need to request one himself.
Izuku replied between yawns, eyes growing heavier by the minute. His fingers slowed.
One message typed halfway.
Another never sent.
At some point, without realizing it, his grip loosened. The phone slid from his hand onto the bed beside him as sleep claimed him mid-conversation, breath evening out, the screen still glowing softly.
Meanwhile—
Far away, in Musutafu, inside the Yaoyorozu estate.
Momo sat alone in her room—a space so vast it could have comfortably housed a boutique. Shelves lined with neatly arranged books. Plush carpeting. Soft, golden lighting that made everything feel warm and quiet.
She lay atop her bed, propped up by pillows, phone clasped in both hands. The screen stared back at her. No new messages. She refreshed the chat. Nothing. Minutes passed.
Her brows knit together slightly as her thumb hovered uncertainly over the keyboard.
'…Is he ignoring me?' she wondered, a small knot forming in her chest.
She glanced at the time, then back at the chat again, rereading the last thing she'd sent. It had sounded polite. Friendly. Maybe too forward?
Her grip tightened just a little.
'No,' she reasoned quietly.
'He's probably just tired.'
Still… Her eyes flicked to the silent screen once more. And for some reason, that silence felt louder than any reply.
TO BE CONTINUED