As dawn stretched its pale fingers over the sleepy town of Musutafu, rain swept its gentle tune across the shivering pavement. Izuku Midoriya walked alone, footsteps syncing into the subdued symphony of early morning; his soggy sneakers slapped against the puddles. Surrounding him, the suburban backdrop murmured under the caress of a cool breeze, coursing the scent of wet earth mixed with asphalt. This scent was almost a balm to Izuku's senses, a familiar melancholy he wore like a second skin.
With each step, Izuku felt the oppressive weight of anticipation. It wasn't the hopeful kind that buzzed in the veins before something eagerly awaited, but the dense, dread-heavy kind that pulled at the corners of his very being. His school, only a few blocks away, wasn't just a place of learning but a place of torment where he was tested and harassed daily—not by exams, but by sneers and snickers that sliced sharper than glass, and the persistent bullying from his peers. Izuku gritted his teeth as he tried his best to ignore the whispers and the teasing, walking through the halls of Aldera Junior High, his head held low as he tried to remain outside of conflict.
He gripped his backpack tighter, each finger tensing around the strap as if to strangle his own anxious thoughts. The bag, packed with notebooks filled with hero analysis, symbolized his fierce, almost defiant desire to belong to a world that seemed determined to edge him out. These notebooks were Izuku's secret armor, pages dense with strategies and contingency plans, all penned by a boy who had never manifested a quirk. They were his escape from reality, something to distract him from the struggles of his daily life. He knew that writing them wouldn't help him become a hero, but it was nice to dream right?
Even before he set foot in the classroom, Izuku could feel the atmosphere shift, the air thickening with whispered barbs and potent disdain. Eyes pinned him down, beetle-black and unflinching, as he shuffled towards his seat. The room was charged with a silent, electric malevolence that seemed particularly focused on him, an invisible spotlight highlighting his isolation. Hushed whispers and silent laughs filled Izuku's ears, a reminder that even his classmates who were deemed weak by those with powerful quirks saw him as nothing but a useless freak. Izuku sighed as he put his head on his desk, silently wishing this day would end already. He thought about his mother, how stressed shes been, probably because of him coming home covered in bruises, burn marks and bandages, but Izuku always had an excuse to not make his mother worry. Izuku was snapped out of his thoughts as an explosive palm slammed onto his desk, scorching the wood and adding to the already prominent scorch marks on the desk. Izuku jumped as the palm landed on his desk, as he shakily looked up at Katsuki Bakugo, someone who he once considered his best friend. That was long gone however, and Katsuki took every opportunity to remind him of that fact, and that he was a quirkless freak.
Katsuki Bakugo, a whirlwind of raw power and smirking superiority, was the head of Izuku's torment. His quirk was as explosive as his temper, a stark contrast to Izuku's hidden, unawakened potential. "Deku, the useless quirkless wannabe," Bakugo would sneer, weaponizing Izuku's own name into a taunt, into a reminder of his deficiency. Each laugh, each jeer that echoed off the walls, felt like a physical blow, stripping pieces of Izuku's hope and replacing them with mounting despair. "What's on your mind nerd, care to share it with an old friend?" Katsuki hissed, his palms cracking as if telling Izuku to spill. Izuku frankly wasn't in the mood, as the fear in his eyes turned into a deadpanned and bored expression, as he spoke. "Nothign kacchan, im just tired" Katsuki clearly wasnt happy with that answer, nor the look on Izuku's face, a tick mark forming on his forehead as he snarled, before throwing an explosive fist straight into Izuku's face, sending the quirkless boy flying out of his seat and into the back wall of the classroom, blood dripping down the back of his head and from his mouth, as he groaned, barely hanging onto consciousness as the classroom erupted into laughter, Katsuki Bakugo grinning as he spoke, or well, yelled. "That's for looking down on me nerd! You think you can be smug and just get away with it?! Think again!" Katsuki shouted before Izuku blacked out.
Many hours pass, the school day continuing without Izuku. Izuku grunted as he woke up in the nurses office, his injuries barely even covered as the nurse, who saw Izuku as less thna human, like everyone else. She paid him no mind as Izuku slowly got up and walked out of the nurse's room without a word. With his teeth gritted, he silently cursed Katsuki and his lackeys, even his classmates and teachers. He still didnt understand why he was treated this way. He was still human, but those with quirks saw him as otherwise, like an inferior race. Izuku didnt even bother returning to class, he refused to deal with anymore of the harrassment.
In his heart, Izuku harbored visions of heroism, vibrant and vivid. Yet, each day, these dreams were mocked by his stark reality, the unyielding truth of his quirklessness feeling like chains around his spirit. It was a constant, exhausting battle to keep his dreams alive in the face of relentless belittlement. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he walked out of the schools front gate, making his way home, slowly but surely. He decided to take a shortcut, giving him time to bury himself in his thoughts. He thought back to the day before, the vivid memory of Katsuki Bakugo blowing up one of his journals, a journal he poured his soul into. His mind wandered to what Katsuki said, 'Just pray to born with a quirk in your next life, go take a swan dive off the roof of the building'. Izuku grimaced, his brow furrowing as he clenched his jaw, thinking to himself. 'That idiot.... what if I really jumped?... What would he do then...?' Izuku thought, fighting back tears, as he didn't notice the gelatinous blob of slime forming behind him, the sludge villain grinning with his crooked yellow teeth. "A medium sized skin suit! You'll make a perfect skin suit for me to hide in, kid!" Izuku, hearing the sludge villians words, turned around, eyes wide, Izuku's chest tightened. His mind screamed warnings, panic flaring like a wildfire in his veins. He tried to turn, to run, but the villain was faster—fluid, alive, wrapping around his body, cold and suffocating. He clawed at the slime, fingers slipping through it like trying to grasp smoke. Every movement seemed to slow, the villain's grip tightening, a weight pressing on his chest that made breathing a desperate effort. Izuku chocked and clawed at the slime, eyes wide with fear, as he struggled and fought to escape the villains hold.
'Why? Why now? Izuku thought, terror coiling in his stomach. I can't die here… I can't!' Izuku's thoughts raced, as he continued to try and escaped the villains hold.
The sludge villian chuckled darkly, his words, his voice, sounding like gurgling mud in the back of his throat. "Don't worry, I'm just taking over your body! It'll be easier for both of us if you don't fight back!" His words made Izuku only struggle harder, much to the villains amusement. "Thanks for the help kid, you're a real hero to me!" The villain said mockingly, Izuku's vision blurred, the world around him bending in the edges, sounds warping into distant echoes. He could feel the sludge pressing into him, trying to crawl inside, merging with him. And then, a strange sensation surged—a heat, a pulse, an almost electric hum coursing through his body. The fear and desperation, the years of oppression and ridicule, seemed to awaken something buried deep within him, before Izuku went limp. The sludge villain grinned as he began to force himself into the kids body, not noticing as a purple and blue glow of energy began to flood Izuku's veins, his body rapidly producing antimatter.
All Might jumped out of the sewer, watching as the the last of the sludge villain entered Izuku's body. All Might's brow furrowed as he clenched his teeth, preparing to force the sludge villain out of Izuku if needed, All Might, leaping to action, froze in mid-air, eyes widening as he watched the young boy twist in pain and power, a barrier of transparent purple energy erupting outward, throwing All Might into a wall. The ground itself seemed to resist, cracking, floating, and twisting as the laws of reality bent to Izuku's awakening quirk. Buildings trembled, lampposts glitched in midair, puddles suspended like molten glass. The Sludge Villain's gurgling laugh faltered, replaced by a strangled scream as Izuku's body convulsed violently. Inside the purple dome, Izuku's consciousness flickered. Pain and fear coalesced into something raw, primal, and unstoppable. His eyes opened, glowing purple, the whites of his eyes, his sclera, black, irises burning like molten amethyst as they glowed a vibrant purple. His hair lifted, strands curling and floating as if in zero gravity, flames of radiant violet licking the air. He didn't think, he acted. Matter disintegrated under his touch, the Sludge Villain screaming as chunks of its body were ripped apart from within. The slime that made up the sludge villain and distorted remnants flew in chaotic arcs, yet Izuku's body moved with precision, almost as if the quirk itself was guiding him. Each pulse of Antimatter tore the villain apart, reshaping the battlefield into a surreal nightmare of floating debris and warped air.
All Might's jaw clenched. He had seen heroes born, seen quirks awakened, but nothing like this. This was… beyond comprehension. A boy, long considered quirkless, wielding power that could rival some of the most dangerous villains. And yet, he was still unconscious, still a child. The weight of potential—and peril—settled heavily on the veteran hero's shoulders.
The screams of the Sludge villain continued, as Izuku slowly sat up, looking at his hands, before gasping as he coughed out the eye balls and teeth of the Sludge Villian, as well as a few globs of the sludge, the sludge villian contuning to writhe in pain. The sludge villian had lost alot of his mass, as Izuku's body destroyed almost all of the sludge villains body. Izuku had awakened a quirk, one that was dormant, one that he didn't even know he had. His quirk had altered his body in an instant when he "died", antimatter flowing through his veins, altering his very biology and body's chemistry. He sat up with some struggle again, ignoring the writhing villain, Izuku looking at the glowing puprle and blue veins on his arms, as they pulsed with energy. 'W-what...? Wh-What is this? I-Is this a quirk?!' Izuku thought, his mind racing a thousand miles per hour. The antimatter had destroyed the sludge villains body, reacting with the very matter that made his body, which would explain the screaming. Izuku's body distorted and glitched a bit, his left arm seeming to disappear, before glitching back into existence. The purple dome fell, as izukus hair stopped floating and glowing, but remained purple, his quirk deactivating before he collapsed, faiting as his body gave out, exhausted due to the late quirk awakening. All Might immiediatley took the oopertunity to put what was left of the sludge villian in a bottle before he picked izuku up, clenching his teeth, as he mentally cursed himself for allowing a kid to be injured like this, but he also wonder what he had just witnessed. All Might put those thoughts in the back of his head for now, as he jumped into the sky, landing atop a building as he began rushing to a hospital.
A few days passed, the city outside Izuku's hospital window moving as usual, oblivious to the upheaval in the life of one small boy. Inko Midoriya had barely left her son's side, sitting in a stiff chair that had begun to crease uncomfortably beneath her. Her hands were folded tightly on her lap, knuckles white, eyes trained on Izuku's pale, bandaged form. Every subtle twitch, every shallow breath made her heart pound. She hadn't slept properly, hadn't eaten much, yet the thought of leaving him even for a minute was unbearable. Her motherly instincts had amplified to a constant, painful vigilance—her very being tethered to his recovery. She had refused on multiple occasions to go home. She dint want to leave her only child's side.
The soft hum of the hospital machines filled the otherwise silent room, rhythmic and almost soothing. Inko's gaze followed each subtle movement—Izuku's fingers twitched against the white sheets, a shallow breath escaped his lips, and his eyelids fluttered. She leaned forward slightly, as though even the tiniest gesture might remind him she was there, waiting, watching, protecting. A groan, low and strained, broke the tense quiet. Inko's eyes widened as she snapped her gaze to Izuku's face. His eyelids cracked open slowly, revealing irises glowing faintly violet, a sight so surreal it made her recoil instinctively for a heartbeat. Then, without thinking, she sprang forward, pulling him into her arms.
"MY BABY!" she cried, her voice tearing through the room like a hurricane. Tears streamed freely down her face as she clutched him tightly, burying her face into his bandaged shoulder. Izuku groaned in pain, the sharp sting shooting through his battered body, but he returned the hug instinctively, ignoring every ache, every broken rib, every bruise. His body was wracked, but his heart surged in the warmth of his mother's embrace. His body ached in pain from both the awkening of his quirk, which altered every aspect of his body, down to the very dna of his body.
"Mom…?" His voice was hoarse, a whisper more than a word, caught between pain, disbelief, and a fragile hope he hadn't allowed himself in years. Hearing the tone in Izuku's voice made Inko's heart ache, her tears threatening to spill yet again.
"Shh… it's okay, sweetie, it's okay…" Inko's words were soft, trembling, as she gently pressed her hands to his back, stroking soothing circles over the bandages. She pulled back slightly to look at his face, the glow in his eyes reflecting a mixture of wonder, fear, and exhaustion.
Izuku's own gaze dropped to his palms, noticing small, perfectly round holes at the center of each, faintly glowing with the same purple energy that ran like rivers beneath his skin. His breath hitched, tears stinging his eyes as he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of revelation and awe, "D-Did I… finally awaken a quirk?" Inko's own tears fell freely now, tracing warm tracks down her cheeks. She reached up, cupping his face gently in her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her voice shook, but it carried an almost feral pride beneath the worry. "Worry about that later, sweetie… but yes. Yes, you did. I'm so… so happy for you." Izuku's heart raced, chest tightening with disbelief. His vision blurred slightly as tears mingled with the faint hospital light. He struggled to speak, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on him. His hands trembled, the glow pulsing faintly, a reminder that his body now held something extraordinary, something dangerous—and yet, something magnificent.
Inko pressed the button beside the bed, summoning a doctor. Moments later, a figure rushed in—white coat flaring, hands ready to stabilize, check vitals, and administer care. Behind them, almost imperceptibly at first, a shadow appeared in the doorway. Izuku's eyes widened so violently it was almost comical, the fatigue forgotten, replaced by sudden recognition and awe.
"A-ALL MIGHT?!" Izuku stammered, his voice trembling, barely audible over the rhythmic beeping of the hospital machines. His glowing irises widened even further, the soft purple light reflecting in the sterile fluorescent lights above, making the air between them feel almost electric. Every fiber of his being was alert, chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths, mind racing a thousand miles per hour. He could barely process what he was seeing—a man larger than life, standing there with a presence so commanding it made the room seem smaller, the walls closing in with the weight of his aura.
All Might's towering frame, shoulders broad and chest heaving with restrained energy, softened slightly as he took a step closer to the bedside. His eyes, usually so brimming with confidence and unshakeable power, flickered with something more human—concern, guilt, and awe. "Young Midoriya," he said, his voice low and steady, yet carrying a resonance that seemed to vibrate through Izuku's very chest. Each word held weight, the kind that left no room for pretense. Izuku's heart pounded, a mixture of fear, disbelief, and the faint spark of hope igniting in the pit of his stomach. His hands trembled on the sheets, the faint purple glow still coursing through his veins, a reminder that the world had changed in the span of a few impossible moments. He wanted to speak, to ask a hundred questions at once, yet his throat felt dry and tight, his mind a whirlwind of images from the battle, the Sludge Villain, and the terrifying awakening of his quirk.
All Might's expression softened even further, and, almost impossibly, he dropped to one knee beside the hospital bed, bringing himself closer to Izuku's level. The act itself, of the Symbol of Peace bowing before a child, sent a jolt through Izuku's chest—half shock, half awe, all disbelief. All Might's deep, familiar chuckle echoed gently in the room, a sound that was usually larger-than-life but now carried the weight of solemnity.
"Young man," All Might said, bowing his head in a gesture so sincere it seemed to carry years of regret and responsibility, "please forgive me… for allowing harm to come your way. If I had been faster—if I had arrived just a moment sooner—I could have stopped that villain from nearly taking your life." His voice wavered ever so slightly, the first hint of human vulnerability Izuku had ever heard from the hero. Izuku's chest tightened, a mixture of awe, guilt, and relief swirling in his stomach. He swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat down, clenching his teeth as he tried to process both the gravity of All Might's apology and the impossibility of the quirk that now pulsed through him. His voice came out strained, hoarse, barely above a whisper, yet filled with honesty and warmth: "All Might… please… don't apologize. It… it wasn't your fault…"
All Might's eyes softened further, his usual heroic composure giving way to something almost tender. He reached a hand forward, placing it gently over Izuku's, the gesture grounding and real, connecting the boy to the hero he had idolized for so long. "You're too kind, young Midoriya," he said quietly. "But understand this: what you just endured, what you survived… that power of yours—it's extraordinary. And yet, you remained… you. Brave. Selfless. That is what makes you a hero, not just the quirk flowing through your veins." All Might said, silently considering Izuku to be his successor, based on both the power he holds, and the selflessness he just showed. 'This boy.. he has the heart of a hero' All might thought to himself, Izuku's lips trembled, the weight of All Might's words pressing on him like a tidal wave. The glowing veins on his arms pulsed faintly as if responding to the emotion in the room, the residual energy from his awakening quirk humming softly. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel something beyond fear or pain—pride, relief, and an almost dizzying realization that his life had irrevocably changed.
Inko Midoriya's fingers fidgeted lightly in her lap as she smiled gently to herself, relief washing over her like warm sunlight breaking through a stormy sky. After days of sitting vigil beside her son, seeing him finally awake, even if still fragile, filled her chest with a mixture of joy and lingering fear. She began conversing with the doctor in calm, measured tones, providing every detail of Izuku's awakening: the glow in his eyes, the way his veins had pulsed with violet and blue energy, the strange and terrifying power that had ripped through the Sludge Villain, the latter half of the info she had received from All Might. Her words were careful, precise, almost reverent, as if she were documenting a miracle.
The doctor listened intently, nodding as he adjusted his clipboard and prepared the instruments on a nearby tray. His movements were professional, but the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed a cautious curiosity. He selected a syringe from its sterile packaging, a special model designed specifically for drawing blood from subjects with unknown or potentially dangerous quirks—a precaution rarely necessary, but essential in a case like Izuku's. The metallic tray glimmered under the hospital lights, each tool meticulously aligned, reflecting the quiet tension that had filled the room.
"Miss Midoriya," the doctor began, his voice calm, precise, yet tinged with cautious respect, "do I have your consent to run a quirk examination on your son? It's a routine procedure in cases like this, though given the nature of the quirk, extra precautions are necessary." He gently placed the syringe beside the bed, still in its packaging, a small shield against the unknown waiting for them. Inko's gaze drifted to her son, who lay propped slightly upright by the hospital pillows. His purple-glowing veins pulsed faintly, remnants of the recent quirk awakening, and his gaze flitted between the syringe, the doctor, and the towering figure of All Might looming in the corner of the room. She placed a hand lightly on Izuku's arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Yes… you have my consent," she said, her voice steady yet soft. "But please… be careful. My son… he's been through enough already."
Izuku, ever the curious, analytical mind, barely registered his mother's words. Already, his thoughts were racing, his mind jumping from one question to the next. Being conscious again, awake after a death-like experience, and having this new, terrifying power coursing through him, he was consumed with questions he could barely contain.
"All Might," he began, his voice hoarse but eager, eyes wide with reverence, "I… I have so many questions. How… how do you do it? How do you keep being a hero, even when things are impossible? What inspired you to keep going, even when it seems like no one's safe?" His hands twitched slightly as he gestured, almost unconsciously, as if to emphasize the intensity of his curiosity. All Might's deep eyes softened, a proud yet thoughtful smile forming on his face. He took a slow breath, kneeling slightly to bring himself closer to Izuku's level again. "Young Man," he said gently, voice warm and steady, "being a hero isn't about never failing. It's about knowing the stakes, knowing the danger, and choosing to face it anyway. I was inspired by the heroes who came before me, the people who refused to give up on others—even when the world seemed impossible. And you… you've just shown the courage of a true hero, even before fully understanding the power you wield."
Izuku's glowing eyes widened even further, awe and a flicker of hope sparking within him. He leaned slightly forward, eager to soak in every word. "So… even when you were scared? Even when it seemed like… like the villains were stronger than you could ever be?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying the mixture of fear, hope, and curiosity swirling within him. All Might chuckled softly, a deep, resonant sound that filled the room with warmth. "Even then, young Midoriya. Fear is part of being human. Courage… courage is doing what you must despite that fear. And you—awakening a quirk under such circumstances, saving others without even thinking of your own safety—you have that courage inside you. That is what makes a hero."
Izuku's chest swelled, a strange combination of pride and disbelief filling him. The glow in his veins pulsed faintly as if in response to the praise, and he felt something stir deep in his chest—a sense of purpose, of potential, of the beginning of a path he had only dreamed of.
Meanwhile, Inko watched her son, tears prickling her eyes again. She marveled at the words exchanged between him and All Might, at the young boy who had suffered so much finally seeing a glimpse of his potential, of the life he had always fought for. She reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering for a moment, grounding him in the warmth of maternal love.
The doctor, sensing the rising energy and the need for caution, spoke up gently. "If you're ready, Izuku Midoriya, we can begin the quirk analysis. It's painless, I promise, and it will help us understand the extent and limitations of your abilities." He held the syringe up, sterile and precise, a tool that felt simultaneously clinical and intimate.
Izuku nodded, swallowing hard. "O-Okay… I… I want to understand. I need to understand what I can do." His voice wavered, but his determination shone brightly through the exhaustion and pain. All Might placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, giving a small, encouraging squeeze. "Then we'll learn together," All Might said, voice steady and full of warmth. "You're not alone in this, Midoriya. Not now, and not ever." Izuku's glowing eyes flickered, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, even as the pulse of new power throbbed faintly beneath his skin. The journey ahead would be long, dangerous, and uncertain—but for the first time in his life, he felt ready.
Izuku's pulse thudded in his temples as he watched the doctor methodically prepare the equipment. The sphygmomanometer—a blood pressure cuff—was snugged around his arm, the black fabric cold against his skin. He flinched slightly as the cuff slowly inflated, the pressure pressing tightly against his bicep, constricting his arm like a gentle vice. He could feel the veins beneath his skin stand out as if anticipating what was to come, the quiet hum of his own blood mixing with the faint residual pulse of antimatter energy that lingered after his quirk's awakening.
The doctor's hands were calm and precise as he retrieved the syringe, its needle gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room. "Relax, Midoriya," the doctor murmured, his voice clinical but steady, "this will be quick." Izuku swallowed hard, nodding, trying to focus on the voice rather than the cold metal tip glinting menacingly in his line of sight. As the needle pierced his skin, a sharp sting ran through his arm, and Izuku's teeth clenched. He kept his eyes on the syringe, wide with anticipation, marveling at how life—and now this strange new power—flowed in visible currents through him. The doctor drew the blood carefully, lifting the syringe as a drop of deep red began to settle inside. But then, something impossible caught everyone's attention: the blood wasn't just red. Swirling alongside it was a faint, otherworldly glow—purple and blue streaks twisting and spiraling like miniature galaxies suspended in liquid. The glow pulsed rhythmically, almost in time with Izuku's heartbeat, as if the liquid itself were alive, radiating raw, untamed power.
Inko gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth as tears pricked her eyes. "Izuku… it's… it's… glowing," she whispered, voice trembling with awe and fear. All Might's eyes widened, his usually bright expression dimming with the weight of realization. He leaned closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over the bed as he examined the syringe with an intensity usually reserved for crises threatening entire cities. "This… this is beyond anything I've ever seen," he murmured, almost to himself, awe lacing every word. His hands rested on the edge of the bed, knuckles whitening slightly as he processed the implications of a quirk that could produce whatever this was internally.
The doctor chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief, though a careful glint of excitement flickered in his eyes. "Now… I've studied quirks for decades," he said, placing the syringe on the tray with meticulous care, "but I've never seen blood like this. This… this isn't just a quirk—it's a phenomenon. Whatever this glowing liquid that flows in his veins is, it's stable, yet potent…" He let the thought hang in the air, the unspoken danger palpable.
Izuku's own eyes followed the glowing liquid, pupils dilated with wonder and fear. His arm throbbed faintly where the needle had been, the bandage wrapped around it now snug, and he couldn't tear his gaze from the pulsating luminescence. A strange thrill coursed through him, almost like a magnetic pull, the first tangible proof of his power manifesting within him in a form he could see. The world felt different, sharper somehow, as if everything around him had gained a new texture and weight. The doctor carefully placed the syringe into a nearby analyzer, a sleek machine connected to the computer. The device began whirring softly, lights flickering as it processed the sample. On the screen, graphs and data began to appear, lines dancing in response to the liquid's properties. The glow in the blood seemed to intensify under the machine's sensors, reflecting a depth of energy and instability that made even seasoned professionals tense with fascination. The hum of the machine, the soft whirring of hospital equipment, and the quiet intake of breath from those around him made the room feel almost sacred. In that small, brightly lit hospital room, a boy who had once been quirkless was slowly discovering the terrifying and magnificent truth of who he could be.
It didn't take long for the machine to finish its analysis. The analyzer released a low chime—almost hesitant, as if itself unsure how to interpret the data it had just processed. The monitor flickered once, then stabilized, spilling lines of glowing text and graphs across the screen. The doctor leaned forward… and his jaw slowly fell open. "…This—this is…" His voice cracked. He covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide, pupils trembling. "Unbelievable. No—impossible." Izuku, sensing the shift in the room, sat up slightly, heart pounding. "D-Doctor?"
The man tore his eyes from the screen, swallowing hard.
"This would definitely explain why your quirk took so long to manifest," he breathed. "I've never seen anything like this, not in all my years as a quirk specialist." He gestured to the screen. Anatomical diagrams of Izuku's body rotated slowly—except they weren't normal muscle structures. Glowing streaks—streams of purple, blue, and ultraviolet energy—spiraled through the digital representation of his veins, arteries, and nervous system like cosmic rivers.
"Your quirk," the doctor continued, voice now reverent, "has rewritten your DNA." Izuku inhaled sharply. Inko covered her mouth, tears forming again. All Might took an unconscious step closer to the monitor, his enormous frame casting a long shadow on the wall. "Rewritten… his DNA?" All Might echoed.
"Yes." The doctor clicked another window, revealing a strand of Izuku's DNA—except entire segments glowed bright violet, shifting subtly as though alive. "Not only are you immune to antimatter… your body actively produces it. It pumps it through your bloodstream like oxygen." Izuku's blood ran cold. "I… my body makes… antimatter…? As in—if this touched normal matter—"
"It should annihilate you," the doctor said bluntly. "Yet your cells… have adapted. No—transformed."
Izuku stared at his hands trembling in his lap.
Something within him—something vast, alien, yet undeniably him—seemed to pulse quietly beneath his skin.
The doctor straightened, voice dropping to a near whisper.
"Your quirk… it supports the Quirk Singularity Theory." The words hit the room like a thunderclap. Inko froze. All Might's eyes widened, the heroic façade cracking into something deeply human—fear, awe, realization.
Izuku blinked, confused.
"I… I've never heard of that… What is the Quirk Singularity Theory?"
All Might inhaled deeply, looking suddenly older. "It is the idea," he began, tone heavy, "that quirks evolve exponentially with each generation. That one day a quirk will appear so overwhelmingly powerful that it forces the human body to adapt or die." He stepped closer to Izuku's bed. "A quirk that breaks the boundaries of what a human is. One that defies physics… logic… reality itself."
His gaze hardened—not with anger, but with the weight of truth. "Young Midoriya… you are proof that the theory is no longer a theory." Izuku's breath hitched. His world—once small, bleak, and full of rejection—suddenly felt terrifyingly big. The doctor continued, tapping through more diagrams. "Your quirk is classified as both Mutant and Emitter. The mutant side permanently changed your biology. But your emitter side…" He pointed at Izuku's palms—faint, star-like speckles of purple glowed beneath the skin. "Your body has developed specialized channels—holes in your palms and feet—that allow you to focus antimatter externally."
He flipped to another page
"You can discharge it as blasts… shape it into barriers… compress it into blades… even project it to distort space. And this—" He pointed to a rapidly fluctuating graph labeled ANTIMATTER ABSORPTION CAPACITY.
"—this suggests you can temporarily pull the antimatter back into your core. Doing so would overcharge your cells and nervous system." Izuku swallowed. "Wh-What does that… do?" The doctor hesitated. "To put it simply… it would let you move faster than the speed of light." The room fell silent. All Might stiffened, eyes wide. Inko nearly fainted, gripping the bedside rail. Izuku felt his heart leap into his throat.
"F-Faster than light?" Izuku whispered, horrified.
"That's not… that's not a human quirk…"
"No," the doctor agreed softly.
"It's an evolution."
He turned back to Izuku with a grave, almost fearful expression. "Your body exists in a state between matter and antimatter. Between stability and cosmic annihilation. Midoriya… your quirk doesn't just break physics." His voice dropped to a trembling whisper. "It rewrites them." Izuku stared at his trembling hands—hands that once felt powerless, weak, empty. But now… they hummed with the energy of a dying star.
His heart pounded. His breathing quickened.
For the first time in his life, Izuku Midoriya wasn't quirkless.
He was terrifying... he was powerful.
The Doctor sighed as he cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while straightening his tie with a practiced tug. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, casting long, sharp shadows across the room as he tapped the clipboard with the tip of his pen. "Now…" he began, voice low and almost amused, "let's get to the fun part."
Izuku's pulse hammered in his ears. His palms were sweaty against the leather of the examination chair, and he could feel the faint vibration of something—not quite energy, not quite pressure—buzzing in his chest. His quirk. His quirk that he'd only just learned he had.
The Doctor leaned forward. "What would you like to name your quirk?"
For a moment, Izuku's thoughts scattered like startled birds. A lifetime of being told he was Quirkless. A lifetime of pitying looks, laughter, and stolen dreams. And now… this. A power inside him that felt strange, cold, yet steady. A counter-force. Something that didn't just fight the world—something that reversed it. He swallowed, feeling the shape of the word forming before he even understood why it fit.
Izuku lifted his head, a small but growing smile carving its way onto his face. "Anti-Flux…" he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet certainty. "I want to name my quirk Anti-Flux."
The Doctor's pen paused mid-scratch. His eyebrows rose—surprised, maybe impressed—but he wrote it down with a slow, deliberate nod.
"Well then," the Doctor murmured, closing the folder with a soft click, "Anti-Flux it is."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A few weeks had passed—quiet, intense, life-changing weeks. Inko had called the school and explained everything, her voice trembling with a mix of worry and pride only a mother could carry. The school cleared Izuku for medical leave, giving him time to adjust, to learn, to become something entirely new. And All Might… All Might had gone above and beyond. Without hesitation, he paid for a top-tier quirk specialist—someone who had experience with volatile, reality-warping quirks the public never heard about. Someone who didn't flinch when things got dangerous. Someone who understood that Izuku Midoriya was now something extraordinary.
The training was brutal. Every day, Izuku practiced pushing antimatter out from the glands deep inside his body—first in tiny controlled pulses. The moment he activated his quirk, the veins along his arms and legs began to glow an ethereal, electric purple, like liquid nebulae flowing beneath his skin. The glow would brighten, intensify, and crawl upward in branching streams toward his palms and the soles of his feet.
Then—fwip—a harmless spark of purple antimatter would flicker out, cracking like a star being born. At first, he could barely manage that much. But as he trained, as he learned how to widen the pathways and gather more antimatter at once, the glow became blinding. Light ran through him like lightning, pooling at his hands and feet until the air itself wavered with distortions.
The first time he lost control, a sphere the size of a basketball erased part of the practice room floor—clean, smooth, perfect, like reality had been scooped away. Izuku nearly vomited from fear. The specialist merely adjusted his glasses and said, "Excellent. Again."
And Izuku learned. He learned how to regulate the output, letting the veins dim or brighten depending on how much antimatter he pushed. He learned to feel the antimatter moving inside him—rushing from the glands that produced it, following the glowing trails of his veins, gathering at the exit points beneath his skin. And when he absorbed the antimatter back into himself, everything reversed. The veins dimmed. The purple glow faded. The light that had blazed through his arms and legs receded like a tide. And deep within his body, the antimatter glands lit up instead—soft, pulsing orbs of violet energy humming with stored power. Izuku could feel them warm, heavy, vibrating with potential, like miniature stars beating in place of ordinary organs, the small glands, which numbered in the hundreds visible beneath his skin, glowing a soft purple and blue.
Then came speed training. Learning to move faster than light wasn't just strange—it was cosmically disorienting. When he activated the speed aspect of his quirk, his veins erupted with brilliant purple, the antimatter pulling inward before detonating him forward. And then—silence. Not the silence of a quiet room. The silence of no world at all.
The moment he exceeded light speed, the universe froze. Dust motes hung in the air like suspended amethysts. A bird outside the window was frozen mid-flap, wings stretched, eyes unblinking. Trees bowed in a wind no longer blowing. Even the flicker of the overhead lights stalled in place, leaving the room stuck between frames. Time became a photograph.
Izuku walked through it in awe, a faint violet glow trailing off him like stardust. He laughed—giddy, breathless, terrified—because nothing had ever felt so impossible and thrilling and right. But no matter how incredible Anti-Flux was… no matter how much power surged through him…
A single dread gnawed at him every night.
School.
His return was inevitable. He'd kept up with worksheets, stayed ahead on assignments, even studied harder than before—but none of that eased the twist in his stomach when he imagined walking back into that classroom.
The whispers.
The stares.
Katsuki.
Would they treat him better now that he had a quirk?
Would Kacchan finally stop looking at him like he was worthless?
Or…
Would this new power just make him an even bigger target?
Izuku didn't know.
But the date circled on his calendar crept closer with every sunrise.
And ready or not…
The world was about to meet the new Izuku Midoriya.
The weekend came and went far too quickly.
Izuku stood at the sidewalk's edge, staring up at the familiar—yet suddenly much smaller—gate of Aldera Junior High. His heart thudded once, then steadied. The morning breeze rustled through his hair, sending soft waves through his thick, curly purple locks, each strand catching the sunlight with an iridescent sheen. His eyes—vivid, luminescent violet—glowed faintly even in daylight, the black sclera around them making the color burn brighter, almost unreal. A small bird perched atop the school gate cocked its head at him, curious. Izuku's glowing irises tracked its movements with eerie precision. The bird chirped once—almost nervously—and flew away.
"Yeah… I get it," Izuku muttered quietly, stepping forward.
Every step felt heavier than the last. Not because he feared Katsuki. But because this was the first time the old world would meet the new him. The hallways felt smaller than he remembered, cramped and buzzing with idle morning chatter. Students milled around—laughing, complaining about homework, shoving past each other—but every conversation seemed to fade as Izuku passed by. Eyes lingered on him, confused, curious, unsettled by the strange glow pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
He kept walking.
And then he reached Class 3-B. He took a slow breath, slid the door open, and stepped inside. The chatter died instantly. Eighteen pairs of eyes snapped toward him. Confusion spread through the room like a ripple.
"Who… is that?"
"Is he a transfer?"
"What's with his eyes?"
"That's creepy…"
Izuku ignored all of it, walking straight to his seat—the seat he'd occupied quietly for years, the seat no one ever cared enough to look at twice. He set his bag down, sat, and folded his hands on the desk.
Silence.
Then—
A loud bang as Katsuki slammed his fist on his desk and stood up.
"HEY! Who the hell are you, freaky eyes?" Katsuki barked, lip curling. Tiny pops and crackles flared from his palms, lighting his scowl with flashes of orange. He took a few steps forward, glaring with the same hostility he'd shown Izuku his entire life.
Except now? He didn't even recognize him. Izuku didn't look up right away. He didn't flinch. He didn't shrink. He just stared straight ahead, bored.
"…Kacchan."
The word was spoken so casually, so flatly, that Katsuki's face froze mid-snarl. His eyes widened—just a fraction—but enough for the whole class to see the shift. That voice. No way.
"Deku…?" Katsuki breathed, disbelief scrawled across his features.
Finally, Izuku raised his head. His glowing purple irises locked onto Katsuki with ice-cold annoyance, the intensity of the light making Katsuki instinctively tense. The veins in Izuku's neck pulsed faintly with a purple glow, just barely visible above the collar of his school uniform. And those eyes…
Those were not the eyes of someone Katsuki had spent years bullying. Those were the eyes of someone who no longer cared. "Can you just leave me the hell alone for once…?" Izuku said, voice calm, steady—dangerously unimpressed. A shiver ran down Katsuki's spine. No one talked to him like that.
Ever.
His shock twisted into rage.
"You little—!" Katsuki thrust his hand forward, an explosion sparking violently to life—
But Izuku was already moving. He inhaled. His veins went dark—pitch black, like ink freezing beneath the skin. And then, all at once, the antimatter glands across his body erupted with glowing purple light. Hundreds of tiny star-like nodes beneath his skin flickered to life, glowing brighter and brighter until they illuminated his entire figure like a constellation. The world slowed. Then stopped.
Sound vanished.
Motion vanished.
Students froze mid-gasp.
The explosion Katsuki had begun forming stalled in mid-air, a bloom of orange sparks locked in perfect stillness.
Time had stopped.
Izuku stood from his desk, purple light pulsing gently from the glands under his skin. His movements created ripples in the frozen air, like he was walking through water. He stepped forward, drew his fist back, and—
CRACK.
He punched Katsuki square in the jaw. Time snapped back. The antimatter surged from his glands back into his veins, making them brighten with purple luminescence once more. Katsuki's explosion fizzled out as he was violently launched across the classroom, slamming into the whiteboard with a sickening thud before collapsing to the ground in a heap.
Gasps erupted around the room. Someone screamed. Someone else dropped their pencil. Izuku stood where Katsuki had been moments earlier, the glow from his antimatter glands fading slowly as the light returned to his veins. He dusted off his sleeve.
"Prick," he muttered casually, sitting back down as if he hadn't just obliterated the class tyrant in under a second. The room was dead silent. Every student stared at him—not with mockery, not with annoyance, but with wide-eyed awe and primal fear.
The silence shattered when the classroom door slammed open. Mr. Tanaka, their homeroom teacher, rushed in with a stack of papers in one hand and panic etched across his face. "What on EARTH is going—" He froze. His eyes locked onto Katsuki Bakugo's limp body crumpled at the front of the room, then tracked across the shocked, trembling students, and finally landed on Izuku—sitting peacefully at his desk like absolutely nothing had happened.
"Who—WHAT—" Mr. Tanaka sputtered, his face draining of color as the papers slipped from his hands and scattered across the floor like startled birds. Izuku lifted one hand lazily, scratching the back of his head. His voice was calm, almost bored. "I did, teach… sorry. He got in my face." A few students gasped at how casually he admitted it. Tanaka gulped so hard it was audible, sweat beading at his temples. He already looked exhausted, mentally writing the mountain of paperwork this incident would demand.
"M-Midoriya," he croaked, "please report to the principal's office immediately."
"Yeah… figured," Izuku replied with a sigh, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
He didn't rush.
Didn't shrink.
Didn't fold inward like he always had.
He just walked — unbothered. The hallway lights hummed softly as he made his way down the familiar route, each footstep echoing with a heavier sense of authority than he'd ever carried before. Students who caught a glimpse of him from open classroom doors quickly pulled back like frightened animals, whispering frantically behind his back. Izuku ignored them. When he reached the principal's office, he raised a knuckle and knocked twice.
A smooth, overly warm voice answered instantly:
"Come in, Midoriya!"
Too eager. Too cheerful. Too fake. Izuku stepped inside. Principal Nakamura sat behind his polished oak desk, hands folded neatly, smile stretched wide across his face like a politician greeting cameras. His eyes, though — his eyes were measuring Izuku like a valuable resource that had finally become useful. "Ahhh, Midoriya! Please, take a seat." His tone was drenched in artificial sweetness. Izuku sat, back straight, expression unreadable. The principal cleared his throat dramatically.
"Well then… let's address the elephant in the room, shall we?"
Here it comes.
"You assaulted a student."
Izuku stayed silent. Principal Nakamura steepled his fingers. "Now, violence in Aldera High is, of course, unacceptable."
A lie. Izuku had been beaten nearly daily — Nakamura had never once intervened. "But!" the principal continued quickly, smile widening, "I also understand this is a… complicated time for you. Adjusting to a quirk awakening so late can be very stressful." Izuku almost laughed. They'd ignored his suffering for years. Now they were acting like none of it ever happened. The principal leaned forward, eyes gleaming with opportunistic interest.
"Congratulations, by the way. A powerful emitter-type quirk, yes? Very impressive. Truly wonderful news for the school's records!" His voice rose with excitement. "It will reflect incredibly well on our institution to have helped nurture such potential." Izuku felt something cold twist in his stomach. Nakamura wasn't happy for him. He was happy for publicity.
"As for your… altercation," the principal continued with a dismissive wave of the hand, "I'm sure we can chalk it up to misunderstanding. Boys your age, new power, adrenaline… It happens."
It happens?
When Izuku was the one being beaten bloody, it never "happened."
He was told to "toughen up."
He was told to "stop provoking others."
He was told "this school is not responsible for incidents caused by your… limitations."
But now?
Now he had a quirk.
A powerful one.
And suddenly the principal's tone had flipped like a switch. Nakamura's smile tightened. "Just… refrain from any further outbursts, yes? We wouldn't want to tarnish your future prospects." His voice dipped slightly, a warning hidden in admiration. "Or the school's reputation." Izuku met his gaze head-on — something he'd never been able to do before.
"Understood," Izuku said quietly. Principal Nakamura's grin faltered for a split second — something about Izuku's glowing eyes, or maybe his calm confidence, unsettled him — but he recovered quickly. "Well then! Off you go. And again, Midoriya… congratulations."
His voice dripped with hypocrisy. Izuku stood, bowed politely — because he refused to sink to their level — and left the office. Behind him, the principal exhaled in shaky relief, dabbing sweat from his forehead, he swore that Izuku was going to glare a hole through him.
Izuku sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
'This was going to be fun...' he thought, as he began to slowly walk back to class.