Chapter 5
One month later
One month of relentless preparation had transformed Izuku in ways he couldn't have predicted.
His reading level had jumped from fourth grade to seventh grade still behind, but closing the gap fast. Mrs. Kojima had started giving him actual novels instead of children's books, and while he still stumbled over complex words, he could read a full page without stopping every other sentence.
Math had progressed even more dramatically. Ms. Tanaka had moved him from basic algebra to pre-algebra, and he was solving equations that would be expected of a high school freshman. Numbers made sense now, followed patterns he could recognize and predict.
His other classes had improved correspondingly. History was still challenging so many dates and names to remember but he could read the textbook now, could follow the lectures and take notes that made sense. English was coming along, his vocabulary expanding daily. Science remained his strongest subject, where he contributed as much as he learned.
And the training. The physical training had become as much a part of his routine as breathing.
Every morning, 5:45 AM sharp. Weighted vest now up to thirty-five pounds, ankle weights now eight pounds each. One hundred push-ups, seventy-five pull-ups, dumbbell work with increasingly heavy weights. His morning runs had evolved from neighborhood jogs to sprint intervals that left other early morning runners staring as he blurred past.
Evening training after homework agility drills, core work, practicing the fluid movement patterns the tiger had taught him. His body was harder now, leaner, every muscle defined and purposeful.
Weekend pack training had become the highlight of his week. They'd developed a real system sparring rotations, combination drills where they fought two-on-two, obstacle courses they created using the warehouse's architecture. Each week, they all got a little better, a little faster, a little more dangerous.
Four months until the UA entrance exam. Four months to keep improving, keep pushing, keep becoming the hero he needed to be.
Monday Morning
Izuku's eyes opened at 5:45 AM exactly. His internal clock never wavered.
He went through his morning routine with practiced efficiency shower, teeth, uniform. The weighted vest went on automatically now, thirty-five pounds that his body had adapted to. He barely noticed it anymore unless he took it off, at which point he felt absurdly light.
Breakfast with his mother. She'd commented last week that he looked different more defined, more mature somehow. He'd grown another inch, was closing in on five-eight now. The training was building him into something formidable.
The walk to school was crisp and cool, November bringing the first hints of real cold to the air. Izuku's enhanced senses picked up the change in season fewer birds singing, different smells in the air, the subtle shift in how sound traveled through colder atmosphere.
He reached Aldera's gates right on schedule, 7:45 AM. Students milled around the courtyard as usual, chatting before the bell. Izuku scanned automatically for his pack there was Yuki perched on the building's edge, Hana near the entrance with her spiders, Kaito swinging down from a tree.
Then his gaze caught on someone he didn't recognize.
A boy, probably his age, maybe a little older. Spiky blonde hair that defied gravity. Sharp red eyes that swept across the courtyard with an intensity that made others instinctively move aside. He stood with a confident, almost aggressive posture, his school uniform somehow making him look more dangerous rather than domesticated.
And he was staring directly at Izuku.
Izuku stared back, that warm certainty flickering in his chest. Not quite threat recognition, but something else. Something familiar about the sharp features, the intense gaze, the way he held himself like he owned whatever space he occupied.
Do I know him?
The blonde boy's eyes narrowed slightly, his head tilting just a fraction. His expression suggested he was thinking the same thing.
They stood there for a long moment, neither moving, neither looking away. Two predators sizing each other up across the courtyard, recognition dancing just out of reach in both their minds.
Then a group of boys surrounded the blonde, breaking the moment. They were laughing, patting his shoulder, welcoming him. The blonde broke eye contact to acknowledge them, and Izuku turned away, heading toward where his pack waited.
But the feeling lingered. That sense of familiarity, like remembering a dream he couldn't quite place.
Katsuki Bakugo had only been back in Japan for three days after a month visiting his aunt in the United States. Jet lag was still fucking with his sleep schedule, and coming back to Aldera felt weird after being away.
But that wasn't what was bothering him.
That kid. The one with the green hair and the tail and the eyes that looked more animal than human. The one who'd stared at him like he knew him from somewhere.
There was something about his face. Something in the set of his features, the green of his eyes, that pulled at memories Katsuki couldn't quite access.
"Yo, Bakugo!" One of his friends Sato, decent fighter, useful for testing his combat skills slapped his shoulder. "You good? You're staring off into space."
"Who's that?" Katsuki asked, jerking his chin toward where the green-haired kid had disappeared into the building. "The one with the cat features."
"Oh, Midoriya?" Sato said. "Dude, you don't know about them? They're like, the talk of the school."
"I've been in the fucking States for a month, how would I know?"
"Right, yeah. Okay, so like four weeks ago, these four kids enrolled. Midoriya and his group. Apparently they came from some government-run facility, lived in a jungle for like ten years or something crazy. They got injected with animal DNA or some shit and awakened these insane animal-type Quirks."
Katsuki's attention sharpened. "Animal Quirks?"
"Yeah. Midoriya's got the cat thing speed, reflexes, enhanced senses, the works. There's a monkey kid, a bird girl, and a spider girl. They're all pretty strong, but Midoriya?" Sato whistled. "Dude's a beast. Besides you, he's probably the strongest person in the school. Maybe stronger I've seen him in PE, and it's not even fair. He makes the rest of us look like we're standing still."
"Stronger than me?" Katsuki's voice dropped dangerously.
"I mean, I haven't seen you two fight or anything," Sato backpedaled quickly. "But yeah, he's crazy strong. Fast too. And he's smart about it fights like an actual predator, not just throwing power around."
Katsuki filed that information away. Strong. Fast. Predator instincts. Someone worth testing himself against.
But there was still that nagging feeling of familiarity.
"What's his first name?" Katsuki asked.
"Izuku, I think? Izuku Midoriya."
Izuku Midoriya.
The name hit Katsuki like a physical blow, memories flooding back with sudden, perfect clarity.
A little kid with green hair and freckles, following him around at the park. Always talking about heroes, about All Might, about wanting to be strong like Katsuki. Their moms were friends, so they'd been forced to play together when they were really young.
"Kacchan, watch this! I'm gonna jump off the slide like a hero!"
And then one day, Izuku just... disappeared. Katsuki remembered his mom crying, talking to Auntie Inko on the phone. Something about the government, about Izuku being taken. He'd been too young to really understand.
That had been ten years ago. When they were four.
"Holy shit," Katsuki breathed.
"What?" Sato asked.
"I knew him. When we were kids. Before he got taken." Katsuki stared at the building entrance where Midoriya had disappeared. "Our moms were friends. We hung out all the time when we were really young. He was... weak. Quirkless. Cried all the time. Wanted to be a hero but couldn't even throw a punch."
The memories came clearer now Izuku following him around at the park, always talking about All Might, always trying to keep up despite having no Quirk. Katsuki's mom and Auntie Inko planning playdates, forcing them together.
And then there was supposed to be a birthday party. Izuku's fourth birthday. Katsuki's family was supposed to go over to celebrate. He remembered being annoyed about it at the time why did he have to go to a party for a Quirkless kid?
But they never went. Because Izuku disappeared that day. The government had taken him right before the party.
Katsuki remembered his mom coming home that evening, crying. Remembered hearing her on the phone with Auntie Inko for hours, both of them sobbing. Remembered being told that Izuku was gone, that bad people had taken him, that they didn't know if he'd ever come back.
He'd been four years old. Too young to really process what it meant.
"Well, he's not weak anymore," Sato said. "Like I said, dude's a beast now."
Katsuki's hands clenched into fists, small pops of explosive sweat crackling between his fingers. Izuku Midoriya. That crybaby kid from his childhood. Turned into something dangerous.
The universe had a fucked-up sense of humor.
"This is going to be interesting," Katsuki muttered, a sharp grin crossing his face.
Because if there was one thing Katsuki Bakugo couldn't resist, it was a challenge.
Izuku couldn't shake the feeling as he walked to homeroom.
That blonde boy. Something about him pulled at memories that felt important but stayed frustratingly out of reach. The sharp red eyes, the aggressive posture, the way he'd stared with that same confused recognition.
Have we met before?
But that didn't make sense. Izuku had been gone for ten years. Anyone he'd known before would be a stranger now. And yet...
"You okay?" Kaito asked as they walked down the hallway together. "You've been weird since we got here."
"Just thinking," Izuku said, pushing the thought away. He had more important things to focus on today's math test, the literature assignment due tomorrow, the training session after school.
They entered the classroom and took their usual seats. Mr. Yamada was already at his desk, reviewing papers. Students filtered in gradually, chatting and laughing.
Then the blonde boy walked in.
The classroom went noticeably quieter. Not silent, but muted the way prey animals went still when a predator entered their territory. Even the students who didn't consciously register it felt the shift in energy.
The boy's red eyes swept across the room with casual arrogance, like he was cataloging everyone's worth in a single glance. When those eyes landed on Izuku, they stopped. Held.
Izuku stared back, that warm certainty blooming in his chest. Not threat—not quite. But challenge. Recognition of equal standing.
Two apex predators in the same space.
"Ah, Bakugo," Mr. Yamada said, looking up. "Welcome back from your trip. How was America?"
"Fine," the boy Bakugo said curtly. His eyes finally left Izuku's to acknowledge the teacher. "Good to be back."
Mr. Yamada gestured to an empty seat. "Please take your usual seat. We're about to begin."
Bakugo moved to his desk which happened to be two rows behind Izuku and one seat over. Close enough that Izuku could feel the weight of his presence, that prickling awareness of another predator in his territory.
Throughout homeroom, Izuku found his attention split. Mr. Yamada was going over announcements, discussing the upcoming winter break schedule, but Izuku kept catching himself glancing back. Not obviously just quick flicks of his eyes, his enhanced peripheral vision picking up details.
Bakugo was doing the same thing. Their eyes met three, four, five times across the classroom. Each time, neither looked away immediately. Each time, that sense of familiarity pulled stronger.
Kaito leaned over and whispered, "Dude, why do you keep looking at that guy?"
"I don't know," Izuku whispered back honestly. "There's just something about him."
"He keeps looking at you too," Yuki observed from across the aisle, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "Like he's trying to figure something out."
When the bell rang for first period, students began gathering their things. Izuku stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and found Bakugo standing in the aisle, clearly having timed it to intercept him.
Up close, Bakugo was slightly shorter than him maybe five-six to Izuku's five-eight but built solid with muscle. His face was sharp and aggressive, all hard angles and that permanent scowl. And those eyes crimson red, intense, intelligent.
For a moment, they just stood there, the hallway traffic flowing around them like water around stones.
"Do I know you?" Bakugo asked bluntly, his voice rough but carrying an undertone of genuine confusion.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," Izuku said, his tail swishing once. "You look familiar."
Bakugo's eyes tracked the movement of Izuku's tail, then returned to his face. "Midoriya, right? That's what Yamada called you."
"Yeah. Izuku Midoriya."
Something flickered across Bakugo's expression too fast for Izuku to read but he just nodded. "Bakugo. Katsuki Bakugo."
The name resonated somehow, like an echo of something Izuku should remember but couldn't quite grasp.
"We should get to class," Izuku said after a beat.
"Yeah." But Bakugo didn't move immediately. "What class you got first period?"
"Math. Ms. Tanaka."
"Same." Bakugo's expression was unreadable. "Guess we're going the same way."
They walked in silence, Kaito and the others trailing behind, clearly confused by the interaction. The tension between Izuku and Bakugo was palpable but not hostile more like two magnets of the same polarity, unable to fully separate but not quite connecting either.
Ms. Tanaka's classroom was already half-full when they arrived. Izuku took his usual seat, and to his surprise, Bakugo dropped into the empty seat next to him a seat that had been vacant all month.
"This your spot?" Izuku asked.
"Has been for two years," Bakugo said, pulling out his notebook. "Guess you've been sitting next to my desk this whole time."
"Guess so."
Throughout the math lesson, Izuku was hyperaware of Bakugo beside him. The blonde worked through problems with aggressive efficiency, his handwriting sharp and precise. When Ms. Tanaka asked questions, Bakugo's hand shot up, his answers always correct, delivered with absolute confidence.
Izuku noticed Bakugo glancing at his paper a few times not cheating, just observing. When Izuku solved a particularly complex equation, he caught Bakugo's eyebrow raise slightly, a subtle acknowledgment.
"We have lit next?" Bakugo asked as they left math.
"Yeah. Mr. Hayashi."
"Same."
Kaito caught Izuku's arm as they walked. "Okay, what's going on? Why is Explosion Boy following you around?"
"He's not following me," Izuku said. "We just have the same classes, apparently."
"All of them?" Yuki asked skeptically.
As the day progressed, it became clear that yes Izuku and Bakugo shared nearly every class. Math, literature, science where Ms. Aoki looked delighted to have another strong student, history, English. The only class they didn't share was PE, which had different period rotations.
Each class period followed the same pattern. They'd sit near each other not quite together, but within awareness range. They'd sneak glances when they thought the other wasn't looking. Occasionally their eyes would meet, and that pull of familiarity would strengthen, but neither pushed for answers.
It was strange. Comfortable in an uncomfortable way. Like two puzzle pieces that knew they fit together but couldn't figure out how.
By lunch, the entire school seemed to be buzzing about Bakugo and Midoriya. The two strongest students in school, orbiting each other like binary stars.
Izuku sat with his pack in their usual corner of the cafeteria he'd started eating lunch there after finishing his sessions with Mrs. Kojima, his reading having improved enough that he didn't need daily intervention anymore.
Bakugo sat with his group on the opposite side of the cafeteria, but Izuku could feel his gaze several times throughout the meal.
"This is weird, right?" Kaito said, tearing into his sandwich. "This whole thing with you two is weird."
"Definitely weird," Yuki agreed. "It's like you're circling each other."
"Like predators establishing territory," Hana observed quietly. "Neither of you are backing down, but you're not attacking either. You're figuring each other out."
"He feels familiar," Izuku admitted quietly. "Like I should know him. But I can't remember from where."
"Maybe you knew each other before," Hana suggested. "Before you were taken. You were four—people forget things from when they were that young."
"Maybe," Izuku said, but something about that felt right. The familiarity wasn't random. It was specific, rooted in something real.
Across the cafeteria, Bakugo's eyes met his again. This time, neither looked away for several long seconds.
Whatever this was between them, it wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.
The afternoon classes continued the pattern. History Bakugo two seats behind him, both of them hyperaware of each other's presence. English Bakugo at the opposite end of the classroom but their eyes meeting every time the teacher turned to write on the board.
By the time the final bell rang, Izuku felt like a coiled spring. The constant awareness, the pull of familiarity without resolution, the weight of Bakugo's presence it was exhausting in a way that physical training never was.
"You heading to tutoring?" Kaito asked as they packed up their things.
"No, Ms. Tanaka cancelled today. She had a meeting." Izuku slung his backpack over his shoulder. "I'm going to head home, get some training in."
"Want company? We could hit the warehouse."
"Not today. I need to clear my head."
Kaito gave him a concerned look but nodded. "Alright. Text if you need anything."
Izuku left the building through the main entrance, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the courtyard. Students were heading home in groups, laughing and chatting. Normal kids living normal lives.
He was almost to the gates when he felt it that prickling awareness of being watched.
Izuku turned.
Bakugo stood about twenty feet away, near the school building, his red eyes locked on Izuku. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his posture deceptively casual, but there was tension in every line of his body.
For a long moment, neither moved. The courtyard continued its activity around them, but it felt like they existed in a separate space, a bubble where only the two of them mattered.
Then Bakugo pushed off from the wall and started walking toward him.
Izuku's tail swished once, his body automatically shifting into a more balanced stance. Not aggressive just ready.
Bakugo stopped a few feet away, close enough to talk without shouting but far enough to maintain personal space.
"You feel it too, right?" Bakugo asked bluntly. "That weird pull. Like we should know each other."
"Yeah," Izuku admitted. "All day. It's been driving me crazy."
"Same." Bakugo's jaw clenched. "I asked my mom about you. Called her during lunch."
Izuku's enhanced hearing picked up the slight tension in Bakugo's voice uncertainty mixed with something heavier. "What did she say?"
"She started crying," Bakugo said flatly. "Told me to come straight home after school. She wants to talk to both of us you and me. Says your mom should be there too."
"My mom?" Izuku's tail lashed. "Why?"
"Because apparently we do know each other. From before." Bakugo's expression was complicated—frustration, confusion, something that might have been old grief. "She wouldn't tell me details over the phone. Just said it was important and that we needed to talk about it properly."
Izuku processed this, his mind racing. If their mothers knew each other, if there was history there... "When?"
"She's calling your mom right now. Setting it up for tonight if your mom can make it work." Bakugo's eyes searched Izuku's face. "You gonna come?"
"If my mom agrees to it, yeah." Izuku touched the tiger's claw at his chest, a nervous habit he'd developed. "I need to know why you feel so familiar."
"Yeah." Bakugo looked away briefly, then back. "Look, I don't know what the hell happened to you. Sato said something about a facility, about being in a jungle for ten years. That true?"
"True enough," Izuku said carefully.
"That's fucked up."
"It was."
Bakugo was quiet for a moment. "You're different than the other students. The way you move, the way you watch everything. You fight in PE?"
"Haven't had combat PE yet. Just running and basic conditioning."
"You should," Bakugo said, and there was challenge in his voice. "I want to see what you can do."
"Why?"
"Because you're strong. I can tell just by watching you. And I don't like not knowing how strong." Bakugo's grin was sharp, competitive. "I'm the strongest in this school. Have been for years. But you..." He gestured at Izuku. "You might actually be competition."
That warm certainty pulsed in Izuku's chest. Not aggression interest. Recognition. "Maybe I am."
"Then we should find out."
"After we figure out why we know each other," Izuku said. "One thing at a time."
Bakugo snorted but nodded. "Fine. Tonight at my place, assuming your mom agrees. I'll text you the address."
"I don't have your number."
"Give me your phone."
Izuku pulled out his phone still a basic model his mom had gotten him and handed it over. Bakugo typed in his number with aggressive efficiency, then called himself so he'd have Izuku's number.
"There. Now we can coordinate." Bakugo handed the phone back. "And Midoriya?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever we find out tonight... it doesn't change the fact that I want to fight you." His grin widened. "Just so we're clear."
"Crystal clear," Izuku said, a small smirk crossing his face. "And when we do fight, try to keep up."
Bakugo's eyes flashed with excitement. "Oh, I like you. You're nothing like the weak extras in this place."
"Neither are you."
They stood there for another moment, that pull of familiarity stronger than ever now that they'd acknowledged it. Then Bakugo turned and walked away, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder.
Izuku watched him go, his mind spinning with questions. Tonight he'd get answers. Tonight he'd find out why Katsuki Bakugo felt like someone important, like someone he should have never forgotten.
Izuku arrived home to find his mother on the phone, her expression complicated happy and sad and worried all at once.
"Yes, Mitsuki, I understand. No, it's fine. We'll be there at six." Pause. "I know. I can't believe it either. See you soon."
She hung up and looked at Izuku, tears already forming in her eyes.
"Mom?"
"That was Mitsuki Bakugo," Inko said, her voice shaking. "Katsuki's mother. She was my best friend before... before you were taken." She moved forward and pulled Izuku into a tight hug. "Oh, Izuku. You met Katsuki today, didn't you?"
"Yeah," Izuku said, hugging her back. "At school. We have almost all our classes together. He feels familiar, Mom. Like I should know him."
"You did know him," Inko said, pulling back to look at him. "You two were inseparable when you were little. Best friends. You called him Kacchan, and he called you..." She paused, her expression darkening. "Well, he had a nickname for you that I never liked."
"What happened?" Izuku asked. "Why don't I remember him?"
"You were four when you were taken. Memories from that age fade, especially after trauma." Inko wiped her eyes. "And Katsuki was only four too. Children that young forget more easily than adults realize."
"But you remembered. His mom remembered."
"We're mothers," Inko said simply. "We never forget. Mitsuki and I were pregnant at the same time. We raised you two together, had playdates every week. You were supposed to go to the same school, grow up together." Her voice broke. "You were supposed to be at each other's birthday parties, support each other, be friends your whole lives."
"And then I was taken."
"And then you were taken," Inko repeated. "On the morning of your fourth birthday. The Bakugos were supposed to come over that afternoon for your party. Katsuki had helped his mother wrap your present an All Might figure you'd been wanting. But you never got it because..." She couldn't finish.
Izuku felt something heavy settle in his chest. "I stole that from both of us. The facility stole a friendship we should have had."
"Yes," Inko said. "But now you're back. And Katsuki... Mitsuki says he's different from how he was. Rougher, more aggressive. But still a good kid underneath."
"He challenged me to fight," Izuku said. "Not meanly. Just... competitively. Like he wants to test himself against me."
"That sounds like Katsuki," Inko said with a watery laugh. "Even as a toddler, he was competitive. Always had to be first, had to be strongest. But he was never cruel about it. Just... intense."
"When are we going over there?"
"In an hour. Mitsuki wants us to have dinner together, to talk properly. To..." Inko touched Izuku's face. "To let you two remember each other. To give you back what was taken, even if it's ten years late."
Izuku nodded, his tail curling anxiously. "I should change. Shower."
"Go ahead. I'll make some katsudon to bring I remember Mitsuki loves my recipe."
As Izuku headed to the bathroom, he caught sight of his reflection in the hallway mirror. A fourteen-year-old with cat features and muscle built from survival, about to reclaim a friendship from a childhood he barely remembered.
Izuku showered quickly, his mind racing with questions about Katsuki, about their shared past, about what tonight would reveal. When he emerged, he stood in front of his closet, suddenly uncertain.
He didn't have much beyond his school uniform and casual clothes. Finally, he settled on a dark green button-up shirt his mother had bought him recently one of the few things that fit properly with his tail and looked halfway decent. He paired it with black jeans, managing to tuck in the shirt despite his tail. He left his hair in its usual ponytail, neat and pulled back from his face.
When he emerged from his room, Inko was waiting in a simple but elegant navy dress one she usually reserved for important occasions. She'd done her makeup, though her eyes were still slightly red from crying.
"You look handsome, sweetie," she said, adjusting his collar. "Very grown up."
"You look nice too, Mom."
She smiled and handed him the container of katsudon. "Let's go meet your old friend."
The Bakugo house was in a nicer part of town not wealthy, but comfortable. A two-story home with a well-maintained yard and warm light spilling from the windows.
Izuku stood on the sidewalk with his mother, the container of katsudon warm in his hands. His tail was wrapped anxiously around his leg under his pants, and his enhanced hearing was already picking up movement inside the house.
"Nervous?" Inko asked gently.
"A little," Izuku admitted. "This feels important."
"It is important." She squeezed his hand. "But it's going to be okay. Mitsuki is... intense, but she has a good heart. And she's been grieving you for ten years. We both have."
Before Izuku could respond, the front door burst open.
A woman stood there blonde hair like Katsuki's, sharp red eyes, wearing a casual sweater and jeans. Her face was already tear-streaked, and when she saw Inko and Izuku, a sob escaped her.
"Inko. Oh my god, Inko."
The two women crashed together in a hug, both crying now. Izuku stood awkwardly with the katsudon, his tail swishing uncertainly.
"I can't believe he's really here," Mitsuki Bakugo said, pulling back to look at Izuku. "I can't believe you're really here. Look at you. You're so tall. So grown up." Her eyes tracked over his features the whiskers, the cat-like pupils, the way his ears were slightly more prominent. "What did they do to you, baby?"
"I don't really know how to answer that," Izuku said quietly, his tail curling with discomfort. "A lot. Too much."
Mitsuki's expression crumpled, and she reached out to cup his face gentle, motherly, the way Inko did. "I'm so sorry. We looked for you. For years, we looked. The government told us you were dead, but Inko never believed it. She always said she'd feel it if you were really gone."
"I'm not dead," Izuku said, managing a small smile. "Just different."
"You're here. That's what matters." Mitsuki wiped her eyes and stepped back. "Come in, come in. Katsuki's in the living room. He's been pacing for the last hour."
They entered the house, Inko and Mitsuki falling into easy conversation despite the tears, years of friendship overcoming the decade of separation. The home was warm and lived-in, photos on the walls, the smell of cooking food.
Izuku followed them into the living room and found Katsuki standing by the window, his hands shoved in his pockets, his posture tense.
When he saw Izuku, he straightened slightly. "You came."
"Said I would," Izuku replied.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then Mitsuki was pushing them toward the couch, insisting they sit, asking if they wanted tea or water or something stronger (at which Inko gave her a look they were fourteen).
"Alright," Mitsuki said once everyone was settled her and Inko on one couch, Izuku and Katsuki on the other, carefully maintaining space between them. "I know you boys are confused. So let me show you something."
She pulled out her phone and began swiping through photos. "These are old—from before you were taken, Izuku. Back when you two were inseparable."
She turned the phone to show them.
The photo showed two toddlers at a park. One was a tiny Katsuki, maybe three years old, grinning with his hands up like he was about to use his Quirk. The other was a tiny Izuku, green hair messy, holding an All Might action figure, looking at Katsuki with obvious admiration.
"You followed him everywhere," Inko said softly. "Whatever Katsuki did, you wanted to do too."
Mitsuki swiped to another photo. The boys were older now, maybe four. They were having a tea party or rather, Izuku was trying to have a tea party while Katsuki sat there with a grumpy expression, arms crossed, but still participating.
"You made him play house," Mitsuki said with a watery laugh. "He hated it but he did it anyway because you asked."
"I did not hate it," Katsuki muttered, his ears slightly red.
Another photo. The boys were at someone's apartment Izuku's, probably. They were both holding controllers, playing what looked like a hero game on a TV. Katsuki was leaning forward, competitive even then. Izuku was laughing.
"You were best friends," Mitsuki said, her voice thick with emotion. "From the time you could walk, you were together. Playdates three times a week. You learned to talk together, learned to use your Quirks together or Katsuki did, and you watched and cheered him on."
She showed them more photos. The boys at a birthday party Katsuki's third, based on the decorations. The boys at a pool, wearing floaties. The boys at a playground, Katsuki hanging from the monkey bars while Izuku looked up in awe.
With each photo, Izuku felt something stirring not quite memories, but echoes of them. The ghost of familiarity becoming more solid.
"This one," Inko said, taking the phone, "was the last photo we have of you two together."
It showed the boys at what looked like a park. They were both four now, gap-toothed smiles, standing side by side. Katsuki's arm was slung over Izuku's shoulders in that casual way kids had. Izuku was making a hero pose, one fist in the air. They both looked happy.
"This was taken a week before you were taken," Inko said quietly. "At the Sakura Park, where you two played almost every day."
Izuku stared at the photo, and suddenly he remembered. Not everything, but fragments. The feel of the monkey bars under his hands. The sound of Katsuki's laugh when they were racing. The way Katsuki would show off his explosions and Izuku would clap and say they were so cool.
"Kacchan," Izuku breathed, the name coming naturally now. Not just a word, but a memory. A friend.
Katsuki's head snapped toward him. "You remember."
"Not all of it. But... some." Izuku touched his temple, trying to grasp the fleeting images. "We played heroes. You were always the hero and I was... the sidekick?"
"You insisted on being the sidekick," Katsuki said, and there was something almost fond in his voice beneath the gruffness. "Said All Might had sidekicks and you wanted to be mine."
"You told me I had to get a Quirk first," Izuku continued, the memory solidifying. "And I said I would. That I'd definitely get a Quirk and then we'd be a hero team."
"Yeah." Katsuki's expression was complicated. "And then your fourth birthday came and..." He trailed off.
"And I was taken instead," Izuku finished. "Before I could get my Quirk. Before we could celebrate. Before anything."
The room went quiet, heavy with the weight of what had been stolen from them.
"We looked for you," Mitsuki said fiercely. "The police, private investigators, even heroes. We tried everything. But the government buried it. Said you were in a program, that we couldn't interfere, that it was classified. And then six months later, they told us you were dead. That there'd been an accident at the facility."
"They told all the families that," Izuku said. "My mom too. To make everyone stop looking."
"But I didn't believe it," Inko said, tears streaming down her face. "I never believed it. A mother knows. I knew you were alive somewhere."
"I was," Izuku said, reaching over to take her hand. "I survived. We all did me and the others. And we came back."
"As what, though?" Katsuki asked bluntly. "Sato said you lived in a jungle. That they injected you with animal DNA. What the hell did they do to you?"
Izuku considered how to answer. Finally, he said, "They tried to create weapons. Took kids who didn't manifest Quirks on time and forced them to evolve. Injected us with DNA from apex predators, threw us into artificial environments, and made us fight to survive."
"Jesus Christ," Mitsuki whispered.
"I got big cat DNA. Jaguar, lion, tiger, cheetah. They paired me with a tiger a real one and it taught me to hunt. To fight. To be a predator." Izuku looked at Katsuki. "The weak kid you knew, the one who couldn't even throw a punch? That kid died in the jungle. I had to become something else to survive."
"But you're still you," Katsuki said, studying him. "You're different, yeah. But when I look at you, I can see the kid from those photos. The one who followed me around and talked about heroes non-stop."
"Maybe," Izuku said. "I don't know how much of that kid is left."
"I do," Inko said firmly. "You're still my son. Still the boy who wanted to be a hero. You just learned to be stronger to achieve that dream."
"Speaking of," Katsuki said, leaning forward, "you're going for UA, right? The entrance exam?"
"Yeah. In February."
"Same." Katsuki's grin was sharp. "Which means we're competing. For scores, for placement, for everything."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Izuku said, matching his grin.
"Boys," Mitsuki said, but she was smiling. "How about we eat first, compete later?"
Dinner was surreal. The two mothers caught up on ten years of missed conversations, crying and laughing in equal measure. Katsuki and Izuku ate in relative silence, but it was a comfortable silence the kind that came from understanding.
After dinner, Mitsuki pulled out more photos, more stories. She and Inko took turns remembering the boys' childhood, filling in gaps in both their memories.
By the time they left, it was past nine PM. Izuku's head was spinning with recovered memories, with the weight of a friendship he'd forgotten but was now reclaiming.
At the door, Katsuki walked them out.
"Tomorrow," he said to Izuku. "After school. You doing anything?"
"Homework, training. The usual," Izuku replied.
"Skip it. Come over." Katsuki shoved his hands in his pockets, looking almost awkward. "We've got ten years to catch up on. Might as well start somewhere."
"Yeah?" Izuku's tail swished with uncertain interest.
"Yeah. I've got the new All Might game. Figured we could... I don't know. Play it. Like we used to." Katsuki's ears were slightly red. "If you want."
A memory surfaced two little kids with controllers, laughing, competing over hero games. The ghost of something simple and good.
"I'd like that," Izuku said, a genuine smile crossing his face. "I haven't played video games in... well, ten years."
"Then you're gonna suck," Katsuki said, but there was warmth beneath the roughness. "I'll go easy on you. At first."
"Don't," Izuku said. "I learn fast."
They clasped hands briefly a gesture that felt natural, like muscle memory from childhood playdates turned into something more mature.
As Izuku and Inko walked home, the night air cool around them, Inko asked, "How do you feel?"
"Confused. Sad about what we lost. But also..." Izuku touched the tiger's claw at his chest. "Also glad. I got him back. A friend from before. Someone who knew me when I was just... me."
"And now you get to decide who you are together," Inko said. "Not as toddlers, but as young men. As equals."
"Yeah," Izuku agreed, a small smile crossing his face. "As equals."
Next Morning
Izuku's eyes opened at 5:45 AM exactly, his internal clock as precise as ever.
He lay on his floor for a moment, processing everything from the night before. The photos. The memories. Kacchan. The weight of a recovered friendship sat heavy but good in his chest.
He stood and stretched, joints popping, then made his way to the bathroom. The morning routine was automatic now hot water, careful washing around his whiskers and tail, working shampoo through his long hair.
After drying off, he brushed his teeth with the reinforced toothbrush, careful around his fangs. His reflection showed the same cat-like features, but somehow he looked different this morning. Less like a weapon, more like a person with a past.
He dressed in his modified uniform, the routine motions smooth and practiced. The weighted vest went on thirty-five pounds that his body barely registered anymore. Ankle weights next, eight pounds each. His training gear was as much a part of him now as his tail.
In the kitchen, Inko was already preparing breakfast pan-seared steak and eggs, the protein-heavy meal his body required.
"Morning, sweetie," she said with a warm smile. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah," Izuku said, sliding into his chair. "Took a while to fall asleep though. Kept thinking about everything from last night."
"That's understandable. It was a lot to process." Inko paused. "How do you feel about it all?"
"Good, mostly. Confused, but good." Izuku picked up his fork. "Mom, thank you. For never giving up. For believing I was alive."
Inko's eyes got misty. "Always, baby. Always."
They ate together, comfortable in their routine, and Izuku headed out for school with more spring in his step than usual.
Izuku arrived at Aldera at his usual time, 7:45 AM. The courtyard was filling with students, and he immediately spotted his pack gathered near their usual spot.
"Izuku!" Kaito called, waving him over. "Dude, where were you last night? You missed our group chat completely."
"Sorry, I had something come up." Izuku joined them, his tail swishing. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you guys about."
Yuki tilted her head, her golden eyes curious. "What happened? You look... different. Lighter, somehow."
"I found out something yesterday," Izuku said, leaning against the wall. "About Bakugo. The blonde kid who just came back from America."
"Explosion boy?" Kaito asked. "The one you kept staring at?"
"Yeah. Turns out..." Izuku took a breath. "We were friends. When we were four. Before I was taken. Best friends, actually."
The pack went silent, processing this.
"Wait, what?" Kaito said. "You knew him before?"
Before Izuku could answer, a harsh voice cut through the conversation.
"Well, well. Look at this little freak show."
They all turned to see Bakugo approaching, hands in his pockets, his usual group trailing behind him. His red eyes swept over Kaito, Yuki, and Hana with obvious disdain.
"Monkey boy, bird brain, and bug eyes," Bakugo said, his tone dripping with condescension. "What a collection of rejects."
"Excuse me?" Yuki's feathers ruffled, her golden eyes narrowing.
"You heard me. Just because you got some animal DNA doesn't make you special. Makes you science experiments." Bakugo's grin was sharp and mean. "At least Midoriya looks like he could be worth something. The rest of you? Pathetic."
Kaito's furred hands clenched into fists. "Who the hell do you think"
"Kacchan." Izuku stepped forward, his voice calm but carrying an edge. "That's enough."
Bakugo's eyes snapped to him, and something shifted in his expressionnot quite softening, but less aggressive. "Just stating facts."
"They're my friends," Izuku said firmly.
"Your friends are weak extras," Bakugo shot back. "You shouldn't waste your time with them."
"That's not your call to make."
For a moment, they stared at each other Bakugo aggressive and challenging, Izuku standing his ground. Then Bakugo scoffed and turned away.
"Whatever. See you in class, Midoriya." He walked off, his group following, leaving the pack in tense silence.
"What an asshole," Kaito said, his voice shaking slightly with suppressed anger. "That's your childhood friend?"
"He's... complicated," Izuku said, his tail lashing with frustration. "That's not how he used to be. Or maybe it is, I don't know. I barely remember."
"He just called us freaks and rejects," Hana said quietly, her spiders agitated in her hair. "And said we were pathetic."
"I know," Izuku said, feeling torn. "I'll talk to him about it."
"Don't bother," Yuki said, her wings folding tight against her back. "People like that don't change. If that's who he is now, you should probably keep your distance."
"Maybe," Izuku said, but something about the way Bakugo had looked at him the way his hostility had dropped the moment Izuku spoke suggested there was more to it than just arrogance.
The rest of the school day was tense. In the classes they shared, Bakugo acted like the others didn't exist, but he was different with Izuku not friendly exactly, but not hostile either. Competitive. Engaged. Like Izuku was the only person in the room worth his attention.
It was confusing and frustrating, especially when Izuku could feel his pack's hurt and anger simmering whenever Bakugo was nearby.
Izuku almost cancelled. He'd spent all day watching Bakugo be dismissive and rude to everyone except him, and it didn't sit right. But he'd promised, and some part of him needed to understand why his childhood friend had become this person.
He showed up at the Bakugo house at 4 PM. Katsuki answered the door himself, already in casual clothes a black t-shirt and shorts.
"Thought you might bail," Bakugo said, stepping aside to let him in.
"Thought about it," Izuku admitted.
They went up to Bakugo's room a space that was aggressively masculine with hero posters, weights in the corner, and a large TV setup with multiple gaming consoles. Bakugo handed him a controller and they settled in, starting up the All Might game.
For the first hour, they just played. Bakugo was good really good but Izuku picked up the mechanics quickly, his enhanced reflexes helping. The competitive banter was easy, natural, like muscle memory from a childhood they'd both forgotten.
But it was during a loading screen that Izuku finally said what had been bothering him all day.
"Why do you hate my friends?"
Bakugo's hands stilled on his controller. "What?"
"My pack. Kaito, Yuki, Hana. This morning you called them freaks and rejects. Said they were pathetic." Izuku looked at him directly. "Why?"
"Because they are," Bakugo said bluntly. "They're weak. They follow you around like lost puppies. You don't need them dragging you down."
"They're not weak," Izuku said, his voice hardening. "They survived the same thing I did. Ten years in hell. They're strong, capable, and they've had my back since day one."
"Then why do you need them?" Bakugo challenged. "You're obviously the strongest out of all of them. You could do better."
"Is that what this is about?" Izuku's tail lashed. "You think strength is all that matters?"
"In this world? Yeah, it does."
"They're my family, Kacchan." The nickname slipped out, and Bakugo's expression flickered. "I've spent more time with them than I have with anyone else. They know what I went through because they went through it too. We survived together. We're a pack."
"A pack of freaks."
"Stop calling them that." Izuku's claws extended slightly. "You can think whatever you want about them, but you don't get to disrespect them to my face. Not if you want to be my friend."
Bakugo was quiet for a long moment, his jaw clenched. "I don't get it. What do they give you that you can't get yourself?"
"Understanding. Support. The knowledge that I'm not alone." Izuku set down his controller. "Look, I get it. You're strong. You've always been strong. You probably never needed anyone the way I needed them. But that doesn't make them worthless. It makes them important. To me."
"You could have better friends," Bakugo muttered. "People who are actually worth something."
"Like you?" Izuku asked. "Because you're so friendly and supportive?"
Bakugo's eyes flashed. "I don't need to be friendly. I'm the best. That's all that matters."
"Is it?" Izuku leaned forward. "Then why did you invite me here? Why do you care about being my friend if all that matters is being the best?"
Bakugo opened his mouth, then closed it. His hands clenched on the controller. "Because you're different. You're not like the other extras in this school. You're actually strong. You could be competition. You could be..." He trailed off, frustrated.
"An equal?" Izuku suggested quietly.
"Yeah. Maybe." Bakugo looked away. "Everyone else is just... background noise. Weak extras who don't matter. But you? You matter. You're worth my time."
"And my pack?"
"They're not," Bakugo said bluntly. "But if they matter to you, then..." He grimaced like the words hurt. "Then I'll tolerate them. For your sake. But don't expect me to be nice about it."
Izuku studied him this complicated, aggressive boy who was his childhood friend. Who saw everyone as beneath him except Izuku. Who had a soft spot hidden under layers of arrogance and hostility.
"That's not good enough," Izuku said finally. "You don't have to like them. You don't have to be friends with them. But you can't call them freaks or tell me I shouldn't hang out with them. That's the line."
"Or what?" Bakugo challenged.
"Or we're not friends," Izuku said simply. "I'm not choosing between you and them. Either you accept that they're part of my life, or this doesn't work."
Bakugo's expression went through several shifts—anger, frustration, something that might have been hurt. Finally, he scoffed and picked up his controller.
"Fine. Whatever. I won't trash-talk your little pack to your face. Happy?"
"It's a start," Izuku said, picking up his own controller. "And Kacchan? For what it's worth, I want to be your friend. The friend you were before I was taken. But that means you have to accept all of me including the parts of my life that you don't understand."
"Yeah, yeah. Can we just play the damn game now?"
They resumed playing, and slowly the tension eased. The competitive banter returned. They played for another two hours, and by the time Izuku left, things felt... not resolved, exactly. But better.
At the door, Bakugo hesitated, then said, "Tomorrow. Same time?"
"Yeah," Izuku said. "Same time."
"And Midoriya? Your pack..." Bakugo grimaced. "I still think they're holding you back. But... I get that they're important to you. So I'll... deal with it."
It wasn't an apology. It wasn't even close to acceptance. But it was something.
"Thanks, Kacchan."
"Don't call me that at school," Bakugo said quickly. "That's just for... here. When it's just us."
"Deal."
As Izuku walked home, he thought about the complicated friendship he was rebuilding. Bakugo wasn't easy. He was arrogant, rude, dismissive of almost everyone. But there was something underneath a loyalty, a care that he only showed to people he deemed worthy.
Izuku would just have to prove that his pack was worthy too.
Or at least, teach Bakugo to keep his mouth shut about them.
It was going to be a long process.
But maybe, eventually, they'd figure it out.