Izuku thought he could wait.
That's what all the forums said to do—if you were kidnapped, or suddenly found yourself in someone else's body. Wait. Stay calm. These things happened sometimes. Body-swapping quirks, teleportation quirks—none of it was unheard of. Someone would come. Someone would fix this.
But two weeks had passed, and no one had come.
He didn't even mind the body all that much. He could still feel the electricity of One For All humming under his skin. But pretending to be someone named Nagisa? That was starting to wear on him. The worst part wasn't the skirts—those, he found, weren't actually so bad. It was the long hair he had to let his 'mother' comb. It was the constant pretending.
How long did he have to wait?
He kept telling himself someone would notice—someone would realize this "Nagisa" wasn't acting right. But no one did. And that scared him. Because if no one noticed he wasn't Nagisa... then maybe no one noticed Nagisa wasn't him either.
That possibility rooted itself deep in his chest.
He tried to hold onto routine. He tried to go through the motions. But when he bombed the entrance exam to the school his 'mother' had enrolled him in, panic started to settle in. The history section alone had left him frozen—nothing about the Quirk Wars, no questions about Pro Heroes or heroic philosophy. Not even a single essay on what kind of hero he wanted to be.
Then, a week into his new school life, the news broke: the moon had been destroyed.
And that's when he knew—this wasn't just a body swap.
Because something like that? All Might would have shown up. The other heroes, too. Someone would have done something. But they didn't. And that was when panic turned to dread.
He began spiraling. Was this another world entirely? A different dimension? If so, how would he ever get back?
No one ever talked about quirks that could move you between realities. If they existed, they had to be highly classified and buried by the HPSC. And if that was true… There was no help coming.
The anxiety and fear churned inside him, until one night something snapped—and something exploded from his hand.
Black tendrils surged through his room like smoke and fire. For a terrifying moment, he couldn't breathe.
No one here had quirks.
If his 'mother' walked in and saw this, he'd be dissected. Labeled. Experimented on.
The panic overwhelmed him until he blacked out.
He woke up to laughter. A strange man stood before him.
"Hey, Ninth! Don't be scared. I'm Banjo—Fifth. Welcome to the inside of One For All."
Izuku stared, eyes wide.
"Surprise, right?" Banjo grinned. "Looks like the First was right—we're hitting quirk singularity. That thing you just used? My quirk. Blackwhip. And listen, you're gonna need to learn to control it—and every other quirk coming your way."
Izuku's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"You can't afford to mess up here, kid. This world? No quirks. You use One For All wrong, and you'll end up in a lab, never seeing the sun again. So keep it low. Blackwhip feeds off emotions, especially anger. Keep your cool."
When Izuku woke again, he was still in Nagisa's room. Still trapped. Still not home.
He stared at the puffed sleeves on his shirt. Banjo was right—he had to be careful. If he was going to survive in a world without quirks, he had to stay invisible.
So, like he always had, he took his fear and anger and locked it away. Sealed it in a box in his mind. Was it healthy? Probably not. But it was the only thing he knew how to do.
The Blackwhip receded into his wrists. He tugged down his sleeves.
No one could know.
Izuku didn't know how he'd brought the anti-sensei knife back with him. He didn't care. Without it, he'd think he was going mad. With it? He had proof.
Toshinori didn't ask much. Only told him he couldn't use throwing knives or firearms in the entrance exam—they didn't count as "support equipment."
That was fine. He still had One For All. Still had Blackwhip. Still had Danger Sense. Toshinori had even helped him register his quirk, called it Superpower, described as "the ability to channel inner energy." Generic enough to pass. The activation date? Falsified. No one would believe he got a quirk at fourteen otherwise.
It was amazing what the Number One Hero's word—and a bit of money—could accomplish.
If he hadn't lived through everything with Class 3-E, maybe he would've been embarrassed. But Korosensei had taught him better. Use every resource. Use every edge. Even if it meant drawing attention.
The written test was a joke compared to what 3-E had endured. He finished early, earning a glare from some uptight kid muttering about him "not taking it seriously." Izuku bit his tongue. He'd love to see that guy recite math formulas while dodging knife strikes.
He ignored the seat next to Katsuki. Not out of fear—never again—but out of principle. His old admiration had been unhealthy. Korosensei helped him see that. Class 3-E had been real friends.
He leaned against the bleachers as Present Mic explained the practical, thumbing through the pamphlet and spotting the subtle code that pointed out the robot shut-off buttons. Another trick. Another test.
He let himself slip into 'combat sleep,' just long enough to recover. When someone yelled at him about "disrespecting the school," he barely reacted.
Once the exam began, he was off like a shot, trying to treat it like their free running sessions. No hesitation.
His first move was pure instinct. He threw his knife straight into the shutoff button of a one-pointer. Hit dead center and quickly pulled the knife out.
He kept moving, Danger Sense guiding him like a radar. He used Blackwhip and his training to take down robots and rescue frozen students. The knife work came easy, just like Karasuma had drilled into him.
Thirty points in, he stopped counting.
Then the ground shook.
The zero pointer.
He watched the others scatter. Then Danger Sense screamed.
A girl. Trapped under rubble.
He hesitated.
Then ran.
He found a jagged piece of concrete, round like a baseball, and channeled Gear Shift. He hurled himself onto a rooftop, spun the 'ball' with Blackwhip, and launched it with all the force he could muster. It tore through the robot's core.
Then he leapt.
Blackwhip lashed out, grabbed the girl, and he dragged her out of danger, landing hard as the zero pointer collapsed behind them.
"Whoa! That was crazy! Thanks for saving me!"
Izuku brushed the dust from his sleeves. "I'm sure the test would have stopped before you were seriously injured. But... you're welcome."
He meant it.
Even if he didn't get into U.A. Even if none of this worked out.
For that one moment, he felt like a hero again.
A wall of monitors projected the chaos of the testing grounds, each screen flickering with bursts of light, smoke, and steel. Students ran, dodged, and fought. The faculty stood in silence, each observing, analyzing, and calculating. Among them: Aizawa, arms crossed; Nedzu, sipping tea with his usual unsettling cheer; and Toshinori Yagi, leaning forward with a strange mix of tension and pride on his face.
"There he is," All Might muttered, eyes locked on one particular screen. "Look at you go, kid." He tried not to sound proud, so that it wouldn't show favoritism, but he was proud.
On the feed, Midoriya Izuku leapt from a crumbling rooftop, rolling across debris with practiced ease. He scanned his surroundings, then darted forward, slamming his foot into a fallen support beam to knock a One-Pointer onto its back—just enough for another student to escape. He didn't hesitate. His movements were precise, his awareness uncanny. He was already gone before the robot exploded.
"He's really racking up those rescue points," All Might added, with a bit too much satisfaction.
Aizawa's brow furrowed. "You know him?"
All Might blinked, then leaned back slightly, trying and failing to hide his grin. "Just a kid I met once. Helped him with his… posture."
Aizawa narrowed his eyes. "Posture, huh?" He focused on the screen again. Izuku was moving like someone trained. No wasted motion. No hesitation. His limbs flowed like water—fast, efficient, silent. Like someone who'd been watching the pros for years… or perhaps something darker.
"He moves like an underground hero," Aizawa said, more to himself than the others. "Not flashy. Precise. Almost too effortless."
He leaned closer, checking the overlay. "Midoriya Izuku… huh?" he read aloud, squinting. "I wonder how you'll react to my exam."
A few monitors over, another boy exploded through a line of Three-Pointers, palms erupting like grenade blasts. Katsuki Bakugo. Aizawa marked his tally—seventy villain points, with no rescue in sight.
"Hm. Aggressive. But effective. I might—"
"No," All Might cut in, voice suddenly flat. "That boy can't be placed with Midoriya."
Aizawa gave him a look. "Any reason why?"
"There's… a restraining order in place," All Might replied. "It's been dealt with, legally. But know this—if that boy ends up in the same class as Izuku, it will only end in tragedy."
That made even Nedzu pause mid-sip.
The principal gave a slow blink, then a thoughtful hum. "Well, we do have a second hero course… Class 1-B might benefit from a more explosive personality." He chuckled to himself.
All Might let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Aizawa, still watching Izuku's screen, noted something else. Another boy was moving across the field, not fighting so much as observing, shadowing Midoriya's movements. Hitoshi Shinso. No combat quirk, but sharp. Very sharp. And when Izuku knocked out a Two-Pointer with a jab to the control panel, Shinso followed suit on his own robot, mimicking the method.
"He's clever," Aizawa murmured. "I want that one if he passes."
Nedzu glanced at the scores.
"Well, it seems young Shinso has just enough points to qualify."
"Looks like Class 1-A's going to be interesting this year." Aizawa drawled.