The next morning, a soft knock pulls you from the depths of sleep, followed by the gentle creak of the door. Inko's warm presence fills the room as she steps in, a plate of steaming food balanced carefully in her hands. The enticing aroma stirs your senses. "Good morning," she says softly, her voice almost apologetic. "Sorry I didn't wake you earlier, but Izuku got home a little while ago."

You blink the sleep from your eyes and sit up, offering her a faint smile. She returns it, her kind gaze full of maternal warmth as she sets the plate in your hands. The food is hot, comforting, and you eat in silence while Inko takes a seat nearby, her eyes flitting between you and the window as if she's keeping a careful watch.

Once your plate is clean, you stretch languidly, your muscles still sore from the chaos of the previous day. A shower is next—a chance to clear your mind and rid yourself of lingering fatigue. The hot water cascades over your skin, soothing, cleansing, yet somehow failing to wash away the flickering thoughts of green hair and freckled cheeks. You can't help but think of him—Izuku, broken but still smiling. It makes your chest ache in a way you don't fully understand.

By the time you enter the kitchen, freshly dressed and slightly more composed, he's already there. Izuku sits at the table, his arm nestled securely in a sling. His injuries should make him look fragile, yet there's an undeniable strength in the way he holds himself. His emerald eyes flicker to you as you step into the room, widening briefly before a blush creeps up his neck.

You offer him a casual smile, but there's a sharp edge of intensity behind it—one he doesn't notice but should. "Morning," you say smoothly, your voice steady, unyielding.

Izuku swallows hard, his good hand gripping the edge of the table. "M-morning, Y/N," he stammers, his voice as soft and shy as always. His awkwardness only makes him more endearing, more... yours. The thought lingers unbidden, curling in the pit of your stomach.

Your gaze drops to his sling, and a flicker of displeasure crosses your face. "You look better than I expected, but you shouldn't have pushed yourself like that." The words are calm, but there's an underlying heat to them, a subtle warning. No one—not even a giant robot—gets to hurt what's yours.

He glances away, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "I-I just wanted to help," he mutters, his face lighting up with a crimson blush that makes your chest tighten.

You step closer, just enough that he feels your presence looming, enveloping. "You did," you say softly, your tone dropping into something darker, almost possessive. "You helped me, Izuku. And for that... I'm grateful." Your fingers brush against the edge of the table, close enough to him that he could reach out, yet far enough to keep him wanting.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide, uncertain, and so full of something that makes your pulse quicken. A small smile plays on your lips as you straighten and pour yourself a glass of water, leaving him with the echo of your words—and the weight of your gaze—lingering in the room like a promise.

You cross your arms, leaning casually against the counter as your piercing gaze locks onto him. "So, are you? Did you get accepted into UA?"

For a moment, Izuku is silent, his lips trembling as his grip tightens on the letter in his hands. Then, with a shaky nod, his eyes fill with tears that glimmer like dew on a spring morning. "Y-yes," he whispers, his voice breaking under the weight of emotion.

Your stern expression softens instantly, and a radiant smile curves your lips. Without hesitation, you stride forward and pull him into a firm, reassuring hug. He stiffens at first, but the tension melts away as one of your wings unfurls, wrapping around him protectively. The soft, feathery warmth envelopes him completely, cocooning him in a safety he's never known before.

"I knew you could do it, darling," you murmur against his hair, your voice low, steady, and filled with pride.

His face flushes a deep crimson at the pet name, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he clings to you, burying his face in your chest as if trying to hide his overwhelming emotions. You can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat against you, and it only deepens your smirk.

He snuggles deeper into your warmth, the world outside fading as he murmurs, "Thank you, Y/N... for believing in me." His words are muffled, but the sincerity in them makes your hold on him tighten just slightly, your protective instincts flaring.

"You've always had it in you," you whisper, your voice a mix of affection and something far more possessive. "They'll see now. Everyone will see what I've always known—you're extraordinary, Izuku."

He shivers slightly at your tone, but his tears continue to soak into your shirt as he clings to you like you're the only thing grounding him to this moment. And, in truth, you wouldn't have it any other way.

-

Come April, the UA academic year begins, the crisp spring air buzzing with anticipation. Izuku stands in the doorway of his home, his mother fussing over his tie and wishing him luck with a heartfelt smile. You linger a few steps away, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, watching their exchange. There's a soft pang in your chest as you take in the warmth and kindness they share—so different from the harshness of your past. For a fleeting moment, you wish you'd had a mother like her, someone to send you off with love instead of orders.

Shaking off the thought, you step forward as Izuku turns to leave, adjusting the straps of his bag nervously. "Ready?" you ask, offering a small, reassuring smile. He nods, though the nerves in his eyes are unmistakable.

The two of you make your way to UA, the sprawling campus bustling with new students. As you wind through the hallways, the towering door of Class 1-A looms before you, the bold red lettering almost challenging in its confidence. "That's our class," Izuku says, clutching his straps a little tighter, his voice tinged with both awe and apprehension.

You smile at him, squeezing his hand lightly. "We'll be fine. Don't worry," you say, your tone calm and steady.

The door slides open, and the sight inside stops you both in your tracks. To Izuku's dismay, and your growing amusement, Bakugo—the loud, blonde, perpetual explosion factory—is sprawled casually on a desk, feet kicked up like he owns the place. Beside him, a sharp-looking boy with glasses and a prim posture is already mid-rant.

"You can't have your feet on that desk!" the bespectacled one barks, his hand chopping through the air with fervor. "It's disrespectful to those who built it!"

Izuku tenses beside you, likely bracing for an explosion. You sigh, already over the brewing chaos. Letting go of Izuku's hand, you flick a finger lazily in Bakugo's direction. An invisible force jolts him upright, his legs dropping from the desk with a loud thud as he yelps, more out of surprise than pain.

His fiery glare swings toward the door, ready to incinerate the culprit, but when his crimson eyes land on you, the fire dies instantly. His lips part in shock, and his face flushes a deep red as he quickly turns away, attempting to hide behind a hand that futilely covers his cheeks.

"W-what the hell?" he mutters, flustered beyond recognition.

You smirk faintly, stepping further into the room as Izuku glances nervously between you and Bakugo. "It's quieter this way," you say softly to Izuku, your tone as light as a breeze. The flustered growl from behind you is just an added bonus.

The blue-haired boy adjusts his glasses with a precise motion and turns toward you with a bright, formal smile. "Greetings," he says, bowing slightly before extending his hand. "I am Tenya Iida of the Iida family. It's a pleasure to meet you."

You glance at his outstretched hand, then take it carefully, his firm grip contrasting with your more relaxed one. He shakes your hand with fervor, as if trying to convey all his enthusiasm in the gesture. When you gently withdraw your hand, his smile only widens.

"Y/N L/N," you reply simply, inclining your head slightly in acknowledgment.

Iida's eyes light up with recognition, his stance becoming even more upright. "Ah, you're the one who did the best in the entrance exam, aren't you? Truly impressive work!" His voice carries a tone of admiration, and his energy is palpable.

You blink at him, tilting your head in mild confusion. "Best score?" you echo, your voice calm. This was news to you; the letter you'd received only stated that you'd been accepted into UA, no specific details about rankings.

"Indeed!" Iida nods enthusiastically, his arms swinging with his words. "Your performance was extraordinary—far beyond that of any other student!" He adjusts his glasses again, his expression turning a bit more serious. "It's only fitting that such excellence is acknowledged."

You hum softly in response, your expression unreadable. Internally, you file away this new information, but you don't let it show. After all, it was just another step in a long journey for you. "I see," you murmur, offering a faint smile.

Iida seems satisfied with your acknowledgment and moves on to introduce himself to Izuku, leaving you to glance around the room again. The tension from earlier has eased slightly, though you notice Bakugo is still stealing glances at you, his face tinged with a faint pink. You suppress a sigh, already anticipating the chaos this dynamic might bring.

Uraraka beams as she enters and rushes toward you, her excitement evident. "Oh, it's you!" she exclaims, her bubbly energy lighting up the room. She doesn't seem to notice how Izuku's face turns as red as a ripe tomato or how Iida's proud smile falters slightly.

You tilt your head and offer her a soft smile, dipping your chin slightly in acknowledgment. "Hey there, Uravity girl," you say in a calm tone, the nickname slipping out effortlessly. Uraraka flushes a bit at your words, her cheeks glowing pink as she grins widely. Before she can respond, however, a gruff voice cuts through the moment like a sharp blade.

"If you're here to make friends, then book it out of here. Extraneous students have no place in this classroom."

You turn your attention toward the source of the voice and raise an eyebrow at the sight before you. A man, unshaven and disheveled, lounges on the floor wrapped in a yellow sleeping bag like a giant caterpillar. His dark eyes are half-lidded, but there's a sharpness in his gaze that suggests he misses nothing.

"You're our teacher, I take it?" you ask coolly, not moving from your spot. The calm in your voice, coupled with your steady gaze, makes the man pause. His dark eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, he seems to lose his usual composure.

He clears his throat, but it's subtle, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. He studies you, his earlier lethargy melting into something more calculating. You see the flicker of recognition in his gaze. You've been observed before—on screens, maybe—but now, face to face, something about you makes his breath hitch slightly.

Sure, you were striking on camera, he might admit, but in person, there's something magnetic about you—a quiet intensity, like a predator calmly assessing its surroundings. He realizes you're not someone easily intimidated, and it almost unnerves him.

"I'm Shota Aizawa," he finally says, dragging himself upright in the sleeping bag before shrugging it off like a discarded second skin. His voice is gruff but even, now carrying a note of curiosity. "Your homeroom teacher. And you?"

"Y/N L/N," you answer smoothly, your posture remaining relaxed. A small smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you notice the faintest hesitation in his movements.

Aizawa narrows his eyes, but there's no malice—only interest. "I've read your file. You're... unconventional, to say the least."

You shrug lightly. "Depends on your definition of unconventional."

The room feels charged as you exchange words, a silent battle of wills that leaves everyone else in stunned silence. Even Bakugo doesn't dare interrupt, his usual scowl replaced with something closer to awe.

Aizawa hums thoughtfully, breaking the moment. "We'll see how you perform. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

You smile faintly, unbothered by the challenge. "I wouldn't dream of it, sensei."

As Aizawa hands out the P.E. uniforms, his gaze lingers on you a beat too long, his expression unreadable. "Meet me at Ground Beta for a Quirk Assessment Test," he says evenly. The students begin filing out, excitement and apprehension buzzing among them.

You move to follow, slipping the uniform under your arm, but before you make it too far, you feel a firm grip on your elbow. You turn your head to find Aizawa standing behind you, his dark eyes narrowing as he leans in slightly.

"I saw what you did to those robots," he says in a low, measured tone, his voice carrying an edge of suspicion. "You're not a student, are you?"

You hold his gaze, unfazed by his intensity, and let your eyes slowly roam over him, taking in his disheveled yet strangely magnetic presence. "I'm not," you reply coolly, your voice soft but laced with a quiet confidence. "Your friend, Present Mic, thought it would be helpful to get me enrolled here. I simply obliged."

Aizawa's brow furrows slightly, his grip on your arm tightening for a moment as though he's trying to decide what to make of you. But before he can speak again, you raise your other hand, laying your cold palm lightly over his. The contrast between your chill touch and his warmth sends a jolt through him, though his face betrays nothing.

You tilt your head, your voice dropping just enough to be intimate without being overt. "I'd be careful about toying with me if I were you, Mr. Aizawa."

His lips part slightly as though to respond, but the words die in his throat. He's not used to being caught off guard, yet something about the deliberate way you hold yourself, the glimmer of danger in your otherwise calm demeanor, leaves him momentarily at a loss.

With a faint smirk tugging at your lips, you slide your hand away and turn, walking off to join the others without another word. You leave Aizawa standing there, his usually impassive exterior disrupted as he watches you go, his pulse inexplicably quicker than before.