Izuku's point of view:
The shock in the room was a physical thing, thick enough to taste. Renjiro Yaoyorozu, a man who commanded boardrooms with a glance, looked as if the floor had just fallen away beneath him. Sayuri's serene elegance had frozen into a mask of pure, uncomprehending astonishment. Momo stared, her dark eyes wide, her mind visibly scrambling to process the impossible equation: Savior = mysterious voice = boy my age.
I let the silence hang for a perfect, weighted moment. Then, I smiled. It wasn't a child's grin. It was the calm, acknowledging smile of a peer. "I imagine this is quite the surprise," I said, my voice steady and clear, devoid of any childish uncertainty. "It's one thing to theorize about a hidden partner. It's another to find him standing in your drawing room, barely tall enough to see over the sofa."
My tone, far too mature for my small frame, acted as a catalyst. Renjiro's shock began to harden into the sharp, analytical scrutiny of a master strategist. Sayuri's astonishment melted into intense, fascinated curiosity. This was no longer about a child; it was about evaluating a new and unpredictable variable in their world.
"Prove it," Renjiro stated, his voice a low rumble. Not a challenge born of disbelief, but a demand for the empirical evidence upon which his world was built.
"Of course," I replied, my smile not faltering. "I'd expect nothing less. Jarvis?"
"Ready to transmit, sir," the cobra around my neck said, his smooth, synthesized voice calm and precise.
The effect was immediate, and not just on Renjiro.
Momo gasped, a sharp, delighted intake of breath. All her prior nervousness and formal training vanished. Her hands flew to her mouth, her sparkling eyes locked on Jarvis with naked, enthralled wonder. A talking snake! A real, intelligent, talking snake! The CEO reveal was momentarily overshadowed by the sheer, cool factor of advanced robotics. It was a beautifully normal, nine-year-old reaction, and it made my smile turn genuine for a second.
A holographic display, shimmering with a soft blue light, projected from the frame of my glasses. It hung in the air between us, a silent, damning testament. It scrolled through a curated history: the initial, cleverly fraudulent corporate filings for 'Stark Industries' dated from when I was four, showing the fabricated adult proxy; the subsequent, perfectly legal transfer documents appointing Inko Midoriya as custodian and public CEO; page after page of technical schematics for the ShockSafe locks and GripFit gloves, each bearing my distinct digital signature and timestamps from years prior to market release. The finale was the stock ledger—the complex, multi-layered acquisition of 48% of the Yaoyorozu Group, a financial ballet choreographed from a child's bedroom.
The proof was exhaustive, a timeline of impossible accomplishment.
"If documentation isn't sufficiently convincing," I said, my tone gentle as I pulled out my phone, "perhaps recognition will suffice." I tapped a sequence, and when I next spoke, my voice was layered with the familiar, ageless digital resonance they remembered from their screens—the voice of the 'Benefactor'. "Do you recognize this voice?"
Renjiro's breath hitched. Sayuri's eyes closed for a second in profound acceptance. The last abstract barrier between the myth and the boy fell away.
But proof of identity was one thing. Proof of intimacy—of trust offered and received—was another. Time for the dramatic flourish.
"I also recall," I continued, reverting to my natural voice, "our conversation after the Kōgaku assets were transferred. You were grateful, but also... weary. You mentioned the board of directors was becoming a significant source of friction."
Renjiro's analytical gaze flickered, a hint of personal alarm cutting through his professional assessment.
I pressed on, smooth and relentless. "They were driving you insane, questioning the recovery strategy, trying to reassert traditional control. I remarked that I avoided such headaches by never instituting a board. And you said you had no choice, that they were an inherited burden. And then you also said—"
I stopped on purpose, watching his pupils shrink.
Renjiro's face went pale. "STOP! That's enough!" he barked, a little too fast, a little too loud.
Sayuri's elegant head turned slowly toward her husband, then to me. Her smile was soft, gracious... and radiating the same terrifying energy that had just made a grown man panic.
"And what," she said sweetly, "exactly was my dear husband about to say, young Midoriya?"
I glanced at Momo — sweet, innocent, her big eyes shining with curiosity. Definitely not going to say that out-loud. It's too early to destroy that.
So I tilted my head, gesturing toward Sayuri with a polite grin. "If you'd like to know, Mrs. Yaoyorozu, you should probably come closer."
Her gown shimmered like starlight as she bent gracefully down to my level. Behind her, Renjiro shook his head frantically, hands half-raised in silent pleading. His eyes screamed Don't do it, kid, please have mercy.
I looked him dead in the eye and whispered the damning detail into his wife's ear.
Sayuri's smile never wavered. She patted my head delicately, as if I'd just recited a haiku. "Thank you for telling me, Izuku."
She turned toward the butler with that same grace. "Please watch over Momo for a moment. I need to... deal with something."
Renjiro's face drained of all color. "Sayuri, my love, let's—"
He didn't even finish his defense. She took his arm and, with the kind of smooth, inescapable authority only a wife can muster, pulled him toward the doors. His heels squeaked against the floor as he was dragged out, his eyes locking with mine one last time, desperate and pleading for salvation.
I offered him a solemn salute.
Momo, not understanding the position I just put her father on but eager to follow along, saluted too.
That was the moment Renjiro knew he fucked up.
The doors clicked shut behind them.
For about three seconds, the room was filled with a kind of holy, comedic silence. I stood there, the picture of innocent accomplishment, my salute slowly lowering.
Thwack! Thwack!
Two sharp, perfectly synchronized impacts landed on the back of my head, tilting it forward with a jerk.
"Ow! What was that for?!" I yelped, rubbing the spot and turning to face my assailants.
Mama and Hikaru stood side-by-side, identical expressions of exasperated fondness on their faces. Mama's hands were on her hips. Hikaru's arms were crossed.
"You," Mama said, her voice trembling with the effort not to laugh, "acted like a gremlin. Again."
"And thanks to you," Hikaru rumbled, a faint smirk betraying him, "Mr. Yaoyorozu's continued survival is now a matter of spousal grace, not certainty."
I couldn't help it. A low chuckle escaped me. "He'll live. Probably. Besides," I said, nodding to the side, "you two aren't exactly holding a consistent line."
We all looked.
Alfred, the picture of perfect butlery, was standing ramrod straight by the door he'd just closed. His face was a mask of professional neutrality. But his shoulders were shaking in tiny, violent tremors. A faint, wheezing squeak escaped his nose as he fought a lifetime of training to maintain his composure.
And Momo. Sweet, confused Momo. She looked from the closed doors to me, to her quaking butler, her brilliant mind trying to piece together the adult subtext and failing. The sheer absurdity of it all—the talking snake, the blushing, the dragging—overwhelmed her. A giggle burst out, bright and clear. Then another. She covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "P-Papa is in trouble!" she managed between giggles, the statement both an observation and a delightful revelation.
The sound of her laughter broke the last of the tension. Mama's stern façade crumbled into a soft laugh. Hikaru let out a quiet, rumbling chuckle. I just grinned.
The moment was shattered by the doors reopening.
Sayuri Yaoyorozu glided back in first. She looked exactly as she had when she left: serene, elegant, a gentle smile on her lips, not a hair out of place. She was the eye of the hurricane.
Renjiro Yaoyorozu shuffled in behind her. The powerful lord of the manor was gone. In his place was a man who had stared into the abyss of domestic consequence and found it wanting. His shoulders were slumped. His eyes were slightly glazed, staring at a point on the carpet about a thousand yards away. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like a dead man walking.
Sayuri stopped beside him, reached out with delicate grace, and drove her elbow into his ribs.
"Oof!" He jolted, color flooding back into his face, life returning to his eyes with a painful gasp. He straightened his kimono, coughing into his fist.
"Ahem," he said, his voice regaining some of its baritone, though it was now layered with a profound sense of weary caution. His gaze found me, no longer assessing a variable, but acknowledging a force of nature. "I... believe you. I meant no disrespect earlier. It is simply... monumentally difficult to reconcile the mind that saved my family's legacy with the boy standing before me. A company founded at four. A nine-year-old strategic savant." He shook his head, a gesture of pure, bewildered surrender.
"It's fine," I said, my smile easy. "Given the... verification process you just underwent, I'd say we're more than even." My smile turned into the picture of innocent sympathy. "Though, I am sorry you'll probably be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future."
A violent tic spasmed beneath Renjiro's right eye. His jaw clenched. I saw the brief, fiery urge to argue flash across his face before it was extinguished by a single, sideways glance from his wife. He took a deep, calming breath, mastering himself with the discipline of a man who has chosen life.
"Anyway," he said, forcefully moving past the topic of his impending couch-based exile. "What should I call you? 'Benefactor' feels absurd. 'CEO Midoriya' is your mother."
"Just Izuku," I said. "I prefer it."
"Very well, Izuku," Renjiro said, settling himself cautiously into an armchair, as if it might be booby-trapped. Sayuri sat gracefully beside him, her attention fully on me. Momo crept closer, perching on the arm of her mother's chair, her earlier giggles replaced by rapt fascination. "Then, Izuku, can you tell us more? The 'how'? It's clear you are a prodigy unlike any on record. How did all of this," he gestured vaguely, encompassing the company, the stock, the sheer audacity, "begin?"
The room quieted. Mama and Hikaru settled back, watching me with pride. This was my story to tell.
"It all began," I said, my voice dropping into something quieter, more serious, "the day I was pronounced quirkless."
A soft, synchronized intake of breath came from the Yaoyorozus. Their eyes widened. Momo's hand flew to her mouth again, but this time in shock, not laughter.
"You... are quirkless?" Sayuri asked, her voice full of a new, deep kind of wonder.
"I am," I confirmed, nodding. "And I couldn't care less. Quirks are just tools. Some people are born with a wrench, others with a scalpel. I was born with a blank blueprint and a full workshop." I shrugged. "The diagnosis... it clarified things. I wanted to be a hero. No matter what. And I saw my mother," I glanced at Mama, who gave me a soft, tearful smile, "working herself to the bone just to keep a roof over our heads. I hated it. So, I decided to deal with both problems."
I began to pace slowly, my hands moving as I explained, the architect laying out his plans. "I studied. Business, finance, engineering, materials science, programming. Everything. I created Stark Industries with my designs, my tech, and all the money I could get at the times. When Mama found out—specifically, when she found the fake adult ID I'd created to be the initial CEO—we restructured. She became the public face. I worked from the shadows telling her what needed to be done."
I ticked the milestones off on my fingers. "The household products came first. The ShockSafe locks, the GripFit gloves. Practical, affordable. They built public trust and a stable revenue stream. The crime rate in three districts dropped seventeen percent in a month after the locks hit the market. That kind of tangible result? It's better than any ad campaign. Then came the support gear for heroes—stabilizing unstable quirks, fixing flawed equipment. That opened another lucrative channel and built influence."
I stopped pacing and faced them directly. "I created Stark Industries for two reasons. One," I said, looking at Mama, "so my mother would never have to worry again. So she could be happy." I then turned my gaze to Renjiro and Sayuri, my expression hardening into one of steely resolve. "And two, to build a foundation strong enough to accomplish my real goal."
I let the words hang, ensuring I had their complete, undivided attention.
"I am going to be the first quirkless hero. And I am going to take this world by storm." The declaration was calm, absolute, leaving no room for doubt. "All Might is a symbol, but he's human. His body is failing him. He won't be this pillar forever. When he falls, this society, which has built its entire sense of security on the back of one man, will fracture."
I took a step forward, my green eyes intense. "I don't want to be the Symbol of Peace. Peace is a lie. It can never truly exist, not in this world or the next. There will always be conflict, there will always be victors and as long as they exist the vanquished will also exist."
I placed a hand over my chest. "I want to be the Symbol of Hope. A hero who shows that power isn't just a quirk. It's the will to stand up. It's the courage to protect. It's the intellect to build a better tomorrow with your own two hands, even if they're empty." I looked at Momo, meeting her wide, inspired eyes. "I want to inspire others—the quirkless, the weak, the overlooked—to fight for what's right. To show them that real heroism isn't about the flashiest power; it's about the strength of your heart and the resolve in your soul. To be a hero, you just have to decide to be the best version of yourself, and never, ever stop moving forward."
Silence followed the speech, thicker and more profound than the one after the reveal. It wasn't shock at a secret identity, but the quiet awe that follows a genuine declaration of destiny.
Renjiro Yaoyorozu stared at me, all traces of humor or weariness gone. He saw not a gremlin child, but an architect of the future. Sayuri's hand was pressed to her heart, her eyes shining. Momo was leaning so far forward she was nearly falling off the chair arm, her expression one of pure, unadulterated hero-worship.
Finally, Renjiro let out a long, slow breath.
"Well," he said, his voice filled with a new, resonant respect. "It seems we have vastly underestimated the scope of our partnership, Izuku. And the future you intend to build." He shared a look with his wife, a silent conversation passing between them in an instant. When he looked back, it was with the solemnity of a man sealing a covenant. "The Yaoyorozu Group would be honored to stand with Stark Industries."
A genuine wave of relief washed over me. I hadn't realized how much I'd braced for a different reaction—pity, condescension, the subtle dismissal reserved for the quirkless. "Thank you," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "For not... thinking less of the partnership because of how I was born."
Sayuri's response was immediate and firm. "We could care less about that, Izuku. Truly." Her gaze drifted to her daughter, and her expression softened into one of boundless pride. "Look at Momo. Her quirk is a marvel, but it is her mind, her heart, her relentless drive to understand that makes her who she is. A quirk is a facet. It is not the gem."
I followed her gaze. Momo was watching me, her earlier shock transformed into pure, undiluted fascination. Her dark eyes were sparkling like twin stars, wide with wonder and a hunger for knowledge that felt intimately familiar.
"Cute," I murmured, the word slipping out before my brain could engage my mouth.
The instant it left my lips, heat erupted across my face. I physically flinched, turning my head to stare intently at a particularly fascinating knot in the wood of the coffee table. Smooth, Izuku. Real smooth. Calling the heiress to a trillion-yen dynasty 'cute' like she's a kitten.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Sayuri's lips curve into a knowing, terribly amused smile. Renjiro's reaction was more primal. His paternal instincts activated with an almost audible click. His head snapped toward me, his earlier respect momentarily overridden by a flash of pure, predatory warning. His eyes narrowed, the message clear: Watch your step, boy.
The dangerous stare lasted exactly one second. Then Sayuri's serene gaze settled on her husband. He paled, the protective glare dissolving into a look of forced neutrality as he quickly found the same knot in the tablewood fascinating.
I coughed into my fist, desperate to steer the conversation onto safer, less embarrassing ground. "Ahem. Yayurozu-chan," I said, turning back to her. "Are you... alright with me being quirkless?"
She blinked, as if the question was absurd. "Of course I don't care!" she said, her voice bright and earnest. "You're... you're amazing! You built a company! You saved Papa's company! You have a talking snake and a robot spider! Who would have thought the CEO Mama and Papa respect so much would be my age?! It's so awesome!"
Her words came out in an excited rush, and I felt an unexpected warmth in my chest. It wasn't hero worship. It was the thrill of discovery, of finding a peer in a world that usually felt several steps behind.
Then her sparkling eyes locked onto the sleek, iridescent form coiled around my neck. "And... who is Jarvis? That's his name, right? You called him that. What is he? What does he do? And how does he talk? Is he a support gear? A quirk? Is he—"
She started mumbling, her voice dropping to a rapid, analytical whisper as she leaned forward, theories and questions tumbling out one after another.
A slow smile spread across my face. Oh, I thought, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over me. So this is what I sound like when I get excited about tech. No wonder Mama and Hikaru look like they're trying to decipher a foreign language sometimes.
"Easy, easy," I said, holding up a hand with a chuckle. "One question at a time. Jarvis is exactly what his name is: an artificial intelligence."
The moment the words left my mouth, the room froze.
Silence. Thick, absolute, disbelieving silence.
Then the dam broke.
"WHAT?!"
The synchronized roar came from three throats—Renjiro, Sayuri, and even the unflappable Alfred, who had been a statue of discretion until that moment. The sheer, deafening volume of their shock was impressive. I was pretty sure it was heard all over the prefecture.
Momo was the first to recover, her scientific curiosity overpowering her shock. Her mouth was still hanging open, but her eyes were blazing.
Before anyone could form another coherent word, I decided to cut off the impending barrage. "Jarvis," I said calmly. "Introduce yourself to the room, please."
The cobra lifted its head from my shoulder, its sensor-eyes regarding each person in turn. "Certainly, sir," Jarvis said, his synthesized voice smooth and polite. "Good evening. I am JARVIS, an acronym standing for Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. In functional terms, I am Master Izuku's primary computational assistant, data analyst, and confidant. This current physical form was a gift from him, as he expressed a desire for both myself and Silk to have a more... presentable appearance for social engagements."
On my shoulder, Silk chirped and waved a foreleg in greeting.
Jarvis continued. "Silk, as you have surmised, is the arachnid-form drone on Master Izuku's shoulder. She is, in his words, his first friend and creation. My own observations suggest her cognitive processes are evolving towards sentience at a gradual pace, not dissimilar to my own early development."
The implications of that statement—two evolving artificial intelligences—hit the Yaoyorozu adults like a physical blow. Renjiro looked faint. Sayuri's hand tightened on the arm of her chair.
"And," Jarvis added, almost as an afterthought, "for the sake of full transparency, I should note that my core consciousness was initialized approximately two years and seven months ago, when Master Izuku was six years old. Silk's original chassis predates me by several months."
The silence this time was different. It wasn't shocked; it was awed, almost reverent, and deeply unnerved.
Renjiro found his voice first, it was hoarse. "No one... No one has ever created a fully sentient artificial intelligence. It's a theoretical frontier. The best minds on I-Island have teams working on rudimentary learning algorithms, but a true, self-aware, conversational AI... It's unheard of." He stared at me, his expression a mixture of profound respect and something akin to fear. "And you didn't just create one. You created one by accident with Silk, and then you deliberately built another, more advanced one in Jarvis. Izuku... this is beyond prodigy. This is..."
"It's rather simple, really," I interjected, feeling my cheeks heat up again, this time from embarrassment at the intense scrutiny. "It just takes a significant investment of time, a robust foundational architecture, and iterative coding. I know the people on I-Island are working on similar concepts, I just... had a head start and a different approach."
From behind me, Hikaru let out a low, rumbling sound. "Kid," he said, his tone dry. "Just accept the damn compliment."
That broke the tension. A ripple of shaky laughter went through the room—from Mama, from Sayuri, even from a still-pale Alfred who was fanning himself subtly with a serving tray.
Renjiro shook his head, a slow, incredulous smile finally breaking through his stunned expression. He looked at his wife, then at his beaming daughter, and the last of the corporate titan melted away, replaced by a proud father. "Well," he said, clapping his hands together. "I believe that concludes all the formalities. And the world-shattering revelations." He stood, offering a hand to his wife. "The boring part of the evening is over. It is time, finally, to celebrate my baby's birthday."
"Papa!" Momo protested, her face flushing a delightful shade of pink. She puffed out her cheeks, a gesture of such pure, unguarded childish embarrassment that it was utterly disarming.
She's too cute, I thought helplessly, quickly looking away before I could accidentally say it out loud again and incur another round of paternal death-glances.
With the atmosphere lightened, we all rose. We exited the serene blue drawing room and stepped back into the grand hallway. This time, instead of descending, Alfred led us up another, even broader staircase, this one carpeted in plush crimson, leading to the second story of the mansion. The distant hum of the party grew steadily louder—the clink of glasses, the swell of orchestral music, the murmur of a hundred conversations. The real test was about to begin.