Chapter 1
In a world where eighty percent of humanity possessed extraordinary abilities called Quirks, society had adapted in ways both miraculous and monstrous. Heroes walked the streets. Villains threatened the innocent. And in the shadows, governments made choices that would never see the light of day.
This is not a story about heroes.
This is a story about survival.
About children who were taken before they could choose their own path. About a boy who would lose everything his family, his innocence, his humanity and discover something far more dangerous in return.
This is the story of Project Primal.
And it begins on what should have been the happiest day of Izuku Midoriya's life.
Four Years Old
Izuku Midoriya had been counting down to his fourth birthday for what felt like forever.
Every morning for the past three months, he'd marked another X on the All Might calendar hanging beside his bed, green crayon scratching eagerly across each passing day. Every night, he'd fall asleep clutching his favorite All Might action figure, whispering the same wish into the darkness: "Please let my Quirk be something cool. Please, please, please."
Four years old was the age. Everyone knew it. It was when Quirks manifested when ordinary kids became extraordinary. When you stopped being just another face in the crowd and became someone.
His best friend Kacchan had gotten his Quirk two months ago, right after turning four. Explosions. Actual explosions from his palms, like a real hero. He'd shown off at the park, blasting apart a sandbox castle while the other kids watched in awe. Izuku had clapped the loudest, even though something small and anxious had twisted in his chest.
Soon, he'd told himself. Soon it'll be my turn.
The morning of his birthday, Izuku woke before dawn.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his heart hammering with anticipation. Did Quirks appear the exact moment you turned four? Would he feel it? Would it hurt? What if it was something amazing, like super strength or flight or his absolute dream something like All Might's power?
"Izuku?" His mother's soft voice came from the doorway, accompanied by the warm glow of the hallway light. Inko Midoriya stood there in her bathrobe, her green hair messy from sleep, but her smile was bright and full of love. "You're awake already?"
"It's my birthday, Mom!" Izuku shot upright, bouncing on his mattress. "I'm four! Do you think—do you think my Quirk will come today?"
Inko's smile wavered for just a fraction of a second so brief that Izuku almost didn't notice. But then it was back, warm as sunshine. "Maybe, sweetie. We'll see what happens. But first, how about we make your favorite breakfast? Katsudon pancakes?"
"Yes!" Izuku scrambled out of bed, already racing past her toward the kitchen.
The apartment was small but cozy, filled with photographs and All Might merchandise and the scent of home. Izuku helped his mother mix batter, sneaking chocolate chips when she wasn't looking, laughing when she pretended not to notice. They sang a silly birthday song together, off-key and perfect.
For a few hours, everything was exactly as it should be.
They ate breakfast while watching the morning news another hero rescue, another villain captured. Izuku watched with shining eyes, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth as All Might appeared on screen, his brilliant smile filling the frame.
"I'm gonna be just like him," Izuku whispered.
"I know you will, baby," Inko said softly, running her fingers through his curly hair. "You're going to be amazing."
After breakfast, Izuku tried everything he could think of to trigger his Quirk. He concentrated really hard while staring at a pencil, trying to make it float. He held his hands out and tried to summon fire, or ice, or anything. He jumped off the couch (carefully) to see if he could fly.
Nothing happened.
"It's okay," Inko assured him, though her voice sounded tight. "Sometimes it takes a few days. Sometimes even weeks. There's no rush, Izuku."
But there was a rush. At least, it felt that way. Every day Kacchan came back from daycare with a new story about his explosions, every time the kids at the park showed off their Quirks, Izuku felt the absence of his own like a missing tooth a gap where something important should be.
By lunchtime, Izuku had worked himself into a determined frenzy.
"I know!" he announced, grabbing his All Might action figure. "Maybe I just need to do something brave! All Might's Quirk is strong because he's brave, right? So if I'm brave, maybe mine will come!"
"Izuku, sweetie, I don't think"
But Izuku was already running to his room, planning some great act of courage that would surely awaken his dormant power.
He didn't hear the knock at the door.
He didn't hear his mother's confused greeting, or the official voices that followed.
He didn't hear the way her voice changed from confusion to fear in the span of a single breath.
Izuku was standing on his bed, action figure held high, declaring his dreams to the empty room when his mother appeared in the doorway. Her face was pale, her hands trembling.
Behind her stood two people in dark suits, their expressions clinical and cold.
"Izuku," Inko whispered, and her voice cracked. "Baby, these people… they're from the government. They say they need to" She couldn't finish. Her hand covered her mouth.
The taller official a woman with severe features and eyes like chips of ice stepped forward. She held a tablet displaying official documentation, government seals, legal jargon that a four-year-old couldn't possibly understand.
"Izuku Midoriya," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. "As per the Quirk Assessment and Management Act, Section 47-B, you have been classified as a late-manifestation risk. You are hereby remanded to Facility 13 for proper evaluation and monitoring."
Izuku blinked. The words didn't make sense. "What?"
"No." Inko's voice was suddenly sharp, fierce a tone Izuku had never heard from his gentle mother. She moved in front of him, arms spread wide. "You can't take him. He's four years old. It's his birthday."
"The law is clear, Mrs. Midoriya." The second official a man with a scarred jaw pulled out a pair of quirk-suppression cuffs, even though Izuku didn't have a Quirk to suppress. "Children who fail to manifest by their fourth birthday and show predictive markers for dangerous or unstable abilities must be properly assessed. The evaluation period typically lasts—"
"He's not dangerous!" Inko was crying now, pulling Izuku against her chest. "He's a baby! He's my baby!"
Izuku's heart was pounding. He didn't understand what was happening, but he understood his mother's tears. He understood the cold look in the officials' eyes. He understood, with the terrible clarity of childhood intuition, that something very, very bad was about to happen.
"Mom?" His voice came out small and scared.
"It's okay, baby," she whispered, kissing the top of his head over and over. "It's okay. Mommy's here. Mommy's"
The male official stepped forward and gently but firmly pulled Inko's hands away. She struggled, but another official had entered the apartment this one larger, with restraint training. They held her back as she screamed.
"IZUKU! IZUKU, NO! PLEASE! HE'S JUST A LITTLE BOY!"
Izuku was lifted, the world tilting as unfamiliar hands grabbed him. He reached for his mother, tears streaming down his face, his throat raw with crying.
"MOM! MOMMY! I WANT MY MOM!"
The woman with ice-chip eyes crouched down, forcing Izuku to look at her. "You're going somewhere safe," she said, but there was no kindness in her tone. "Somewhere you'll be properly cared for. This is for your own protection."
"I WANT MY MOM!"
But it didn't matter what he wanted.
They carried him out of the apartment, his small fists pounding uselessly against the official's shoulder. The last thing Izuku saw was his mother, held back by government agents, collapsing to her knees in the doorway of their home.
Her anguished sobs followed him all the way down the hall.
In his abandoned bedroom, an All Might action figure lay on rumpled sheets, one plastic arm raised in a heroic pose frozen in a promise that would never be kept.
The calendar on the wall still showed the current date, circled in green crayon, decorated with excited stars.
The vehicle had no windows.
Izuku had cried himself into hiccupping silence within the first hour, his small body trembling in the too-large seat. The quirk-suppression cuffs around his wrists felt heavy and cold, a constant reminder that he was no longer free even though he didn't have a Quirk for them to suppress.
The woman with ice-chip eyes sat across from him, typing on her tablet with mechanical precision. She hadn't spoken to him since they left. Hadn't offered comfort or explanation. She simply existed in the space with him, as cold and impersonal as the metal walls surrounding them.
Izuku's throat hurt from crying. His eyes burned. His stomach twisted with a fear so profound it made him feel sick.
"Where are you taking me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and small.
The woman's fingers paused on her tablet. For a moment, Izuku thought she might ignore him entirely. Then she looked up, her expression unreadable.
"Facility 13," she said simply. "A government research complex designed for children with your... particular profile."
"But I don't have a Quirk." Izuku's lower lip trembled. "I'm not special. I'm just I'm just me. Can't I go home? Please? I want my mom."
Something flickered across the woman's face so brief it might have been imagined. Then it was gone, replaced by that same clinical detachment.
"The assessment predicted you will manifest a Quirk," she said, returning to her tablet. "A powerful one. Potentially unstable. Facility 13 will help you understand and control it when it emerges. You should consider yourself fortunate."
Fortunate. The word tasted like poison.
Izuku turned away, pressing his forehead against the cold metal wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine his mother's voice, her warm hugs, the safety of their small apartment. But the memories felt far away now, like something from another life.
The vehicle rumbled on through the darkness.
Time became meaningless. Minutes or hours passed Izuku couldn't tell. He drifted in and out of an exhausted half-sleep, his body too drained to maintain consciousness but too terrified to truly rest.
When the vehicle finally stopped, the sudden silence jerked him awake.
The rear doors opened with a pneumatic hiss, and harsh fluorescent light flooded in, making Izuku squint. The woman stood, gesturing for him to follow. When he didn't move fast enough his legs stiff and uncooperative she reached down and pulled him to his feet with impersonal efficiency.
Izuku stumbled out into the light.
The first thing he noticed was the cold. Not weather-cold, but the sterile, artificial cold of climate control systems. The second thing was the smell antiseptic and chemical, like a hospital but sharper, more aggressive.
They stood in what looked like an underground loading bay. Concrete walls stretched up into shadows. Armed guards in tactical gear stood at attention near heavy security doors. Cameras tracked their movement from every angle.
This wasn't a school. This wasn't a hospital.
This was a prison.
"Move." The woman's hand pressed against Izuku's back, guiding him forward.
They walked through a series of corridors, each one more oppressive than the last. Everything was gray or white or steel. No windows. No decorations. No warmth. Just endless hallways lit by fluorescent lights that hummed with an electric tension.
Other officials passed them, some carrying tablets, others pushing carts loaded with medical equipment. No one looked at Izuku. No one acknowledged that a crying four-year-old was being marched through their facility like a prisoner.
They passed a large window, and Izuku's breath caught.
On the other side of the reinforced glass was a room full of children.
Dozens of them, ranging from toddlers to kids who might have been seven or eight. They sat on cold metal benches, their faces hollow with fear and confusion. Some were crying. Others stared at nothing with empty eyes. All of them wore the same gray uniforms, the same quirk-suppression cuffs.
All of them looked broken.
"Keep moving," the woman said, her voice sharp.
But Izuku had frozen, his gaze locked on those children. A little girl with blue hair pressed her face against the glass, her mouth forming words he couldn't hear. Help us. Please help us.
"I said move." The woman's grip tightened, and she pulled Izuku away from the window.
They turned down another corridor, then another. The facility seemed to go on forever, a maze of clinical horror. Finally, they stopped in front of a door marked "INTAKE PROCESSING - SECTOR 7."
The woman scanned her keycard. The door opened with a metallic click.
Inside was a room that looked like a twisted version of a doctor's office. Examination table. Medical equipment. Cabinets full of supplies. But there were also restraints built into the table, and the equipment looked more like something from a nightmare than a checkup.
A man in a white coat stood waiting. He was thin, with wire-rimmed glasses and the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. His name tag read: "DR. GARAKI - HEAD OF PRIMAL RESEARCH DIVISION."
"Ah, Subject P-001," he said, consulting his tablet. "Izuku Midoriya. Right on schedule."
Subject. Not a name. Not a person. A subject.
"Please, I want to go home," Izuku whispered, tears streaming down his face again. "I want my mom. Please."
Dr. Garaki didn't even acknowledge the plea. He gestured to the examination table. "Place him here. We need to complete the baseline assessment before beginning the integration phase."
The woman lifted Izuku onto the table with ease, ignoring his weak struggles. Restraints snapped into place around his wrists and ankles cold metal that locked with terrifying finality.
Izuku's breathing came in panicked gasps. "No, no, please"
"The sedative, if you please," Dr. Garaki said calmly, preparing a syringe.
"Wait." The woman held up a hand. "He should understand what's happening. Protocol requires informed consent."
Dr. Garaki's smile thinned. "He's four years old. Consent is a legal formality at best."
"Nevertheless."
The doctor sighed, setting down the syringe. He leaned over Izuku, his magnified eyes studying him like an insect under glass.
"You're going to become something extraordinary," he said, his voice almost kind which somehow made it worse. "We're going to give you a gift, Izuku Midoriya. A gift that will make you stronger, faster, more powerful than you ever imagined. You're going to be special."
"I don't want to be special," Izuku sobbed. "I want my mom."
"Your mother signed the consent forms. She had no choice, of course, but legally speaking, she gave permission for your participation in Project Primal." Dr. Garaki picked up the syringe again, tapping it to remove air bubbles. "Now then. This will help you sleep. When you wake up, the real work begins."
"What are you going to do to me?"
Dr. Garaki's smile widened. "We're going to make you into an apex predator."
The needle pierced Izuku's skin. He felt the burn of whatever chemical they were injecting, felt it spread through his veins like ice. His vision started to blur, darkness creeping in at the edges.
The last thing he saw before consciousness fled was Dr. Garaki's face, hovering above him like a ghost.
The last thing he heard was his own voice, small and broken:
"Mommy..."
Then there was nothing but darkness.
The vehicle had no windows.
Izuku had cried himself into hiccupping silence within the first hour, his small body trembling in the too-large seat. The quirk-suppression cuffs around his wrists felt heavy and cold, a constant reminder that he was no longer free even though he didn't have a Quirk for them to suppress.
The woman with ice-chip eyes sat across from him, typing on her tablet with mechanical precision. She hadn't spoken to him since they left. Hadn't offered comfort or explanation. She simply existed in the space with him, as cold and impersonal as the metal walls surrounding them.
Izuku's throat hurt from crying. His eyes burned. His stomach twisted with a fear so profound it made him feel sick.
"Where are you taking me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and small.
The woman's fingers paused on her tablet. For a moment, Izuku thought she might ignore him entirely. Then she looked up, her expression unreadable.
"Facility 13," she said simply. "A government research complex designed for children with your... particular profile."
"But I don't have a Quirk." Izuku's lower lip trembled. "I'm not special. I'm just—I'm just me. Can't I go home? Please? I want my mom."
Something flickered across the woman's face so brief it might have been imagined. Then it was gone, replaced by that same clinical detachment.
"The assessment predicted you will manifest a Quirk," she said, returning to her tablet. "A powerful one. Potentially unstable. Facility 13 will help you understand and control it when it emerges. You should consider yourself fortunate."
Fortunate. The word tasted like poison.
Izuku turned away, pressing his forehead against the cold metal wall. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine his mother's voice, her warm hugs, the safety of their small apartment. But the memories felt far away now, like something from another life.
The vehicle rumbled on through the darkness.
Time became meaningless. Minutes or hours passed Izuku couldn't tell. He drifted in and out of an exhausted half-sleep, his body too drained to maintain consciousness but too terrified to truly rest.
When the vehicle finally stopped, the sudden silence jerked him awake.
The rear doors opened with a pneumatic hiss, and harsh fluorescent light flooded in, making Izuku squint. The woman stood, gesturing for him to follow. When he didn't move fast enough—his legs stiff and uncooperative she reached down and pulled him to his feet with impersonal efficiency.
Izuku stumbled out into the light.
The first thing he noticed was the cold. Not weather-cold, but the sterile, artificial cold of climate control systems. The second thing was the smell—antiseptic and chemical, like a hospital but sharper, more aggressive.
They stood in what looked like an underground loading bay. Concrete walls stretched up into shadows. Armed guards in tactical gear stood at attention near heavy security doors. Cameras tracked their movement from every angle.
This wasn't a school. This wasn't a hospital.
This was a prison.
"Move." The woman's hand pressed against Izuku's back, guiding him forward.
They walked through a series of corridors, each one more oppressive than the last. Everything was gray or white or steel. No windows. No decorations. No warmth. Just endless hallways lit by fluorescent lights that hummed with an electric tension.
Other officials passed them, some carrying tablets, others pushing carts loaded with medical equipment. No one looked at Izuku. No one acknowledged that a crying four-year-old was being marched through their facility like a prisoner.
They passed a large window, and Izuku's breath caught.
On the other side of the reinforced glass was a room full of children.
Dozens of them, ranging from toddlers to kids who might have been seven or eight. They sat on cold metal benches, their faces hollow with fear and confusion. Some were crying. Others stared at nothing with empty eyes. All of them wore the same gray uniforms, the same quirk-suppression cuffs.
All of them looked broken.
"Keep moving," the woman said, her voice sharp.
But Izuku had frozen, his gaze locked on those children. A little girl with blue hair pressed her face against the glass, her mouth forming words he couldn't hear. Help us. Please help us.
"I said move." The woman's grip tightened, and she pulled Izuku away from the window.
They turned down another corridor, then another. The facility seemed to go on forever, a maze of clinical horror. Finally, they stopped in front of a door marked "INTAKE PROCESSING - SECTOR 7."
The woman scanned her keycard. The door opened with a metallic click.
Inside was a room that looked like a twisted version of a doctor's office. Examination table. Medical equipment. Cabinets full of supplies. But there were also restraints built into the table, and the equipment looked more like something from a nightmare than a checkup.
A man in a white coat stood waiting. He was thin, with wire-rimmed glasses and the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. His name tag read: "DR. GARAKI - HEAD OF PRIMAL RESEARCH DIVISION."
"Ah, Subject P-001," he said, consulting his tablet. "Izuku Midoriya. Right on schedule."
Subject. Not a name. Not a person. A subject.
"Please, I want to go home," Izuku whispered, tears streaming down his face again. "I want my mom. Please."
Dr. Garaki didn't even acknowledge the plea. He gestured to the examination table. "Place him here. We need to complete the baseline assessment before beginning the integration phase."
The woman lifted Izuku onto the table with ease, ignoring his weak struggles. Restraints snapped into place around his wrists and ankles cold metal that locked with terrifying finality.
Izuku's breathing came in panicked gasps. "No, no, please"
"The sedative, if you please," Dr. Garaki said calmly, preparing a syringe.
"Wait." The woman held up a hand. "He should understand what's happening. Protocol requires informed consent."
Dr. Garaki's smile thinned. "He's four years old. Consent is a legal formality at best."
"Nevertheless."
The doctor sighed, setting down the syringe. He leaned over Izuku, his magnified eyes studying him like an insect under glass.
"You're going to become something extraordinary," he said, his voice almost kind which somehow made it worse. "We're going to give you a gift, Izuku Midoriya. A gift that will make you stronger, faster, more powerful than you ever imagined. You're going to be special."
"I don't want to be special," Izuku sobbed. "I want my mom."
"Your mother signed the consent forms. She had no choice, of course, but legally speaking, she gave permission for your participation in Project Primal." Dr. Garaki picked up the syringe again, tapping it to remove air bubbles. "Now then. This will help you sleep. When you wake up, the real work begins."
"What are you going to do to me?"
Dr. Garaki's smile widened. "We're going to make you into an apex predator."
The needle pierced Izuku's skin. He felt the burn of whatever chemical they were injecting, felt it spread through his veins like ice. His vision started to blur, darkness creeping in at the edges.
The last thing he saw before consciousness fled was Dr. Garaki's face, hovering above him like a ghost.
The last thing he heard was his own voice, small and broken:
"Mommy..."
Then there was nothing but darkness.
Pain.
That was the first thing Izuku became aware of a deep, bone-aching pain that radiated through his entire body. It felt like growing pains amplified a thousand times, like his skeleton was trying to reshape itself from the inside out.
The second thing was the smell.
Even with his eyes closed, Izuku could smell everything. The antiseptic bite of cleaning chemicals. The metallic tang of the cage bars. The fear-sweat of other children nearby. Earth and vegetation from somewhere beyond. Each scent was crisp and distinct, layering over each other in a symphony of information that overwhelmed his young mind.
"Hey. Hey, you awake?"
A voice young, maybe a year or two older than him cut through the sensory overload. Someone was shaking his shoulder gently.
Izuku's eyes snapped open.
The world exploded into sharp, vivid detail. He could see individual dust particles floating in the air, could count the threads in the fabric of his gray uniform, could detect the minute changes in light and shadow with startling clarity. Everything was brighter, sharper, more real than it had been before.
"Whoa, easy!" The voice came again. "Don't freak out. I know it's weird at first, but you gotta stay calm or the guards will come."
Izuku's head turned too fast, his movements suddenly more fluid than they should be and he found himself staring at another boy.
The kid looked maybe five or six, with messy brown hair and warm amber eyes. But that's where normal ended. His hands and feet were covered in coarse brown fur, and his fingers were longer than they should be, almost prehensile. When he smiled, trying to be reassuring, Izuku could see that his canines were slightly elongated.
"Name's Kaito," the monkey-boy said, sitting back on his haunches with an ease that suggested he was more comfortable in a crouch than standing upright. "Kaito Saruwatari. Welcome to hell, I guess."
Izuku tried to speak, but his throat was dry. He coughed, and the sound came out with an odd rasp that didn't sound like his voice.
"Here." A new voice soft and feminine spoke from nearby. Izuku's head whipped around again, too fast, his reflexes hair-trigger sharp and saw a girl approaching with a small cup of water.
She looked about his age, maybe four or five, with long silver hair that seemed to shimmer in the fluorescent light. But her eyes were the most striking feature large and golden, with pupils that were unnaturally round and intense. Her arms, visible beneath her short-sleeved uniform, were covered in fine, downy feathers that graduated from white to silver-gray. When she moved, there was something eerily silent about it, like she existed outside the normal sounds of the world.
"Drink slowly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your body is still adjusting."
Izuku took the cup with trembling hands
And froze.
His hands.
His hands were wrong.
His fingernails had been replaced by short, curved claws that gleamed like polished obsidian in the light. They looked razor-sharp, designed to tear and rend. Patches of fine green fur the same color as his hair dusted the backs of his hands and disappeared up his forearms.
The cup slipped from his grip, water spilling across the floor.
"What" Izuku's voice cracked. "What happened to me?"
"Same thing that happened to all of us," a new voice said, this one deeper and rougher.
Izuku looked up and saw a boy who might have been seven or eight, though it was hard to tell with the changes. His skin had taken on a greenish-gray hue with a texture that looked rough and scaled. When he crossed his arms, Izuku could see the scales overlapping like armor plating. His eyes were reptilian vertical slits in yellow irises and when he opened his mouth to speak, his tongue flickered out for just a second, tasting the air.
"They did something to us," the reptile-boy continued, his voice carrying a slight hiss. "Some kind of injection. Mixed animal DNA or something. I'm Daiki. Daiki Ryuzaki."
"And I'm Yuki," the bird-girl added, retrieving the fallen cup. "Yuki Takami."
Izuku's breathing was coming faster now, panic rising in his chest like a tidal wave. His hands went to his face, feeling
Whiskers.
He had whiskers growing from his cheeks, like a cat. His fingers moved to his mouth, and when he ran his tongue over his teeth, he felt elongated canines, sharp enough to pierce flesh.
"No, no, no—" He scrambled backward until his back hit the bars of the cage. "This isn't real. This isn't—"
"Hey, look at me." Kaito scooted closer, his monkey-like hands reaching out but not quite touching. "I'm scared too. But you can't cry too loud or the mean people come back."
"What did they do to us?" Izuku's voice broke on a sob. "I want my mommy!"
"I dunno," Kaito said, and he looked like he might cry too. "They stuck us with needles and then... then I woke up like this." He held up his furry hands, staring at them like they belonged to someone else. "I don't like it. It's weird."
"You look like a kitty," the little girl Hana said, peering at Izuku with her strange bug eyes. She didn't sound mean about it, just honest in the way only small children could be. "A pretty green kitty."
Izuku's hands went to his ears his normal human ears but they felt different. Bigger somehow, more sensitive. He could hear so much. The buzzing of lights far away. Water dripping somewhere. Hearts beating. His own heart was beating so fast it hurt.
And there was something else. Something moving behind him.
Izuku twisted around and saw a tail a long, flexible tail covered in green fur with a black tip, currently curled against the floor of the cage. When he focused on it, it moved, responding to his thoughts like a new limb he'd somehow always had.
"Oh god." Izuku curled into himself, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Oh god, oh god"
"You got a tail," Kaito said, pointing. "And kitty eyes. And the whiskers. I got monkey stuff." He wiggled his furry fingers sadly. "I miss my old hands."
Izuku wanted to scream. He wanted to cry for his mom until his throat gave out. But something inside him—something new and animal—told him that showing too much fear was dangerous here.
"Are there... are there other kids?" Izuku asked, his voice small. "Like us?"
"Yeah," Yuki said quietly, pointing to the other cages Izuku could now see in the dim light. They stretched on and on, each one holding shadows that might be children. "Lots of us. But we can't really talk to them. They're too far away."
"Where are we?" Izuku whispered.
Daiki made a sound that was half-laugh, half-hiss. "We don't know. Nobody knows. One second the doctors were putting us to sleep, and then... then we woke up here." He gestured to the massive space around them it was too big to be just a room, but too enclosed to be outside.
"I don't remember getting here either," Kaito added, looking at his feet. "I was really sleepy after the shot, and then I was just... here. In this cage."
"Me too," Hana said in her tiny voice. "I wanted my mama but she's not here."
"None of our mamas are here," Yuki said sadly.
Izuku felt tears burning his eyes again. "I want to go home. I don't like this. I don't wanna be a cat, I just wanted a Quirk!"
"What's a Quirk?" Hana asked, tilting her head.
"It's... it's like superpowers," Izuku tried to explain through his tears. "Like heroes have. I wanted to be a hero like All Might."
"I don't know who that is," Hana said.
"He's the best hero ever," Izuku sniffled. "He saves everybody. He's gonna save us too, right?" He looked around at the other kids hopefully. "The heroes are gonna come save us?"
Nobody answered. The silence was louder than any words.
Izuku looked down at his clawed hands again. He could feel something weird inside his head like there was something big and scary purring in the back of his mind. It made him want to hiss and scratch, but he was too scared to do that.
"I don't understand," he said, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. "Why did they do this? We didn't do anything bad!"
"'Cause we didn't get our Quirks," Daiki said, his voice hard in a way that didn't match his age. "My mom said the government takes kids who don't get Quirks on time. But I didn't think... I didn't think they'd do this."
"My birthday was supposed to be fun," Izuku whimpered. "I was gonna have cake. Mom was gonna make katsudon. And now—" His voice broke. "Now I'm a monster and I want my mom!"
The word "monster" seemed to hit all of them hard. Hana's weird eyes got shiny with tears. Kaito looked at his hands again like they were the worst things in the world.
"You're not a monster," Yuki said, but her voice was wobbly. "We're not monsters. We're just... we're just different now. Right?"
"I don't wanna be different!" Izuku cried. "I wanna be normal! I wanna go home!"
"We all do," Kaito said quietly, and now he was definitely crying too. "I miss my dad. I miss my toys. I miss everything."
"What's your name?" Yuki asked Izuku, trying to sound brave but failing. "I-I'm Yuki. Yuki Takami. I'm four and a half."
"Izuku," he managed through his tears. "Izuku Midoriya. I'm... I just turned four. Today."
"Today?" Hana gasped. "It's your birthday?"
Izuku nodded miserably.
"That's really sad," Hana said honestly. "I'm sorry your birthday got ruined. I'm Hana Mushi. I'm only three and three-quarters."
"Kaito Saruwatari," the monkey boy said. "I'm five. Almost five and a half."
"Daiki Ryuzaki. I'm seven," the reptile boy added, and there was something almost protective in his tone—like being the oldest meant he had to be tough for them.
For a moment, they all just sat there in their cage, a bunch of scared little kids who'd been turned into things they didn't understand.
Then Izuku noticed something and his breath caught.
"What's that?" He pointed past the bars.
Beyond their cage, he could see... green. Plants. Trees. It was dark, but his new cat eyes could see shapes moving in shadows that looked too big to be people. And there were sounds animal sounds. Roaring. Screeching. Things he'd only heard in nature documentaries.
The sounds started as rustling.
At first, Izuku thought it was just the wind moving through the strange jungle beyond their cage. But then the rustling got louder. Closer. And his new cat ears picked up something that made his blood run cold footsteps. Big, heavy footsteps.
"W-what's that?" Hana whispered, her compound eyes going wide.
"I don't know," Kaito breathed, his monkey hands gripping the bars. "But it's getting closer."
From the darkness of the jungle, shapes began to emerge.
The first was massive a gorilla that had to be at least six feet tall even on all fours. Its black fur seemed to absorb the light, and its eyes gleamed with an intelligence that was almost human. It moved with quiet power, each step deliberate and controlled.
"Oh no," Daiki hissed, backing away from the bars. "Oh no, oh no"
The second shape was sleeker but no less terrifying—a tiger, its orange and black stripes seeming to glow in the dim light. It prowled forward with liquid grace, muscles rippling under its pelt. Its amber eyes locked onto the cage, onto the children inside.
"Mama," Izuku whimpered, pressing himself against Yuki. "Mama, please"
A crocodile emerged next, its massive body dragging across the ground with an ancient, terrible patience. Its scales were like armor, and when it opened its mouth slightly, Izuku could see rows and rows of teeth designed to kill.
Then came the eagle enormous, with a wingspan that had to be at least six feet across. It landed on a branch near the cage with a screech that made all the children clap their hands over their ears. Its talons looked like they could tear through steel.
And finally, from the shadows themselves, came movement that wasn't one thing but many spiders. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, ranging from small to horrifyingly large. They moved as one unit, a living carpet of legs and eyes and silk.
The five children huddled together in the center of their cage, as far from the bars as they could get. They were all crying now, even Daiki who'd been trying so hard to be brave.
"They're gonna eat us," Hana sobbed. "They're gonna eat us!"
"I don't wanna die," Kaito cried, his furry hands covering his face. "I'm only five! I don't wanna die!"
Izuku couldn't speak. His throat was closed with terror. All he could do was stare at the tiger as it paced back and forth in front of the cage, its tail swishing. The thing in the back of his mind the predator instinct that had been purring was now screaming at him. Danger. Run. Hide. Survive.
The animals formed a circle around the cage, watching. Waiting.
Then, a sound cut through the jungle a crackling, like speakers coming to life. A voice echoed from somewhere above them, from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was cold and clinical, the same voice that had taken Izuku from his home.
"Worry not, children."
All five kids looked up, searching for the source of the voice.
"These are your new parents. You will be living with them now. They will show you how to survive the Primal Jungle. Learn well. Adapt. Evolve. This is your new home."
The intercom clicked off with a finality that echoed through the night.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Yuki started screaming. "NO! No, no, no! I want my real mama! I want to go home!"
"They can't do this!" Daiki shouted at the sky, at the voice that was no longer there. "We're kids! We're just KIDS!"
"Please!" Kaito cried. "Please let us go! We'll be good! We promise we'll be good!"
But nothing answered them except the watching animals and the sound of metal grinding.
The cage door was opening.
"No!" Izuku pressed himself against the back bars, his claws digging into the metal. "No, please, close it! Close the door!"
But the door continued to swing open, and the animals began to move.
The gorilla stepped forward first, its massive frame filling the cage entrance. It looked at Kaito with eyes that were far too knowing, far too intelligent. Then it reached out one enormous hand.
Kaito tried to scramble away, but the gorilla was faster. It grabbed him gently almost carefully around the middle and lifted him up.
"NO! LET ME GO! IZUKU! YUKI! HELP!" Kaito kicked and struggled, but he was so small compared to the gorilla. "HELP ME! PLEASE!"
The eagle swooped down next, its talons extended. Yuki screamed and tried to run, but the bird was impossibly fast. It grabbed her by the shoulders of her uniform those talons piercing the fabric but somehow not her skin and lifted her into the air.
"PUT ME DOWN!" Yuki shrieked, her legs kicking uselessly. "I'M SCARED OF HEIGHTS! PLEASE!"
The crocodile moved with surprising speed for something so big. Daiki tried to use his scales as protection, curling into a ball, but the crocodile simply grabbed the back of his uniform in its jaws and lifted him like a mother cat carrying a kitten.
"Let go!" Daiki's voice was muffled and terrified. "I can't I can't breathe! Please!"
The spiders swarmed toward Hana, and she let out a scream that was pure horror. They didn't bite instead they began to wrap her in silk, cocooning her gently but firmly until only her face was visible.
"I don't like bugs!" Hana wailed. "I don't like bugs even though I look like one! Please, please, please!"
Izuku was the last one.
He pressed himself into the corner, his tail wrapped around his legs, his claws extended in pitiful defense. The tiger padded toward him, its massive head level with his chest even though he was standing. This close, Izuku could see the individual whiskers on its face, could smell the wild scent of it, could hear the low rumble in its chest.
"Please don't eat me," Izuku whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Please. I'm just four. I just wanted to be a hero. Please don't"
The tiger opened its mouth.
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain, for the teeth to sink in
But instead, he felt the gentle grip of jaws around his middle, just firm enough to hold him but not enough to hurt. The tiger lifted him like he weighed nothing, and suddenly Izuku was dangling from its mouth, his legs kicking uselessly above the ground.
"Wait!" Izuku cried out, craning his neck to see the others. They were all being carried away in different directions. "Wait! Kaito! Yuki! Daiki! Hana!"
"IZUKU!" Kaito's voice was getting farther away as the gorilla carried him into the jungle. "IZUKU, NO!"
"DON'T LEAVE ME!" Yuki screamed from above, the eagle carrying her toward the canopy.
"WE HAVE TO STAY TOGETHER!" Daiki shouted, his voice distorted by the crocodile's grip.
"I'M SCARED!" Hana's muffled cry came from the writhing mass of spiders.
The animals began to move, each heading in a different direction. The jungle was swallowing them one by one, pulling them apart into the darkness.
"NO!" Izuku struggled against the tiger's gentle but firm grip. "LET ME GO! I WANT TO STAY WITH THEM! PLEASE!"
As they were being carried away each child held by their assigned animal, each moving deeper into different parts of the jungle Kaito's voice suddenly rang out clear and strong despite his tears:
"NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, WE'LL REMEMBER EACH OTHER!"
"We will!" Yuki cried from above, her voice shaking but determined. "I won't forget!"
"Me neither!" Hana's small voice called out. "Never ever!"
"We'll see each other again!" Daiki shouted. "We have to!"
"We will!" Izuku screamed, his throat raw, tears streaming down his face as the tiger carried him farther and farther away. "We'll find each other! I promise! I PROMISE!"
Their voices grew fainter and fainter as the distance between them grew. The jungle swallowed their cries until all that remained was silence and the sounds of nocturnal creatures.
Just the sounds of the jungle.
And the steady padding of the tiger's paws as it carried him deeper into the darkness.
Izuku cried until he couldn't cry anymore, until his voice gave out and his tears dried up. The tiger carried him through terrain that his young mind couldn't comprehend—over roots and through streams, past trees that seemed to touch the sky, under plants that glowed with bioluminescent light.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time had lost all meaning.
Finally, the tiger stopped in a clearing. It set Izuku down gently on the mossy ground and stepped back, watching him with those intelligent amber eyes.
Izuku didn't run. Where would he even go? He was lost in a jungle that shouldn't exist, changed into something that wasn't quite human, separated from the only friends he'd made in this nightmare.
He looked up at the tiger his "new parent," according to the cruel voice and saw his own reflection in its eyes.
A small boy with green hair and cat-like features, alone in a world that wanted to break him.
"I don't want you," Izuku whispered to the tiger. "I want my real mom."
The tiger just stared at him, unblinking.
Izuku didn't know what day it was anymore.
Time in the jungle didn't work the same way it did at home. There were no clocks, no TV shows to mark the hours, no bedtime routines. There was only the sun rising and setting through the canopy above, and the constant sounds of things living and dying around him.
He thought maybe it had been three days since the tiger took him. Maybe four. It was hard to tell when every day blurred into the next.
The tiger Izuku still didn't know if it was a boy or girl tiger, and wasn't brave enough to check had brought him to what seemed like its home. A small cave hidden behind a waterfall, the space just big enough for the massive cat and one very small, very scared four-year-old.
That first night, Izuku had cried until he made himself sick. The tiger had watched him with those unreadable amber eyes, not moving closer but not leaving either. When Izuku finally fell asleep from pure exhaustion, he woke up to find the tiger curled around him like a warm, furry wall. It had startled him so badly he'd scrambled away, but the tiger just yawned and went back to sleep.
The second day, the tiger had brought him food.
Izuku had stared at the dead rabbit in horror, his stomach turning. "I-I can't eat that. It's not cooked. It still has fur and everything."
The tiger had simply started eating, tearing into the meat with efficient, powerful jaws. The sounds made Izuku feel sick, and he'd turned away, pressing his hands over his ears.
But by nighttime, his stomach had been cramping with hunger. The tiger had brought another rabbit fresher this time and left it in front of him before retreating to the other side of the cave.
Izuku had stared at it for a long time. His mom always made his food. Cooked it on the stove. Served it on plates with vegetables and rice. This wasn't food. This was an animal that had been alive.
But his stomach hurt so much.
And there was that thing in the back of his mind the predator instinct that had been quiet but was now growling with hunger. It didn't care about plates or stoves. It wanted to eat. It wanted to survive.
Izuku's new claws had extended almost on their own, and before he knew what he was doing, he'd torn into the rabbit.
It should have been disgusting. It should have made him sick.
But it tasted... good. Really good. And that scared him almost as much as everything else.
Now, on day three (or maybe four), things were different.
Izuku sat at the edge of the waterfall, his feet dangling over the rocks, watching the jungle wake up. His enhanced hearing picked up birds calling to each other, monkeys chattering in the distance, the rustle of something big moving through the underbrush far below.
The tiger emerged from the cave behind him, stretching like a giant house cat. It yawned, showing all those terrifying teeth, then padded over to sit beside Izuku. Not touching, but close enough that Izuku could feel the warmth radiating from its fur.
"Good morning," Izuku said quietly, like he had every morning since the second day.
The tiger didn't respond it never did but its ear flicked toward him, acknowledging the greeting.
Izuku had started talking to it because the silence was too scary. If he didn't talk, he'd think too much about his mom, about Kaito and the others, about how he might never see any of them again. So he talked, even though the tiger never answered.
"I'm still scared," Izuku admitted, pulling his knees up to his chest. His tail wrapped around his legs automatically he was getting used to having it, which was weird. "I don't like it here. I want to go home."
The tiger's tail swished once.
"But..." Izuku hesitated, then pushed forward. "But you're not as scary as I thought. You haven't hurt me. You keep bringing me food, even when I was too scared to eat it at first. And you're warm at night when it gets cold."
The tiger turned its massive head to look at him, and for a moment, Izuku swore he saw something in those amber eyes. Not quite human understanding, but something close to it.
"I still want my real mom," Izuku said firmly, just in case the tiger thought he was giving up. "You're not my mom. But... but I guess you're not trying to eat me either. So... thank you. For the food and stuff."
The tiger made a sound not quite a purr, not quite a growl. Something in between. Then it stood up and looked back at Izuku expectantly.
Izuku had learned this look over the past few days. It meant: Follow me.
"Where are we going?" Izuku asked, but he stood up anyway, brushing dirt off his increasingly tattered gray uniform.
The tiger didn't answer it never did it just started walking along the rocky ledge beside the waterfall. Izuku followed, his enhanced balance making it easier than it should have been for a four-year-old to navigate the slippery stones.
They walked for maybe twenty minutes, moving through the jungle with the tiger leading and Izuku trying not to trip over roots or get smacked by low branches. He was getting better at it. His new cat eyes could see things his old human eyes would have missed the subtle changes in the ground that meant a hole, the shimmer of spider webs between trees, the movement of small creatures in the undergrowth.
Finally, the tiger stopped in a clearing. Sunlight broke through the canopy here, warming the moss-covered ground. The tiger sat down and looked at Izuku with that intense, unblinking stare.
"What?" Izuku asked. "Why did we stop here?"
The tiger lowered itself into a crouch, its body coiled like a spring. Then, in one fluid motion, it lunged forward covering at least fifteen feet in a single leap. It landed silently on the other side of the clearing, turned around, and looked at Izuku again.
"Oh," Izuku said, understanding clicking into place. "You... you want me to do that?"
The tiger's tail swished. Izuku was learning that meant yes or continue.
"I can't jump that far," Izuku protested. "I'm just a kid. I'm only four!"
But even as he said it, he remembered the way he'd moved in the cage faster than he should have been able to, his reflexes sharper. And his legs felt different now. Stronger. Like they had springs coiled in the muscles.
The thing in the back of his mind the predator instinct stirred with interest. It wanted to try. It wanted to see what this new body could do.
"Okay," Izuku said nervously. He got into a crouch like he'd seen the tiger do, feeling awkward and silly. "Okay, I'll try. But if I fall on my face, it's not my fault."
He focused on where the tiger was standing. Tensed his legs. And jumped.
He didn't make it fifteen feet but he made it at least eight, which was impossible for a normal four-year-old. He landed hard, stumbling and almost falling, but his tail whipped out automatically for balance and he managed to stay upright.
"I did it!" Izuku gasped, surprise and the tiniest bit of pride in his voice. "Did you see? I jumped really far!"
The tiger made that almost-purr sound again. Then it moved to a different spot and crouched again, clearly expecting Izuku to follow.
They spent the next hour like that the tiger demonstrating, Izuku attempting to copy. Jumping. Crouching. Moving silently (Izuku was terrible at this part and kept stepping on crunchy leaves). Climbing trees with his new claws scary but also kind of fun once he got the hang of it.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, Izuku was exhausted, sweaty, and covered in scratches from tree bark. But he was also... not quite smiling, but less scared than he'd been.
The tiger led him to a stream, and Izuku drank greedily, his hands paws? cupping the cool water. When he looked up, he caught his reflection in the surface.
The boy looking back still had his green hair and freckles. Still had his mom's eyes (even if the pupils were weird slits now). But there were also whiskers, and fur on his hands, and those sharp fangs when he opened his mouth.
"I look different," Izuku said quietly. "Really different."
The tiger came to drink beside him, and their reflections showed together in the water a massive predator and a small child who was becoming something in between.
"Do you think..." Izuku's voice was small. "Do you think my mom would still love me? Even though I look like this now?"
The tiger didn't answer. But it did something it hadn't done before it leaned its massive head down and gently bumped against Izuku's shoulder. Not quite a hug, but the closest thing a tiger could manage.
Izuku's eyes burned with tears, but he blinked them back. Crying didn't help. Crying didn't bring his mom back or reunite him with Kaito and the others.
"I'm gonna survive this," Izuku whispered, more to himself than the tiger. "I'm gonna learn everything you teach me, and I'm gonna get strong, and someday I'm gonna find my friends again. And then... then we're gonna find a way home."
The tiger pulled back and looked at him with those amber eyes that seemed to see right through him.
Then it turned and started walking back toward the cave.
Izuku followed, his tail swishing behind him, his claws leaving small marks in the soft earth.
They were almost back to the waterfall when the tiger suddenly stopped. Its ears perked forward, focused and alert. Izuku stopped too, watching carefully. He was learning to read the tiger's body language when it was relaxed, when it was hunting, when it wanted him to pay attention.
This was a pay attention moment.
The tiger moved toward the small river at the bottom of the waterfall, where the water pooled before continuing downstream. The sound of the falling water was loud here, crashing against rocks and creating a constant white noise that Izuku's sensitive ears had learned to filter out.
The tiger crouched at the water's edge, perfectly still except for the very tip of its tail, which twitched just slightly. Its eyes were locked on the water, watching, waiting.
Izuku crept closer, curious. "What are you"
Then he saw them. Fish. Lots of fish swimming in the pool, their silver scales catching the sunlight that broke through the canopy. They moved in lazy circles, unaware of the predator watching from above.
The tiger's muscles coiled. For a moment, everything was perfectly still.
Then, like lightning, the tiger's paw shot into the water. There was a splash, a flash of silver, and suddenly the tiger was holding a fish in its jaws a big one, still wriggling as the tiger tossed it onto the bank.
Izuku's eyes went wide. "Whoa! That was so fast!"
The tiger stepped back from the water's edge and looked at Izuku. Then it looked at the water. Then back at Izuku.
The message was clear: Your turn.
"Me?" Izuku squeaked, pointing at himself. "But I've never caught a fish before! Mom used to buy fish at the store, and it was already... you know... not swimming."
The tiger just kept staring at him with that expectant look.
Izuku sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll try."
He crept to the water's edge, mimicking the tiger's crouch as best he could. His new eyes could see the fish more clearly than his old ones ever could he could track their movements, see the patterns in how they swam, notice which ones were slower or closer to the surface.
There was one fish smaller than the one the tiger caught but still a decent size swimming near the edge of the pool. It circled lazily, unaware it was being watched.
Izuku's claws extended automatically, his body responding to the hunting instinct before his brain fully caught up. He could feel that predator thing in the back of his mind practically vibrating with excitement. It wanted to catch the fish. It wanted to hunt.
He waited, just like the tiger had. Watched the fish make another circle. Timed its movement.
Then he struck.
His clawed hand plunged into the water. He felt the fish against his palm, slippery and wriggling, and his claws instinctively curved inward, hooking into it. He yanked his hand up, water spraying everywhere, and
"I got it!" Izuku shouted, holding the fish up triumphantly even as it flailed in his grip. "I got it! I actually got it!"
The fish was smaller than the tiger's, and Izuku was pretty sure he'd used more splashing and less grace, but he'd done it. On his first try!
The tiger made that almost-purr sound, and if Izuku didn't know better, he'd say it sounded proud.
"Did you see?" Izuku was practically bouncing now, his earlier exhaustion forgotten in his excitement. "I caught a fish! My first fish ever!"
He looked down at the fish in his hands, watching it struggle. For a second, he felt bad it was just trying to swim and live its life. But his stomach growled, reminding him that he needed to eat too. That was how the jungle worked. Everything ate something else.
The tiger settled down on the riverbank with its catch and began eating. Izuku sat down nearby with his fish, suddenly unsure. "Um... how do I...?"
The tiger paused in its meal and watched him.
Izuku looked at his fish, then at his claws, then back at the fish. "Okay. I can do this. I've been eating rabbits for two days. Fish can't be that different."
It turned out fish was actually easier than rabbit less fur, for one thing. And once Izuku got past the weirdness of eating something he'd just pulled from the water, it actually tasted really good. Fresh and clean, nothing like the fish sticks his mom used to make him.
They ate together in the dappled sunlight, the sound of the waterfall creating a peaceful background. The tiger with its larger catch, Izuku with his smaller one. A predator and a child learning to be one.
When they finished, Izuku's hands were messy and he had fish scales stuck to his uniform, but he felt... good. Accomplished. Like he'd done something important.
"Thank you," Izuku said to the tiger, wiping his hands on the grass. "For showing me. And for... for taking care of me. Even though I still miss my mom. And even though I'm still scared sometimes."
The tiger stood and shook itself, water droplets flying from its striped fur. Then it did something unexpected. It walked over to Izuku and very gently headbutted him, almost knocking him over.
Izuku laughed actually laughed for the first time since his birthday. It was a small, wobbly sound, but it was real.
"Okay, okay," Izuku said, steadying himself with his tail. "I get it. Time to go back to the cave?"
The tiger turned and began the climb up to their home behind the waterfall. Izuku followed, his wet hands and feet finding grips in the rock more easily than they had that morning.
As they disappeared into the cave, the jungle continued its endless cycle around them about things of hunting, things hiding, things learning to survive.
Week One
The days blurred together into a rhythm that Izuku's body adapted to even when his mind resisted.
Wake with the sun. Drink from the stream. Follow the tiger.
Learn. Hunt. Survive.
Sleep curled against warm fur. Dream of home. Wake up and do it again.
By the end of the first week, Izuku could climb trees without thinking about it. His claws found purchase in bark that would have been impossible to scale before. His tail helped him balance on branches that swayed in the wind. He could leap from tree to tree not as far as the tiger could, but farther than any four-year-old should be able to.
The tiger was patient but relentless. Every morning brought new lessons.
Today's lesson was stealth.
"I don't understand why I have to be quiet," Izuku whispered though even his whisper was getting softer, more controlled. "Can't I just... run really fast and catch things?"
The tiger shot him a look that Izuku had learned meant that's stupid and you know it.
They were crouched in the underbrush, watching a small clearing where several rabbits grazed on grass and clover. The tiger had brought Izuku here to practice, but so far, every time Izuku tried to sneak closer, he'd step on something crunchy or bump into something rustly and the rabbits would scatter.
"It's not my fault leaves are so loud," Izuku muttered, frustrated. His stomach growled they hadn't eaten yet today, and the tiger seemed determined to make Izuku catch his own breakfast.
The tiger moved forward with impossible silence, demonstrating again. Its massive paws touched the ground without a sound. It avoided dry leaves, stepped over twigs, moved with a fluid grace that made it seem like it was floating rather than walking.
It got within five feet of the nearest rabbit before turning back to look at Izuku with an expression that clearly said: See? Like that.
"That's easy for you," Izuku grumbled. "You've been a tiger your whole life. I've only been... whatever I am... for like a week."
But the tiger just stared at him until Izuku sighed and tried again.
He crouched low, copying the tiger's posture. Moved forward slowly, testing each step before putting his weight down. His new senses helped he could hear the dry leaves and know to avoid them, could see the twigs hidden under the grass.
One step. Two steps. Three.
A twig snapped under his foot.
The rabbits' heads shot up, ears swiveling, and in a blink they were gone white tails flashing as they disappeared into burrows.
"No!" Izuku flopped onto his back in frustration. "I was so close!"
The tiger padded over and sat down, looking at him with those amber eyes that seemed to be laughing.
"It's not funny," Izuku said. "I'm hungry and I'm bad at this and—" His voice cracked slightly. "And I just want my mom to make me breakfast like a normal kid."
The tiger's expression softened as much as a tiger's expression could soften. It reached out one massive paw and very gently batted Izuku's head. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to get his attention.
Then it stood and walked to a nearby tree. With one fluid motion, it jumped up onto a low branch, then to a higher one, then higher still until it was about twenty feet up in the canopy. It looked down at Izuku and made a soft chuffing sound.
Come up here.
Izuku wiped his eyes and stood. "What? Why up there?"
But the tiger just waited.
Sighing, Izuku extended his claws and started climbing. It was easier than it had been a few days ago his muscles were stronger, his movements more confident. He climbed until he reached the branch where the tiger sat, wrapping his tail around it for extra balance.
"Okay, I'm up here. Now what?"
The tiger directed his attention downward with a nudge of its nose.
From up here, Izuku could see the whole clearing. Could see the burrows where the rabbits had fled. Could see other animals moving through the jungle birds hopping from branch to branch, a wild boar rooting in the undergrowth far below, even a snake sunning itself on a rock.
"Oh," Izuku breathed, understanding clicking into place. "You can see everything from up here."
The tiger made that almost-purr sound. Yes.
"So... so I should look from up high first? See where things are before I try to catch them?"
Another approving purr.
They sat in the tree for a long time, just watching. The tiger showed Izuku how to read the jungle which way the wind was blowing it was important so animals couldn't smell you, where animals liked to go, when to move and when to stay perfectly still.
Izuku's enhanced senses helped more than he'd realized. He could hear a bird's nest in a nearby tree, could smell water from a stream he couldn't see, could track the movement of a lizard twenty feet below by the tiny sounds it made.
"There," Izuku whispered, pointing to the clearing. "The rabbits are coming back."
Sure enough, one cautious rabbit poked its head out of a burrow, testing the air. When nothing happened, it hopped out fully. Then another. Then three more.
"Can I try again?" Izuku asked quietly.
The tiger gestured with its tail. Go ahead.
This time, Izuku climbed down on the opposite side of the tree downwind of the rabbits like the tiger had shown him. He moved slowly, using what he'd learned. Testing each step. Avoiding the noisy spots.
His heart pounded in his chest, but his breathing stayed quiet. The predator instinct in the back of his mind was focused now, not scared. It guided his movements, helped him understand when to freeze and when to advance.
Ten feet from the nearest rabbit. Eight feet. Six feet.
The rabbit's ear twitched, but it kept eating, unaware.
Four feet.
Izuku's muscles coiled. His claws extended. Every sense locked onto his target.
Two feet.
He pounced.
His body moved faster than his brain could process a blur of motion driven by instinct and new muscle memory. His claws caught the rabbit before it could react, his grip firm but quick. The rabbit struggled for only a second before going still.
"I did it!" Izuku gasped, his voice filled with amazement and adrenaline. "I actually did it! I caught it all by myself!"
The tiger landed beside him Izuku hadn't even heard it climb down and bumped its head against his shoulder. Pride radiated from the gesture.
Izuku looked down at the rabbit in his hands. Part of him the part that was still a little kid from the city felt bad. But the bigger part, the part that had been living in the jungle for a week, understood. This was food. This was survival. This was what he needed to do to live.
"Thank you," Izuku whispered to the rabbit, something his mom had taught him about being grateful for meals. Then, with practiced efficiency that would have shocked him a week ago, he prepared his breakfast.
The tiger caught its own meal a much larger rabbit and they ate together in the clearing, the morning sun warming their fur.
"I'm getting better, right?" Izuku asked between bites. "At the jungle stuff?"
The tiger's tail swished in agreement.
"Good." Izuku looked out at the vast green expanse around them. Somewhere out there, Kaito was learning from the gorilla. Yuki from the eagle. Daiki from the crocodile. Hana from the spiders. Were they getting better too? Were they okay?
"I haven't forgotten," Izuku said quietly, more to himself than the tiger. "About the others. About home. I'm learning all this stuff, but I haven't forgotten."
The tiger paused in its meal to look at him. For a moment, something passed between them an understanding that Izuku was doing what he had to do to survive, but not giving up on who he used to be.
Then the moment passed, and the tiger returned to eating.
After breakfast, they practiced more. The tiger showed Izuku how to stalk from downwind, how to use shadows to hide his approach, how to read an animal's body language to know if it had sensed danger.
By the time the sun was high overhead, Izuku was exhausted but proud. He'd caught three more rabbits small ones, but still. Each hunt was a little smoother, a little more natural.
"Can we rest now?" Izuku asked, panting slightly. "My legs hurt."
The tiger led him back to the waterfall, and they both drank deeply from the cool stream. Then, instead of returning to the cave, the tiger walked to a sunny spot on the rocks and laid down, stretching out in the warmth.
Izuku flopped down beside it, too tired to care about anything except rest. Within seconds, he felt the tiger's tail curl loosely around him a gesture that had become familiar over the past week.
"Tiger?" Izuku said sleepily.
The tiger's ear flicked toward him.
"Do you think... do you think my mom would be proud of me? For learning all this stuff? Or would she be sad that I'm not... not her normal little boy anymore?"
The tiger didn't answer it never did. But it did pull Izuku a little closer with its tail, warm and solid and there.
Izuku closed his eyes, the sound of the waterfall lulling him toward sleep. His last thought before drifting off was a promise he made to himself every day:
I'll survive. I'll get strong. I'll find the others. We'll go home.
And deep in the jungle, four other children were making the same promise.
Five Years Later
Five years in the Primal Jungle had transformed Izuku Midoriya into something his four-year-old self wouldn't recognize.
He moved through the canopy like a shadow silent, fluid, deadly. His body had grown lean and strong, packed with muscle that shouldn't exist on a nine-year-old boy. He stood nearly four and a half feet tall now, his legs built for explosive speed and power. His arms, though still young, showed the definition of someone who climbed, hunted, and fought for survival every single day.
His green hair had grown wild and long, falling past his shoulders in an untamed mane that he usually kept tied back with strips of vine. His gray uniform had long since been reduced to tattered shorts, his torso bare and crisscrossed with small scars marks from training, from hunting, from the countless lessons the jungle had carved into his skin.
The tiger had taught him everything.
How to hunt in silence. How to kill with precision. How to read the jungle like a language every sound, every scent, every shift in the wind telling a story. How to climb higher than fear could follow. How to move faster than prey could flee. How to think like a predator patient, calculating, merciless when necessary.
But the tiger had also taught him something else: how to survive while keeping the core of who he was. On quiet nights, Izuku would still talk about his mom, about All Might, about the friends he'd made in that cage five years ago. The tiger never responded with words, but it listened. And that had been enough.
Now, at nine years old, Izuku crouched on a thick branch thirty feet above the jungle floor, his green tail wrapped around the branch for balance, his cat-like eyes tracking movement in the undergrowth below. His whiskers twitched, sensing air currents. His ears—still human but impossibly sharp picked up the sound of something large moving through the ferns.
A wild boar. Big one, maybe two hundred pounds.
Izuku's lips pulled back in a predatory grin, revealing fangs that had grown sharper over the years. His claws now retractable and as sharp as knives extended with a soft snikt.
He'd done this hundreds of times. Thousands, maybe. The fear and hesitation of that first hunt were gone, replaced by confident instinct.
The boar moved into position beneath him. Izuku's muscles coiled, his breathing slowed. Every sense locked onto his prey.
Three... two... one...
He launched himself from the branch
and something grabbed his tail mid-leap.
"Gotcha!"
Izuku's momentum halted abruptly, and he swung backward, his tail firmly gripped by something strong. Years of training kicked in instantly he twisted in mid-air, claws extended, a snarl building in his throat as he whipped around to face his attacker
And froze.
"Whoa, easy there, kitty cat!"
The voice was older, deeper, but unmistakably familiar.
Kaito.
Kaito Saruwatari hung from a branch one-handed, his other hand still gripping Izuku's tail, and he was grinning like this was the funniest thing in the world.
Five years had changed him dramatically. He'd shot up to nearly five feet tall, his body packed with lean, powerful muscle that came from a life in the trees. His arms were longer than they should be more apelike than human now covered in brown fur from shoulder to fingertips. His feet had the same prehensile quality, gripping the branch beneath him with ease. His face had kept its boyish charm, but his canines were more pronounced, and his amber eyes held a wildness that hadn't been there before.
"K-Kaito?!" Izuku's voice cracked with shock and emotion.
"The one and only!" Kaito released Izuku's tail and swung up to a sitting position on his branch, his grin impossibly wide. "Man, you got tall! And look at those muscles! The tiger's been feeding you good, huh?"
Izuku landed on a branch across from him, his heart pounding—not from the hunt anymore, but from the impossible reality of seeing his friend again. "I thought I thought I'd never"
"We promised, didn't we?" Kaito's expression softened. "That we'd see each other again?"
Before Izuku could respond, there was a soft whoosh of air above them.
Both boys looked up.
A figure descended from the canopy with impossible grace not falling, but gliding. Wings spread wide real wings, covered in silver-gray feathers that caught the dappled sunlight. They were attached to arms that had fully transformed over the years, no longer just feathered but structured like a bird of prey's.
Yuki Takami touched down on a branch with barely a sound, her taloned feet gripping the wood with ease. She'd grown to about four and a half feet tall, her frame built slim and light for flight. Her silver hair was longer now, wild and windswept, with actual feathers woven through it. Her golden eyes large and intense fixed on Izuku with the same sharp focus that had marked her at four years old.
"Izuku," she said softly, and even her voice had changed there was something almost musical about it, like wind through leaves. "You're alive."
"Yuki..." Izuku felt his eyes burning. "You can fly now."
A small smile touched her lips. "The eagle taught me. It took years, but..." She extended her wings slightly, feathers rustling. "I'm free up there. Away from everything."
"Took you guys long enough to have a reunion."
All three of them turned as something massive pushed through the undergrowth below. Daiki Ryuzaki emerged from the ferns, and Izuku barely recognized him.
At twelve years old, Daiki stood nearly five and a half feet tall the oldest of them had grown the most. His body was heavily muscled and covered in thick, overlapping scales that had darkened to a deep greenish-gray. They formed natural armor across his shoulders, back, and arms. His face had kept its human structure, but his eyes were fully reptilian vertical slits in yellow irises that missed nothing. His hands ended in wicked claws, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Izuku could see the elongated fangs.
"Been tracking you three for the last hour," Daiki said, his voice deeper and carrying that characteristic hiss. "You're all loud as hell."
"We are not!" Kaito protested. "I'm super sneaky!"
"You swing through trees like a hurricane," Daiki shot back, but there was warmth in his tone. "And Yuki's wings make that whooshing sound. And Izuku" He looked up at the cat-boy and something like respect crossed his face. "Okay, Izuku's actually pretty quiet. The tiger taught you well."
"And you've become a tank," Izuku observed, jumping down to ground level. "Those scales look like they could stop anything."
"Crocodile skin," Daiki said with a hint of pride. "Took years to fully develop, but yeah. I'm basically walking armor now. Also" He opened his mouth and tapped one of his fangs. "Venomous. Learned that one the hard way."
"That's so cool!" Kaito dropped from his branch, landing in a crouch. "I got the strength thing down, and I can swing through the canopy like it's nothing. The gorilla taught me how to fight like, really fight. I could probably"
"Ahem."
Everyone looked up.
Descending from the canopy on a single strand of silk thinner than thread but clearly strong enough to hold her weight was Hana Mushi.
She'd grown the least in terms of height maybe four feet tall but the changes to her body were the most dramatic. Her compound eyes had fully developed, giving her a field of vision that was almost 360 degrees. Her arms and legs were thin but packed with muscle density that defied physics Izuku could see it in the way she moved, like coiled steel in a small package. Her fingers could grip her silk strand with barely any effort.
She touched down on the ground lightly, her feet barely making a sound despite dozens of spiders of various sizes crawling over her shoulders and through her dark hair like living jewelry.
"You were all so loud, I could hear you from three territories over," Hana said, but she was smiling actually smiling. "It's good to see you all. I was starting to think..."
"That we'd never meet again?" Yuki finished softly, landing beside her.
For a moment, they all just stood there five children who'd been torn apart five years ago, who'd survived impossible odds, who'd been transformed into something between human and animal.
Then Kaito laughed loud and genuine and suddenly they were all talking at once.
"can't believe you got so tall"
"your wings are amazing"
"those scales are incredible"
"you're like a real spider "
"the tiger taught me how to hunt anything"
"the gorilla made me fight trees"
"the eagle pushed me off cliffs until I learned to fly"
"the crocodile taught me patience and death rolls"
"the spiders showed me how to see everything at once"
They were all grinning, some with tears in their eyes, the words tumbling over each other in a rush of five years' worth of experiences they'd survived alone.
Finally, Daiki held up a clawed hand. "Okay, okay. One at a time. We've got time now." He looked around at all of them, something fierce and protective in his reptilian gaze. "We found each other. We actually did it."
"We promised we would," Izuku said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "No matter what happened. We promised to remember each other."
"And we did," Kaito said, his usual humor replaced by something more sincere. "Even when it was hard. Even when I thought I was going crazy from loneliness. I remembered."
"The eagle and I would fly over the jungle sometimes," Yuki said, her wings folding against her back. "I'd look down and wonder where you all were. If you were okay. If you'd grown as much as I had."
"The crocodile doesn't talk much," Daiki added with a dry laugh. "But it taught me to be patient. To wait. I waited five years to see you guys again."
"The spiders talk," Hana said, gesturing to the arachnids on her shoulders. "Just not with words. They told me to be patient too. That the jungle would bring us back together when the time was right."
Izuku looked at each of them his friends, his pack, the only other people in the world who understood what they'd been through.
"We've all changed so much," he said. "But we're still us, right? We're still the scared kids who promised to see each other again?"
"Yeah," Kaito said firmly. "We're still us. Just... stronger now."
"Faster," Yuki added.
"Tougher," Daiki contributed.
"More dangerous," Hana finished with a small, sharp smile.
"The jungle made us into predators," Izuku said slowly, working through the thought. "But we're not monsters. We're survivors."
"Damn right we are," Kaito said, and then he did something impulsive—he pulled Izuku into a hug. "I missed you, man. I missed all of you."
One by one, they came together Yuki's wings wrapping around them, Daiki's armored arms surprisingly gentle, Hana's thin but impossibly strong grip, all of them holding each other like they'd never let go.
Five children who'd been alone for five years.
Five predators who'd survived the impossible.
Five friends who'd kept a promise.
"So," Kaito said after they finally pulled apart, his grin returning. "What now? We just... go back to our territories? Keep living like this?"
Izuku looked at each of them, then up at the canopy where somewhere beyond, the world that had abandoned them continued without them.
"No," he said firmly. "We survived. We got strong. But we're not staying here forever. We're getting out of this jungle. Together."
"How?" Yuki asked. "We don't even know where 'out' is."
"Then we find it," Izuku said, and something in his voice something primal and determined made them all listen. "The tiger taught me to track anything. The jungle has boundaries. Nothing is infinite. We find the edge, and we get out."
"And then?" Daiki asked.
Izuku's expression hardened, his cat eyes flashing in the dappled sunlight.
"Then we find the people who did this to us. And we make sure they never do it to anyone else."