The apartment goes quiet after that.

Not awkward quiet.

Just... calm.

The kind that settles after emotions run out for a little while.

Mom is still sitting beside the fabric, carefully folding one of the black reinforced pieces while I stare at the sketch in my hands.

Dark green.

Black.

Built for movement.

For survival.

For me.

It still feels unreal.

Everything does lately.

I exhale slowly through my nose.

Then before I can stop myself—

"...Mom."

She hums softly.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

I stare at the costume sketch a second longer.

Thinking.

Reconsidering.

Trying to decide if this is a terrible idea.

It probably is.

But honestly?

That hasn't stopped me yet.

"...I need to tell you something."

Her hands stop moving immediately.

Not dramatic.

Not panicked.

Just attentive.

And somehow that makes this harder.

I set the sketch down carefully and lean back into the chair.

"...Like. A lot of something."

Mom's expression shifts instantly.

Concern.

"Are you in danger?"

I laugh weakly.

"...That question has a very complicated answer now."

"Izuku."

Right.

No dodging.

I rub a hand over my face slowly.

Then decide if I'm ruining my own life tonight, I might as well commit fully.

"...Remember the UA entrance exam incident?"

Her expression darkens immediately.

"Of course I remember."

Yeah.

Stupid question.

I swallow slightly.

"...Before that happened... I met someone."

She stays quiet.

Listening carefully.

"He was weird," I admit. "Like. Really weird."

"That narrows it down so little."

"Fair."

I take another breath.

"He invited me for ice cream."

Mom blinks.

"...What."

"And then later I found out he was a villain."

Silence.

"...What."

"Yeah."

"Izuku what do you mean you found out he was a villain after getting ice cream with him?!"

"In my defense, I didn't know during the ice cream part."

"That is not reassuring!"

Fair.

Again.

I sink lower into my chair slightly.

"His name is Shigaraki Tomura."

The room instantly changes.

Mom freezes completely.

Because unlike me at first—

She recognizes the name immediately.

"...No."

Her voice comes out quiet.

Disbelieving.

"Izuku..."

"He contacted me again after the exam."

Her face goes pale.

"Izuku, that man is dangerous."

"I know."

"Then why are you talking to him?!"

Because that's the question, isn't it?

The normal question.

The sane question.

I look down at my hands.

"...Because he asked me for help."

Silence.

Mom stares at me like she's trying to understand if she heard that correctly.

"...Help."

I nod slowly.

"He said he needed someone like me."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I know."

"But?"

I close my eyes briefly.

"...But he sounded serious."

I tell her everything after that.

Not pieces.

Not softened versions.

Everything.

About Shigaraki warning me not to attend UA.

About the entrance exam.

About suspecting he hacked the robots.

About the phone call afterward.

About him admitting he needed help.

About All For One.

That part makes Mom physically tense beside me.

Then—

Dabi.

The warehouse.

Training.

Being thrown into concrete repeatedly for "educational purposes."

The dirty fighting.

The survival tactics.

How fast I started improving.

How none of it felt heroic.

Just necessary.

And then finally—

Tonight.

Aizawa finding us.

The capture weapon.

The conversation.

The offer.

By the end of it, the apartment is silent again.

Mom hasn't interrupted once.

Not after the initial shock.

She just listened.

Every single word.

And now she's staring down at the table, hands folded tightly together.

"...Wow," she says eventually.

Weakly.

Yeah.

That about sums it up.

I laugh quietly.

"No kidding."

Then the fear hits.

Late.

Delayed.

Because now that I actually said it all out loud—

Now it sounds insane.

Actually insane.

I tense slightly, waiting.

For yelling.

For panic.

For her telling me to stop.

Instead—

"...Do you trust them?"

The question catches me completely off guard.

I blink at her.

"...What?"

"Shigaraki. Dabi. Aizawa."

She looks up at me finally.

Eyes tired.

Worried.

"But honest."

"...Do you trust them?"

I open my mouth automatically.

Then stop.

Because the easy answer should be no.

Obviously no.

One is a villain leader.

One burns people alive.

And the other literally ambushed me with a capture weapon tonight.

But—

"...I don't know."

That's the truth.

And somehow saying it out loud hurts more than I expected.

"I think..." I start slowly, "I think Shigaraki genuinely wants help."

Mom listens quietly.

"I think Dabi acts like he doesn't care about anything, but he actually pays attention to everything."

A pause.

"And Aizawa..."

I huff out a quiet laugh.

"...I think he's tired enough to adopt a feral raccoon if it looked at him sadly."

Mom snorts unexpectedly.

The sound almost derails my train of thought entirely.

"...That was oddly specific."

"You've met me. You know I'm right."

Unfortunately?

She starts laughing softly into her hand.

And somehow that helps.

Just enough.

Because the knot in my chest loosens slightly again.

Then she looks at me carefully.

"...And what about you?"

I blink.

"What about me?"

"What do you want from all this?"

That question settles heavily between us.

Because honestly?

I haven't stopped long enough to fully think about it.

I've just been reacting.

Moving forward.

Training.

Learning.

Trying to keep up.

But now—

Now I have to actually say it.

"...I want to save people."

The answer comes instantly.

No hesitation.

Mom's expression softens immediately.

Even if the path is messy.

Even if the people I want to save are villains.

Even if society would probably hate me for it.

That part never changed.

"I just..."

I stare down at the table.

"At some point I realized heroes don't save everyone."

Mom goes very still.

"And I hate that."

The words come out quieter than I expect.

More tired too.

"People fall through cracks and everyone just acts like that's normal."

I think about Shigaraki.

About Dabi.

About the way they talk when they think nobody's paying attention.

About pain twisted so badly it became violence.

"I don't think villains are born evil," I say softly. "I think most of them just... stopped believing anyone would help them."

Silence.

Then Mom reaches across the table slowly and takes my hand.

Warm.

Steady.

"You sound older."

I laugh weakly.

"I feel older."

"That's not a good thing."

"No," I admit quietly. "Probably not."

She squeezes my hand gently.

Then—

"...I'm scared."

Honest.

Raw.

And somehow that hurts more than if she yelled.

"Me too," I whisper back.

Because I am.

Terrified, honestly.

Of messing this up.

Of trusting the wrong people.

Of ending up somewhere I can't come back from.

Of All For One.

Of failing.

Of losing people.

Everything feels too big now.

Too dangerous.

Too complicated.

Mom watches me carefully.

Then sighs softly.

"...You're still going tomorrow, aren't you?"

I hesitate.

Exactly one second.

"...Yeah."

"Even after all this."

"Yeah."

Another pause.

Then she reaches over and flicks my forehead lightly.

"Ow."

"If you're going to throw yourself into disaster," she mutters, "then at least eat properly first."

I stare at her.

"...That's your takeaway?"

"You're still my son before you're whatever this mess is."

And somehow—

Somehow that almost makes me emotional.

Which is embarrassing.

So naturally I cover it with sarcasm immediately.

"...Wow. Deep."

"Go shower, you smell like smoke and bad decisions."

"...That's fair."