This was a dream; Izuku understood that well. However, dreams aren't supposed to feel exactly like reality. He could feel the breezes, the chipper of morning doves, the fluttering of dancing grass, the crackling of flames, the plops of dripping blood, and the clammy, humid air sticking to him as the world bathed in black, and their faces stared at him.

"Why didn't you save us?" they said, "Help us! Take revenge! Kill our murderer!"

He couldn't. He was too young. He was too frightened to even think of saving himself. Izuku couldn't do anything but arrive before the time of their deaths.

Their constant screams slowly died down, more as he ignored their cries and let the world disappear into the regular sandy beaches. All Might sat nearby, minding his own business. He doesn't take charge that often. He gives Izuku an outline of the regimen and lets him complete it. All Might is too soft on Izuku. He let him take breaks and go home without finishing his tasks. It was frustrating. Izuku needed guidance, not coddling. He needed someone to push him, to force him to reach his potential. Instead, All Might treated him like a child who needed protection, like the child he found in the burning building.

Izuku took a deep breath, pushing away the vision. They had been happening more frequently, becoming a constant annoyance. He stared at the mountains of trash still needing to be cleared, feeling the weight of his solitude. Akira's frequent checks provided some relief, though his absences from school often went unexplained. Each return brought blurry photos of Itachi, and every return he showed them to Izuku with a desperatesmile. Akira was getting close, and he showed his excitement for revenge, even if he wasn't the one who would carry it out.

"Are you tired, Izuku?" All Might asked, breaking Izuku's trance.

Izuku shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

Izuku's muscles ached as he shoveled another mound of trash into the rusted wheelbarrow. The beach seemed endless, a never-ending expanse of sand buried under heaps of discarded debris. The sun, now high in the sky, blazed mercilessly, making the sweat pour from his body and soak his clothes. It was just another day of this grueling regimen, another day of pretending that the visions weren't haunting his every step.

All Might's regimen was supposed to be rigorous and designed to prepare Izuku for the hero course at UA. Where he couldn't use his eyes. Instead, it felt haphazard and poorly structured. All Might's outline of tasks felt rough—clear this section, move that pile—and then leave Izuku to it, often without supervision or guidance. The hero would sit nearby, sometimes watching, sometimes not, seemingly lost in his thoughts. It felt more like busy work than training.

Izuku gritted his teeth and pushed the wheelbarrow toward the growing mound of trash he had collected. His arms trembled from the exertion, a dull pain throbbing in his still-healing left arm. It had been months since the cast came off, but the ache lingered. He may have been overworking it, but that didn't matter. He will get used to it.

Izuku returned to the task, the weight of the shovel heavy in his hand. Each movement felt sluggish, his muscles screaming in protest. He scooped up another pile of trash, the stench of rotting seaweed and old plastic making his stomach churn. He dumped it into the wheelbarrow and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The heat was oppressive and suffocating, and his clothes clung to his body like a second skin.

A gust of wind brought a brief moment of relief and carried the voices. The cries of his dead clan, their faces twisted in pain and anger, their eyes accusing. "Why didn't you save us?" they wailed. "Help us! Take revenge! Kill our murderer!"

Izuku clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus on the task. They said the same things. The visions were just that—visions. They felt real, painfully real, but he knew they were figments of his tormented mind. He couldn't let them control him, and he couldn't let them distract him from his goal.

All Might finally stirred, stretching and yawning as if he had just woken from a nap. "Alright, Izuku. That's enough for today."

Despite Izuku's criticisms of All Might, he listened to his orders and suggestions. Why? Even though Izuku doesn't like All Might's training style, he's still his teacher. If he learned anything as a child, a student must listen to their teacher.

All Might turned all buff and leaped into the sky, disappearing instantly and leaving behind a cloud of dust. Izuku can tell All Might has a lot on his mind, which is most likely why he's not paying attention to him. But what's more important than training me, like he said?

It didn't matter if All Might had some secrets of his own. So did Izuku. Additionally, he had his extra training. Izuku never got tired of All Might's plan to clean the beach. It was his training he focused on. A regimen that was more focused on one aspect of Izuku's arsenal. He can't really say "one." It was more like Izuku was growing a tree with many branches, ensuring he could have a tool to solve many problems. But first, he had to return home.

The sun dives under the horizon as Izuku reaches his doorstep. Before Izuku could open the door, Akane opened it.

"It took you forever to get here. Mom left two hours ago. She told me, you told her that you would be home by the time she leaves. It looks like you lied again."

Izuku's eye twitched, his heart stopped, and his face went cold. The door wasn't fully open all the way, but Izuku knew the face that destroyed his life, Itachi Uchiha. He stood in the doorway behind Akane. His face was full of indifference. He was dressed in a black cloak that covered his whole body, and a blade was over his head. He stared right at Izuku with his irregular Sharingan gleaming like a crimson star. This was a vision, right?

Akane sensed what he was feeling. Her quirk sent shocks of fear through her entire body. She froze, barely able to speak. "I-Izuku? What's wrong?"

Akane shook her head. In a blink, she turned around, wanting to witness what terrified her brother to only be nothing. Izuku's heart beat forcefully, like a rough drumbeat with no rhythm. Akane looked around some more. With her quirk, she should be able to sense anyone's emotions in the living room. She pulled herself into a calm state.

"Izuku," she said, barely a whisper, "Izuku?" she asked a little louder. She looked at her brother's blank face, staring toward the doorway. His feelings were awry. They were jumping all over the place. She attempted to pull her brother from the pool of terrible emotions he was drowning in. But her quirk wasn't anything like her father's. She pulled her hardest, but he kept sinking. Why can't she affect him? It always works. Her quirk always works. It calms down her mother when she worries about Izuku. It calms down her bullies, teachers, and angry animals. But for some reason, it won't work on Izuku. She could only beg until...

Izuku's eyes burst scarlet, spinning wild-like. Itachi was gone, and Akane was there with tears streaming. He was about to grasp her hand and tell her he was fine, but her palm smashed his face. Izuku recoiled to the side, his hand feeling the sudden sting on his cheek.

"Wake up, Izuku!" She screamed.

Izuku stood shaking, and Akane noticed Izuku come out of his blank state. "Izuku, are you alright? I didn't mean, I mean, I'm sorry. Don't be mad, but I couldn't-" Akand paused as she saw Izuku shaking, but it wasn't anger, but a slight chuckle. She was confused, he was just drowning in an inescapable darkness, and now, all of a sudden, is laughing.

Izuku's laugh was hollow, devoid of any genuine amusement. It was more of a release, a way to dispel the suffocating tension that had built up inside him. He straightened up, the sting on his cheek a harsh reminder of the reality he couldn't escape.

"Izuku?" Worry filled her face. Izuku didn't like that look.

"Akane," he said, strained and weary, "I'm fine. Really."

Akane looked at him. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it, seeming to decide against saying her words. Instead, she stepped aside, allowing Izuku to enter the house. He moved past her, His steps are heavy and deliberate. Akane knows enough about his "episodes" not to mention them to their mother. She'll only worry.

She watches her brother march upstairs. Her opinion of him has changed, he is a dreary person who's a bit dramatic. But the person she spent enough time to call him her brother. She knows enough to not trouble him or ask questions when doesn't want to tell. Close friends will ask what's wrong and want to learn how to help. But Akane knows how to deal with his problems. She can sense those emotions fluttering. There's no amount of push she could do to change how he feels. His emotions are too strong, unfortunately. When he's ready to open up to her, Akane is prepared.

The house was quiet. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the clock ticking were the only sounds. Izuku dropped his bag near his door and headed straight for the bathroom. He needed to wash away the grime and sweat from the day's work.

The bathroom was small and plain. Izuku turned on the faucet, letting the water run until it was hot enough to steam. He splashed his face, the heat pressing against his skin, aggravating the sting on his cheek. Izuku grin. She's not the little sister anymore. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his red eyes contrasting against his pale face. The bags under his eyes seemed heavy. He should sleep.

There isn't any time for rest. Izuku waited for Akane to sleep. Inko won't be back until then in the morning. Izuku's eyes shined bright as the Sharingan flared with full force. The blade All Might gave him sat comfortably in his palm. It was like the blade was meant to be used by him. Izuku took a look in the mirror. He looked crazy—a young man holding a sword with eyes red as blood, clothed in black.

Izuku started training by himself two or three months ago when he noticed All Might's training wasn't making him a better fighter. Sure, he grew his muscles, except Izuku isn't a muscle-brain. He isn't about brawn. He always used strategy. He couldn't use his quirk for so many years. Izuku needs to learn how to fight and learn more skills to kill Itachi.

He moves toward the window; his muscles hate the movement. They beg for a good night's rest, but Izuku ignores it. Right now, he needs to train. He leaps out the window, it's not like last time where he let himself fall. The wind blowing against his body. It brushes his hair and face; it is a bit humid. He lands not too far from his door and dashes. It's a far run, but Izuku knows he could handle it. The street blurs, all the houses and buildings turn into streaks, and Izuku focuses nothing but running. Izuku isn't running away from his problems, he's going to a place where he can learn to face them.

A Uchiha must be quick on his feet and make smart decisions. Every mission is long, so they must conserve their energy, breathe correctly, and make no wasteful movements. Every twitch, glance, and sweat must be purposeful. Even though Izuku lives away from the city's center, some heroes still patrol the outskirts, near the family houses.

A nightly breeze caresses his damp skin, cooling him as he runs. The feeling of the Sharingan's power flowing through him makes Izuku confident, relaxed, and arrogant. He dashes through the streets with the blade on his hands and a hood that barely conceals his face. It only takes one good look to discover it is Izuku. But he doesn't care. Izuku slowly drowns in the feeling. He has never felt so free.

Izuku turned and skirted down an alley next to an old office building, leaped on the walls, gripping a fire escape, and jumped onto the roof. He saw the commercial billboard that advertised new All Might action figures. He moved southeast, in the opposite direction to the billboard. He bound off the ledge, soaring through the air with the grace of a falling hawk. He hopped onto a light pole, sliding down it before continuing his run. He gazes at everything. There isn't a single detail Izuku doesn't miss.

Crumpled newspapers fluttered in the breeze, casting shadows in the dimly lit alleyways. Streetlights illuminated the dark street, highlighting the parked cars, primarily blue, with one white box truck and several delivery vans. The vans, which had no license plates and looked run-down, had rust appearing on the edges. A fleet of four was sitting beside a broken-down factory.

On the side of the building, in bold white cursive, was the name Mighty Toys. Once a bustling toy factory, it gained fame for its hero-themed action figures and collectible plushies. However, the factory closed its doors amid scandal when it was revealed to have been part of a Ponzi scheme. Despite this, the bank could not foreclose on the property because its primary owner was a Uchiha businessman, and the CEO received temporary protection from legal action. Both the businessman and the CEO met "untimely" deaths that may or may not have been unpurpose. Leaving the fate of the factory in limbo. Ultimately, the property deed passed to Izuku, who had been named the sole beneficiary of all Uchiha wills and property by the court of the Nation of Japan, which was the only upside of an orphan of a massive family like the Uchiha.

What makes the factory truly intriguing is its hidden nature: it serves as a covert Uchiha hideout, housing a secret cache of weapons that the Uchiha family has kept under wraps. Izuku only visited the hideout a couple of times.

Despite regular inspections by both the police and the HSCP, the hideout remains undetected, cleverly concealed within the ordinary facade of the factory. Izuku did his training here. He moved to the center of the street, standing above a manhole cover. The only way to enter the factory. Izuku hated this part.

Izuku kneeled, twisted open the covers, and slinked into the sewer. Fortunately, there wasn't a massive river of sewage that usually would be about waist-high. It took about three days for the smell to leave the pair of clothes.

The drop wasn't massive—for Izuku. It was at least 14 feet. It didn't matter if he had the Sharingan or not; his body had changed to withstand the enhancing powers that the Sharingan gave. A 14-foot drop felt like jumping up down.

He dropped into a small stream of sewage flowing quickly down the sewers. It was dark, pitch black. Izuku could hear dripping water droplets, their echoes reverberating down the concrete tunnel. Rats scuttled, their little squeaks as they ran from the sound of his steps. The complete and utter darkness disappeared as clarity came to him as the Sharingan gleamed.

According to the schematics, Izuku had to walk half a mile of sewers to get to the factory's maintenance entrance. Only four turns to his destination. Izuku was fine with the walk but hated how the atmosphere felt. The walls slowly caved on him. He could feel the tunnel's rough walls grazing his skin and the falling water dancing on him. The horrible, lingering stench invaded his senses. He hates coming through this way. But it was the only possible entrance. It was just like that one time, his first visit to the Hideout. It had the same feeling, a certain nervous energy that made Izuku tense. It was a couple of months after his sixth birthday, when he unlocked the Sharingan.