It was the day after the training camp attack, and U.A. High School buzzed with subdued activity. Emergency protocols remained in effect—security drones patrolled reinforced perimeters, faculty members maintained vigilant watch from strategic positions, and news helicopters circled at legally mandated distances, desperate for glimpses of the aftermath.

I found myself in a hastily arranged accommodation within Heights Alliance—the dormitory complex that, according to my dimensional knowledge, wasn't supposed to exist yet. The timeline alteration suggested my arrival had accelerated certain security measures, with Nezu leveraging the training camp incident to implement residential protocols ahead of schedule.

My assigned room was spartan but functional—standard student furnishings modified to accommodate potentially enhanced individuals. Reinforced bed frame, specialized climate control, and subtle but comprehensive monitoring systems embedded throughout. They weren't taking chances with their mysterious visitor, which demonstrated appropriate caution given my demonstrated capabilities.

The meeting with U.A. leadership had concluded with tentative arrangements—I would be allowed restricted campus access while background verification proceeded, though various monitoring measures would remain in place. Power-dampening fields had been discreetly activated throughout my assigned area, though both Nezu and I recognized they would prove ineffective against my dimensional abilities if I chose to exercise them fully.

It was a dance of mutual respect rather than genuine containment—they acknowledged my cooperation was voluntary while I respected their responsibility to protect their students.

I sat cross-legged on the floor rather than the provided furniture, engrossed in meditation that allowed me to examine this reality's dimensional frequencies. Each universe vibrated at unique patterns—understanding these signatures would be essential for eventually navigating home, assuming such navigation remained possible after my diverted transit.

A hesitant knock interrupted my concentration. I opened my eyes, briefly scanning the corridor beyond the door with dimensional perception that bypassed conventional barriers. The visitor's energy signature registered immediately—bright, fluctuating potential with underlying currents of enormous latent power. One For All's unmistakable multi-layered presence, still incompletely integrated with its current vessel.

"Come in," I called, curious about this unexpected visit from perhaps the most significant individual in this reality's immediate future.

The door opened to reveal Izuku Midoriya, looking considerably better than during yesterday's crisis despite his injuries. Both arms remained encased in medical casts—one from wrist to shoulder from his fight with Muscular, the other with lighter wrapping from previous training injuries. Recovery Girl had clearly accelerated his healing, though the extent of damage meant complete recovery would still require time.

His uniform was impeccably maintained despite the difficulty of dressing with compromised limbs, and his characteristic green hair appeared freshly washed if still untamably curly. Most striking was his expression—the wide-eyed determination that would eventually make him the greatest hero in this reality, tempered now with analytical curiosity.

I blinked, momentarily surprised by his initiative. "Why are you here, Midoriya?"

He hesitated in the doorway, a complex mix of emotions playing across his transparently honest face—nervousness, curiosity, determination, and something approaching reverence.

"I, um—I wanted to thank you properly," he began, words tumbling out with characteristic earnestness. "For saving Kacchan—I mean Bakugo—and everyone at the training camp. And for bringing me back to U.A. so quickly. Recovery Girl said your transportation probably prevented complications from my injuries."

The gratitude seemed genuine but insufficient to explain his presence. Midoriya was many things—analytical, determined, occasionally reckless—but rarely did he act without multiple layers of purpose.

"You could have sent a thank-you note," I observed mildly, gesturing toward the room's single chair in invitation. "There must be something more specific you wanted to discuss."

He entered fully, awkwardly closing the door behind him with an elbow before carefully lowering himself into the offered seat. His green eyes studied me with intensity that belied his youth—the same analytical focus I had observed him applying to professional heroes in the source material from my original dimension.

"You know things," he stated simply, dropping the nervous demeanor momentarily. "About quirks. About us. Things you shouldn't know as an outsider."

His perception was sharper than I had anticipated, though I shouldn't have been surprised. Beneath his socially awkward exterior lay a mind that would eventually outmaneuver enemies with decades more experience.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, neither confirming nor denying his assessment.

"The way you looked at All Might during the rescue operations," Midoriya replied without hesitation. "Not like someone seeing the Symbol of Peace, but like you recognized his condition. And you knew exactly which students needed evacuation priority without being briefed on our injuries."

He leaned forward slightly, wincing as the movement jostled his casted arms. "Plus, you called me 'Izuku' when you thought I couldn't hear you during the journey back, but I was introduced to you only as 'Midoriya.' You knew my first name without being told."

I couldn't help but smile at his observational skills. This was the same analytical prowess that would eventually make him a matchless hero—the ability to assemble disparate details into meaningful patterns.

"You're very attentive," I acknowledged, respecting his intelligence enough not to offer transparent denials. "Those are interesting observations."

"Are you from the future?" he asked directly, the question displaying both imagination and pragmatism. In a world where quirks bent reality in countless ways, time-related abilities weren't outside reasonable conjecture.

I considered my response carefully. Complete honesty about my interdimensional nature and foreknowledge would potentially disrupt the developmental arc Midoriya needed to experience. Yet dismissing his observations entirely would squander potential trust with someone who could prove a valuable ally in this unfamiliar reality.

"Not exactly," I finally replied, offering a partial truth. "But I do have information that might be considered... unusual. Knowledge about certain aspects of this world that typically wouldn't be available to strangers."

Midoriya's expression intensified, his mind visibly processing implications. "Is that why Principal Nezu agreed to let you stay? Because you know things that could help us?"

"Partially," I confirmed. "Though I suspect he's also interested in studying my particular abilities, which function somewhat differently than conventional quirks."

I watched his reaction carefully, noting how his analytical mind cataloged each piece of information. Despite his youth, Midoriya possessed remarkable adaptability regarding unusual situations—a necessary trait for the future symbol of peace.

"Different how?" he asked, professional curiosity momentarily overriding personal concerns.

"They operate on principles closer to fundamental dimensional physics than biological enhancement," I explained, simplifying considerably. "Which is why Aizawa's erasure quirk proved ineffective against them."

This revelation visibly startled him. "You're immune to erasure?" he breathed, the tactical implications immediately apparent to his hero-trained mind.

"Among other things," I confirmed, deliberately vague about the full extent of my capabilities. "But that's not really why you're here, is it, Midoriya? There's something specific you wanted to ask."

He hesitated, conflict evident in his expression as he weighed trust against caution. Whatever question burned within him carried significance beyond mere curiosity—something personal yet vitally important.

"What do you know," he finally asked, voice dropping to near-whisper despite the room's privacy, "about One For All?"

I blinked, momentarily weighing how much to reveal about my dimensional knowledge. This conversation represented a pivotal moment—my response could either preserve this reality's intended trajectory or fundamentally alter it. The young hero before me was at a critical juncture in his development, still learning to harness a power that would eventually make him this world's greatest defender.

"One For All," I repeated carefully, making sure to use the correct name of his inherited quirk rather than its villainous counterpart. The distinction was crucial—one represented hope and heroic legacy, the other tyranny and destruction. Both would feature prominently in this world's immediate future.

I sighed, ruffling my white hair with casual deliberation before leaning back on my arms in a pose of calculated openness. The movement allowed my specialized glasses to slide slightly down my nose, revealing the glitter of my blue eyes—eyes that pulsed with subtle dimensional energy visible to anyone paying close attention.

The display wasn't merely aesthetic. By allowing Midoriya glimpses of my true nature—the otherworldly energy that separated me from conventional quirk users—I established authenticity without explicit confession. My eyes, windows to interdimensional awareness, carried more credibility than any verbal claim could establish.

"That's quite a question," I observed, studying his reaction to this partial revelation. "Especially to ask a stranger."

Midoriya's gaze fixed on my exposed eyes with instant recognition of their significance. Despite his youth, his analytical mind immediately registered that what he was seeing transcended normal quirk manifestation. His expression shifted through several emotions—wonder, caution, and finally, resolution.

"You're not just a stranger though, are you?" he pressed, leaning forward despite his injured arms. "You know about it. About the power that All Might passed to me. No one is supposed to know that—but when you look at me, it's like you can see it."

His perception was uncomfortably accurate. The multi-layered energy signature of One For All was indeed visible to my dimensional senses—seven previous wielders' power accumulated in a single vessel, with space for more to follow. A quirk designed to be passed down, growing stronger with each generation, unlike any other ability in this reality.

"I can see many things, Midoriya," I replied carefully. "Including potential futures and paths not taken. One For All is significant not just for what it is, but for what it represents—hope transferred from one generation to the next, growing stronger through shared purpose."

The poetic description wasn't merely misdirection; it represented my genuine understanding of the quirk's significance in this reality's narrative. One For All wasn't merely accumulated power but accumulated will—the determination of generations to oppose darkness, embodied now in this earnest young man with broken arms and unbreakable resolve.

"Then you know what I'm struggling with," Midoriya responded, his voice gaining confidence. "I can't control it properly. Every time I use it at full power, I destroy my body. All Might says I need to make the power my own, but..." He gestured frustratedly with his casted arms, the evidence of his struggles literally encasing his limbs.

The request behind his statement remained unspoken but clear—if I possessed knowledge about One For All beyond what even All Might had shared, perhaps I could offer guidance that would accelerate his mastery.

I considered carefully. Direct intervention in his developmental arc risked altering critical aspects of his hero journey. Yet allowing him to continue accumulating potentially permanent injuries represented its own ethical quandary. The balance between preserving timeline integrity and preventing unnecessary suffering required delicate navigation.

"One For All is unique among quirks," I finally said, choosing words that would provide insight without short-circuiting necessary growth. "Most users experience it as raw power to be controlled. But that's fundamentally misunderstanding its nature."

I sat forward, allowing my glasses to slide back into position, concealing my eyes once more. "It's not one quirk but many—the accumulated abilities and essence of multiple predecessors flowing through a single conduit. Your body isn't merely channeling power; it's hosting a lineage."

Midoriya's eyes widened at this revelation—information that, in the original timeline, he would discover much later through different means. "Multiple quirks?" he whispered, the implications visibly racing through his analytical mind.

"Eventually," I confirmed with a slight nod. "But first you need to establish communication with the vestigial consciousnesses within One For All. They aren't just power sources—they're guides, if you learn to listen."

This represented a calculated deviation from the original timeline—accelerating Midoriya's understanding of One For All's true nature while preserving his need to discover its specific manifestations through personal effort. It offered a framework without short-circuiting necessary struggle.

"How do I do that?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward despite the pain movement clearly caused his injured arms.

I smiled slightly, recognizing the familiar determination that defined Izuku Midoriya across dimensional interpretations. "You're already beginning to. Those dreams you've been having? The shadowy figures you glimpse when using the quirk? They're not just manifestations of stress or imagination."

His stunned expression confirmed I had struck precisely the right balance—providing confirmation of experiences he'd already had without revealing aspects he wasn't prepared to comprehend.

"They're... real?" he breathed, the question carrying layers of wonder and apprehension.

"As real as inherited will can be," I replied, deliberately cryptic. "The question isn't whether they exist, but what they're trying to tell you."

After letting the weight of my cryptic revelation settle, I noticed Midoriya's expression shifting from wonder to the early signs of that analytical spiral he was prone to—the mental state where he would dissect information relentlessly until he collapsed from mental exhaustion. It was a trait that would serve him well in his hero career but could be detrimental during his recovery period.

I reached forward, gently patting the hand that wasn't encased in a cast—a casual gesture of reassurance that interrupted his spiraling thoughts. The physical contact seemed to ground him, pulling him back from the theoretical possibilities to the present moment.

"I'll tell you all about it someday, though," I promised, my tone warmer than the calculated responses I'd offered earlier. The statement was deliberately ambiguous—not specifying when "someday" might arrive, but offering enough genuine intention to satisfy his immediate curiosity.

I stood up in a fluid motion, a subtle indication that our conversation had reached its natural conclusion for now. The movement wasn't dismissive but protective—allowing him time to process what I'd already revealed before overwhelming him with additional information that might disrupt his developmental journey.

Izuku followed my lead, rising awkwardly from his chair with the careful movements of someone navigating the world with two injured arms. His expression carried a mixture of disappointment at the conversation's end and resigned understanding of its necessity.

"I understand. I'm sorry if I bothered you," he said softly, his innate politeness and self-effacing nature emerging even in this extraordinary circumstance. Despite being the legitimate heir to the world's greatest quirk, despite having just received confirmation of phenomena he'd only suspected, his instinct was still to apologize for imposing.

I felt something unexpectedly protective stir within me. Across seventeen dimensions, I had encountered countless iterations of heroes and villains, but there was something uniquely compelling about Izuku Midoriya's combination of raw determination and genuine kindness.

My smile softened to something more authentic than the calculated expressions I typically deployed. I reached out again, this time giving his unruly green hair a gentle ruffle—a gesture that would have seemed patronizing from most adults but carried a different quality coming from me.

"You could never bother me, Izuku. Never," I assured him, the use of his given name deliberate now, acknowledging the unusual bond already forming between us. The statement wasn't mere comfort but honest assessment—his earnest questions and analytical approach represented the exact type of engagement I respected.

The unexpected warmth in my tone caught him slightly off-guard, a faint blush coloring his freckled cheeks. It was clear from his expression that positive attention from adults—particularly powerful figures—remained somewhat unfamiliar territory despite All Might's mentorship.

"If you have more questions—and I know you will—write them down," I suggested, gesturing toward his casts with a hint of wry humor. "When you've healed enough to hold a pen properly."

He nodded, a small smile breaking through his serious demeanor. "I already have at least seventeen questions about the dimensional nature of your abilities and how they interact with our world's physics," he admitted, that characteristic hero-analysis enthusiasm briefly overriding his self-consciousness.

"Only seventeen?" I teased gently. "You're slipping, Midoriya."

The joke earned a genuine laugh—a bright sound that momentarily transformed him from the weight-bearing future Symbol of Peace to the fifteen-year-old boy he still was. It was a reminder of what was at stake in preserving this reality's timeline while minimizing unnecessary suffering.

With a final wave, I gestured toward the door—a polite dismissal cushioned by the promise of future conversations. "Rest those arms. The challenges ahead require you at full strength."

He nodded with renewed determination, backing toward the exit with the awkward politeness of someone not entirely certain of proper departure protocol when leaving a dimensional anomaly's temporary quarters.

"Thank you, Gojo-san," he said formally, reverting to Japanese honorifics in his uncertainty.

As the door closed behind him, I returned to my cross-legged position on the floor, resuming the meditation posture I'd maintained before his arrival. This reality's dimensional frequency required further study if I hoped to eventually find my way home—or at least understand why the void had diverted me here specifically.

The conversation with Midoriya had confirmed what I'd already suspected—my arrival had already altered this timeline in subtle but potentially significant ways. The true challenge would be determining which alterations represented necessary adjustments and which might fundamentally disrupt this world's intended trajectory.

As I closed my eyes to resume meditation, I couldn't help but wonder whether my diverted journey served some purpose beyond random dimensional chaos. Perhaps there was reason in the randomness—a specific contribution this reality needed from an interdimensional wanderer.

Or perhaps I was simply overthinking the cosmic accident that had brought me to yet another world of heroes and villains, with its own complex narrative already in motion.