Chiyo sighs.

Not the tired kind.

The here we go kind.

"Yes," she says. "It was Nezu."

My brain does that fun little rewind noise.

Nezu.

Principal Nezu.

The rat.

The—oh.

Oh.

Memory crashes back in like a freight train with no brakes and a personal grudge.

The kids.

The laughing.

The way they circled him like idiots who'd never learned that intelligence doesn't need height or muscles to be lethal.

The way his ears twitched.

The way his eyes—

I suck in a sharp breath.

"I—" I start, then stop. "I remember."

Chiyo watches me carefully, like she's tracking symptoms. Joke's on her, my biggest symptom is chronic overthinking.

"I saw him," I say slowly. "Getting bullied. Like—actual bullying. Not 'kids being dumb,' but targeted. Coordinated. Mean."

My jaw tightens.

"And I stepped in."

Because of course I did.

I rub the back of my head and immediately hiss. "Ow. Right. Pavement."

I wince, then snort despite myself. "Someone shoved me. I fell wrong. Hit my head. And then everything went fuzzy."

I glance up at her. "I'm guessing that's when the blood started happening?"

"Like a horror movie," she confirms dryly.

"Great. Love that for me."

Another memory slides into place.

The sirens.

The lights.

The laughing.

I blink.

"...Oh my god."

Chiyo raises an eyebrow. "You remember that part too?"

"I remember thinking the light was way too bright," I say. "And that the ambulance was driving like it had beef with traffic laws."

I stare at the floor.

Then look back up, eyes wide.

"Ohhhhhh yeah."

Chiyo folds her arms.

"That lunatic," I say slowly, reverently, "took over the ambulance."

Her mouth twitches. "Define 'took over.'"

"He kicked out the driver," I say immediately. "Like. Physically. I think. I was very focused on not throwing up."

I gesture vaguely. "There was demonic laughter. Sharp turns. I thought I was dying."

"You were concussed."

"Tomato, tomahto."

I drag a hand down my face and laugh, half-hysterical, half-awed.

"I defended Nezu," I say. "Got my head cracked open for it. And in return he hijacked an ambulance and brought me to UA."

I look at Chiyo.

"...Am I in trouble?"

She studies me for a long moment.

"With the law?" she says. "No."

"With Nezu?" she adds.

I swallow.

She smiles. Small. Knowing.

"Probably," she says.

I groan and flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling again.

"Of course," I mutter. "Of course the one time I don't mind my own business, I impress the most dangerous rodent in Japan."

I turn my head, peeking at her.

"...He's not mad, is he?"

Chiyo snorts. "Oh no."

That somehow makes it worse.

I sigh, then—because my mouth is a liability—I grin.

"Well," I say. "At least I can officially say I got into UA by getting hit by a car."

"Pavement," she corrects.

"Semantics."

Chiyo stares at me.

Not the fond Granny stare. Not the doctor assessing-a-patient stare.

The I-am-seriously-reconsidering-all-my-life-choices-that-led-to-you stare.

"Izuku," she says slowly, carefully, like she's defusing a bomb that learned sarcasm from the internet, "you need to understand something about Nezu."

I tilt my head. "That he commits vehicular crimes?"

"That he's crazy."

She doesn't dress it up. No euphemisms. No polite hedging. Just drops it flat on the table between us.

"Capital C," she adds. "Underline it. Put little warning symbols around it."

I blink.

Then grin.

"Oh," I say brightly, waving a hand. "Don't worry. I'm more crazy."

Silence.

Thick. Heavy. Medicinal.

Chiyo's eye twitches.

"...That," she says finally, "is not comforting."

I shrug, immediately regret it because my head throbs. "I didn't say it was meant to be."

She exhales through her nose and pulls up a chair, sitting directly in front of me like she's about to give me The Talk. Which, considering my life trajectory, might actually be about principal-level manipulators instead of sex.

"Listen to me," she says. "Nezu is not like heroes. He's not even like villains. He's a strategist who happens to run a school. He sees people as patterns. Behaviors. Probabilities."

I nod. "Yeah. Makes sense."

"That wasn't an invitation to agree cheerfully," she snaps.

I wince. "Sorry."

She leans forward, elbows on knees. "That animal has survived things that should not be survivable. Human experimentation. War. Politics. Hero society. He learned early that intelligence is only safe if it's useful."

My stomach tightens a little.

"And today," she continues, eyes sharp, "you stepped into his line of fire and didn't flinch."

I open my mouth.

She raises a finger. "And don't you dare say 'I just reacted.' He knows the difference."

I close my mouth.

That... lands.

She sits back. "He brought you here because he's interested. Because he wants to understand you. And Izuku—when Nezu wants to understand something, he dissects it until there's nothing left unexplained."

I swallow.

"Granny," I say quietly, "you're scaring me."

"Good," she replies immediately. "That means you're listening."

I rub my hands together, thinking. "Okay. But here's the thing."

She sighs. "There's always a thing."

"I know," I say. "That's actually part of the problem."

I lean back against the bed, staring at the ceiling again. "Nezu thinks in systems, right? Inputs, outputs, feedback loops."

"Yes."

"And he assumes everyone else does too."

"...Usually."

I grin faintly. "That's where he's wrong."

She frowns. "Explain."

"Most people don't think in systems," I say. "They think in narratives. Heroes, villains. Good intentions, bad outcomes. Emotional shortcuts."

I glance at her. "Nezu's smart enough to see past that. But he still assumes everyone else is playing the same game he is."

"And you aren't?" she asks.

I hum. "Oh, I am."

Her eyes narrow.

"But," I add, "I'm not playing his."

She goes very still.

"I don't want power," I continue. "I don't want influence. I don't want to reshape society or sit in a fancy chair and decide who gets to be a hero."

I snort. "Way too much paperwork."

"Izuku—"

"I want to prove a point," I interrupt gently.

She waits.

"That heroes and villains aren't born," I say. "They're made. By pressure. By neglect. By people deciding who matters and who doesn't."

I look at my hands. "Nezu knows that intellectually. But he's lived too long in the abstract."

Chiyo is quiet for a long time.

Then: "You're saying you're not a threat because you don't want to be one."

I shake my head. "No. I'm saying I'm a threat because I don't."

Her breath catches, just slightly.

"I don't need to beat him," I say. "I don't need to outplay him. I just need to exist in a way his models can't predict."

I glance back at her, a crooked smile tugging at my mouth.

"Chaos with a moral compass," I offer.

She groans. "I should have let you hit your head harder."

"Rude."

"Izuku," she says, voice lower now, more personal, "Nezu will test you."

"I know."

"He'll push boundaries."

"I expect it."

"He'll offer opportunities that feel like gifts but come with strings."

I shrug. "I'll bring scissors."

She stares at me.

"You really think you can handle him?"

I consider it.

Honestly.

Thoughtfully.

Then I grin again, sharper this time.

"No," I say. "I think he can handle me."

Her laugh bursts out before she can stop it. Short. Sharp. Equal parts disbelief and reluctant pride.

"You are unbelievable," she mutters.

"Thank you," I say. "I've been practicing."

She sobers quickly. "This isn't a joke."

"I know," I say softly. "That's why I'm joking."

She watches me like she's trying to memorize my face.

"You remind me of your mother," she says finally.

I snort. "I'm way more annoying."

"No," she says. "You're more dangerous."

That should scare me.

Instead, it feels... grounding.

I sit up straighter. "Granny?"

"Yes?"

"If Nezu wants to play chess with me," I say, "I won't stop him."

Her eyebrow lifts.

"But I'm not aiming for checkmate," I add. "I'm aiming to flip the board and ask why the game exists in the first place."

She closes her eyes.

"God help us all," she murmurs.

I grin.

"Don't worry," I say lightly. "If it helps, I'm very polite while doing it."

She huffs a laugh despite herself.

"Get some rest," she orders, standing. "You're not facing anyone today."

"Good," I say. "Because I'm pretty sure if Nezu shows up right now, I'll ask him if he prefers vanilla or chaos-flavored ice cream."

She pauses at the door.

"...He'd answer," she says.

I beam.

"See?" I say. "Already bonding."

The door closes behind her.

I lie back, staring at the ceiling again, heart still pounding—but not with fear.

With anticipation.

UA.

Nezu.

Chessboards and lunatic rodents and a future that looks suspiciously like a minefield.

I smile.

Yeah.

Something bad did happen today.