No sooner had House Yagi's private jet landed on the tarmac at Haneda Airport than Izuku was striding down its ramp, eager for the twelve-hour flight to finally be over.

He made it perhaps a dozen steps from the bottom of the ramp before the madness of it all brought him to a halt. He stared out at the distant Tokyo skyline, finding himself lost in thought all over again.

He'd left this place eight years ago as a timid, awkward boy, fleeing a world where he was unwelcome and unwanted. Now, he was returning a man…though he'd be lying if he wasn't still awkward, beneath the rippling muscle and the scars and the power. Would he still be unwelcome, as well?

Before Izuku could sink deeper into his dark thoughts, he was distracted by footsteps behind him. A rough, coarse voice said, "Eight years, and this place is just as much of a shithole as when we left."

Izuku half-turned to see Katsuki Bakugo, his oldest friend-and biggest headache-stepping up beside him. His red eyes were dark and distant, staring out over the Tokyo skyline, his lips thin and his jaw jutting and tense. He looked like he was tempted to spit on the ground.

"That's unfair," Izuku managed to reply.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. "To shitholes?" he asked. "Yeah, probably."

Izuku couldn't stop the snort of amusement that escaped his nostrils at that. "It's not all bad," he protested nevertheless.

Katsuki eyed him. "Easy for you to say," he retorted. "You're headed to a fucking mansion."

Izuku…didn't have a retort to that. Katsuki was right, after all.

It still felt insane to him, at times. He and Katsuki had grown up more or less the same-poor, forgotten, unremarkable. Well, Katsuki hadn't been-he'd had a Quirk, after all, and a strong one at that. While that meant he'd had better prospects in life-half the House Guards in the country had tried to recruit him into their ranks-it also meant a much, much more dangerous level of scrutiny, and an inborn arrogance to him that Izuku had, admittedly, taken considerable pleasure in beating out of him over the years.

And now, here he was, adopted son of the most powerful man in Japan, with a quirk and a title and a reputation, going home to a mansion. While Katsuki's parents lived in the same small, unassuming house they always had, in the same neighborhood they'd grown up in, while he hadn't been in Japan since he'd left alongside Izuku as a teenager.

Funny, the way their paths had diverged so wildly-and still, here they were, side by side.

"What do you think you'll do?" Izuku asked.

Katsuki shrugged. "Haven't decided yet," he grunted. "My folks'll probably get pissed if I don't drop by at some point, though. Might take Round Cheeks with me; she hasn't been to Japan in years. Not sure she's got anywhere else to go."

Izuku nodded thoughtfully. Unlike the two of them, who had grown up adjacent to nobility, if far beneath them, Ochako hadn't so much as seen a noble before meeting Izuku-if he even counted. She'd become a mercenary mostly to support her family-not that that had worked out, in the end.

All of them had some skeletons in their closets; some of them tended to rattle more than the others.

"Careful there," Izuku teased, forcing his mind into happier topics. "Sounds to me like you're going soft."

Katsuki simply raised an eyebrow at that. "Fuck off," he replied, not even moving a muscle, the faintest ghost of a smile on his face.

A moment later, Izuku was struck by a sudden, concerning thought. "Where is Ochako, anyway?" he asked, worried-and not without reason. When Ochako Uraraka went missing, things tended to…well, explode.

Katsuki chuckled. "Arguing with the pilots, I'm pretty sure," he replied. "She wants to collect her, ah, cargo."

Izuku began to nod…then froze. Slowly, he worked through the possibilities of what that could mean. It didn't take him long, of course-there was really only one thing it could be, after all.

"I thought I told her she couldn't bring them," he groaned.

"You did," Katsuki replied, rather unhelpfully. "She just didn't listen."

Izuku put a hand to his temple, trying to massage away his sudden headache. "This isn't America," he hissed. "She can't get away with smuggling that shit into Japan! She has to know that, right?"

Bakugo just snorted. "Have you ever known Round Face to go anywhere without her guns?" he pointed out. "Besides, aren't you a big shot rich bastard now? You can probably get her out of hot water if she gets in trouble, you know."

Izuku groaned again, louder this time, but eventually, he just shook his head. "That's a fair point," he admitted, then asked the question he'd been dreading: "How many did she bring?"

Bakugo grinned. "Only enough to topple a small country."

Izuku was silent for a long moment, his expression utterly unreadable. Then, he hung his head, and smiled weakly.

"Well, that's a relief," he declared. "I was worried she'd brought more. As long as she didn't bring the Barrett, we're-"

"Of course I brought the Barrett!" Ochako replied out of nowhere, jogging up behind them with her truly enormous sealed gun case floating along beside her. The damn thing would've been too heavy to lift, if not for her Quirk-the same Quirk that Izuku knew firsthand was the perfect complement to her deadly accuracy with firearms.

Even as Ochako grinned at him, her pink cheeks stretched wide with mirth, Izuku winced. "I was afraid you'd say that," he winced. "Why?"

Ochako raised an eyebrow. "Why the fuck not?" she replied, still smiling sweetly. "What was I supposed to do, leave it in America?"

Izuku sighed. "You are way too attached to that gun," he informed her.

Ochako shrugged, but it was Katsuki who responded, saying, "See, this is the other reason why she's coming with me. Otherwise, she'd probably start an international incident within half an hour."

Indignant, Ochako snapped, "What, are you my babysitter? That's a terrible fucking idea! You're even worse than I am!"

Katsuki met her eyes. "Remember Fremont?" he replied dryly.

Ochako's cheeks flushed. "That guy was a forward scout for the paramilitary we were there to drive off, remember?" she shot back.

Katsuki's expression didn't so much as waver. "Did you know that when you shot him?" he asked evenly.

Ochako opened her mouth, then paused, her indignant expression slowly replaced with a sheepish blush as she rubbed the back of her head.

Grinning victoriously, Katsuki turned back to Izuku, who by now was pinching the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache.

"Enough, you two," he said, straightening to look his two closest friends in the eye. "I swear to fucking God, if you so much as jaywalk while I'm busy, I'm punting you back across the Pacific myself."

Katsuki and Ochako scoffed at the same time. "Do you really have so little faith in us?" Ochako asked.

Izuku gave them a long-suffering look, and said a single word: "Sacramento."

Instantly, both Ochako and Katsuki's eyes went wide. "I thought we didn't talk about Sacramento!" Katsuki protested.

"Don't make me bring it up, then," Izuku said, already tired of the whole conversation. "Now…I'll see you guys later."

With that, he turned away, towards the dark car at the edge of the airfield, with a man in an equally dark suit holding the door and waiting expectantly for him.

"Have fun in rich-people land!" Ochako called after him. Izuku just shook his head, and raised a hand in farewell.

As he approached the chauffeur, the man said, "Lord Izuku?"

Izuku had to process that name. It had been so long since he'd been called "Lord" of anything-especially when it was actually serious, and not a mocking joke-that he had to realize he was being addressed. Finally, he said, "Oh, uh…yes?"

The chauffeur showed no emotion, yet Izuku still imagined he felt the man's disapproval as he said, "Your father is awaiting your arrival. He is very eager to see you."

Izuku nodded; not an hour back in Japan, and he was already exhausted.

"Then by all means," he said quietly. "Let's go home."

The first thing Izuku felt when he laid eyes on the Yagi mansion for the first time in seven years was, as it had always been, awe.

It was an imposing building, sprawling and stately, with beautiful rolling grounds stretching out in every direction; a country estate unparalleled in its magnificence. As the car pulled into the gravel driveway, Izuku found himself staring up at the brick and marble facade, feeling like a fifteen-year-old boy again.

It didn't quite feel like he was home. He'd lived here for nearly two years-in what felt like another lifetime-between when Lord Yagi and his mother had married, and when it had all become too much and he'd left for America, Toshinori's quirk in his blood and a desperate need to escape the mocking stares of the nobles under his skin.

That was the great secret of the House of Yagi; it wasn't a house in the same sense as all the others, who obsessed over their bloodlines and the Quirks they carried, crossing them carefully and systematically to cultivate power-of all kinds, not just physical. No, Yagi Toshinori's adopted mother had held the House before him, and their transferable Quirk, and her adopted father before-not that those adoptions were generally public knowledge. To keep up appearances, of course.

One For All. It was a name that still sent shivers down Izuku's spine, even now, with its power in his blood and lightning at his fingertips, the same way it had when he was fifteen and the most powerful man in Japan knelt at his feet and offered him the world.

A shame Izuku had never quite managed to be comfortable in the role of heir. He couldn't help but be reminded of that, as he walked through the halls of the mansion. The obscene displays of wealth on every corner were just so much. Art everywhere, all marble and mahogany, power and prestige dripping off every inch of the vast estate.

And this was all supposed to be his someday? Him, the quirkless commoner who had only become what he had become due to chance and Lord Yagi's happenstance relationship with his mother?

With a sigh, Izuku forced the worries from his head-a trick he'd learned out of necessity over the years, for clearing his mind before battle. This wasn't a battle, but it sure was stressful as all hell.

He reached out to the door in front of him, and knocked. A moment later, a soft voice called back, "Come in!"

Izuku did so, and immediately came to a halt.

Inko Midoriya-Inko Yagi, now-didn't look like the woman Izuku remembered raising him anymore. Or, well, maybe she did; just the woman she had been before his father died, before she'd had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, the one that still remembered how to smile. By the end, that woman had been exhausted, overworked, her face wan and pale-but she'd still, somehow, been beautiful. Beautiful enough to make the most powerful man in Japan stop and stare in a chance meeting on the street.

Izuku hadn't been there for much of his mother's romance with Toshinori Yagi, consumed with training alongside Bakugo for the Yagi House Guard-one of the few options for advancement he'd had-but he knew that while outsiders might have described it as "whirlwind," it was anything but. Theirs was a mature, grounded love, one that was more sweet than passionate; they had found it in middle age-or perhaps even later-and it showed. Perhaps the only part of it that had been brash and shocking was his marriage proposal, rather than keeping her as a mistress like nearly any other noble would have-but then, Toshinori had always been something of a maverick by noble standards.

In the seven years since Izuku had last laid eyes on her, his mother had lost weight; though she was far from the young beauty she had been, she wore the well-made dress of a noble wife well.

"Izuku?" she said, shocked, sheets of paper tumbling from stunned fingers.

Izuku smiled weakly, barely noticing the room around her; it was full of maids and ladies-in-waiting, as well as a few men in suits who were probably accountants, going over household finances with the Lady of House Yagi.

"Hey, Mom," he said softly, stepping inside.

A single look, accompanied by a dismissive gesture, from Inko had the accountants and the ladies-in-waiting filing out of the room, leaving her alone with her newly-returned son. She stood from the chair she'd been sitting in, and seemed to glide across the room to him.

"It's really you," she whispered, and then she was hugging him, her arms crushing his muscled chest as if they were made of steel.

Despite being nearly half a foot taller than his mother, and much bigger and stronger than he had been the last time he had seen her, Izuku felt his lungs scream under the force of Inko's hug. He returned it almost reflexively, feeling his eyes water.

"My son," Inko sobbed, unleashing the legendary Midoriya tears and staining the front of Izuku's jacket, "you're finally home."

In the end, Izuku found himself dragged into having tea with his mother.

"God, look at how much you've grown!" Inko gushed, beaming like the sun. "I always knew you'd be a late bloomer, but still!"

Izuku smiled weakly at that. "I guess so," he agreed.

For a moment, the two of them hesitated, and silence, awkward and stilted, filled the air.

Then, Inko spoke again. "Have you had the chance to look around since you've gotten back?"

"Not much," Izuku admitted, smiling weakly. "Honestly, every time I do, I feel like I'm in a museum."

As Inko laughed, before once more beginning to speak, Izuku found himself half-listening as he stirred his tea absentmindedly.

Seeing his mother again was far from a bad experience-he'd missed her sorely these last seven years-but even so, he couldn't help but feel as though something was missing.

Inko had seemingly adjusted quite well from being a single working mother to the life of a powerful noblewoman, bearing the changes with grace and strength Izuku had always known she'd had, but still found himself stunned to see on such full display.

His mother was still the same woman she'd always been, still tender and loving and deeply caring beneath it all.

But even so…the conversation felt off . And Izuku knew why.

Every time they tiptoed near the subject of Izuku's absence, of what he'd been doing in America, Inko's eyes flared with poorly-hidden alarm, and she abruptly changed the subject again, even if that required blathering on about dresses or gardening or other mundane things. She seemed desperate to pretend it had never happened, that her only son hadn't vanished for seven years and come back half a stranger, with scars on his face and darkness in his eyes, that they were merely catching up over tea rather than reuniting after the longest they'd ever been separated.

And beneath it all, Izuku saw pain, and fear, in his mother's eyes-fear that she'd somehow drive him away again. He understood immediately: Inko blamed herself for him leaving in the first place. She thought she'd driven him to it.

He couldn't even argue, couldn't even console her…because, well, she had.

Not intentionally, of course. But the ease with which Inko had accepted the change in her life, how she'd somehow borne the abrupt elevation in her status as if it wasn't something out of an impossible fairy tale, had not been Izuku's experience. Perhaps it had been his age, or his awkwardness, or just some sort of deep-seated, simmering anger under his skin, but he had not taken to the life of a noble heir anywhere near as well as Inko had to the life of a noblewoman. Seeing her thrive, as the weight of expectations and mockery and the constant feeling of failure and inadequacy piled up on him…

Toshinori finally entrusting Izuku with the secret of One For All, and the training to use it properly, had been a godsend. It had finally given him the power, and the reason, to do what he'd desperately needed to do, for the sake of his own sanity: he'd left.

And now, sitting in a too-clean room in a too-large mansion with the mother he loved so dearly, he remembered why he'd done it.

At last, it was too much; when the conversation lulled once more, Izuku took the opportunity to sigh regretfully and set down his half-drained cup.

"I'm sorry to cut this short," he said, "but I really need to go talk to Father. We've…got a lot to discuss."

Inko didn't even flinch, even though hearing Izuku call Toshinori "Father" had to cause her pain. Hisashi had died in an accident many years prior; Izuku barely had any memories of the man. Even after a rocky start-Izuku had been very distrustful of Toshinori at first, not that Toshinori had ever blamed him-the man had given Izuku his quirk, trained him well, entrusted him with everything. Was it any wonder Izuku had eventually begun to find himself calling Toshinori Father? As far as Izuku was concerned, whatever his misgivings about nobility, no matter how unfit he felt to be heir to House Yagi, Toshinori had earned that much.

"I'm sure you do!" Inko agreed, too bright and chipper by half. "He'll be so happy to see you! Tell you what, we'll just finish this later!"

Izuku nodded, forcing himself to smile. "I'd love that," he said.

Then, giving his mother one last hug, he left the room, and made his way to Toshinori's study.

The door was already partially open; a single light knock on the wood had Toshinori calling, "Come in!"

Izuku stepped inside-closing it behind him as he did-and for the first time in nearly seven years, he laid eyes on Lord Toshinori Yagi, his stepfather.

The years had…well, not been kind to him-the cane resting on his lap and the sickly thinness that had only grown more pronounced made that clear, though he'd not been strong even before Izuku had left-but even through the sunken cheeks and the pain obvious in every moment, Toshinori's presence filled the whole room. It was like a fire, warmth radiating out when he smiled; Izuku couldn't help but feel a gentle grin form on his own face, as he eased the door shut.

"Hello, Father," he said softly.

Toshinori beamed. "My boy!" he said, in a voice that still had shades of his once-booming laugh. "God, you've grown so big! Come give this old man a hug, won't you?"

Izuku did so; he tried not to think about the way Toshinori felt so light in his arms. Perhaps that was just the way he'd changed; Toshinori was a tall man, and Izuku had barely reached his chest even at the age of sixteen. Now, though, he was on par with Toshinori, and vastly broader and more muscular.

He had changed, in America. Inside and out, for better…and for worse. He wondered how much of that Toshinori knew.

Judging by the guarded look the older man got in his eyes as they flicked over Izuku's scars, perhaps it was more than Izuku had hoped.

"Have you seen your mother yet?" Toshinori asked. "I hope you didn't try to hide from her."

Izuku laughed. "Of course not," he replied. "I know better. I talked to her already-it's why I was late. She refused to let me go. She's…doing well, I hope?"

Toshinori nodded. "I'm glad you think so," he agreed. "It was…hard on her, you being overseas."

Izuku flinched a little. "Yeah," he muttered. "I wish I'd found a way to make it easier, but-"

"But you had to find your own way," Toshinori finished, understanding in his eyes. "You and I both understood that then, my boy, and we both understand it now. I think Inko does too, deep down…but it still hurts, nonetheless."

Izuku closed his eyes, but nodded slowly. Old wounds threatened to reopen-but held firm. He and Toshinori did both know why he'd left; that was why Toshinori had allowed his only possible heir to become a mercenary, to put his life at risk to try and make something of himself. It had been that or being crushed by the weight of the changes in his life, by the laughing mockery of his new peers at the commoner suddenly raised to their world.

Well, he had made something of himself, Izuku thought darkly. A legend. A killer. A force of nature like no other.

He wondered if Toshinori was proud of the man his heir had become.

"Why did you call me back?" Izuku asked; not harshly-he respected Toshinori too much for that-but certainly cutting to the chase.

Toshinori recognized it too, and leaned back in his chair, his eyes no longer quite as warm; this was the other side of him, the side that was always planning, always calculating, always preparing. The side that Izuku had could never understand, before he'd set foot in San Francisco. He understood it now-it was the true steel in Toshinori Yagi.

"My boy," he said, in a voice that was firm, but not unkind. "You and I both know that I'm getting old."

Izuku winced. "Not that old," he muttered, barely loud enough for Toshinori to hear.

"Old enough," Toshinori shot back, "that it's time for you to start taking your responsibilities as heir seriously."

Izuku looked up, meeting Toshinori's eyes. "When I went away," he said, "you told me, "This is your duty as heir-to prove yourself worthy of the House." I thought I was doing my duty."

"You were," Toshinori assured him, those gleaming eyes seeming to pierce right through Izuku. "But I know more of your exploits than you seem to think, my boy. Tell me, Titan: do you really think you need to do any more to prove that you are worthy?"

Izuku blinked. "I…" he began, only to trail off.

With a sigh, Toshinori stood, leaning heavily on his cane. He made his way around the vast oaken desk in the center of the office, and laid his hand on Izuku's shoulder. He met Izuku's eyes, and Izuku understood-in this moment, he was not facing Toshinori, but the Lord of the House of Yagi.

"I am so very proud of you," he murmured softly. "But there is nothing more you can do there. You know that, right? It was time for you to come home-to face the things that made you run in the first place."

Izuku's fists clenched. Toshinori had always known how to motivate him-how to channel Izuku's anger into constructive goals, how to get him going until he could break down any wall, batter down any door. Izuku had a switch somewhere inside him that could flip at any moment, turning him from a shy, awkward introvert into a charging bull with a head of steam. Toshinori Yagi understood this perfectly.

Izuku looked up at him, and asked, "What do I have to do?"

Toshinori smiled, and turned back to his desk, shuffling through papers. As he did so, he said, "Much of it is simple-you will have to become familiar with the House's businesses and management, of course. I will help you with that-trust me, if I could manage it, you'll have no trouble learning. There are our political pursuits-boring, I know, but you should know them before you decide how and if to change them-and, of course, the matter of finding you a suitable wife."

Izuku had been nodding along-right up until the word "wife" left Toshinori's mouth. Suddenly, he froze, then blurted out, "Wait a second-hold on, that's not…I didn't think…"

Toshinori raised an eyebrow-though he seemed willing to wait patiently for Izuku to work through his shock. "My boy," he said eventually, once again not unkindly, "surely you knew this was coming. It's as much a part of being a lord as all the rest of it."

Izuku stammered, "Yeah, sure, but…I just…I just didn't expect it to be so soon."

Toshinori shrugged. "I understand," he said sympathetically. "I really do, my boy. I am very sorry to spring this on you…but it is important. You are the sole heir-the House of Yagi doesn't have any other potential inheritors. If you die without a successor, we cease to exist. That cannot be allowed to happen, you understand?"

Izuku nodded slowly. "It's just… me? Marry?" he repeated numbly. He looked down at the desk as Toshinori passed him…a binder?

He opened it, thumbed through a few pages, then felt his eyes widen.

The binder was full of pictures of women-their biographies too, their noble houses, all of it.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, setting it down on the desk as if it suddenly weighed a ton.

Toshinori sighed. "Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain," he said gently, holding up a hand. "I have no intention of forcing you, or anyone, into anything, my boy. Nor do I expect you to pick a woman out of this binder and literally march up to her. You have control of this process, my boy. You decide who you marry, not me. Perhaps you will choose someone months from now, perhaps it will be a year or two. But you have been overseas for seven years, and never really learned anything about noble society even before that. So, this is just…well, scouting the territory, so to speak. You're a mercenary, you know how important it is to know your enemy."

Izuku snorted darkly. "That's one hell of an interesting way to describe marriage," he joked. Toshinori laughed-only for it to dissolve into a bloody cough after a moment, making Izuku's heart skip a beat.

"Fair enough," the old man agreed. "But you do need to get back up to speed on the nobility, Izuku. And, as much as I know you hate it…that means playing their games."

Izuku groaned, his heart sinking. "Please don't tell me that means what I think it means," he begged.

Toshinori smiled sadly. "I hope you learned to enjoy a nice ball in America," he said, "because you're going to be going into the nobility's gala circuit soon enough."

Izuku sighed. "Yeah," he muttered. "That's what I was afraid of."

Toshinori chuckled, reaching for the binder-but before he could take it, Izuku saw the page it had landed on when he dropped it on the table.

His heart briefly skipped a beat when he saw the picture of the woman's face. She was… fuck, she was gorgeous, and like no other woman Izuku had ever seen. She was heterochromatic, with white and red two-tone hair, blue and grey eyes contrasting with an easy, taunting light that gave her half-smirk layers upon layers of dark amusement. Even the old burn scar around one eye only added to her allure-it turned what might have been just another pretty face into one with a story; here was a woman who had seen things, who had lived a life worth hearing about.

Toshinori noticed Izuku staring, and chuckled, ever so slightly. "Ah," he said. "I cannot speak for most of the other women-but this one, unfortunately, most likely is your enemy, my boy."

Izuku looked up in abrupt shock. "Wait, why?" he asked, confused.

Toshinori replied, "This is Shoko Todoroki. Heiress to the second most powerful House in Japan, and quite possibly the single most dangerous woman in the whole country. If you run into her at one of these balls…I would highly suggest not running into her at one of these balls, actually. It probably won't end well for you. She's got a reputation for being intelligent, manipulative, and charming-when she wants to be. When she doesn't…well, her Quirk is one of the strongest I've ever seen, and her skill with it is immense."

Izuku swallowed heavily. "Got it," he replied. Somehow, he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be that easy.

"How long do I have?" he asked after a moment.

"A week or so, until the next gala," Yagi said. "It's being thrown by Lord Kirishima, in honor of his son's engagement."

Izuku sighed. A week. A week until he walked back into the crucible.

"I guess I'll have to make a splash," he muttered. "Let everyone know that I'm back."

Yagi chuckled. "My boy," he replied, "every noble's eye has been on you since your plane touched down. I assure you, they already know."

Izuku closed his eyes, imagining rooms full of men and women with hungry eyes tearing him to pieces. He honestly would've preferred to be back in America facing down men in tanks again. At least those hadn't had beautiful two-tone eyes that he was quite sure would be ripping him to shreds with utter, contemptuous ease.

"Great," he grumbled. "Just great."