Everything went black. All his suit's systems were dark.

"Jarvis? Are you here?" Tony asked, concern creeping into his voice. "I can't really see anything here, bud!" he shouted, growing more anxious. Gravity pulled hard at him as he fell. He could feel the weight, the rush of air clawing at the edges of his armor, but he wasn't dead—yet. That meant the arc reactor was still online. Small relief, but it was something.

He reached out mentally, attempting a manual override of the suit. The HUD was dead, the interior cold and lifeless. If he couldn't get it back up in time, this fall would be his last. The clouds above were already far behind, the distant cityscape rapidly approaching.

"Sir?" Jarvis's voice returned suddenly, crisp and apologetic. "I apologize, but entering that time—outside of, well, time—forced me into a temporary hibernation."

The power surged back through the suit just in time. The familiar hum of energy filled his ears, repulsors warming at his palms.

"SWEET MOTHER MARY!" Tony shouted as he kicked the repulsors into high gear, blasting downwards to counter his fall. The ground rushed up like a bullet, and he flattened his posture, catching the air just enough to slow himself.

"My apologies, sir," Jarvis said calmly. "There appears to be something electromagnetically unique about that space. I wish I could have gathered more data—it would've been a goldmine for technological advancement."

"No need, Jarvis. Not exactly something we could've planned for," Tony replied, letting out a breath of relief as he touched down with a controlled hiss of steam—

BOOM!

"Incoming, sir," Jarvis warned.

"Got it," Tony snapped, lifting slightly off the ground to absorb the incoming force.

Out of the sky came a figure—human, probably. A woman with long white hair, twitching bunny ears, and a rather revealing outfit crashed right into his arms. Her muscles were defined, taut like coiled springs beneath smooth skin, and her eyes burned with confidence.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her voice sharp, almost offended by the interruption.

Before he could respond, another figure dropped in behind her—a hulking, metallic-skinned man with four arms and a scowl to match. His presence was oppressive, his fists clenched like wrecking balls.

"God, this place is weird," Tony muttered. He let the woman go and launched forward without hesitation. He met the brute head-on, slamming a palm into the aggressor's face with a thunderous crack. The concrete cracked as the repulsor flared, searing the villain's skin and burning a shallow crater beneath him.

"We sure are lucky, huh, Jarvis?" Tony quipped, stepping back from the smoldering crater.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire, sir."

"Who taught you idioms—Parker? I knew I shouldn't have let you near his suit."

"My apologies, sir."

Tony turned back toward the woman, who was already brushing dust off her arms, unimpressed.

"About that girl?" he asked.

"While you were 'roughhousing,' I accessed this world's version of the internet," Jarvis reported. "The code structure was different, but I found backdoors. She's Rumi Usagiyama. Alias: Mirko. A pro hero."

"Thanks for the help, though I was doing fine on my own," she said, adjusting her stance with casual confidence. Her expression was more curious than hostile now. "So is this your pro debut? Never seen you around before."

"Uh, no. You kinda just ran into me, so I helped out," Tony replied, brushing some debris off his shoulder.

"Sir," Jarvis interjected, "in Japan and many other nations, using powers—called 'quirks' here—without registration is illegal and strictly enforced."

"Good thing I don't have powers," Tony said with a smirk. His eyes followed the woman carefully, taking in her posture, the way she held herself like a trained fighter.

"Given the nature of our mission, it might be prudent to keep certain things close to the chest," Jarvis advised.

"Agreed. We're not exactly citizens of anywhere right now. Ghosts. Best not to draw too much attention until we're ready."

The pro hero chuckled and placed her hands on her hips. "Foreigner, huh? Let me guess—American?"

Tony retracted his helmet with a soft hiss of compressed air, revealing a half-smile beneath tousled hair. "Ha, spot on. I got good enough at the language, but never fluent."

"Obvious enough," she teased. "You Americans always end up skirting the vigilante laws here. It's way more relaxed over there."

"In the United States, quirk laws are comparable to our old world's Second Amendment," Jarvis added.

"Yeah, I've heard it's strict over here," Tony said. "Name's Tony Stark, by the way." He extended a hand.

"Mirko," she replied, shaking it firmly. "I'll let this one slide, since it wasn't malicious. Just watch yourself. Let us pros handle the bad guys. Enjoy your trip."

Tony watched her bounce off effortlessly, the villain slung over her shoulder like a gym bag. Her leaps covered entire rooftops in moments.

"Jarvis, we need some documentation," Tony said, his tone shifting. "If I'm really going to defend this world from a crisis as bad as Mr. Clean described, I'll need Stark Industries to facilitate it."

"Shall I begin forging records, sir?"

"Immigration paperwork. U.S. and Japanese citizenship. Travel records—the basics. See if you can slip them into the net and make it look seamless. Doesn't need to pass deep scrutiny, just a surface check."

"Understood."

"We've got work to do. I'm gonna find a library or something—need to draw up some plans."

With a soft mechanical click, his suit retracted smoothly into the arc reactor on his chest. His boots met the ground silently. No fanfare, no repulsor flare—just a man walking down the street.

Tony Stark blended into the crowd, just another face in a world not his own, already planning his next move.

Izuku pov

"AAAAARGGH!"
Izuku's voice cracked through the stillness of the gym, veins bulging in his arms as he pushed the barbell upward with every ounce of strength he had. His muscles trembled, sweat dripping from his jawline onto the bench below.

Click.
The weights slammed into their cradle with a satisfying clang. He lay there for a moment, chest heaving, the world pulsing in sync with his racing heartbeat.

Slowly, he sat up, shoulders rolling with the effort. He wiped his forehead with a towel that was already soaked. The gym around him was mostly empty—quiet, for now.

That was rare.

He scanned the space out of habit. Every creak of metal or squeak of sneakers made his stomach twist. Normally, he wouldn't risk coming here. Normally, Bakugou and his friends would've driven him out before his warm-up was even finished. But he hadn't seen them since the sludge villain incident.

Still, their absence didn't bring him peace.

The fear hadn't gone away.

Even now, even with a Quirk… he still felt like a punching bag pretending to be a contender.

His eyes drifted down to his hands. Rougher than they used to be. Stronger. Burned, more than once. He turned them over slowly, as if expecting the flame to rise on command. Nothing came.

"I don't even know how it works," he muttered under his breath.

The Quirk confused him. Some days it responded like a muscle. Other days, it sputtered out like a dying lighter. It never felt right. Never felt like it belonged to him. But it was there. A spark. A chance.

And that was enough to keep going.

At least… it gave him hope.

Hope that he could become a hero. Like the one Endeavor told him he could be. Like All Might.

He frowned. That memory came back to him in fragments—a rare encounter, sharp words, a man with fire in his eyes and coldness in his voice. Whether it had been encouragement or dismissal, he didn't know. Maybe both.

His chest tightened.

"I still want to be like All Might," he thought, gripping the edge of the bench, "All Might always smiled. He never let the weight crush him. He carried it—and he inspired people with it."

He exhaled slowly.

"Maybe All Might was just trying to protect me. I mean... what could I have done without a Quirk? I'd be a liability."

He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening.

"Even now, I still might be."

His thoughts turned bitter.

This Quirk isn't like Kacchan's. It's not strong enough. Not flashy. Not overwhelming. Just... warm.

He looked down at his hands again.

"I need support gear. I'll need to train twice as hard, three times as hard."

A pause.

"Maybe Kacchan was right..."

Later that evening, Izuku was finishing his daily run, his shoes kicking up sand as he jogged up the familiar slope of Dagobah Beach. The sky was dimming, streaked in oranges and fading gold. A gym bag hung from his shoulder, bouncing with every step.

His breath fogged the cooling air. The beach was quiet—perfect.
Safe.

He needed a place where no one would get hurt if his Quirk flared out of control again.

He stopped near the rusted hull of an old fridge and knelt in the sand, unzipping the bag and pulling out his gloves.

His eyes drifted to his hands—calloused, singed, worn down by hours of relentless effort.
How does this even work? he wondered.

"Burn!" he shouted, throwing a palm outward. A puff of smoke sputtered out—and vanished.

He groaned. "Ugh…"

Again.

"Burn!"

Still nothing.

Frustration boiled in his chest. He slapped his cheek hard, psyching himself up, digging deeper.

One more time.

He focused, breath slowing. "Burn…"

This time, a small flame flickered to life in his palm, a fragile ember clinging to existence before sizzling out. But it was real.

Izuku's eyes widened. His heart skipped a beat.

Then—he jumped. Full-body joy. No scream, no fist-pump, just raw, bubbling pride that lifted him clean off his feet.

He did it.

For the next few hours, he trained without rest. Burn after burn, movement after movement, his hands blistered and red but he didn't care. He was finally beginning to understand it—this flickering fire that lived inside him.

He knelt in the sand, drawing in a shaky breath.
"Okay… steady."

His palm lit up, flickering orange. The flame wavered like a candle in the wind. He clenched his fist—and winced as the heat licked his skin.
"Control. Not power."

A small burst flared, stronger than usual. Then—gone. He exhaled hard, sweat breaking across his back.

Later, Izuku sat on the beach, watching the sun melt into the ocean. The pain in his palms throbbed with each heartbeat, but the pride… the pride was louder.

"I just want to be strong enough to save people," he whispered, fingers curling around a pebble. "Like All Might…"

He opened his palm. The flicker of fire answered—and for a moment, it stayed.

Then—

"DEKU!"

The voice cut through the air like a whip.

Izuku froze.

He turned, eyes locking on the familiar spiky silhouette stomping down the sand.

Kacchan.

"You seriously out here practicing, huh?" Bakugou barked. "You know you're still trash, right? Garbage. A weak little worm who thinks a spark makes him special."

Izuku rose, legs trembling. Fear crawled up his spine. He'd always been afraid of Bakugou… but now? Now it felt different. Worse.

"You hid this from me, you bastard?" Bakugou growled, voice low and venomous.

"I—I didn't mean to—" Izuku barely got the words out before a fist slammed into his chin, sending him stumbling backward into the sand.

"Kacchan?!"

Bakugou didn't wait. His palms hissed, explosions dancing across his knuckles. "You've been holding out on me? Playing weak? Trying to make me look stupid?!"

"No—this just happened, I swear—!"

BOOM.

Izuku raised his arms instinctively—and his fire answered. Not strong, not clean, but enough to dull the edge of the blast and throw him back.

He hit the ground hard, coughing sand.

"There it is," Bakugou snarled. "So that's your trick. Fire. Like you're trying to copy me. Trying to be better than me now?"

Izuku looked up, face scraped, fear burning in his eyes. "This Quirk… it just manifested recently, I swear. I didn't mean to hide it."

"Liar," Bakugou muttered, preparing another blast.

Izuku rolled away, dragging himself to his feet. His fist lit up, flame coiling around his knuckles—but his stance was shaky. Uncertain.

"I don't want to fight, Kacchan," he begged.

"That's funny," Bakugou said, stepping forward, palms lighting. "'Cause I do."

BOOM!

Bakugou lunged, explosions flaring. Izuku barely dodged, the blast carving out a crater where he'd stood.

"You think just 'cause you've got fire now, we're equals?!" Bakugou shouted, voice cracking.

Another blast. Izuku threw up his arm—this time, fire shot from his palm, weak but stable, cutting the shockwave just enough to keep him standing.

They paused.

"How long have you been undermining me, huh?" Bakugou asked, voice low. "How long have you been pretending?"

"I'm not!" Izuku cried. "I'm not trying to beat you, Kacchan… I just want to be strong enough to stand next to you!"

Bakugou's eyes widened—then narrowed, wild with something like rage… or fear.

"You're not meant to stand next to me. You're supposed to stay on the ground where you belong."

He charged.

Izuku met him head-on.

Flame met explosion.

BOOM.

Sand exploded in every direction. A shockwave ripped through the beach.

When the dust cleared… Izuku lay still, half-buried in the sand. The waves lapped against his boots. He wasn't unconscious—but close.

Tony leaned back in a collapsible chair, a cup of cheap sake in one hand and a tray of pre-packaged sushi balanced on his lap. The warm orange light of sunset washed over him.

"Y'know, Jarvis," he mumbled with a mouthful of rice, "if I didn't know this world was teetering on the edge of annihilation, I could really get used to this. It's almost peaceful."

"It does seem relaxing, sir," Jarvis replied.

Tony reached for another piece of tuna.

"I hate to break up your pleasant evening," Jarvis added, "but our nano-drone observing Izuku Midoriya has picked up some… concerning activity."

Tony set his food aside and pulled the side of his helmet over one eye. "Show me."

The screen flared to life, displaying footage of Izuku training… and the fight that followed.

Tony whistled. "So the kid's got a nemesis already, huh?"

"Shall I dispatch the drone to assist?"

"Nah," Tony said, waving it off. "Just give him a little shock—wake him up. He's not ready for help yet. Let him grow. Naturally."

"As you say, sir. Shall I resume monitoring your patent filings?"

"Please," Tony sighed, flopping back. "At least this world makes the process faster. Back home, I had to wrestle with thirty different boards just to copyright a toothbrush laser."

Jarvis gave a subtle digital hum of amusement. "Indeed, sir. Japan's pro-innovation stance appears to be in our favor."

Tony grinned. "Finally. One less fight I have to armor up for."