After this, Izuku returned home, his feet moving on autopilot while his mind churned nonstop. The streets he'd walked a thousand times blurred past him—shops, traffic, voices—all reduced to distant noise drowned out by his thoughts.
His hands clenched and unclenched inside his pockets as the same idea looped again and again, refusing to settle.
'I'm not saying I don't want One For All anymore, he thought. I'm just saying… do I really need it?' His heart beat a little faster at the memory. The way the tree had burst apart under his grip like it was made of rotted wood.
' With this strength, I might already rival All Might.' He nearly laughed at himself.' No. That's stupid. I haven't even tested my limits yet. But still… I destroyed that tree without even trying.'
That was when something finally pulled him out of his head. A sharp shout cut through the air. Izuku slowed, then turned his head to the side—and froze.
Across the street, chaos was unfolding. A small convenience store stood with its door thrown open, the glass rattling as raised voices spilled out. Inside, masked men waved weapons, their bodies tense and aggressive as terrified civilians were forced to the ground. One of the robbers shoved a man aside while another emptied the register with frantic, greedy hands.
Izuku's breath caught.
A robbery.
Before he even realized it, his body was moving. He crossed the road quickly, staying to the edge, his eyes locked on the store.
From here, he could see everything—trembling hands, wide eyes, people frozen in fear. And then it got worse.
One of the masked men grabbed a woman by the arm.
She cried out as he yanked her toward him, laughter bursting from him and his accomplice—ugly, sharp laughter that scraped against Izuku's nerves. No one moved. No one dared. The air outside the store felt thick, heavy, like it was crushing his chest.
Izuku's fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.
'What if that was Inko?'
The thought hit him like a punch.
Before fear could talk him out of it, instinct surged up—loud, insistent, undeniable. His body leaned forward, ready to act, and only then did his mind slam the brakes.
'Can I though?' The question echoed, cold and uncertain.
His gaze flicked around, scanning the street. That was when he noticed the vendor beside the shop—a small stand covered in colorful festival masks, already busy preparing for the night's celebration.
Izuku didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, grabbed a plain white mask from the rack, and pulled it over his face. The cool plastic pressed against his skin as he tugged his hoodie up, shadowing his hair.
His reflection in the dark shop window barely looked like him anymore.
' Alright,' he told himself, steadying his breath. 'Quick and clean.' He peeked back inside the store, counting carefully.
'Four of them.'
His heart pounded—not from fear alone, but from something sharper. Excitement. Resolve.
' I don't know if I can do this,'he admitted.
A faint, determined glint shone behind the white mask. 'But we'll find out.'
The very next second, Izuku pushed the door open.
Ding.
The small bell rang out, absurdly cheerful in the middle of the chaos.
Every masked head snapped toward him.
The first robber barely had time to react—his eyes widening behind the mask—before Izuku was already there. His fist surged forward, compact, controlled, and devastating.
BAM!
The impact echoed through the store as the man was launched backward, his body going limp before he even hit the floor. He collapsed in a heap, completely unconscious.
For half a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then one of the remaining robbers snarled, his Quirk activating in a flash. His arm began to swell unnaturally, muscle bulging and expanding until it looked like a misshapen weapon.
"You're dead!" he shouted, charging forward and swinging with all his might.
Izuku didn't flinch.
He stepped in, caught the massive arm mid-swing, fingers locking tight. The sheer strength running through his body felt effortless.
With a sharp twist of his hips, he spun the man around and hurled him toward the front of the shop.
CRASH—TINKLING!
Glass exploded outward as the robber was thrown straight through the window, shards raining down onto the street. The man skidded across the asphalt outside, groaning as he came to a stop.
Izuku was already moving.
He vaulted over the counter in a blur, barely touching it as he leapt. The two robbers at the register barely registered what was happening before Izuku struck—both feet snapping forward at once.
BAM!
The double kick slammed into their faces, snapping their heads back as they crumpled to the floor, the cash fluttering uselessly from their hands.
Silence swallowed the store.
The terrified hostages stared, stunned, as Izuku landed lightly on his feet. He didn't stay. Not even for a second.
He spun and sprinted back outside.
The robber he'd thrown through the window was just forcing himself upright, shaking glass from his clothes. Izuku closed the distance in a blink, leaping high and drawing his fist back.
End it.
His punch came down like a sledgehammer.
THOOM!
The impact smashed the man into the ground, the pavement cracking outward from beneath him as his body went completely slack.
Izuku straightened, barely breathing hard.
Before anyone could say a word, before sirens could be heard, he turned and vanished down the street—white mask flashing once between the buildings—leaving behind shattered glass, unconscious criminals, and a shop full of people who would never forget what they'd just seen.
Soon, Izuku slipped into a narrow alleyway a few blocks away. The noise of the street faded, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the drip of water from an old pipe.
His chest rose and fell as the adrenaline finally began to ebb. He pulled the white mask from his face, staring at it for a moment before stuffing it into his bag, then tugged his hoodie off as well.
For the first time in a long while… he felt good. A sense ofAccomplishment.
A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips as his hands trembled ever so slightly—not from fear, but from the aftermath of action. He had moved and in the end he had saved people.
With his head a little higher than usual, Izuku made his way home.
When he stepped inside the apartment, the familiar glow of the television immediately caught his attention. Inko sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap, eyes glued to the screen with worry etched deep into her expression.
> News Anchor: "Today, many pro heroes were spread thin after a string of coordinated robberies struck the city's shopping district. Out of nearly fifty attempted robberies, only ten were successful as heroes worked tirelessly to stop the criminals."
Images flashed across the screen—flashing lights, damaged storefronts, heroes escorting shaken civilians to safety.
> News Anchor: "However, in one of the affected locations, an unlikely hero emerged. A masked individual intervened in a robbery at a small bakery on Rose Avenue, successfully neutralizing the suspects before fleeing the scene. Witnesses have begun referring to this individual simply as—'The Mask.'"
Izuku stiffened. Inko turned slowly.
Her gaze swept over him—his scuffed shoes, the faint dust on his pants, the creases in his shirt that hadn't been there this morning. She glanced back at the screen. Then back at him. On top of that, the clothes matched.
The silence was deadly.
"You," she said softly, eyes narrowing, "have some explaining to do, young man."
Izuku winced.
'Man… why did I come in through the front door again? 'He sighed, shoulders slumping.
After a lot of explaining—more stammering than he would have liked, a few raised voices, and plenty of tears—Inko eventually calmed down. Barely. Her worry, however, never left her face.
She hugged him tighter than usual.
What scared her wasn't just the danger he'd been in.
It was the law.
Vigilantism wasn't just frowned upon—it was a serious crime. Today, the news was calling him a hero. Tomorrow, if he kept this up, those same voices could label him something far worse.
A villain.
That thought lingered in Izuku's mind long after he retreated to the bathroom. Hot water cascaded over him as he stood under the shower, letting the steam wash away the sweat and grit.
Yet no matter how long he stayed there, the echo of that moment—the scream, the impact, the feeling of absolute certainty—refused to fade.
Once clean, he changed and stepped into his room. The door closed quietly behind him as he collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling.
His body was relaxed.
His mind wasn't.
' I want that again,'he thought, hand resting over his chest as his heart beat steadily.
' That feeling… of saving someone.'
A small smile returned to his face.
"I can't wait to be a real hero," he whispered to the empty room.
"So I can feel that again."
TO BE CONTINUED