His name was Izuku Midoriya.

He was quirikless. Once upon a time, hopeless.

Now nothing was without hope. He was no longer bound by the whims of fate that would have seen him powerless to become the hero he always aspired to be. Men make their own fate, Nezuko had often said.

Tradition is important, such was Yoroi Musha's mantra.

He had to burn brighter than the sun.

Izuku breathed.

And around him, the world became nothingness. In the pitch black void of his strange dreams, he found himself sitting not on normal ground. He saw on dust and stone of grey, among windless and breathless sights.

One of the stars in the sky was the Earth, shining back brightly.

"I have heard that a culture far in the west had a story about a man who flew too close to the sun," a voice echoed through the empty world. Izuku opened his eyes and looked. Genuinely, properly looked, and found a face staring back at him, framed by hair so black it almost could have been part of the universe behind him. "Perhaps it is fitting that they have sought out the moon instead."

Izuku realized that was exactly where he was sitting right now.

The man's face was familiar. He sat a bit further away, staring at the distant Earth with an unreadable expression. Izuku could not hear much in the vastness of space. He stood up, taking slow steps towards him and following his gaze.

"Take a seat," the man said, frowning into a cup of tea that had appeared in his hand at the flick of his wrist. Izuku did.

"Icarus," Izuku said. The man looked towards him, purple eyes that reminded Izuku of Shinso's piercing through him like he was nothing. Izuku did not hesitate. "The man who flew too close to the sun, whose wings melted and sent him crashing down."

"Wings, hm," the man said, his gaze wayward once more. "I suppose that's an auspicious way to fly for humans, though our bones are not quite hollow enough for such wings to hold our weight."

"I don't think it really happened," Izuku said, frowning. Where had he seen that face before? He knew it somewhere. But not with those colors. Not with those marks. Similar, yet different.

"Did it not?" the man asked, both his eyebrows raised. "Would you not say it is a much more interesting idea to assume it did?"

"Stories like that are more about the themes, I find," Izuku said, remembering many of Nezuko's stories. "Lessons to be learned from them, the Greek loved those stories about hubris."

"Oh, believe me," the man said, a small smile on his lips. "Stories and lessons to be learned from hubris are not the sole domain of those people. Rather, tell me, why is the image of a man making wings to fly with such a doubtful idea for a boy whose sword carves mountains?"

"I'm not a boy." Izuku wasn't sure why he felt irritated at the word. It cut him in a way that the world 'child' hasn't before. Or perhaps it was the way he used it. The tone that spoke of an experience Izuku could never match. It made him feel inadequate. "I'm… I've slain a demon already. I'm almost sixteen."

"Nevertheless," the man said, moving on as if he had said nothing at all, "indulge me."

Izuku's frown deepened. The man was unlike the others he had met in his dreams. He seemed almost melancholic.

"I… don't know," Izuku said eventually. His hands were balled into fists in his lap. "I've never really thought about it so much, flying so close to the sun to melt wax wings just feels ludicrous."

"Yet using the air around you to burn impurities in your body away and stain your blade crimson red in the fever-like heat is not," the man said, once more pointing out what he clearly felt was hypocrisy. "They say that seeing is believing, perhaps it is the privilege of those who grew up in a society of strange powers and mutations to assume that all those who came before are nothing but liars and embellishers of stories."

"Maybe," Izuku conceded. "They say Nobunaga may not have been a demon, and that the contemporaries who had outlived him wrote a history of him in his blood when his mouth was taken by the underworld."

"A valid interpretation," the man said, clenching a fist. "Though I assure you that depending on where you lived back then, Nobunaga was a demon far worse than those you've slain."

Izuku frowned. His gaze moved from the man's face back towards the distant planet. It felt closer now. He could see vague shapes of landmasses under hazes of white clouds.

"Of course, how about a different story then?" the man asked. He didn't wait for Izuku to answer, instead turning his body and sitting cross-legged now, one knee propped up with his hand on top of it. "This one, I can assure you, is quite true."

Izuku was never one to say no to an interesting story.

"The sun is quite bright," the man said. Izuku looked towards it in the distance. It seemed… so small. "And it becomes the envy of many others. I once heard a traveling merchant say to me that every culture had a sun god. 'Every single one?' I asked him. 'No exceptions' he answered. Do you know why?"

Izuku could guess. It was something of an unexplained natural phenomenon to people before science caught up to them. And even now people are steadfast in their belief that the sun is not simply a massive burning star that they are traveling around, but a god.

"For it is the one thing that all humans look up to," the man answered his own question. "Some fear it, some worship it, some want to hold it in their hands. Some want to be it."

Izuku nodded. The man took a moment, and another sip from his cup of tea. The cup vanished into nothing when he let it go, Izuku's eyes following it and losing track of it at the same time.

"So people imitate it, dress up in golden imagery, sacrifice others in its name so that they may take just a piece of that glory. But there is only one Sun. In the end, they move on, but one doesn't. The moon stays around, imitating, living in the sun's light to become more than just a dead rock flying around in space."

"But," Izuku found himself speaking up. The man blinked, stopping whatever he was going to say to listen up. "But… that's not true. The moon isn't just a pale imitation, it's its own thing, even if it takes the sun's light to be visible."

"Of course, but the moon doesn't think so," the man said. Izuku's eyebrows furrowed, he gave the man a solid look. The sun seemed to rise behind him. The world around them spinning, the moondust under him rising to float around as the ground crumbles. "Jealousy breeds malcontent. Malcontent breeds mistakes. Mistakes that cannot be fixed."

Izuku could finally see it. In the way the man grabbed the sword to his side. He wondered if he was Shisui once more, but his hands were not those of the man who had given birth to the Breath of Water.

They looked back at him. Scarred. Burned.

"You're not Tsugikuni," Izuku said. He wasn't sure just how he knew. It was something about his expression. It was not a pain that spoke a prayer to those lost to demons.

"But I am," the man said. Six eyes became visible on his face, then vanished in a blink. He stood up, grabbing a sword from the nothingness of the starlit sky. "Just not the Tsugikuni you'd like to talk to."

Izuku grabbed his own sword.

He did not burn bright enough.

He woke up drenched in sweat. His scars were itching.

It was his last day at the internship. After the one big fight he had, things were quieting down. The protests had ended when the prime minister finally resigned, and the National Diet would have their new elections sooner rather than later. This meant a lot of scrutiny on the government agencies who would have to investigate and charge the people responsible for RS-9, not just among the researchers and investors, but also among those in the Diet who knew.

The midterms were coming up, so it wasn't like he was going to have any time to relax, but for this one last day, Yoroi Musha had decided to take it easy. They ended up on patrol, just slowly walking through the streets of Shibuya and doing the same things that they had done before being called to help with the protests.

They ended up taking a small break when they reached a food stall.

Yoroi Musha did love to eat.

"You've grown strong, young Kagura," Yoroi Musha said between bites of fried food. "Stronger than I would have expected."

"Nezuko-sensei once said that true power is born when one is forged in fires of countless battles," Izuku said, looking at his own half-full plate. He wasn't very hungry right now. "That every battle was a learning experience, whether one was a Demon Slayer or a neophyte."

The words of comfort she had told him in anger as he felt down about his loss to Uncle Yu.

"I do not disagree," Yoroi Musha said. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that someone like you learns by doing. Meanwhile someone like that girl with the chains, she studies and absorbs it easily. There are many different talents people have. Sparring will only get you so far."

"It's not like I'm looking for a fight, sir," Izuku said, frowning. "I just have this disposition to end up in fights either way, it's like they're looking for me."

"I remember a student I once had told me the same thing," Yoroi Musha said, pursing his lips. "And even All Might said that because he cannot avert his gaze from injustice, he will fight every fight that he can. Make sure to pick your battles."

"I have no problem with running away, if that's what you mean," Izuku said, his voice almost flat. Yoroi Musha's steel-like gaze moved from the plate towards Izuku.

"I don't think I've taught you to lie to me, Kagura," Yoroi Musha said. The owner of the stall, listening in on the conversation, began to laugh. Izuku flushed slightly, averting his gaze. "I know you have a good head on your shoulders, but you're as reckless as they come. Don't make it a habit."

"Of course," Izuku said. He took a piece of meat from his own plate and ate. "With the midterms soon, I don't think I'll have much time to get into trouble."

"As is proper of a student." Yoroi Musha stood up. Izuku felt bad about not finishing his plate, but the owner waved him off with a smile. Standing up quickly, he followed the man out. "Though it's easy to forget you are one. You walk with the confidence many pro heroes have not yet found, or perhaps lost after a harsh time."

"Thank you?" Izuku said. He looked around. The streets were full, the curfew was loosened, or perhaps completely lifted. It felt strange after the night patrols in mostly empty streets that people only broke for protests. He was more used to seeing the sun way overhead. Somehow, people were much louder now.

"Is there something on your mind?"

Yoroi Musha's voice cut through the noise in his ears.

"I don't like it," Izuku said. He walked behind Yoroi Musha, watching the crowds. Politicians stood at some corners, trying to convince people to vote for them. A group of high school students was walking down the street, laughing together.

"Oh?" Yoroi Musha stopped, turning around. "Whatever do you mean, young Kagura?"

"If the villains had wanted to kill people, they wouldn't have made it so easy for us to stop them," Izuku said, frowning. "That's not to say the heroes are bad at what they do, but Dabi and Himiko Toga, they're strong. The fact that we started evacuations after a bunch of thugs revealed themselves, they should have expected that."

"They did, of course," Yoroi Musha said. Izuku met the man's gaze with an inquisitive stare of his own. "It was easy to tell from Dabi's reaction alone. He wasn't surprised to see them fail, it might have been a distraction."

"Not a show of force?" Izuku asked. Yoroi Musha shook his head. The man's phone rang for a moment, making him look down at it as he pulled it out of his pocket.

"It seems our day is coming to an end," Yoroi Musha said. "Back to the office for now. I have a farewell gift for you."

Izuku tried not to show his surprise. Instead, he followed Yoroi Musha as the man began walking again. They stepped through crowds and back towards the street where the small office was located.

They entered and greeted the receptionist slash secretary slash Yoroi Musha's wife. She handed him a piece of candy and waved him goodbye as Yoroi Musha walked down the hall towards his office.

Izuku could still see the impression his body had made when the man had hammered him into the wall on the first day. A bottle of sake sat on the desk, as well as a few newspapers.

"I'm legally obligated to remind you that I am still underage," Izuku said, pointing at the bottle with a raised eyebrow. Yoroi Musha laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking in mirth.

"I'm old enough to forget a few things here and there," Yoroi Musha said, pushing the bottle aside. "But I don't think I'm old enough to forget that you're like a baby here, young Kagura."

Izuku resisted the urge to childishly stick out his tongue. Yoroi Musha walked up to him, looking down with his beady eyes and making Izuku feel much, much smaller than he actually was. The man's hand came forward. Izuku thought he would be getting hit again, but the motion was so slow he did not draw his sword.

"Your eyes are less clouded than they were at the start," Yoroi Musha said. His gauntlet touched down on Izuku's head, ruffling his hair. "But you still look at the world like a man on a mission. You have a long life ahead of you, Izuku. Do not waste it in the pursuit of something useless."

Izuku knew he could not keep such a promise. "This is the first time you called me by my name."

"Does it still sound right?" he asked. Izuku nodded. "Good. Let me tell you, there are many heroes who have worked themselves to the bone. Many of them go home every day and forget that they, too, are nothing more than masks for the person that lies inside."

"Are you one of those heroes?" Izuku asked. Yoroi Musha grinned, his teeth visible like a warning.

"Me and many others." Yoroi Musha pulled his hand off Izuku's head and turned around. He fumbled around with something under his desk. A small file. It was fairly plain, a brown folder with a few papers inside. "I've sent the report of your internship to your school already. I don't need to tell you my evaluation for you to know that I've enjoyed my time with you."

"Me as well," Izuku murmured. "Thank you, sir."

Yoroi Musha held the file out. Izuku reached out and grabbed it, but before he could look into it, the man's gauntlet grasped his wrist.

"I did not give you this," Yoroi Musha warned ominously. His voice was serious. It always was gruff and stern, as he was used to, but this time it had a dangerous edge to it. "This is technically nothing you couldn't have gotten on your own, it would have just taken a lot longer."

Izuku blinked, nodding. Instead of opening the file right there, he put it into his bag. He could look at it later. Yoroi Musha's small smile was accompanied by a short nod.

They shook hands before Izuku left the building. The internship was complete.

In celebration, with the curfew being lifted due to the protests dying down as well as the yakuza burning themselves out with indiscriminate attacks and constant arrests of their people, Izuku had invited Momo to dinner.

Or rather, he would invite her to dinner. Mirko's agency wasn't too far to reach after he left Yoroi Musha's agency, though he was still in his uniform (it felt weird calling it a costume) despite the end of the internship.

Mirko's agency was much bigger.

A tall building with the 'Lucky Charm' name on top of it. Noticeable, and certainly flashy. Izuku stepped in and found himself under the scrutiny of their own reception.

A man with thick rimmed glasses looked at him for a moment before grabbing the phone to his left, pressing a key and then saying 'Kagura's here' into it. He hadn't really told anyone he was coming here, so why was he expected? Maybe Momo being here had set the expectation.

"Welcome to the Lucky Charm Agency," the receptionist said, louder this time after he hung up. "What can we do for you today?"

"I'm, err, waiting for my friend," Izuku said. "She's here as an intern, Creati?"

"Ah yes, of course," the man continued, pretending as if he didn't know. "Please just wait a few minutes, she's currently receiving her last report for the internship and will be out shortly."

Izuku nodded, walking towards the wall. The reception hall here was not that different from Yoroi Musha's. It was mostly the decoration. Posters of Mirko hung on the wall, some with her sidekicks whose names didn't quite come to him. Something about Bunny and Rabbit.

Some posters were of ads that Mirko had starred in. Sponsorships were, after all, the lifeblood of any hero that could leverage either looks or power, and Mirko had both to spare.

Not that he was looking at another woman while waiting for his girlfriend. Nobody would do such a thing.

He was restless, however. He couldn't sit. The swords didn't allow him to just lean against the wall, forcing him to turn his body somewhat until he was leaning against the wall with one arm, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Perhaps it was a bit of a long day. But if they didn't go today, they wouldn't have time until after the midterms.

He looked up when he heard her approach. She walked with a bit of a skip in her step, likely due to the good times she had at the internship just like him. He was about to shove off the wall and walk towards her, but she all but leaped over to him and ended up with her back against the wall.

"O-oh no," she said, a small stutter in her voice. "You've caught me."

Izuku blinked, looking towards his arm she was bending her knees to remain under, and then her furiously red face. He heard laughter. Moving his gaze towards it, he found Mirko grinning and giving two thumbs up, as well as the receptionist laughing so hard he had to hold onto the desk.

Izuku went beet red as well and immediately pushed off the wall. Momo hid her face in Izuku's shoulder, but he could have sworn she gave her own thumbs up back at Mirko.

"Hi," Izuku finally managed to get out. "Do… I wanted to ask if, I mean- err."

It felt awkward. This might be their first real dinner since they became a couple. Asking someone out on a date you were already dating shouldn't be this weird at all, but Momo's strange greeting had left him speechless.

"I have a dinner reservation for us if you want to go," Izuku said. Finally. His voice didn't even hitch for a moment. "Celebration before the midterms steal our freetime."

"Yes," Momo mumbled into his shoulder.

Today's venue was a bit grander than usual. Rather than an ostensibly fancy-ish restaurant, they were eating sushi at one of the most expensive places in the greater Tokyo area.

Somehow Izuku felt like his uniform was almost appropriate. Momo had ended up changing clothes before they left, wearing her more casual Sunday clothes due to not keeping her school uniform with her in the mornings.

Izuku felt uneasy. Hairs stood on the back of his neck. Momo walked with the grace of a rich heiress, without much concern about the ambience. He, in return, walked slower. More meticulous. Steady steps.

He felt eyes on him. He knew he should've dressed differently, but after taking the haori off and pushing it into his bag he ended up in the black uniform beneath which looked quite plainly off.

"Welcome!" a waitress shouted in greeting. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Y-yes," Izuku stuttered out. "Midoriya."

The waitress looked down into a small notebook and nodded. "Follow me."

They ended up seated on a central table. The stares subsided after a few minutes. Momo looked more than happy to order half the menu.

"I think this is a bit much," Momo said, smiling at him. "Even if we are celebrating the end of the internships."

"It's not wrong to celebrate properly once in a while, " Izuku said, a smile creeping up on his lips as well. She wouldn't have batted an eye just a few months ago, but now she was the one more humble. "I've wanted to thank you, too."

"Thank me?"

"The last weeks were harsh," Izuku said, his fists in his lap. "You've stopped me from falling into the same thoughts and patterns I usually do when I'm troubled. I'm thankful."

"I didn't do anything any other good friend wouldn't," Momo said. She raised a hand up to her face, her fingers hiding her mouth. "You don't need to thank me for that."

"Not just any friend," he said, shaking his head. "And even then, not even Nezuko-sensei would have been able to."

"Have things between you been going better?" Momo asked. Izuku frowned. Somewhat, he would say. But how much 'some' there was was up to debate. Izuku was at least willing to join the training in the evening again. "That's an answer, I suppose."

"It's not that things have been better or worse, it's just," Izuku fumbled around for the words. He found himself thinking back to the conversations they had since he had found out about his father. "I'm… re-evaluating my relationship with her. It doesn't quite feel like the same anymore. I used to think of her like a mother."

"And now you don't?" Momo asked. She knew so much about his family that it made him feel ashamed to think she would judge him for it. He shook his head.

"I still do, but I've also learned that just because someone is your parent, or akin to parent, doesn't mean they're never going to disappoint you."

"She didn't live up to an ideal I've built in my heart, and that's my fault." Izuku glanced to the left. A sushi chef had arrived, ready to prepare the meal right in front of them. They greeted him, and he bowed, a sharp knife in hand. Izuku felt conscious about the swords they let him keep as he stepped in. "It's not on her to become who I want her to be."

"The opposite is also true, Izuku," Momo said, poking his cheek. "She sometimes looks at you like you're not her student at all."

"I thought she saw her brother in me," Izuku said, grabbing the chopsticks. "But now I think it's something else."

"Something else?" Momo asked, tilting her head as she grabbed her own. The chef was fast and somehow, from that smile on his face, Izuku wondered if he was happy about seeing them. "Like what?"

"An executioner," Izuku said. As if to accent the word, a tall knife chopped down on a fish's head. Momo started. It was filet with a precision that made Izuku jealous. "She finally told me the truth. Which is why things between us are still so awkward. She wants me to kill her one day."

"That's-" Momo said, her voice lashing out. She might have punched the table in half if he hadn't stopped her. She sat down, realizing just where they were after that moment of passion, glaring at the first rolls that came up in front of them. "That's cruel."

"It is," Izuku said, nodding. "It's… still so strange to think about it. She's essentially unkillable, it's like she raised me for the purpose of becoming strong enough to do to her what nobody else could."

"She's suicidal. That's not a positive trait."

"She's so old she can't even count her own age anymore," Izuku said, feeling the need to defend the decision which he himself could not agree with. He hated the idea behind it. He hated the execution behind it.

He hated the fact that he could see how necessary and important it was for her.

"Then she should find another way, you're not going to do it," Momo said, showing more anger than he ever had when he found out. He reached out, putting one hand on hers. Her hand was cold. The heat reached her face and dissipated. The anger slowly left, but it waited there. It was a quiver in her bones. "I'll do it if she wants it."

"I can't let you, either," Izuku said, frowning. "This is something neither of us can let the other do."

Somehow, Izuku felt, it would happen either way.

"What did we say about making decisions for each other?" Momo asked. Izuku glanced towards the sushi chef. As if reading his mind, the man turned his head away. Izuku leaned towards Momo, planting a soft kiss on her angry lips.

"Because I like you," Izuku said. He went red in the face, and Momo mirrored him. "And I'm a bit too selfish to let someone I like do something that I'm unwilling to do."

Momo did not bring up Nezuko for the rest of the evening.

They ate and enjoyed each other's company.

"I've been having more and more of those strange dreams lately," Izuku said, sitting in front of Nezuko in the dojo. Eri was taking a nap downstairs. He could hear his mother cooking in their house next door. "Memories of people I've never met. You told me it's just something that happens, but…"

"My brother dreamed of our ancestors," Nezuko said. "I never had such dreams, I assume it is because they will not come to demons, whose sleep is nothing more than a show."

"I don't think these are my ancestors," Izuku said, murmuring. He shook his head. "Not entirely at least. I… I think Shisui is, was I mean. If we go far enough back, there is a chance everyone is related at some point, but he's the only one that I feel a connection to."

"Who else have you met?" Nezuko asked.

Izuku frowned, thinking. "An old man with a wooden leg and angry eyebrows."

"The man who had taught Zenitsu Agatsuma the Breath of Lightning," Nezuko said. Her own voice seemed somewhat distant, laced with nostalgia and fondness. "But not just him, right?"

"Urokodaki was there," Izuku said, nodding. "I told you about him."

"Quite, he's a man who leaves an impression either way." She smiled. "I believe he tried to brainwash me to stop my cravings for human flesh back when I first turned. A good man, if a bit superstitious."

Izuku would argue brainwashing sounded like a weird thing to do for a good man, but Shinso was, while abrasive, definitely not a bad person.

"Then there was this blond man with red tips. His blade was hot like fire."

"Rengoku," Nezuko said, frowning. "Though which one I suppose he didn't tell you."

Izuku shook his head. Nezuko nodded. Though he was sure he could elaborate and she would be able to tell him, the exact who didn't seem to matter.

"Recently I've met a man who looked like Yoriichi Tsugikuni," Izuku said. His hand came up to his hair. "His hair was jet black, his eyes purple. He had that mark over his face. Unlike the others, I couldn't hear his heartbeat."

Nezuko's face twisted into an expression of fury and disgust. As if she could tell from that description alone who he had spoken to. For a short breath, Izuku flinched back. As quickly as it came, it vanished.

Nezuko took a deep breath. It sounded as fake as always, but it seemed to calm her down.

"Purified, perhaps, but still a monster," Nezuko said, her voice tight. "I can only guess, and guesses will lead us nowhere. Perhaps it is simply an ability you were born with, to see and hear the souls of the dead. A spirit medium, or something related to why you have never received a quirk of your own. Or perhaps you are finding memories in those swings of your sword."

"But that wouldn't explain the… monster?" Izuku asked. The word didn't seem right. The man who thought himself like Icarus seemed more sad than monstrous. "He used a style I hadn't seen before. It ripped me to shreds-"

"You fought them, of course," Nezuko said, sighing softly. "The transparent world is denied to me. I cannot understand the whims of the dead, as I am undying. I cannot understand the whims of the Slayers, as I am but a gravemarker so their legacy may not die out."

"You're not lying to me, I know you're not," Izuku said, his fists clenched in his lap. "But somehow it feels like you're moving on too fast. Like you're content with just leaving me without answers."

"You think wrong," she said. "Answers are all you're receiving, and yet you do not listen. For someone with ears such as yours, a heart as closed from the unknown can never receive the wisdom that the ghosts may try to impart on you."

"Would you not say it is a much more interesting idea to assume it did?"

Izuku's breath hitched. Nezuko took that as an answer, nodding at him..

"The dead wish to tell you something, Izuku." Nezuko stood, putting a hand on Izuku's head as she walked past him towards the stairs. "I believe you should listen to the voices I cannot hear anymore."

The Man Who Thought Himself An Icarus was a Demon.

A dead thing made from a dead power in the shape of the dead.

Her hand was colder than ever when it let go of his head. Izuku could see six eyes stare at him from the dark corners of the room.

He knew something was wrong that following Monday.

Midterms. One of the few exams that mattered, for which they had been preparing for weeks and weekends. Sometimes with sessions at Momo's house where she tutored others in the class.

"Good morning," Momo said, smiling into a cup of tea. Izuku blinked, raising his eyebrows at the scene.

Why was she sitting in his living room, drinking tea with his mother instead of being at the school two hours earlier than anyone else? She smiled at him. A smile he wasn't sure he could place. She wore her school uniform a bit too loose. A bit too… open.

Inko was smiling as well, though for a different reason. It was the first time she had met his girlfriend, after all. It was one of the few things that brought her genuine joy, to hear that he had found someone whom he enjoyed spending so much time with.

"Good morning," he returned. Something was in the air. A scent that caused the world around him to be kind of hazy.

Izuku sat down for breakfast. It still felt off, but through the tired haze of a morning after his usual jog, he couldn't quite tell what it was. His ears were ringing. His nose was twitching.

"I thought we could go together," Momo said. She sounded so happy. Beyond any happiness he had ever felt from her before. Izuku could feel that same happiness jump up in his chest.

"Yes," Izuku said, smiling back. The food had no taste. "One week of non stop exams isn't going to be fun."

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Momo said. Her plate was still untouched. "We'll have plenty of time to learn all about each other."

The words caused him to stop. It was like his body and his mind were detached from each other. He raised his hands, but they stayed on the table. He turned his head, but it was fixated on Momo's form.

He felt full.

Or perhaps it was the tongue that was numb. He couldn't swallow anymore.

Bits of rice and fish came from his mouth, spilling onto the table as his throat made a coughing sound without actually coughing. His mother stood up quickly, running around the table to help him, but Momo's leg kicked out, tripping her.

Poison.

But Momo would never poison him.

The haze was leaving. The effect of some other quirk must have blocked his ears from hearing the difference in their heartbeat. His body, numb and yet happy, fell over into the plate. He could smell nothing, feel nothing, hear nothing-

Izuku's lips spoke a wordless name. Himiko Toga. The bright smile of Momo was replaced by a massive, blood thirsty and fanged grin. The face melted off, as did the uniform. She stepped over his mother, her feet driving deep into the woman's back and causing the sound of cracks.

Izuku felt so stupid. Himiko jabbed a needle of something into his neck. He blacked out, hearing the cries of his mother, distant yet close.

Chapter 27, upcoming:

OATHBOUND Part II

She was lying on the ground. Deep wounds stained her form crimson as her body shuddered with every fading heartbeat. One of the jagged knives that Himiko Toga loved to use was still stuck in her stomach.

Izuku did not breathe.

He howled.

He howled the prayer of a furious, grieving god.