MIDORIYA IZUKU

The seventh envelope was waiting on his desk when Izuku returned from his morning patrol.

White. Plain. Unremarkable except for the neat handwriting that spelled out his hero name in careful strokes that made his skin crawl.

Deku

But this time, there was something else. Something that made Izuku's heart stop completely.

A box.

Small, wrapped in brown paper, sitting next to the envelope like a gift. Like something innocent and harmless instead of the nightmare it represented.

Izuku's hands started shaking before he even touched the envelope. The familiar spike of adrenaline—the same one that hit him every single time he found one of these letters—flooded his system like ice water in his veins.

Fight or flight. His body screaming at him to run, to get away, to escape.

But there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. This person found him everywhere.

His office door had been locked when he'd arrived. He'd checked it twice before leaving for patrol—he always did now, obsessively checking locks and windows and security systems. But it hadn't mattered.

They'd gotten in anyway.

Izuku's breath came short and fast. His vision tunneled on the envelope and the box beside it. His hands wouldn't stop shaking as he reached for the envelope, every instinct screaming at him not to touch it, not to open it, not to see what fresh horror waited inside.

But he had to know. Had to understand the threat. Had to stay ahead of whoever was doing this.

He tore it open with trembling fingers, his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The letter inside was longer than usual—two full pages, covered in that same neat handwriting that haunted his nightmares.

Izuku unfolded it and started reading. His breath stopped.

Dear Deku,

I've been watching you for so long now. Since the Paranormal Liberation War. Do you remember that day? Of course you do. The day you proved to the world—and to me—exactly what kind of hero you were meant to be.

I saw you fight. Saw you sacrifice. Saw you push yourself beyond every limit to save everyone. You were magnificent. Terrifying. Beautiful in your determination.

That was the moment I knew. The moment I understood that you were special. That you deserved to be cherished. Protected. Claimed.

I've documented everything since then. Every patrol. Every rescue. Every moment of triumph and every flicker of doubt. I know you better than anyone. Better than your friends. Better than your mentors. Better than you know yourself.

I know what you're capable of. I know your strengths and your weaknesses. I know exactly how high you've climbed.

And I know exactly how far you have to fall.

You've been pulling away lately. I've noticed. I notice everything about you.

Do you think distance will protect you? Do you think isolation will keep you safe?

It won't.

Nothing you do will change what's coming.

But I appreciate the effort. I appreciate that you're trying so hard. It shows how much you care. How deeply you feel.

It makes you even more perfect.

The gift I've included will help you understand just how close I've been. How thoroughly I know you. How completely I've seen you.

Open it when you're ready. When you're brave enough to face the truth of what we are to each other.

I want you to understand. I want you to see how much I've devoted to you. How much I've sacrificed to be close to you.

How much I'm willing to do to make you see.

You're going to fall, Deku. It's inevitable. The only question is how far.

The higher you climb, the farther you fall.

And you've climbed so very, very high.

With all my devotion,

Your Shadow

Izuku couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't process what he was reading.

Since the Paranormal Liberation War. Years. This person had been watching him for years.

Had documented everything. Had studied him. Had claimed him without his knowledge or consent.

And they knew. Knew he'd been pulling away. Knew he was trying to protect himself through isolation. Knew exactly what he was doing and why.

Izuku's hands shook so badly the paper rattled. His vision blurred. His chest felt like it was being crushed.

The box sat on his desk, innocent and terrible.

The gift I've included will help you understand just how close I've been.

Izuku stared at the brown-paper-wrapped package. Small. Neat. Tied with string.

He didn't want to open it. Didn't want to see what was inside. Didn't want to know how close this person had been.

The letter said it would prove how thoroughly they knew him. How completely they'd seen him.

What could possibly prove that? What could be inside that small box that would—

Izuku's stomach turned. His hands started shaking harder.

Photographs. It had to be photographs. Evidence of surveillance. Proof that they'd been watching him for years.

Or worse.

Something personal. Something taken from him. Something that proved they'd been close enough to touch him.

His breath came in short, sharp gasps. His vision tunneled on the box. Every instinct screamed at him to open it, to know what he was dealing with, to understand the full scope of the threat.

But another part of him—the part that was already drowning in fear and violation—couldn't bear to know. Couldn't face whatever proof of obsession waited inside that innocent-looking package.

Because once he opened it, he'd know. Would have to confront the reality of how close this person had been. How thoroughly they'd invaded his life.

And he wasn't ready for that. Wasn't strong enough to face it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

A single knock on his door made Izuku jump so violently he nearly knocked over his coffee mug.

"Young Midoriya?" All Might's voice came through the door, warm and familiar. "Are you in there?"

Panic surged through Izuku like lightning. He looked down at himself—still in his hero costume, covered in soot and ash from the morning patrol. Hair disheveled. Face pale. Hands shaking.

He looked like a disaster. Looked like someone barely holding it together.

The door handle turned.

"I hope I'm not interrupting—" All Might stepped into the office, his smile bright and genuine.

Then he stopped, his eyes landing on Izuku.

On the letter in Izuku's trembling hands.

On the box sitting on his desk.

On Izuku's face—pale, terrified, caught.

Izuku's hands moved on pure instinct, shoving the letter and box into his desk drawer in one frantic motion. The drawer stuck slightly, not quite closing all the way, but there was no time to fix it.

"All Might!" Izuku's voice came out too high, too strained. He forced a smile that felt like it might crack his face. "I'm so sorry—I completely lost track of time!"

All Might's expression shifted, concern flickering across his features. "Young Midoriya, are you alright? You look—"

"I'm fine! Just got back from patrol and haven't had a chance to clean up yet." Izuku was already moving toward the small bathroom attached to his office, desperate to escape All Might's knowing gaze. "Just give me five minutes to wash up and change into civilian clothes, and I'll be ready to go. I'm really sorry—I should have been ready when you got here."

"There's no need to apologize. Take your time."

But Izuku was already closing the bathroom door, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst through his chest.

He leaned against the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain edge hard enough to hurt. His reflection in the mirror showed him the truth—pale, exhausted, terrified. Eyes too wide. Breathing too fast.

He looked like someone on the edge of breaking.

Izuku turned on the water and splashed his face, trying to steady himself. Trying to push down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

All Might had seen the letter. Had seen the box. Had seen Izuku's reaction.

But he hadn't seen what was inside. Didn't know about the years of surveillance. Didn't know about the obsession.

And Izuku couldn't tell him. Couldn't burden All Might with this nightmare. Couldn't make it his problem.

He just needed to get through lunch. Needed to act normal. Needed to convince All Might that everything was fine.

Izuku stripped out of his hero costume with trembling hands and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt from the small locker in the bathroom. Ran his fingers through his hair. Practiced his smile in the mirror until it looked almost real.

Then he took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

YAGI TOSHINORI

The moment Young Midoriya disappeared into the bathroom, Toshinori's eyes went to the desk drawer.

Still slightly open. Not quite closed.

Something was very wrong.

Toshinori had seen the terror in Midoriya's eyes when he'd walked in. Had seen the way his hands shook as he shoved whatever he'd been holding into that drawer. Had seen the panic written across every line of his face.

This wasn't just stress. Wasn't just exhaustion from a difficult patrol.

This was fear. Real, visceral fear.

The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Midoriya was washing his face, trying to compose himself.

Toshinori's instincts—honed from decades of hero work—screamed at him that whatever was in that drawer was important. Was the source of Midoriya's fear.

He shouldn't look. Should respect Midoriya's privacy. Should wait for him to open up on his own.

But the fear in Midoriya's eyes had been real. The kind of fear that came from serious danger.

And if Midoriya was in danger, Toshinori needed to know.

He moved quickly and quietly to the desk. Pulled the drawer open just enough to see inside.

Seven envelopes. All white, all plain, each with "Deku" written in that same neat handwriting.

And a box. Small, wrapped in brown paper. Unopened.

Toshinori's chest tightened. He pulled out all seven envelopes, his hands trembling slightly as he arranged them in order—the oldest ones more worn, the newest still crisp.

He opened the first envelope. His blood ran cold as he read.

Since the Paranormal Liberation War. I saw you fight. Saw you sacrifice. That was the moment I knew you were special.

The second letter was worse. Detailed observations of Midoriya's patrol routes. His schedule. His habits.

The third documented specific rescues. Victories. Moments of vulnerability.

By the fourth letter, Toshinori's hands were shaking. The stalker knew everything. Where Midoriya lived. Where he trained. Who he spent time with.

The fifth letter described Midoriya's exhaustion after a difficult mission. His private moments of doubt. Things no one should have known.

The sixth escalated further. Possessive language. Claims of ownership. Promises of devotion that felt like threats.

And the seventh—the one Midoriya had been reading when Toshinori arrived—promised that Midoriya would fall. That the stalker would make sure of it.

The higher you climb, the farther you fall.

Years. Someone had been watching Midoriya for years. Documenting everything. Building an obsessive archive of his life.

The water in the bathroom shut off.

Toshinori's hands moved quickly, folding each letter and placing it back in its envelope. He arranged all seven exactly as he'd found them, the box beside them, still wrapped and unopened.

He pushed the drawer closed—but like Midoriya, he couldn't get it to latch properly. It sat slightly ajar.

Toshinori stepped back from the desk just as the bathroom door opened.

Midoriya emerged, his face still pale but his smile firmly in place. "Ready! Sorry about that."

"No problem at all." Toshinori kept his voice casual, even as his mind raced.

Midoriya was being stalked. Had been for years. And he was trying to handle it alone.

Of course he was. Because asking for help would mean admitting he couldn't handle everything alone. Would mean burdening others with his problems.

Toshinori's chest ached. He wanted to confront Midoriya right now. Wanted to demand answers. Wanted to wrap him in protection and never let him face this threat alone.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

Because if he confronted Midoriya now, the boy would shut down. Would deny everything. Would insist he was fine and push Toshinori away.

Toshinori had seen it before. Had watched Midoriya try to shoulder impossible burdens alone, convinced that asking for help was weakness.

No. Confronting him directly wouldn't work.

But there were other people who could reach him. People who knew how to push past Midoriya's walls without making him retreat further.

Bakugo and Todoroki.

They'd done it before. Had broken through Midoriya's self-destructive isolation during the war. Had refused to let him face everything alone.

They could do it again.

"Shall we?" Toshinori gestured toward the door, his smile gentle.

Midoriya nodded and led the way out of his office, his shoulders tight with tension.

Toshinori followed, his mind already planning his next move.

He'd get Midoriya through lunch. Would observe. Would gather what information he could without pushing.

Then he'd call Aizawa.

And together, they'd make sure Midoriya didn't face this threat alone.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Lunch was torture.

Every question from All Might felt like a trap. Every concerned look made Izuku want to confess everything.

But he couldn't. Couldn't burden All Might with this. Couldn't make it his problem.

They'd gone to a small restaurant near the agency—one of All Might's favorites, with private booths and excellent katsudon. Normally, Izuku would have been thrilled. Would have enjoyed the chance to catch up with his mentor.

But today, every bite tasted like ash. Every moment felt like he was barely holding himself together.

"How was your patrol?" All Might asked gently, his voice casual.

"Fine! Good. Routine stuff, mostly." Izuku's voice was too fast, too bright. "Stopped a convenience store robbery. Helped with a traffic accident. Nothing major."

"And how have you been? Really?"

Izuku's chopsticks stilled. "I'm fine. Just busy. You know how it is."

All Might was quiet for a moment, studying Izuku's face. "You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?"

"I'm sleeping fine."

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. He hadn't slept properly in weeks. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that neat handwriting. Felt the weight of invisible eyes watching him.

"And how are Bakugo and Todoroki? I haven't heard you mention them lately."

Izuku's whole body went rigid. "They're good. Busy with their own work."

"You used to talk about them all the time." All Might's voice was gentle, concerned. "About coordinating patrols. About meeting up for training. About—"

"We're all just really busy right now." Izuku's voice was tight. "It's hard to coordinate schedules when everyone's in different cities."

All Might was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You know, when I was your age, I had a tendency to try to handle everything alone. Thought asking for help was a sign of weakness. Thought I had to be strong enough to face every challenge by myself."

Izuku's hands clenched on his chopsticks.

"It nearly destroyed me," All Might continued, his voice soft. "Trying to carry everything alone. Trying to be strong enough for everyone. It wasn't until I learned to accept help—to let people in—that I became the hero I was meant to be."

Izuku couldn't look at him. Couldn't meet those knowing eyes.

"If you're dealing with something difficult," All Might said gently, "you don't have to face it alone. Whatever it is, there are people who care about you. People who want to help."

"I know." Izuku's voice was barely a whisper. "I know that."

"Do you?"

Izuku looked up, and for just a moment, he wanted to tell All Might everything. Wanted to show him the letters. Wanted to ask for help.

But then he thought about the box sitting in his drawer. About the proof of surveillance inside. About years of being watched without knowing.

About how thoroughly this person knew him. How close they'd been.

And he couldn't. Couldn't burden All Might with this nightmare. Couldn't make it his problem.

"I'm fine, All Might. Really. I appreciate your concern, but I'm handling everything."

All Might didn't believe him. Izuku could see it in his eyes.

But All Might just nodded slowly. "Alright. But if that changes—if you need help with anything—you know where to find me."

"I know." Izuku's voice was thick. "Thank you."

They finished lunch in strained silence, Izuku barely eating, All Might watching him with growing concern.

When they were done, Izuku stood quickly. "I should get back to work. Lots of paperwork to catch up on."

"Of course." All Might stood as well. "Take care of yourself, Young Midoriya. And please—if you need anything at all—"

"I will." Izuku was already moving toward the door. "Thanks for lunch."

He left before All Might could say anything else.

Made it back to his office. Closed the door. Locked it.

Then he moved to his desk and stared at the drawer.

Still slightly open. Still not quite locked.

The box was inside. Waiting.

Unopened.

Full of secrets and violations he couldn't bear to know.

Izuku's hands trembled as he pulled the drawer open. The letter was there, folded neatly. And beneath it, the brown-paper-wrapped box.

He pulled it out and set it on his desk. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. His breath came short and fast.

He should open it. Should know what he was dealing with. Should understand the full scope of the threat.

But his hands wouldn't move. Wouldn't reach for the string. Wouldn't unwrap the paper.

Because once he opened it, he'd know. Would have to confront the reality of how close this person had been. How thoroughly they'd invaded his life.

And he wasn't ready for that.

Wasn't strong enough.

Wasn't brave enough.

Open it when you're ready. When you're brave enough to face the truth.

Izuku stared at the box. Small. Innocent-looking. Terrible.

What was inside? Photographs? Personal items? Proof of surveillance?

Something worse?

His imagination filled in the blanks with horrors. Pictures of him sleeping. Pieces of his clothing. Locks of his hair. Evidence that this person had been close enough to touch him.

Close enough to take from him.

His stomach turned. His hands shook harder.

He couldn't open it. Couldn't face whatever proof of obsession waited inside.

Because not knowing was better than knowing. Not seeing was better than seeing. Not confronting the reality was better than having concrete proof of violation.

At least this way, he could pretend it wasn't as bad as he feared. Could tell himself it was just letters. Just words. Just threats that might never materialize.

But opening the box would make it real. Would give him evidence he couldn't ignore. Would force him to confront the full scope of what this person had done.

And he couldn't handle that. Not right now. Not when he was already drowning.

Izuku shoved the box back into the drawer with trembling hands. His fingers fumbled with the lock, but it caught properly this time, sliding into place with a soft click.

He stared at the closed drawer. At the lock that held. At the secrets safely hidden away inside.

He couldn't open it. Couldn't face whatever proof of obsession waited inside.

Because not knowing was better than knowing.

His phone buzzed on his desk. A text from Kacchan.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Deku. Answer your fucking phone.

Izuku stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He wanted to respond. Wanted to tell Kacchan everything. Wanted to ask for help.

But he couldn't. Couldn't burden Kacchan with this. Couldn't make this his problem.

Izuku set the phone down without responding.

Another buzz. Shoto this time.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Midoriya. Please respond. We're worried.

Izuku's chest ached. He wanted to see them. Wanted to be near them. Wanted to feel safe.

But he couldn't. Not when someone was watching. Not when getting close to anyone might make things worse.

He turned the phone face-down and didn't look at it again.

The box sat in his drawer. Unopened. Full of horrors he couldn't face.

And Izuku sat alone in his office, surrounded by evidence of obsession, and tried not to fall apart completely.

Tried not to think about what might be inside that box. What proof of violation waited in that innocent-looking package.

Tried not to imagine the worst.

But his imagination was relentless. Filling in the blanks with horrors. Showing him possibilities that made his stomach turn and his hands shake.

The sun was setting outside his window. The office was growing dark. And Izuku sat frozen at his desk, unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but stare at that slightly open drawer.

At the box inside.

At the secrets he couldn't face.

At the proof of obsession he was too terrified to see.

Open it when you're ready. When you're brave enough to face the truth.

But Izuku wasn't ready. Wasn't brave. Wasn't strong enough.

He was just scared. Alone. Drowning.

And the box sat unopened in his drawer, a constant reminder of his cowardice.

A constant source of dread.

A constant promise of horrors he couldn't bear to know.

YAGI TOSHINORI

Toshinori waited until he was in his car before pulling out his phone.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight with worry and anger.

Someone had been stalking Young Midoriya for years. Had been watching him, documenting him, obsessing over him.

And Midoriya was trying to handle it alone.

Toshinori scrolled through his contacts and pressed call.

"Aizawa," came the tired voice on the other end.

"We have a problem," Toshinori said without preamble. "It's about Midoriya."

There was a pause. Then: "What kind of problem?"

"The kind that requires immediate attention." Toshinori's voice was tight. "Someone's been stalking him. For years. Since the Paranormal Liberation War."

"What?" Aizawa's voice sharpened. "How do you know?"

"I found a letter in his office. Read it while he was cleaning up." Toshinori's hands clenched on the steering wheel. "Aizawa, this person has been watching him for years. Documenting everything. They know him. Know his patterns. Know his weaknesses."

"Did you confront him about it?"

"No. He would have shut down. Denied everything. Insisted he was fine." Toshinori's voice was heavy. "You know how he is. Trying to handle everything alone. Trying to protect everyone by shouldering the burden himself."

Aizawa was quiet for a moment. "You're right. If we confront him directly, he'll just push us away. Insist he can handle it."

"But there are people who can reach him. People who know how to push past his walls without making him retreat."

"Bakugo and Todoroki."

"Exactly." Toshinori's voice was grim. "They've done it before. During the war. They refused to let him face everything alone. They can do it again."

"Agreed." Aizawa's voice was thoughtful. "They won't let him brush this off. Won't accept his excuses. They'll give him the tough love he needs without pushing him away."

"Can you call Bakugo? I'll call Todoroki. We need to meet with them. Explain the situation. Get them on board."

"Where?"

"There's a cafe near Midoriya's agency. Quiet. Private. We can meet there in an hour."

"I'll make the call." Aizawa's voice was firm. "Toshinori—how bad is this? Really?"

Toshinori closed his eyes. Remembered the words in those letters. The obsessive devotion. The promise of violence.

The higher you climb, the farther you fall.

"Bad," he said quietly. "This person has been watching him for years—without his knowledge. He only just found out through these letters. They're escalating. There's a box with seven letters. Unopened. I don't know what's inside, but whatever it is, it's meant to prove how close they've been."

"Fuck." Aizawa's voice was tight. "Alright. I'll call Bakugo now. Meet you at the cafe in an hour."

"Thank you."

The line went dead.

Toshinori sat in his car for a moment, his chest tight with worry.

Young Midoriya was in danger. Serious danger. And he'd been facing it alone for who knew how long.

But that was going to stop. Today.

Toshinori scrolled through his contacts and found Todoroki's number. Pressed call.

It rang twice before a calm voice answered. "All Might?"

"Todoroki. I need you to meet me at a cafe near Midoriya's agency. As soon as possible."

There was a pause. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. It's about Midoriya. He's in trouble, and he's been trying to handle it alone."

"What kind of trouble?" Todoroki's voice sharpened immediately.

"I'll explain when you get here. Can you make it in an hour?"

"I'll be there in forty-five minutes." No hesitation. No questions. Just immediate action.

"Thank you. I'll text you the address."

Toshinori ended the call and immediately sent the location.

Then he sat back in his seat and tried to steady his breathing.

This was going to work. It had to work.

Because Young Midoriya couldn't face this threat alone.

And Bakugo and Todoroki wouldn't let him.

AIZAWA SHOTA

Shota stared at his phone for a long moment after Toshinori's call ended.

Midoriya was being stalked. Had been for years. And he was trying to handle it alone.

Of course he was.

Shota had seen this pattern before. Had watched Midoriya try to shoulder impossible burdens, convinced that asking for help was weakness. Convinced that he had to protect everyone by facing threats alone.

It had nearly gotten him killed during the war.

And it might get him killed now.

Shota scrolled through his contacts and found Bakugo's number. Pressed call.

It rang once before a sharp voice answered. "What?"

"Bakugo. I need you to meet me at a cafe near Midoriya's agency. One hour."

"Why?" Bakugo's voice was immediately suspicious.

"It's about Midoriya. He's in trouble."

There was a beat of silence. Then: "What kind of trouble?"

"The kind he's been trying to handle alone. The kind that's going to get him hurt if we don't intervene."

"Fuck." Bakugo's voice was tight. "What happened?"

"I'll explain when you get there. Can you make it?"

"I'll be there in thirty minutes." No hesitation. Just immediate action.

Just like Todoroki.

"Good. I'll text you the address."

"Aizawa—" Bakugo's voice was strained. "Is he okay?"

Shota thought about what Toshinori had told him. About the letter. About years of surveillance. About the unopened box full of proof of obsession.

"No," he said quietly. "He's not. But we're going to fix that."

"Damn right we are." Bakugo's voice was fierce. "Send me the address. I'm leaving now."

The line went dead.

Shota sent the location and then sat back in his chair.

This was going to work. It had to.

Because Bakugo and Todoroki wouldn't let Midoriya push them away. Wouldn't accept his excuses. Wouldn't let him face this threat alone.

They'd done it before. They'd do it again.

And this time, they'd make sure Midoriya understood that he didn't have to be strong enough to handle everything alone.

That he had people who would fight for him. Protect him. Refuse to let him fall.

Shota stood and grabbed his jacket.

Time to make sure Problem Child understood that he wasn't alone.

Whether he liked it or not.

BAKUGO KATSUKI

Katsuki was already in his car before Aizawa's text came through with the address.

His hands were shaking on the steering wheel. His chest was tight with fear and anger.

Deku was in trouble. Real trouble. The kind that had Aizawa calling him directly. The kind that required immediate intervention.

And Deku had been trying to handle it alone.

Of course he had. Because asking for help would mean admitting he couldn't handle everything. Would mean burdening others with his problems.

Katsuki's hands clenched on the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.

He'd noticed Deku pulling away. Had seen the distance growing between them. Had felt the way Deku was isolating himself.

And he'd let it happen. Had told himself Deku just needed space. Needed time to process whatever was bothering him.

But it wasn't just stress. Wasn't just exhaustion.

It was real danger. Real threat.

And Deku had been facing it alone.

Katsuki's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

He glanced at it while stopped at a red light.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Bakugo. All Might called me. Said Midoriya is in trouble. Are you going to the cafe?

Katsuki's chest tightened. So Half-and-Half had been called too.

Good. They'd need to work together on this. Would need to present a united front.

Because Deku was stubborn as hell. Would try to insist he was fine. Would try to push them away to protect them.

But they wouldn't let him. Not this time.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: Yeah. I'm on my way. You?

TODOROKI SHOTO: Fifteen minutes out. Do you know what's happening?

BAKUGO KATSUKI: No. But it's bad. Aizawa said Deku's been trying to handle it alone.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Of course he has.

There was a weight to those words. A shared understanding of exactly how self-destructive Deku could be when he thought he was protecting people.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: We're not letting him push us away this time.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Agreed.

Katsuki set the phone down and pressed harder on the accelerator.

Whatever was threatening Deku, they'd face it together.

Whether Deku liked it or not.

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto's hands were steady on the steering wheel, but his mind was racing.

Midoriya was in trouble. Real trouble. The kind that had All Might calling him with urgency in his voice.

And Midoriya had been trying to handle it alone.

Shoto thought about the past few weeks. About how Midoriya had been pulling away. Canceling plans. Avoiding calls. Responding to texts with short, distant messages.

He'd thought it was about what happened in the training room. About the tension between him and Bakugo. About Midoriya being uncomfortable with their obvious feelings.

But it wasn't that at all.

It was something else. Something dangerous. Something Midoriya thought he had to face alone.

Shoto's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

He'd let Midoriya pull away. Had told himself it was what Midoriya wanted. Had given him space when he should have pushed harder.

But that was going to stop. Today.

His phone buzzed with a text from Bakugo. He glanced at it at the next red light.

BAKUGO KATSUKI: We're not letting him push us away this time.

TODOROKI SHOTO: Agreed.

Shoto set the phone down and focused on driving.

Whatever was threatening Midoriya, they'd face it together.

And they'd make sure Midoriya understood that he didn't have to be strong enough to handle everything alone.

That he had people who would fight for him. Protect him. Refuse to let him fall.

Shoto pressed harder on the accelerator.

He'd be at that cafe in ten minutes.

And then they'd figure out how to save Midoriya from whatever threat he was facing.

Together.