It has been...a long ass time. The last time I updated this was last year, it was so fast.
Lots of things happened, I sadly lost my Grandmother on New Year's Eve, and I just had so much in my head to solve that it was impossible to come back to write. And, when I finally had the time, I read it back and was...Let me tell you, never leave something behind for a year, you're not gonna be able to pick it back up with the same enthusiasm on what was done, or you gonna have big trouble putting yourself back into that same mentality you had when you first started.
You also get one year to think about how you'd like to do, and change some stuff, and in the end...yeah you change some stuff. And I, in particular, prefer much more to scrap everything and start anew, treating what came first as a draft. Bad thing, don't do this.
So yeah, if you've been here before, the idea is the same, we building it back up from scratch. If you're new, welcome.
And for both, let me know your thoughts about this whole thing below, if you somehow remember the old version that you might have read a year ago, if you can say which is better, I'd love ya.
Izuku Midoriya tugged at the straps of his backpack, eyes fixed on the pavement beneath him. He walked with his head down, shoulders hunched, as if trying to disappear. But no matter how small he made himself, it never worked. The footsteps behind him were closing in—heavy, deliberate, like they wanted to be heard.
His grip tightened. He knew who it was. It was always the same.
"Oi, Deku!"
Bakugou's voice sliced through the air, sharp and too familiar. Izuku's stomach twisted, but he kept walking, heart pounding. Maybe if he didn't react, maybe if he just kept his pace steady...
But Bakugou never let things go.
"Still pretending you're gonna be a hero?"
Izuku froze. His legs felt like they were glued to the ground, his hands trembling despite how hard he clutched his backpack. He forced himself to move, one step at a time. But he knew it was useless. Bakugou never stopped.
Before he could take another step, a hand grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him backward. He stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet, breath catching as he looked up.
Bakugou stood over him, a sneer twisting his face, eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of amusement and irritation.
"You're really still on that, huh? Being a hero? Without a Quirk? What's wrong with you?"
Izuku stayed silent. His heart hammered in his chest, and he could feel the sting of tears burning behind his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. Crying wouldn't help. It never did.
Bakugou's scowl deepened. His hand clenched around Izuku's collar, the fabric bunched in his fist. He could feel the slight tremble in Izuku's body. The quirkless idiot was scared—he always was. But it wasn't the fear that angered Bakugou. It was that look in Izuku's eyes. That stupid, determined look that said he still believed in himself. That he could still be a hero.
Why wouldn't he just give up?
"You're nothing, Deku. No Quirk, no power, no future." The words came out easily, but they felt heavier than Bakugou expected. His grip tightened for just a second longer before he shoved Izuku back. Izuku stumbled, but didn't fall.
Always so damn stubborn.
That flicker in Izuku's eyes made something twist in Bakugou's chest. He didn't know what it was—it wasn't pity, and it wasn't anger. Maybe frustration. Or maybe something worse. Izuku kept chasing a dream that Bakugou knew would crush him. Why didn't he get it? Why didn't he just stop?
"You'll never make it. Just give up."
Izuku's chest tightened, but he bit his tongue, forcing the words back. Bakugou didn't get it. No one did. Not really. They couldn't see it—not the way Izuku did. He didn't have a Quirk, sure, but that dream—it was still there, stubborn and alive, clinging to him even when everything else told him to let go.
He swallowed hard, throat tight. He didn't want to fight. Not now. Not like this.
But something inside him pushed forward. Just a little.
"You're wrong," he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. But Bakugou heard it. Izuku could tell from the way he froze, eyes narrowing like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
Izuku's legs were shaking, his body screaming for him to back down, but for some reason, he didn't. He stood there, fists clenched at his sides, staring at Bakugou.
For a moment, everything was still.
Bakugou blinked, confusion flickering across his face before his sneer came back. Did Deku just... talk back? That didn't make sense. This quirkless idiot had no right to act like he could still do something.
"Wrong?" Bakugou growled, stepping closer. "You think you know better than me?"
That spark in Izuku's eyes flickered again, and it crawled under Bakugou's skin. Why wouldn't he just give up? It would be easier—for both of them. Bakugou shoved him harder this time, his voice rising, angrier than before.
"Just stop already! You're wasting your time, Deku!"
The words hung between them, heavier than Bakugou intended. Something about the way Izuku stood there—not running, not cowering—made his stomach churn. He hated it.
Before Izuku could respond, Bakugou turned and stalked off, heart pounding in his chest. He didn't want to see that look again. Didn't want to think about why it bothered him so much. But the frustration gnawed at him, even as he left Izuku behind.
Izuku watched Bakugou disappear down the street. His chest was tight, Bakugou's words still stung, familiar and sharp—but there was something else this time, something quieter. His heart pounded, but the usual weight of Bakugou's words didn't feel the same.
He could still feel the weight of Bakugou's words, but this time...
This time, they didn't hurt as much.
Izuku took a shaky breath and wiped at his eyes, his hands trembling as he pulled his backpack tighter against his shoulders. He didn't know why he hadn't backed down. He didn't even know why he'd said anything at all. But even now, after everything, the dream still flickered inside him—weak, but alive.
"I'm not giving up."
He whispered the words to himself as he started walking again, feet dragging beneath him. His whole body ached, but the quiet, stubborn spark inside him refused to go out.
The street felt quieter than usual as Izuku walked, Bakugou's words still pressing down on him. He hated this feeling—the heaviness in his chest that came with every encounter, every reminder that his dream was just a little further away.
But beneath it, something else stirred. A faint pressure, growing stronger, somewhere deep inside him. It had always been there, but now it felt different. Stronger. Like something was waiting just beneath the surface.
He didn't know what it was. All he knew was that Bakugou seemed to sense it too. The way Bakugou had looked at him today—confusion behind the usual sneer—had been enough to tell him that much. Izuku pushed the thought aside. No point in thinking about something he couldn't explain.
By the time he reached home, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in the fading colors of dusk. His legs ached, and his body felt heavy, weighed down by the day's events. As he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home greeted him, but it wasn't enough to ease the knot of tension in his chest.
Inko Midoriya stood at the kitchen counter, stirring something on the stove. She looked up as soon as she heard the door open, her eyes softening when she saw Izuku. But behind them was a worry she couldn't quite hide.
Inko had been watching him closely these days, and she didn't like what she saw. Izuku had always been quiet—thoughtful, kind, maybe a little too selfless—but lately, something had shifted. He seemed more distant, more tired, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him.
He tried to hide it. She could see that much. No matter how many smiles he put on or how quickly he excused himself to his room, she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes seemed more haunted with each passing day.
She wanted to help him, to protect him from whatever was eating away at him. But how? How could she step in without breaking his heart?
"Izuku?" Inko called, her voice soft. She knew he would try to avoid a conversation, but she would still try to get him talk at least a little .
"I'm home." His voice was quiet, tired.
Inko hesitated, her heart aching as she watched him slip off his shoes. His movements were slow, weighed down by more than just physical exhaustion.
"How was school?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. It was the same every day—the same battles, the same sadness he tried to hide.
Izuku paused, his back still to her. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something different, but then he shook his head slightly, his voice hurried.
"It was fine."
And just like that, he disappeared down the hallway, heading to his room. Inko watched him go, her worry deepening. She wanted to reach out, to tell him it was okay if he couldn't be a hero. That sometimes it was better to let go of impossible dreams than to keep hurting himself chasing after them.
But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to say it. Izuku had always been so determined, so full of hope. How could she crush that?
Inko's hands trembled as she gripped the counter, her eyes following the path he'd taken. She wanted to protect him from the disappointment that was bound to come. She could already see it—the way the world looked at people without Quirks. The way they'd look at Izuku.
But every time she thought about saying it, about telling him to be realistic, the words stuck in her throat. He was her son. How could she break his heart like that? How could she take away the one thing that kept him going?
Inko wiped her hands on the dish towel, her chest tight with the weight of her unspoken fears. She wanted to protect him from the pain, but she couldn't destroy the dream that kept him moving forward. She could only hope he'd understand her silence.
For now, all she could do was watch and wait.
Izuku shut the door to his room behind him, leaning against it as he let out a slow breath. The pressure in his chest hadn't gone away—it never did. If anything, it was stronger now, pulsing faintly.
His eyes drifted to his desk, where notebooks and papers spilled over the edge. He brushed his hand against one, the scrawled notes catching his eye. Another page of hero analysis. More dreams. More names written down with shaky hope.
He couldn't help but think of Bakugou, the way his voice had echoed in his head. Telling him to give up. Mocking him for believing in something impossible.
Izuku swallowed, his throat tight. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared at the messy stack of notebooks. He couldn't fall apart. Not now.
But that feeling inside him—the one that made his heart race and his hands shake—it was stronger than before. Like a fire trapped inside him, flickering and restless. He didn't know what it was, but he could feel it.
The exhaustion hit harder than usual. After everything that had happened today—Bakugou's words, his own doubts, the strange feeling inside him—it was no surprise that sleep came quickly. His head barely touched the pillow before he drifted off, the heaviness in his chest fading into the background as he slipped into unconsciousness.
When Izuku opened his eyes again, there was... nothing. Just an endless, empty space. Somehow, it wasn't frightening. It felt calm, like a quiet space just beyond his reach.
He stood there, suspended in the nothingness, the weight of his body barely noticeable. There was no sound, no air, just... stillness. The pressure in his chest, which had been constant all day, pulsed softly beneath his skin. Faint, but steady—like something waiting just beneath the surface.
"Hm, hello."
The voice startled him, and Izuku spun around. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the figure standing a few feet away. A man, not much older than twenty, with brown, spiky hair and a calm but slightly confused expression. He stood there, solid and clear against the empty void.
"Who—who are you?" Izuku stammered, taking a step back. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Was this still a dream?
The man tilted his head, frowning. "I'm... Tsuna. Sawada Tsuna." He paused, glancing around at the vast nothingness. "I... don't know why I'm here."
Izuku blinked, confused. The man—Tsuna—didn't seem much older than twenty, but something about him felt... different. He carried himself like someone who had seen more than his youthful appearance suggested. There was a quiet weight around him, like a shadow.
"I'm Izuku," he replied slowly. "Midoriya Izuku."
They stood in awkward silence, suspended in the vast, empty space. No movement. No sound. Just the void surrounding them.
"This doesn't feel like a normal dream, right?" Tsuna asked, his brow furrowed.
Izuku shook his head. "No, it doesn't. It feels... different."
Tsuna nodded, a shadow passing over his face. "I've been through a lot, but nothing quite like this."
There was something in his tone that caught Izuku's attention—a weight in his words, like he wasn't just talking about dreams. It unsettled Izuku. Tsuna's words felt like they came from an experience that stretched far beyond what Izuku could understand.
"Are you... from around here?" Izuku asked, flinching the moment the words left his mouth. What kind of question is that? There was no "here" in this endless void.
To his surprise, Tsuna didn't laugh. Instead, he hesitated, his gaze drifting away, lost in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, distant.
"No... not anymore," Tsuna said, the sadness in his tone barely hidden. He didn't elaborate, and the silence that followed felt heavier, filled with things unsaid.
Izuku shifted, uncomfortable, but before he could think of something to say, the pressure in his chest flared. It had been subtle all day, but now it was stronger, buzzing beneath his skin. He couldn't ignore it anymore.
"Do you... feel it too?" Izuku asked hesitantly. "This pressure. Like something's changing."
Tsuna's eyes snapped back to him, narrowing slightly. For a moment, something flickered in his gaze—recognition, maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"No," Tsuna said slowly, shaking his head. "I don't feel that." But his lips pressed together tightly, as if something deeper had been triggered by the thought.
"But..." he continued, his voice quieter, almost like he was speaking to himself. "There's something connecting us. I'm not sure if I know what it is, but... we're linked."
Silence stretched between them, the emptiness pressing in. Izuku could feel it now—Tsuna wasn't just another part of his dream. This was something bigger. But what?
"I don't get it," Tsuna muttered, looking away. "This shouldn't be happening. I shouldn't be here."
"What do you mean?" Izuku's heart skipped. Something about the way Tsuna said it sent a shiver down his spine.
Tsuna's lips tightened, but before he could answer, the space around them began to shift. The void blurred at the edges, fading into something deeper. Izuku felt himself slipping, the dream starting to collapse.
"Izuku?" Inko called, her voice soft. She knew he was trying to avoid a conversation, but she couldn't help it.
"I'm home." His voice was quiet, tired.
Inko hesitated, her heart aching as she watched him slip off his shoes. His movements were slow, weighed down by more than just physical exhaustion.
"How was school?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. It was the same every day—the same battles, the same sadness he tried to hide.
Izuku paused, his back still to her. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something different, but then he shook his head slightly, his voice hurried.
"It was fine."
And just like that, he disappeared down the hallway, heading to his room. Inko watched him go, her worry deepening. She wanted to reach out, to tell him it was okay if he couldn't be a hero. That sometimes it was better to let go of impossible dreams than to keep hurting himself chasing after them.
But she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to say it. Izuku had always been so determined, so full of hope. How could she crush that?
Inko's hands trembled as she gripped the counter, her eyes following the path he'd taken. She wanted to protect him from the disappointment that was bound to come. She could already see it—the way the world looked at people without Quirks. The way they'd look at Izuku.
But every time she thought about saying it, about telling him to be realistic, the words stuck in her throat. He was her son. How could she break his heart like that? How could she take away the one thing that kept him going?
Inko wiped her hands on the dish towel, her chest tight with the weight of her unspoken fears. She wanted to protect him from the pain, but she couldn't destroy the dream that kept him moving forward. She could only hope he'd understand her silence.
For now, all she could do was watch and wait.
Izuku shut the door to his room behind him, leaning against it as he let out a slow breath. The pressure in his chest hadn't gone away—it never did. If anything, it was stronger now, pulsing faintly.
His eyes drifted to his desk, where notebooks and papers spilled over the edge. He brushed his hand against one, the scrawled notes catching his eye. Another page of hero analysis. More dreams. More names written down with shaky hope.
He couldn't help but think of Bakugou, the way his voice had echoed in his head. Telling him to give up. Mocking him for believing in something impossible.
By lunchtime, Izuku found himself eating alone, his mind too preoccupied to really focus on what was in front of him. He picked at his food, his thoughts racing.
"Who is Tsuna? And why do I feel like I know him?"
The afternoon passed without incident, but the dream lingered in his mind. By the time he got home, the weight of the day had settled in his chest again, though this time it felt different. It wasn't just the usual exhaustion. His head buzzed with questions, and the quiet pressure in his chest pulsed beneath it all.
"Izuku, you're home!" Inko called from the kitchen as she heard the door close. "Dinner will be ready soon!"
Izuku slipped out of his shoes and headed toward the kitchen, the familiar warmth of home easing some of the tension. Inko greeted him with a smile, but as she looked closer, her expression faltered.
"How was school?" she asked, drying her hands on a towel. She tried to keep her tone light, but Izuku could hear the concern beneath it.
"It was... fine," he answered quickly. Then, after a pause, he added, "Actually, it was easier than usual."
Inko raised an eyebrow. "Easier?"
"Yeah, I felt... better today," Izuku said, though even he wasn't sure what he meant by that.
Inko studied him for a moment, her worry half-hidden behind her smile. It had been a long time since she'd heard him say something like that—usually, he came home drained, weighed down by the struggles of the day. But today, he seemed... different. Calmer. Almost like the boy he used to be.
But even as she felt a flicker of relief, something gnawed at her. There was a distance in his eyes, something he wasn't saying.
"That's good, sweetie," Inko said gently, though her thoughts raced. "Why don't you wash up for dinner?"
Izuku nodded, giving her a small smile before heading to his room. Inko watched him go, questions spinning in her mind—questions she wasn't sure how to ask.
Later that evening, Izuku sat at his desk, staring down at his notebooks, but his focus drifted. He tried to push through his notes, but the words blurred together, and his mind kept circling back to the dream.
"We're connected," Tsuna had said.
Izuku couldn't shake the feeling that something was happening—something he couldn't explain, but it was there. He wasn't suddenly stronger or faster, but everything felt... easier. His body was more responsive, and even the schoolwork that usually drained him didn't feel as overwhelming.
He leaned back in his chair, his hands curling into fists. The pressure in his chest was still there, humming softly. Not unpleasant, but always present.
"What is this?" Izuku thought. "And why does it feel like it's just waiting for something?"
The next few days followed the same pattern. The pressure remained, steady and constant, as if it had become a part of him. It didn't change him outright, but he noticed the small things—tasks felt easier, worries didn't weigh him down as much.
Bakugou still barked insults at him during class, but they didn't sting the same way anymore. The fear and anxiety that usually tightened Izuku's chest felt distant, muffled. It wasn't that he didn't care, but something had shifted. The words didn't hurt like they used to.
And even though it was subtle, he felt it every day.
Inko had noticed too. Over the past few days, she'd watched him closely, her motherly instincts picking up on the change. He seemed lighter, more at ease, but there was also a distance in him that worried her.
"He seems better," she thought one evening, watching him quietly scribbling notes at the kitchen table. "But there's something else. What's going on?"
Inko knew her son too well. She could tell when he was keeping something from her. Even though he seemed calmer, there was a wall between them. She wanted to ask, to push him for answers, but she held back. Izuku had always been determined, and she didn't want to make him pull away.
"I just hope he'll talk to me when he's ready," she thought, worry creeping into her heart. "Whatever it is, I hope he's not dealing with it alone."
Izuku noticed the changes in himself too. School and homework blurred into the same routine, but his mind kept drifting back to Tsuna. Night after night, he went to sleep hoping to dream again, to return to that empty space, to find answers. But each morning, he woke up from nothing more than normal, forgettable dreams.
"Why won't it happen again?" Izuku thought, frustrated as he lay awake one night, staring at the ceiling. "What's the point of showing me something like that if I can't figure it out?"
The pressure in his chest stayed constant, but now it was less of a comfort and more of a reminder. A reminder that something was waiting, something he still didn't understand.
"Maybe Tsuna will come back," Izuku thought as he finally drifted off, the weight of the unknown settling around him.
Izuku had been waiting for it to happen again. Every night, as he fell asleep, he hoped to return to that strange space, to see Tsuna again, to get answers. But night after night, nothing. Just normal dreams or none at all.
Tonight was different.
When Izuku opened his eyes, he was back. The same empty void stretched out around him, vast and still. The silence felt comforting now.
And then, as before, Tsuna appeared a few feet away.
"You're back," Izuku murmured, almost to himself. Relief washed over him, but so did the rush of questions that had been building up for days.
Tsuna gave him a small smile, though a hint of sadness lingered in his eyes.
"Yeah," Tsuna said, his voice calm but a little distant. "I told you this would happen again, didn't I?"
"I—yeah, but I didn't think it would take so long," Izuku admitted. "I've been waiting and..." He trailed off, unsure how to put all his questions into words.
Tsuna glanced around at the surrounding nothingness before looking back at Izuku. "I'm sorry about that. It's complicated. But we don't have much time."
He stepped closer, his expression softening slightly. "As I said before... I'm Tsuna. Sawada Tsuna. And..." He hesitated, as if weighing his next words. "I think I'm your ancestor."
Izuku blinked, the weight of the word sinking in. "Ancestor?"
Tsuna nodded, his face more serious now. "Yeah. You and I... we're connected through a family. A family with a special power."
Izuku swallowed, his mind racing. "Special power? But... why is this happening? Why now?"
Tsuna sighed softly, slipping his hands into his pockets as he looked down, gathering his thoughts. "I can't tell you everything right now. It's... too much. But you come from a long line of people with this power. And for some reason, it's starting to wake up in you."
Izuku's heart sped up. "Is that what I've been feeling? The pressure inside me?"
"Yeah," Tsuna said, nodding. "That's the start of it. It's like a spark, waiting to be lit."
"But why now?" Izuku pressed, his voice more urgent. "Why is this happening to me?"
Tsuna looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "I have a few theories. The power we're connected to is ancient. It's been passed down for generations. Sometimes it skips people, sometimes it lies dormant... but when it wakes up, it has a purpose."
"A purpose?" Izuku echoed, trying to make sense of it all.
"Yeah," Tsuna said. "And that's why I think we're able to talk like this. The power inside you is connecting us."
Izuku's mind spun with questions, but none were clear enough to voice. This power, this connection... it was too big, too vague. But there was one thing he needed to know.
"What's going to happen now?" Izuku asked quietly.
Tsuna's expression softened again. "I don't know exactly. But I think we'll be able to talk more often soon. Once everything settles, I'll explain it all. Right now, we don't have much time."
Frustration surged through Izuku. "But I have so many questions!"
"I know," Tsuna said gently. "And I'll answer them. But you need to be patient. This power... it works slowly. It's not something you'll understand all at once. I'll be here, though. We'll meet again, and I'll explain everything little by little."
Izuku bit his lip, the weight of uncertainty pressing on him again. But Tsuna's calm reassured him, even if just a little.
"I'll trust you," Izuku said, his voice quiet but firm.
"Good," Tsuna said, his smile faint but genuine. "You're not alone in this, Izuku. I promise."
Before Izuku could respond, the nothingness around them began to shift, just like before. The edges of the void blurred, the feeling of time slipping away. Tsuna glanced around, his expression tightening.
"We're out of time," Tsuna said. "But remember—this isn't the last time we'll meet. We'll talk again soon."
"Wait!" Izuku reached out, but his hand grasped at empty space as the dream dissolved around him.
Izuku woke with a start, heart pounding. The room was dark and still, the quiet of the night settling around him. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as the details of the dream replayed in his mind.
Ancestor. Family. Special power.
It was too much to process all at once, but one thing was clear—Tsuna wasn't just some random dream figure. He was real. And whatever this power was, it was tied to Izuku in a way he couldn't yet understand.
"We'll meet again," Tsuna had said. And this time, Izuku believed him.
The next day, the pressure in Izuku's chest was stronger than ever. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was there, a quiet hum beneath the surface, as if something inside him was waiting to wake up.
He went through the day as usual—school, homework, the same routine—but everything felt different. The weight of the dream lingered in his mind, and for the first time, he felt anticipation.
Whatever was happening, it was just beginning. Izuku couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change.
PE had always been tough for Izuku. He tried his best, but when everyone around you had quirks that made them faster, stronger, or more agile, it was hard not to feel like you were constantly falling behind.
Today, though, something felt different.
"Alright, line up!" the gym teacher called, waving the students over to the sprinting lane. "Sprint drills, push-ups, and then timed laps. You know the drill—let's go!"
Izuku walked to the starting line with the rest of the class, the usual nervous energy buzzing inside him. Normally, this was the moment when his body tensed up, when he braced himself for failure. But today, that hum in his chest—the strange feeling from the dreams with Tsuna—felt like something else.
Not a burden. Something shifting.
Izuku crouched down at the starting line, his hands shaking slightly from the rush of adrenaline. When the whistle blew, they shot forward, and for the first time, his body didn't fight him. His legs moved strong and steady. He wasn't at the front of the pack, but he wasn't trailing either.
Each step felt more controlled, like he wasn't struggling to keep up anymore. He pushed harder, his breath quick but even, and by the time he crossed the finish line, he was winded—but not exhausted.
As he slowed to a stop, catching his breath, Izuku glanced to the side. Bakugou, who had finished first as always, was already staring at him. His expression was hard to read—confusion, maybe even irritation. It wasn't outright anger, but it was enough for Izuku to know that Bakugou had noticed.
Still, Bakugou said nothing as they moved on to the next drill.
Push-ups were next, followed by timed laps. Again, Izuku found himself doing better than usual. He was tired, sweating, and breathing hard by the end, but the fatigue didn't drag him down like it used to. His body felt lighter. More responsive.
"What's happening to me?" Izuku wondered, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath. "This... this can't just be a coincidence."
He glanced at Bakugou again. Bakugou gave him a brief glare before turning away. Izuku didn't expect praise, but the fact that Bakugou wasn't saying anything was almost more unsettling. Even Bakugou seemed to be trying to figure out what had changed.
By the time PE ended, Izuku was tired, but he felt... good. His body had moved naturally for the first time in what felt like forever, and as he left the gym, the hum in his chest was still there, a quiet reminder of the changes happening inside him.
Later that evening, Izuku sat at the kitchen table, scribbling notes as the scent of dinner filled the air. The hum inside him had faded to a steady presence, but it was still there, a reminder of the day's events. He felt lighter—not just physically, but mentally too.
His body felt stronger, his thoughts clearer. And while the change wasn't huge, it was enough to notice.
Apparently, his mother noticed too.
"Izuku, dinner's almost ready," Inko called from the stove, glancing over at him. Her voice was warm, but Izuku didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than usual.
He gave her a small smile, but he could tell she was watching him closely, her brow furrowing slightly.
"You're not as... tense as you usually are after PE," Inko said gently, setting the table. "Did something happen today?"
Izuku hesitated, glancing down at his notebook. "I don't know," he said honestly. "It just... felt easier today. PE, I mean."
Inko nodded slowly, setting a bowl of soup in front of him. "That's good, sweetie," she said softly, though Izuku could hear the curiosity in her voice. "I'm glad it's getting better."
As they ate, Inko's thoughts lingered on her son. For months, she'd watched him come home, exhausted and worn down, his eyes carrying the weight of disappointment. His drive had always been there, but trying to keep up in a world built for people with quirks had left its mark on him.
But today was different.
He hadn't come home looking so drained. He seemed lighter, less weighed down. The usual slump in his posture after school was gone, replaced by a quiet energy she hadn't seen in a long time.
"He's not coming home looking so haunted anymore," Inko thought as she watched him eat. "What's changed?"
It wasn't just that Izuku seemed physically better—there was a difference in the way he carried himself. His posture was looser, his eyes weren't as clouded. He still scribbled notes with the same intensity, but there was a calmness now, as if he wasn't fighting so hard to keep up.
Inko wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but she held back. If something had changed, maybe it was good. Maybe he was finding his way, and she didn't want to ruin it by pressing too hard.
"I just want him to be happy," she thought, a mixture of relief and worry settling in her chest. "Whatever this is, I hope it's helping him."
After dinner, Izuku retreated to his room to finish his homework, but Inko couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. She didn't know what had changed, but whatever it was, it had eased something inside him. He wasn't carrying the same weight on his shoulders anymore.
Inko sipped her tea, gazing out the window. For the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things were starting to look up.
At the kitchen table, Izuku scribbled down the last of his homework. His thoughts kept drifting back to the strange feeling he'd had all day—the lightness in his body, the way PE had gone more smoothly than usual. It wasn't just that he felt stronger. His whole body seemed to be adjusting, syncing with everything around him.
But there was something else too. A strange awareness that had started creeping in since his second dream with Tsuna.
He'd begun noticing things—small details he never paid attention to before. The quiet scrape of a chair, the shuffle of feet, even the sound of someone breathing across the room. Normally, he would have ignored these things, but now it felt like his mind was picking them up all at once.
It was subtle at first, just a faint hum in the background. But over the past few days, it had grown stronger.
And with it came something unexpected: clumsiness.
It started as small things—flashes of movement out of the corner of his eye, the way a chair creaked before someone stood up. Details he'd never been aware of, but now they crowded his mind at random moments, as if his senses were trying to tell him something.
The more he noticed, the more distracted he became.
A week after his second dream with Tsuna, during a routine day at school, it hit harder. They were between classes, students shuffling through the hallways, the familiar buzz of chatter and footsteps echoing around him.
Izuku walked with his head down, clutching his notebook as he headed to his next class. But something felt off. His mind was sharper, like he was hyper-aware of everything. The scrape of shoes on tile, the sound of lockers slamming shut, even conversations happening down the hall—it was too much.
Suddenly, his foot caught the edge of a desk leg jutting into the hallway. He lurched forward, his notebook slipping from his hands as he stumbled into the lockers with a loud clang.
"Ow!"
He blinked, shaking his head as he tried to process what had just happened. The hallway went silent for a second, a few students glancing his way. Izuku's face flushed.
With embarrassment heating his cheeks, Izuku quickly stooped to pick up his notebook, rubbing his shoulder where it had slammed into the locker.
"You okay, Midoriya?" one of his classmates called with a mocking smile.
"Y-Yeah, I'm fine!" Izuku stammered, forcing a laugh as he straightened up. "Just... wasn't paying attention."
But the truth was, he had been paying attention—too much attention. He'd heard every little detail, seen every shift in the hallway's movement, but it was like his brain couldn't keep up. His body had moved, but not fast enough, and he'd tripped over the one thing he hadn't processed.
As he walked to class, trying to ignore the lingering embarrassment, Izuku couldn't help but wonder: why was this happening?
It wasn't just today's stumble. In the past week, he'd dropped his pencil during a lecture, then fell over tying to grab it, knocked over a cup of water at home over his mom, and even tripped going up the stairs, almost falling over. Things like that didn't happen this often before.
He frowned, replaying the sensation he'd felt just before he tripped—a sudden flood of information, like he was absorbing every detail around him all at once. It was overwhelming, and his body just couldn't keep up.
"I don't understand," Izuku thought, tapping the side of his notebook absentmindedly. "I'm noticing more, but it's almost... too much."
At lunch, it happened again.
Izuku was balancing his tray as he made his way to an open seat. He'd just passed a group of students when his senses kicked in—someone dropped a spoon three tables away, the clink of metal on the floor catching his attention. At the same time, he heard the low hum of a conversation about an upcoming test.
The flood of noise and movement hit all at once, and before he could react, his tray tilted too far. His bowl of soup slid forward, teetering for a moment before toppling to the floor with a loud splatter.
"Ah! S-Sorry!" Izuku scrambled to pick up the bowl, his face burning with embarrassment. A couple of students glanced over, amused but mostly unfazed—it wasn't the first time they'd seen something like this happen.
But for Izuku, it felt different. It wasn't just clumsiness. He'd noticed the spoon, the conversations, even the way someone shifted in their seat before the bowl had fallen—but his mind hadn't processed it fast enough to stop the accident.
Sitting down at his table, Izuku tried to steady his breath. The pressure in his chest—the hum that had been there since his dreams with Tsuna—was still present, but it didn't feel calming anymore. It felt like static, like too much information running through his head.
"What's wrong with me?" Izuku muttered under his breath. "Why can't I focus?"
That night, after dinner, Izuku sat at his desk, replaying the day's events in his mind. The tripping, the spilled soup—it was like his body couldn't keep up with what his mind was processing.
He rested his chin on his hand, staring down at his notes without really seeing them. His senses were sharper, more attuned to everything around him, but he couldn't control it. Instead of focusing on one thing, he was taking in everything, and it was throwing him off.
"I'm more aware of everything," Izuku thought. "But it's like I can't filter it. I can't handle it all."
He closed his notebook and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. It didn't make sense. Was this part of his connection to Tsuna? Was the pressure in his chest somehow tied to this new awareness?
He didn't know. But one thing was clear—it wasn't just his body that was changing. His mind was changing too, and it felt like his brain was struggling to keep up with something it wasn't ready for.
Izuku had been hoping to dream again, to return to that empty space where Tsuna appeared. His days had become... complicated. The strange awareness, the constant distractions, and the clumsiness were starting to pile up. He needed answers—more than what he'd figured out on his own.
That night, as soon as Izuku closed his eyes, the familiar void returned. The nothingness stretched out around him, quiet and still. And, as he'd hoped, Tsuna was there.
Izuku barely waited for the conversation to start.
"Tsuna!" Izuku called, stepping forward, urgency clear in his voice. "I don't understand what's happening to me. Everything's changing, and I... I can't keep up!"
Tsuna, standing a few feet away in the endless void, gave a small, knowing smile, though his eyes were filled with sympathy.
"You're feeling it now, aren't you?" Tsuna asked quietly.
"Yeah, but... it's too much," Izuku admitted, his hands clenching at his sides. "I'm noticing everything around me—sounds, movements, everything—but I can't process it all. I keep tripping, dropping things. It's like my brain is overloaded!"
Tsuna nodded, stepping closer. "I understand. That's the downside of one of the powers we share. It's called 'Hyper Intuition.'"
"Hyper Intuition?" Izuku repeated, frowning as he tried to make sense of it.
"It's a heightened sense of awareness," Tsuna explained, his voice calm but steady. "You're more in tune with everything—movements, sounds, even people's intentions. But when it first starts developing, it can be... overwhelming."
"That's an understatement," Izuku muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I can't focus. I'm noticing things I shouldn't even care about."
Tsuna chuckled softly. "I went through the same thing." He crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. "Hyper Intuition is part of the power passed down through our family. It helps us sense danger, understand situations faster, and predict things before they happen. But when it first starts, your mind can't handle all the input. That's why you're tripping over things and spilling stuff."
Izuku's eyes widened as he took in Tsuna's explanation. "So, this... Hyper Intuition is supposed to help me? Right now, it's just making things worse."
"It will help," Tsuna reassured him, his tone more serious now. "But not until you learn to focus it. Right now, you're picking up everything—too much at once. Once you get the hang of it, you'll be able to filter out what's important and ignore the rest."
Izuku let out a frustrated breath, crossing his arms. "Okay, but how? How am I supposed to control something I don't even understand?"
Tsuna's gaze softened. "It's not something I can just explain to you. You'll need to practice."
"Practice?" Izuku echoed, feeling doubt creep in. "How do I practice something like this?"
Tsuna smiled gently. "By slowing down. Right now, you're letting everything flood in at once. You need to focus on what matters. Start small. If you try to notice everything at the same time, it'll keep overwhelming you."
Izuku frowned, his thoughts racing. He'd always been good at analyzing things, breaking down information into smaller pieces. But this was different. His body was reacting faster than his brain could keep up.
"So, I need to focus on... just one thing?" Izuku asked, his voice hesitant.
"Exactly," Tsuna said. "It'll take time, but eventually, you'll manage it. Right now, your senses are like a radio picking up every station at once. You need to tune in to just one channel."
Izuku nodded slowly, though uncertainty still weighed on him.
"We don't have a lot of time today," Tsuna said, his expression more serious. "But Hyper Intuition is just one part of the power. There's more to it, but for now, focus on getting a handle on this before we dive into the rest."
"Other aspects?" Izuku asked, curiosity creeping in.
Tsuna shook his head gently. "We'll get to that later. For now, focus on adjusting to this new awareness. Start small. When you're walking, just focus on your steps. When you're listening, focus on one sound. The more you practice, the easier it'll get."
Izuku swallowed, trying to process everything. It wasn't much comfort knowing this was only the beginning—especially when he already felt so overwhelmed. But Tsuna's calm demeanor gave him some reassurance, at least for now.
"Okay," Izuku said, nodding slowly. "I'll try."
"Good," Tsuna said, smiling softly. "Remember, it's a process. You're not supposed to figure it all out right away."
Izuku opened his mouth to ask more, but before he could, the world around them began to shift, just like before. The edges of the void blurred, and Tsuna glanced around, his expression tightening.
"Looks like our time's up," Tsuna said, his voice quiet but steady. "We'll talk again soon. Next time, I'll help you with more. For now, just... take it slow."
Izuku nodded, even as the dream world began to slip away. He still had so many questions, but he understood now—this wasn't something that could be explained all at once.
When Izuku woke up the next morning, the weight of the dream still lingered in his mind. His body felt lighter, but the pressure was still there, like a quiet hum beneath the surface.
"Focus," he reminded himself as he sat up in bed. "Start small."
At his desk, the hum of the Hyper Intuition buzzed just beneath his awareness. He stared down at his notebook, trying to concentrate, but the usual flood of sounds and movements pressed in around him. Every little noise—the creak of the chair, the ticking clock, even the distant TV in the living room—seemed to compete for his attention.
"Focus," Izuku muttered to himself. "One thing at a time."
It had been a week since his last encounter with Tsuna, and Izuku had been trying to follow his advice. He focused on small tasks, like concentrating on his footsteps when walking or tuning in to one sound when things felt overwhelming.
But it was harder than he'd expected. The more he tried to block things out, the more everything seemed to flood in at once.
Later that evening, as he helped his mom clear the dinner table, it happened again. Izuku was stacking dishes, his mind racing through a jumble of thoughts—school assignments, the sound of the TV, the clink of silverware as Inko set the rest of the dishes aside.
And then... his grip slipped.
The plate wobbled for a split second before crashing to the floor, shattering into pieces.
"Oh!" Inko gasped, turning toward him. "Izuku, are you okay?"
Izuku stared at the broken plate, his heart sinking. "I-I'm fine," he mumbled, bending down to pick up the pieces. "I just... wasn't paying attention."
But that wasn't true. He had been paying attention—just not to the plate.
Inko knelt beside him, helping gather the shards. "You've been a little clumsier than usual lately," she said gently, glancing at him. "Is something bothering you?"
Izuku hesitated, his fingers fumbling with a piece of the broken plate. His first instinct was to brush it off, to tell her everything was fine. But the concern in his mother's eyes made him pause.
"I just..." Izuku sighed, sitting back on his heels. "I've been having trouble focusing. It's like... there's too much going on around me, and I can't concentrate on anything."
Inko's expression softened. She placed the last shard in the trash and turned back to him. "That sounds frustrating," she said. "It's hard to focus when there's so much happening, isn't it?"
Izuku nodded, feeling a knot of frustration tighten in his chest. "Yeah. It's like I'm trying to focus on one thing, but my brain keeps jumping to everything else, and then I mess things up."
Inko stood up, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled thoughtfully. "You know," she began, "sometimes, when I have too many thoughts racing around in my head, I don't try to focus on just one thing."
Izuku looked up at her, confused. "You don't?"
"No," she said, shaking her head lightly. "I actually do the opposite. I find something to hold most of my attention—something constant, like background noise—and let the rest of my thoughts focus on smaller tasks."
Izuku blinked, trying to process what she was saying. "So... you divide your focus?"
"In a way, yes," Inko explained, sitting at the kitchen table. "It's hard to concentrate on one thing when your mind is full. Instead of fighting it, I let part of my attention go to something like music while I work."
"Music?" Izuku asked, his mind racing with the idea.
"Mmhmm," Inko nodded. "It helps me tune out the extra noise. It doesn't distract me—it actually makes it easier to focus."
Izuku sat down across from her, thinking it over. He'd been so focused on blocking everything out, on tuning in to just one thing. Maybe... maybe his mom had a point.
"You think that would help?" Izuku asked, uncertain but hopeful.
"It's worth a try," Inko said warmly. "It might take some getting used to, but it's helped me when I've felt overwhelmed."
Izuku nodded slowly, the knot in his chest loosening just a bit. "I'll try it."
That night, after cleaning up the kitchen, Izuku sat at his desk with earbuds in, soft music playing from his phone. He wasn't used to studying with music on—normally, he preferred silence—but as he focused on the melody, he realized something.
The noise in his head—the constant flood of sounds and distractions—was quieter. It wasn't gone, but it didn't feel as overwhelming. The music gave his mind something to latch onto, something steady in the background. And with it, focusing on his notes felt a little easier.
"Sounds like you're discovering your taste," Inko said warmly. "It's good to try different things."
The next morning, as Izuku walked to school, his earbuds were already in place, a rock song playing softly in the background. His steps were even, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn't constantly glancing around, anticipating distractions.
But as he walked down the sidewalk, he failed to notice the curious glances he was getting from passersby. Some students from his class eyed him strangely, whispering to each other as they watched him stroll by, head bobbing slightly to the beat of the music.
"Is he walking with his eyes closed?" one student murmured.
"Weird," the other replied, shaking their head.
Izuku didn't even notice. The steady pulse of the music in his ears kept him focused, helping him block out the noise around him. He didn't need to see where he was going—his body moved automatically, tuned in to the rhythm of the song. For the first time in weeks, the overwhelming buzz of his Hyper Intuition didn't feel like a burden. It just felt like... background noise.
And even though he wasn't aware of the stares, he didn't care. He could walk through the world, his mind focused on the beat, and everything else faded into the background.
The day had been a mix of frustrations and small victories, with Izuku managing his Hyper Intuition a little better. Still, the clumsiness persisted, and as he lay in bed that night, he couldn't help but wonder what Tsuna would say about it all.
He closed his eyes, waiting for the now-familiar pull into the dream world, hoping Tsuna would appear again.
When Izuku opened his eyes, he found himself back in the familiar void. Tsuna stood there, calm as always, waiting for him.
"Tsuna!" Izuku called, stepping forward with a smile. "I've been meaning to tell you—my mom gave me an idea, and it's been helping a lot."
Tsuna tilted his head, curiosity flashing in his eyes. "Oh? What's that?"
"She suggested I listen to music when things get overwhelming. It's been helping me block out the distractions so I can focus better."
Tsuna blinked, then chuckled softly. "Music, huh? That's actually a really good idea." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "Sorry I didn't think of something like that sooner. I'm not the best at teaching."
"No, don't worry!" Izuku replied quickly. "You've helped a lot already. I wouldn't even know what was going on if you hadn't explained it."
Tsuna's expression softened, though there was a hint of guilt in his eyes. "I'm glad it's working. So... what kind of music have you been listening to?"
Izuku flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head. "Mostly rock. The louder stuff helps me drown everything else out. I've tried some electronic and pop too, but rock works best."
"Rock, huh?" Tsuna grinned, his face brightening. "I used to listen to a lot of that too. Some great bands back in my time."
"Really? What kind of bands?" Izuku asked, eager to keep the conversation going.
Tsuna opened his mouth to answer, but something in his expression shifted. His eyes grew distant, and a thought seemed to pull him out of the conversation.
"Wait... what year is it now?"
Izuku blinked at the sudden change in tone. "Uh, it's 2200. Why?"
Tsuna froze. His eyes widened, and a look of shock crossed his face. "2200?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "That's... nearly 140 years after I... died."
"Wait, you died?" Izuku asked, startled.
But Tsuna didn't seem to hear him. He started pacing, mumbling to himself. "The Rings... The Flames... Vongola... How is this possible? If I died in 2061, then..." His words became jumbled, the names and terms unfamiliar to Izuku.
"Tsuna!" Izuku called, stepping closer. "What are you talking about? Rings? Flames? What do those mean?"
Tsuna stopped pacing, taking a deep breath as he realized how much he had let slip. He looked at Izuku, forcing a smile. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting that. It's just... strange realizing how much time has passed since... everything."
Izuku frowned, more confused than ever. "What's all this about Rings and Flames?"
Tsuna hesitated for a moment. "It's... complicated," he said finally. "I promise I'll explain it all later. But right now, there's something else more important."
"More important?" Izuku asked, still processing everything. "What could be more important than that?"
"Your training," Tsuna said seriously. "Right now, you're only feeling the effects of the Hyper Intuition, and it's mostly mental. But as you unlock more of this power, your body is going to feel the strain. You need to be ready for it."
"My body?" Izuku asked, his confusion deepening. "What does my body have to do with this power?"
"The power you're accessing," Tsuna explained, "isn't just mental. It has a physical component too. The stronger the power gets, the more your body will need to handle the pressure. If you're not physically prepared, it could overwhelm you."
Izuku's eyes widened as he made the connection. "So, it's kind of like a full enhancement quirk," he said, mostly to himself.
Tsuna blinked, clearly not understanding the term. "A... what?"
"Oh, right," Izuku quickly corrected himself, realizing Tsuna didn't know about quirks. "It's nothing, really. Just something we call powers today. I'll explain later."
Tsuna gave him a curious look but didn't push the topic. Instead, he focused back on the task at hand. "The point is, your body needs to be strong enough to support the power. If you don't train physically, you'll struggle to control it as more of the power awakens."
Izuku swallowed nervously. "So, what should I do?"
"You need to start physical conditioning," Tsuna said firmly, though encouragingly. "Strength training, endurance exercises—anything to build stamina and muscle. Even if you don't have... 'quirks,' your body can still get stronger. And the stronger your body is, the better you'll handle what's coming."
"What's coming?" Izuku asked, anxiety creeping in.
"There's a lot I haven't told you yet. But you need to focus on training your body first. We'll get to the rest later."
As the edges of the void began to blur, signaling that their time was running out, Izuku's mind raced with questions. "So... start conditioning my body?" he asked, trying to process it all.
"Yes," Tsuna nodded, his expression softening. "Start small. Running, push-ups, whatever you can do to build strength. Trust me, it'll make a difference."
"Okay," Izuku said, though the weight of the conversation still hung in his mind. "I'll start."
As the dream world dissolved, Izuku caught one last glimpse of Tsuna's face, his expression troubled, as if he wasn't telling the whole story. Izuku had more questions than ever—especially about the Rings, Flames, and Vongola.
When Izuku woke the next morning, he couldn't shake the words Tsuna had mumbled. "Rings, Flames, Vongola..." What did they mean? Why was Tsuna so rattled by the time that had passed?
But before he could think about investigating, he knew what his next step had to be: physical conditioning. Whatever this power was, if it was anything like the quirks he'd studied, he needed to be strong enough to control it.
"Training," Izuku muttered as he sat up. "First things first."
Even as he made plans to start training, the mystery of Tsuna's past lingered in his mind.
The morning was unusually quiet in the Midoriya household. Izuku stood in front of his bedroom mirror, eyeing his reflection with uncertainty. He wasn't exactly out of shape, but he wasn't strong either. His arms were thin, his legs not much better, and though he always tried his best in PE, his body had never quite cooperated the way he wanted.
"Well," Izuku muttered, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt, "Tsuna said to start small."
He took a deep breath and headed downstairs, feeling both nervous and determined. Today was the day he would start conditioning his body. He didn't know what to expect from the training, but if it was anything like Tsuna had hinted, he needed to be ready.
Inko was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast like she always did, the scent of pancakes filling the room. She hummed softly to herself as she heard the familiar sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.
Izuku entered the kitchen, looking groggy but determined. He rubbed his eyes, still waking up.
"Morning, sweetie," Inko greeted him warmly, setting a plate on the table. "You're up early today."
"Morning, Mom," Izuku replied, his voice still a little drowsy but steady. He glanced outside at the early light filtering through the window and took a breath. "I thought I'd try going for a run before school today."
Inko paused, surprised. "A run? You don't usually run in the mornings."
Izuku shrugged, adjusting his shirt. "Yeah, I've been thinking I should work on my fitness. It's probably a good idea to get stronger."
He said it casually, but something in his tone made Inko pause. She knew her son always tried his best, but this sudden initiative to start exercising was new.
"Well, that's a great idea," Inko said, smiling as she set the last plate down. But as she watched him move, her mind wandered. For so long, she had been his biggest supporter, always worrying about him, always encouraging him, but never really knowing how to help beyond that.
She looked down at her hands, feeling the familiar weight of concern settle in her chest. Years of worrying about Izuku's future, about how hard he had to work just to keep up, had left her feeling powerless. But seeing him now—ready to take steps for himself—sparked something new in her.
Before she could second-guess herself, Inko spoke up. "Izuku... do you mind if I join you?"
Izuku blinked, caught off guard. "Join me? For the run?"
"Yes," Inko said, nodding, her cheeks flushing a little. "I've been thinking... maybe I need to get a bit more active, too. It could be good for me, and..." She hesitated but then smiled. "I wouldn't mind keeping you company."
Izuku stared at her, surprised, before smiling back. "Yeah, I'd like that. It'd be nice to have someone with me."
Inko felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach, but also a quiet sense of determination. It had been years since she'd done anything like this—her old workout clothes were tucked away somewhere, barely used. But if Izuku was working to better himself, she wanted to support him however she could.
She excused herself to change into her old sneakers and workout clothes, feeling a little awkward as she tied her shoes. The clothes fit more snugly than they used to, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was doing something—for him and for herself.
When she came back downstairs, Izuku was stretching in the living room, limbering up. He glanced up and smiled when he saw her, and Inko couldn't help but feel a bit more confident.
"You ready?" Izuku asked, standing up straight.
"I think so," Inko replied, taking a deep breath. "It's been a while, but I'm ready."
They stepped outside together, the cool morning air hitting their faces as they started a light jog down the sidewalk. It wasn't anything intense—just a slow, steady pace to ease into the exercise—but it felt good. Inko's breathing was heavier than expected, and her legs quickly reminded her how long it had been since she'd done anything like this, but she didn't let it stop her.
"How are you doing?" Izuku asked, glancing over at her as they jogged down the block.
"I'm... doing okay," Inko puffed, her cheeks flushing slightly. "It's tougher than I remembered, but I'm keeping up." She smiled through the effort, feeling proud just for being there.
As they made their way around the neighborhood and circled back toward the house, both of them slowed down, breathing heavily but satisfied. It wasn't much—a simple jog—but for both of them, it was a start.
"That wasn't so bad," Inko said, still catching her breath but smiling.
"Yeah," Izuku replied, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Not bad at all."
Inko looked at her son, her heart swelling with pride. She didn't know how to bring up his dreams or whatever else might be going on with him, but for now, this was enough. She was there with him, supporting him in a way that felt real and active.
As they went back inside to finish getting ready for the day, Inko felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She wasn't just worrying for him from a distance anymore—she was taking steps to help, even if it was something as small as running beside him.
For Izuku, knowing that his mom was literally by his side made training feel a little less daunting. They didn't have to talk about everything just yet, but this was a good start.
The days turned into weeks, and Izuku's routine shifted to include early morning runs and basic strength exercises. His muscles had screamed at him the first few times, but slowly, his body adapted. His endurance improved, and the exercises grew a little easier. It wasn't spectacular progress, but it was more than he'd expected.
Still, while his body grew stronger, his mind remained stuck in a cycle of frustration. Every night, after finishing his schoolwork, Izuku spent hours poring over the cryptic words Tsuna had left him: Rings, Flames, Vongola.
Izuku sat at his desk, the dim light of his laptop casting a soft glow over his face. The words he typed into the search bar—"Rings, Flames, Vongola"—yielded nothing useful. He tried dozens of variations, flipping through pages of irrelevant results, but every search ended the same way: no answers.
"Vongola," Izuku muttered to himself, tapping his fingers on the desk. "It means 'clam' in Italian, but that doesn't help. What does that have to do with Tsuna? Or anything?"
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. For weeks, he had been chasing clues, hoping to find a connection, but nothing made sense. The only solid lead he'd found was the translation of "Vongola." How did that relate to Tsuna, who was clearly Japanese? Why was an Italian word even involved?
Izuku turned back to his laptop and clicked on another link. Another dead end. More pages about clams, old Italian families, and information that didn't seem connected. He'd tried searching in Japanese, English, even Italian, but none of it brought him closer to understanding what Tsuna had told him.
With a frustrated sigh, Izuku closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. This wasn't like researching quirks or heroes—topics with clear sources and logical connections. This felt like wading through fog, chasing something that kept slipping further away the more he reached for it.
"Rings, Flames, Vongola..." he whispered to himself, staring up at the ceiling. "Why can't I find anything?"
The door creaked open slightly, and Inko peeked her head in. She smiled softly, her eyes warm with concern.
"Izuku, honey? It's late. You've been at that desk for hours."
Izuku blinked, looking up at her. "Oh, sorry, Mom. I didn't realize how late it was."
Inko stepped inside, glancing at the stack of papers and notebooks spread across his desk. She didn't know exactly what he was working on, but she could see the tension in his shoulders and the deep furrow in his brow. "You've been doing a lot of studying lately," she said gently. "Everything okay?"
Izuku hesitated, not sure how to explain what was really going on. "Yeah," he said after a beat. "I'm just trying to figure something out. It's... taking longer than I thought."
Inko's expression softened, and she walked over to place a hand on his shoulder. "You're always so focused. Just don't push yourself too hard, okay? You've been doing so well with your training and school... It's okay to take a break."
Izuku smiled weakly, appreciating her concern but feeling the weight of his unanswered questions. "I know. I'll try to get some sleep soon."
Inko gave him a small squeeze on the shoulder before heading back toward the door. "Goodnight, Izuku," she said softly.
"Goodnight, Mom," Izuku replied, watching as she gently closed the door behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Izuku sighed and stared down at his open notebook. It was filled with disjointed thoughts, ideas, and theories about what Tsuna had told him. But none of it felt like progress. He was used to researching heroes and analyzing quirks—topics with plenty of available information. But this... this was like trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
"At least the training is going well," Izuku thought, scribbling a few more notes in the margins of his notebook. Running had become easier, and his strength was slowly building, even if progress felt slow. But this research... it was wearing on him. For the first time, he wasn't sure where to look for the answers he needed.
He glanced at the clock and sighed. It was late, but even as his eyes grew heavy, the frustration gnawed at him. There had to be something out there—something that connected all the dots. Tsuna had said those words like they mattered, and Izuku couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something important.
Izuku leaned back in his chair, the weight of frustration building as another search led to nowhere. Weeks of research, and nothing made sense. "Vongola... Rings... Flames," he muttered to himself. It was like chasing shadows—no matter how hard he tried, the answers kept slipping away.
Before he could dwell on it further, the world around him shifted. A familiar drowsiness washed over him, and in the blink of an eye, Izuku found himself standing in the void again.
The void stretched out endlessly, just as quiet as every time before. Izuku stood in the center, feeling the weight of the pressure in his chest, though by now, he had grown somewhat accustomed to it. As he waited, Tsuna materialized, stepping into view with his usual calm presence—but something in his expression was different this time. His arms were crossed, and a slight frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Izuku," Tsuna began, his voice measured, "what have you been doing?"
Izuku blinked, surprised by the tone. "What do you mean?"
Tsuna sighed, though not in anger. It was more a mixture of concern and mild frustration. "You've been chasing after words I mentioned—'Vongola,' 'Rings,' 'Flames.' But you don't know what any of it means yet. You've been wasting your time on guesses."
Izuku shifted uncomfortably, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him. "What was I supposed to do?" His voice came out quieter than intended. "You didn't give me anything to go on, and I'm just... I don't know, it's frustrating not knowing anything." He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Tsuna's gaze.
Tsuna's expression softened slightly. He uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides. "I get that. But trying to figure it out without understanding the basics... that's only going to make it harder for you."
Izuku opened his mouth to respond but paused, something nagging at him. "Wait..." He frowned. "How do you know what I've been doing? How can you tell?"
Tsuna glanced away for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. "I don't see everything," he said after a pause. "But I can catch glimpses—small pieces of what's going on with you. Enough to see when you're getting distracted."
Izuku blinked. "You've been watching me?"
"Not exactly," Tsuna clarified, shaking his head slightly. "It's more like... I can sense when something important is happening, or when your thoughts are focused on what we're connected to. It's not all the time."
Izuku let that sink in, his initial frustration fading into quiet confusion. He wasn't sure how to feel about it, but at least it didn't seem like Tsuna was constantly prying into his life.
After a moment, Tsuna let out a soft sigh. "Look, I understand why this is hard for you. You're in the dark about a lot of things, and that's frustrating. But now that we're able to talk like this, I'll start giving you the answers you need. We don't have to rush."
Izuku nodded, feeling a mix of relief and lingering uncertainty. He didn't have the full picture yet, but at least Tsuna was finally ready to start explaining things.
Tsuna exhaled slowly and turned his gaze back to Izuku. "I think we need to go back to the beginning so you understand where all of this comes from."
Izuku listened closely as Tsuna began.
"The Vongola family was founded centuries ago by a man named Giotto. He was known as Vongola Primo—the first boss. His vision for the family was simple: to protect people and uphold justice in a world full of chaos. The Vongola wasn't meant to be about power or control."
Izuku nodded slowly, absorbing the information.
"But..." Tsuna's expression darkened. "Not everyone in the family agreed with him. One of Giotto's closest Guardians, Daemon Spade, believed the Vongola needed to be stronger, more ruthless, to survive. He thought Giotto's ideals were too soft, too idealistic."
Izuku furrowed his brow. "So what happened?"
"Daemon betrayed Giotto," Tsuna said, his tone somber. "The details don't matter, but it was because of Daemon's actions that Giotto was forced to step down. Giotto saw that things were changing, and he knew his vision wouldn't survive. So, he left for Japan, hoping to live in peace with his family."
Izuku blinked, the weight of Tsuna's words sinking in. "But after he stepped down, the family changed?"
Tsuna nodded. "Yeah. Without Giotto's leadership, the Vongola became something else. Over the generations, it transformed into a mafia organization. The ideals that Giotto built it on were lost, and each new generation of bosses pushed the family further down that path."
Izuku frowned. "But didn't anyone try to bring it back to what Giotto wanted?"
"They did," Tsuna acknowledged. "Around the time of the 7th or 8th boss, there were attempts to shift the Vongola back toward Giotto's original vision. But by then, the family had already gained too much power and influence as a mafia. It was difficult to reverse."
Izuku nodded, trying to make sense of it all. "And you... you were chosen to lead because of your connection to him?"
Tsuna paused, his expression growing more somber. "I wasn't the first choice," he said quietly. "The position of 10th boss was supposed to go to one of the 9th boss's sons. But all three of them died—some in very strange circumstances."
Izuku's eyes widened in surprise. "All of them?"
Tsuna nodded. "Yeah. When they were gone, I was the only one left. Because I have Giotto's blood, it had to be me. That's why I was chosen—not for any other reason."
Izuku was silent for a moment, taking it all in. The weight of the realization pressed down on him—Tsuna hadn't wanted to lead, but he had no choice. His bloodline made him the only one capable of taking on the role, regardless of his own wishes.
"I didn't want anything to do with the mafia," Tsuna admitted, his expression softening. "I didn't want the power, the control, or the responsibility. But once the family had decided, there was no way out. Being the last of Giotto's bloodline meant it had to be me."
He looked at Izuku seriously. "That's the reality of the Vongola. I wasn't chosen because of my ideals or abilities. It was because I was the only one who could."
Tsuna took a deep breath, his eyes softening as memories flickered across his face.
"I didn't want to be part of the Vongola at first," he continued. "But once I was pulled in, I had to fight. For my friends, my family—my Guardians. We were up against enemies who wanted to take the Vongola even further down the wrong path."
Izuku listened closely, noticing the weight behind Tsuna's words.
"The more battles I fought, the clearer it became: the Vongola couldn't stay the way it was. It wasn't what it was meant to be anymore, and something had to change."
Izuku nodded slowly, letting it sink in. "So, you... started to take it apart?"
"Bit by bit," Tsuna replied. "It was too big, too dangerous. The Vongola had gathered too much power, and that power drew the wrong kind of attention. I couldn't let it keep dragging in threats, putting the people I cared about at risk."
Izuku shifted slightly. "Was it hard to do?"
Tsuna gave a small, bittersweet smile. "It wasn't easy. The Vongola's power was built over generations. But in the end, it wasn't about the name or the influence—it was about protecting the people who mattered. That's what Giotto had wanted from the start."
He paused, a faint smirk forming on his lips. "And I won't lie—having access to the mafia's funds helped a lot."
Izuku raised an eyebrow. "The mafia's funds?"
Tsuna chuckled. "Yeah. If I was going to dismantle a criminal empire, I figured I might as well put its resources to good use. Infrastructure, education, charity... it helped clean up the mess."
Izuku smiled slightly. "I guess if you've got the money..."
"Exactly," Tsuna said with a wink. "You'd be surprised what you can accomplish with a little financial backing."
The lightness of the moment passed, and Tsuna's expression grew more serious again.
"I spent years breaking it apart," he continued. "Until all that was left was a version of the Vongola that Giotto would have recognized. A family that didn't seek power or control, but one that protected people. That's when I knew it was right—I had restored the Vongola to what it was supposed to be."
Izuku looked at him, his voice soft. "So, you brought it back to Giotto's vision."
"Yeah," Tsuna replied. "It took time, but in the end, the Vongola was no longer the mafia family it had become. It was a family that protected what mattered, just like Giotto had wanted."
Tsuna let out a soft sigh, his eyes meeting Izuku's as if weighing how much more to say. "The reason I'm telling you all of this, Izuku... it's because you're a part of it."
Izuku blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"
"You're my descendant, as I said before," Tsuna said gently. "It's in your blood. The Hyper Intuition—it's something only Giotto's bloodline has. That's why it awakened in you. That's why you're here."
Izuku stared at him, his mind racing. He opened his mouth to respond, but the only words that came out were: "So... it's like a quirk?"
Tsuna's brow furrowed slightly. "A quirk?"
Izuku realized he had used that word before in their earlier conversations, but Tsuna hadn't reacted to it at the time. Now, though, Tsuna seemed curious, waiting for an explanation.
Izuku shifted his weight slightly, trying to gather his thoughts. "A quirk is... well, it's what we call superpowers. Most people in the world are born with one. It could be anything—some people can control fire, others can manipulate objects with their minds... there's even someone who can grow extra limbs."
Tsuna raised an eyebrow, listening carefully as Izuku spoke.
"It's hard to explain because quirks can be really different from one person to the next. Some are powerful, others are... not so useful," Izuku added, rubbing the back of his neck. "But about 80% of the world has a quirk now. It's just... part of who we are."
Tsuna nodded slowly, still processing the idea.
"We don't really know how quirks started," Izuku continued. "There are theories, but no one knows for sure. One day, people just started being born with them, and over time, it became normal. Now, most people have quirks, and society has built itself around that fact."
He paused for a moment, watching Tsuna's expression for a reaction.
"Some quirks are really strong, and they get used for things like hero work. Others are more... practical. But the thing is, everyone kind of assumes that quirks are just part of evolution. They don't really think about where they came from or why they exist."
Tsuna fell silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. His gaze shifted slightly, and for just a brief second, a flicker of recognition passed through his eyes—so quickly that Izuku almost missed it. Then, Tsuna spoke, his voice calm.
"So... I guess you could say our Hyper Intuition is like a quirk," he confirmed, nodding slightly.
Izuku blinked, his breath catching in his throat. "Wait... so... I have a quirk?" The words felt heavy as they left his mouth, and for a moment, he just stood there, letting the realization sink in.
His eyes grew wide, and his chest tightened as emotions swirled through him—shock, disbelief, a strange mix of joy and relief. The thought hit him all at once: I have a quirk. After years of feeling different, of being told he was quirkless, he wasn't anymore. He had something.
Before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes, and he let out a shaky breath.
"W-wait, are you okay?" Tsuna stammered, a sudden wave of panic in his voice. He stepped forward slightly, his hands hovering awkwardly. "What's happening? Did I say something wrong?"
Izuku shook his head quickly, trying to steady his breathing. "N-no, you didn't—" He wiped at his eyes, embarrassed but unable to stop the flood of emotions. "It's just... I was born quirkless. My whole life... I never had a quirk."
Tsuna's eyes widened slightly, his panic shifting to confusion. "Quirkless?"
Izuku nodded, swallowing hard before continuing. "Yeah. People like me—we don't have any powers. It's not common, but there are people out there like that, and... it's not easy. People look at you like you're different, like something's wrong with you." He paused, trying to keep his voice steady. "Kids in school used to make fun of me because I didn't have a quirk. And... I've always dreamed of having one. Being a hero."
Tsuna's face softened as he listened, the weight of Izuku's words slowly sinking in.
"I never thought I'd get one," Izuku said, a small, tearful smile on his face. "But now... now I do."
Tsuna took a deep breath, watching Izuku carefully. He still didn't fully understand the weight of what Izuku was saying, but the emotion behind it was clear.
"Well," Tsuna said, his voice gentle, "it looks like you've had one all along."
Tsuna gave a small, almost teasing smile. "That's something we'll get into later. But just know this: the reason the Vongola became so powerful wasn't because of our wealth or influence. It was because of our Flames."
Izuku opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could, Tsuna raised his hand, palm facing upward. For a moment, nothing happened—the surrounding void remained still and silent. Then, slowly, a soft, glowing light flickered into existence above Tsuna's palm.
The light grew, shifting and swirling until it took on a distinct orange hue, flickering like a flame but with an ethereal quality. It wasn't just fire—it felt alive, pulsing with power and warmth, filling the empty space around them.
Izuku's eyes widened in awe, his breath catching in his throat. "Is that...?"
Tsuna didn't respond. He simply watched Izuku's reaction, the flame in his hand burning softly, its glow casting a warm light across the featureless expanse of the void.
Even in its controlled form, Izuku could feel the intensity—the raw, unspoken power behind it. His mind raced, trying to process what he was seeing, but the sight of the flame left him momentarily speechless.
After a few moments, Tsuna slowly closed his hand, and the flame flickered out, leaving the void as it was—empty and quiet once again.
The stillness hung between them, the silence settling back over the space like a weight. Tsuna lowered his hand and stepped closer to Izuku, his expression more serious now.
"There's one more thing I need to tell you," Tsuna began, his tone low but steady. "I don't know if you and I being connected right now is just a coincidence... or if it means something bigger is about to happen."
Izuku's eyes widened slightly, his heart beginning to race. "Something bigger?"
Tsuna nodded, his gaze steady on Izuku. "When I was your age, I was thrown into something far bigger than I could have ever imagined. It changed everything for me. And now... I have this feeling that you might be heading down a similar path."
Izuku's breath caught. "You think... something like that could happen to me?"
"I don't know," Tsuna admitted, his voice quiet but sincere. "It might be nothing. It might just be a coincidence that we're connected right now. But with everything I've seen, I can't help but feel like something's coming. I don't have all the answers, but I want you to be prepared."
Izuku stayed silent, the weight of Tsuna's words sinking in.
"You've been learning to control your powers," Tsuna continued, "and until now, I've been helping you so you could live a normal life—so you wouldn't be overwhelmed. But if something bigger is happening... you might not have that option."
Tsuna paused for a moment, his expression softening slightly.
"If you decide to go further, to learn more about your abilities and everything that comes with them, you won't be able to turn away if things escalate," he said. "You could be pulled into something dangerous, and once you're in, there's no running from it."
Izuku swallowed hard, his mind racing. "But... do you know what might happen?"
Tsuna shook his head. "No. I don't know. I can't see what's coming, if anything at all. But I've been through enough to know that this connection between us... it might not be just by chance. And if there is something bigger at play, I want you to be ready."
Izuku felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He had always dreamed of having power, of being someone who could protect others. But now, faced with the possibility of something larger, the reality of what it might mean began to sink in.
As the silence settled between them, Izuku found himself lost in his thoughts. Tsuna stood nearby, watching him, but Izuku's mind was elsewhere—drifting back to a time long ago, to the day the doctor had looked him in the eye and told him he was quirkless.
He had never forgotten that moment—the way the world seemed to shrink around him, the weight of being different in a world where almost everyone had a quirk. Back then, it felt like his dream of becoming a hero had been ripped away before it even had a chance to take shape.
But now, standing here with Tsuna, knowing about the Hyper Intuition and everything he had learned, Izuku realized that dream wasn't as unreachable as he had once believed. It wasn't just a distant hope anymore.
It was real.
His heart pounded in his chest, his breath steady as that realization took hold. He had a choice in front of him. He could walk away, live a quiet, normal life—safe from whatever dangers Tsuna hinted at. But that wasn't what he wanted anymore. He had spent his entire life wanting to be a hero. And now, knowing that there was something more inside him, something powerful... he couldn't just ignore it.
He couldn't run from it.
Izuku clenched his fists, his eyes hardening with determination. He had dreamed of protecting people, of standing tall like the heroes he admired. And if there was a challenge ahead, something dangerous waiting for him—so be it.
"If I ran from danger," Izuku whispered to himself, his voice steady and firm, "I could never become a hero."
The void around them seemed to pulse with the weight of those words, a quiet resolve settling over Izuku. Whatever was coming, he knew one thing: he wouldn't turn back now.
Thank you all so much for stopping by and reading this thing. Think about leaving a comment, love me some real big comments, gonna put them in a frame. Tks people, see ya.
