"Tea?" The beady eyes of the rodent principal gleamed with false sincerity as he made the offer. He knew his guests would likely reject it—it was what they were trained to do, after all. Say what you will about the HPSC, they produce well-behaved lapdogs.

He had expected them to send an envoy to discuss his recent activities, but no matter the outcome it was a redundant effort on the part of the government. Nezu was certain there was little, if anything, the HPSC could do at this point. Having All Might sign his letter that he had sent to Madam President had drawn a clear line in the sand, and any attempt to step over that line and block UA's attempt to become independent would be political suicide.

He had to put some extra effort into keeping his mind present as it threated to wonder off to far more interesting thoughts.

What did catch his attention, however, was the individual seated at the center of the room—the clear senior of the two agents. His bandaged appearance, a hybrid of a mummy and a burn victim, tugged at Nezu's memory.

Kido. Nezu recognized him. The man had once been one of Endeavor's sidekicks before the flaming hero had traded his ambition for another obsession. It was unexpected to see a familiar face—mask, rather. Nezu had thought Kido had retired. It seemed he had gone underground to work directly for the government.

Next to the hero was the pitiful sight of an exhausted intern, barely managing to keep himself upright and showing an almost desperate interest in the tea.

"Does the tea have any caffeine in it?" the intern asked, his voice hoarse and strained.

Nezu nodded pleasantly. "Today, I've made Oolong tea. It does have caffeine—though not as much as black tea."

The intern stood up hurriedly and approached the large desk as if he had been stranded in a desert and was being offered water. "Then I'd love some. Anything to help me stay awake."

As Nezu poured the tea, he threw a brief glance at Kido, who remained motionless and quiet. That wasn't unusual—he had heard the man had a reserved demeanor. What bothered Nezu was how the hero had apparently pushed his aide so far that the young man seemed ready to fall asleep at any moment.

"So, I assume Madam President sent you?" Nezu inquired, pushing the cup toward the intern, who eagerly drank the tea. Kido didn't respond, appearing subtly confused, if not slightly off-put, by the direct address.

The reaction made the hair on Nezu's back rise. Something was off. Had he misread the situation?

His mind raced, piecing together fragments of human behavior he had painstakingly cataloged over years of observation. Kido's cold demeanor suggested hostility or indifference—traits that didn't align with the HPSC's typical approach. Their envoys either extended olive branches or struck with aggression; they didn't sit back and remain silent.

This wasn't the behavior of a senior officer—it was the behavior of a bodyguard.

"Oh no, she wasn't informed of my little expedition," the "intern" admitted casually, placing his empty cup on the table. A sly grin followed. "Or, rather, I had left the building before she could fully realize my intentions."

Nezu's sharp mind clicked into place. Unlike humans, social cues and hierarchies didn't come naturally to him; he had to rely on a mental encyclopedia of observations to navigate them. This man had deliberately inverted his apparent role with Kido, tricking Nezu into assuming the opposite of the truth.

But now, the charade had been discarded. The "intern" wasn't just unveiling his deception—he was making a calculated statement: I had the advantage, and I chose to give it up.

It was both a reassurance and a warning. This man might be friendly for now, but Nezu would be wise not to treat him like just another HPSC suit.

Nezu's eyes narrowed as his mind shifted into high gear. "Who are you?" he asked.

The man straightened, and all signs of fatigue seemed to vanish as if wiped clean. Either the caffeine worked wonders, or the exhaustion had been a deliberate act.

"Yokumiru Mera," he said, his tone calm and measured. "I'm part of Madam President's cabinet."

Nezu offered a polite smile, his curiosity sharpening. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Mera. You mentioned the Madam President wasn't informed of your visit? That's surprising for someone in her inner circle. Care to explain why?"

Mera leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. "You're familiar with her methods, I assume?" he began. "Had I informed her, she'd have insisted on sending one of her loyalists to oversee this meeting—perhaps Hawks, or someone equally attached to her leash." He gestured to Kido, who remained stoic beside him. "Instead, I chose someone like Kido, who hasn't declared any loyalties within the Commission, so I could speak freely."

Nezu nodded thoughtfully, hiding his amusement at the boldness of the move.

"I'm impressed," Nezu admitted. "But is it wise? From what I understand, Madam President runs a tight ship. By the time you return, she might already be working to push you out of her circle. What could possibly justify taking such a risk?"

Mera's lips curled into a faint smile. "That right there," he said, pointing at Nezu. "I suspected you wouldn't know what's been happening within the Commission, so I came to inform you."

Nezu tilted his head, intrigued.

"Madam President isn't as untouchable as she once was," Mera continued. "Since your letter arrived, rumors have been flying that she's lost All Might's support. People who once feared her are starting to form factions. None are strong enough to challenge her yet, but the cracks are showing."

He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion creeping back into his features. This time, it felt genuine, though Nezu's sharp gaze caught the faintest glimmer of something else. Could his fatigue be tied to his quirk? Perhaps it was related to sleep or caffeine—a useful trait for someone in his line of work.

Nezu smiled slightly, his mind filing the observation away for later. "Fascinating," he said softly.

"The few individuals with enough influence to replace her are still in her corner—myself included, for now," Mera continued. "It's safer to remain aligned with her while the splinter factions lack the strength to rival her. But she knows if she forces me out, I'll have no choice but to join one of those factions, or even create my own. Should that happen, other key allies of hers will be motivated to do the same, striking out on their own to prevent me from getting a head start on taking control of the Commission."

"So, she's forced to tolerate your disobedience," Nezu said, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Clever. But I must ask—why come to me? You've no loyalty to me, and sharing this isn't merely an act of goodwill. What's your angle?"

Mera smiled faintly. "You're perceptive, as expected. Rest assured, I still intend to gather the assurances and information Madam President is expecting. My job does depend on it, after all. Can we save that for later?"

Nezu nodded slightly. "Within limits, yes."

"Ha!" Mera chuckled. "I was hoping for a bit more leniency, but that will do." He leaned forward slightly. "The real reason I'm here is to discuss some potential business partners you might consider adding to your roster of sponsors. They've been invaluable to me, and I believe they could benefit you as well."

Nezu tilted his head, curiosity gleaming in his small eyes. "Do tell," he said, reaching for the teapot. "More tea?"

"I won't say no." Mera chuckled, his tone lightening briefly but his gaze remained sharp.

The smell of vomit strikes Izuku's nose as he doubles over, projecting his lunch from earlier in the day onto the sand of the Takoba Municipal Beach.

He whines a little, tears threatening to escape as his stomach runs out of content to eject and he begins dry heaving. His grips the sand beneath his fingers, flexing them to distract himself from the nausea that lingered.

"That'll do it." An old man laughs heartily at his pain, the taunting sound echoing from the top of the cement stairs leading to the elevated parking lot. If not for the old man being introduced to him as All Might's former trainer, Izuku would have believed that this man was evil to the core.

"Come on, get up. Stay down too long and you'll just get lazy. It should be easy—you seem to have lost a few pounds."

Izuku was still tempted to accuse the man of being a villain in disguise.

Forcing his tired arms to move, Izuku pushed himself to his feet. The movement made him dizzy, he had to catch himself from falling mere moments after standing upright.

"If you're dizzy after throwing up, it means you haven't had enough water." The elderly man asserted.

Izuku turns his gaze to his trainer.

Sorahiko Torino, the retired hero known as Gran Torino, looked the complete opposite of how he acted. With his short stature and innocent, kind appearance, he looked like someone's sweet old grandpa, a stark contrast to the brutal trainer who regularly pushed Izuku to his breaking point.

"Think fast, boy!" The little man yelled, pitching a water bottle with inhuman force for someone his age.

Izuku's eyes widened, and his hands shot out to intercept the bottle. He suppressed a wince of pain as the hard plastic hit his forearms with a loud thunk before clattering to his feet. He stared at it for a moment in silence, focusing on the sound of the waves to calm his frustration.

Gran Torino let out a bark of laughter, oddly close to genuine joy. "Progress!"

Izuku looked up at him in confusion. "Progress?"

"The last four times I did that, I hit your face," Gran Torino said bluntly. "Your reaction time is improving. Slowly, but I will take what I can get."

Izuku suppressed a sigh, leaning over to pick up the water bottle. His lips were feeling dry, so he might as well take a sip.

He hadn't realized how thirsty he was, surprising himself when he ended up gulping down the whole bottle in one go.

"See? Your body knows what it needs." The old man asserted. "You should learn to listen to it, otherwise you're going to cause yourself problems."

"Yes, sir." Midoriya nodded, it made sense to some degree. Although he felt Gran Torino was alluding to something else.

"You were limping during the last lap. Why was that?" Gran Torino eyed him critically.

"My left hamstring hurts." Midoriya poked the back of his thigh with his thumb.

"And how did it get like that?" He prompted.

"I, uh… pulled it from running too hard?" Izuku offered, avoiding eye contact with his trainer.

The silence between the dragged on long enough for Izuku to reflect on how that might have been the wrong answer.

"I'm not stupid kid." The man warned. "You've been doing extra training. Your hamstring hurts because your calf in the other leg was way too stiff, your body adjusted accordingly, and that put too much strain on your hamstring."

Izuku felt a bit guilty, but ultimately defiant against the notion that doing extra training was a bad idea.

(I want a quirk)

He had to put in the extra work. How else was he going to compete with everyone else who had quirks?

"You don't think what you did was wrong, do you?" Gran Torino accused.

Midoriya didn't answer, choosing instead to observe the cracks present in the cement staircase.

"Damn kids..." He mumbled under his breath, before picking up the volume. "You've pushed your progress back by a week."

The blunt statement seemed nonsensical to Izuku.

"I just improved on my personal records for almost all the exercises today?"

The man nodded. "Correct, but that improvement is worthless now."

"How?" Izuku baffled.

"Toshinori told me you're getting at backflips?" The man asked.

"Yeah..." Midoriya confirmed, a bit confused by the direction the conversation had taken.

"Go for it then, show me one." He challenged.

The young man didn't need to be told twice, eager to show off his skill. Throwing his arms backwards and bending his knees, he prepared for the jump. With a forceful wing of his arms, he propels himself off the ground as his legs shoot him upwards, and he prepares to tuck them in for the flip.

"AAAGH!" A sharp, searing pain shot through his left hamstring, causing him to fail mid-flip crashing into the sand with a thunk. The impact knocked the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air as he lay flat on his back.

"See?" Gran Torino said. "If that didn't happen today that would have happened tomorrow or whenever you do your secret extra training. An injury like that takes a long time to heal, a week if you're lucky, a month if you're not. Especially since you quirkless types heal slower."

Wincing as he sits up, Izuku could feel the hamstring complaining even if he wasn't straining it.

"The entrance exams are a little more than 6 months away, do I have time for such a long break?" Izuku pleaded, before perking up. "Can't Recovery Girl just heal me?"

"So that you can fangirl over her quirk again?" The Gran Torino accused with some levity. "No, I don't want you to get into the habit of breaking your body just because you happen to have access to a healer. I want you to learn, even if it's the hard way, to listen to when your body has had enough. It'll save you a world of pain in the future."

"Then what do I do until it heals?" Izuku asks.

"Nothing." Gran Torino answered. "I don't even want you to get out of bed too quickly in the mornings, you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Izuku reluctantly agreed.

Thankfully, the walk home from Tokabah Beach wasn't too long. Since the beach connected to the old town, it was only a short distance from the train station.

Even so, the walk from the station to the apartment was enough to aggravate his sore muscles. He tried his best to avoid limping, but the sharp, stabbing pain eventually became too much. By the time he reached the stairs leading to the apartment, he was hopping on one foot, no longer caring about how ridiculous he might look—leaning against the railing as he gradually jumped from step to step.

Anything to avoid the irritation of putting weight on his injured leg.

Just a few steps from the top, however, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Izuku?"

His heart sank, as he tried his best to shuffle on his one foot to turn around and look at her. "Hi, Mom."

Though the rustling of the plastic shopping bag in her hand told him she was hurrying up to him, and before he was fully turned around she was at his side.

"Oh, my baby, are you okay?" She asked, concern lacing her voice as she reached out to help him balance.

"I'm okay." He smiled through partially gritted teeth. "Just pulled a muscle."

"How-" She bit back her desire for details. "You know what, you can explain later. Let me help you get to the apartment and we can get some ice on it. Alright?"

"Thanks, mom."

Allowing him to lean on her as he hopped, she supported him to the door, thankfully it wasn't too far from the stairs.

Once inside, she made him sit down on the couch, and immediately moved to the fridge to fish out something for his leg after setting the plastic shopping bag and her handbag down on the counter.

"How did this even happen?" She asked, her head still in the fridge.

"I-" Izuku hesitated. He hadn't thought of a cover story. "I was with Katchan, he challenged me to a race. I pulled a muscle trying to keep up."

Excellent story, let's reinforce the idea that you're fragile. He thought to himself.

"Oh, I'm so sorry honey." She said, fishing out frozen peas from the freezer section at the bottom of the fridge, walking over to him. "That boy is way too competitive, he knows you can't beat him, so weird that he would challenge you?"

He hummed in acknowledgement as he sighed inwardly in relief that she bought his story. He lifted his leg with his hands to allow her to slip the bag of peas underneath his leg.

Though he noticed that after doing so, she remained seated on the couch, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Do you think he was being mean to you?" she asked, her voice soft but probing.

Izuku stiffened as she stood suddenly, moving toward her handbag. "I can call Mitsuki and ask her to talk to him—"

"No!" he said, more forcefully than he intended. He forced a smile, trying to keep his tone light. "It's fine, really. He didn't mean anything by it. He just wanted to see how much I've improved since… since I've been training with him."

She stopped, her hand retreating from the bag. But as she turned back, her hands on her hips, suspicion clouded her face.

"Training? I thought you were only training with him for the athletics. Isn't that over now?" She asked, and he can tell from her tone she suspected something was wrong. "Didn't you tell me that this would be the last year of athletics, it's why you were so desperate to take part?"

He had said that. She didn't know anything about athletics other than it was part of Shiketsu High's talent scouting initiative, so she wasn't happy with him trying to get involved. He'd lied and said it's also just a sport that he really liked, and was sad he had missed the previous years, and this would be his last chance.

"Yeah." He said, looking down. He felt too guilty about everything to lie to her face when he'd practically been caught.

"You've been training for the hero exams. Haven't you?" She asked, and while there was frustration in her voice, she sounded more tired and sad than anything else. His silence confirmed her suspicion. "Izuku, we've talked about this."

"I know, it's just-" He couldn't finish. He wanted to tell her, about Mr. Yagi, Might Tower. Everything.

He was just too afraid she'd take his dream away from him.

It was clear that he was fumbling, trying to make an excuse, but Inko let him think, sitting on the couch beside him.

"I still... I still want to try, mom." He said, hoping that at least part of the truth would convince her. "I... have people who believe in me. Who think I can do it."

He looked up at her, trying his hardest to not let the tears escape, which got harder as he could see the heartbreak in her eyes.

"I don't want to let them down."

The moments after his declaration were almost sickening, making the resolve he felt during his declaration begin to waver as his mother kept silent.

Eventually, she spoke.

"I thought that with that Tsubasa boy moving away, you would start to see sense." She said, the words striking his heart, he struggled to not let the hurt show on his face. "Izuku, you know what I think about you trying to be a hero. It's dangerous, uniquely so for you and any other quirkless person."

"I know." He said, and he could see it broke her further.

"You don't." She insisted. "Izuku. You are all I have left in this world. I can't lose you. Just living an every day life is a hazard for you, and you want to jump into the single most dangerous profession there is."

"But-"

"Enough." She said, holding her hand up. "Izuku, I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear you justifying throwing your life away for a dream that I know is impossible."

That didn't sting as hard as it should have. Izuku couldn't tell if it was because he already knew this is what she thought, or because he had people in his life who believed in him when she didn't.

That belief gave him the strength to lie again.

"I'll stop," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted his gaze.

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Inko studied him for a moment, then nodded. She glanced at the counter, a soft smile breaking through her sadness. "Oh, I almost forgot. I picked something up for you."

She pulled a container from the shopping bag and held it up. "You stopped styling your hair all of a sudden, and I figured you ran out."

Izuku blinked, guilt and gratitude mixing as he stared at the container of hair gel, the same brand as the one he threw away a while back. He should've told her he'd stopped using hair gel.