The lock clicked. I eased the door open, moving with the same careful precision I'd used to exit the alley ten minutes ago. My sneakers came off with barely a whisper against the floor mat.
9:48 PM. The clock on the wall judged me silently.
Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm a terrible son.
The apartment smelled like home. Ginger, soy sauce, that specific brand of fabric softener Mom always used.
"Izuku, sweetie."
I looked up. Mom stood in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, a half-folded towel clutched in her hands. Her smile was there, the same one she'd worn my whole life, but something about it reminded me of glass under stress. One wrong move and it would shatter.
"You're home. I was starting to worry."
"Sorry, lost track of time."
She nodded, her fingers worrying at the edges of the towel. "Are you hungry? I kept dinner warm for you."
"Starving, actually."
Truth. Running from cops and adrenaline crashes tend to work up an appetite.
I followed her to the dining table. A covered plate sat waiting, steam still rising faintly from the edges. She lifted the lid with both hands, revealing katsudon. Golden fried pork, perfectly cooked egg, the sauce glistening under the kitchen light.
I sat down and picked up my chopsticks. The first bite was good. Really good. Mom was an incredible cook, always had been.
Across from me, Mom sat down with her own cup of tea. She wasn't drinking it. Just holding it, letting the warmth seep into her palms.
She watched me eat.
Not obviously. She'd glance down at her tea, or at the table, or out the window. But I could feel her gaze tracking every movement. The way I held my chopsticks. The rhythm of my eating. The fact that I wasn't smiling, wasn't gushing about how good it was.
"It's really good, Mom. Thank you."
"Your grades came in," she said after a moment, her voice soft. Testing the waters. "Top of your class again. You've always been so smart, Izuku. Have you thought about what you want to do? Tokyo University has a wonderful engineering program. You've always been so good at analyzing things."
I swallowed another bite of katsudon, buying myself a few seconds.
"Haven't really decided yet," I said. "Still got time."
"Of course, of course." She nodded too quickly, her smile brightening in that way that meant she was forcing it. "You're so young still. No need to rush these things."
The silence stretched. I kept eating. She kept not drinking her tea.
"Did you... did you ever send in that application? For U.A.?"
My chopsticks paused halfway to my mouth. Just for a second. Then I finished the motion, chewed, swallowed.
"I did. A few weeks ago."
The teacup in her hands trembled. Just slightly.
"Put in for General Studies," I continued. "I ticked the box for the Hero course exam too."
Her face went pale. The cup trembled harder.
"Izuku—"
"It's not what you think." I set down my chopsticks and met her eyes. Those green eyes that looked so much like mine, now wide with barely contained panic. "Gen Ed is the plan. The practical exam for the Hero course? I just want to see it for myself. To see what the standard is. Consider it research."
"Research," she repeated slowly.
"Yeah. I mean, U.A.'s entrance exam is legendary. The chance to observe it firsthand, to see how they measure heroic potential in real-time? That's valuable data." I picked up my chopsticks again. "Besides, Gen Ed students get access to some of the same facilities. Support course workshops, the libraries. It's the best school in Japan, Mom. Even without the Hero course, it's worth going."
On the table, the salt and pepper shakers rattled. Just for a second. Her Quirk, acting up.
Her hands immediately left the teacup to grip the edge of the table instead, knuckles going white.
"I see," she said quietly. "That's... that's very practical of you, sweetie."
Practical. Yeah. That's me now. Practical, cynical Izuku.
I went back to eating, suddenly aware of every sound. The scrape of chopsticks against the bowl. Her shallow breathing. The distant hum of the refrigerator.
"Oh!" Mom's voice pitched higher, grasping at something. Anything. "Well, that's good to be prepared. Speaking of school, aren't you excited for your trip tomorrow? To Oscorp?"
I looked up, genuinely surprised she remembered. And yeah, okay. The mention of Oscorp did something to me.
"Yeah, actually." I set down my bowl, leaning forward. "It's the first interesting thing Aldera has done all year. I mean, Norman Osborn is coming to the Japan office personally to oversee the transition."
Mom's face lit up.
"The man's a genius," I continued, the words coming faster now. "His Quirk, Hyper-Cognition, puts him on the same level as Principal Nezu or David Shield. The way his brain processes information, the connections he makes? It's not just intelligence. It's something beyond that."
I gestured with my chopsticks, painting pictures in the air.
"Oscorp's bio-engineering division is doing revolutionary work. They're experimenting with animal DNA to create Quirk workarounds. Gene therapy that could help people whose Quirks have negative side effects. It's practical application of cutting-edge science, not just flashy powers and merchandising rights."
Mom smiled. A real smile this time, warm and soft.
"That does sound fascinating, honey."
"And Harry Osborn is taking over as the new CEO of the Japan branch. Norman's son. He's only nineteen, but from what I've read, he's got his father's mind. Getting to see that facility up close, maybe even observe some of their work?" I realized I was grinning. "Yeah. I'm excited."
"I'm glad," Mom said softly. "I'm glad you have something to look forward to."
The moment hung there between us. Fragile. Almost comfortable.
Then I finished the last of my katsudon and stood, taking my bowl to the sink.
"Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was really good."
"Of course, sweetie. Anytime."
I rinsed the bowl, set it in the dish rack, and turned toward the hallway.
"I've got some reading to do before tomorrow. Gonna turn in early."
"Sleep well, Izuku."
I walked to my room, feeling her eyes on my back the entire way. The door clicked shut behind me, a soft finality that felt like the sealing of a vault.
Inside, I leaned against the door and closed my eyes.
That was exhausting.
My room looked the same as it always had. Posters on the walls, mostly old hero merch that I couldn't bring myself to take down. My desk, cluttered with notebooks and pens. My bed, unmade from this morning.
But shoved under the bed, hidden behind a loose panel in the wall, was a growing collection of things that didn't belong. A better mask, one I'd ordered online. A retractable baton I'd bought from a sketchy website. Medical supplies. A burn phone.
The life I was building in secret.
I pulled out my regular phone and checked the news. The incident tonight hadn't made any reports yet. An old lady kept her purse, and nobody would ever know I was there.
Good. That's how it should be.
I changed into sleep clothes and collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.
Out in the living room, I could hear the faint sounds of Mom moving around. Washing dishes. Folding laundry. Normal, everyday things.
I stared at the All Might poster on my wall. I felt a strange urge to tear it down, but my limbs felt too heavy.
That boy, the one who put it up, was gone. I wondered if he'd even recognize the person staring back from the reflection in the dark window.
Sleep didn't come easy that night. When it finally did, I dreamed of spiders and falling, of city lights seen from impossible heights, of a green-haired boy who smiled with joy instead of cynicism.
Morning would bring Oscorp. A field trip. A normal, boring school activity.
Yeah. Normal. Because my life is so normal these days.
I pulled the covers over my head and tried not to think about the mask hidden under my bed, or the mother sitting alone in the kitchen, or the application to U.A. that I'd submitted with spite instead of hope.
Tomorrow could deal with tomorrow's problems.
Tonight, I just wanted to stop thinking.
[SAY SLIME! ATTENDANCE PLEASE!]