All Might's office is not what either of them expected.
The office is… simpler than expected.
A desk with papers stacked in two neat columns on an office table. A window with the curtains half-drawn, the evening light coming through in a single wide strip across the floor. A low coffee table between a pair of couches, with a tea set already arranged on it, as if he had prepared it before they arrived.
All Might takes a seat on the sofa against the wall.
"Sit," he gestures toward the couch across from him.
Bakugo drops into one side of the couch without hesitation. His arms fold across his chest immediately. The bandaging on his wrists is clearly visible below his sleeves. He doesn't look at Izumi. He doesn't look at All Might. He looks at the coffee table between them.
Izumi walks around and settles on the other side of the couch. Setting his bag beside him on the floor, his hand resting on the couch.
All Might leans forward slightly and lifts the teapot.
"Tea?"
Bakugo glances at the cup in front of him.
"Yeah."
All Might pours for him, then for himself. He sets the pot down and glances toward Izumi.
"Young Izumi?"
"I'm alright, thank you. Water is fine." A beat. "I have dessert after this."
All Might blinks.
Then he pulls out a small bottle of water from under the tabletop and passes it to Izumi with a faint smile.
He settles back into the sofa, cup in hand, and for a few seconds, there is only the quiet of the room, the distant sound of the school outside the window, and the three of them sitting with their respective drinks.
Then, All Might sets his cup down.
The relaxed atmosphere of the room shifts with it.
"Young Izumi," he says.
Izumi looks at him.
"What you said to Bakugo today, the observation that Bakugo was spiralling into a panic attack, the intent behind your actions, I understand it. And I won't pretend otherwise."
His voice isn't loud. But it carries weight now.
"But you grabbed a classmate by the throat. You lifted him off the ground. You delivered a threat in front of twenty of your peers and a faculty member." A pause. "That is not something I can overlook. Whatever your reasons, whatever you believed he needed, the method was not acceptable. Not here, and not in any context I would endorse as your teacher."
He says it evenly. Not harshly. But without any softness either.
Silence.
"You are not wrong to correct your classmate," All Might says, tone soft but measured.
"But you are responsible for how you do it."
Izumi nods once, accepting it calmly.
"I understand," he says. "It won't happen that way again."
There is no defensiveness in it. No performance of contrition. No resistance. Just the clean acknowledgement of someone who had already weighed it.
All Might studies him for a moment longer. Then he turns to Bakugo.
Bakugo has finished most of his tea. He sets the cup back on the table with a quiet click and folds his arms again, jaw set in the direction of All Might, which is already an improvement over five minutes ago.
"Young Bakugo," All Might says. "Izumi's method was wrong. I've addressed that." He pauses. "But the words, separate from the threat, separate from the manner of delivery, were not wrong. And I think you know that."
Bakugo's eyes cut sideways without his head moving.
"You are not here because you did something wrong today," All Might continues. "You're here because something happened, and I want to understand where you are with it."
He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, cup still in hand.
"You're one of the highest scoring students in this class, academically and physically. You are not someone who doesn't think. So, I'll ask you directly." He looks at him. "Have you thought about what was said?"
A long beat.
Bakugo's jaw tightens. His fingers press into the inside of his own arm.
"Of course I have," he says. The words come out low and rough, each one placed down carefully like something that could go off.
Both All Might and Izumi look at him.
Bakugo doesn't meet their eyes.
"I screwed up."
The words come out like they don't belong there. Like they had to be forced out.
"I rushed in. Didn't think. Let him get in my head." His fingers were turning red from the pressure. "I underestimated him."
A pause.
"…and overestimated myself."
That one lands heavier than the rest.
Bakugo exhales sharply through his nose.
Then his eyes shift to Izumi.
"But that doesn't mean I'm below you."
'There it is.' Izumi meets his gaze evenly. 'Not denial. Not arrogance alone. Something more stubborn.'
"I didn't say you were."
Bakugo's brows twitch. "That's what you meant."
"No," Izumi replies calmly, not breaking eye contact. "It's what you heard."
Silence.
Bakugo's expression tightens. Not in anger. In irritation. Because he can't immediately throw it back.
All Might watches the exchange. Then speaks.
"Young Bakugo," he says, voice steady. "You are talented. Exceptionally so. But talent isn't a finish line."
Bakugo doesn't respond, but his grip on his arms loosens slightly.
"You've built your identity on being the strongest," All Might continues. "And today… that belief was challenged." He says without softening it. "There are people stronger than you. In this class. In U.A. In the world. That will always be true. The question is not whether someone is stronger. The question is whether you are strong enough to accept that."
Bakugo frowns.
"And the sooner you accept it," All Might says, "the faster you grow."
Bakugo looks away. Processing. His grip loosens. His breathing steadies.
Something deeper shifts. Not breaking. Not yet. But cracking.
"…What about him?"
The question comes out suddenly. Sharp. Direct. Not looking at Izumi. Not looking at All Might.
Just there.
"…Midoriya."
The room goes still.
All Might doesn't answer immediately. Izumi doesn't either.
Bakugo's voice lowers. "He was Quirkless. I know that. I saw it." His teeth grit faintly. "So what the hell changed?"
He looks up at All Might. Demanding. Not shouting. Not panicking. But this matters.
All Might exhales slowly.
This is the line. He knows it. Izumi knows it.
A glance passes between them. Subtle and quick.
"…Midoriya was chosen," All Might says.
Bakugo's brows knit. "What?"
"He was given an opportunity," All might continues carefully. "One that very few people in the world would ever receive." A pause. "He did not lie to you. He simply did not have that opportunity before."
Bakugo's eyes narrow. "Given?" The word sticks. "How the hell does someone get given a quirk?"
Izumi sets his water bottle down on the table. Both of them look at him.
"Midoriya didn't hide his potential from you," Izumi says. "He never had any to hide. You saw him accurately for most of your life." He pauses. "What changed wasn't him concealing something. What changed was that someone decided the gap between who he was and who he could become was worth closing."
Bakugo stares at him.
"Not every quirk follows the same rules," Izumi continues. "There are exceptions, rare ones. Ones that can be passed on from one person to another. Izumi pauses, deliberating his words, "Someone used that ability and gave him something. Not a shortcut. Not a cheat. Something that required him to be worth giving it to." He holds Bakugo's gaze. "And he was."
A long silence.
"What does that mean?"
Bakugo says. Low. Flat. Not a question so much as a demand for specificity.
Izumi glances at All Might.
All Might sets his cup down and folds his hands.
"What Izumi is referring to," he says, choosing each word after the last, "is that Midoriya's quirk is not one he was born with."
"It was given to him by someone who had the ability to do that. Someone who looked at Midoriya and saw in him something that made the giving worthwhile."
The silence that follows is a different kind from the ones before it. This one has weight. It presses.
Bakugo's eyes have not moved from All Might.
He searches for the lie. The exaggeration. Anything.
"…You're serious."
All Might doesn't answer. Neither does Izumi.
Bakugo leans back slightly.
"That's not possible," he says. Low and certain, the way someone says something they need to be true.
"It is," All Might says simply. "And it happened."
"Who?" Bakugo asks.
"That is not something I'm going to tell you today. What I will tell you is that the person who gave it to him did not do it lightly. It was not a gift handed to someone who happened to be nearby. It was a decision made because of who Midoriya is. His nature. His commitment. The way he moves through the world."
Bakugo is quiet for a long time.
Long enough that the room settles into silence. Long enough that the light through the half-drawn curtain shifts slightly.
"He was quirkless," Bakugo says finally. Quietly. "His whole life."
"Yes," All Might says.
"And someone chose him anyway."
"Yes."
A shorter silence.
"…So he didn't hide it." He says it more to himself than to them.
"He just… didn't have it."
A pause.
"…and now he does."
His jaw tightens again. But differently. Not in anger. Not pure frustration. Something more complicated settling into place, something that doesn't have a clean name yet.
All Might and Izumi watch him carefully.
Bakugo exhales, slow and measured.
He leans forward. Hands on his knees. Eyes sharp.
"Doesn't matter where he got it from." A beat. "I'll surpass him anyway."
Izumi watches him. "That's the right answer."
Bakugo clicks his tongue in irritation. "Don't agree with me."
Izumi almost smiles.
All Might exhales quietly. Not in relief exactly. Something steadier than that.
"You don't have to be perfect," he says, "To become a great hero." He says. "But you do have to keep moving forward." He holds Bakugo's gaze. "The future you and your classmates will face is not going to be a gentle one. That is not a threat or a predication. It is simply the truth of what this profession asks of the people who choose it."
He holds Bakugo's gaze.
Bakugo looks at him for a long moment.
Then, unwillingly, his eyes move to Izumi.
Izumi meets them without expression.
Bakugo grunts. He pushes himself to his feet.
"I get it," he says. Not looking at either of them. "I've got work to do."
He walks to the door and opens it. He stops for half a second in the frame, not looking back.
"…I'm not losing again."
Then he leaves.
The door closes.
Silence returns.
All Might leans back into the couch. Slowly, quietly, the size goes out of him, a breath of steam, a contraction, and Toshinori is left sitting in the space All Might just occupied, thin and hollow-cheeked and swimming in the suit, one hand rising out of habit to cover the corner of his mouth. His gaze stays on the door for a moment.
"…That could have gone worse," he says.
Izumi doesn't respond right away. He is still seated, posture unchanged, fingers resting loosely against the water bottle.
"He'll be fine," he says. Calm. Certain.
Toshinori glances at him.
"You're very confident in that."
Izumi tilts his head slightly. "He's not fragile." He looks at the bottle in his hands. "He's just pointed in the wrong direction. Today moved the needle"
"You really think it landed.
"Enough of it," Izumi says. "The rest he'll have to get to himself." Izumi picks up his water bottle, finds it empty, and sets it back down. "That's how it works with him."
Toshinori is quiet for a moment.
"You could have come to me first," he says. "Before the threat."
Izumi looks at him.
"I could have," he says. "But he would have heard it differently coming from you in that room. He needed to feel it first. Then he could hear it."
Toshinori studies him.
"That," he says finally, "is an extremely troubling amount of social calculation for a fifteen-year-old."
"These are troubling times."
Toshinori chuckles at that.
Izumi stands and picks up his bag.
"I have dessert to get to," he says.
Toshinori watches him cross the room. He watches the way he moves, unhurried and quiet, the way someone moves when they are carrying something they have learned to carry well, and he thinks of everything that weight accounts for.
He thinks of Midoriya on a beach months ago, returning after a single punch, barely able to lift his arm. He thinks of Midoriya today, moving through that building the way someone moves when they are beginning to understand what they are holding, guiding the battlefield, reading the space, using One For All like it belonged to him. Still hospitalised at the end. But the ground he has covered in the time he has had to cover it should not be possible.
He thinks of Bakugo walking out of this office a few minutes ago with something cracked open in him that had been sealed shut since childhood, something that needed to move before it became permanent, and he thinks of the person who understood exactly how to move it and what it would cost and did it anyway in front of twenty of his peers without hesitation.
He thinks of a meeting before the school year began, a boy he had met once years ago as a child, sitting across from him and telling him, without flinching, that his oldest enemy was still alive. He thinks of the weeks since, and everything that has quietly, steadily shifted in them.
"Young Izumi."
Toshinori is already straightening in his seat, and then, slowly and deliberately, he begins to lean forward. His hands come to rest on his knees. The angle increases, unhurried, the beginning of a bow.
The room flashes.
Blue-white. Total. Gone in a second.
When it clears, Izumi is standing a foot from Toshinori, one hand firmly on his shoulder, holding him in place, the bow stopped before it could complete.
"Don't"
The word rings out sharp and clear. Not loud but with an edge
Toshinori looks up. Izumi's eyes are level, and there is something in them that is not anger exactly but is close enough that it lands the same way.
A second passes.
Izumi takes one slow breath.
"Please," he says. "Do not do that."
He stays where he is for a moment, the words finding their order.
"You have been holding this society together," he says finally. "Not the way a good teacher holds a class together. Not the way a good hero holds a city together on a difficult day. You have been the reason the entire system functions. The reason every child who ever looked up at a television screen or a newspaper and saw your face believed that the world was safe."
He stops. Steadies himself.
"You continue to do that even while carrying an injury that should have ended your career years ago. You do that even knowing that it will keep costing you. You did that alone, and you did what you believed was right for the world, and you have never once put it down."
Toshinori does not move.
"You are the reason people like Midoriya believe it is worth trying." Izumi continues. "You are the reason people like Bakugo have something to reach toward. You are the reason I walked into this school and decided that what I did here could matter, because if one person could hold the weight of the world on their shoulders for this long, then the least I could do was try to make that weight easier to carry before it takes you with it."
He stops.
The room is very quiet.
Toshinori looks at him with an expression that Izumi doesn't let himself examine too closely.
"You do not bow to me," Izumi says. "You have been standing upright under something no one person should have to carry, and you have not put it down. That is not something I will accept gratitude from. That is something I owe you."
He removes his hand and straightens.
The silence that follows is long and complete.
Toshinori sits back slowly. For a moment, he is not the Symbol of Peace or the Number One Hero. He is just Toshinori, sitting in a small office at the end of a long day, looking at a fifteen-year-old who just said, out loud, everything that nobody else has ever said to him in quite that way.
"You are," he says finally, "a very strange young man."
"I've been told," Izumi says.
A smile finds its way onto All might's face.
"Midoriya is fortunate," he says quietly. "To have someone who understands what he is capable of."
"He was capable of it before I got here," Izumi says. "I'm just shortening the distance between where he is and where he needs to be."
Toshinori nods.
The room holds the moment for a few seconds more.
Izumi adjusts the strap of his bag.
"I have desserts to get to," he says.
Toshinori looks at him with warmth.
"Good evening, Young Izumi."
Izumi opens the door.
"Good evening, All Might."
The door closes.