Adjusts glasses and settles into my well-worn writing chair, Stitch onesie hood falling over my eyes
Hey everyone! waves excitedly while pushing my hood back Wisteria here! I can't believe we're already nearing the end of Volume 2. glances at word count and nearly falls out of chair 125,000 words?! When did that happen?
Fidgets with pen, twirling it between ink-stained fingers
You know, when I started writing volume 2, I never imagined it would grow into something this massive. Fifty chapters... that's longer than most light novels! chuckles while reaching for my ever-present coffee mug I guess Izuku's story just demanded to be told properly.
Pulls knees up to chest in chair, getting comfortable
The support you've all shown has been absolutely incredible. Every comment, every theory, every reaction... they've kept me going through countless late nights and endless cups of coffee. And yes, I've read every single one! Even if I'm terrible at responding because I'm usually already working on the next chapter. sheepish grin
Speaking of chapters... glances at powerstone count and beams You wonderful readers have earned another bonus chapter! The way you've engaged with the story, debating everything from Izuku's techniques to the complex dynamics between characters – it's been amazing to watch.
Adjusts round glasses thoughtfully
These last few chapters of Volume 2 are going to be intense. The Sports Festival has ended, and there are so many threads coming together. Izuku's decision about One For All, the growing tensions with certain characters, Camie, Hitomi and Momo's developing situation... trails off before revealing too many spoilers
Stretches and readjusts in chair
After Volume 2 wraps up, I'll be taking a short break to recharge and plan Volume 3 properly. Don't worry though – I've got so many plans for where this story is going! The tournament may be ending soon, but Izuku's journey is far from over.
Pulls out notebook covered in butterfly stickers and hero doodles
Before I dive back into the story proper, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for coming on this journey with me, for caring about these characters as much as I do, and for making this whole experience so incredibly rewarding. Your theories and discussions have even inspired some plot points I hadn't originally considered!
Smiles warmly while gathering up scattered notes
Now then, shall we get back to the story? I believe we left off at quite an interesting moment... winks and picks up pen
Oh! And just between us – keep an eye on Miyabi Kenzo. She's... well, you'll see. mysterious grin
Time to dive back in! Plus Ultra, everyone!
======
I sighed, slumping forward on the locker room bench. The festival had stretched from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m., pair that with Recovery Girl's multiple healing sessions throughout the day, exhaustion settled deep in my bones. Every muscle ached from the constant adrenaline crash and rebuild. The final match with Bakugo had pushed me to my absolute limit.
But I couldn't show it. Not with cameras potentially lurking around every corner. Not when Japan's eyes had just turned toward me.
The locker room door opened, and I glanced up to see a few remaining classmates—Tokoyami, Sero, Shoji, and Asui. Most had already cleared out to meet family or head home, but these four lingered, gathering their belongings at a leisurely pace.
Tokoyami approached first, his raven head tilted slightly in acknowledgment. "A magnificent performance, Midoriya. Your triumph brought honor to our class."
"Thanks, Tokoyami." I offered a tired smile. "Your matches were impressive too. Dark Shadow really gave Kirishima a run for his money."
"Indeed." He nodded solemnly. "Though my quirk's limitations became apparent in the daylight arena. Something I must address in future training."
Sero slung his bag over his shoulder, his wide grin practically splitting his face. "Dude, that final counter against Bakugo? Absolute insanity! The way you redirected his explosion—I thought you were toast for sure!"
"So did I, honestly." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Split-second decision. Could have gone either way."
Shoji approached, his multiple arms folded across his broad chest. "Your victory was well-earned, Midoriya. The entire class performed admirably, but your strategy and adaptability stood out."
Asui tilted her head, large eyes blinking once. "You looked like you were having fun out there, kero. Even during the toughest matches."
That observation surprised me. Had I been enjoying myself? Between the calculation, the pain, and the pressure, there had been moments—flowing through techniques against Hitomi, the exhilaration of countering Bakugo's final attack—that felt like pure joy.
"I guess I was," I admitted. "Thanks for noticing, Tsu."
She nodded, seemingly satisfied. "You deserved the win, kero."
I closed my eyes briefly, letting their words wash over me. When I opened them again, I looked at each classmate in turn. "I appreciate that. All of you showed incredible skill today. This was just one festival—we've got three years to keep pushing each other."
They murmured agreement as they finished gathering their things. Sero checked his phone and whistled. "My parents are waiting at the main entrance. Better not keep them standing around."
"My family as well," Tokoyami said. "Farewell, Midoriya. Rest well tonight."
Asui and Shoji offered similar goodbyes, and soon the door closed behind them, leaving me alone in the quiet locker room. I dropped my head, staring at the floor between my feet.
The silence felt like a gift after the roaring stadium, but my mind refused to quiet. First Strike appearance. Need to research Takeshi's previous analyses, prepare responses. Then there was Miyabi Kenzo and her business proposal. What exactly did Kenzo Limited want from a first-year student?
And Mirko. That unexpected internship offer needed careful consideration.
I needed a manager. Someone to handle the scheduling, the media requests, the business inquiries. All Might probably had an entire team managing his public appearances. Maybe Midnight could offer advice—she'd mentioned experience with sponsorships and media management.
The locker room door creaked open. I kept my head down, assuming it was a straggling classmate returning for forgotten belongings. Footsteps approached and stopped directly in front of me, but no voice accompanied them. Just a presence, standing silently before me.
I looked up to find Hitomi Todoroki staring down at me, her expression softer than I'd ever seen it. Her dual-colored hair hung loose around her shoulders.
She said nothing, just kept staring, her mismatched eyes studying my face with unusual intensity.
I coughed lightly. "What's up, Hitomi?"
She blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance. Her pale cheeks flushed pink, and she schooled her features back into something closer to her usual composed expression—though not entirely succeeding.
"Midoriya." Her voice came out slightly higher than normal. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Midoriya."
"That's me," I agreed, unable to keep a small smile from forming. I'd never seen her this flustered before. It was... endearing.
She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "What did you and Mirko discuss after she dragged you away?"
"She offered me an internship. Said she's never taken an intern before but was impressed by the match." I paused, debating whether to mention the rest, then decided on full disclosure. "She was pretty intense about it. Said to give her one week to prove it would be worthwhile."
Hitomi nodded, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind, lips pressing together briefly before she spoke again.
"Do you remember what I said earlier?" She held herself perfectly still, only her eyes betraying her nervousness.
I thought back through our interactions—the fierce battle, the aftermath in the tunnel, our brief exchange before the ceremony.
"You said and did a lot of things earlier, Hitomi," I pointed out gently.
Her blush deepened, spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head.
"Never mind." She extended her hand. "Give me your phone."
I raised an eyebrow but complied, fishing my phone from my bag and placing it in her outstretched palm. "Any particular reason?"
She didn't answer, instead focusing intently on the screen as her fingers tapped rapidly. After a moment, she handed it back.
"I added my contact information," she explained, her voice carefully neutral despite her lingering blush. "For... class purposes."
I glanced at the screen, seeing "Hitomi Todoroki" now listed in my contacts, alongside a string of digits. The corner of my mouth twitched upward.
"Are you asking for my number, Todoroki?" I teased, keeping my tone light.
Her eyes widened slightly before narrowing. "I'm being practical. As top finishers in the festival, we'll likely receive similar offers and inquiries. It makes sense to... coordinate."
"Very logical," I agreed, maintaining a straight face. "In that case, may I see your phone? For coordination purposes, of course."
She hesitated briefly before retrieving her phone from her pocket—a sleek, expensive model with a minimalist case. She unlocked it and handed it over, her fingertips brushing mine in the exchange.
I added my contact information, then held the phone up to take a quick selfie, capturing my tired but smiling face. I attached it to the contact before returning her phone.
"Now you'll know it's me calling," I explained.
She stared at the photo on her screen, expression unreadable. "That was unnecessary."
"But practical," I countered. "Visual identification is efficient."
Her lips quirked upward slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "I suppose."
A comfortable silence settled between us. I found myself studying her face, noting how different she looked with her guard down. Younger, somehow. More approachable. The harsh fluorescent lights turned her white hair almost silver on one side, while warming the red on the other.
"What are you doing Friday?" I asked suddenly.
Her eyes snapped to mine, widening slightly. "Friday?"
"I thought maybe we could grab coffee or something. As thanks for not ending my existence after that situation in the tunnel." I smiled, letting her know the danger had been worth it. "Plus, I get the feeling that's what you really came here to ask."
Her cheeks blazed anew, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she asked, "Don't you have plans with Yaoyorozu?"
Did I have plans with Momo?
"Yaoyorozu? Not that I'm aware of. Why would you think that?"
Hitomi's expression shifted, realizing she'd let something slip. She straightened, composing herself with visible effort. "No reason. I should go. My sister wants to celebrate today's performances."
She turned to leave, but I stood, catching her wrist gently. She froze at the contact, neither pulling away nor turning back.
"You didn't answer about Friday," I reminded her, releasing her wrist after a brief moment.
She half-turned, her profile outlined against the harsh locker room lights. "I... would be amenable to coffee."
"Great." I smiled. "Four-thirty?"
She nodded once. "Four-thirty."
Without another word, she left, the door closing softly behind her. I sat back down on the bench, suddenly aware of how completely drained I felt. The day had been a marathon—physically, emotionally, strategically. Yet somehow, that brief conversation had energized me more than I'd expected.
I reached for my phone, scrolling to Hitomi's newly added contact. On impulse, I sent a quick text: Looking forward to Friday.
Three dots appeared almost immediately, pulsed for several long seconds, then disappeared. Reappeared. Disappeared again. Finally, a single message came through:
Yes.
The hallway outside was nearly deserted. Most students had already departed, either celebrating their victories or nursing their defeats in private.
I checked my phone one last time before leaving the building. Camie had texted: Outside main entrance with your mom. Dickhead and his mom too. No rush, we'll wait.
When I pushed through the stadium's main doors, the evening air hit me like a wake-up call—cool and crisp with early spring. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the plaza. The crowd had thinned considerably, but clusters of people still lingered, discussing the day's events with animated gestures and excited voices.
I scanned the area for my mom and Camie but was immediately intercepted by a group of middle-schoolers.
"Midoriya-san! Can we get a picture?" A boy with green scales covering his arms waved enthusiastically.
"Sure," I said, shifting my bag to a more comfortable position.
The kids crowded around me, phones raised for selfies. I smiled for each one, the expression coming easier than I'd expected despite my exhaustion.
"That last match was insane!" one of them gushed. "The way you countered Bakugo's explosion—it was like watching a pro!"
"Thanks. Bakugo's incredibly strong, though. Could've gone either way."
"No way! You had control the whole time!" another insisted.
I shook my head. "That's not true. Bakugo pushed me to my absolute limit."
As the middle-schoolers dispersed, a family approached—parents with a young daughter who couldn't have been more than seven. The girl clutched a notebook to her chest, eyes wide with something like awe.
"Excuse me," the father said, "my daughter would really like your autograph, if you don't mind."
The little girl thrust her notebook forward, a page already open. I knelt down to her level, accepting the pen her mother offered.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Kana," she whispered, bouncing slightly on her toes.
I signed the page with a flourish. "There you go, Kana."
She stared at the signature, then back at me.
"What's your hero name?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Ah..." I rubbed the back of my neck. "I don't actually have one yet. We haven't chosen them at school."
"But you must have ideas!" she insisted.
I laughed softly. "When I was your age, I wanted to be called Super All Might."
Her face lit up. "That's perfect!"
"I think I need something more original now," I admitted, ruffling her hair gently. "But I promise to pick a good one."
Her father checked his watch. "We should get going, Kana. The trains will be packed."
"Thank you for your time," the mother added. "Your matches were spectacular. We'll be watching your career with interest."
As they walked away, Kana turned to wave enthusiastically.
For the next fifteen minutes, I posed for photos, signed programs, and answered questions from fans of all ages. The interactions ranged from amusing to touching—a teenager asking for training advice, an elderly man congratulating me on "showing what hard work can accomplish," a group of elementary schoolers debating whether I could beat All Might (I assured them I couldn't).
Throughout it all, I maintained my composure, smiled appropriately, and gave thoughtful answers. The post-victory media training Midnight had insisted on was paying dividends already. Always be humble. Always acknowledge your opponents. Never make promises you can't keep.
I was explaining my training regimen to a particularly persistent high school student when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Excusing myself, I turned around, expecting another fan.
Instead, I found myself looking down at my mother's face.
Her green eyes—so like my own—were brimming with tears, but her smile was radiant. She wore a simple dress with a light cardigan, her hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. In that moment, she looked both exactly the same and completely different from the woman who had started training alongside me ten months ago.
"Mom."
Without another word, I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her slightly off the ground in my embrace. All the composure I'd maintained throughout the day cracked just a little as I held her close, breathing in the familiar scent of home.
"I'm so proud of you," she whispered against my shoulder. "So incredibly proud."
I set her down gently, aware of the people watching but not caring in the slightest. "Thanks, Mom."
She reached up to touch my face, her eyes scanning for injuries. "Queen and Recovery Girl fixed you up?"
"Good as new," I assured her. "Just tired."
"You were amazing out there, Izuku." Her voice wavered. "Every single match. The way you handled yourself. The way you fought. The way you spoke." She shook her head, seemingly at a loss for words. "I always knew you were special, but today... today the whole world saw it too."
The simple truth in her words hit harder than any of Bakugo's explosions. My throat tightened. "I couldn't have done it without you, Mom. All those mornings. All those training sessions. All those meals. You were with me every step of the way."
"Izu, you're gonna make Mama Midoriya cry more, fam." Camie appeared beside us, her blonde hair catching the evening light.
I grinned at her. "Pretty sure that ship has sailed."
Mom laughed through her tears, wiping them away with the back of her hand. "It certainly has. But these are happy tears."
"The happiest," Camie agreed, throwing an arm around my mother's shoulders. "Your son's kind of a big deal now, Mama M."
"He always was," Mom replied, with such conviction that I had to look away for a moment.
"Hey mom?"
"Yes sweetie?"
"Let's go home."