Classroom 1-C.
Old wood. Rusted desks. Faded posters of All Might peeling off the walls.
A teacher droned on in the front. Something about history. Quirk laws. Mutant rights.
Izuku didn't listen.
He stared at his tiny hands.
So small. Fragile.
But steady.
His mind kept replaying the same thought like a broken record:
"No One For All."
After yesterday's panic, he'd spent the night confirming everything.
No muscle memory. No sparks. No hidden energy.
It was gone.
OFA had vanished with the future. Back in that battlefield. With All Might's dying breath.
Midoriya wasn't a hero anymore.
He was six. Weak. Quirkless.
But he still remembered how the world ended.
"Midoriya!"
A crumpled notebook hit his head.
Snickers filled the room.
He blinked and looked up.
Katsuki Bakugo. Loud. Sharp. Smiling with that same cruel grin he wore before they ever met as friends.
Except now… they weren't friends.
Bakugo didn't know him yet.
Didn't know what he'd become.
Didn't know what Izuku would soon do.
Recess. A cloudy sky. Kids playing. Screaming.
Izuku sat alone beneath a leafless tree.
A beat-up hero analysis book lay open in his lap, sketches half-done.
He hadn't drawn in years.
And yet his hand moved smoothly. Instinctively.
Old habits died hard.
"Quirkless nerd still thinks he can be a hero," someone muttered nearby.
A group of boys walked past, laughing. Their leader—Katsuki.
Izuku didn't look up.
Didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
He waited.
Waited until the others left.
Then rose, brushing dirt from his pants.
He followed Bakugo from a distance. Silent. Calculated.
Watched how he talked. How he led. How he moved.
Same as before. Same anger. Same fire.
But Izuku knew something Bakugo didn't.
In four years, this boy would kill a villain with his bare hands.In six, he'd become Japan's second-strongest hero.
Izuku smiled softly.
A real smile.
It was good to see him alive.
Evening. Apartment 3A.
The lock hadn't changed.
He didn't knock.
He stood outside the door for twenty minutes. Listening to his mother hum. Chop vegetables. Run water.
Eventually… he left.
Rooftop. Same one from yesterday.
Izuku sat in the dark, hoodie up, legs swinging.
He opened a notebook. Page one.
And he began to write.
Not hero stats.
Not villain data.
A plan.
Long. Ruthless. Brilliant.
To change everything.
Quietly.
One move at a time.
He wouldn't try to recreate the old timeline.
That world failed.
This one wouldn't.
But he wouldn't become a symbol. Not anymore.
No more smiles for cameras. No more hopeful speeches.
He'd become something else.A ghost in the machine.A child's body moving like a strategist's blade.
A shadow shifted behind him.
Izuku didn't flinch.
"I was wondering who kept sneaking onto the roof," said the voice.
He turned.
A tall man in a trench coat stepped out of the darkness. Goggles. Scruffy hair. Tired eyes.
Shouta Aizawa.
Izuku blinked.
He wasn't supposed to meet him for years.
"You're that Midoriya kid, right?" Aizawa asked, hands deep in his pockets.
Izuku nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."
"What are you doing up here?"
"Thinking."
A pause.
Aizawa looked at him closer. Brow furrowing.
"You're not like the others," he muttered.
Izuku tilted his head. "Is that a problem?"
"No," Aizawa said. "It's just… strange."
He turned to leave. Then stopped.
"If you're going to change something," he said softly, "make sure it's worth the price."
Then he disappeared down the fire escape.
Izuku sat there.
Alone again.
Wind rustling pages of the open notebook beside him.
He stared at the sky.
His eyes narrowed.
"Everything has a price," he whispered.
End of Chapter 2