Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The heat of midsummer weighed heavy in the air, thick with the scent of ripening grass and distant rain, though no clouds marred the sky. The sun hung high and golden, its warmth stretching over the narrow streets of Musutafu, painting long, languid shadows against the pavement. Cicadas screamed from their hidden perches, their chorus endless and feverish, vibrating through the air like a heartbeat too fast to contain.

And beneath it all, in the quiet hum of a town settling into the slow lull of afternoon, Haruto walked home, bare shoulders kissed by the dying light.

She had never dreamed of being great.

There was something easy about not wanting more than what the world had given her. She had been Quirkless her whole life—an oddity, a relic of something lost, someone left behind by a world that had long since outgrown people like her. And yet, she had never felt like she was missing anything. Not truly.

Dreams of heroism belonged to those who had something to reach for. The ones with power. The ones who looked at the impossible and believed they could mold it into something real. That had never been her. Not when she was five, watching her classmates manifest their quirks like tiny miracles. Not when she was ten, realizing she would never stand among them. And not now, fourteen-year-old, standing on the edge of something unknown, staring at a future that had already made its choices without her.

She should have felt resentful. Maybe even bitter.

But all she felt was empty.

"Oi, you're thinking again."

The voice cut through the quiet, rough-edged and sharp, but familiar enough to weave into the rhythm of the afternoon like it belonged there. Haruto blinked, pulled from the depths of her mind, and turned toward the figure walking beside her.

Ren Hayashi didn’t look at her when he spoke—he rarely did, not when he was saying something he actually meant. His crimson eyes were narrowed, flicking toward her only briefly before turning back to the path ahead, his tail twitching in irritation behind him.

"You get that weird look on your face when you're thinking too much," he muttered, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his sleeveless hoodie. "Like you're trying to make sense of something, but you already decided you won’t."

Haruto smiled, soft, amused. "I wasn’t thinking too much."

Ren snorted. "Liar."

She huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she stepped lightly over a crack in the sidewalk. "It’s not a crime to think, you know."

"It is when it makes you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you’re stuck in a dream you don’t want to wake up from."

Haruto’s steps faltered, just barely, but Ren caught it. His tail flicked again, ears twitching, but he didn’t push. He never did—not unless he knew she was ready. Instead, he sighed, tilting his head back to squint at the sky.

"You really don’t wanna go to UA, huh?"

It wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer.

Haruto hesitated. She had been accepted under the rule that Quirks were nor required, an old basically unused rule. The letter had come last week, a crisp envelope pressed between her fingers, her name written in perfect calligraphy across the front. She had stared at it for too long before opening it, feeling something close to dread curling in her stomach.

She hadn’t applied. Ren had done it for her.

It had been a joke, she thought. A stupid, impossible joke. She had rolled her eyes when he handed her the confirmation, told him he was wasting his time, that there was no way she’d get in. But then she had.

"…It’s not that I don’t want to go," she said finally, choosing her words carefully. "I just don’t think it’s where I belong."

Ren scoffed. "Bullshit. You belong there more than half the idiots who applied."

"You say that, but I don’t have a Quirk."

"You say that," he shot back, "like I fucking care."

She sighed, pushing her fingers through the loose curls framing her face. "Ren—"

"No." He stopped walking. Haruto barely had time to turn before he grabbed her wrist, holding her still, forcing her to meet his gaze. His grip was firm but careful, like he knew exactly how much strength he had and exactly how much of it she could take.

"You’re strong," he said, voice low, fierce. "Even if you don’t see it. Even if you never did. And I swear to god, if you throw this away because of something as stupid as doubt—"
Haruto pulled her wrist from his grasp, gentle, but final. Ren fell silent, watching her.

She smiled at him, small and tired. "It’s not doubt, Ren."

"Then what the hell is it?"

She hesitated. Then, softly, "It’s just not my dream."

The words settled between them, an unspoken truth finally given a name.

Ren stared at her, unreadable. Then, after a long moment, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

"I know."

He clicked his tongue, muttering something under his breath before turning on his heel. "Tch. Fine. Whatever. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you slack off all summer. If you’re gonna be in my class, I’m making damn sure you’re ready for it."

Haruto blinked. "Wait, you—"

"Yeah, dumbass. I got in, too."

And then he was walking again, his tail flicking dismissively behind him, like the conversation had never happened.

Haruto watched him go, something warm and complicated blooming in her chest. Then, with a quiet breath, she followed.

They parted ways at the end of the street, where Ren’s house veered off down another narrow road, tucked behind a line of quiet buildings. Haruto waved him off with a half-hearted smile, watching as he disappeared inside without another word.

The evening air had cooled, the heat of the day dissolving into something softer, something quieter. The world felt settled.

But something in Haruto did not.

She didn’t know when it had started—that strange, trembling ache beneath her ribs. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t regret. It was something older, something deeper, something she couldn’t name.

Ren’s words echoed in her mind, sharp as a blade: You are strong. The envelope on her desk remained unopened, its presence pressing against her like an unspoken challenge.

To stand among those meant to be great. To hold her own. To prove that she was more than the absence of a Quirk.

A breeze stirred, brushing through her hair, and then—
A flicker.

Soft. Faint. A blink of light at the edge of her vision, there and gone, like a firefly winking into existence.

Haruto stilled. Her breath caught.

Another one—closer this time, hovering at her fingertips. A delicate glimmer, golden and pulsing, like something alive.

Her hands trembled as she stared. More tiny sparks blinked in and out, forming and dissolving in slow, rhythmic bursts. The glow came from her, from the space just above her skin, as if the very air around her was exhaling light.

And for the first time in her life—
She was afraid.

The lights wouldn’t stop.

Haruto’s breath came short and shallow, her fingers twitching as the gold-green light flickered and pulsed against her skin. It wasn’t warm, wasn’t hot—it didn’t burn. But it felt. Like something vast and ancient had uncoiled inside her chest, stretching into spaces she’d always thought were hollow, threading itself through every breath, every bone, every heartbeat.

Her mind raced. This isn’t possible. It’s not— Her fingers curled, then uncurled, pressing against the glow as if touching it might make it make sense. It didn’t. It only made the light tremble—tiny pulses, rhythmic like a heartbeat, expanding outward in soft, firefly blips.

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry.

It made her feel huge. Like if she wasn’t careful, she might spill over the edges of herself and never find her way back.

“Stop,” she whispered. It wasn’t a command—it was a plea.

The glow only flickered brighter, spiraling over her knuckles, up her arms in slow, weaving trails.

Panic coiled tight in her ribs. Haruto clenched her fists, pressing them hard against her chest, as if she could force it back down, shove it into whatever corner of herself it had come from. But the light moved—not wildly, not violently, but like it belonged there. Like it had always been there, waiting for her to notice.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

Her hands flexed—tight, then loose, then tight again. Her thoughts spun in frantic loops, tumbling over each other as she muttered under her breath. 'This isn’t—it doesn’t make sense. But the energy output is—no, no, that’s not—if it’s generating from internalized—'

She shook her head hard, sucking in a sharp breath.

She didn’t know what to do.

So she did the only thing that made sense.

She ran home.

The house was warm, lit with the golden glow of the overhead kitchen light, the scent of miso and grilled fish lingering in the air. Haruto barely registered it as she stepped inside, pushing the door open with trembling fingers.

She was late. She was supposed to be home fifteen minutes ago, supposed to have set the table, supposed to have done anything other than glow like a damn beacon in the entryway.

Her father was the first to notice.

“Haruto?” His voice was steady, careful. “Are you alright?”

She had no answer.

She barely had time to think before the sound of scraping chair legs against the floor cut through the quiet, and suddenly, there was a blur of motion—small, fast, unstoppable.

“Haru!”

A boy no older than seven practically launched himself from his chair, round cheeks flushed with excitement, light brown hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted. His wide, dark eyes were practically glowing with the same intensity as her own skin.

Haruto barely had time to blink before Riku, her little brother barreled into her, his tiny hands grabbing at hers, his voice spilling out too fast for her to process.

“You have a Quirk—oh my god, Haru, you have a Quirk! When did it happen?! What is it?! Oh wow, you’re glowing like a princess—does it hurt?! How do you turn it off?! This is so cool!!”

Haruto’s breath caught. The room spun.

Quirk.

Her parents exchanged a glance over the dinner table—quick, cautious, concerned.

They remembered.

They remembered the years of disappointment, of struggling to console her when she was a child and nothing had manifested, of watching her sit quietly while other kids showed off their powers. They remembered the way she pretended it didn’t matter. The way she learned to lie to herself so well that she had started to believe it.

And now—now Riku was staring up at her with nothing but awe, Blue eyes wide and shimmering, voice bright and breathless—
And all she could hear was that single word.

Quirk.

Haruto swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. Her throat was tight, her hands trembling violently in Riku’s grip.

No. No, no, no—
Tiny flashes of gold-green light pulsed in and out of existence around her, more erratic than before. Some hovered near her fingertips, flickering like frantic fireflies, while others zipped unpredictably through the air, blinking in and out as if caught in some invisible storm. Her skin was glowing now—actually glowing—a soft, unsteady shimmer spreading over her arms, her shoulders. Her breath hitched, and in the reflection of her mother’s widening eyes, she saw it.

Her own gaze—lit from within, shining the same panicked, pulsating gold.

“I—I need to go.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, cracking with something desperate.

Her mother straightened, concern deepening. “Haruto—”

“Please. Just—” She forced herself to take a step back, jerking her hands away from Riku’s eager grip. The movement sent another ripple through her Quirk—more sparks, more erratic bursts of light spiraling away from her like they had a mind of their own. She clenched her fists, as if that might stop it, but the glow only flared brighter, the motes of light darting through the air like startled birds.

“I need to go.”

Then she turned and ran.

The night air hit her like a shock, cool against the heat still burning beneath her skin.

Her legs moved before she could think, before she could question, before she could stop herself. Down the street, past the flickering lamplight, past the familiar storefronts and empty sidewalks, faster, faster—
Her feet knew the way.

She barely had time to register how fast she had reached her destination before she was already knocking. Frantically.

The house was small, nestled between taller buildings, lights still on in the windows. She could hear the faint sound of a news broadcast through the door, the scrape of a chair, the low murmur of voices. She knew she was interrupting dinner. She didn’t care.

She needed Ren.

Haruto stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, shaking, her hands half-raised like she had no idea what to do with them. The gold-green glow pulsed between her fingers, erratic and wild, sending frantic blips of light zipping through the air. They flickered and flared, darting in unpredictable spirals, bouncing off walls, blinking in and out like they couldn’t decide whether to exist or not.

Ren froze.

Her light reflected in his eyes, sharp and striking, as his pupils shrank to thin slits. His feline ears pressed flat against his head, every muscle in his body tensed like he was staring at something both completely impossible and utterly inevitable.

For a long, long moment—nothing.

Then—
Their eyes met.

And the buzzing chaos of light around her stilled.

The frantic, untethered blips softened, shifting from sharp bursts of energy into something gentler—soft, weightless glimmers floating around her like dust motes caught in a sunbeam. The glow around her hands eased, steady now, the trembling flickers settling into slow, rhythmic pulses.

She didn’t move. Neither did he.

They just stood there, breathing, staring, caught in something neither of them could name.

And then—slowly, slowly—her glow began to dim. Not all the way. Not even close. But just a little. Just enough to feel like something shifting, something letting go.

Ren exhaled, slow and uneven. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes still locked onto hers, watching the way her light played against her skin, golden and unreal.

And very quietly—almost reverent, almost inevitable—
“…Holy shit.”

Haruto’s breath hitched. She swallowed hard, fingers clenching and unclenching as she looked at him, at the sharp red of his eyes, at the shock carving its way through his usually unreadable expression.
“…Ren,” she whispered, like his name was the only thing tethering her to the moment. Like if she didn’t say it, she might wake up.

Ren blinked. Once. Twice. Then, without thinking, he grabbed her wrist.

Haruto stiffened. “Wha—”

He pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her in one sharp motion.

“Mom!” he called, voice hoarse. “Haruto’s stayin’ over!”

From the kitchen, Ren’s mother shouted back, “Okay, sweetheart, tell her she can have whatever’s left if you don’t eat it all!”

Ren didn’t even acknowledge it. He just kept staring.

Haruto opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her throat felt tight.

She had never—never even dared to hope.

And now—now—
Ren exhaled hard, running a clawed hand through his hair. His tail lashed behind him, his body buzzing with something unreadable.

Finally, after a long moment, he shook his head, half-laughing, half-incredulous.

“Dumbass,” he muttered, but his voice was too soft, too careful.

Then, more serious—more certain—
“…You really thought you weren’t meant for UA?”

Haruto sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flickering, shimmering.

Because she had.

Because she still did.

And Ren—Ren could see it.

His expression darkened, something sharp and fierce flashing behind his eyes.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

But before she could think, before she could stop herself—
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

Her hands still glowed.

Ren didn’t say anything at first.

He didn’t ask if she was okay. He didn’t push. He just let her stand there, forehead still pressed against his shoulder, hands trembling at her sides, glowing faintly like the last embers of a dying star.

But after a moment, his tail flicked, and his voice rumbled against her skin. “You eat yet?”

Haruto shook her head, the motion barely more than a breath against him.

“Tch. Knew it,” Ren muttered, stepping back. He gave her a sharp look, his red eyes flicking over her face, down to her still-glowing hands. The glow had softened, not nearly as blinding as before, but he could still see it. His vision was sharper than most—he noticed light shifts that no one else did, the way the faint gold-green hum still pulsed beneath her skin.

Haruto swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, I—should call your mom,” She blinked. “Oh. Wait. She probably—”

She blinked. “Oh. Wait. She probably—”

“Already knows?” Ren cut in without looking back. His tail flicked idly, ears twitching with irritation. “Yeah. My mom called her.”

Haruto sighed, dropping onto the couch. “Of course she did.”

The Hayashi household had always been like that—small, warm, safe. Ren’s mother had been a constant in her life since before she could remember, the kind of person who just knew things before she even said them.

She was beautiful in a quiet, tired sort of way—soft around the edges despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. Crimson eyes, the same color as Ren’s, the same color as his past self’s, but softer, wearier, like the weight of too many sleepless nights had dulled their fire. Blonde hair, darkened at the roots from too long without a break, pulled back into a messy bun or whatever halfhearted attempt she had time for that morning. She was all warmth and quiet understanding, the kind of person who gave too much and asked for too little in return. She worked too many hours at too many jobs, but somehow still made time—still made sure Ren had everything he needed, still welcomed Haruto with a gentle smile and a soft touch to her hair, still set rules with kindness rather than authority. She never raised her voice, never demanded, only ever guided, trusting them to make the right choices but always there to catch them if they didn’t.

She was the kind of person who noticed things—the kind of person who probably already knew they were sitting here, right now, talking about her.

Sleeping bags. Three feet apart. Minimum.

Haruto had never understood it. It was dumb. They had never been—whatever it was she thought they could be. But it didn’t matter. The rule had stood since they were kids, and neither of them ever fought it.

Not that Ren cared. He was already rummaging through the leftovers, muttering under his breath as he scraped what was left of dinner onto a plate. She heard a sharp huff of breath, the scrape of utensils. Then, a moment later, he stalked back over and shoved the plate in front of her.

There wasn’t much left, so he’d taken half of what had been on his own plate to add to it.

“Eat,” he ordered.

Haruto stared at it for a moment. Then, quietly, “…Thanks.”

Ren just grunted, slumping onto the couch beside her, arms crossed as she picked at her food.

For a while, it was quiet.

The glow was still there, but barely perceptible now—soft, just under the surface. No one else would’ve noticed. But Ren did. His eyes caught the light where no one else’s would. Even now, he could see the gold-green flickering, the tiny pulses that ran through her fingers like heartbeat rhythms.

She wasn’t paying attention to it anymore. Just eating, staring blankly at the table, eyes distant, thoughts a thousand miles away.

Ren watched her, silent.

Later, as they settled into their usual three-feet-apart sleeping bag arrangement, Ren grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels lazily.

“Don’t care, don’t care, don’t—oh, hell yeah.”

Haruto turned her head, eyebrows furrowing.

The screen flickered, and suddenly, the living room was filled with the unmistakable sound of Dynamight’s voice—sharp, raw, a battle cry cutting through explosions.

Haruto immediately sat up. “Oh my god, is this—?”

Ren smirked as the dramatic title flashed across the screen: Dynamight: The Legend of an Unbreakable Hero.

Haruto lit up.

Ren didn’t even try to fight the grin tugging at his mouth. He knew this would work. Knew that despite everything—despite all her doubts, despite her not believing she was meant for UA—
She was still Deku.

Even if she wasn’t. Even if she was Haruto.

She was still her.

And she was still obsessed with Dynamight.

Ren thought it was the most hilarious, ironic thing ever.

He slumped against the couch, arms folded, tail flicking idly behind him as she leaned forward, fully enthralled, watching his past self destroy an entire battlefield.

Then, with a dramatic sigh, Haruto flopped back, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I swear to god, it’s so unfair. Like, look at him. How the hell does someone this hot die so young? This is a crime, Ren. A crime against humanity.”

Ren stiffened, ears twitching violently as warmth rushed straight to his face. “I—what?”

Haruto pointed at the screen, dead serious. “Look at that jawline. The arms. The sheer power. It’s not fair, Ren. I know he’s, like, dead and everything, but you cannot tell me Dynamight wasn’t, like, peak man. The blueprint.”

Ren groaned, shoving his face into his hands. “Oh my god, shut up—”

But Haruto was relentless, absolutely in her element now. “Like, imagine being that hot and that badass and a hero and dying in a blaze of glory—like, this is some tragic, beautiful, legendary bullshit. If I ever go out, this is how I wanna do it.”

Ren, utterly dying inside, muffled a noise against his palms before snapping, “How about you don’t go out at all, dumbass?!”

Haruto just smirked, nudging him with her foot. “Ohhh, someone’s flustered.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she singsonged. “You just can’t handle the truth.”

Ren refused to lift his face from his hands. This was torture.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even argue.

The documentary covered everything—his early days as a hero, his meteoric rise to the top, the missions, the training, the absolute chaos of his public image.

Then, toward the end, there was footage.

Not just any footage.

Them.

Dynamight and Deku—fighting side by side.

Ren’s jaw tensed, his fingers twitching against his arms.

The battlefield stretched before them, a storm of fire and destruction, but they moved through it like they were untouchable. Like they were made for this.

Dynamight surged forward first, a detonating force of nature, unrelenting, wild, tearing through enemy lines with ruthless precision. Every movement was raw power—explosions lighting up the sky, his body twisting with perfect control, his sheer presence overwhelming.

And then there was Deku.

Right there. Always right there.

Where Dynamight was a storm, Deku was a current, weaving between the chaos, moving in perfect tandem, the counterbalance to all of Dynamight’s destruction. He caught the enemies Dynamight didn’t, filled the gaps before they even existed, knew exactly when to strike without a single word spoken between them.

They were unstoppable.

A perfect foil to one another, pushing, pulling, orbiting the other like they always had—like they always would have, if time had let them.

Dynamight launched himself into the air, hands crackling, and Deku was already moving, already clearing the way for him. There was no hesitation, no misstep—just them.

Ren exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, before he could stop himself—
“You know you were always meant to fight beside me, right?”

Haruto blinked, tearing her gaze from the screen.

Then she grinned, slow and sharp. “Oh, I know,” she said, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, come on. I had to be, right? Wouldn’t be much of a Deku fan otherwise.”
Ren froze.

Then scowled, ears twitching wildly. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Haruto hummed, all innocent mischief. “Oh, I don’t know.” She stretched, cracking her knuckles. “It’s just—y’know, kinda funny how you have a favorite hero too, that’s all.”

His tail flicked violently. “I don’t—”

“Ohhh, please, Ren,” she cut in, gleeful now. “I’ve been in your room. I know about the Deku merch.”

Ren groaned and immediately turned away, ears flattened. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she sang, absolutely delighted. “You just don’t want to admit that the ‘cool and edgy’ Ren Hayashi worships Deku.”

Ren refused to dignify that with a response, glaring at the floor.

But Haruto was on a roll.

“Actually, now that I think about it—wasn’t there a plushie?”

He whipped around, betrayal flashing across his face. “You shut the hell up—”

“Ohhh my god, there was,” she gasped, eyes sparkling. “You still have it, don’t you?! Ren, be honest, do you still sleep with—”

“NO.” His voice cracked. “I—I don’t—My mom got me that when I was four, okay?! I wouldn’t shut up about how Deku was the coolest hero ever and she—IT DOESN’T MATTER—”

Haruto threw her head back, laughing so hard she almost fell off the couch. “Oh, this is golden,” she wheezed. “The irony is delicious.”

Ren buried his face in his hands, dying inside.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t even argue.

Haruto was still laughing, practically doubled over on the couch, her whole body shaking with it. Ren refused to look at her, ears twitching violently as his tail lashed against the cushions. He could feel the heat burning at his face, could still hear her stupid, teasing voice echoing in his skull—do you still sleep with it?—and god, she was the worst.

But then—
Her laughter quieted, settling into something softer, something thoughtful.

“…Hey, Ren.”

Something about the way she said it made him finally glance up, hesitant, still scowling. “What?”

Haruto leaned back, staring at the screen again, eyes distant.

The footage was still rolling. Dynamight and Deku, moving together, backs to one another, fighting as though they were one person split into two bodies. The perfect balance. A force neither could have been on their own.

Haruto’s voice was quiet when she finally spoke again.

“If I’m gonna be a hero like Dynamight now…” She tilted her head toward him, smiling, but it was something different this time. Not teasing. Not mischievous. Something solid. Something real.
“…Then you have to be my Deku.”

Ren froze.

The Irony.

Haruto shifted, turning fully toward him now, her knee bumping against his. “That’s the deal, right? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. No matter what.”

Ren opened his mouth. Then closed it.

His chest felt tight.

Haruto just grinned, bumping their shoulders. “C’mon. You’re already obsessed with him. It’s a natural fit.”

Ren scowled, shoving her away. “Shut up.”

She cackled, but there was still something certain in the way she looked at him. Like she had already decided—like there was no question, no hesitation, no doubt.

Like she knew he’d be there. That they would fight together. Always.

Ren swallowed hard, looking away.

The screen flickered, and there they were again.

Dynamight and Deku.

Side by side.

Like it was inevitable.

Ren exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, finally—
“Yeah,” he muttered, barely above a breath.

He felt Haruto’s gaze on him. Waiting.

He forced himself to meet her eyes.

“Always.”

Her grin softened.

And for the first time in what felt like forever—
She looked at him the way Deku used to.

Like she believed in him.

Like she always would.

Ren tore his gaze away, fast, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his tail flicked—sharp, anxious, betraying him. There was so much he wanted to say but----
She wasn’t ready.

She didn’t remember.

She might not ever.

But he did.

He had always known exactly who she was.

Chapter Text

Summer bled into the slow hum of twilight, the air thick and warm with the lingering heat of the day. The quiet of Ren’s house settled around them, softened only by the distant murmur of the television, long since forgotten.

Haruto had fallen asleep an hour ago, curled in the confines of her sleeping bag, her breathing even and steady, her body finally at rest.

Ren wasn’t.

He was wide awake.

Lying flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it might hold answers.

Like it might tell him why the hell the universe had decided to do this to him.

His ears twitched, catching every sound—the slow tick of the clock, the occasional rustle of fabric when Haruto shifted, the almost imperceptible hum of her breath.

She had stopped glowing.

Mostly.

There was still something faint beneath her skin, something just under the surface, like the remnants of a fire still smoldering beneath the ashes.

Ren could see it.

No one else would, but his eyes were too sharp, too wired to pick up the subtlest shifts in light.

And this?

This was Deku.

Not One for All—he had known immediately that it wasn’t the same. The energy rolling off of her was different. Not a passed-down torch, not the burning embers of a borrowed power—this was bigger. Something more.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Because One for All had broken Izuku’s body over and over again.

Because he had watched it happen.

Because he had never been able to stop it.

Not once.

Ren exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head just slightly to glance at her sleeping form.

Soft curls spilled over the pillow, her face slack and peaceful in sleep, lips slightly parted. So small. So damn fragile.

She had always been this way.

Even before.

Even when she’d been Izuku Midoriya.

And now—now, just like before—
She had been dragged back into this world.

Quirkless all her life, and then—weeks before UA—something manifested.

Something huge.

Ren’s claws dug into his palms, sharp enough to sting.

It was fate. Some twisted, awful joke of fate.

Izuku had never been able to stay out of the fray, not in any life, not in any form. Of course she had awakened a quirk at the last second. Of course, she was going to be a hero anyway.
Of course, she was going to throw herself headfirst into the fire.

Even when she’d been a reckless, self-sacrificing idiot throwing himself into danger like it was his second nature.

Ren’s throat tightened, his jaw clenching.

He remembered.

He remembered everything.

The way Deku had always been just within reach but never his to keep. The way they had danced that impossible line between rivals, teammates, friends, something more.

The way they had fought together, back to back, in that final battle—against the impossible, against fate itself, against the world that had tried so many times to tear them apart.
The way Aizawa had been right there, beside them, keeping them grounded, keeping them fighting—until he couldn’t anymore.

The way they had won.

And the way it hadn’t mattered.

Because the fallout was coming. Because the battlefield was crumbling, because there was no way out.

Because Katsuki had spun wildly in the wreckage, eyes searching, heart pounding, instincts screaming for the one thing in the world he could never let go of.

Because the moment he found Izuku, standing unsteady in the haze of dust and ruin, bleeding, exhausted, beautiful, Katsuki had moved.

No hesitation. No thought. Just him—just his hands grabbing fistfuls of fabric, yanking Deku into his arms, holding on.

Tucking him away like he could shield him.

Like if the end was coming, then the whole damn world would know.

Would see—see how much he loved Izuku Midoriya.

How he had always loved him.

How he had never been able to say it.

Not right. Not enough.

But here, now, in the wreckage, in the last moments, with no way out—
Katsuki buried his face in Izuku’s hair, arms tightening around him, and he breathed, raw and wrecked and real—
“I got you. I got you. I got you—”

And Izuku—Deku—had clenched his fists into Katsuki’s vest, pressed in close, and whispered, “I know.”

And then—
Nothing.

Ren rolled onto his side, exhaling hard, pressing a hand against his forehead.

God, this was fucked.

Because she wasn’t him.

Not entirely.

She was Haruto.

And Haruto wasn’t ready.

She hadn’t remembered yet.

She might never remember.

But Ren did.

And Ren would always, always know her.

Morning came slow.

Haruto woke to the smell of miso soup and rice, to the sound of Ren’s mother humming in the kitchen, to the dim light of an overcast sky filtering through the window.

She felt… normal.

Or at least, she felt more normal than she had any right to.

For a moment, she almost forgot. Almost forgot that something inside her had changed last night. That something in her had shifted, had cracked open, had woken up.

And then she moved her hands.

And the air around her hummed.

A soft, golden glow flickered back to life beneath her skin—not steady, not controlled, but erratic, currents of energy snapping and twisting around her fingers like restless, living things.

Light motes blinked in and out of existence, popping softly, no bigger than fireflies, appearing for mere seconds before vanishing with tiny sparks of sound.

Haruto stilled, breath catching sharp in her throat.

Okay.

Okay.

This was real.

Her fingers trembled as she turned her hands over, watching the light curl around them, unspooling like it had always been there, like it had just been waiting.

Her heart pounded.

She swallowed hard and exhaled slowly, trying to calm the spike of panic threatening to claw its way up her throat.

Then, with the same relentless focus she had always thrown at everything, she muttered, “Alright. What are you?”

Her brain jumped to analysis mode instantly, latching onto details, pulling from years of quirk studies, of breaking things down, of figuring out how things worked.

The energy wasn’t hot like a flame. Wasn’t heavy like a solid construct. It moved, but it didn’t behave like wind or water either—there was something else, something deeper.

It responded to her thoughts, but not completely. It wasn’t like flexing a muscle—wasn’t quite like an extension of her body. More like… like trying to grasp a current in water. It slipped, twisted, shifted just out of reach.

Haruto muttered rapidly under her breath, words tumbling out as her fingers twitched, as she focused, as she pushed.

“I can feel it—I can feel it moving. It’s not projection-based, it’s not elemental—there’s no heat, no mass, but it’s there. What’s the trigger? Emotional? Voluntary? It reacted to panic, but it’s still happening now, so maybe semi-autonomous—does it have a limit?—”

The motes of light popped faster, the energy currents crackling sharper, and her breath hitched as the glow flared brighter for a split second before sputtering again.

She gritted her teeth, brow furrowing.

Come on, come on, let me figure you out—
She reached out instinctively, trying to grasp one of the flickering motes—
And the second her fingers brushed the glow, a shockwave of energy rippled through the room.

A rush of static, a low, thrumming pulse that made the hair on her arms rise, that sent her sleeping bag rustling like a gust of wind had passed through.

Haruto froze.

Her chest heaved.

Slowly, slowly, she curled her fingers into a fist, pulling her hand back.

Okay.

Noted.

This power…

It was big.

And she had no idea what the hell it was.

She swallowed hard, staring at her fingers.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel like anything, really—just a hum, like her body had picked up a new frequency, like she was tuned into something she wasn’t supposed to be.
Slowly, carefully, she exhaled, curling her hands into fists.

The glow dimmed.

Not entirely, but enough.

She could control it.

Sort of.

“Hey.”

Haruto flinched, whipping her head up just as Ren walked in, yawning, stretching his arms over his head, ears twitching as he cracked his neck.

He didn’t look at her immediately, just padded past her toward the kitchen, scratching idly at his jaw.

“You sleep okay?” he muttered.

Haruto swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. You?”

“Eh.” He shrugged.

That meant no.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Ren never fucking slept.

At least, not at night.

She had caught him before—curled up in some warm patch of sunlight like a damn cat, tail wrapped around himself, ears flicking lazily in his sleep. He always denied it, always grumbled and scoffed and glared if she pointed it out, but she knew.

He was awful about sleeping when he was supposed to, but give him a quiet afternoon, a sunlit window, and five minutes of stillness?

Out like a light.

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Y’know, if you actually slept at night, maybe you wouldn’t have to crash in random sunbeams like some lazy housecat.”

Ren scowled, ears twitching violently. “I don’t—”

“Oh, shut up,” she cut in, waving a hand. “I know about your little naps.”

His tail flicked, bristling slightly. “It’s not naps, I just—”

“You just conveniently fall asleep every time you find a warm spot, huh?” She smirked, stepping past him. “Admit it, Ren. You’re a cat.”

Before he could fire back, she reached out as she walked by, ruffling his hair with a playful scratch before dragging her fingers lightly over the base of his ears.

Then—just to be a menace—she tweaked one between her fingers.

Ren went silent.

Completely, utterly shut up.

His whole body locked up for half a second, ears flattening, tail stiff—before it gave the tiniest, traitorous flick.

Haruto grinned as she glanced over her shoulder. “Huh. That’s what I thought.”

Ren sputtered, face burning as he whipped around, ears twitching wildly. “I—You—Don’t touch my ears, dumbass!”

But the damage was done.

Haruto just laughed, leaving him behind, grumbling under his breath, ears still flicking violently—
And her completely aware of the fact that he hated that he loved that shit.

He grabbed a bowl from the counter, filling it with rice before shoving it at her.

“Eat.”

She blinked. “Again?”

Ren scowled, tail flicking. “Dumbass, you barely ate last night, and I know you. If you don’t eat now, you’re gonna get in your own damn head and start spiraling.”

Haruto pursed her lips. He wasn’t wrong.

She took the bowl.

They ate in silence for a while, the only sound the occasional clink of chopsticks against ceramic.

Then—
“So.”

Haruto tensed. She knew that tone.

Ren set his chopsticks down, fixing her with a look.

“You’re gonna tell me what the hell that was last night,” he said.

Haruto swallowed.

Her fingers flexed against her bowl. The glow—**just barely perceptible—**pulsed in response.

Ren’s eyes flickered to it.

Haruto hesitated.

Then, softly, “…I don’t know.”

Ren exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed.

“You never even dreamed about having a Quirk,” he muttered, watching her carefully.

She shook her head. “No, I didn't let myself.”

“But you do now.”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Ren tilted his head, red eyes sharp. “And that doesn’t piss you off?”

Haruto flinched.

Because it did.

It did, and it didn’t.

She had spent years accepting this. Accepting that she was different. Accepting that she wasn’t meant for UA, wasn’t meant for the same dreams as the others, wasn’t meant to stand beside people like him.

And now—now the universe had decided to change its mind?

Now, after all this time?

“It’s not fair,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Ren’s eyes flashed.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Something in his voice made her look up.

He wasn’t talking about her.

Not just her.

Her chest tightened.

Ren held her gaze, the weight of something heavy, unreadable pressing between them.

Then, after a long moment, he exhaled and looked away.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “You’ve got one now. So you’re going to UA.”

Haruto opened her mouth, but—
“You are,” Ren repeated, firm.

She hesitated.

Then, finally, she sighed.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I guess I am.”

Ren nodded.

Then—**without thinking, without hesitation—**he reached out, flicking her forehead hard.

“Ow, asshole—”

“Tch.” He smirked, stepping back. “Welcome to the real world, nerd.”

And for the first time since last night, Haruto laughed.

Ren could smell the shift in her. He didn’t know how to explain it—only that his instincts had always been keener than they should be, his body always half a second ahead of thought. He had smelled rain before it came, heard shifts in the wind before the trees bent to it, felt the tension of a fight in the air before fists were even raised.

And now, sitting here, watching her, he could feel it again.

Something had changed.

Something irreversible.

Haruto sat quiet, barely touching her food, fingers curled around her chopsticks as if they might anchor her. Her gaze was distant, staring at the surface of her rice as though it might hold the answers she didn’t have.

Ren exhaled through his nose, setting his own bowl down.

Chapter Text

The morning sun stretched golden fingers over the city, its warmth spilling through the wide windows of UA’s towering campus. The air buzzed with first-day energy, a mix of nerves, excitement, and the kind of restless anticipation that only future heroes could radiate.

And Takashi Haruto looked the part.

The UA uniform fit her entirely too well.

Ren had not been prepared.

Not even a little bit.

He had seen her every day for years. Had seen her in every possible state of existence—muddy, sweaty, exhausted, with twigs in her hair from falling face-first into a ditch that one time (which, hilarious, by the way). He had seen her pissed off, laughing, crying, drooling in her sleep. He had seen her.

But this—
This was some unfair, bullshit, divine-level cruelty.

She wasn’t even trying.

Haruto had never worn the gray UA jacket—not even once, even when they’d picked up their uniforms last week. Instead, she wore the white dress shirt, sleeves perfectly tailored to her arms, the material just a little too crisp, a little too fitted. The skirt sat just high enough to be dangerous, skimming toned thighs like it was flirting with him on purpose.

And then—because the universe clearly hated him—
The top two buttons of her shirt were undone.

Not one. Two.

And Ren wasn’t blind.

It wasn’t his fault she was stacked, okay?! It wasn’t his fault his eyes betrayed him, flicking downward for a fraction of a second before snapping right back up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

It wasn’t his fault she looked like that.

Her strawberry-blonde curls fell in soft waves, catching the light like spun fucking gold, every strand glowing as she turned her head slightly, those too-bright emerald-green eyes scanning the halls of UA like she had always belonged there.

She looked ethereal. Unreal. Like some damn goddess who had descended from the clouds just to personally ruin his life.

Ren’s stomach clenched.

So unfair. So fucking unfair.

Why the hell did she get to look like that while he was stuck as a scrawny-ass catboy with permanently messy hair and ears that twitched against his will?!

He scowled, ears flicking violently, tail curling with deep resentment at the unfairness of it all.

And then—
Then she turned to him, oblivious, all bright eyes and easy warmth, smiling.

And Ren—
Ren ignored it.

Because if he thought about it—if he let himself process how devastatingly beautiful she was, how she stood there glowing like something out of a dream, looking at him like he was the only thing in the room that mattered—
He was done for.

They walked together, side by side, and Ren couldn’t even be annoyed that she seemed to instinctively know the way.

To the classrooms.

To the cafeteria.

To the fucking training grounds.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t pause to check the school map, didn’t second-guess herself once.

And Ren knew her. He knew she was smart, in that effortless way that had always been frustrating—brilliant without trying, absorbing information without even realizing it.

But this wasn’t that.

She shouldn’t know these things.

She hadn’t studied this school’s layout.

She hadn’t memorized the campus.

So why did she know?

Ren didn’t say anything.

But he noticed.

First Period: English (Or, ‘Round-Face is Our Teacher, What the Actual Fuck?’)

Ren should have been more prepared.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

But when Ochako fucking Uraraka walked in—bright-eyed, beaming, the words "Good morning, class! Welcome to UA’s English program!" spilling from her lips—
He nearly choked on his own damn tongue.

Haruto blinked beside him. “Wait, is that Uravity—?”

Ren slumped dramatically over his desk, forehead thudding against the surface.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, voice muffled.

Because of course this was happening. Of course. Haruto gets a quirk out of nowhere, UA is already proving to be the worst kind of nostalgia trip from hell, and now—now—Round-Face was his goddamned English teacher.

The one subject he actually struggled with.

What kind of fresh hell was this?

Ochako—**Round-Face, the former gravity-defying menace, Izuku Midoriya’s ride-or-die, the girl who had once helped shatter the concept of a glass ceiling in the hero world—**was now standing at the front of the class like this was normal, like this wasn’t the most batshit, ridiculous, unbelievable thing that had ever happened to him.

Ren lifted his head just enough to glance sideways at Haruto.

And of course, in full fucking Deku mode, she was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Dude, this is insane,” she whispered, eyes huge. “She’s a legend! Did you see that one mission where she—”

Ren zoned out, barely suppressing the groan rising in his throat.

This was going to be a long year.

Like, how was he supposed to deal with this?! Just casually sit here and pretend like Ochako wasn’t someone he knew—like she hadn’t fought beside him, like they hadn’t had a weird unspoken bond over caring about Izuku?

It wasn’t like they’d been best friends or anything, but they had understood each other in a way that made it impossible to hate one another. That wasn’t just something he could forget.

And yet.

What the hell was he supposed to do about it? Walk up to her after class like, hey, Round-Face, long time no see—you still a raging bitch or nah?

Yeah. That would go real well.

She’d laugh him out of the classroom.

No. He couldn’t do shit.

Not without Haruto knowing who she was.

And this—this wasn’t just his secret to tell.

Ren sighed deeply, letting his head drop back onto the desk.

UA was already too much.

Ren groaned, dragging his hands down his face. This was fine. Everything was fine. Just another casual day in his fresh new hell.

His ears twitched, catching the faint rustle of shifting uniforms, the quiet murmurs of his classmates as they processed the Uravity standing at the front of the room like it was normal.

His gaze flickered to the other students.

And that’s when he saw him.

Across the room, sitting with an air of practiced disinterest, was a kid wrapped up in the biggest goddamn scarf Ren had ever seen in his life. It swallowed half his face, leaving only sharp, steel-gray eyes visible—eyes that immediately unsettled Ren in a way he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t recognize him. Didn’t know his name.

But something about him felt… off.

Not in a bad way. Just… in a way that made Ren’s instincts flicker, warning him to pay attention.

Next to him, a boy with fluffy pink hair was practically bouncing in his seat, whispering way too animatedly for someone trying to be discreet.

Ren’s ears twitched again, easily picking up the hushed words.

“Dude,” Pink Hair whispered, eyes wide. “This is insane. Uravity’s here. Do you think the others will be here too?”

Scarf Boy shot him a dark, warning look—sharp and quick, the kind that carried weight.

Pink Hair immediately shut up.

But—annoyingly—he just grinned, biting back a quiet laugh like this was the funniest thing in the world.

Ren narrowed his eyes slightly, tail flicking.

The others?

His gaze shifted between them, thoughts turning.

Did they know something?

Or was this just normal first-year bullshit—UA students freaking out over the prospect of pro-heroes being on staff?

His gut twisted.

Ochako being here had already thrown him for a loop. If there were others—
He exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips into a thin line.

This year was going to be a goddamn nightmare.

Hero History (Or, ‘Ren Sees a Ghost and It’s Not Funny This Time’)

By the time they walked into Hero History class, Ren was convinced the universe was out to kill him.

But nothing—not Present Mic being the goddamn principal, not the fact that Round-Face was teaching them English—
Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Haruto stepped in first, head tilting slightly as she took in the classroom, and Ren followed—
And then he saw him.

Standing at the front of the class, arms crossed, sharp red eyes scanning the room, hair still bright as fire and just as unbreakable.

Shitty Hair.

The breath hitched in Ren’s throat.

He hadn’t seen that face in so, so long.

Hadn’t seen Kirishima Eijiro standing in front of a classroom, looking older, stronger, but still him.

And for the first time since he had woken up in this new life—
Ren felt the sting of tears prick behind his eyes.

They didn’t fall.

They never would.

But they were there.

Because when he looked at Kirishima, when he saw the solid set of his stance, the warmth in his gaze, the unshakable presence that had always been there—
All Ren could see was the last time he ever saw him.

The battlefield.

The fire. The wreckage.

The way Kirishima had shouted their names, voice raw with desperation, with panic, with something broken.

The way he had run, tearing through debris, dodging falling steel and crumbling structures, pushing forward like he could reach them, like he could do something, like he could save them.

Ren could still hear it—his name, screamed over the roar of destruction, over the final moments before the collapse.

And Kirishima had been too far.

Not that it would have mattered.

If he had made it, he would have died.

Just like them.

Ren inhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, forcing the lump in his throat to disappear. He swallowed hard, blinked the sting away, ignored the way his claws dug into his palms.

Not now. Not here.

His lips curled into a smirk before he could stop them, the words slipping out before his brain even caught up—
"Professor Shitty Hair?"

The class fell silent.

Kirishima blinked, frozen in place.

Haruto immediately buried her face in her hands.

Ren just grinned, all teeth, forcing himself to keep his voice steady, casual.

Kirishima opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Then, after a long moment—
“…What did you just call me?”

Ren’s smirk widened, arms crossing over his chest, tail flicking behind him. “You heard me.”

Kirishima stared.

And for a brief, flickering second—something in his expression softened.

Like he had heard that before.

Like he had felt this moment before.

Like something about **Ren—his voice, his eyes, the sharp, familiar edges of his smirk—**was tripping something deep in his memory.

Ren held his breath.

And then—
“…Alright,” Kirishima finally muttered, shaking his head, playing it off. “Guess I walked right into that one.”

Ren just smirked wider.

Yeah.

Yeah, he had.

But deep in his chest, buried beneath layers of forced levity and barely-contained emotion—
Ren felt like he was going to break.

Lunch (Or, ‘Haruto is Popular and Has No Idea Why, But Ren Does’)

It was unfair how effortlessly magnetic Haruto was.

She wasn’t even trying.

They had barely stepped into the cafeteria before people flocked to her, drawn in like moths to a flame.

Ren sighed as he trailed behind her, ears twitching irritably as their peaceful lunch quickly turned into a whole thing. He had barely sat down before she was surrounded—half their class squeezing around their table, trays clattering onto surfaces, chatter sparking instantly like Haruto had personally summoned them.

A girl with short, sleek black hair and bright blue eyes perched on the bench across from them, chin propped on her hand. “So, what’s your Quirk, Haruto? That energy thing from this morning looked insane—can you control it yet?”

Haruto blinked, startled for half a second before she grinned, sheepish. “Ah, well… not really? It kinda does what it wants right now.”

A tall, lanky boy with dark green hair and too many piercings smirked. “Sounds sick. You thinking about hero work?”

Haruto lit up. “Hell yeah. Always have! It’s kinda a dream come true.”

Ren sighed as more kids squeezed into their orbit.

A stocky guy with spiky brown hair grinned at her. “Dude, that’s awesome. Man, our class is gonna be so stacked—”

Another voice cut in, this one coming from a round-faced kid with fluffy orange curls. “Ooooh, I knew you looked familiar! You were all over the forums last night! People were freaking out about some new energy Quirk popping up out of nowhere!”

Ren’s tail flicked irritably. God, it’s already on the forums?

And through it all—Haruto just rolled with it, handling the sudden onslaught of attention like it was nothing.

She laughed easily, answering questions, redirecting conversations with effortless charm, flashing smiles that made people lean in, drawn closer by something innate, something warm and open and magnetic.

And Ren—
Ren watched.

Watched the way she tilted her head when she listened, the way her fingers absently tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she nodded along to someone’s story.

Watched the way people gravitated toward her, barely realizing they were doing it.

She didn’t see it.

Didn’t see how she pulled people in without even trying.

But Ren saw it.

And Ren knew exactly why.

Because he had seen it before.

But also—
He hadn’t.

Because Izuku had never been like this.

Izuku had always been a nervous wreck when it came to socializing—stuttering, rambling, second-guessing himself, always hovering at the edge of conversations like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there.

Haruto, though?

Haruto was different.

Confident. Charismatic. A natural.

And Ren wondered—
Was it nurture over nature?

She had a better life this time. Two loving parents. A cute-as-hell little brother Ren adored (not that he’d ever admit it).

And this time…

This time, she had Ren by her side.

Not bullying her into oblivion.

Not tearing her down at every turn.

A bitter taste curled in the back of his throat.

He felt remorse for his mistakes as Katsuki every day—it was buried in him, carved into his soul, something he lived with.

But seeing this—seeing how different she was, how much easier everything was for her, how much happier—
It drove the guilt deeper.

Because this was the proof.

Proof that Izuku Midoriya had never needed to suffer the way he had.

That he could have been this person—bright, unbreakable, sure of herself—if Ren had just…

If he had just been better.

He clenched his fists under the table, tail flicking sharply.

Another voice broke through his thoughts—one of the kids, a broad-shouldered girl with dark purple eyes, nudging Haruto playfully. “So, what’s up with him?” She tilted her head toward Ren, teasing. “He always this grumpy, or is that just a you problem?”

Haruto grinned, elbowing him. “Oh, that’s just Ren. He likes to act all tough, but he’s really just a big softie.”

Ren snapped out of it real fast.

“I will kill you,” he deadpanned.

Haruto laughed, leaning into him like an absolute menace.

And, despite everything—despite the weight in his chest, despite the mess in his head—
Ren felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease.

Because at least this part hadn’t changed.

Hero Training (Or, ‘Ren’s Brain Finally Short-Circuits’)

Haruto was excited.

She wouldn’t admit it, but Ren could tell.

The way she grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the training grounds, not even realizing she knew the way.

Ren let her.

Because, honestly? Watching her act like she wasn’t vibrating with excitement was hilarious.

But then—
Then they walked onto the field.

And Ren froze.

Because standing in front of them, arms folded, expression unreadable—
Was Shoto Todoroki.

Ren’s heart stopped.

Because, for a moment—**a horrible, gut-wrenching moment—**he wasn’t Ren.

He was Katsuki Bakugo.

Standing on a battlefield beside Izuku, watching his brother cut down their enemies with unshakable precision, just as he had always done.

Todoroki had been unstoppable back then. A wall of ice, an inferno of fire—every move devastatingly efficient, every attack deadly in a way that only Shoto could make look effortless.

The three of them—the Big Three of their generation—had ruled the battlefield together. They had stood shoulder to shoulder, back to back, Katsuki’s explosions, Deku’s unyielding power, Shoto’s elemental devastation—
And then…

Then it had all ended.

Ren’s breath came sharp and tight, chest aching as he stared.

Because Shoto—his Shoto—had always been cold, had always been stoic, but by the time Katsuki died, he had changed. He had grown.

He had learned to smile.

But this Shoto?

The man standing before them now?

His face was empty.

His eyes were colder than Ren had seen them since their first year of UA.

All that fucking progress… gone.

The easy way Shoto used to exist with them, the way he had let himself belong, the way he had finally accepted that he wasn’t his father’s weapon, that he wasn’t a tool, that he was their friend—
All of it—erased.

Ren’s stomach twisted, nausea curling deep.

How many years had Shoto spent without them? Without Deku? Without him?

What had losing them done to him?

“Oh my god!”

Haruto’s voice cut through the haze, bright and oblivious, filled with awe.

Ren flinched.

Because she didn’t know.

She had no fucking clue.

“Oh my god,” Haruto gushed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I didn’t think we’d actually get you, but you’re one of my absolute favorite pro heroes—”

And then—

She pulled out a notebook.

Ren froze.

Because what the hell?

No—actually, what the fuck?

Since when did Haruto carry around a damn notebook?

Since when did she start scribbling in it like a damn nerd—like his damn nerd—muttering battle stats under her breath, eyes practically glowing as she scrawled down notes at lightning speed, flipping pages like she’d been possessed by the spirit of every quirk analyst who had ever lived?

Ren felt his stomach drop straight through the floor.

Because this—this was not Haruto.

This was Izuku.

Pure, unfiltered, unhinged Deku bullshit.

The kind of rabid, quirk-fueled hyperfixation that he had seen a million times before—in every damn timeline, in every damn life, in every damn classroom, where Izuku Midoriya had once sat hunched over a dog-eared notebook, furiously recording every single detail of every single hero he had ever admired.

And now—**right here, in front of him—**Haruto was doing the exact same thing.

Ren’s ears twitched violently. His tail bristled, static running through his spine.

She didn’t even notice.

Didn’t notice him staring, didn’t notice the way his whole body locked up—because she was too busy fucking fanboying over Shoto Todoroki like this was the greatest moment of her entire life.

She flipped a page, frantically scrawling notes, and Ren nearly choked on air.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

His chest tightened, heart hammering against his ribs, because it wasn’t just the notebook—

It was the way her eyes flicked across the room, sharp and assessing, watching every movement, dissecting every detail, absorbing everything all at once like her brain was built different.

It was the way she tilted her head slightly, muttering under her breath—the same way Izuku used to do before spitting out a full-blown dissertation on someone’s quirk mechanics like it was a goddamn sport.

It was the absolute focus.

The sheer, obsessive, endless curiosity.

It was her.

It was him.

It was Izuku, right there, right in front of him, and she didn’t even realize it.

Ren swallowed hard, his breath shaky.

And then—

Haruto lit up, grinning, her pen scratching frantically against the page.

“Oh my god, your counterattack against that villain ambush last year was insane!” she blurted, practically vibrating. “The way you used the ice terrain to force positional control—it completely negated their exit strategy! And even with the fire output limitation, you still managed to maintain offensive pressure without overheating—was that calculated beforehand, or did you adapt on the fly?”

Ren didn’t hear Todoroki’s response.

Because he was too busy having an existential crisis.

His throat felt tight, his fingers curling into fists against his sides, his mind spinning in a thousand directions at once.

She didn’t even know.

Didn’t realize.

Didn’t see how much of himself was still inside her.

Ren inhaled sharply through his nose, trying to force down the way his chest ached, the way his instincts screamed.

Because she wasn’t there yet.

She didn’t remember.

But he did.

And right now—watching this, feeling this—

He thought he might just lose his fucking mind.

She flipped a page, eyes lighting up. “Your fight against that villain syndicate in Osaka last year was insane—I mean, you managed to counter that entire ambush despite the terrain disadvantage, which was so impressive because the ice output alone should’ve drained you, but you still managed to—”

Ren blinked, ears flicking wildly.

Shoto—stoic as ever—barely reacted, only offering a slow, measured blink before exhaling quietly, voice as cool and unreadable as ever.

“…You’re a fan.”

Haruto beamed. “Hell yeah, I’m a fan! You’re one of the best pro heroes out there right now, Requiem!”

Ren’s eye twitched.

Requiem, Shoto Todoroki, IcyHot.

The coldest motherfucker alive, standing there like a damn ghost from Ren’s past—like a reminder of everything Ren had lost, everything he’d left behind—
And here Haruto was.

Gushing.

Taking notes.

Spouting off battle strategies and statistics like this was just a normal Tuesday.

Ren groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Because of course this was happening.

Because of course she was like this.

Because of course the universe was determined to fucking break him.

Shoto’s gaze swept the gathered students, sharp and assessing, his usual silence heavy as ever. He barely acknowledged Haruto’s excitement, though Ren could see the way his eyes flicked toward her just slightly.

And then—his gaze locked with Ren’s.

Ren’s stomach dropped.

Because for a single moment—
For a heartbeat—
There was recognition.

Not conscious, not direct. But something flickered in Shoto’s expression—a brief, unreadable shift.

Ren forced himself to breathe.

He doesn’t know you.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Shoto held the stare for a second longer, then blinked, his face returning to its usual impassive mask.

“This is Hero Training,” he said, voice even, deliberate. “I’m not here to coddle you. I don’t care what expectations you walked in with. By the time we’re done, you’ll either be worthy of being a hero—”
His gaze swept across them, cold and steady.

“—Or you won’t.”

Ren snorted.

Same as ever.

Haruto, still starstruck, practically whispered, “Oh my god, he’s so cool.”

Ren had to physically restrain himself from groaning.

Training was brutal.

IcyHot didn’t hold back.

Not for anyone.

Combat drills. Endurance tests. Quirk assessments that pushed everyone to the absolute limit.

Haruto, to no one’s surprise, didn’t say a word about how excited she was.

Ren saw it in her eyes.

Saw it in the way she threw herself into the exercises, in the way she didn’t hesitate, in the way her body moved like it had always been built for this.

But she wasn’t there yet.

And that—that was the problem.

Her quirk was untrained, unstable. It flared up unpredictably, wild and untamed, flickering out when she needed it and surging when she didn’t. She didn’t know what it did, what it could be, what it meant.

And it was starting to piss her off.

Ren could see it—see the way her frustration built with each failed attempt to control it, see the flicker of her energy crackling uselessly around her hands before vanishing into nothing.

Shoto, standing cool and impassive as ever, was not impressed.

“That was sloppy,” he deadpanned as she fumbled another maneuver, narrowly dodging a counterattack but completely failing to harness her quirk.

Haruto scowled, shaking out her hands. “No shit, Sensei. I’m trying.”

Shoto raised a single unimpressed brow. “Try harder.”

Ren snorted from the sidelines, arms crossed. “Tch, welcome to his teaching style. He’s always been an asshole.”

Shoto shot him a flat look, but Haruto just groaned, muttering under her breath as she reset, rolling her shoulders.

She kept pushing, but it was obvious—the more she tried to use her quirk, the more she fumbled.

So she stopped.

Not on purpose—not consciously—but about halfway through training, when her energy refused to cooperate for the fifth time in a row, she just gave up trying to figure it out.
And instead?

She threw herself entirely into the combat.

Ren watched it happen—the way she shifted, instincts kicking in as she focused solely on movement, dodging, countering, reading her opponent instead of forcing her power into something it clearly wasn’t ready to do.

She was fast.

Quirkless fast.

It caught Ren off guard—because she wasn’t quirkless anymore, but this was familiar. This was Izuku, quick on her feet, relying entirely on adaptability, on reading her opponent, on throwing herself into the fight despite the clear disadvantage.

It was muscle memory.

She knew how to fight. Even if she didn’t know why.

Shoto clearly noticed too—because the moment she abandoned her quirk, she got better. She wasn’t perfect, wasn’t even good yet, but she wasn’t floundering.

That didn’t stop him from giving her shit about it, though.

Shoto, unimpressed, kept pushing her.

By the third time he called her out, Ren was ready to deck him himself, but Haruto—annoyed as she was—kept trying.

Shoto, ever the cold bastard, just watched her struggle. Then, in a perfectly level tone, said, “Your technique is fine. But the whole point of this exercise is to integrate your quirk. Unless you plan to be useless, you should figure it out.”

Haruto froze mid-step, shoulders tensing. “Wow. Thanks for the helpful tip, Sensei.”

Ren rolled his eyes, stepping in before she could combust.

“Geez, it’s her first day. Give her, like, five minutes before you declare her a lost cause.”

Shoto remained unreadable, but after a beat, he exhaled sharply through his nose and said, “Tch. If she wants to be a hero, five minutes is too long.”

Haruto shot him a look, and Ren—grinning—leaned back slightly, tail flicking in lazy amusement.

“Damn,” he mused. “You’re just full of encouraging words today, huh?”

Shoto barely reacted, adjusting his stance, expression still unreadable. “Keep your stance solid at least. You’re about to trip over your own feet.”

Haruto, now fully done, threw up her hands. “I hate this class.”

Ren grinned.

By the time the session ended, she was exhausted, still no closer to figuring out her quirk, but at least a little more comfortable on her feet.

Ren, not about to let her sulk over it, just grabbed her wrist and started dragging her forward.

“C’mon, nerd. You’re not done yet.”

Haruto groaned. “Ren, I swear to god—”

“Shut up,” he said easily, smirking. “We’re gonna figure your shit out one way or another.”

Haruto scowled, but she didn’t pull away.

Ren grinned.

Because he knew her.

She wasn’t giving up.

By the end of training Ren had had enough.

If Shoto was going to be a hardass about this, then he could at least have the full story.

Before Haruto could bolt to the back of the group and hide behind her usual charm and stubbornness, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her straight to the front.

“Ren—what the hell—”

“Tell him,” Ren muttered, pushing her toward Shoto.

Haruto blinked, confused. “Tell him what?”

Ren scowled. “Tell him about your quirk.”

Haruto groaned. “Ren, seriously?”

Shoto, still standing at the front of the training grounds, turned his gaze toward them.

Cold. Calculating.

“…Go on,” he said simply.

Haruto exhaled, crossing her arms. “Okay, fine. I don’t really know what to tell you. I didn’t have a quirk. I got in under the rule that you don’t need one anymore. Then, a few weeks ago, I… suddenly did.”

Shoto’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Ren stepped forward before she could keep downplaying it.

“She doesn’t understand it,” he said, tone sharp. “Doesn’t know what it’s useful for. She needs help, Sensei.”

Shoto’s eyes flicked toward him.

Ren immediately regretted saying that out loud.

It felt wrong.

Felt too strange, too unnatural, too distant.

Shoto had never been Sensei.

He had been Shoto.

He had been Todoroki.

He had been a brother.

Not this. Not an instructor. Not someone standing before him, looking at him like he was just another student.

Just another stranger.

Ren clenched his fists.

But he didn’t take it back.

Because Haruto needed this.

Shoto studied her for a long moment.

Then, finally, he said, “We’ll have you meet with a Quirk Analysis Specialist. We need to determine what type of quirk this is before we assign training. Once that’s settled, we’ll move forward.”

Haruto nodded, relieved.

Ren nodded, satisfied.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Shoto turned away, already moving toward the next student.

Ren let out a slow breath, stepping back, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Good. Settled. We’re done here.”

Haruto gave him a look.

“…Ren,” she said slowly, watching him. “Are you—”

“I’m hungry as fuck,” he interrupted, grabbing her wrist. “Let’s go. Hope they have fish.”

Haruto huffed but let him drag her off.

As they walked away, Ren caught himself.

His own damn instincts.

He had grabbed her wrist.

Not her hand.

Because, deep down, something in him knew.

She wasn’t ready.

And he wasn’t either.

Shoto watched them go.

He didn’t know why.

Didn’t understand the feeling settling in his chest—something distant, something familiar yet just out of reach.

Something about that boy.

The sharp, fluid way he moved, all restless energy and irritation barely contained beneath the surface. The way his red eyes burned too intensely, the way his scowl felt second nature, like a mask worn for too long. The way he called his classmate nerd—not as an insult, but with a sharp-edged familiarity, something almost… fond.

Something about that girl.

The way she stood, weight balanced on the balls of her feet, always ready to move. The way she tilted her head just so when she listened, the way her brows furrowed when she was focused, the way she chewed at her lip while analyzing her opponent, muttering under her breath like she was mentally deconstructing every flaw in her technique.

The way she fought—not refined, not polished, but instinctive. Surprisingly fast. Quirkless fast.

But she didn’t look at him like she knew him.

She looked at him like any other student would look at a teacher—awe-struck, fascinated, maybe a little annoyed.

No, it was the boy—Ren—who unsettled him.

Because Ren did know him.

Or at least, that was how it felt.

It was in his eyes—that sharp, unyielding gaze, too heavy for someone so young. Like he was waiting.

Like he was expecting something.

Like Shoto was supposed to see something that was right in front of him.

And Shoto—
Shoto didn’t like that feeling.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, pushing the thought aside.

It didn’t matter.

It couldn’t.

He turned away.

And the feeling faded.

For now.

Chapter Text

The air in the classroom hummed with an energy that was both new and familiar. The scent of ink, paper, and summer-warmed wood mixed with the quiet rustle of uniforms and the low murmur of students shifting in their seats. The first few weeks at UA were already blurring into a steady rhythm, and Haruto loved it.

She wouldn’t say it out loud—not when Ren would make some smartass comment, but the truth was she loved school.

She loved learning.

And apparently, she loved English.

Which was good, because Ochako Uraraka did too.

Ochako moved with the kind of bright enthusiasm that made it impossible to tune her out, gesturing widely as she spoke, smiling warm and open as she paced the front of the class.

“Alright, class!” she said, clapping her hands together. “We’re going to start our first big writing assignment today! It’s going to be an essay—”

Ren groaned. Loudly.

Haruto elbowed him.

Ochako smirked. “Oh, don’t start groaning yet, Hayashi! You don’t even know what it’s about.”

“I don’t need to,” Ren grumbled, arms crossed, ears flicking in irritation. “It’s an essay, that’s already enough.”

Ochako rolled her eyes. “It’s not just any essay,” she said, leaning forward, hands on her desk. “It’s a hero essay.”

That got the class’s attention.

Haruto immediately straightened, curiosity sparking in her bright green eyes.

Ochako smiled. There it was again.

That brightness. That restless energy. The way she leaned forward in anticipation, clutching her pencil like she had to physically stop herself from blurting something out before the full assignment was even explained.

God, Ochako thought, she’s so much like Izuku…

She brushed the thought away before it could settle.

“The assignment is simple,” she continued, writing the words on the board as she spoke. “You’re going to write about your favorite pro hero. Someone you admire, someone you think embodies what it means to be a true hero.”

Haruto’s hand shot up immediately.

Ochako smiled. “Yes, Takashi?”

“Are they required to still be alive?” she asked.

Ochako blinked. “Uh, no, not necessarily—”

“Good,” Haruto said, nodding in satisfaction.

Ren groaned. “I already know where this is going.”

Ochako laughed. “Alright, well, the second part of the essay is explaining why you chose them. What makes them a hero? Why do you admire them? What qualities do they have that you’d like to emulate as you grow stronger?”

Haruto practically beamed.

Ren just scowled.

But, ugh, fine.

He already knew exactly who he was writing about.

Deku.

Hero History (Or, ‘Professor Shitty Hair is Out for Blood’)

Kirishima was watching him.

Ren knew it.

He had felt it since day one.

The way Kirishima’s sharp red gaze lingered just a little too long, the way he assessed him differently than the others.

And now, here in Hero History, Ren could feel his eyes boring into the side of his head.

The class was already used to Ren’s bullshit, because the moment Kirishima had introduced himself as their teacher, Ren had blurted—
“Professor Shitty Hair.”

Haruto had immediately facepalmed. The class had gasped.

Kirishima had deadpanned.

“Hayashi.” His voice was low, warning.

Ren smirked. “Yeah?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“No.”

Kirishima’s jaw tightened. He let out a slow breath through his nose.

But he never actually did anything about it.

Because every time he looked at Ren—**really looked—**something in his chest burned.

It was everything.

The way Ren sat with his feet kicked out into the aisle, stretched across Haruto’s desk, hands lazily tucked behind his head.

The way he shoved his hands into his pockets aggressively, shoulders squared, chin lifted in defiance.

The way he laughed—sharp, barking, cutting through the room like a challenge.

The way he called him ‘Shitty Hair’ and Haruto ‘nerd’ like it was second nature.

Like he had always done it.

Like he had always been someone else.

And Kirishima hated him for it.

For making him remember.

For making him see something that wasn’t possible.

So he singled him out.

Not in ways that were obvious, not in ways that UA faculty would flag as unfair.

But in the way he pushed him harder, expected more, called on him more frequently, forced him to answer faster, sharper, with more depth than the others.

Ren noticed.

And his reaction?

Bring it on, Red.

Rei watched them.

From the back of the classroom, hidden behind his oversized scarf, he observed Ren and Haruto with the kind of sharp, unrelenting attention he knew made people uncomfortable. Not that either of them noticed—they were too caught up in each other’s orbit, moving around each other with a familiarity that set something uneasy in Rei’s gut.

He’d thought it was just him.

For a long time, he’d thought he was the only one.

Then he met Souta.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just him anymore. Suddenly, he wasn’t the only one burdened with memories that didn’t belong to him, with instincts that came from another life, with a second chance he hadn’t earned.

But now—
Now he wasn’t sure it was just them.

Because Ren felt like something he should know.

Rei narrowed his eyes, watching the way Ren slumped in his chair near the front, arms lazily crossed, feet kicked out into the aisle like he owned the place. He watched the way Ren shoved his hands into his pockets with force, like he had too much energy and nowhere to put it. The way he hated sitting still. The way his tail flicked aggressively when he was annoyed but not quite ready to start a fight.

The way he had barked out Professor Shitty Hair the moment Kirishima introduced himself, grinning sharp, taunting, daring him to react.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he already knew how this would play out.

Like he’d done it before.

And Haruto—
Haruto didn’t look like she remembered anything. Didn’t carry herself like someone aware of another life.

But the way she fought—instinctive. The way she moved—adaptive.

And the way she muttered under her breath while analyzing something, words pouring out as she scrawled in a notebook with frantic, excited energy—
Rei had seen that before, too.

He exhaled through his nose, slipping his hand under his desk, fingers brushing against the edge of his notebook.

Then, without looking, he ripped out a page, scribbled something quick and sharp, and flicked it toward Souta.

It landed in his lap, and Souta blinked down at it before glancing at him, brows raised. He unfolded the note.

'I think we’re not the only ones.'

Souta’s eyes flickered toward him, searching, confused. Then, carefully, he wrote something back and slid it across the desk.

'What do you mean?'

Rei didn’t hesitate.

'Ren. Haruto. Look at them. Watch how they move. How they talk.'

Souta did, tilting his head slightly, scanning the two at the front.

Then, after a beat, he scribbled something back.

'They just seem… close? A little weird, maybe, but everyone in this school is weird.'

Rei clenched his jaw, tapping his pen against the page. Then, after a long pause, he wrote:

'Ren acts like he’s already lived this before.'

Souta frowned as he read, his grip on the note tightening. He glanced toward Ren again, watching as he smirked at something Haruto said, teeth flashing in a way that was more challenge than joy.
Rei leaned over slightly, scribbled more.

'He moves like Bakugo. The way he stands, the way he glares, the way he talks. The way he calls her nerd.'

Souta swallowed.

Then, hesitantly, he passed the note back.

'And Haruto?'

Rei hesitated.

Then, finally, he wrote:

'She doesn’t look like she remembers. But she moves like she does. Like she’s got instincts from something else. And she—she mutters, Souta. She mutters when she’s focused.'

Souta exhaled sharply, shoulders tensing.

They sat in silence for a long moment.

Then, finally, Souta pressed his pen to the page.

'You think they’re Bakugo and Midoriya.'

Rei’s fingers curled into a fist against his thigh.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Souta stared at the words for a long time, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Then, carefully, he wrote:

'Do you think they know?'

Rei’s eyes flickered toward Ren, scanning his expression—watching the way his gaze lingered on Kirishima, watching the way his tail flicked in irritation every time Shoto spoke, watching the way his jaw clenched when Haruto got too excited about something.

Then, quietly, he wrote back:

'Ren does.'

Souta swallowed hard.

'And Haruto?'

Rei hesitated.

Then, finally, wrote:

'I don’t know. But I hope to god I’m not wrong about this.'

Souta read it.

Then, after a long pause, he folded the note carefully, pressing his palm against it.

And Rei—
Rei just kept watching.

Because if this was real—if this was actually happening—
Then for the first time in this life, he wasn’t alone.

Quirk Analysis (Or, ‘The Kitten Follows Them Everywhere’)

Shoto had given explicit instructions.

Three separate times.

Haruto was coming with him.

Ren was not.

And yet, here they were, the ‘kitten’ still at her side, still standing his ground.

Shoto let out a long, exhausted sigh.

It wasn’t that Ren was loud. It wasn’t that he was aggressive.

It was the way he stood beside her.

The way Haruto had hesitated when she thought she had to go alone.

The way Ren’s expression had hardened, ears flicking back slightly, tail curling in agitation, before he had said, “Like hell I’m letting her do this by herself.”

And the way Haruto’s hands had wrung together at that, how she had glanced at him like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

Something in Shoto’s chest twisted.

“…Fine,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

The office had once belonged to Recovery Girl. Now, a new nurse sat behind the desk, her eyes scanning Haruto with sharp intensity.

The quirk specialist placed a hand against Haruto’s, eyes fluttering shut.

Then—a sharp inhale.

Shoto narrowed his eyes.

“This…” The specialist pulled away, studying her with an unreadable expression. “This is an Alpha-Level quirk.”

Silence.

Haruto frowned. “What does that mean?”

The specialist hesitated. “It means… I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Ren felt his stomach drop.

Shoto’s mind was already racing.

This wasn’t normal.

A quirkless girl suddenly manifesting a god-tier ability out of nowhere?

A girl with bright green eyes?

A girl constantly followed by a red-eyed, sharp-tongued little menace who refused to leave her side?

The implications made his skin crawl.

But he didn’t speak his thoughts aloud.

Not yet.

Because this was too much like Izuku.

Too much like One For All.

Shoto’s jaw tightened.

He would be watching.

The specialist exhaled slowly, shaking off whatever initial shock had gripped her. When she spoke again, her tone was steady, professional, but there was something else beneath it. Something wary.
“Alright,” she said, leaning back, folding her hands over her desk. “Let’s go over this from a classification standpoint.”

Haruto shifted slightly in her seat, straightening instinctively, but her fingers twitched in her lap. Ren, of course, was standing beside her with his arms crossed, tail flicking every few seconds, gaze sharp as a blade. Shoto remained still as well, but his focus was razor-thin, attention locked onto the specialist’s every word.

“This is an Emitter-type Quirk," the woman continued. "It functions as an external energy-based ability rather than a biological alteration or constant state like a Mutant-type Quirk—" she gestured vaguely at Ren, whose tail flicked aggressively. "Or an Enhancement-type like physical augmentations. You have to activate it consciously, which is likely why it took so long to manifest.”

Haruto nodded slowly, absorbing the information, but her brows furrowed slightly. “So… it’s not always ‘on’ like a Mutant Quirk, but I don’t have to channel it through an object or anything, right?”

“Exactly,” the specialist confirmed. “It originates from within you and has a direct link to your willpower. Which brings me to the first major component—” she tapped the file in front of her, where she had been scribbling notes.

“Your Quirk is fueled by intent.”

Ren’s ears twitched at that. Shoto’s gaze sharpened.

Haruto, however, looked thoroughly confused. “What does that mean?”

The specialist hesitated before answering.

“It means that your Quirk doesn’t just activate on command—it responds to your thoughts, your emotions, and your spoken word. The raw energy you’re producing is… unlike anything I’ve ever encountered, but the key factor here is that it’s not just power—it’s potential.”

Haruto swallowed. “…Potential?”

The woman nodded, leaning forward slightly. “What I saw in your quirk is something I’ve never seen before, something that technically shouldn’t be possible in a conventional sense. You don’t just manipulate energy. You shape reality.”

Silence.

The words hit the room like a physical force.

Ren’s tail bristled. Shoto remained perfectly still.

Haruto blinked. Once. Then twice. Then, very eloquently—
“What.”

The specialist exhaled again, as if steadying herself. “To simplify—Genesis, as I’m calling it for the moment, is the ability to create, enhance, and reinforce. You are producing a form of pure energy that you can shape into constructs, barriers, or even amplify the abilities of others.”

Haruto’s mouth opened—then immediately shut.

Her mind was racing.

“…That’s—” she started, then stopped again, trying to form a coherent thought. “That’s… that’s insane, right? That’s not normal.”

The specialist huffed out a quiet, almost incredulous laugh. “No. It’s not.”

Haruto felt lightheaded.

Ren was staring at the specialist now, unblinking. “You’re telling me she can just… make stuff?”

“To an extent,” the woman confirmed. “Right now, it’s rudimentary. Small-scale constructs, temporary enhancements, shields—but with time, practice, and understanding, it could become something far more significant.”

Haruto swallowed hard. “Like what?”

The specialist hesitated again.

“…I can’t say for sure.”

Haruto’s heart hammered in her chest.

Shoto finally spoke, his voice even, unreadable. “What’s the cost?”

The woman visibly stiffened.

“Ah,” she said slowly, folding her hands again. “That’s… the complicated part.”

Ren tensed.

Haruto’s grip on her skirt tightened.

“…There’s always a drawback, isn’t there?” Haruto muttered.

The woman gave her a careful look. “Yes.”

Another pause. Then—
“From what I can tell, your energy output is directly connected to your physical and mental condition. This isn’t a Quirk with an external fuel source, like a battery—you’re using your own energy. That means overuse could result in exhaustion, loss of consciousness, or in extreme cases, physical deterioration.”

Haruto went still.

Ren’s scowl deepened. “Define ‘deterioration.’”

The specialist shifted slightly, her expression grim. “I mean exactly what it sounds like.”

The air in the room grew heavy.

Haruto’s mind spun, but Ren reacted first.

He turned to her immediately, ears pinned back, tail lashing behind him. “You’re not using this Quirk without proper training, got it?”

Haruto blinked. “Ren, I—”

“I mean it.” His voice was sharp, borderline demanding. “You don’t know how to use it, you don’t know the limits, and I’m not about to watch you throw yourself into a wall and collapse because you were trying to play goddamn architect with a Quirk you don’t understand.”

Haruto’s mouth opened, closed. “I—okay, jeez, calm down—”

“No.” His ears flicked, eyes burning. “This isn’t a joke.”

Haruto inhaled, genuinely startled.

Ren had never spoken to her like that.

Not when she had been Quirkless.

Not when she had doubted herself.

Not when she had told him, back then, that she would never be like him.

This was different.

And it hit her, for the first time, just how much this had shaken him.

Ren didn’t get scared.

He got angry.

And this?

This wasn’t frustration. This wasn’t exasperation. This was something else.

Something tangled and raw and old.

Something that didn’t make sense.

Shoto was watching.

Observing everything.

From the way Ren had moved between them instinctively, posture defensive.

To the way Haruto looked confused, but not scared, not surprised.

To the way Ren had said it.

"I’m not about to watch you throw yourself into a wall and collapse."

As if he had seen it before.

As if he had watched it happen before.

Shoto’s jaw tightened.

This… this was too much like—
No.

No, it wasn’t possible.

There were coincidences.

But this wasn’t that.

This was something else.

Something he didn’t have words for yet.

So instead, he did what Aizawa would have done.

He focused.

He breathed.

And then he spoke.

“Okay,” he said, cutting through the tension, voice steady. “We know what it is now. We know what it can do.”

His eyes settled on Haruto. “Now we train.”

Chapter Text

It started as a normal lunch.

Ren had just managed to grab something remotely edible before Haruto had dragged him to their usual table near the corner of the cafeteria. It wasn’t hidden, but it was tucked far enough away from the main chaos that Ren could eat in peace while Haruto—**completely oblivious to how magnetic she was—**became the unofficial center of attention wherever she went.

She was talking—about something, Ren wasn’t paying attention, too busy tearing into a grilled fish like his life depended on it.

Then it happened.

Like a goddamn ambush.

A tray dropped onto the table beside them.

Ren looked up, mid-bite.

A second tray followed.

Haruto blinked. “Uh.”

Ren scowled.

Across from them, Rei Arakawa sat down, silent as a shadow. Every movement he made was too careful, too precise—not hesitant, not unsure, but controlled. Deliberate. His spine was perfectly straight, shoulders squared as if bracing for something unseen. There was nothing casual about him.

The red scarf, which he never seemed to take off, was pulled high over his face, covering everything from his nose down. The fabric looked worn but well-kept, frayed just slightly at the edges, like it had been pulled and adjusted a thousand times before. When he finally lowered it just enough to speak, it pooled at his collar, still half-shielding him—a barrier between him and the rest of the world.

Steel-gray eyes flickered between them, calculating, reading, watching. He wasn’t staring—not exactly. He was assessing. A single glance at him and Ren’s instincts bristled. This guy wasn’t just some curious classmate.

He was looking for something.

And then—

The second one plopped down beside Rei, grinning like he had just won a goddamn bet.

Nishimura Souta.

The contrast between them was stark.

Where Rei was precision, Souta was careless charm. He moved too easily, as if he had never once second-guessed his place in the world, never hesitated before taking up space. He sprawled into the seat like it had been reserved just for him, his posture relaxed in a way that was almost performative—lazy confidence, effortless charisma, the kind of ease that came from always knowing how to get what he wanted.

His soft pink hair fell in a slightly messy tousle, like he had either just woken up or spent too much time messing with it himself. It shifted every time he moved, catching the cafeteria light in flecks of gold and strawberry. His skin was sunkissed, glowing with the kind of warmth that made his sharp, silver-gray eyes stand out even more.

Unlike Rei—**who carried himself like someone with too many ghosts to count—**Souta radiated energy. Restless. Fidgeting. Always moving. He drummed his fingers against the table, leaned in too close, let his knee knock against Rei’s like it was second nature. He made every movement feel like an invitation, every glance like he was letting you in on some grand secret.

He flashed them a grin, too wide, too knowing.

Haruto tilted her head. “Can we help you?”

Souta beamed. “Nope! We’re just making friends.”

Ren’s ears twitched.

Liar.

Rei, for his part, said nothing. He just picked up his chopsticks with a slow, deliberate movement, breaking apart his food in a way that felt too calm. Too calculated.

Ren’s tail flicked once.

Haruto, ever Haruto, just blinked, then smiled politely.

“Okay, well,” she said, gesturing vaguely at them. “Welcome, I guess?”

Ren groaned. “Seriously?”

Haruto kicked him under the table.

Ren hissed.

Souta snorted. “Oh my god, you actually make cat noises. That’s adorable.”

Ren glared. “You wanna keep your teeth, dumbass?”

Rei sighed, setting down his chopsticks and finally—**finally—**looking at Ren properly.

“Ignore him,” he said flatly.

Souta whined. “Babe, I thought we agreed you’d let me have my fun.”

Ren froze.

Haruto choked. “Babe?”

Souta just grinned. “What? It’s not a secret.”

Ren’s mind was still catching up, ears flicking in confusion. “…Wait. You two—?”

Rei took a slow, measured bite of food.

“Yes,” he said simply.

Ren blinked.

Haruto brightened. “Oh my god, that’s adorable.”

Souta beamed. “Right?”

Ren scowled, shoving rice into his mouth. “Whatever.”

Souta leaned in, all faux-casual curiosity. “What about you two?”

Ren nearly choked.

Haruto giggled.

“No,” she said easily, stirring her soup. “He’s just my best friend.”

Ren grunted. “Yeah. Obviously.”

Souta’s grin turned downright feral. “Ohhhh, that was so fast. So defensive. Suspicious.”

Ren’s eye twitched, tail flicking sharply. “You’re on thin fucking ice, storm rat.”

Souta cackled, but Rei was watching.

Not just watching. Studying.

And Ren, despite himself, felt it.

That strange, creeping familiarity.

Like he should know this guy.

Like he should remember something.

But he didn’t.

Because that wasn’t possible.

It was only him and Haruto.

Right?

For days, he had been watching them.

Haruto—golden and burning, too bright, too familiar.

Ren—sharp and restless, shoulders squared against the world.

And every time he saw them—every time he heard their voices, saw their movements, their mannerisms, the way they fought, the way they stood—
It screamed.

It screamed inside of him, clawing its way up, ringing through his mind with a clarity that made him feel ill.

Because he remembered.

And the more he remembered, the more it felt real.

Too real.

Impossible, but real.

And it had been haunting him.

Because in the end—when it had all come crashing down—when there was no time, no way out, no miracle left to hope for—he had looked at them.

His problem children.

The two idiots who had never stopped chasing each other—who had pushed each other, shaped each other, saved each other, again and again and again.

And they had already known.

There hadn’t been time for anything else.

There had only been Midoriya clinging to Bakugo, breath ragged, tears slipping down his face, whispering, "I know."

And Bakugo—Katsuki, his sharpest, most difficult, most brilliant student—holding onto Midoriya like it was the only thing that mattered, rocking slightly, muttering, over and over, "I got you. I got you. I got you."

It had broken something in Aizawa—watching them in those final moments, knowing they should have had more time.

Years.

They should have had years.

They should have had peace.

But instead, all they had left was this—this desperate, quiet understanding in the middle of destruction.

And Aizawa had only a moment.

Only the time to step forward, place a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder—
A silent acknowledgment.

A final goodbye.

And then—
Nothing.

Nothing but rubble, and darkness, and the end of everything.

And now—
Now they were here.

Across from him.

Breathing, talking, existing—somehow, impossibly, here.

And it screamed inside of him.

So now, here he was.

Sitting across from them. Watching them.

And testing them.

To be sure.

Because if this was real—if this was truly happening, if they weren’t just coincidences, if they weren’t just similarities, if he wasn’t just losing his mind—
Then this was the most important thing to ever happen to him.

And he needed to know.

Ren Noticed.

Rei wasn’t just hanging out.

He wasn’t just curious.

He was observing.

Ren felt it in the way Rei’s gaze followed them, in the way his attention flicked between their smallest movements, their most casual interactions.

But why?

Ren’s ears flicked once.

“You’re staring,” he said bluntly.

Rei didn’t even blink.

“I am,” he said, voice perfectly even.

Haruto looked up, confused. “Hah?”

Souta, meanwhile, just watched silently.

Ren narrowed his eyes.

“You got a problem?”

Rei exhaled slowly, too measured.

“No,” he said. “Not a problem.”

Ren hated that answer.

He hated that something about this guy was bothering him.

Not in a bad way. Not in a way that meant danger.

But in a way that made something itch at the back of his mind.

Like he was supposed to know him.

And Ren didn’t believe in coincidences.

But he didn’t believe in impossible things, either.

So he shoved it away.

Because it was just them.

It had always been just them.

Right?

…Right?

It happened gradually.

One week became two.

Two became three.

And by the end of the third week, Ren realized—
They weren’t getting rid of them.

Rei and Souta were just there.

All the time.

Not just at lunch, where they had first intruded like they’d always belonged. Not just in Hero History, where Kirishima had started glaring at Ren with even more suspicion. Not just in English, where Haruto practically vibrated out of her chair whenever she got excited.

They were always there.

Rei sat at their table. He walked beside them in the hallways. He observed. He watched. He thought. He felt.

And Souta—Souta just moved in like a stray cat Ren hadn’t invited.

He sprawled over Haruto’s lap at random intervals, laid his head on Rei’s shoulder without hesitation, and draped an arm around Ren’s shoulders exactly once before Ren had nearly bit him.

(That had only encouraged him.)

But the weirdest part?

Ren didn’t hate it.

It was annoying, sure.

But it wasn’t bad.

And it wasn’t lonely.

He wasn’t used to that.

Ochako sat at her desk, grading papers well past midnight.

She had started skimming.

Most of the students had written about modern heroes, with a few, unsurprising nods to All Might.

Some were predictable. Others were well-written.

But then—
She stopped.

She stopped because this one—
This one hurt.

She re-read it twice. Three times.

And then she set it down, pressing her fingers into her forehead, swallowing against the ache in her throat.

Ren Hayashi had written about Deku.

Ochako stared at the words, something thick and heavy lodging in her chest.

His handwriting was rough, his English choppy, uneven, the phrasing direct and blunt. Some words were misspelled, some sentences stilted, the grammar barely holding together—
But the meaning beneath it?

Undeniable.

"Izuku Midoriya wasn’t strongest. Wasn’t fastest. Wasn’t smartest. But he was best. Not because power. Because will. Because no matter how many times knocked down, how many times told ‘no,’ he got up anyway. That make hero. That why no one else could be Deku. Because Deku not just name. Deku was why people believed they could be more."

Ochako let out a shaky breath.

Even with the fractured English, even with the missing words, it hit.

Because it wasn’t about the writing.

It was about the feeling behind it.

She turned the page.

"He not start strong. Not start with advantage. He not handed power—he earn it. He build it with own two hands, with blood, sweat, broken bones. Until nothing left but fight in his chest. He make himself legend. Not because he want. Because he have no other choice. He born to save people. And he never let anything stop him."

Her hands trembled.

She had been there.

She had seen him do it.

She had fought beside him.

And yet this kid—this loud, arrogant, sharp-eyed, red-eyed kid—
How did he know?

How did he understand?

It wasn’t just knowledge.

It was intimate.

It was witnessed.

Tears blurred the words.

Because that was him.

That was Katsuki.

Not the headlines.

Not the battle records.

Not the reputation.

That was who he was.

She exhaled unsteadily, setting the paper down, rubbing at her eyes.

And then she turned back to Ren’s name.

And for the first time, she wondered.

She had written him off as a smartass, as a talented but arrogant fighter, as someone who didn’t need to be here.

Someone who acted like he had done this all before.

But now?

Now, she was going to watch him.

Because this—this was not normal.

And she needed to know why.

Chapter Text

Training at UA wasn’t easy—was never meant to be easy. The first month had pushed even the strongest students past their limits, demanding more, forcing growth, shaping them into something sharper, something stronger.

And Haruto?

Haruto was thriving in it.

The chaotic, flickering energy that once sputtered uselessly in her hands was becoming something more, something controlled. The light motes—those tiny, shifting embers of raw power—were no longer just passive flares.

Now, she could make them bigger, more stable.

Now, she could launch them like projectiles, sending glowing bursts of energy through the air with deadly precision. They weren’t just light anymore—they were force, concussive and sharp, capable of knocking an opponent off their feet if she aimed right.

And her barriers—new, unexpected, but undeniably hers—had started forming without shattering on impact.

At first, they had been fragile, flickering shields that cracked the second they met resistance. But now?

Now she could create small but durable barriers, shimmering constructs of energy dense enough to withstand attacks, strong enough to deflect blows that would have knocked her flat just weeks ago.
They weren’t big yet, weren’t perfect. But they were there, and they were hers.

She was learning.

She was adapting.

And every day, she was getting stronger.

Ren Was Evolving.

Faster. Sharper. More.

His speed had nearly doubled, his reflexes honed to a razor’s edge, movements bordering on premonition. He could feel it—the shift, the growth, the fine-tuning of instincts that weren’t human, weren’t normal, weren’t the body he wanted.

His claws extended and retracted with precision, a weapon as much a part of him as his own hands. His ears twitched at the faintest sound, catching murmurs and heartbeats, the rustle of fabric, the softest change in breath. His tail—a thing he never wanted, never asked for—moved without his permission, flicking in agitation, betraying every feeling he wished he could keep buried.

It was progress. It was power.

And he hated it.

Because it wasn’t Explosion.

It wasn’t the heat of destruction surging through his palms, the electric thrill of creating devastation, of controlling something that could level the battlefield. It wasn’t the rush of force and fire at his fingertips, bending the world to his will.

It wasn’t what he was supposed to have.

Instead, he had this—this body, this quirk that felt more like an inheritance than a gift, something written into his very DNA, something he had no choice but to accept.

He wasn’t built for sheer, overwhelming brute force anymore. He wasn’t a living bomb, a human explosion waiting to go off at will.

His body was built for something else.

For silent movement, for calculated strikes, for closing the distance before an opponent could react. His bones were lighter, making him impossibly fast but never quite solid, forcing him to overcorrect when he wanted to feel unshakable. His instincts demanded he track before he struck, that he watch before he moved, that he play with his food before he tore it apart.

It was in him. It was all of him.

His quirk had shaped him into something designed for ambush, for agility, for the kind of combat that didn’t favor brute force, but the art of the hunt.

It wasn’t what he wanted.

But if this was what he had to work with, then he would master it.

And so he honed it.

He pushed his body, testing its limits, learning how to move faster than the eye could track, how to close gaps in an instant, how to launch himself forward with the force of a striking predator, how to make his opponent blink and find him already in front of them.

It had come instinctively the first time—his body already knew how to snap forward like a coiled spring, how to strike before thought could catch up to motion.

But now? Now he was perfecting it.

And when Haruto—watching with something caught between awe and analysis—asked him what he was going to call it, he let out a slow breath, smirking despite himself.

“Pounce.”

The name tasted bitter on his tongue.

Because no matter how much he evolved, how much he grew, how much stronger he became—
It only made him more of what he never wanted to be.

Because that’s what it was.

A sudden, explosive strike.

And paired with his claws?

It was lethal.

He was going to push it further.

He was going to evolve it even more.

Because if Haruto was growing, if she was learning to control that impossible, reality-bending Quirk, then he was going to make sure he never fell behind.

Not again.

Never again.

Because he had sworn—sworn with everything in him—
That he would never watch her break herself.

That he would never let her stand alone.

That he would never, ever, ever lose her again.

Rei and Souta Were Growing Too.

UA’s training was relentless—unforgiving—but it was also effective. It forced them to evolve, to push past limits they hadn’t even realized they had.

And while Haruto’s control was sharpening and Ren’s speed was becoming untouchable, Rei and Souta were carving out their own paths—refining their quirks, adapting to their strengths, learning what they were capable of.

Rei—Control Through Absence

Rei’s quirk, Lament, was a terrifying thing—subtle, invisible, inescapable.

At first, he had struggled. Focusing on one person was easy. Controlling several? Not so much.

He had learned quickly that it wasn’t just about shutting down willpower—it was about adjusting it. If he hit someone too hard with his quirk, they wouldn’t just hesitate—they’d collapse entirely, reduced to dead weight in the middle of a battle. Useless. A liability.

And that wasn’t always helpful.

So he practiced. He learned to fine-tune his control, to lessen his influence instead of erasing it outright.

Now, instead of turning opponents into statues, he could dull their drive just enough—slow them down, weaken their intent, disrupt their rhythm without fully breaking them.

He was starting to layer it too—flicking between targets, dropping one influence to pick up another, learning how to spread the effect thin across a battlefield without losing focus.

He still had a long way to go, but Lament was becoming a weapon of precision rather than brute suppression.

And it was becoming terrifyingly effective.

Souta—The Storm Was Coming

Souta’s quirk, Tempest, had always been a force of nature—raw, wild, untamed—and at first, so was he.

The first time he tried calling down lightning at full force, he had knocked himself flat, hair standing on end, static buzzing over his skin as he coughed out a curse. The wind had been unruly, the rain erratic, his control fragile at best, nonexistent at worst.

But now?

Now, he was learning the pulse of the storm.

The wind answered him more readily, bending to his will rather than running wild. The clouds came faster, the rain obeyed his call, the lightning listened, coiling in his palms before striking where he wanted it to.

And he was learning new tricks too—instead of relying on huge, over-the-top storms, he was getting smarter with his control.

Short bursts of static charge flickered over his hands like electricity waiting to be released. Localized storm clouds rolled in fast but small, covering just enough space to blind enemies without disrupting his team. Wind currents bent and shifted under his command, making him move unpredictably, making him untouchable if he used them right.

He wasn’t at his full potential yet.

But he could feel it coming—the power of the storm, the weight of the sky, the force of something bigger than himself just waiting to be mastered.

And when he finally harnessed it fully?

He would be unstoppable.

The Principal’s Office (Again, and Again, and Again…)

It had started as an accident.

The first time, Souta had gotten caught pulling a harmless prank. The second time, Rei had been caught sleeping in the wrong classroom. The third time, they had both ended up there together.
After that, it had become a routine.

A ridiculous, stupid, perfect routine.

Sometimes, they weren’t even in trouble. Sometimes, they just showed up.

“Got a question about school policies, Yamada-sensei.”

“Just wanted to check in, Principal Yamada.”

“Hey, have you lost weight?” (Souta, who nearly got kicked out immediately for that one.)

They were pushing it. They knew that.

But they didn’t stop.

Because they just—they just missed him.

Even if he wasn’t him. Even if this version of him was older, louder, and carried a different weight in his shoulders. Even if he had no idea who they were.

Even if, every time Hizashi looked at them, his brows would furrow just slightly, like he was trying to place something, like something about them pulled at the edges of an unspoken ache.
Rei felt like a fool.

Souta knew it was pathetic.

But this was the only way they knew how.

How to be near him.

How to hear his voice.

How to feel—just for a moment—like things were right again.

So they kept showing up.

And Hizashi?

Hizashi let them.

One Month Later—Rei Decides

He had spent weeks watching them. Studying them.

Haruto, who was so much like Izuku it physically hurt. The brightness, the stubbornness, the instinctive pull toward heroism, the way her hands clenched when she was thinking too hard.

Ren, who wasn’t just like Katsuki. He was him.

The way he moved. The way he spoke. The way his laughter hit like a bullet, sharp and loud and irreverent.

The way his instincts had never dulled, even without the memories.

Rei had watched Ren fight.

Had watched him train.

Had watched him stand between Haruto and danger with the same unshakable certainty that he had once died with.

And now, Rei knew.

This was them.

Ren remembered.

Haruto didn’t.

But they were them.

And it was time to do something about it.

The Text Comes at 11:42 PM.

[Rei]: Come outside.

Ren, who was very much expecting this, stared at his phone for a long moment before sighing.

[Ren]: yeah yeah give me a sec.

He wasn’t even surprised.

Ren stepped outside, pulling his coat tighter around him. His ears flattened against the chill.

Rei was waiting.

The first thing Ren noticed was the scarf.

Wrapped so damn tightly around Rei’s neck and face that only his sharp gray eyes were visible.

It wasn’t just for warmth.

Ren knew.

It was because Rei always wore scarves.

Even before he had known why.

He exhaled, breath curling white in the air. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

Rei didn’t hesitate.

He started talking.

He told Ren everything.

“I Was Twelve.”

“I was twelve the first time I had the dream.”

Ren stayed quiet.

Rei didn’t stop.

“I saw a battlefield,” he said, voice steady, like he had rehearsed this a hundred times. “A warzone. The sky was dark. The ground was cracked and broken. And I was standing in the middle of it.”
Ren’s ears flicked just slightly.

Rei continued.

“I didn’t know who I was,” he said. “But I knew what I was. I was someone who had stood there before. Someone who had fought and lost and fought again. Someone who had made a choice. A final one.”
His fingers curled into the fabric of his coat.

“It didn’t all come at once,” he admitted. “Pieces. Pieces of someone else’s life. Someone who wasn’t me. Someone who had made decisions I couldn’t understand yet.”

Ren nodded. “When did you know?”

“When I found Souta,” Rei said immediately.

Ren blinked.

Rei exhaled. “I met him when we were kids,” he said, looking down. “He was loud. Annoying. He kept following me around, asking questions I didn’t want to answer.”

Ren huffed. “Sounds right.”

Rei’s lips twitched—not quite a smile.

“And then, one day,” he said, “I slipped up.”

Ren stilled.

Rei’s gaze lifted, steel-gray and unreadable.

“I called him ‘Oboro.’”

Silence.

Ren’s fingers twitched.

Rei took a slow, measured breath. “And he stopped laughing.”

Ren didn’t breathe.

“He just… stared at me.” Rei swallowed. “And I knew. I knew before he did. I knew what it meant. I knew what it confirmed. And when he finally remembered—”
Rei looked away.

“It was like I had lost him all over again.”

Ren’s chest felt tight.

“…Damn,” he muttered.

Rei exhaled. “Yeah.”

The air was sharp, biting against Ren’s skin as he stepped outside, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. His breath curled in front of him, a slow exhale into the stillness of the night.
Rei was already there, waiting, standing with his scarf wrapped so tightly around his neck and face that only his sharp, unreadable gray eyes were visible. He wasn’t shivering, but he looked tense.
Ren wasn’t surprised.

He had been waiting for this.

Had felt it in the way Rei watched him. Watched Haruto.

Like he knew something. Like he had been trying to place something.

And now, finally—finally—he was going to say it.

Ren sighed, stepping forward. “Alright,” he said, tone casual, too casual. “Let’s hear it.”

Rei didn’t waste time.

“You remember, don’t you?”

Ren Stilled.

His ears flicked against the cold, reacting before he even processed the shift in temperature. His tail bristled, the fur along it standing on end in a sharp, involuntary reaction. His claws flexed slightly against his palms, retracting and unsheathing in restless rhythm, like his body was preparing for something before his mind had caught up.

Because he knew what Rei was asking.

Knew exactly what this was about.

But he wasn’t going to be the first one to say it.

Some deep, bitter, stubborn part of him needed Rei to say it first. Needed the words to come from someone else’s mouth, needed the weight of them to land in the open air before he let himself believe it.
So instead, he forced himself to go still—too still, unnatural stillness, the kind that only came from something that knew how to hunt. His ears twitched once more before pinning back slightly, a subtle sign of unease, but his face remained unreadable as he narrowed his eyes.

His breath curled white in the frozen air, slow and measured, like he was counting each inhale, each exhale, like he was grounding himself before speaking. His fingers twitched at his sides before he stilled them again—controlled, deliberate, holding himself back from pacing the way he wanted to.

The pause stretched too long.

Ren’s tail lashed once, snapping against the cold air before curling tight behind him, betraying the coiling frustration in his spine. His ears flicked, catching the near-silent shift in Rei’s breathing, the faintest creak of his boots against the frozen ground.

His tail flicked again, sharp and uncertain, before he forced it still, his ears pressing slightly back in unease. Something deep in him reacted before his mind could catch up—an instinctual bristle, a fight-or-flight response he couldn’t shake.

And suddenly, the cold wasn’t just cold anymore.

It was heavy.

The silence between them pressed against his chest, thick, expectant, dragging at his breathing, waiting for him to crack under it.

Rei stepped closer.

“I need you to say it,” Rei said, voice low, firm, unwavering. “I need to hear you say it.”

Ren clenched his jaw.

He didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to make it real.

Didn’t want to admit what he already knew.

But Rei was watching him.

Studying him.

And suddenly—it felt like the old days.

Like standing in a dimly lit dormitory, backed into a corner by Aizawa’s sharp, unwavering gaze, waiting for him to say something he wasn’t ready to say. Like that silence that only Aizawa knew how to wield, the kind that wasn’t loud, wasn’t demanding—but was unyielding all the same.

Rei stepped forward again. “Say it.”

Ren scowled, ears flattening in irritation, tail snapping behind him in a sharp, involuntary flick. “Tch.”

Rei waited.

Silent. Still. Unrelenting.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Like he had waited for this exact moment for years.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, and Ren hated it. Hated being pinned down like this, hated feeling like there was a cage closing in around him, hated that Rei wasn’t moving, wasn’t looking away, wasn’t giving him a way out.

Ren exhaled, sharp and uneven. His tail flicked again, slow this time, curling then uncurling, restless in a way that betrayed everything his face refused to show.

And then, finally, in a voice quieter than it should have been—
“…I’m Katsuki Bakugo.”

His ears twitched. His tail bristled.

Rei just nodded—calm, steady, like he had already known before Ren ever said it aloud.

And somehow, that only made it worse.

Ren didn’t stop.

“And she’s Izuku Midoriya.”

Rei closed his eyes. His fingers twitched.

Ren licked his lips, looking away, ears flattening against his head. “But she doesn’t remember.”

Rei inhaled slowly. “No,” he said. “She doesn’t.”

Silence.

Ren let out a slow, frustrated breath, fingers curling in his coat pockets. “How long have you known?”

Rei’s voice was steady. Too steady.

“About you, a month.”

Ren let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Ren should have noticed sooner.

The signs had been there from the start, blatant, undeniable, right in front of his face. The way Rei moved, grounded and efficient, wasting no energy, always deliberate. The way he spoke, blunt but calm, with that same dry amusement that had once been a constant irritation to his adult self. The way he watched them—observed, studied, assessed, always taking in more than he let on.

Ren had felt it from the moment he met him, a nagging, crawling itch in the back of his skull, like something was trying to surface but never quite breaking through. He had known there was something about Rei, something that unsettled him, something that felt like an answer he wasn’t ready to face.

And he hadn’t fucking noticed.

Hadn’t let himself put the pieces together.

Because Haruto.

Because she had been loud and bright and burning, a distraction that dragged his focus like gravity, a pull he could never fight against. Because she had been new and yet so painfully familiar, and every time he caught himself staring at her, every time she muttered like a goddamn nerd, every time she smiled at him like she knew something she shouldn’t, his brain refused to work properly.

This was her fault. He blamed her for this.

Blamed her for keeping him off balance, for making him look away, for making him feel things he didn’t have time to process when the answers had been staring him in the face the whole goddamn time.
And now?

Now, Rei was staring at him, expression unmoving, eyes sharp, unreadable.

“I need you to say the rest.”

Ren’s brow twitched. “The hell does that mean?”

Rei tilted his head slightly, unwavering. “Say who I am.”

Ren’s chest tightened.

He knew. Of course, he knew.

Had known since day one.

Since the first dry, unimpressed look Rei shot him. Since the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, the way he watched them, like he was waiting for something.

But saying it—**admitting it—**was something else entirely.

He didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to acknowledge what it meant.

Didn’t want to think about the pain that came with it.

Because Rei—Rei had watched him die.

And if Rei was here now—if he was standing in front of him, whole and alive and just as much of a hard-ass as ever—
Then it meant that Aizawa had died, too.

Ren swallowed, looking away, scowling. “Tch. This is bullshit.”

“Say it.”

Ren gritted his teeth.

His ears flattened back, tail flicking once, sharply, before curling tight against his leg. His claws flexed, digging slightly into his palms, like his body was bracing for impact before his mind could catch up.
He hated this.

Hated this moment, hated this conversation, hated that he had let himself get blindsided by something he should have seen a mile away.

And then, finally—
“…You’re Aizawa.”

Rei closed his eyes.

For a long, long moment, neither of them spoke.

Until—
“…And Souta?”

Ren’s voice was quieter this time, edged with something uncertain, something he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Rei’s eyes opened again, sharp and knowing.

“That was obvious, wasn’t it?”

Ren scowled, rubbing the back of his neck, tail flicking in restless irritation.

“Yeah,” he muttered. But it wasn’t.

Not really.

Because Rei made sense. Rei was Aizawa—his hardass teacher, his pain-in-the-ass homeroom instructor, the one who had been there through everything.

And Haruto made sense too.

Because of course it was Izuku. It had always been Izuku.

But Souta?

Ren exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing as he studied Rei.

“Who is he?”

Rei hesitated.

Then—
“Oboro.”

Ren frowned. “Who the hell is Oboro?”

Rei sighed like he had been waiting for that exact question.

“Kurogiri.”

The name landed like a grenade.

Ren stiffened, ears pinning flat against his head, tail bristling in raw instinctive reaction. His claws flexed, digging into his palms before he forced himself to relax.

“The fuck do you mean, Kurogiri?”

Rei ran a hand through his hair, exhausted, resigned, like he had already asked himself this a thousand times and come up empty.

“Before he was turned into a Nomu, before everything… Kurogiri was Oboro Shirakumo.”

Ren blinked, brain stuttering over that.

He barely knew anything about Kurogiri beyond what the history books said. Villain. War asset. Warp-gate quirk. A shadow always standing behind Shigaraki.

But before that?

Before that, he had been someone. Someone Aizawa knew.

Ren’s tail flicked sharply, the only sign of his inner turmoil.

Rei sighed again, shoulders tense.

“Look,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, sounding so much like Aizawa it physically hurt. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But he said he waited for me.” Rei exhaled, shaking his head. “But he doesn’t really remember the time in between.”

Ren’s claws flexed again. He hated this. Hated the way things kept shifting under his feet.

Because this wasn’t just him and Izuku anymore.

This was something bigger.

And for the first time, Ren found himself wondering—
Why the hell were they back at all?

"How long have you remembered?"

Ren hesitated.

His ears twitched once, but everything else—his tail, his shoulders, his expression—locked down. His hands curled into tight, controlled fists at his sides, his stance shifting, bracing like he was waiting for impact.

And then, for the first time, he admitted it out loud.

“I don’t think I ever forgot.”

Rei stilled.

Ren exhaled, sharp and exhausted, the sound of it more rasp than voice, rough in a way that made him sound older, heavier, like something inside him had been worn thin over time.
He wasn’t Ren in that moment.

Not completely.

His posture shifted, grounding himself like he was digging his heels into the earth, like if he let himself move, he might crack open entirely. His jaw was tight, his eyes too sharp, his whole body wound with something barely restrained—
And for the first time, Rei really saw him.

Not Ren.

Not Hayashi Ren, sixteen-year-old cat mutant, smartass, menace, problem student.

But Bakugo Katsuki.

Ren looked away first, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“I think I knew the moment I could think,” he muttered, voice rough. “Maybe even before that. It was just… there. Like I was always meant to be here again.”

Rei’s fingers flexed at his sides, controlled, measured, the way they always did when he was holding something back.

“How?” he asked quietly.

Ren scoffed, shaking his head. “You think I fucking know?”

Rei didn’t answer. Just waited.

And somehow, that was worse.

Ren’s ears twitched again, another betrayal of emotion, but his voice stayed steady—tired, but steady.

“Before I even knew how to talk, before I knew my own mom’s face, before I even knew what the hell I was,” he admitted, “I already knew Deku.”

Rei inhaled slowly, watching him. “And you never questioned it?”

Ren’s tail flicked once, sharp and agitated. “Of course, I fucking questioned it.”

Rei hummed—something thoughtful, quiet, assessing. “But you never doubted it.”

Ren went still again. His ears pinned back, his jaw tightened, and for just a second, he looked every bit the same kid Rei had known before.

And that—that got to him.

Because he hadn’t.

Not once.

Because it wasn’t something to doubt. It wasn’t a thought or a dream or an illusion. It was written into him. Like instinct. Like something wired into his bones, into his soul.

Ren exhaled sharply, pushing all of it back, swallowing it down, locking it away like he always did.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” he muttered.

Rei’s gaze didn’t waver. “Doesn’t it?”

Ren’s tail bristled. “No.”

Rei just hummed again, unreadable.

But he didn’t argue. Didn’t push further.

And that, somehow, made it worse.

Rei Didn’t Speak for a Long Moment.

Then, when he did, his voice was thicker than before, heavy in a way that settled deep into the cold air between them.

“…I lost him all over again.”

Ren turned his head slightly, ears twitching at the shift in Rei’s tone.

“What?”

Rei’s hands clenched at his sides.

“Souta,” he said quietly. “When he remembered.”

Ren frowned.

Rei exhaled sharply, tilting his head toward the sky like he was searching for something—for patience, for clarity, for words that didn’t exist.

“It wasn’t like me,” he muttered. “I remembered too much. I saw everything at once. But him?” He shook his head. “He got bits and pieces. Just enough to know that he was missing something. Just enough to know that something was wrong.”

Ren listened.

Really listened.

“And then one day, I called him ‘Oboro’ on accident.” Rei let out a slow, controlled breath. “And he just… stopped.”

Ren swallowed.

Rei’s fingers twitched again, the only visible sign of whatever was simmering under his skin. “And when he finally put it together, when it all hit him—” He closed his eyes.

“I lost him again.”

Ren stared at him, something tight and uncomfortable forming in his chest.

Rei shook his head. “He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just sat there, processing. And when he finally looked at me, I—” He stopped himself, exhaled, steady, controlled, practiced.

“I thought I’d never see him smile again.”

The weight of it settled between them, heavy and unmoving.

Ren’s tail flicked, agitated, restless, unable to stay still as he tried to process what that even meant.

Because he hadn’t really thought about it before.

Hadn’t thought about what remembering would do to someone like Souta.

Hadn’t considered that it might have been worse for him than any of them.

Rei’s voice was quieter when he spoke again. “He doesn’t have many memories of the time between.” His fingers curled at his sides again. “Not a lot of detail. But the things he does remember…”

He trailed off, shaking his head. “It broke him, Ren.”

Ren’s tail bristled, his body tensing.

“He was turned into a Nomu,” Rei continued, his voice too steady, too even. “He wasn’t just killed—he was taken. Warped. Turned into something else. And when he finally got free of that, when he finally came back, he—” Rei exhaled sharply, like he was trying to keep himself grounded. “He realized he had spent years as a weapon for the same people who murdered him.”

Ren felt that. Felt it in the sharp spike of his heartbeat, in the way his claws flexed against his palms, in the way his breathing stilled.

Because he knew what it was like to be used.

He knew what it was like to have pieces of yourself stolen from you, to be shaped into something you never wanted to be.

But Souta—
Souta had been turned into a puppet.

Something that wasn’t even himself anymore.

Something that had been emptied out and repurposed and sent to fight against the people who would have died for him.

And the worst part?

Some part of him remembered it.

He didn’t remember everything—not the way Rei did, not the way Ren had—but he remembered enough.

And now that Ren was really thinking about it, really paying attention—
It made sense.

Souta was too easy. Too bright. Too reckless. Too much like someone desperately trying not to drown.

Like he was making up for something.

Like he was pretending to be whole.

Ren exhaled sharply, pushing his hands deep into his pockets, claws digging into the fabric. His tail flicked behind him, the only sign of how tightly wound he was.

“And you?” His voice was rough, coming out more like a rasp than a question. “What did you do?”

Rei blinked slowly, eyes steady. “I waited.”

Ren’s ears twitched.

Rei tilted his head slightly, exhaustion settling over his features like a weight he had carried for far too long. “And when he came back?” He sighed, shaking his head. “I let him pretend he was fine.”

Ren gritted his teeth.

Because, goddammit—
That’s exactly what he would have done, too.

Ren’s jaw tightened.

He understood.

He really, really understood.

Because Haruto hadn’t remembered, either.

And maybe she never would.

Maybe it would always be just him.

Just him, knowing.

And her, not.

And that—that fucking hurt.

Rei inhaled deeply, shaking it off.

And then, finally—he looked at Ren again.

And Ren looked at him.

And neither of them spoke for a moment.

Then—
“You’re still a dickhead, old man.”

Rei huffed. “And you’re still an Explosive Brat .”

Then, before Ren could react, Rei stepped forward and hugged him.

Ren froze.

His ears flattened. His tail bristled.

And then, after a long, stunned second—
He hugged him back.

Rei let out a slow breath.

“I’m glad we’re both here,” he murmured.

Ren swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

It Came in Pieces.

Not all at once.

Not in a flood.

Not in a way that made sense.

But slowly—
Like flickers of sunlight through leaves, like a whisper at the back of her mind, like something brushing past her fingertips just before she could grab it.

Haruto didn’t know what it meant.

Didn’t know why, sometimes, her chest ached when she heard a certain name.

Didn’t know why, when she walked through UA’s halls, she sometimes felt like she was seeing ghosts of something she’d never lived.

Didn’t know why her feet knew where to go before she did, why her hands twitched to reach for things she’d never held, why her heart tightened when Ren called her ‘nerd’ in that sharp, too-familiar way.
Didn’t know why her fingers curled in her sheets at night, staring up at the ceiling, feeling like she was waiting for something.

Something that had already come.

Something that had already gone.

Something she had lost.

It Was During Hero Training.

Shoto had paired them off in sparring matches, focusing on reflexes, on how well they could dodge and react under pressure.

Haruto was not good at this.

She had never been good at this.

She was a glass cannon, a powerhouse, a walking catastrophe of energy manipulation. She could rewrite a battlefield if she had time to think, but up close, she was—
Well.

She wasn’t Ren.

But then—
Her partner came at her too fast.

Too fast for her eyes to track.

Too fast for her mind to process.

And before she could think, before she could react, before she could even comprehend—
Her body moved.

Not just instinct.

Not just a dodge.

It was precise. Calculated. Efficient.

She twisted—not away, but into the attack, stepping in close, cutting off their momentum before it could build. She caught their wrist with perfect timing, pivoting with a movement so seamless, so practiced, it felt like it had been drilled into her a thousand times before.

Her grip was iron, her stance impeccable, her weight shifting in a way that should have been impossible for someone learning this for the first time.

And then—
She threw them.

Not just a sloppy, desperate toss—a perfect, ruthless throw. Explosive, but controlled. Sharp, but efficient.

The kind of move someone didn’t just learn.

The kind of move someone was taught.

The kind of move someone had done over and over again, until it was second nature.

Her partner hit the mat hard, and the entire class went silent.

Ren’s ears twitched.

Rei’s eyes sharpened.

Souta let out a low, slow whistle.

Haruto just stared.

Her partner groaned from the ground, dazed.

And she didn’t know what had just happened.

Shoto, from across the field, broke the silence with his usual deadpan.

“Where did you learn that?”

Haruto blinked, hands still raised in a stance she had never been taught.

“I…” She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Shoto didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Because he was thinking about Bakugo.

Because that was Bakugo’s move.

The same ruthless, efficient counter he had used in fights time and time again.

The same move he had practiced relentlessly, the same move he had engraved into his muscle memory by letting Midoriya throw him with it a thousand times just to perfect it himself.

That was Bakugo’s fucking move.

Shoto’s fingers curled slightly at his sides.

Ren was staring at her.

She didn’t meet his eyes.

Later That Evening.
The sun had dipped below the skyline, and the dorm room was bathed in the dim glow of her desk lamp.

It was late.

Ren lay stretched out on her floor, tossing a rubber ball against the ceiling, catching it, and repeating the motion without thought. The steady rhythm kept his hands busy, kept his mind from drifting too far. His tail flicked idly beside him, his ears twitching at every little sound—the hum of the hallway, the occasional shuffle of movement from her bed, the quiet scratch of her pencil as she scribbled down notes for their upcoming Hero Law exam.

It was normal.

Routine.

Easy.

Until—

Haruto sighed, stretching her arms over her head with a groan, flopping back against the mattress, grumbling about how annoying the wording of a particular question was—

And then she said it.

Said it without thinking.

Said it like it was natural.

Said it like it was second nature.

"God, Kacchan, what does this even mean?"

The ball slipped from Ren’s fingers.

It hit the floor with a soft thud, rolled a few inches—stopped.

His entire body went rigid.

His tail bristled, ears flat, claws twitching against the fabric beneath him.

The room was silent.

Haruto blinked, looking up, confused by his sudden stillness.

And then—

The realization hit.

The wrong name.

The wrong name.

The wrong goddamn name.

Something inside Ren snapped so violently, it sent a shockwave through his ribs, cracking open something raw and bleeding inside his chest, something that had been locked up so tight, for so long, that he hadn’t even realized he had been holding it shut with both hands.

His heart was slamming against his ribs, like it was trying to crawl up his throat and choke him, like it was demanding that he move, that he do something, that he grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she remembered—

His breath stuttered.

Haruto was staring at him now, a flicker of something—uncertainty? recognition?—in her bright green eyes.

For a second, one terrible, unbearable second—

She thought, I know you.

And Ren—

Ren thought, Say it again.

But then the moment shattered.

Ren bolted upright, so fast he nearly cracked his head on the edge of her bed. His ears were pinned flat, his tail puffed up in pure, unfiltered fight-or-flight panic. His claws dug so hard into her sheets they nearly tore straight through.

His breathing was too fast, too shallow, too much.

His body—this damn body, this wrong body—felt like a cage, like he wasn’t fitting inside his own skin, like something was pushing to the surface, screaming to be let out, screaming that this wasn’t right, that this wasn’t fair, that he wasn’t ready—

Not ready.

Not yet.

Not again.

His voice, when it finally came, was wrecked.

“…What did you just say?”

Haruto’s mouth opened—then closed.

No sound came out.

Because she didn’t know.

Didn’t know why she had said it.

Didn’t know where it had come from.

Didn’t know why her hands were shaking, why her pulse was hammering at the base of her throat, why his reaction was scaring her more than the name itself.

So she did the only thing that made sense.

She laughed.

Laughed like it was nothing, like it wasn’t a big deal, like she hadn’t just ripped open something buried six feet deep.

“Ha, wow, that was weird, huh?” she said quickly, too quickly, too forced. “I meant Ren.”

Ren didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

His fingers curled tighter into the sheets, claws scraping fabric, his grip so white-knuckled it ached. His tail flicked, sharp and uneven, a silent tremor of nerves he couldn’t hide.

And then, carefully, like he was testing the weight of something fragile, something he wasn’t sure would hold—

“…What did you call me?”

Haruto forced another laugh, snapping her textbook shut like a gavel.

“Nothing! I just— I think I’m tired. My brain’s fried. Don’t worry about it.”

Ren wasn’t convinced.

Not even a little.

His gaze was too sharp, too focused, tracking the way her fingers twitched, the way her shoulders had gone too stiff, the way her breath wasn’t quite even.

For a long, heavy moment, he didn’t let it go.

Didn’t look away.

Didn’t let her run from this.

And Haruto, in that too-bright nervous energy, felt it.

Felt that she had said something real.

Felt that something had shifted, something had cracked, and she was standing in the aftermath without understanding what she had done.

Then, finally—

Ren’s tail flicked sharply. A single, deliberate movement.

And he forced himself to lean back, arms crossing over his chest, voice too casual, too detached, too empty.

“…Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

Haruto laughed again, too light, too forced, flipping open her textbook with way too much focus.

She pretended nothing had happened.

Ren let her.

For now.

But his heart—

His stupid, desperate, traitorous heart—was still hammering.

Because this was the beginning.

He knew it.

Knew that something had shifted forever.

Knew that Izuku Midoriya was waking up inside of her.

And he didn’t know if he was ready.

Didn’t know if she would hate him when she remembered.

Didn’t know if, when the moment came, he was going to lose her all over again.

So he just sat there, tail twitching, ears still flat, staring at the ceiling, while his heart broke and rebuilt itself in his chest in real time.

Waiting.

And dreading what came next.

Ren stayed where he was.

Still watching.

Still listening.

Still feeling the way his whole body had jolted at that name—that special name—the name that had belonged to him long before Ren ever did.

He let it go.

For now.

That Night, She Dreamed.

She didn’t always dream—or if she did, she rarely remembered.

But this was different.

This was not the soft, shapeless drift of unconsciousness, not the half-formed nonsense of a mind sorting through the echoes of the day.

This was something else.

Something deep.

Something old.

She was standing in a battlefield.

The air was thick with ash and fire, the scent of something burnt and ruined curling in her lungs. The sky overhead was heavy and endless, clouds rolling like a storm that would never break. The ground beneath her feet was fractured, shattered in places, jagged cracks splitting the earth like old scars.

And her chest ached.

Ached in a way that had nothing to do with the battlefield around her.

Because something was missing.

Someone was—
She turned.

And there, just beyond the golden glow of something she couldn’t name, just beyond the smoke curling like ghosts at the edges of her vision—
A boy stood.

A boy with red eyes, glowing like embers in the dark.

A boy with ashen blonde hair, windswept, dusted with soot.

A boy who looked at her like he had been waiting.

Waiting for her.

His expression was something unreadable, something sharp-edged and worn down all at once. His hands were tight fists, tension thrumming through his body like a wire pulled too thin, but his gaze—
His gaze was familiar.

She didn’t know how she knew.

Didn’t know why she knew.

But she knew.

And then, in a voice rough and aching, a voice that carried through the shattered air like the crack of thunder—
"Izu."

Her breath hitched.

Because that name—
That name felt like hers.

Like it had always been hers.

Like it had been stitched into the very fabric of her existence, buried so deep in her bones that no amount of time, no amount of forgetting, could ever truly erase it.

Her lips parted, her fingers twitching at her sides, the urge to reach, to step forward, to close the distance surging through her before she could understand why—
But before she could move—
Before she could speak—
Before she could remember—
She woke up.

The Morning After Ren was already awake when she stumbled into the kitchen of the dorms, still half-asleep, still trying to shake the dream from her head.

He took one look at her face and knew.

“…Bad dream?” he asked.

Haruto blinked at him, rubbing at her temples. “I don’t…” She trailed off, exhaling. “I don’t really remember.”

Ren’s grip on his coffee mug tightened.

She walked past him, heading straight for the counter, pouring herself a cup of tea.

Ren kept watching her.

She didn’t meet his gaze.

Didn’t notice the way his tail had stilled.

Didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched, like he was about to reach for her.

Didn’t notice the way he exhaled, slow and controlled, before muttering—
“…Yeah. Figures.”

Because he knew.

Knew exactly what was happening.

Knew that the memories were bleeding through.

Knew that no matter what he did, no matter how much he prepared, no matter how much he wanted to keep her from it—
She was going to remember.

And when she did?

When she finally looked at him and saw him for who he really was?

He didn’t know if he was ready.

Didn’t know if she would hate him for it.

Didn’t know if he would lose her all over again.

So instead, he just watched.

And waited.

Chapter Text

It was subtle at first.

A question here. A glance there.

Haruto was always curious, always asking, always trying to understand things better than she should have. But something about the way she sought Rei’s advice was different.

Not just because he was sharp, or because he had the quiet patience of someone who could sit through a storm without moving.

But because, somehow, she trusted him.

More than she should.

More than she even realized.

And Rei—Rei knew why.

"Hey, Rei, if you were trying to fight someone who’s got super-high reflexes, how would you do it?"

Rei blinked at her from over his book.

The lunchroom was loud. Souta was eating his food like it had personally wronged him. Ren was leaning back in his chair, tail flicking idly, glancing at her like he already knew she was about to say something annoying.

But Rei was watching.

Because she asked him.

Not Ren. Not one of their instructors. Him.

He hummed, flipping a page. “Why?”

Haruto huffed, stabbing at her food. “Because I keep getting my ass handed to me in training, that’s why.”

Ren smirked. "You just need better instincts, nerd."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look at him. Didn’t react to the nickname. Not anymore. Not like before.

Rei placed his book down slowly. “So you want to know how to compensate for slower reaction time?”

Haruto nodded. “Yeah, basically.”

Rei studied her.

This—this wasn’t the first time.

She came to him for a lot of things.

It had started small—questions about strategies, how to think ahead in combat, how to see more than just the present moment.

And then it became more.

Asking about tactics. About footwork. About how to move.

Things she had no reason to believe he was an expert in.

Things she shouldn’t have felt so comfortable asking him.

Rei tapped a finger against the table. “You rely too much on your Quirk.”

Haruto blinked. “What?”

He shrugged. “It’s obvious,” he said, voice flat. “You think in bigger moves. Wide-scale. Power-based. You don’t think in small movements, in split-second decisions, in fighting dirty.”

Haruto made a face. “It’s not like I’m choosing to be bad at dodging.”

Ren snorted. “Yeah, we noticed.”

Rei ignored him.

He leaned forward slightly. “Next time, don’t try to react to what they’re doing.”

Haruto tilted her head. “Then what do I do?”

Rei tapped his temple. “You make them react to you.”

Something in her expression shifted.

Like that made too much sense.

Like that was something she already knew.

Somewhere.

Somehow.

Rei watched her carefully.

Yeah. It was happening.

Ochako was grading essays again when she realized it.

The way Haruto muttered under her breath when she was thinking.

The way she brightened when she understood something.

The way she was constantly moving when she was excited.

Fidgeting.

Muttering.

The way her eyes sparked.

Ochako caught herself staring.

God.

She wasn’t supposed to have favorites.

But Haruto reminded her of Izuku in ways that hurt.

And she wasn’t the only one noticing.

Kirishima noticed it in the way Ren carried himself.

It wasn’t just the way he sat in his chair, legs stretched out, arms crossed behind his head, smirk sharp like he was daring him to say something.

It wasn’t just the way he called him Shitty Hair.

It was the way he fought.

The way his muscles coiled before impact, the way he threw himself into battles like he had done this all before.

Like he knew exactly what his body could do.

Like this wasn’t his first life.

And Shoto—

Shoto knew.

Not just in the way Haruto was instinctively drawn to strategy.

Not just in the way she idolized Dynamight in ways that should have been playful but felt like grief.

Not just in the way Ren fought like a memory burned into his bones.

But because when he stood in front of them, when he saw them together, when he heard Ren’s sharp "Tch. Whatever, IcyHot," it felt like—

It felt like—

It felt like history repeating itself.

And he didn’t know how.

Didn’t know what it meant.

Didn’t know why it was making his chest feel tight.

Didn’t know why he looked at Haruto and felt like she was supposed to be standing beside him.

Didn’t know why he looked at Ren and felt like something had been ripped out of his own timeline and placed right in front of him.

Didn’t know why it hurt.

But it did.

And now, he was watching.

Watching them.

Waiting.

Because the answers—whatever they were—

Were coming.

The air in the training hall was crisp with cold, the faintest traces of frost lingering on the reinforced floors. It wasn’t from the winter creeping through UA’s walls.

It was from Shoto.

Ren could feel it.

The subtle dip in temperature, the quiet crackling energy of power restrained but present. He knew how to recognize it, knew what it meant when IcyHot was like this.

Something was coming.

Shoto had been watching him more lately, scrutinizing, analyzing, picking him apart in a way that was too calculated, too familiar. It wasn’t just training anymore.

It was testing.

And Ren—Katsuki—knew better than anyone what it felt like to be examined under a microscope.

So he braced himself.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because Shoto was fast.

Not physically—mentally.

"How does your Quirk respond to extreme temperatures?"

Ren huffed. "Doesn’t."

"What’s your average reaction time in combat?"

"Faster than yours."

"Do your enhanced senses make you more susceptible to light flashes?"

Ren clicked his tongue. "Tch. I blink when I see ‘em coming."

"Who was the third Pro-Hero to graduate UA’s accelerated course after the war?"

"Rumi Usagiyama."

"How many seconds did it take me to immobilize Midoriya the first time we fought in the Sports Festival?"

"About—”

The words were already leaving his mouth.

He wasn’t thinking.

The number was just there, sitting on his tongue, burned into him like muscle memory.

"—three, but it would’ve been five if he hadn’t—"

Ren froze.

Shoto did too.

The moment stretched.

Ren’s pupils shrank. His breath caught.

Because fuck.

Fuck.

Shoto’s lips parted slightly.

His expression didn’t change—not exactly—but Ren saw it, saw the shift in his eyes.

He had caught it.

That one slip—that one piece of knowledge Ren had no right to have.

And they both knew it.

Their gazes locked.

Unblinking. Unwavering.

Ren’s ears twitched. His tail flicked once, then stilled.

Shoto’s fingers curled at his sides. His throat bobbed with a slow, controlled breath. His gaze darkened, sharp and cutting like a blade sliding against stone.

The training hall was silent.

And then—

"Class dismissed," Shoto said abruptly.

The rest of the class hesitated, startled by the sudden call.

"Now." His tone left no room for argument.

There was confusion, murmurs, glances exchanged—but everyone filed out including Haruto who was shooting concerned looks at Ren as Rei and Souta guided her out of the training grounds.

Everyone except Ren.

He stood there, unmoving, arms crossed, watching.

Waiting.

Shoto didn’t look at him. Not at first.

He exhaled, long and slow, running a hand through his hair before turning, finally meeting Ren’s gaze.

There it was.

Recognition.

Deep. Old. Unmistakable.

It hit like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Shoto took a slow step forward. Then another.

Then—

"It’s you."

The words barely made a sound.

Ren’s throat tightened.

Shoto blinked once. His gaze was unreadable, but his jaw was clenched, his expression flickering between something calculated and something raw.

"It’s really you."

Ren swallowed. His hands curled into fists.

Shoto took another step. His voice—**controlled, measured—**wavered slightly at the edges.

"How?" His gaze searched Ren’s face, something fractured, something desperate. "How is this possible?"

Ren exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. "You think I fucking know?"

Shoto’s nostrils flared, his composure breaking at the edges.

"You—" He cut himself off, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab him, shake him, like he wanted to demand an explanation that Ren didn’t have.

Instead, he breathed out, forcing himself to focus.

And then, quieter—softer—

"Are you okay?"

Ren’s stomach twisted.

That—that fucking question.

He hadn’t been expecting that.

His ears twitched. His tail flicked behind him. "I—" He cleared his throat. "Yeah. I mean. No. I mean—"

Shoto’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Ren scowled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I dunno, okay? I don’t fucking know."

Shoto’s expression softened.

Ren hated it.

Hated that Shoto was looking at him like that.

Like he had just found something he thought he’d lost.

Shoto exhaled again, processing, calculating.

Then—

"Haruto," he said.

Ren stiffened.

Shoto saw it.

His hands curled. His voice dropped lower.

"That’s Izuku, isn’t it?"

Ren’s jaw clenched.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Shoto already knew.

He let out a sharp, unsteady breath, fingers pressing against his temples.

"Izuku Midoriya," he murmured, almost to himself. "He’s been here this whole time. Right in front of me. And I—" His breath shook.

Ren watched him.

Watched the way Shoto’s entire body seemed to pull tight, like a string pulled to its breaking point.

And then—the inevitable question.

"Does she remember?"

Ren’s fingers curled into fists. He shook his head.

Shoto inhaled sharply. His eyes burned.

"God." His voice cracked.

Ren’s tail bristled.

Shoto let out another breath, pressing his fingers against his closed eyelids for a long, aching moment.

And then—

"Are you happy?"

Ren’s breath caught.

The question slammed into him like a physical blow.

His throat tightened. His ears flattened slightly.

And Shoto was still looking at him.

Waiting.

Ren’s jaw clenched. He exhaled through his nose.

"She’s alive," he said, quietly.

Shoto’s breath stilled.

Ren’s fingers twitched at his sides. His voice dropped lower, rougher, almost fragile.

"And that’s enough for me."

Shoto swallowed. His eyes burned.

He nodded—slow, understanding, heavy.

Ren exhaled sharply, looking away, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

And then, after a long, stretching silence—

Ren scoffed, smirking slightly, trying to push through the weight in his chest. "Damn, you’re so dramatic, IcyHot."

Shoto let out a short, shaky laugh.

Then—softly, almost reverent—

"Welcome back, Katsuki."

Ren stilled.

His throat tightened.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because in that moment—with the cold still hanging between them, with the quiet understanding settling into their bones—

Shoto already knew.

And that?

That was enough.

The air between them was thick, heavy with something neither of them were willing to name. The silence stretched for longer than it should have, but Ren wasn’t ready to break it just yet. He needed to sit in this moment, in this surreal, impossible moment where he was standing face-to-face with someone who had known him before.

Not just suspected. Not just felt it.

But knew.

Shoto knew.

But the silence wouldn’t last forever.

Ren shifted, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, tail flicking once, then stilling.

And then, finally, he asked it.

Something he had been carrying with him since the day he started remembering.

“…What happened after?”

Shoto blinked, his head tilting slightly.

Ren swallowed, looking at the ground, then back up. Red eyes meeting mismatched ones.

“After we—” He exhaled sharply, scowling. “After me, Izuku, and Aizawa died. What happened?”

Shoto studied him carefully, and Ren hated the way he did it—like he was taking him apart, breaking him down piece by piece, trying to measure how much weight he could carry before he snapped.

Ren scowled. “I mean, yeah, I know the big picture. I read the fucking history books. I get that we saved millions, that there’s statues and shit, that society got its first goddamn break from all the world-ending disasters that kept popping up back then. I know all that.”

He swallowed.

“But what about everyone else?”

Shoto’s gaze softened.

Ren exhaled sharply, his tail flicking again, his ears angling slightly downward.

“Like… Class 1-A,” he muttered. “What happened to them? I mean, I know you and Roundface and Shitty Hair are still here, obviously, but—” He hesitated, feeling something tight in his chest.

Shoto watched him.

Ren scoffed. “Just—fuck, man, are they okay?”

Shoto breathed out through his nose, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded.

"They’re okay."

Ren exhaled, something in his chest unclenching.

But Shoto wasn’t finished.

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “You want details?”

Ren rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have fucking asked if I didn’t, dumbass.”

Shoto almost smirked. Almost.

Then, carefully, thoughtfully, he began.

Ochako Uraraka had never stopped saving people.

She refined her combat skills to an absurd degree, turning herself into one of the top rescue specialists in the world. She wasn’t just ‘Roundface’ anymore. She was the hero Meteorite.

She never married.

Never settled down. Never let go of the memory of her best friend.

"She’s happy," Shoto assured him. "But she still misses him."

Ren didn’t ask.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew who she missed.

Iida Tenya had taken over his family’s hero agency, stepping into the role of CEO with the same unyielding discipline and dedication he had once applied to everything at UA.

Still a hero—of course he was—but now his work stretched far beyond the streets. He was deep in policy, logistics, and reform, restructuring outdated systems and ensuring the next generation of heroes had the resources, training, and ethical grounding they needed. His agency had expanded its outreach, offering scholarships, rescue training programs, and new hero tech initiatives that made waves in the industry.

And somehow, in the middle of all of that—he had married Hatsume Mei.

Ren nearly choked on his own spit at that one.

Because, really?

Mei?

They had two kids now—two kids. And Ren had no doubt that those little monsters could outrun a train and build a rocket in a weekend.

The eldest was fifteen—just a year older than Ren and Haruto.

Shoto was watching him.

Ren could feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way he was waiting for something.

And then, after a long, measured pause, he spoke.

“Mina still works with Kaminari and Sero,” he said, voice even. “Still heroes. Still... them.”

Ren let out a sharp breath through his nose, flicking his tail. “No shock there.”

Shoto didn’t react to that.

Didn’t react at all.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering behind his expression.

“Eijiro’s here,” he said after a pause.

Ren stilled. His ears twitched once, then flattened slightly, his tail curling around his leg. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Shoto exhaled softly. “He’s not a hero anymore.”

Ren didn’t say anything.

Didn’t know what to say.

Shoto didn’t stop.

“He quit after you died.”**

Ren flinched, his claws flexing involuntarily.

“He took it the hardest.”

Ren swallowed, but his throat felt tight.

Shoto kept going, the way he always did when something needed to be said.

“He just… stopped,” he murmured. “For years. Barely spoke. Barely existed. Even after he and Mina had Suki, it never really pulled him out of it.”

Ren’s ears twitched at the name. Suki.

The realization hit hard.

She was named after—

Oh.

Shit.

Shoto didn’t give him time to dwell on it.

“He and Mina divorced a while back.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like it was just another piece of information. But there was something else beneath it. Something heavy.

Ren’s tail lashed once, and then curled again. “They broke up?”

Shoto inclined his head slightly. “Not because they stopped loving each other. But because Kirishima wasn’t... there. Wasn’t present. He didn’t know how to be.”

Ren swallowed again, but the lump in his throat didn’t move.

Because he could see it.

Could picture it too clearly—Kirishima, the brightest person he’d ever known, just... going dark.

Shoto shifted slightly, crossing his arms.

“He only started trying again recently,” he continued, and Ren heard the weight in his voice. “That’s why he’s here. Because once, Izuku said if he couldn’t be a hero, he’d be a teacher.”

Ren stilled again. His ears flicked, his tail froze mid-flick.

Shoto let the words sink in.

“So he came here. To honor Izuku. To honor Aizawa. To try and make a difference the only way he knows how.”

Ren exhaled, shaky and uneven, his tail finally moving again—a slow, restless flick, curling and uncurling at his side.

Shoto watched him, waiting.

Ren didn’t look at him.

Didn’t say anything.

Didn’t know what to say.

But deep in his chest, something ached.

Ren snorted. "Good. The world deserves that chaos."

“Momo Yaoyorozu married Tokoyami.”

"You’re fucking lying," Ren deadpanned.

Shoto shook his head.

"No fucking way."

"They make it work."

Ren was still processing that one.

Kirishima, of course, had never changed. He was still a hero, still working tirelessly. And if his guilt over losing Bakugo and Deku had eaten away at him for years, well—

He never talked about it.

But Shoto saw it.

Saw it in the way he watched Ren now.

Saw it in the way Ren could send him reeling with just a smirk and a ‘Shitty Hair’ that cut deeper than it should.

"He loved you, you know," Shoto said, voice quieter now. "Not just as a friend. As family."

Ren clenched his jaw.

He knew.

He’d always known.

Shoto had his own family now.

Married to some civilian woman Ren had never met. Had a kid—a little girl, only six years old.

Ren hadn’t thought about it before, hadn’t let himself think about it, but the realization hit like a weight settling in his chest.

They all had lives now. They had moved forward.

And for the first time, he was seeing it up close.

Shoto reached into his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and carefully slid out a photo. He held it out, hesitating only slightly before handing it over.

"Her name is Yuki."

Ren’s ears twitched, and his tail stilled for a fraction of a second.

Then he took the picture, snatching it forward with more interest than he wanted to show, flipping it over in his fingers before his eyes landed on her.

She was adorable.

Soft white hair, fluffy and a little wild, with streaks of red running through it like little flames, bright and delicate. Big, wide eyes—gray like her grandmother’s, round cheeks, a tiny mouth that was pulled into a mischievous little grin.

Ren stared.

His fingers curled slightly around the edges of the photo, claws just barely pressing against the paper.

A kid.

Shoto had a kid.

Kirishima had a kid. Mina had a kid.

He hadn’t been surprised when Shoto said it, but this—actually seeing it—was different.

His tail flicked, and his voice came out quieter than he meant it to.

"Damn. You're a fucking dad now."

Shoto huffed lightly, something amused but exasperated crossing his face. "Yes, Ren. That’s how it works when you have a child."

Ren’s mouth twitched into something almost like a grin, but it faded quick.

He looked back at the picture.

Yuki.

His best friend’s daughter.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Ren let it sink in, absorbing all of it, every last word.

The world had moved on.

His friends—his family—they had lived.

They had loved. Had grieved. Had grown.

And Ren?

He was back at the start.

It felt… unfair.

He wasn’t sure if it was unfair to him or to them, but it sat heavy on his shoulders either way.

Shoto must have noticed.

Because his next words were lighter.

Sharper.

"Y’know," he mused, tilting his head. "Of all the things I thought you might come back as, I wasn’t expecting a housecat."

Ren’s tail bristled instantly. "Fuck off, IcyHot."

But Shoto just smirked.

"A kitten, though?" He crossed his arms, tapping a thoughtful finger against his elbow. "A small, angry, growling kitten? Seems a little ironic, don’t you think?"

Ren scowled, ears flattening slightly. "You think this is funny?"

Shoto’s smirk widened just a fraction. "I think it’s hilarious."

Ren growled, low and dangerous, but Shoto was unfazed.

"You used to pride yourself on being the biggest, baddest thing in the room," Shoto continued, tilting his head. "And now? You’ve got twitchy ears and a tail that gives away your mood."

Ren’s tail twitched furiously behind him.

Shoto pointed at it. "See?"

Ren cursed under his breath, forcing it to go still.

"Un-fucking-believable," he muttered. "I open up one damn time—"

Shoto actually laughed.

A real one. Not just the small exhale of amusement he usually gave.

Ren just glared. "Laugh it up, asshole."

"Oh, I will," Shoto assured him. "This is the best thing to happen to me in years."

Ren rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, enjoy it while you can, ‘cause I swear to god—"

"—You’ll what?" Shoto interrupted smoothly. "Swat at me? Knock something off my desk? Nap in a sunspot?"

Ren’s eye twitched.

Shoto’s smirk deepened.

Ren exhaled sharply, forcing himself to let it go.

Because the thing was?

Shoto wasn’t wrong.

He had come back in a body that moved differently, reacted differently. A body that wasn’t as naturally explosive, wasn’t built for brute force in the way he once was.

He had been born smaller.

But—faster.

More refined.

More dangerous in different ways.

He still fought with instinct. Still moved without hesitation.

Still had the same fire inside him.

But he wasn’t the same.

Not completely.

Shoto let the teasing go, at least for now. His expression sobering just slightly.

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

Ren blinked. "Regret what?"

Shoto hesitated. Then, softly—

"Coming back."

Ren’s breath hitched.

He swallowed, forcing his gaze to the side.

Did he?

Did he regret this?

He exhaled through his nose. "No."

Shoto watched him.

Ren exhaled again, shaking his head slightly.

"I mean, fuck, I don’t know why it happened, I don’t know if this is, like, the first time or the hundredth time, I don’t know if it’s some fate bullshit or if we just got a bad fucking roll of the dice, but—"

He shifted his weight.

"But I don’t regret it," he said, voice quieter now.

Shoto nodded.

And then—

"You’re not gonna lose us again," Shoto said, firm, absolute.

Ren looked at him.

Shoto met his gaze, unflinching. "I mean it."

Ren swallowed.

Something tightened in his chest.

And he nodded.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I know."

And for the first time in this life, it actually felt like it could be true.

Chapter Text

Shoto wasn’t one to hesitate.

Not usually.

He had always been decisive, had learned to trust his instincts. He didn’t waver in battle, didn’t second-guess his choices, didn’t let uncertainty keep him from moving forward.

And yet—

He had been hesitating.

Because this? This wasn’t battle.

This was something else.

Something bigger.

Something he didn’t know how to handle.

But he needed answers.

And so, after class, when the halls were empty and the rest of the students had scattered to the dorms or the training fields, Shoto cornered Arakawa Rei.

Rei didn’t look surprised.

Of course he didn’t.

He simply turned his head, steel-gray eyes sliding toward him, measuring, assessing.

There was no confusion in his expression. No curiosity. No irritation.

Just calm.

Too calm.

Like he had been waiting for this.

Shoto exhaled, his breath clouding slightly in the cool air.

"You knew I was going to talk to you."

Rei gave a small, slow blink. "Eventually."

Shoto watched him.

The same way Rei was watching him.

And then, evenly, carefully—

"You remember, don’t you?"

A muscle in Rei’s jaw twitched.

His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders loose but not relaxed. There was tension there, buried under layers of composure.

Shoto could see it.

He knew how to recognize when Rei was holding something back.

Because Rei had taught him how to do it.

Rei exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly.

"That depends," he said, voice steady, unreadable. "What exactly do you think I remember?"

Shoto narrowed his eyes.

A test.

That was a test.

He knew this game. Had played it too many times.

Rei wanted him to say it out loud.

Fine.

Shoto would.

"I know about Ren," he said. "I know about Haruto."

Rei’s expression didn’t change.

But Shoto saw the way his fingers twitched inside his pockets.

Shoto inhaled slowly.

"And I know about you," he said, voice quieter now.

Rei didn’t speak.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t argue.

Just stood there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Shoto exhaled, his chest tight.

"Say it," he said.

Rei’s gaze flickered, sharp as a blade.

"Say what?"

Shoto’s jaw tightened.

"You know what," he said.

Rei’s fingers curled inside his pockets.

A breath. A long pause.

And then—

"I'm Aizawa Shouta."

Shoto’s throat clenched.

Hearing it out loud.

Hearing it confirmed.

Not just a suspicion.

Not just a theory.

The truth.

Rei exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "Satisfied?"

Shoto’s breath shook.

He didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Because no.

He wasn’t satisfied.

Because it wasn’t just Aizawa standing in front of him.

It was his student.

It was his teacher.

It was both.

And it didn’t make any fucking sense.

Shoto ran a hand through his hair, tension radiating through his frame.

"How?" His voice was rough, raw. "How is this happening?"

Rei shrugged, his expression eerily neutral.

"Life is weird."

Shoto scowled. "That’s not an answer."

Rei’s lips twitched slightly. "It’s the only one I have."

Shoto stared at him.

At the same tired eyes.

At the same apathetic, deadpan delivery.

At the same goddamn way he stood, like nothing could touch him, like he had already seen everything and wasn’t impressed.

And fuck.

Fuck.

Shoto exhaled, his breath unsteady.

He hadn’t felt like this in years.

Hadn’t felt this much at once.

Because Aizawa was here.

Right here.

In front of him.

Alive.

Different.

But not.

Shoto’s hands clenched at his sides.

He swallowed.

And then, before he could stop himself—

"Are you happy?"

Rei actually blinked.

For the first time, his composure wavered.

He tilted his head slightly, silver-gray eyes narrowing.

Shoto waited.

Rei exhaled, slow and measured.

"That's a complicated question."

Shoto’s lips pressed into a thin line.

"Try answering it anyway."

Rei studied him for a long moment.

Then, finally, he sighed.

"I have Souta," he said.

Shoto stilled.

Rei’s gaze dropped slightly, the sharpness in his expression softening.

"That’s enough," he said.

Shoto swallowed.

"Is it?"

Rei’s gaze flicked back to him.

And Shoto saw it.

For the first time since this conversation started—

A flash of something unspoken.

Something heavy.

Something like grief.

Something like guilt.

Shoto exhaled slowly, his chest tight.

And then, before he could stop himself—

"I missed you."

Rei’s breath hitched.

Shoto clenched his jaw, looking away, exhaling sharply.

Goddamn it.

He hadn’t meant to say that.

Hadn’t meant to let that slip.

But he had.

And now—

Now Rei was just standing there, staring at him.

Shoto didn’t look at him.

Didn’t dare look at him.

Until—

A hand.

A firm grip.

Rei’s hand, grasping his shoulder.

Shoto froze.

His breath caught.

Rei exhaled slowly.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."

Shoto’s throat tightened.

He inhaled sharply, composing himself, forcing down the weight in his chest.

And then, finally—

"Still a dickhead, huh?"

Rei smirked. "Still a walking thermostat, huh?"

Shoto let out a breathless, almost-laugh.

And then—

Rei pulled him in.

Shoto stiffened.

Because Aizawa never hugged people.

But this—this wasn’t Aizawa.

Not anymore.

This was Rei.

And Rei hugged him.

Firm. Warm.

Like he meant it.

Like he had missed this, too.

Shoto hesitated for only a second—

Then returned it.

His breath was unsteady.

But his grip was strong.

And for the first time in decades—

It felt like he was home.

Chapter Text

Time moves forward.

The seasons shift. The air grows colder. The leaves begin to brown at the edges, and the sky takes on that dull, pale hue that signals the slow crawl of winter. The city breathes, the school pulses with life, and the world keeps spinning.

But Haruto is slipping.

It’s not obvious. Not to most people.

She’s still there, still laughing in all the right places, still showing up to class, still getting perfect scores, still giving Souta grief when he tries to steal her dessert at lunch, still listening intently to Rei’s strategic breakdowns, still pretending to roll her eyes when Ren’s tail twitches in irritation over some stupid thing that doesn’t actually matter.

She’s still Haruto.

But something is off.

They don’t let her drift.

She doesn’t push them away outright, and that’s the only reason they haven’t forced the issue yet. She still sits with them, still lets them pull her into their gravity, still joins in on their chaos.

There are movie nights—Souta dramatically narrating everything, Ren throwing popcorn at him until he shuts up, Rei silently taking notes like he’s studying the cinematography.

There are stupid late-night convenience store runs—Souta loudly declaring "We’re getting arrested tonight, boys," Ren shoving him into a shelf, Haruto shaking her head with that fond, distant smile, Rei paying for everything because none of them actually brought money.

There are dumb challenges—who can hold their breath the longest, who can eat the spiciest ramen without crying, who can win the most claw machine prizes.

They still belong to each other.

But there’s a distance now.

A hesitation.

Like Haruto is watching from the outside.

Like she’s trying to hold on, but something is pulling her away.

And Ren feels it more than anyone.

It’s not something he can name.

It’s a feeling. A deep, instinctive thing.

Haruto is right there. She still sits next to him. She still leans into him when she’s tired. Still lets him steal her fries when she’s not paying attention. Still reaches for him without thinking when she’s cold.

She’s not gone.

But she’s also not fully here.

She zones out more. Takes longer to answer when they talk. Laughs a second too late, like she wasn’t actually listening.

And she doesn’t tell him why.

She doesn’t tell any of them why.

Ren feels his throat close up, his stomach twist into something ugly.

He knows this feeling.

It’s a sick fucking déjà vu.

Like something in the bones of the universe is repeating.

Like he’s reaching for something that’s already slipping through his fingers.

Like he’s losing her.

Again.

Fuck.

He really is losing her all over again, isn’t he?

Haruto's dreams.

It starts the way it always does.

A sky with no stars.

A vast, empty galaxy, stretching endlessly in all directions, dark and endless, pulsing like a living thing.

She floats weightless in it, untethered, a body without gravity, a soul without a name.

It is silent.

And then it isn’t.

The whispers come like wind through glass.

Shifting. Cracking. Breaking.

*You are not the first.*

*You are not the last.*

*You are a cycle. A thread in the weave. A story that has already been told, over and over and over again.*

You were here before. You will be here again.

She wants to scream.

She wants to wake up.

But then—

The galaxy shifts.

And she remembers.

He Is Four Years Old.

And he is crying.

There are boys around him, taller than him, louder than him, their sneers sharp as shattered glass.

"Quirkless loser!"

"Useless Deku!"

"Why do you even try?"

The words hurt.

But not as much as the voice leading them.

"You’ll never be a hero."

Bright crimson eyes, looking down at him with something cruel, something sharp, something that slices into his ribs like a blade.

Kacchan.

He knows him.

He knows him.

And then—

The dream shifts.

He Is Nine.

He is staring at him from across a training field.

Kacchan’s jaw is clenched, his hands sparking with small explosions, frustration rippling off him in waves.

His voice is sharp, furious—

"Why do you keep chasing after me?"

He stands his ground, refusing to look away.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t have the words for it.

But he knows—

He was meant to stand beside him.

And then—

The dream shifts.

He Is Fourteen.

And he is running.

Not away.

Towards.

There is a villain. A monster.

And Kacchan is screaming.

The fear in his voice splits something open inside him.

He moves without thinking.

He reaches for him—

And then—

The dream shifts again.

He Is Fifteen.

The sports festival.

His hands are around his throat, pinning him down—

But his eyes—his fucking eyes—

They are full of grief.

Of something shaking apart at the seams.

"I won’t lose to you!"

But this isn’t about winning.

This is about everything he can’t say.

And then—

The dream shifts.

He Is Sixteen.

And he is not alone.

There is a boy beside him, his hair a little shorter, his face more mature.

They are standing together.

Not enemies. Not rivals.

Something else.

Something more.

And then—

The dream shifts.

He Is Seventeen.

The war.

It is flames and smoke and blood, buildings crumbling, people screaming.

And he—he is in the middle of it.

Fighting.

Bleeding.

Dying.

He sees him fall.

Sees the explosion rip through him.

Sees his body break.

And he—Deku—

Screams.

"Kacchan!"

The world shatters around him.

The pain is too much, too deep, too real.

He reaches for him.

And he is gone.

And he—

He is gone too.

And then—

The dream shifts.

He Is Twenty-Eight.

A world without powers.

A world where he is still fighting.

A world where he is there.

They are beside each other again.

And he knows now.

He knows.

He loves him.

He has always loved him.

And then—

It happens again.

The disaster.

The true ending.

He remembers the exact second he knew they were going to die.

He remembers the silence before it happened.

The way everything slowed.

The way Kacchan turned to him—

And reached for him.

Not to push him away.

Not to tell him to run.

To hold him.

To pull him into his arms one last time.

To press his face into his hair.

To hold on.

He remembers Aizawa watching, understanding, accepting.

He remembers feeling—not fear.

Not anger.

Just—

"Oh."

"This is it."

"This is where we go together."

And then—

Nothing.

Haruto wakes up screaming.

Her body convulses, her breath caught, choking, breaking.

She can still feel his arms around her.

She can still hear the echoes of her own screams.

She remembers now.

She remembers everything.

And she is falling apart.

Her lungs won’t work.

Everything is shaking.

And her head—God, her head.

She can still hear it.

The echo of her own voice screaming his name.

Kacchan—

The final battle. The fight. The death.

His arms around her—his last breath against her hair—

“I got you. I got you. I got you...”

And then—

Nothing.

Haruto sobs.

Loud and ugly and broken.

The dorm is dark, but it doesn’t matter—her vision is already blurred, her breath coming in wild, uneven gasps, too fast, too hard, choking her from the inside.

No. No, no, no.

This isn’t real.

This can’t be real.

She’s Haruto. She’s Haruto.

But she was Deku.

And Deku—Deku loved Kacchan.

More than people were supposed to be able to love.

More than she had ever admitted.

And then he was gone.

And Izuku was gone.

And she had never—

She had never said it.

She had never told him.

She had never—

Her body locks up on itself, lungs twisting into knots, everything spiraling.

Her thoughts are too fast, too much.

It Was a Miracle That Shoto Made It There at the Same Time as Ren.

Somewhere, in the haze of panic and rising sobs, someone in the dorm had called him—because this was his floor. His students. His responsibility.

But more than that—it was the sound that pulled him.

That broken, gut-wrenching sob—he knew it.

The dorm was dark, but it didn’t matter. He was already moving.

Part teacher instincts.

Part something else entirely.

Because that wasn’t just a student crying.

That was Izuku Midoriya.

The door opens.

Slowly. Cautiously.

Footsteps, measured but urgent.

Then a voice.

Deep. Familiar. Too familiar.

"Haruto."

Haruto flinches.

Shoto.

Shoto.

She turns, wild-eyed and gasping, because she knows him.

Not as Todoroki-sensei.

Not as her teacher.

She knows him.

She remembers training, fights, whispered conversations, an unshakable alliance.

She remembers standing shoulder to shoulder with him against a world that never gave them a choice.

She remembers choosing him.

Just like she had chosen Kacchan.

Family.

Her breath stutters.

"Shoto," she chokes out, voice wrecked, trembling hands still fisted in her own shirt.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Doesn’t speak.

Just kneels down, level with her, watching. Waiting.

"Shoto—" her breath stutters, catching painfully. "I—I don’t understand—I—"

She breaks off with another sob, shoulders shaking.

Shoto exhales quietly. His hand moves—hesitant but sure—resting on her shoulder, grounding, solid.

"You’re remembering," he says, softly.

Haruto nods violently, hands still clutching herself like she’s afraid she’ll come apart.

"Yes—" Her voice cracks. "But it doesn’t make sense. None of it—none of it makes sense—"

Shoto nods once. His grip on her shoulder tightens.

She’s still gasping, eyes too wild, too bright, her breath erratic.

"Okay," he says, firm but quiet. "You need to breathe first."

"I can’t," she wails.

"You can," he corrects, tone sharp enough to cut through the panic. "You will."

Haruto shakes her head violently.

"I—I was a boy," she gasps.

Shoto doesn’t react. Doesn’t flinch. Just stays there, steady.

"Yes," he says.

Haruto chokes.

"And I—I died—"

"Yes."

She lets out a wrecked sound, hands flying up to her hair, gripping it like she’s trying to pull herself back into her body.

"And I—Kacchan—"

She breaks.

Sobs pour out of her, uncontrollable.

Because that’s the worst part.

The last stand.

The way it ended.

The way he held her.

The way they had never—never—

The way she had loved him.

And she had never told him.

And now he was gone.

And now—

Now—

"Izuku."

Haruto stills.

Her breath catches.

Because that’s—

That’s not her name.

Not anymore.

But Shoto says it like it still is.

And—

And it feels right.

Her head snaps up, huge green eyes drowning in tears, her whole body shaking.

And Shoto is looking at her like he already knows.

Like he’s known long before she has.

Like he’s been waiting for her to understand.

She sobs again.

"Sh—Shoto," she gasps, voice breaking. "I—I don’t—what’s happening to me—"

Shoto’s jaw tightens.

And then—

A whisper.

A plea.

A question she cannot comprehend asking.

"Where’s Kacchan?"

Shoto inhales sharply.

Because there it is.

The final confirmation.

She is remembering everything.

But before he can answer—

Before he can even think of how to respond—

A voice from the door.

Low. Rough. Unsteady.

"I’m right here, nerd."

Haruto freezes.

Shoto turns, sharp-eyed and calm but not calm.

Ren stands in the doorway.

Very still.

Very quiet.

His tail twitches slowly, too tense to flick properly.

One hand is gripping the doorframe, like he needs to ground himself.

Like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart.

But his eyes—

Oh, his eyes.

Haruto knows them.

Not just the shape. Not just the color.

She knows them.

And when their gazes lock, everything in her world tilts.

"Kacchan…?"

Ren moves before she finishes saying it.

One second he’s across the room—

The next, he’s on her bed, on his knees, hands on her shoulders, pulling her in.

Haruto lets out a shaky, breathless sob.

His arms wrap around her too tightly, too desperately.

Like he’s afraid she’ll disappear.

Like he’s afraid he’s already lost her too many times.

She crumbles against him.

Fingers twisting into his shirt, grasping, holding on.

Her breath is ragged, uneven, her whole body trembling.

"Ren," she whispers.

No.

No, that’s not—

"Kacchan," she corrects, voice cracking.

Ren shudders.

His grip tightens.

He presses his face into her hair, breath warm against her temple, and fuck—

This is what he had felt like when they died.

This is what he had done.

Holding her, just like this.

And then—

Then nothing.

His breath catches.

Haruto clutches him tighter.

"Kacchan," she whimpers.

And Ren—

Ren can’t speak.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t do anything but hold her together the way he couldn’t before.

This time—

This time, he won’t let go.

Ren is shaking.

His arms are locked around her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. Like if he lets go, she’ll slip right through his fingers again, fade into the dark like a ghost he’s spent too many lifetimes chasing.

Haruto—Izuku—clings to him just as hard.

Her hands fist into the back of his shirt, gripping so tightly her knuckles have gone white, her breath still uneven, still shuddering. She buries her face into his chest, and she is trembling. Not from fear. Not from pain.

From knowing.

From remembering.

Ren swallows, breath ragged, heartbeat pounding so hard against his ribs that it aches. His tail flicks behind him in slow, uneven jerks—his ears flat against his head, betraying the storm inside him.

She’s here. She’s here.

He can feel her warmth, the way she smells the same, even in this life—light and clean, something soft beneath it, something achingly familiar.

She is shaking against him, but she isn’t pulling away.

Because she knows.

Because she remembers.

Not everything. Not yet. But—enough.

Enough for her voice to crack when she whispers his name.

"Kacchan."

It splinters something deep inside him.

His fingers tighten in the fabric of her shirt.

For years, that name has been an echo, a memory buried in another life, in another body, in a past that the universe stole from them.

And now—

Now it’s real again.

A breath shudders out of him. His eyes sting—too sharp, too raw.

His mouth opens—his voice breaks.

"Yeah, nerd," he whispers, pressing his forehead into the side of her hair.

His grip on her does not loosen.

She lets out a wrecked sound and clings to him harder.

The room is quiet except for the sound of her breath—too fast, too uneven—and the barely restrained shake in his own.

And Shoto is still there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Because this moment isn’t for him. Because this isn’t his reunion.

But still—his fingers curl just slightly.

Because it is different, seeing it.

Not just knowing. Not just suspecting.

Seeing it.

Seeing the way Katsuki holds her.

Seeing the way Izuku crumbles into him.

Seeing the way they fit.

Like they always have.

Like they always will.

His throat feels tight.

"Ren," he says, carefully.

Ren doesn’t lift his head.

But his tail twitches.

Shoto exhales softly through his nose, shifting his weight, arms crossing over his chest.

"This is… a lot," he says, deliberately slow, deliberate in every word.

Ren lets out a short, sharp exhale— something between a laugh and a breath.

"No shit, IcyHot," he mutters into Haruto’s hair.

Shoto rolls his eyes.

But he doesn’t argue.

Because—yeah.

This is a lot.

His gaze flickers down to Haruto—who is still curled against Ren’s chest, still shaking faintly, fingers still gripping his shirt like a lifeline.

He watches the way her shoulders rise and fall.

Watches the way Ren breathes in tandem with her, grounding her.

Watches two lost souls pull each other back together.

And finally, finally—he lets himself believe it.

This is real.

This is them.

And they are here.

Shoto exhales slowly.

"It’s been fifteen years," he says.

Ren finally lifts his head, ears flicking as he stares at him.

Shoto meets his gaze evenly, carefully.

"You Came Back As A Fucking Cat?"

Shoto stares at him. He's made these jokes already but he's making them again.

Because no matter how many times he repeats it in his head, it still does not make sense.

Katsuki Bakugo—King Explosion Murder, Ground Zero, Dynamight, the human embodiment of a grenade— came back to life as a fucking catboy.

It’s so absurd that his brain just short-circuits.

Ren bristles immediately.

His ears flatten. His tail lashes violently. His canines flash.

"Shut the fuck up, IcyHot."

But it’s too late.

Shoto can’t unsee it now.

Ren’s sharp, feline pupils. His ridiculous, twitchy tail. The way his ears betray his every emotion. The fucking claws.

Shoto’s expression does not change.

But his voice drips with amusement.

"You really got reincarnated as a literal feral stray."

Ren’s claws extend.

"Say one more word."

"You hissed at Souta last week."

"That was instinct, dumbass—"

"You stole my chair during class and refused to move."

"It was warm, motherfucker—"

"You literally curl up in sunbeams."

"SO WHAT?!"

Haruto, still shaken from earlier, still raw from all the memories crashing into her, hiccups again—but this time, it’s with laughter.

Shoto watches as she wipes at her wet cheeks, as the corner of her lips twitch upward despite the obvious mess of emotions she’s drowning in.

And something in his chest unclenches.

He meets Ren’s furious, flustered glare.

And smirks.

"You have cat ears, Ren."

Ren launches himself at him.

Shoto sidesteps at the last second, expression completely blank, but there’s something in his usually frozen-over eyes that glints with genuine amusement.

Ren lands in a crouch, whirls on him, tail lashing.

"You—"

"You’re adorable."

"—I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU."

Haruto completely loses it.

She’s laughing so hard she has to double over, clutching her stomach, shoulders shaking.

For the first time since she woke up, she isn’t crying.

For the first time since she woke up, she isn’t drowning.

Ren notices.

And even though he keeps glaring daggers at Shoto, even though his tail is still thrashing wildly behind him, even though he is still fully prepared to commit murder—

He softens.

Just a little.

Because this was the goal, wasn’t it?

To pull her back. To ground her.

To remind her that she is not alone in this.

She never will be.

And Shoto—Shoto sees it too.

The way Ren looks at her.

The way he always has.

He exhales slowly.

"Welcome back, Izuku," he murmurs.

Haruto’s breath catches.

She looks up at him, green eyes wide, glistening.

And then—slowly, softly—

She smiles.

Chapter Text

Shoto leaves with a parting "Get some sleep, problem children," but they both know it’s a meaningless request. Ren barely sleeps as it is, and Haruto—Izuku— is practically vibrating with the weight of everything pressing against her ribs.

The door clicks shut.

Ren barely gives Shoto a glance before muttering, "He’s never gonna drop the cat thing, is he?"

Haruto lets out a breathy, exhausted laugh, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "No. Never. Not in a million years."

Ren groans, rolling his head back against the wall. "I fucking knew it."

Haruto watches him, a soft, warm feeling settling into the cracks of her chest.

Because for all the lifetimes they’ve lived, for all the pain, all the war, all the loss—this is them.

Bickering. Bantering. Side by side.

And then—

"We’re not sleeping tonight, are we?"

Ren snorts. "Not a fucking chance, nerd."

She asks about everything.

The way their teachers lived on without them. How Ochako cried when she gave her first pro-hero speech. How Eijiro never stopped talking about him, never stopped carrying his legacy on his back. How Shoto picked up Aizawa’s mantle before he even realized he was doing it.

She asks about their friends.

Who’s still fighting? Who left? Who has kids now? She already knows the history—the facts, the statistics, the way the world talks about the Three Heroes of 2074. But she wants the real answers. The ones no history book could ever give her.

Ren answers as best he can.

He tells her about how Iida still runs his family’s agency, but his patrols are way less intense these days. How Mina, Sero, and Denki still fight side by side, though they pretend they don’t miss their fourth like hell. How Aoyama finally settled down into something quiet, something normal.

How none of them ever forgot.

She hugs herself, staring at the floor, blinking too fast, swallowing too hard.

Ren watches her, watches the way she bites the inside of her cheek, the way her fingers twitch against her knee.

And then—

"Do you think we should tell them?"

He freezes.

Haruto turns to him, eyes too open, too bright, too damn hopeful.

Ren’s jaw tightens.

She’s always been a dreamer.

Always reaching for the impossible, always believing in the best of people.

He exhales through his nose.

"You really think they’d believe us?" he mutters.

Haruto worries her lip.

And fuck— that old Izuku habit hits him like a punch to the chest.

"I don’t know," she admits. "But—" She presses a hand against her sternum, fingers splayed over her chest like she’s holding something together. "I don’t know how long I can pretend."

Ren looks at her.

Really, really looks at her.

And he gets it.

Because it’s not just about remembering. It’s about feeling.

It’s about standing in front of Shoto and calling him Sensei when all she wants to say is his name.

It’s about sitting in Ochako’s classroom, being graded by the girl who once fought by her side.

It’s about calling her hero history teacher ‘Professor Shitty Hair’ and watching him flinch every damn time.

She isn’t just remembering.

She’s drowning in it.

Ren lets out a slow breath.

"Not yet," he says finally. "Let’s… figure our own shit out first."

Haruto stares at him for a long, long moment.

"Genesis feels like—" Haruto hesitates, rolling her shoulders. "It feels like possibility. Like… something vast, something untapped, something that’s waiting."

Ren doesn’t like the sound of that.

"Sounds a hell of a lot like One For All," he mutters.

Haruto nods slowly.

"Yeah," she admits. "And that—" She rubs at her arms. "That kind of freaks me out."

Ren flicks his tail. "You and me both."

Because if this is anything like One For All—if it’s anything like the kind of power that broke Izuku down to blood and bone and sacrifice—

Then he’s not letting it happen again.

Haruto catches the sharp look in his eyes.

And she knows.

"You can’t stop me from using it, Kacchan," she says softly.

His ears twitch. "Just fucking watch me."

She lets out a soft, knowing exhale.

And then—

"You’re still just as overprotective as ever."

Ren bristles.

"You’re still just as reckless," he shoots back.

Haruto laughs.

But then—the laughter shifts.

"So, I Said Dynamight Was The Hottest Hero Ever—"

Ren grins. "Oh yeah, let’s talk about that, nerd."

Haruto immediately regrets her words.

"No, let’s not."

"No, let’s fucking do it."

She groans, burying her face in her hands.

"You had a full-blown crush on me, and you didn’t even know it was me." Ren cackles, delighted.

"Shut up."

"‘He was just—ugh, so hot, I’d totally go back in time and save him—’"

"Shut up."

"‘Best hero ever, so explosive, such a beast—’"

She shoves him.

He keeps laughing.

And then—

Then she says, "Well, I thought he was hot, but I think you’re hotter."

Dead. Silence.

Ren short-circuits.

His tail stiffens. His ears twitch violently. His pupils dilate.

His entire body locks up.

Haruto blinks at him, then bursts out laughing.

"Oh my god, you’re flustered!"

"I’M NOT."

"You totally are."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP."

Hours later, It’s late. Too late.

But neither of them move from the bed.

Ren’s arm is draped over her shoulders.

Haruto is pressed into his side.

It’s a position they’ve sat in a thousand times before, something so familiar, so easy, so natural.

Like breathing.

But tonight, it’s different.

Tonight, Haruto is wide awake.

And she remembers how much she loves him.

Not just Ren.

But Katsuki, too.

Her breath catches.

And she says it.

Soft. Tentative. Real.

"Ka… Kacchan."

Ren half-hums, half-purrs sleepily, turning his head to peek at her through hooded eyes.

"Mm? What is it, nerd?"

She bites her lip.

And his whole body tenses.

Then—

"I never got to tell you before. And then we died. And now we’re here. And we’ve wasted so much time…"

Ren stares.

Haruto’s voice shakes.

"Ren… I—I love you. I have always loved you."

Ren’s heart stops.

Haruto swallows, eyes shining, so full of everything she’s ever felt for him.

"I can’t remember a single moment it wasn’t you."

Ren inhales sharply.

And—

The words hit him like a fucking explosion.

Like a blast to the chest, like a detonator clicking, like the moment right before the fire ignites.

She loves him.

She has always loved him.

There was never a moment it wasn’t him.

Ren forgets how to breathe.

His tail goes still. His ears lock forward. His claws twitch, flexing without thought, sharp against the sheets.

His mind is too loud.

She said it.

She finally fucking said it.

And for a split second, he thinks—maybe he dreamed it.

Maybe this is just another one of his nightmares in reverse, a hallucination built on longing, a cruel fantasy that will slip away if he moves too fast, if he breathes too hard, if he dares to hope too much.

But—no.

She’s right there.

Wide green eyes locked on his, heart pounding so loud he can hear it.

And she’s waiting.

Waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to believe her.

Waiting for him to accept it.

Ren swallows.

And then he moves.

Slowly. Carefully. Like she’s something precious, fragile, irreplaceable.

He lifts a hand, cups her face, fingertips trembling as he brushes them along the sharp edge of her jaw, the smooth curve of her cheek.

Haruto leans into his touch instinctively, eyes fluttering, lips parting slightly like she’s forgotten how to hold them shut.

"Say it again," Ren murmurs.

His voice is low, raw, barely more than a whisper.

Haruto blinks at him, confused, but then she sees it.

The desperate, aching hunger in his eyes.

Like he’s been starving for this his whole life.

Like he needs to hear it again to believe it.

She exhales shakily.

"I love you."

Ren’s fingers tighten against her cheek.

"Again."

"I love you, Kacchan."

His breath catches.

Her voice is so full of it.

Of devotion, warmth, familiarity, eternity.

Like it’s something that’s always existed, something that’s been carved into her very being, into every lifetime they’ve ever lived.

Like she couldn’t stop loving him even if she wanted to.

And fuck—

That’s it.

That’s the breaking point.

Ren pulls her in.

And he kisses her.

Not carefully, not gently—not this time.

This is years, lifetimes, of wanting, waiting, hurting, aching.

This is I loved you then, I love you now, I will love you forever.

This is I waited for you, even before I knew what I was waiting for.

This is We wasted time before, but we won’t fucking waste another second.

Haruto gasps against him, but she doesn’t hesitate.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, gripping, holding onto him like she’s afraid he’ll disappear.

Ren growls softly, low in his throat, deep in his chest, something raw and possessive and overwhelming.

She’s here.

She’s his.

She always has been.

And now—now, she knows it, too.

The world could burn to the fucking ground, and he wouldn’t care, so long as she was still in his arms.

The kiss breaks.

They breathe.

Foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, the space between them paper-thin.

Ren swallows hard, voice rough.

"You dumbass."

Haruto huffs, still breathless.

"What?"

"You really think—" He lets out a ragged laugh, half a breath, half a sob. "You really fucking think there was a single second I didn’t—"

He can’t even finish the sentence.

So he just pulls back, just enough to look at her, to drink her in.

Haruto—**Izuku—**his nerd.

The light of his life.

The person he’s always been running toward.

Ren takes a deep, shuddering breath.

Then he says it.

"I love you, too."

Haruto blinks.

Ren smirks.

"Always have."

Haruto laughs, quiet and breathless, but there’s something wet in her eyes again.

Ren softens.

He tugs her close again, pressing his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a long, long moment.

"No more wasted time," he murmurs.

Haruto closes her eyes, exhales slow, steady.

"No more wasted time."

The Squad, Together Again (Whether They Knew It or Not)

Ren knew something was going to happen the second he saw the notebook.

It wasn’t just any notebook. It was a Hero Analysis notebook.

And not just any Hero Analysis notebook—it was her Hero Analysis notebook.

The moment Haruto pulled it out of her bag earlier that morning, flipping it open with **that look in her eyes—**that deep, laser-focused, slightly fidgety intensity, that subconscious murmur of facts under her breath—Ren had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning like a lunatic.

Because there she was.

Izuku. Haruto. All of her, all at once.

Ren had missed this.

And god, was it hilarious.

They were at lunch, their usual table, the four of them like always. Souta was making dramatic gestures about some bullshit Ren had already stopped listening to, Rei was being quietly insufferable, and Haruto—

Haruto was muttering to herself about the probability of direct quirk augmentation through specific forms of combat-based stress training.

Goddamn nerd.

Ren was taking a sip of his water, casually watching her go full hero-obsessed maniac, when he noticed Rei watching her too.

And not just watching.

Calculating. Assessing. Studying.

Ren’s ears twitched.

Rei knew.

Or at the very least, he was starting to suspect.

Which, in hindsight, made sense.

Haruto was way past the point of pretending.

It wasn’t even conscious. It was just—natural now.

She was muttering, fidgeting, writing down notes like she was in the middle of some breakthrough discovery.

And then—the final nail in the coffin.

Rei tilted his head slightly, looking directly at her chocolate pudding, and said, casually as ever:

"Hey, Izuku. You gonna eat that?"

Ren inhaled his water the wrong way and choked.

Souta froze, blinking wide, suddenly very interested in the moment unfolding before him.

And Haruto—

Haruto didn’t even hesitate.

Without even looking up from her notes, she slid the pudding cup across the table towards Rei’s outstretched hand.

And then—

She froze.

The notebook stopped moving.

The pen stopped scratching.

For a long, drawn-out second, she didn’t breathe.

Then—**slowly, carefully—**she lifted her head, turned to stare deadpan at Rei, and said:

"What did you just say?"

Rei, completely unbothered, slid down his scarf with one hand, revealing the most unimpressed, vaguely amused smirk known to mankind.

"Long time no see, problem child."

And that was it.

That was all it took.

One second, Haruto was sitting still, frozen in place—

The next—

She launched herself over the fucking table.

Rei barely had time to react before he was full-body tackled by a glowing, excited, nearly-incoherent Haruto.

**And Rei—**who had given exactly three hugs in this lifetime, and had received **even fewer—**stiffened like a goddamn board as she clung to him, eyes shining, voice cracking, glowing like a fucking star.

*"Oh my god—oh my god—Sensei—**Sensei—**I can’t believe it—**I thought—*oh my god you’re really here—"

Ren watched, hiding his grin behind his fist.

Rei, deeply unprepared for the sheer amount of energy being hurled at him, awkwardly, hesitantly, robotically, lifted one arm—then the other—then patted her back.

Like a very confused, very overwhelmed cat encountering an aggressively affectionate dog for the first time.

Haruto didn’t care.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her face so open, so raw, so full of relief it nearly broke something inside him.

"I’m so glad you’re here, Sensei," she whispered. "I’m so glad you… didn’t stay dead."

Rei swallowed.

Something **deep in his chest—something old, something aching—**finally, finally exhaled.

He nodded, slowly, carefully.

"Yeah, kid," he murmured. "Me too."

Their eyes met.

And for the first time since waking up in this new life, Rei felt something settle into place.

Like he had been waiting for this.

Like some part of him had been holding its breath.

Like things were finally, finally right again.

Across the table, Ren caught his eye.

And the look they exchanged—**equal parts joy and worry, relief and apprehension, knowing and not knowing what the hell this was all supposed to mean—**said everything.

Souta, having watched the entire thing unfold, leaned back, arms crossed, grinning like a fox.

"Well, damn," he said. "Guess I owe you ten bucks, Ren. I thought she’d freak out, but I didn’t think it’d be that bad."

Ren, half-amused, half-exasperated, rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Haruto, only now processing that this meant Ren had been betting on her, turned back towards him, pointing an accusing finger.

"Wait—you knew?!"

Ren smirked.

"Tch. Of course I knew. You think I wouldn’t recognize the biggest fucking nerd in existence just because she came back with tits?"

Haruto made a sound of sheer, indignant outrage.

"REN WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT—"

But before she could finish, Rei pulled his scarf back up and deadpanned:

"Language, problem child."

Souta, laughing his ass off, shook his head.

"God, this is the funniest shit I’ve ever seen."

Haruto, still absolutely not over the fact that Ren had been casually sitting on the fact that Aizawa had been here this whole time, spun back to Rei.

"I can’t believe you!" she accused. "How the hell did you just—why didn’t you—why didn’t you SAY ANYTHING?!"

Rei blinked, deadpan. "You didn’t ask."

Haruto looked like she was about to explode for the second time in a span of minutes.

"I—WHAT?!—"

"Relax, nerd," Ren cut in, amused as hell. "It’s not like he was hiding or some shit."

Haruto whipped around, pointing at him.

"YOU COULD HAVE TOLD ME."

Ren shrugged. "Yeah, well. You could’ve remembered faster."

Haruto threw a handful of rice at him.

Rei sighed.

Souta laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

And just like that—

They were home.

Chapter Text

The Day Everything Blew Up (Because of Course It Did)

Hizashi hadn’t seen it coming.

Because why would he?

He had spent decades moving forward, letting the past sit where it belonged— in his memories, in the quiet moments, in the way his heart still clenched when he looked at the damn empty seat in the teacher’s lounge that would never, ever be filled again.

He had mourned. He had accepted.

And then, in walked these kids.

It started with something small. A gift.

Rei had planned it—of course he had. He was methodical, subtle in ways that made Hizashi’s skin itch with familiarity. He had chosen something just right.

Something only Aizawa Shouta would have understood.

A goddamn coffee mug.

Not just any coffee mug.

A plain black ceramic mug with a white kanji character printed on it: “猫” (cat).

It wasn’t the exact same one. It couldn’t be. The original had shattered decades ago, long before the war, long before everything had gone to hell.

But Hizashi remembered.

Aizawa had hated it. He had bitched about it for weeks after Hizashi had gifted it to him one birthday, swearing up and down that he’d break it just to be free from the humiliation.

"I don’t even like cats."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Eraser. It suits you."

And then, of course—he had used it every single goddamn day.

Until the day it broke.

Until the day Hizashi had walked into the teachers' lounge and found his best friend looking at the shattered pieces like something irreplaceable had just been lost.

That had been the moment. That had been when Hizashi had realized that no matter how much Aizawa complained, no matter how much he acted like he didn’t care—

He did.

He always did.

So now, sitting on Hizashi’s desk, was a brand-new, identical goddamn mug.

Rei stood there, scarves wrapped up to his nose, watching him like a challenge had been issued.

And Hizashi—

Hizashi stopped breathing.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, voice tighter than it should’ve been.

Rei didn’t answer. Just shrugged. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

"Figured you could use one."

It was too much.

Too deliberate.

Too fucking familiar.

And then—

"This is stupid," Haruto said, sounding unimpressed. "Why are we waiting? Fuck this. I’m just telling him."

Hizashi blinked.

"Hizashi-sensei," she said, firm, unshaking.

"I know this sounds crazy. But it’s me."

Her fingers curled into fists.

"I’m… I’m Izuku."

For a long moment, Hizashi just stared.

And then, the world tilted violently.

"You can’t just say shit like that."

The words ripped out of him, louder than intended.

His hands slammed against the desk.

"Do you have any idea what a goddamn hero Izuku Midoriya was?!"

She didn’t flinch.

Of course she didn’t. Izuku never fucking flinched.

"I don’t care how much you—how you—" He was shaking. Actually shaking. "You’re not him."

She frowned, brows pinching.

And then she reached into her bag, pulled out a battered notebook, and tossed it onto his desk.

Hizashi hesitated.

Then, slowly, he picked it up.

His breath caught.

Notebook #8.

The handwriting was different.

Neater, a little less chaotic.

But—fuck.

All the same goddamn things were there.

Detailed notes.

Combat breakdowns.

Hero evaluations.

Meticulous, obsessive, brilliant, insane.

Hizashi swallowed.

And then, in a daze, he turned around, opened the oak cabinet behind him, and pulled out the real Notebook #8.

The original.

The one they kept here at UA.

A piece of history.

A piece of him.

He set them side by side.

And his stomach fucking dropped.

His hands were shaking.

He looked up, staring at her, at those impossible, too-familiar, too-green eyes.

"Shit," he whispered.

And then—

His gaze swung toward Ren.

Because where Izuku was, Katsuki was.

And now—now that he was really looking—

Those red eyes.

That damn smirk.

The way he sat there, arms crossed, watching him like he was waiting.

Like he had been waiting this whole time.

"Shit."

And then—Rei.

That scarf.

Those gray eyes.

And suddenly, it was too much.

His body reacted before his brain.

He stood so fast the chair scraped back.

"GET THE HELL OUT."

The room plunged into stunned silence.

"Before I—before I expel every single one of you for this sick, twisted, awful—GET OUT—"

They stormed out, Rei and Souta clearly furious.

Ren wasn’t.

Ren just looked disappointed.

Haruto was the only one who wasn’t phased.

"That went well," she said, tone dry.

Rei rounded on her. "That was not the plan."

"Yeah, well. Your plan was stupid."

"No, it was careful—"

"It was slow."

"We were giving him time—"

"And now he has it," she said, calm. Unshaken. "He’ll keep looking at my notebook. He’ll see the truth. Just give him time."

Ren snorted.

Haruto turned.

"What?"

"Nerd," Ren said, exasperated as hell. "You’d think you would’ve learned by now to talk to us before you act."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You’re not the damn leader."

Haruto raised an eyebrow.

And then, with zero hesitation, said—

"Aren’t I, though?"

Ren froze.

Because—

Shit.

She wasn’t wrong.

He scowled, grumbling.

"Tch. Whatever."

But she caught the way his tail flicked— an involuntary giveaway.

Haruto grinned.

Ren groaned.

Rei, still pissed, rubbed his temples.

"If you two are done flirting—"

"Nope," Souta cut in, cheerful as anything. "They’re dating now. It’s literally never gonna stop."

Ren shot him a deadpan look.

Haruto just laughed.

"Get used to it, Sensei," she teased.

And just like that—

The fight was over.

Hizashi could deal with himself.

They had time.

Three Days of Denial, Rum, and a Stack of Notebooks

Day One: Drowning in Denial

Hizashi locked himself in his office that night.

The lights were dim. The bottle was full. That didn’t last long.

The first drink burned, but that was fine. It wasn’t about the taste. It was about the silence. About making the knot in his chest unwind, the one that had been there ever since a certain green-eyed menace had walked in and shattered reality with a single sentence.

"It’s me. I’m Izuku."

His hands tightened around the glass.

Bullshit.

That was bullshit.

And yet—

His eyes drifted to the desk, where Notebook #8 sat like a goddamn ghost.

Next to it, the original. The one he’d kept for decades.

He took another swig of rum, barely registering the burn, flipping through the pages.

Every note.
Every analysis.
Every goddamn scrawled-out thought that made his head ache with how much it felt like him.

Like Deku.

He slammed the notebook shut.

No.

This wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

So he drank until the room blurred and his thoughts turned numb.

That was easier.

Day Two: The Stacks Appear

The next morning, he went to work. He taught his damn classes. He ignored the way Ren watched him like he already knew how deep Hizashi was drowning.

And when he returned to his office that evening—

He stopped dead.

Because on his desk, stacked impossibly neatly, were sixteen fucking notebooks.

Sixteen copies.

His blood ran cold.

He knew. He knew how many Deku had written.

He had kept them safe, locked away in UA’s archives.

And now—now there they were.

But not those.

These were new.

New bindings. Fresh ink.

And when he flipped one open, his vision swam.

Every note.
Every detail.
Every correction and scrawled-out battle strategy.

Exactly the fucking same.

The only difference? The handwriting.

Neater. Smoother. Less chaotic. But still so undeniably, so irrevocably Izuku.

His stomach lurched.

He grabbed the bottle off his shelf, poured another glass, and this time—

This time, he drank straight from the bottle.

Day Three: The Breaking Point

By the third day, Hizashi was out of ways to pretend.

But he still tried.

Tried to focus on his students, on grading, on anything that wasn’t the truth slowly strangling him.

And then—

He stepped out of his office at the end of the day, rubbing a hand down his face—

And froze.

Because there, leaning against the wall like he had all the goddamn time in their old life, arms crossed, watching him with too-sharp, too-familiar eyes—

Was Rei.

The scarf wasn’t wrapped up to his face today.

Today, he was open.

Hizashi’s breath hitched.

The hallway was empty. Just the two of them.

And still—Rei said nothing.

Not for a long moment.

Not until the silence stretched thin and fragile, too much like something long lost.

And then—

"She wasn’t lying."

Hizashi’s stomach clenched.

"We aren’t lying, Zashi."

The world tilted.

No.

Rei took a step closer, voice low, steady.

"You still sleep with the blanket you stole from me, don’t you?"

Hizashi’s throat closed.

No one knew that.

"You still hate coffee unless it’s drowned in sugar."

His hands fisted at his sides.

"You still hum that stupid song when you grade papers. The one you swore up and down you hated but never got out of your head."

He couldn’t breathe.

"You still choke on rice if you talk too much while you eat—"

"Shut up."

Rei’s mouth snapped shut.

But he didn’t look away.

And Hizashi—Hizashi felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

"Shit."

He exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair.

"Shit, Shouta."

Rei—Shouta—just tilted his head.

"Took you long enough."

Hizashi let out a breathless, broken laugh.

Because—fuck.

It was him.

It was really, truly him.

The weight of it crashed into him all at once.

He stumbled back, pressing a hand over his face, trying to steady himself, trying to grasp how the hell this was possible.

*"How—" His voice cracked. "How did this—what happened?"

"Don’t know," Shouta admitted, shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug.

"Figured it out when I was a kid. When I found Souta—Oboro."

That name—**Oboro—**hit him like a punch to the gut.

Hizashi’s chest ached.

He turned, looking away, swallowing thickly.

"Goddamn it."

"Yeah," Shouta murmured. "Tell me about it."

A beat.

And then—

"Are you okay?" Hizashi asked, because that’s what mattered first.

Shouta gave him a look. A long, unreadable one.

And then—

"Are you?"

And that—that broke something in him.

Hizashi laughed.

Not a real laugh. Something cracked, something half-strangled.

"I don’t know," he admitted, voice hoarse. "I don’t fucking know, Sho."

And then—

The bastard hugged him.

Without warning.

Without hesitation.

Just wrapped him up like it hadn’t been decades, like they hadn’t been ripped apart, like they had never been anything other than this.

And Hizashi froze.

For a second.

For a moment.

And then—

His hands fisted in the back of Shouta’s shirt, grip tightening.

"Shit, Sho."

Shouta sighed. Like this was inevitable. Like he always knew they’d end up here.

"Yeah," he said.

"Me too."

They stood there for a long time.

When they finally pulled apart, Hizashi huffed.

"You know, I really wanna punch you right now."

Shouta smirked.

"That’s fair."

"Like, actually punch you. With my whole heart and soul."

"Go for it."

Hizashi exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

"God, you’re still an asshole."

"And you’re still a dumbass."

A beat.

And then—

"I’m glad you’re here, Sho."

Shouta’s expression softened.

"Yeah," he murmured. "Me too, Zashi."

Hizashi pulled back from the hug, rubbing his temples like this was giving him a migraine.
It probably was. Reality had just roundhouse kicked him in the teeth.

He exhaled hard, then leveled Shouta with a sharp look.
"Alright, you cryptic bastard—" he jabbed a finger into his chest "—I need to see them. Now."

Shouta raised a brow. "Who?"

"Oh, don’t ‘who’ me, Eraser. You know exactly who I mean." Hizashi snapped. "Oboro. And—" His stomach clenched, his throat tight— "—and the brats."

Shouta just smirked.

Smirked.

Like he had waited for Hizashi to say that.

"About damn time."

Hizashi scowled. "God, I fucking hate you."

"No, you don’t."

"I might, actually."

"Liar."

Hizashi groaned, already regretting his life choices, but he followed when Shouta started walking.

They found him exactly where Hizashi expected.

Leaning against a wall near the dorms, arms crossed, shit-eating grin already in place.

Like he knew.

Like he’d been waiting.

Hizashi stopped dead.

Souta’s head tilted. "Yo."

Hizashi’s throat closed.

It wasn’t Oboro’s face. Not quite.

But it was everything else.

The way he held himself, the sharpness in his grin, the lazy, confident slouch—

The absolute obnoxiousness radiating from every inch of him.

It was him.

"Well?" Souta prompted, grinning wider. "You gonna keep staring, or do I get a hug too?"

Hizashi’s hands clenched.

"Oh, you little—"

And then he lunged.

Because goddamn it, he needed to hit something.

Souta yelped, "Shit—!" as Hizashi got him in a headlock, no real force behind it, but enough to make him yell dramatically.

"You absolute motherfucker," Hizashi hissed, choking on something that wasn’t anger at all. "Do you have any idea how long I’ve—fuck, I—"

Souta laughed.

Laughed.

And just like that, Hizashi’s grip loosened.

"Goddamn it," he muttered, shoving him away with a roughness that meant nothing.

Souta grinned, dusting himself off.

"Missed you too, Zashi."

Hizashi exhaled sharply.

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

Hizashi groaned.

"God, you two are the fucking worst."

"Yeah, yeah." Souta waved him off. "Now come on. The brats are in the dorms."

When Hizashi stormed into the dorms, he expected chaos.

What he didn’t expect—

Was to walk in on Ren stretched out lazily on the couch, tail flicking, while Haruto was hunched over a notebook, muttering like she was solving fucking quantum mechanics.

It was too much.

Because that—that was them.

And suddenly, Hizashi’s heart ached.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

Two pairs of eyes—one sharp, too red, the other wide, too green—

Snapped up.

Haruto blinked. "Hizashi-sensei?"

Ren’s ears twitched, but his expression was blank. "Took you long enough, Mic."

Hizashi’s stomach dropped.

Because there it was.

The attitude.

The way he said it.

Katsuki.

Hizashi let out a slow, shaky breath.

"You’re—"

Ren’s tail flicked. "Duh."

Hizashi’s eyes narrowed. "You little shit—"

Ren grinned. "Love you too, old man."

Hizashi had never wanted to punt a kid more in his life.

But he didn’t. Because—

Because then his gaze landed on Haruto.

And fuck—

Fuck, he knew those eyes.

Those expressions.

And suddenly, he understood.

Everything.

All the little things about her that had felt too familiar, too right, too damn Izuku.

"Nerd," he whispered.

Haruto froze.

Then—

Then she smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

"Hey, Mic."

That was it.

That was the moment.

Hizashi sank onto the nearest chair, dropping his head into his hands.

"Fuck me."

—

Processing the Impossible

They let him sit in silence for a long moment.

Then—

"You good, Sensei?" Haruto asked, voice too gentle.

"No." Hizashi groaned, rubbing his face. "No, I am fucking not."

Souta snorted. "That’s fair."

Hizashi gazed at all four of them.

"How the hell is this real?"

"Dunno," Ren said. "But it is."

Hizashi’s eyes narrowed.

"And you’ve all just been—hanging out, keeping this secret, not telling me?!"

Shouta shrugged. "You weren’t ready."

"Like hell I wasn’t ready!" Hizashi threw his hands up. "I’ve been ready for decades!"

Haruto smirked. "Apparently not, if it took you three days to accept it."

Hizashi gaped. "Oh, you little—"

Ren snickered. "She’s got a point, old man."

Hizashi scowled.

"You know what? I take it back. I wish you stayed dead."

Haruto gasped, mock-offended. "Rude!"

Souta wheezed. "Oh my god—"

And suddenly, it wasn’t heavy anymore.

It was just—

Just them.

Hizashi exhaled.

And then—

He pulled all of them in.

A messy, clumsy, awkwardly-angled hug that made Ren complain, "God, let go, you old bastard—" but he still leaned in.

Because—

Because this was real.

Because this was right.

Because they were here.

And maybe—just maybe—they could do it all over again.

This time, better.

The Weight of Memories

Rei’s dorm was dimly lit, the overhead light switched off in favor of the soft glow of his desk lamp, casting long shadows across the walls. The air smelled like tea and old books, like comfort and quiet, a stark contrast to the sharp-edged presence Rei usually carried outside these walls.

Souta sat cross-legged on the bed, absently twisting a lock of his too-bright pink hair between his fingers. His usual unapologetic grin was absent, replaced by something quieter, heavier.

Rei watched from his desk chair, half-lidded gray eyes tracking every twitch of movement, every small sigh, every time Souta’s fingers faltered on the fabric of his sleeve.

It was one of those nights.

One where Souta wasn’t saying anything.

And that—that wasn’t right.

"Oi." Rei’s voice cut through the silence, rough, low. "Get over here and stop thinking so damn much."

Souta blinked, looking up just in time for Rei to grab his wrist and tug—not hard, but enough.

Enough that Souta let himself fall forward, let himself settle against Rei’s chest, let himself breathe.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Rei exhaled slowly, resting his chin against the crown of Souta’s head, fingers trailing lazily over the fabric of his sleeve.

"Talk."

Souta let out a quiet breath, his fingers curling slightly against Rei’s shirt. "It’s hard."

Rei hummed low in his throat. "Yeah. No shit."

Souta let out a short, breathy laugh, but it lacked his usual brightness. "You know what I mean."

Rei didn’t respond. Just waited.

Because Souta would talk when he was ready.

And after a long moment, he did.

"Everyone’s remembering," Souta murmured, eyes unfocused, voice softer than usual. "Every day, more pieces come back for you. For Ren. For Haruto. But me?"

His fingers tightened against Rei’s sleeve.

"I don’t have much to remember."

Rei’s jaw tensed. His grip on Souta’s arm tightened, just slightly. "You were dead longer," he muttered. "It’s different."

Souta huffed out something half a laugh, half a sigh. "Yeah. Dead longer." His voice dropped lower. "And before that, I wasn’t me at all."

Rei stilled.

Because they both knew what that meant.

**Before Souta was Souta—**before he had gray eyes and pink hair and the laugh that could light up a fucking room—

He had been something else.

A nomu.

A weapon.

A ghost, walking and breathing and fighting, but never really there.

And even if he couldn’t remember all of it—he still knew.

Still felt the echo of it, pressing down on his bones.

Rei let out a slow breath through his nose. "It wasn’t your fault."

Souta laughed, this time dry, flat, almost bitter.

"Yeah, tell that to the part of me that still twitches when I think about Shigaraki."

Rei froze.

Souta felt it, because he tilted his head slightly, cheek pressing against Rei’s collarbone.

"I still feel it, you know?" he said, voice distant. "That instinct. That programming. That need to—" His breath hitched slightly. "To protect him."

Rei’s fingers tensed in the fabric of his hoodie.

Souta let out another shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "It’s fucking stupid. He’s dead. Has been for years. It doesn’t matter anymore. But—"

"But it still aches."

Souta stilled.

Because Rei got it.

Not the same way. Not in the way that mattered.

Rei had never been programmed into obedience. He had never been turned into a tool, a weapon, a mindless thing forced to follow orders.

But he knew loss.

Knew what it was like to have something ripped away and still feel the ghost of it, pressing too heavy in his chest.

Rei sighed through his nose, arms tightening around Souta’s frame.

"It’s not stupid."

Souta huffed. "It sure as hell feels stupid."

"Yeah, well, you feel a lot of things, dumbass," Rei muttered, pressing his lips against the top of Souta’s head. "Doesn’t make ‘em stupid."

Souta exhaled, slow and tired, his body melting further into the warmth of Rei’s hold.

The silence stretched.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

And Rei hated it.

Because Souta was not supposed to be quiet.

Souta was too loud, too annoying, too full of himself.

And seeing him like this—hearing that flatness in his voice—it was wrong.

Rei narrowed his eyes.

Then—before Souta could react—

"Tch. Look at you. Brooding. Moody as hell. Jesus, you really are my type."

Souta let out an actual laugh—the first real one all night.

"Oh? So you admit you have a type?"

Rei smirked. "Yeah. Dumbasses with tragic pasts and annoying voices."

Souta grinned brightly, that familiar spark flashing back into his expression. "Lucky for you, I fit that description perfectly."

"Unlucky for me, you never shut the hell up," Rei muttered, tilting his head back against the wall.

Souta leaned in closer, his breath ghosting along Rei’s jaw. "C’mon, you’d be miserable if I did."

Fucking menace.

Rei rolled his eyes, reaching up to grab a fistful of too-bright pink hair, yanking hard enough to make Souta gasp.

"Shut up," he muttered.

Then he pulled him in and kissed the shit out of him.

Souta melted against him immediately, a low hum vibrating against Rei’s lips before his fingers curled into his hoodie, pulling him in deeper, kissing back just as hard.

And just like that—

Souta wasn’t thinking anymore.

Wasn’t trapped in his own head, wasn’t drowning in ghosts, wasn’t wallowing in things that could never be undone.

Because Rei wasn’t going to let him.

Because Souta was his.

And Rei would never let him disappear into the past.

Chapter Text

Ochako was grading papers in her office when the knock came.

Sharp. Firm. Familiar.

A sound that grated in a way that pulled her attention immediately.

She knew that knock.

She had known that knock.

For years.

Even when she hadn’t heard it in over a decade.

Even when it belonged to someone who wasn’t alive anymore.

Her stomach turned over.

“Come in,” she called.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Ochako blinked.

Ren stood there in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, weight shifted slightly onto one foot like he was gearing up for a fight.

His sharp red eyes burned with something too serious for a fourteen-year-old.

Her skin prickled.

He stared at her. She stared back.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“Do you remember how I died?”

Ochako felt like she’d been punched.

“What?” she whispered, throat suddenly tight.

Ren didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Didn’t let her look away.

“You remember, right?” he pressed.

And she did.

God, she did.

She remembered the explosions, the screaming, the fire, the blood.

She remembered the moment the battle had turned—that single, inevitable moment when it all fell apart.

She remembered when the realization hit, when she knew—

Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t going to make it.

He had been right in the middle of it, too deep, too close.

And Izuku—

Izuku, who had already been running full tilt toward him, screaming his name—

Ochako remembered.

She had been there.

Watched it happen.

She had seen the way, in those final seconds, Bakugo had done the only thing he could.

He had reached for Izuku, yanked him in close, buried his face into Izuku’s hair and held on tight.

Like some last, desperate act of protection.

Like he had wanted the world to know—even if he had never said it, even if it had always gone unsaid—

Izuku had always been his.

And then—

Nothing.

Gone.

Just like that.

Like a goddamn flame snuffed out.

Gone.

Her throat ached.

Her fingers trembled against the desk.

She swallowed.

“What the hell are you getting at?” she said, voice tight.

Ren didn’t answer.

Instead, he took a step forward.

Ochako flinched.

“Look at me,” he said.

Ochako clenched her jaw.

“I am,” she snapped.

“No, you’re not,” he shot back.

His voice—that voice.

Sharp, commanding, threaded with a frustration that had always been there.

That same irritation that had grated against her since the moment they met.

Bakugo Katsuki had always been a goddamn asshole.

A reckless, hotheaded, foul-mouthed piece of work with too much pride and even more arrogance.

And yet—he had died saving her, hadn’t he?

She didn’t know how to make sense of that.

Didn’t know how to make sense of any of this.

Ren’s glare sharpened.

She could feel it.

Burning.

Digging.

“Think, Uraraka,” he said, tone biting. “Really think. I look familiar, don’t I?”

Her nails dug into her palm.

“I don’t know what the hell you want me to say,” she snapped.

“Bullshit,” he snarled.

Ochako’s heart skipped.

Because—that tone. That exact same growl.

She had heard it a thousand times before.

In training. In battle.

In arguments where neither of them had ever backed down.

Her pulse pounded.

Ren took another step forward.

Ochako pressed back into her chair like she could get away.

“You know me,” he said.

She shook her head. “No—”

“Yes.”

He took another step.

Ochako gritted her teeth.

And then—

Then he smirked.

That same, cocky, shit-eating grin.

Sharp. Unforgiving.

And her stomach dropped.

Because—no.

No.

No, no, no.

Her brain screamed at her to reject it.

To ignore it.

To tell him to shut up, to leave, to stop whatever the hell kind of game this was.

But he wasn’t backing down.

And deep down—

Deep, deep down, she knew.

“You’re not saying it,” Ren growled.

Ochako clenched her fists.

“You’re not—”

“Because it’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

His eyes blazed.

His ears twitched.

“Haruto is Izuku,” he said, voice low, firm.

Ochako’s chest caved.

The words hit like a thunderclap.

A wrecking ball to the ribs.

“What?” she whispered.

Ren’s gaze bored into hers.

“Haruto,” he repeated, “is Izuku.”

Ochako’s whole body locked up.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Because if that was true—

If that was true, it meant—

Ochako covered her mouth, breathing hard.

Ren just watched her.

Silent. Waiting.

The walls around her mind started to crack.

The weight of it—the sheer, impossible weight of it—

Her vision blurred.

Her hands shook.

Ren let her sit in the silence.

Let it settle, let it bury itself into her bones.

Then—

“Rei is Aizawa,” he said, voice quieter now.

Ochako looked up, stunned.

Ren’s mouth twitched.

“And somehow, he dragged Kurogiri—no. Oboro. Back from hell too.”

Ochako just stared.

And fuck.

Fuck.

Because—

It all fit.

The scarves. The look in Rei’s eyes. The sharp, unimpressed tone, the way he watched her like he knew her.

And Souta—the mist.

The way he smiled, the way he moved, the laugh.

Ochako clenched her jaw, shoulders trembling.

Then she burst.

“Fuck you,” she hissed, voice thick.

Ren snorted. “Took you long enough.”

Ochako let out a wet, shaky laugh.

Then she lunged forward and hugged him.

Ren tensed. “What the fuck—”

“You died, you asshole,” she muttered.

Ren exhaled. Slow. Steady.

His arms loosened.

Then, finally, he hugged her back.

Ochako swallowed hard.

“How?” she whispered.

“I don’t fucking know.”

A beat.

“Are you happy?”

Ren paused.

Then—smirked.

“I finally bagged the nerd.”

Ochako let out a snort.

“God, I missed you.”

Ren huffed.

“Gross. That’s enough physical affection for one lifetime.”

Ochako laughed.

And then—

Then she stepped back.

Wiped her face.

“Can I see her?”

Ren rolled his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

Ochako grinned.

“I missed you too, asshole.”

The Spiral Before the Storm

Haruto had been pacing.

Back and forth, back and forth—circling her tiny dorm room like she was wearing a hole into the floorboards.

Because Ren had said he’d handle it. Said he’d talk to Ochako. Said he’d make her see, make her understand.

But what if—

What if it didn’t work?

What if she thought Haruto was crazy?

What if she wasn’t her favorite student anymore?

The thought made her stomach twist, her heart pound like a damn war drum.

Ochako had been the first person she ever trusted completely. Before Katsuki. Before Shoto. Before Eijiro.

Ochako had been her best friend.

And now—

Now she was finally here, in this life, standing on solid ground, remembering everything.

And she was about to lose her all over again.

A sharp knock at the door made her whip around.

The handle turned before she could even breathe.

And then—

Then Ren was pushing inside, looking like his usual self, all confidence and lazy swagger—

And right behind him—

Ochako.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Ochako stood in the doorway, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like she was still working through this, still seeing it, still deciding if it was real.

And Haruto—

Haruto couldn’t breathe.

Ochako’s hair was longer now. She wore it differently than Haruto remembered.

Her face had changed. Older. Not the same round, youthful softness that had once matched Izuku’s own.

But the eyes—those were the same.

Ochako still had kind eyes.

Haruto swallowed.

Ochako took one step forward, then another.

And then—Haruto crumbled.

“Ocha.”

She launched herself forward, grabbing Ochako so tightly they nearly stumbled backward.

Ochako caught her, arms wrapping around her before she even fully processed what was happening.

And then—she held on just as tight.

“Shit,” Ochako muttered, voice thick. “You—”

Haruto clung to her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing back the heat rising to them.

She wasn’t going to cry.

She wasn’t—

Ochako shook against her.

And then—

Then she was laughing.

Sharp and messy and a little bit unhinged, but fuck, it was Ochako’s laugh, and Haruto had missed it more than she ever realized.

Ochako held her at arm’s length, looking her up and down.

“You little bitch,” she said, eyes glassy. “You really had me thinking you were some random-ass student this whole time?”

Haruto sniffed.

“I was a random-ass student.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ochako scoffed, grinning through her tears. “You were my dumbass best friend.”

Haruto huffed out a laugh, rolling her eyes.

Then Ochako’s face shifted. Softer. More serious.

Her hands squeezed Haruto’s shoulders.

“Don’t you ever do that shit again,” she whispered, voice tight.

Haruto swallowed hard.

“I won’t,” she whispered back.

“Alright, this is officially too much for me,” Ren said flatly from the doorway.

Haruto and Ochako turned to look at him.

He was standing there with his arms crossed, ears twitching like this whole reunion had hit some kind of limit for his tolerance levels.

Ochako snorted.

“Wow, Bakugo, what’s the matter? Too much emotion for you?”

Ren’s eye twitched.

“I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about, Round Face.”

“Oh, fuck off, Kacchan.”

Ren scowled.

Then—he turned on his heel and left without another word.

Haruto bit back a laugh.

Ochako just shook her head.

“Still the same dramatic little bitch,” she muttered.

Haruto grinned.

By the time Haruto and Ochako finally pulled themselves together and left the dorm, the entire hallway smelled like something amazing.

Ochako inhaled deeply, her eyes going wide.

Haruto’s stomach growled.

She froze.

Ochako looked at her.

Then—she smirked.

“Oh my god,” she said, eyes sparkling. “He’s making katsudon, isn’t he?”

Haruto glared.

“Shut up.”

Ren had cooked a fucking ridiculous amount of food.

Like, actually obscene.

A whole spread of katsudon, rice, miso, side dishes, the works.

The entire dorm had gathered, piling around, plates filling.

But Ren had just wordlessly handed two bowls to Haruto and Ochako first, then grabbed his own and stepped out onto the balcony.

They followed.

Ochako hummed, eyeing the steaming bowl in her hands.

“You still cooking for your nerd, huh?”

Ren snorted.

“I mean, someone’s gotta feed her.”

Haruto kicked him.

Souta and Rei stepped out a moment later, plates in hand.

Ochako barely spared them a glance at first—until she really looked.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You,” she said, pointing at Rei.

Rei raised a brow. “Me.”

“You should’ve just fucking told me.”

Rei smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Ochako groaned.

And then—she stilled.

The realization hit like a slow-moving wave.

She looked at them. All of them.

At Haruto, still clutching her bowl like a damn lifeline.

At Ren, standing there with his usual scowl, tail flicking irritably.

At Souta, laughing at something under his breath, mist curling at his fingertips.

At Rei, watching her with that same damn unreadable expression he had always worn.

Her hands tightened around her bowl.

God.

They were just kids.

Ochako took a long, slow breath.

Then, quietly, she said:

“You said Shoto and Mic know.”

She turned to Ren.

“What about Eijiro?”

Ren went still.

His shoulders tensed.

The air around them shifted.

Haruto immediately turned to him, brows furrowing.

“Ren—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered.

Ochako frowned. “Why not?”

Ren gritted his teeth.

“Because,” he said, voice low, “I think he fucking hates me.”

Ochako blinked.

“What?”

Ren exhaled sharply through his nose.

Haruto reached up, cupping his cheek.

“Hey,” she said softly. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Ren didn’t meet her eyes.

Didn’t move.

Haruto hesitated.

Then—her fingers slid up, threading into his hair.

Into his ears.

Ren exhaled.

Slow. Shaky.

She scratched lightly, soothing, calming.

Ren leaned into her touch.

Then—he fucking purred.

Ochako, Rei, and Souta all lost their goddamn minds.

“Oh my god,” Ochako howled.

“No way—” Souta wheezed.

“That was adorable,” Rei smirked.

Ren jerked back immediately, face burning.

“I FUCKING HATE THIS BODY.” he bellowed before stomping away and slamming the balcony door behind him.

Silence.

Then—

Ochako grinned.

“Still cute as hell, though.”

Chapter Text

Ren had been trying.

Trying to make himself smaller. Trying to be kinder, softer, quieter.

Trying not to be Bakugo Katsuki.

Because somehow, everything about him set Kirishima off.

The redhead’s **sharp looks, his cold indifference, the way he never called on him in class unless he absolutely had to—**it all screamed resentment.

And maybe Ren deserved that.

Maybe Kirishima did hate him.

Ren didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push back.

Didn’t snap at him or challenge him or call him shitty hair.

And yet—

The more Ren tried to appease him, the worse it got.

The more he quieted himself, the more Kirishima seemed to double down.

At first, it was just irritation.

But now—now it was something else.

A dull, aching emptiness that Eijiro wasn’t ready for.

Because for weeks, he’d been pissed at this kid for acting too much like Bakugo—

And now, all of a sudden—it was like he’d been erased.

And that was somehow worse.

Because what the fuck.

What the fuck.

Kirishima sat at his desk long after class ended, staring blankly at his own hands, and before he even knew what was happening—

A sharp breath shuddered out of him.

And then another.

And then—

Tears.

He bit his lip, bracing his elbows against the desk, and shoved his face into his hands.

And **fuck—**he wasn’t a goddamn crybaby.

This was so stupid.

It had been years. Years.

He’d grieved.

He’d buried this.

Had made peace with the fact that he hadn’t gotten there in time.

That he hadn’t reached them.

But now—

Now there was this kid.

This goddamn kid with his sharp red eyes and his fucking tail and his too-familiar everything—

And he’d tried to hate him.

And now he was gone.

Kirishima gritted his teeth.

Because for the first time in a decade, he realized that maybe he wasn’t angry because this kid reminded him of Bakugo.

Maybe he was angry because he missed him.

And now—now that was gone, too.

And fuck.

He almost thought about quitting.

But that was when—

The door creaked open.

And a familiar pair of piercing green eyes peered inside.

Haruto’s hands twisted together in front of her.

She looked at him—not like a student, not like a stranger.

Like someone who had carried the weight of his grief in her own chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Kirishima’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Haruto hesitated. Shifted on her feet.

“I’m sorry for what it did to you,” she said softly.

Kirishima froze.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Because she was just a kid.

A kid.

She had no fucking clue what she was talking about.

But she looked at him like she did.

Like she could feel it.

And fuck.

He started to speak—to tell her to leave, to drop it—

But she cut him off.

And her eyes burned.

“I’m Izuku, damn it.”

His breath caught.

The words—loud, sharp, daring him to argue.

His gut twisted.

Because no.

No, no, no, no.

That was impossible.

She couldn’t be.

She wasn’t.

Kacchan and Deku were dead.

Kacchan was gone.

Izuku—Izuku—

And then—

The name.

The goddamn name.

Kacchan.

It fell off her lips like it had always been there.

And that—that’s when he snapped.

Kirishima lunged forward, towering over her, anger rising in a way it never did.

“Kacchan?” he spat. “Kacchan?”

Haruto’s shoulders jerked back.

His breath was ragged.

His jaw clenched.

And then—he roared.

“BAKUGO IS DEAD, YOU FU—”

The words caught.

He barely stopped himself before he crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

And yet—Haruto stood her ground.

She swallowed.

Took a shaky breath.

And then—spoke.

“You first told me you loved Mina after we moved into the dorms,” she said, voice steady. “It was raining, and you saw her flirting with some upperclassman. You said she’d never really see you.”

Kirishima’s stomach plummeted.

Haruto’s voice pushed on.

“And two months later,” she said, “you were the second person I told I was gay to. After Ochako.”

Kirishima’s heart stopped.

Haruto took a step forward.

“You hugged me,” she whispered. “And we both cried.”

Kirishima stared.

“The fuck,” he whispered.

Haruto breathed deep.

“And after that,” she continued, “you never let a single moment with Kacchan go by without teasing me relentlessly.”

His chest was tight.

His hands trembled.

And then—

He looked.

He actually fucking looked.

And suddenly—he saw.

The way she held herself.

The way she fidgeted.

The way her eyes were too goddamn green and too damn knowing.

And fuck.

Holy fucking shit.

Haruto barely had time to breathe before he grabbed her.

Lifted her clear off the ground, spun her, held her so fucking tight it nearly knocked the air out of her.

She gasped, shoving at his shoulders.

“Holy shit—Kiri—”

But he didn’t let go.

Didn’t loosen his grip.

Didn’t even bother trying to hold back the tears anymore.

Because it was her.

It was fucking Izuku.

Haruto laughed. Soft, breathless.

“I totally missed lunch for this,” she muttered, voice muffled against his shoulder.

Kirishima pulled back.

His hands went to his hair.

His breathing was ragged.

And then—he remembered.

His stomach twisted.

“Bakugo,” he rasped.

Haruto’s expression shifted.

Softened.

“Ren,” she said quietly. “Kacchan.”

Kirishima’s lungs tightened.

“Where is he?” he whispered.

Haruto smiled, small and knowing.

“Training grounds.”

Kirishima didn’t hesitate.

Haruto told him everything on the way.

That Ren was Katsuki.

That Rei was Aizawa.

That **Souta was Kurogiri—**Oboro.

Kirishima’s heart was in his throat.

He barely heard her.

Barely processed.

Because all that mattered was—

Katsuki Bakugo was alive.

And Kirishima had spent a whole goddamn month hating him.

His breath shook.

His hands curled into fists.

And for the first time in over a decade—

He ran.

The Weight of It All: Kirishima & Bakugo’s Reunion

Kirishima barely feels the ground beneath his feet.

He’s moving on pure instinct.

The moment he steps into the training grounds, his throat tightens.

Shoto is mid-sentence, but Kirishima doesn’t give a damn.

“Class is over.” His voice booms over the field.

Everyone freezes.

Shoto’s head jerks around.

His expression flickers, sharp and questioning.

And then—he sees Haruto beside him.

His eyes soften.

His shoulders ease.

He exhales, rubbing his temple, before wordlessly waving the class off.

And just like that—they’re alone.

Kirishima’s gaze zeroes in on Ren.

The kid hasn’t moved.

He stands at the edge of the field, rigid as stone.

His ears are flattened so tightly against his head that they almost disappear in his dark, wavy hair.

His tail twitches. Restless. Uncertain.

And he won’t look up.

Won’t look at Kirishima.

Won’t look at Haruto.

Rei and Souta linger nearby, watching.

Souta, worried, takes Rei’s hand.

Rei—**silent, unreadable—**squeezes back.

But neither of them say a word.

This—this moment belongs to them.

To Ren.

To Kirishima.

Kirishima takes a slow, shaky breath.

He steps forward. Deliberate. Unwavering.

“…Bakugo.”

Ren’s tail lashes.

A sharp inhale—too quiet, too tense.

But still—he won’t look at him.

Won’t speak.

Kirishima grits his teeth.

Because fuck.

He’s not stupid.

He knows what’s happening here.

He knows Ren won’t make the first move.

That’s always been his fucking problem.

Always too stubborn.

Always too afraid.

Always holding everything in his damn chest like it’s too heavy to put down.

Kirishima won’t let him do it this time.

So he steps closer.

And closer.

Until he’s standing right in front of him.

Until there’s nowhere left to run.

“…Do you remember,” Kirishima murmurs, voice rough, “how you died?”

Ren tenses.

His ears flick, barely visible in his hair.

His hands curl into fists.

And for a second—**just a second—**his breath shudders.

“…Yeah.” His voice is hoarse. “I remember.”

Kirishima nods.

Because so does he.

The battlefield.

The screams.

The blood.

The final, desperate moments.

The way Bakugo—Kacchan—had thrown himself over Deku, arms locked, holding him so fucking tight—

Like even in the end, all that mattered was keeping him safe.

Like that was the only thing that ever fucking mattered.

Kirishima swallows.

And then—

“…Do you remember,” he asks, softer this time, “what I was doing?”

Ren’s jaw locks.

He nods.

And finally—**finally—**he lifts his gaze.

Meets Kirishima’s eyes.

And there it is.

Red on red.

Sharp. A little wild. Unmistakable.

Bakugo has always been in there.

Kirishima just refused to look before.

His heart tightens.

And then—

Ren exhales. A short, bitter laugh.

“You were running,” he says.

Kirishima nods.

“And?”

Ren’s throat works.

His ears flick.

And for a second—just a second—his voice shakes.

“…You didn’t make it.”

The words are barely a whisper.

Kirishima closes his eyes.

Because fuck.

Fuck.

He hadn’t.

He’d tried. God, he’d tried.

Had pushed past every wound, every broken bone, every ounce of exhaustion—

Had fought like a fucking madman just to get to them—

To be there.

But he’d been too slow.

Too far away.

Too fucking late.

“…You didn’t make it,” Ren repeats.

This time, it’s barely a breath.

And that—that’s the breaking point.

Kirishima moves before he even thinks.

And—BAM.

His fist collides with Ren’s jaw.

The impact snaps Ren’s head to the side.

Haruto gasps.

Souta flinches.

Rei—silent, unreadable—doesn’t react.

Ren—to his credit—doesn’t fall.

He barely even stumbles.

Just stands there, jaw tight, lips slightly parted, as his cheek turns red.

And for a second—the whole world is still.

And then—

“…You asshole,” Kirishima mutters, voice hoarse.

Ren blinks.

And then—his ears flick.

His tail twitches.

And for the first time in this whole goddamn month—

He grins.

A sharp, familiar, half-feral Bakugo Katsuki grin.

“Shitty Hair,” he rasps.

And fuck.

Kirishima chokes out a laugh.

Because that’s all it takes.

Because that’s fucking him.

And before he even realizes it, his hands are shaking.

And then—he’s grabbing Ren by the collar.

And then—he’s pulling him forward.

And then—he’s crushing him into a hug so fucking tight that it could break bones.

Ren grunts.

“Oi—what the fuck, shitty hair—”

Kirishima laughs.

His breath shudders.

His grip tightens.

And for the first time since that day—

For the first time since he watched them fall—

Since he ran, ran, ran, but never made it in time—

He finally reaches him.

“…I fucking missed you, man,” Kirishima breathes.

Ren goes still.

And then—

His fingers curl into Kirishima’s back.

And just barely—**barely—**his voice cracks.

“…Yeah,” he mutters. “Me too.”

Kirishima pulls back, eyes a little wet.

Ren sniffs, looking disgusted.

“Fucking gross, man.”

Kirishima smirks. “What, too much for you, princess?”

Ren glares. “Call me that again, and I’ll blow your teeth out.”

Haruto clears her throat. “Um. Hello. Emotional moment, but I would like to remind everyone that I am here.”

Ren side-eyes her. “No one cares, nerd.”

Haruto gasps. “Excuse me—”

Kirishima laughs, slinging an arm around Ren’s shoulders.

“Well, shit. Guess I really was being a dumbass.”

Haruto snorts. “You? A dumbass? No way.”

Ren smirks. “Weird, right?”

Kirishima grins, ruffling Ren’s hair.

Ren hisses. “The fuck—get off, you oversized rock—”

And just like that—

Everything feels normal again.

Chapter Text

Hizashi Yamada—**still Present Mic, still as loud and obnoxious as ever, still the goddamn life of the party—**had been planning this since the moment the truth hit him like a freight train.

It was a long-overdue celebration.

Because when Katsuki, Izuku, and Shouta died all those years ago—they saved the world.

They should have had parades.

Interviews. Medals. A lifetime of gratitude.

But they weren’t there to see it.

They weren’t there for any of it.

So, belated as all hell, here they were, in Hizashi’s on-campus apartment, music blaring, alcohol not allowed (but given the sheer energy of the room, no one needed it), and a bunch of grown-ass adults who were once dumbass kids throwing the loudest, stupidest, most ridiculous goddamn party for the reincarnated brats who never got their victory lap.

The place was packed.

Teachers, students, and the four in question—**Ren, Haruto, Rei, and Souta—**who finally, finally, had everyone who should have been there from the start.

“Shitty Hair!” Ren barked, hurling a pillow across the room.

Kirishima caught it mid-air and chucked it right back.

Ren barely dodged in time.

“The hell kinda weak throw was that?!” Ren snarked.

Kirishima smirked. “Didn’t wanna break your tiny little arms, princess.”

Ren lunged.

Rei sighed dramatically from the couch. “Oh no. The idiots are fighting again.”

Haruto, curled up beside him, barely looked up from her notebook.

She’d been glued to it all night, scribbling away, absolutely thriving off the noise and chaos.

Ren landed on Kirishima’s back like a goddamn gremlin, claws barely retracting before he latched onto his shoulders.

Kirishima, the human tank, barely flinched.

“You fucking dickhead!” Ren hissed.

Kirishima grinned, unbothered.

“Aw, did I hit a nerve, princess?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“That’s cute.”

Souta, slouched in Rei’s lap, snorted. “I’d be more worried if he wasn’t the size of a goddamn housecat.”

“You wanna fucking go, Smoky?”

Haruto sighed heavily, still not looking up.

“Ren. Stop trying to fight everyone at the party.”

Ren, still clinging to Kirishima’s back, scowled.

“I’m not fighting. I’m winning.”

Rei scoffed. “Buddy, you’re losing so hard it’s embarrassing.”

“Fucking traitors, all of you.”

Haruto finally looked up, green eyes sharp and amused.

She tapped the notebook with her pen.

“Keep talking, and I’ll write down all your embarrassing moments for history.”

Ren’s ear twitched.

His tail flicked.

And then—**in a blur of motion—**he was off Kirishima’s back, bounding across the couch, and burying his face into her lap.

Haruto yelped.

“Kacchan—”

“Nope. No history books for me.”

“Get off—”

Ren curled up tighter.

“You love me. Deal with it.”

Souta whistled. “Damn, Ren, you got comfortable fast.”

Ren, still face-down in her lap, waved him off.

Haruto, red-faced, tried shoving him, but Ren was a goddamn brick.

He turned his face just enough to look up at her smugly.

“You were saying?”

She glared. “You’re an asshole.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole.”

Rei gagged. “Disgusting. Get a room.”

“We literally share a dorm.”

Souta sighed dreamily. “Ah, to be young and in love.”

Ren threw a pillow at his face.

The night was perfect.

And then Kirishima pulled out his phone.

Ren barely noticed at first—too busy stretching out across his bed, tail flicking lazily against the sheets, ears twitching as he basked in the rare quiet of their dorm.

But then—

Then he heard the beep.

Not a text.

Not a voicemail.

A call.

Ren's ears flicked toward him, sharp and instinctive. His tail stilled.

Kirishima was calling someone.

And not just anyone—

Mina.

Ren sat up immediately, narrowing his eyes. "Who the fuck are you doing?"

Kirishima didn’t answer.

Didn’t even hesitate.

He just put the phone on speaker and grinned like a madman.

And then, after only two rings—

Mina Ashido had survived a lot of shit in her life.

She had fought villains, stood side by side with legends, buried her best friends, and somehow kept breathing through all of it. She had learned how to hold grief in her bones without letting it sink her, how to smile through the ache, how to wake up every day and keep going.

Because that’s what you did when you had something to live for.

And for Mina? That something had a name.

Suki.

Her’s and Eijiro’s only daughter. Thirteen years old. Pink skin, red eyes, black hair with a bold streak of red underneath—her own little tribute to her father. Soft-spoken. Gentle. Stronger than she knew.

Quirkless.

Like Izuku had been.

Mina never let that word define her daughter, and Suki never let it define herself, but the world had eyes, and Mina had spent the last thirteen years teaching Suki how to fight battles with her chin up and her heart steady.

She was at her parents' place for the weekend—probably already asleep, curled up in her old childhood bed, safe and warm and fine.

Which meant Mina had one whole night to herself.

A rare thing. A precious thing.

So, naturally, the universe decided to fuck with her.

Her phone rang.

She barely glanced at the screen at first—probably Denki texting her some ungodly cursed meme again—but then she actually saw the name flashing across her screen.

Eijiro.

Her stomach dropped.

Not because they didn’t talk. They did. Constantly. But not like this.

Eiji never called.

He’d listen to voicemails, text back a response, and talk in person when it actually mattered.

But now?

Now, he was calling her directly.

At nearly midnight.

And she didn’t know why, but it felt big.

Mina didn’t hesitate. She snatched up her phone, pressing the answer button so fast she nearly fumbled it.

“Kiri, you son of a bitch!” Mina’s voice exploded through the phone.

He put it on speaker.

Because fuck it.

Because this was big.

Because he wasn’t gonna keep this from them.

He grinned, full-on, sharp, and alive.

“Shut up, beautiful, and listen to me.”

“What the fuck?!” Mina screeched. “You answer now? After TWO YEARS?!”

Ren fucking pounced, trying to snatch the phone.

Kirishima held it high above his head.

Ren, being fucking tiny, had to climb him like a goddamn scratching post.

“KIRISHIMA, GIVE ME THE FUCKING PHONE—”

“EIJIRO, what the hell are you doing?!”

Mina’s voice was pure outrage.

Kirishima, laughing, ignored her.

“Listen, get everyone. I mean everyone. Come to UA. ASAP.”

A stunned silence.

Then—

“What?” Mina demanded.

“Biggest moment of our whole lives. I won’t let you fucking miss it.”

Mina wasn’t convinced.

“Eiji—what the hell are you talking about—”

“Just trust me.”

And he hung up.

The room was silent.

Ren stared.

His ears twitched.

His tail lashed.

And then—

“What the goddamn fuck have you done?”

Kirishima smirked.

“Made history, bro.”

Ren gritted his teeth.

“Has the bleach and hair dye finally sunk into your brain, Shitty Hair?!”

Souta leaned back. “So, uh… what exactly did you do?

The moment Kirishima hung up, from across town, Mina was already typing.

Her fingers flew across the screen, rapid-fire, sheer panic and instinct taking over.

Because what the fuck.

Kirishima? Answering his phone? Happy as shit?

That wasn’t normal.

That was suspicious as hell.

Which meant—something was wrong.

And then—the thought hit her.

Her gut sank.

Her heart dropped.

Oh my god.

Kirishima was dead.

And somehow, his ghost just fucking picked.

Her hands moved before she could think.

She slammed out a group chat to Class 1-A.

Mina: 🚨 EMERGENCY EMERGENCY 🚨 KIRISHIMA IS DEAD WE HAVE TO GO TO UA NOW!!!!!

A split-second delay.

Then—absolute carnage.

2 | Class 1-A Reacts In Real Time

Denki: 🤨 I just woke up what the fuck do you mean

Tsuyu: Explain. 🐸

Jirou: Mina. The fuck. 🎸

Denki: Who killed him. 🔪 Tell me now. I’ll commit murder.

Momo: Mina, darling, is this a metaphor, or do we need to assemble an army? 👑✨

Sero: I’M HALFWAY TO THE TRAIN STATION 🚆 WHO ELSE IS GOING TO UA RIGHT NOW

Denki: BRO WAIT FOR ME 🚗💨

Shinsou: Not to be that guy, but it’d be super fucked up if we had to bury another one of our friends. 😵

Mina: I CAN’T EXPLAIN, JUST TRUST ME. 👁👄👁 GET TO UA.

Denki: No, actually, you can explain. 🤡

Jirou: Mina. Use your words. 😐

Mina: You have to see it for yourself. 🕵️‍♀️

Sero: WHY ARE YOU BEING CRYPTIC 💀 THIS IS NOT THE TIME

Denki: I AM ACTIVELY PUTTING MY SHOES ON 👟 AND SWEATING, PLEASE JUST TELL US. 😭

Ochako: Kirishima is not dead. Please calm down. 🌸

Denki: OKAY WELL THEN WHY IS MINA ACTING LIKE SHE JUST SAW HIS GHOST. 👻

Mina: JUST COME TO UA, YOU’LL UNDERSTAND. 👀

Shoto: I think you should listen to her. ❄️🔥

Jirou: Shoto. No. 🚨 Don’t do this. Explain.

Mina: SEE?? EVEN SHOTO THINKS SO. THAT MEANS SOMETHING. 🔥

Ochako: That means nothing. Shoto also said "you'll understand when you get here" before we found out Nezu made Present Mic the principal. 🤦‍♀️

Shoto: I stand by that. 🫡

Denki: FUCK THIS I’M DRIVING WITHOUT A LICENSE. 🚗💨

Momo: Denki, NO. 🚫

Sero: SOMEONE PICK ME UP, I’M AT THE TRAIN STATION. 🚆

Jirou: I’M GETTING IN A CAR RIGHT NOW. 🚗

Denki: SOMEONE GIVE ME A CAR. 🚙

Shinsou: I feel like we are all making irrational choices. 😵‍💫

Mina: GOOD. ✅ GET TO UA.

—

Kirishima was wheezing.

Ren was screaming.

Haruto was staring at her phone, horrified.

“Kirishima,” Ren hissed, ears flattening, tail lashing. “You absolute goddamn idiot.”

Kirishima gasped for breath between laughs.

“Did she actually—”

“YOU MADE HER THINK YOU FUCKING DIED.”

Souta, leaning back against Rei, wiped a tear from his eye.

“Honestly, this is the best thing that’s ever happened.”

Rei, smug as all hell, shrugged.

“We’re about to witness history.”

Haruto dragged her hands down her face.

“We need to warn someone.”

Ren, deadpan, whipped his head toward her.

“Oh, now you wanna warn people before dropping insane, life-changing information?”

Haruto huffed.

“That’s different!”

Kirishima finally got his breath back and grinned.

“It’s not different. And this is gonna be fucking hilarious.”

Ren pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I swear to every god up there, I am going to kill you myself.”

The door slammed open.

Ochako and Shoto strolled in, deadpan as fuck.

“They’re coming, aren’t they?” Ochako sighed.

Kirishima beamed.

“Oh, hell yeah.”

Ren threw up his hands.

“We’re all gonna die.”

Shoto, expression blank, grabbed a drink and took a slow sip.

“It’s what you deserve.”

Ren flung a pillow at his head.

It missed.

Shoto didn’t blink.

Haruto collapsed onto the couch.

“We should have had a normal party.”

Rei, too entertained, shook his head.

“No way. This is way better.”

Ren growled.

“You’re all fucking insane.”

Souta, grinning, leaned into Rei’s side.

“And yet, here we are.”

Kirishima stretched, cracking his knuckles.

“Hope you guys are ready.”

Ren crossed his arms, scowling.

“For what?”

Kirishima’s grin was pure mischief.

“The whole family’s coming home.”

The Arrival: Chaos in Motion

It started with footsteps.

Heavy, fast, too many all at once.

From inside Hizashi’s apartment, Ren could hear them—**rushing, stomping, yelling—**all the voices of Class 1-A converging at once, barreling through UA’s halls like a goddamn hurricane.

Sero’s voice boomed first.

“WHERE IS HE? WHERE’S KIRISHIMA? I SWEAR TO GOD—”

Denki, breathless and barely coherent:

“BRO. DON’T MOVE. I’M GONNA DO CPR.”

Mina, mid-sprint:

“STAY WITH US, KIRISHIMA! DON’T GO INTO THE LIGHT, YOU BEAUTIFUL BASTARD!”

Then—the door slammed open.

Ren barely had time to react before **a whole mass of grown-ass heroes flooded the room—**Denki leading the charge, already rolling up his sleeves like he was about to start emergency resuscitation on a very much alive man.

Ochako caught him by the collar mid-lunge.

“You absolute dumbass, he’s fine!”

Denki, still flailing:

“ARE WE SURE THOUGH? HAS ANYONE CHECKED HIS PULSE?”

Sero, panting:

“HE SOUNDS ALIVE, BUT HE COULD BE A GHOST.”

Kirishima, arms crossed, grinning ear to ear:

“Well, damn. Didn’t know you guys cared so much.”

Silence.

A beat.

And then—all at once—

“WHAT THE FUCK, KIRISHIMA?”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Mina was shaking him, violently.

“You’re actually fucking insane, dude,” Sero groaned, collapsing onto the couch.

“Okay but real talk, what the hell is going on?” Denki threw his hands up. “Because we dropped everything to get here and no one has explained ANYTHING.”

“That’s because you all didn’t shut up long enough for me to say it,” Kirishima laughed, still unbothered.

Jirou, arms crossed, narrowed her eyes.

“So say it.”

Kirishima’s grin turned sharp.

And then, without a shred of hesitation—

“Bakugo’s alive.”

Silence.

This time, a heavier one.

A deep, thick, gut-wrenching silence.

It stretched. Hung like a weight in the room.

Mina’s breath caught.

Momo’s fingers tightened around the fabric of her sleeve.

Shinsou went completely still.

And then, finally—Sero laughed.

Haruto flinched.

Ren’s tail flicked sharply.

Rei just watched.

Sero, still laughing, shook his head.

“Bro, if this is another prank—”

“It’s not,” Kirishima said, stone-cold serious.

And that? That shut everyone up.

It was Haruto who stepped forward.

And suddenly, all eyes were on her.

Mina’s. Momo’s. Jirou’s. Denki’s. Iida’s. Tsuyu’s. Shinsou’s. Sero’s. The whole damn room.

Haruto, who had spent weeks remembering.

Haruto, who had spent weeks spiraling.

Haruto, who had spent weeks coming to terms with the impossible.

She lifted her chin.

Took a breath.

And then, just said it.

“It’s me. I’m Izuku.”

It hit like a fucking bomb.

Denki choked.

Momo made an actual sound of distress.

Jirou’s entire posture locked up.

Shinsou’s breath shook.

Mina stared.

And Sero? Sero just—froze.

And then—

“You’re fucking lying.”

It wasn’t a question.

It was Denki who said it.

And Haruto just nodded.

“I’m not.”

Shinsou was already moving.

Before Denki could argue. Before Sero could scoff. Before Mina could cry. Before Momo could scream.

Before Haruto could even blink.

Shinsou was already in her head.

His Quirk slipped in like a phantom.

Deep. Intrusive. Undeniable.

Haruto gasped, staggered back, eyes widening.

And then—Shinsou saw.

All of it.

The memories.

The life.

The war.

The end.

And most of all—he felt it.

That same warmth. That same familiar, bone-deep understanding.

Izuku Midoriya.

It was him.

Shinsou’s breath ripped out of him.

His hands trembled.

And then, when he finally spoke—his voice cracked.

“Holy shit. It’s true.”

That was all it took.

The dam fucking broke.

Mina screamed.

Denki choked.

Sero looked like he wanted to throw up.

Momo actually sat down, visibly lightheaded.

And Jirou? Jirou just—broke down.

Hands shaking, biting her lip, eyes burning red.

“No fucking way,” she whispered.

Ren, leaning against the wall, crossed his arms.

His tail flicked.

And then, just like that—

“I’m Kacchan.”

Mina sobbed.

Like, actual, full-body, gut-wrenching fucking sobs.

Denki wheezed.

Sero pressed both hands to his head, physically trying to process this.

And Momo? Momo covered her mouth, trembling.

Ochako had to sit down.

Shoto just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching everyone lose their fucking minds.

And then—finally—Mina launched herself forward.

Straight for Haruto.

Straight for Ren.

Straight for both of them.

And screamed.

“YOU FUCKERS WERE DEAD. YOU FUCKERS LEFT US.”

Ren grunted as she tackled him.

Haruto yelped.

Mina shook them.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WE CRIED, YOU ASSHOLES? DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING MUCH IT HURT?”

Ren winced.

Haruto bit her lip.

And then—suddenly—

Mina hugged them.

Tight. Unbreakable.

And then the others joined in.

Momo. Jirou. Tsuyu.

Denki. Sero.

Iida. Even fucking Shinsou.

It was a mess of limbs.

Of too much emotion.

Of crashing grief and overwhelming relief.

And somewhere in it—

Ren closed his eyes.

Haruto’s breath shook.

And everything, finally, felt right.

They were home.

The tears had been shed. The shouts had been screamed. The emotions had crashed over them all like a damn tidal wave.

And now? Now, it was a fucking party.

Hizashi—Principal Fucking Mic—was absolutely thriving. He had cranked the music all the way up, shouting about how he “NEEDED TO MAKE UP FOR LOST TIME, BABY!” as he danced his way through the crowd, absolutely soaking in the energy.

Mina was wiping her tears with one hand while shoving food into her mouth with the other, still sniffling as she grabbed Haruto’s wrist.

“YOU CAN’T JUST DROP A WHOLEASS REINCARNATION BOMB ON ME AND NOT EXPLAIN HOW THIS SHIT WORKS.”

Haruto, laughing, took a sip of her drink and shrugged. “I mean. We just… woke up as babies? I don’t really know why or how.”

Denki, who was now drinking straight from a bottle of soda like it was alcohol, squinted.

“So, wait—like, do you remember being a baby?”

“No.”

Sero leaned in, elbows on his knees, fascinated.

“When did you start remembering?”

Haruto sighed, rolling the glass in her hands. “Ren always knew. From the time he was little. I… started remembering a couple months ago. It came in pieces. I thought I was going insane for a while.”

Momo, still visibly shaken, exhaled. “And what about you, Aizawa? Or—Rei? How long have you—”

Rei, calm as ever, sipped his tea.

“Since I was six. Souta was with me since I found him. He didn’t remember as much at first, but I did. I knew who I was before I even had the words to explain it.”

Shinsou, from the couch, was still staring at him like he was a damn miracle.

Rei met his eyes. Smirked, just a little.

“It’s good to see you again, problem child.”

Shinsou’s breath hitched. His hands clenched into fists.

And then—he threw a pillow at him.

“FUCK YOU, OLD MAN.”

Rei, chuckling, caught it midair.

And the party erupted in laughter.

Ren was sitting back, watching the chaos unfold.

His tail flicked lazily, his arm draped over the back of the couch, watching Haruto move through the room—talking, laughing, glowing.

This was it.

This was what had been missing.

His family.

His friends.

Her.

She caught his eye, smiling at him, bright green and happy.

“I guess everything worked out, huh?” she murmured, tilting her head at him.

Ren exhaled. His ears twitched. He leaned forward, eyes locked on hers.

And then—he kissed her.

It was soft, sure, unwavering.

Like it had been a long time coming. Like he had been waiting for this moment for two fucking lifetimes.

Like he had never once, in any universe, loved anyone else.

And for a split second—

The party stilled.

And then—

“FUCKING FINALLY.”

It was Mina who screamed first, standing on the couch like she had just won the damn lottery.

Denki, cackling, actually collapsed onto Sero.

“BAKUGO, MY MAN! IT TOOK YOU TWO GODDAMN LIVES, BUT YOU DID IT!”

Ochako, grinning, took a drink.

“Bout fucking time.”

Shoto, deadpan but with a glint in his eye, muttered, “So, is it finally official, or do we have to wait for a third lifetime for you to propose?”

Ren snapped his teeth at him.

Haruto, laughing against his shoulder, poked his cheek.

“See? Now look what you’ve done.”

Ren, smirking, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, unbothered.

“Worth it.”

The room exploded in noise, the party roaring back to life—

And for the first time in two lifetimes—

Everything was exactly how it should be.

Ren barely had time to bask in the glorious moment of kissing his nerd before the wolves descended.

Mina launched herself onto the couch next to him, dramatically gripping his arm.

“OH MY GOD. I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. IT’S TRUE. BAKUGO IS AN ACTUAL, HONEST-TO-GOD, FULLY LOADED, CAT BOY.”

Denki was howling, clutching his stomach.

Sero, fucking wheezing, managed, “**Of all the things you could’ve reincarnated as—of all the quirks you could’ve gotten—this is what fate decided??”

Ochako nearly choked on her drink.

“I mean. I always knew deep down he was a little bitch, but this is some next-level shit.”

Ren’s eye twitched so hard he nearly had a fucking aneurysm.

“THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY, ROUND FACE?!”

Shoto, calm as ever but with the purest smug aura ever, took a casual sip of his drink.

“I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘nya.’”

There was a beat of absolute silence.

And then—the room fucking exploded.

“N-NY—OH MY GOD—” Mina was gone, actually on the floor.

Denki was SCREAMING.

Sero had to sit down because he was laughing so hard he lost feeling in his legs.

Hizashi, wiping away literal tears, was yelling, “Y’ALL, HE REALLY IS A LITTLE NYA NYA BOY, HOLY SHIT.”

Ren was seeing actual fucking red. His ears were flattened so hard against his head they were practically invisible. His tail was thrashing violently.

“I SWEAR TO GOD—”

Rei, grinning, leaned on the counter. “Relax, kitten. They’re just excited.”

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU, AISAWA.”

Shinsou, grinning like a fucking menace, gave him a lazy salute.

“Welcome to the family, kid.”

Kirishima, still wiping his damn eyes, gasped out, “BRO. BRO, I CAN’T—I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST GOT BAKUGO BACK AND HE’S A GODDAMN CATBOY—”

Ren, actually vibrating with rage, snarled, “SHUT UP, SHITTY HAIR.”

Kirishima, who had been fully bracing for that, just wiped a tear and grinned.

“Ah, there he is. I was worried you lost your edge there for a second, bro.”

Haruto, fucking delighted, leaned into Ren’s side, absolutely radiating mischief.

“So, uh, Kacchan. Is it true? Do you… nya?”

Ren turned, slowly, murder in his eyes.

She just smiled sweetly up at him.

That little shit.

“I fucking hate all of you.”

Ochako patted his head, giggling.

“We love you too, buddy.”

Hizashi, beaming, raised his glass.

“A TOAST! TO OUR NEWLY REBORN NYA NYA LORD EXPLOSION CAT BOY!”

Everyone cheered.

Ren actually fucking screamed.

Chapter Text

The day started like any other.

Except it wasn’t.

Ren was fifteen now.

Fifteen years into this life. Fifteen years knowing exactly who he was and exactly what he was missing. But now? Now, they were here.

Haruto. Rei. And now Souta. The people he had been waiting for his whole life. His squad. His family.

And of course, those nosy-ass adults had something planned. He could feel it.

He didn’t bring it up. Didn’t make a big deal about it. He never had.

But that didn’t stop Haruto from bouncing at his side at lunch, grinning at him, eyes too fucking bright.

“Kacchan, you excited?”

He scowled. “For what? Aging? Not particularly.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re literally fifteen now. That’s a big deal! You’re the oldest of all of us, you know?”

Ren froze.

Haruto kept going, oblivious. “I mean, I knew your birthday was before mine, but I guess I never really thought about it. I only just started remembering stuff, so I never had a reason to—”

Souta, who had been mid-bite into his burger, suddenly paused.

“Wait. That reminds me—how the hell are you older than the rest of us? If we all reincarnated at the same time, wouldn’t we be the same age?”

The shift was immediate.

Ren’s entire body went rigid.

His ears, which had been relaxed, twitched. Then lowered—flat against his skull. His tail stilled completely.

His face didn’t change.

His grip on his fork tightened.

Souta, who had been mostly joking, immediately picked up on the shift. “Oh, shit—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Silence.

Rei, watching with an unreadable expression, flicked his gaze between them.

“Souta, maybe drop it.”

Souta, looking like he wanted to slam his own head into the table, threw up his hands.

"I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to—"

Ren exhaled sharply, the sound tight, controlled. Too controlled.

His voice, when it came, was clipped. Edged. Like a blade dulled from overuse.

"It’s nothing."

Haruto stilled.

Nothing.

That was a lie and they both knew it.

Ren didn’t lie unless the truth was something he didn’t want to deal with.

"I was just born early," he said, voice flat. "Two months early. That’s all."

A pause.

Then, too casual. Too detached.

"Something happened. With my old man."

His tail flicked once—just once—before curling tight against his leg.

Haruto’s brow furrowed.

Something happened.

That wasn’t nothing.

That was everything.

But the way he said it—the way he barely even let the words settle before steamrolling over them, tucking them into a place they couldn’t be touched—

He wasn’t going to tell her.

Not right now.

Not unless she forced it out of him.

Haruto hesitated.

“That’s… kind of a big deal, Kacchan.”

He shrugged stiffly. “Almost died. My mom almost died. But we didn’t. So it’s fine.”

Haruto, sensing the walls going up, reached for his hand under the table. Gave it a squeeze.

Ren didn’t pull away.

Didn’t look at her either.

Just let her hold on.

Souta, throat tight, exhaled slowly. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Ren finally turned, red eyes flashing.

“I said it’s fine. Drop it.”

But Haruto wasn’t looking at him.

She was staring. Hard. Like she was seeing something for the first time.

Because she was.

She had always known Ren’s dad wasn’t in the picture. But she had assumed it was like hers had been in her past life. A quiet kind of absence. A loss that stung, but didn’t bleed.

But this?

This was worse.

And Ren wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Kacchan.”

His jaw locked. “What?”

Her fingers tightened around his. “Is it really just that? That you were born early?”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. His ears twitched sharply.

Haruto, suddenly feeling like she was stepping on a landmine, hesitated.

Ren pushed his tray forward. Abruptly.

His voice, measured and sharp as a blade, cut through the air. “I told you, drop it.”

Souta, clearly wishing he had kept his damn mouth shut, kicked himself under the table. “Seriously, man, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to—”

Ren stood. Chair scraping loudly against the floor. Every muscle in his body wound tight.

“I gotta go.”

And before any of them could stop him, he was gone.

Haruto found him behind the dorms, pacing like a caged animal.

His tail was thrashing. His ears flat against his head.

He wasn’t crying.

But fuck, he looked like he wanted to punch something.

She approached cautiously.

“Kacchan.”

“Don’t.” His voice was tight. “Just—don’t.”

She didn’t listen.

She stepped closer.

“Was it really just that?” she asked again. Quieter this time.

Ren whipped around, eyes blazing.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Haruto? Huh?! That my dad was a piece of shit?! That he came back when I was four? That my mom—”

His breath hitched.

“My mom fucking let him?”

Haruto sucked in a sharp breath.

Ren laughed bitterly. Ran a clawed hand through his hair.

“I remember it.” His voice cracked, just barely. “Not all of it. But enough. He didn’t stay long. Just a few months. But I remember. I remember the yelling. I remember—”

His fingers clenched into fists.

Haruto’s heart ached.

Ren exhaled sharply. “I remember the look in her eyes when she finally made him leave. And I remember thinking—why the fuck did you ever let him in?”

Silence.

Haruto stepped forward.

Ren tensed.

“You never told me.”

His voice was rough. “Didn’t want to.”

She reached out. Touched his face.

He flinched.

But he didn’t pull away.

Haruto’s eyes were full of something too soft for him to handle.

“You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

Ren exhaled sharply. Shook his head.

“It’s been fifteen years, nerd. I’ve been fine.”

Haruto’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Then why are you out here?”

Ren stilled.

Her fingers tightened against his cheek.

And finally—finally—his shoulders dropped.

His head lowered.

And Haruto wrapped her arms around him.

Held him tight.

And Ren, for the first time in this life, let himself be held.

The air between them shifts, charged with something heavier than just the lingering remnants of their conversation. It’s in the way she looks at him, the way her eyes soften yet gleam with something unreadable, something almost too sharp, too knowing. Ren can feel it in his bones, in the way his heart beats just a little too fast, in the way his throat tightens, because he’s always been good at reading people—but Haruto? Haruto is a different story.

She’s always been bolder than Izuku ever was, less hesitant with her affections, with her wants. And right now, she’s watching him with an intensity that makes his skin prickle.

"You really don’t see yourself, do you?" she murmurs, tilting her head, voice dipping into something silkier, something dangerous.

Ren tenses, ears twitching, tail flicking once, but he doesn’t look away. “I see myself just fine, nerd,” he mutters, but the words lack their usual bite.

She smiles, but it’s not the teasing kind. It’s slow, deliberate. Like she’s figured something out. Her fingers reach out, light against his jaw, tracing along the sharp line of it, then down over his throat where she can feel the bob of his swallow. His breath stutters, but he stays still, watching her warily.

"I think you're the most attractive person I’ve ever seen," she tells him matter-of-factly, like it’s just a simple truth. Like she’s not about to tear apart every insecurity he’s ever buried. "I mean, Dynamite was hot, obviously—" she grins when he scowls at that, but she’s relentless, stepping in closer, voice dropping just for him. "But you? You’re something else, Ren."

She lists them off, one by one, each thing she adores about him, every feature that captivates her. His sharp eyes, the cut of his jaw, the shape of his mouth when he smirks, the way his fangs catch the light. His hands—strong, calloused, always warm. The deep rumble of his voice, the way his ears flick when he’s irritated, how his tail gives away everything he tries to hide.

And she touches him as she speaks, fingertips trailing the edges of his lips, skimming down the side of his throat, over his pulse that betrays him. She moves slowly, deliberately, like she’s memorizing him, like she’s making a point.

He can’t move, can’t breathe. He’d known Haruto was confident—she always has been—but this? This is something else entirely. And he—he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Then she says something that makes the whole world lurch.

“I want you.”

Simple. Direct.

Ren's breath leaves him in a sharp exhale.

And then—she moves, fluid and certain, guiding him backward until his spine presses into the nearest wall. Her hands splay against his chest, grounding and demanding all at once. His heart is hammering now, but it's nothing compared to the way his pulse roars in his ears when she leans in, lips ghosting just over his, warm breath fanning across his skin.

It’s different. It’s her. It’s them.

And when she kisses him, it’s slow at first—so slow he almost drowns in it, in the heat of her, in the way she presses against him like she’s never wanted anything more. But then he kisses her back, and it turns into something else. Something more.

Something unstoppable.

Everything blurs into sensation—her touch, her warmth, the way she knows exactly what she’s doing while he’s completely undone beneath her hands. The way she looks at him fome between his legs on her knees, like she’s memorizing every reaction, like she wants to hear every sound she pulls from his throat.

He doesn’t know when she moves them, when they end up in a different space, more secluded, more dangerous. Doesn’t register anything except her hands on him, the sheer confidence she moves with, the quiet determination in her gaze.

And then—

Then, there is only her.

And Ren—Katsuki—has never in his life felt like this before. Like he’s unraveling and grounding all at once. Like he’s coming apart just to be put back together under her touch, under her knowing, wicked smile.

It’s overwhelming. It’s terrifying. It’s everything.

And when the world settles, when the air cools and his breath evens out, she’s still there, brushing damp hair from his face, eyes bright and proud and entirely too satisfied.

She leans in one last time, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips, softer now, sweeter. And when she pulls back, she smirks.

“Happy birthday, babe.”

He blinks up at her, still hazy, still completely wrecked, and lets out a breathless, stunned laugh.

“Ho...ly shit, Haru.”

Ren is still catching his breath, still feeling like his whole body has been rewired, nerves humming under his skin in a way he’s never experienced before. His back is still pressed against the wall, legs weak, mind spinning. His ears twitch, tail flicking slowly as he tries to regain some semblance of control over himself, over his body—over the fact that holy shit that just happened.

He blinks, brain catching up, eyes flicking to Haruto, who looks entirely too pleased with herself, arms lazily resting over her knees as she watches him with a knowing smirk.

“…What the fuck,” is all he manages to say, voice hoarse, barely more than a breath.

Her smirk turns into a full grin, and she stands bouncing on the balls of her feet and reaches out, flicking his nose lightly with her finger. “Happy birthday, Kacchan.”

Ren lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, finally feeling his mind start to return to his body, reality settling in piece by piece. His gaze flickers around, finally realizing where the hell they are.

“A janitor’s closet,” he mutters, like he needs to say it out loud to fully comprehend it. “You just—you really—” His mouth opens, then closes again, ears flattening against his head as he exhales sharply through his nose.

Haruto chuckles, tilting her head at him. “Yeah? Problem?”

Ren groans, dragging a hand down his face, still feeling completely wrecked in the best fucking way. “You shoved me into a broom closet and—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he’s trying to reboot his brain. “All because I said I thought I was ugly?” His crimson eyes flick to hers, raw and searching, because he still doesn’t quite get it.

She just looks at him, expression soft but steady, unwavering. “No, dumbass,” she says. “Because I think you’re gorgeous.”

And damn it, if that doesn’t completely undo him all over again.

Ren swallows hard, looking away for a beat, heat creeping up his neck, but then he huffs a breath and meets her gaze again, something slow and warm curling in his chest. He smirks—soft, genuine, a little cocky, a little stunned. “You should, uh… do that again sometime. Y’know. If you feel like it.”

Haruto laughs, bright and full, and it’s the best damn sound he’s ever heard. “Oh, I definitely feel like it,” she teases, nudging his knee with hers. “We’ll see how well you behave, though.”

Ren snorts, rolling his eyes but grinning despite himself. He stretches his arms above his head, finally shaking off the haze completely. His tail flicks behind him, and then he pushes off the wall, extending a hand to her. “C’mon, nerd. Pretty sure we’re missing my damn party.”

Haruto takes his hand, letting him pull her up with ease, and as they step out of the closet—both looking far too smug for anyone’s comfort—it’s like a switch has flipped.

They don’t even talk about it, don’t need to. But something between them is different now.

If they had been close before, now they’re inseparable. The shift is immediate, obvious—Ren isn’t shy with his touches anymore, not with her. He’s got an arm slung around her shoulders almost constantly, pulls her into his lap when they sit together, presses absentminded kisses to her temple, her cheek, her hair. He purrs when she plays with his ears, practically leans into her touch like it’s instinct.

And Haruto? Haruto is just as bad. Always brushing her fingers over the nape of his neck, teasing at his jawline when she whispers something in his ear, curling against his side when they’re lounging on the couch. She’s smug about it, like she knows exactly how wrapped around her finger he is, and she fucking loves it.

Their friends? Their teachers? Everyone?

Losing their minds.

Rei and Souta are constantly making gagging noises whenever they catch Ren doing some soft shit like resting his chin on Haruto’s head. Hizashi literally chokes on his coffee the first time he sees them cuddled up in the common room. Ochako just grins at them every time, like she knew this was inevitable.

Even Shoto—stoic, unshakable Shoto—gives Ren a look one day and deadpans, “Please stop nuzzling Midoriya during my class.”

Ren, not even remotely ashamed, just grins, ears twitching. “No.”

Shoto sighs. “Figured.”

Despite his initial resistance, Ren’s birthday ends up being huge. Everyone’s there—friends, teachers, even some of the pro heroes who have been looped into their secret. The entire dorm is decorated, music blasting, food everywhere.

The gifts are a mix of genuine and straight-up mockery.

Souta gets him a cat toy. Rei gets him a collar (“Just in case Haruto wants to keep you on a leash”). Mina, Kaminari, and Sero all pitch in to get him a fucking custom-made cat bed.

Ren glares at all of them but ultimately just flips them off and keeps the damn gifts because fuck them, they’re actually comfortable.

But it’s Hizashi’s gift that actually floors him.

Ren almost doesn’t know how to react when he opens the box, fingers brushing over the fabric, the familiar structure of his hero costume—not the first, not the last, but the version that had really become his. His winter suit, the one with the high turtleneck and the black gauntlets, the design that had been refined over the years into something sleek, deadly, him.

His throat tightens, fingers clenching slightly over the material. He doesn’t look up immediately, doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

When he finally does look at Hizashi, his expression is unreadable—too much, too everything. But his grip on the suit is reverent, like he’s holding something sacred.

“…Where did you even—”

Hizashi grins, but it’s softer than usual, something understanding in his eyes. “We kept everything, kid.” He nudges his chin at the suit. “Thought maybe you’d wanna see it again.”

Ren swallows hard, nods once, sharp. His hands tighten on the fabric again, grounding himself with it. But as he lifts the old suit from the box, his fingers brush over the gauntlets—heavy, solid, worn down by battle and time. And his breath catches.

They can’t stay.

He already knows. His new body—his speed, his agility, the way he moves now—doesn’t fit with them anymore. The weight would slow him down. He wouldn’t fight the same way.

But still. Letting them go hurts.

He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back, forcing the feeling down. This isn’t about holding onto the past. It’s about becoming something new.

Haruto watches him, quiet, her own expression caught between nostalgia and something sharper—determination. She knows exactly what’s happening in his head before he even says it. She nudges him lightly, her voice softer than usual.

“You can’t keep them, huh?”

His jaw clenches. “No.”

A beat of silence. Then, she reaches out, fingers brushing against his, tugging at the fabric he’s still gripping.

“You don’t need them, Kacchan,” she murmurs. “Not anymore.”

His grip tightens. Just for a second. And then—he lets out a slow, shaking breath and lets go.

Reconnecting With a Past That Never Left Them

The SquadGoals Discord server was still alive.

That alone was enough to make Haruto’s breath catch.

Fifteen years.

Fifteen years.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected when Kirishima had dragged them in, slamming Ren’s name into the member list like he had been waiting his entire damn life for the moment. She hadn’t expected the notifications to start rolling in so fast that her phone nearly crashed. She hadn’t expected the weight in her chest at seeing all those familiar names—Mina, Denki, Sero, Jirou, Momo, Ochako—lighting up the server like a long-forgotten constellation.

And she hadn’t expected to click on the history.

To scroll.

To keep scrolling.

The others were still talking, still alive with the high of reunion, but Haruto had slipped into the background, fingers moving on autopilot, dragging her screen further and further back.

Ren caught her first.

She felt his eyes on her—curious, sharp—but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

And then—

Ochako (15 years ago): You would have laughed, Deku. I know you would have. You always did. You’d probably be yelling at me for crying right now.

Ochako (15 years ago): …I still talk to you like you’re here.

Ochako (15 years ago): You were supposed to be here.

Haruto’s breath hitched.

It had been weeks after their deaths. Ochako had still been writing like Izuku was going to answer. Like she could will him into answering.

Haruto inhaled sharply, shoulders curling forward.

Ren shifted beside her, his presence pressing in close, warm and solid. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned in, tilting his head so he could see the messages too.

She scrolled again.

More messages.

More grief.

Mina (15 years ago): I can’t fucking do this. I can’t.

Sero (15 years ago): …Me neither.

Denki (15 years ago): I keep thinking about dumb shit. Like how Bakugo always complained about my voice being too loud.

Denki (15 years ago): But now I can’t hear it anymore. And it’s too fucking quiet.

Ren inhaled sharply through his nose.

Haruto clenched her jaw.

She kept going.

Hours passed.

At some point, the others started to notice.

"Oi, nerd." Kirishima nudged her shoulder. "You’ve been stuck on your phone for, like, forever. What the hell are you—"

Then he saw it.

His entire body stilled.

Haruto felt more than saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

"Kiri?" Mina’s voice was hesitant, uncertain.

Kirishima’s jaw worked for a long moment before he exhaled, a shaky breath full of something raw and wrecked.

"She’s reading it." His voice was rough. "The old shit. The stuff we said when—"

When they had died.

Mina’s eyes widened, flicking between Haruto and Ren.

Haruto almost expected them to tell her to stop.

They didn’t.

Instead, Kirishima just reached over, hand warm and grounding against the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair the way someone might hold onto a tether.

Haruto bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

Ren—silent, still, too still—was already scrolling too.

More messages.

More memories.

More pain.

Kirishima (15 years ago): I should have been there.

Kirishima (15 years ago): I should have been faster.

Mina (15 years ago): It’s not your fault, Eiji.

Kirishima (15 years ago): It doesn’t matter. They’re still gone.

Ren’s fingers tightened around his phone.

Haruto felt something deep crack inside her.

The words—written so long ago, lost to time, meant only for ghosts—felt too fresh. Too real.

She could see it.

Could picture the way Kirishima must have looked, red eyes burning with grief, fists clenched so tight they must have bruised his palms.

Could imagine the way Mina had probably sobbed through her messages, how Sero had gone quiet for days, how Denki had tried so damn hard to make everyone laugh when it was the last thing any of them wanted to do.

She could see Ochako, curled up in the dark, typing to no one.

Her stomach lurched.

Her hands trembled.

Ren made a sound low in his throat—something barely audible, something guttural—before his phone slipped from his grasp, landing with a dull thud against the couch.

His head dropped forward, shoulders hunched.

Haruto didn’t think.

She just reached out.

Laced her fingers through his.

Ren’s grip was bone-crushing when he squeezed back.

Mina sniffled, swiping at her eyes, laughing wetly. "Goddammit, we’re supposed to be celebrating, not crying."

Kirishima huffed, voice wrecked. "Shut up, Mina."

Sero, arms crossed tight over his chest, muttered, "At least we’re all here now."

And that—

That was what did it.

That was what made Haruto break.

Because they were.

They were here.

They had made it back.

And for the first time in two lifetimes, they finally knew—

They had never been alone.

Chapter Text

The Big Brother Ren Never Asked For (But Maybe Always Wanted)

It starts subtly—too subtly for Ren to catch onto at first.

A ruffled head of hair here. A hard slap on the back there. An obnoxious habit of grabbing him by the scruff of his uniform like a damn cat and dragging him toward the cafeteria whenever Kirishima decided he needed to eat.

And the worst part?

Nobody even comments on it.

Like it’s normal.

Like it’s been happening forever.

The first time Kirishima forces him to eat, Ren glares daggers at him over a tray of food that he definitely wasn’t planning on getting himself. "I don’t need a fucking babysitter, shitty hair."

Kirishima, unbothered, just takes an obnoxiously large bite of his own food and grins. "Nah, you need a big brother."

Ren chokes.

Nearly flings his entire tray across the room. "What the fuck did you just say?!"

Kirishima grins wider, all sharp teeth and unshakable confidence. "You heard me, little bro."

Ren—fully, completely, and absolutely offended—makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and jabs a clawed finger at him. "I will kill you where you sit."

Kirishima, again, is unbothered.

"Sure, sure. But eat first. You get real bitchy when you’re hungry."

Ren stares.

Stares hard.

This has to be some elaborate prank.

He whips his head around, waiting for someone to start laughing, waiting for Haruto to give him some knowing look, waiting for Mina to burst into the room yelling, "HA, GOTCHA!"

But no.

No one reacts.

Because this isn’t a prank.

Kirishima is just… like this.

And now, apparently, Ren has inherited a big brother.

It gets worse.

Ren gets a solid hit during sparring one day—nothing major, just a decent knock to the ribs that makes him wince when he breathes too deep—and Kirishima loses his shit.

"You’re hurt!" he booms, practically lunging toward Ren, eyes full of genuine concern.

Ren scoffs, swatting his hands away. "The fuck, I’ve had worse! It’s nothing!"

Kirishima ignores him.

Grabs his chin. Tilts his damn head, inspects him like a motherfucking overbearing parent.

Ren snarls and physically wrestles his way out of Kirishima’s grip, stumbling back.

"I’m not your fucking kid, shitty hair!" he snaps, flaring up, ears flattened in absolute, utter offense.

Kirishima just looks at him—calm, unshaken, completely and totally deadpan.

"No," he says. "But you’re my little brother, so deal with it."

Ren’s whole world short-circuits.

Something in him seizes up—twists tight, hot and awful in his chest.

For a moment, he can’t breathe.

For a moment, he’s twenty-eight years old again.

For a moment, he’s staring at a grave that doesn’t have his own name on it but still feels like it belongs to him.

For a moment, he’s alone.

But then—

Then Kirishima ruffles his hair, hard, because he can’t stop doing that, and Ren breaks.

Completely, utterly breaks.

His vision blurs, his throat locks up, and—fuck.

FUCK.

He hates this.

Hates this so much.

Hates how easily Kirishima just walked in and decided, Yep, this one's mine now.

Hates how his heart aches with something deep and raw and long-buried.

Hates how—despite everything—it means everything to him.

That night, Ren finds himself sitting with Kirishima on the dorm rooftop.

They don’t talk about the moment in training.

Ren would sooner die.

Instead, Kirishima is talking about something else—something important.

His kid.

"Suki’s been struggling," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, genuinely looking troubled. "She’s… y’know. Quiet. Standoffish. She’s always been a little serious, but lately, I feel like I don’t even know what’s going on in her head."

Ren hums, watching him closely.

He’s never met Suki, but he’s heard enough about her to know she’s got Mina’s fire and Kirishima’s strength.

And she’s not dealing well with all this.

"So what you’re saying," Ren drawls, dragging a knee up and resting his forearm on it, "is that you’re a shitty dad?"

Kirishima whips his head around, gaping. "What?! No—!"

Ren smirks. "You just admitted you don’t know what’s going on in her head. Sounds like a failure of a dad to me, man."

"Hey!" Kirishima shoves him, grinning despite himself. "I never said I was bad at it! I just— I dunno, man. I was gone. And when I came back, she wasn’t the same. And now I don’t know how to reach her."

Ren hums, then raises an eyebrow. "Well, have you tried not being a dumbass?"

Kirishima stares at him, dead inside.

"Ren," he says, "I swear to god—"

"No, no, seriously." Ren leans in, smirk widening. "Why’d you and Mina even break up? Because, honestly, you fumbled a bad bitch, man."

Kirishima groans, throwing his head back. "God, not you too!"

Ren laughs. "Bro, come on! You know you fucked up! That woman is perfect! She’s funny, she’s hot, she can kick your ass—"

"I know! Believe me, I know!" Kirishima groans again, running a hand down his face. "I just—it was hard, okay? We were both grieving. We thought we’d lost everything, and we didn’t know how to be together after that. We tried, but—"

"Sounds like excuses," Ren interrupts.

Kirishima glares. "Dude—"

Ren shrugs, unbothered. "Sounds like you ran when shit got hard. Like a coward."

"I did not—!"

"You so did."

"I swear to—!"

"Fix it, then." Ren levels him with a look. "Quit fucking around and fix it."

Kirishima stares.

Because fuck.

He wants to.

And Ren—Ren fucking knows.

"Shit, man," Kirishima mutters, rubbing the back of his head. "When the hell did you get all wise and shit?"

Ren smirks. "Been through a lot, big bro."

Kirishima snorts.

Then, after a long pause—

"You’re seriously okay with this?"

Ren raises an eyebrow. "With what?"

"Me—y’know. Big brother-ing you."

Ren scoffs. "No. It’s the worst fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d rather shove a knife through my eye."

Kirishima laughs.

A real, good laugh.

And for the first time in two lifetimes, Ren lets himself laugh too.

Big Brother Talks & Love Confessions

Kirishima, still grinning, stretches out on the rooftop, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leans back against the ledge. The night air is cool, crisp, a welcome contrast to the warmth of their conversation. He eyes Ren, watching the way he’s pointedly avoiding eye contact now, sipping at his drink like it’s his lifeline.

"Y’know," Kirishima starts, his tone deceptively casual, "I got a lotta questions, man."

Ren side-eyes him, ears flicking in mild annoyance. "I already regret this conversation."

Kirishima laughs, undeterred. "Nah, man, I gotta know. Like—when did you two even meet?"

Ren exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Preschool."

Kirishima blinks. "For real?"

Ren nods, lips pressing together like he’s bracing for something. "I was four. She was four. First day. And the moment I saw her, I knew."

Kirishima leans forward, intrigued. "Knew what?"

Ren’s grip tightens slightly on his drink. His tail flicks once before curling around his leg. "That she was mine."

Kirishima whistles low, shaking his head. "Damn, dude. Four years old? You really were on that childhood soulmate shit, huh?"

Ren huffs a laugh, tilting his head back. "It was… weird. I looked at her, and it was like—I dunno. It was like meeting Izuku at preschool all over again. Like my soul just—recognized her."

Kirishima watches him carefully. "What was she like back then?"

Ren’s expression softens, his usual sharp edges dulling slightly. "She was small. Tiny. Barely spoke at first, but she watched everything. Like she was trying to memorize the whole world all at once." He lets out a breath, shaking his head. "She had this habit of chewing on her sleeves when she was nervous—"

Kirishima snickers. "She still does that."

Ren smirks. "Yeah. But back then, she was shy. I was the loud one. Always dragging her into things, always standing in front of her when other kids got too rough. I’d grab her wrist and run, and she’d just follow—like she never even thought about it, like she trusted me completely."

There’s something in his voice that Kirishima feels. Something deep.

Something old.

He doesn’t push, just lets Ren keep going.

"I used to sit next to her at lunch every day," Ren continues. "Even when the other kids thought she was weird. I’d dare them to say anything about her. The teachers told my mom I was ‘overly protective’"—he air-quotes it sarcastically—"but fuck ‘em, man. She was mine."

Kirishima lets out a low hum, smiling to himself. "You sound so sure about it."

Ren scoffs. "Of course I was sure." He finally meets Kirishima’s gaze, red eyes gleaming with something fierce, something unshakable. "I remembered from the moment I was old enough to think." He pauses, rolling his drink between his hands, then quietly adds, "And I’ve always loved her."

Kirishima whistles again, shaking his head. "Shit, man. That’s deep."

Ren shrugs, glancing away. "It’s just the truth."

Kirishima grins, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eye. "So, like… at what point did you realize it was love love? Like—oh shit, I wanna kiss her and hold her hand and do disgusting, lovey-dovey shit love?"

Ren chokes on his drink.

"The fuck kind of question is that?!"

Kirishima bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. "Dude, c’mon, humor me!"

Ren glares, ears pinned back in absolute, mortal embarrassment. "I knew before I even understood what it meant! I was a kid, dumbass! I didn’t need to ‘realize’ it—I never didn’t know!"

Kirishima wipes at his eyes, shaking his head. "God, that’s actually kinda romantic."

Ren growls. "You’re the worst."

Kirishima leans back, still chuckling. Then, after a moment—

"You know, I used to think you were gay."

Ren freezes.

His face erupts into color. "What the fuck—?!"

Kirishima is howling. "Dude, seriously! You were so obsessed with Izuku back in the day, man! Like, wildly obsessed! And you never looked at anyone else!"

"THAT DOESN’T MEAN SHIT!" Ren’s voice cracks in indignation, his entire body going rigid.

Kirishima, crying at this point, barely manages to keep himself upright. "But now—now I guess I can’t be so sure! The way you manhandle Haruto speaks for itself, bro!"

Ren whips his drink at him.

Kirishima dodges just in time, wheezing.

"FUCK YOU, SHITTY HAIR!"

Kirishima, still dying of laughter, gasps out, "So—so what, you’re Izukusexual or some shit?!"

Ren seethes, trembling with rage and mortification. "I’M BUILD DIFFERENT!"

Kirishima slams his fist on the ground, absolutely losing his shit. "BRO. BRO. I CAN’T—"

Ren grabs him by the front of his shirt and shakes him. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, EIJIROU!"

Kirishima wheezes, swatting at Ren’s hands. "Nah, nah, but for real—are you, like, just attracted to her specifically? Or is it just—you know—women?"

Ren groans, pressing the heel of his palm into his temple. "God, you’re fucking insufferable."

Kirishima smirks. "Dude, just answer the question."

Ren glares at him for a long, long moment—then finally, with a deep, suffering sigh, mutters, "That shit doesn’t matter to me."

Kirishima raises an eyebrow. "So, pan? Bi? Or—?"

Ren hisses, gripping his drink like it’s his last grip on sanity. "I don’t fucking know, man! I’ve never looked at anyone else like I look at her, so what the fuck do you call that?!"

Kirishima grins, entirely too entertained. "Yeah, bro, you’re totally Izukusexual."

Ren roars in frustration, launching himself at Kirishima.

The two of them go tumbling across the rooftop, laughing, shoving, yelling insults at each other, but when they finally settle—breathless, spent, and sprawled out under the stars—

Ren smiles.

Because, even if Kirishima is the worst—

He’s also the best damn big brother Ren never knew he needed.

Ren knew something was wrong the second he walked into the dorm common room.

The air was too charged.

Haruto and Souta were standing side by side, both bent over, laughing so hard they were clutching at each other for support, tears in their eyes. Haruto was wheezing, smacking Souta’s arm while Souta was outright cackling, his head thrown back, looking entirely too proud of himself.

On the other side of the room, Hizashi Yamada—Principal Mic, The Loudest Man Alive, The Unshakable Radio Host of Justice—was standing in absolute, horrified silence.

Which was how Ren knew this had to be some next-level bullshit.

“…What,” Ren said flatly, crossing his arms, “the fuck did you two do?”

Haruto had to sit down from laughing too hard. “Oh, oh my god, you should’ve—his face, Souta, his fucking face—”

Souta wiped a fake tear. “Honestly, I have outdone myself this time.”

“I AM GOING TO KILL YOU BOTH.” Hizashi finally found his voice, and it boomed through the dorm like a goddamn earthquake.

Ren barely dodged the bottle Hizashi chucked at them. “WHAT THE FUCK?! EXPLAIN.”

Rei, leaning against the counter, exhaled slowly. He looked at Hizashi’s completely neon-pink hair, then at the way his hero costume was entirely covered in sequins, then at the massive All Might Is My Daddy sticker now plastered across his chest plate.

“…They did something to his hero suit,” Rei said, monotone.

Souta grinned. “I upgraded it.”

Hizashi practically vibrated with rage. “MY SUIT SINGS SHOW TUNES WHEN I MOVE.”

Haruto died.

She collapsed to the floor, laughing so hard she had to gasp for air. “F-FUCK—Souta, you programmed it—?”

“Oh,” Souta smirked, hands on his hips. “Not just programmed it, babe. I perfected it. The moment he walks into a room, it plays a dramatic entrance sound effect—”

Hizashi pointed a shaking finger. “—THE SOUND EFFECT IS JUST YOU SAYING ‘THE SLAYAGE IS HERE.’”

Ren gawked.

Rei sighed.

Haruto kicked the ground, still howling.

“And the sequins?” Ren demanded.

Haruto finally sat up, wiping tears from her eyes, looking entirely too pleased. “Those were my idea.”

Rei let out the longest suffering sigh of his life.

Hizashi dragged both hands down his face. “I don’t have time for this. I’m calling Aizawa.”

Haruto and Souta went dead silent.

Ren grinned. “Oh, you’re fucked now.”

Souta bolted. “RUUUUUUUN—”

Haruto scrambled after him, cackling, “YOU’LL NEVER TAKE US ALIVE.”

Ren and Rei both watched as they parkour-leaped over the common room couch and vanished out the front door like actual criminals.

Silence.

Rei pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe you let Haruto become friends with him.”

Ren scoffed, throwing himself onto the couch. “Me?! You’re the one dating his stupid ass.”

Rei exhaled slowly, fingers twitching slightly before he tucked them back into his sleeves. “Yeah.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And I think she’s actually good for him.”

Ren raised a brow. “Uh. Bold words for someone whose boyfriend just programmed All Might Is My Daddy into a hero suit.”

But Rei wasn’t looking at him anymore.

His eyes were still locked on the door, his expression unreadable, but his grip on his sleeves had tightened.

Ren followed his gaze, raising a brow. “Dude. They’re just fucking around. You’re not actually gonna, like, murder them, right?”

Rei hummed. “No.” He turned. “But I am going to find Souta.”

Ren snorted. “To yell at him?”

Rei smirked slightly. “No.”

Then he stood up and left.

Ren, now completely alone in the common room, blinked. “The fuck is going on today?”

—

Outside, near the dorm entrance…

Haruto was still doubled over, dying of laughter.

Souta was bent over beside her, breathless. “Fuck—that was—that was our best one yet—”

Haruto wheezed, clutching his stomach. “He looked like he aged ten years—”

Souta cackled. “Bro’s gonna need therapy—”

Then, suddenly—

A hand grabbed Souta’s scarf and yanked him upright.

Haruto barely had time to register what was happening before Rei, completely silent, pulled Souta up, snatched his scarf down, and kissed him stupid.

Haruto’s jaw dropped.

Souta froze.

Then, his brain caught up, and he practically melted into it, his hands flying up to clutch at Rei’s coat, eyes fluttering shut as a quiet muffled gasp escaped him.

Haruto just gawked. “The fuck—”

Rei pulled away, expression unreadable, but his voice was firm. “You’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot.”

Souta, completely breathless, blinked up at him. “Damn.”

Then he grinned.

And for a second—just a second—Haruto could see it.

The way Rei looked at him.

The way his grip had tightened around Souta’s jacket, the way his jaw had twitched, the way he had completely broken character just now, after years of being the most unreadable, impossible to crack person on the planet.

Haruto smirked, crossing her arms. “Damn, Rei. All it took was a prank to make you simp this hard?”

Rei glared at her.

Souta—grinning ear to ear, flushed and breathless and looking like the happiest man alive—huffed a laugh. “Hey, babe. Maybe we should prank Aizawa next.”

Rei’s eye twitched. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

Haruto cackled. “Too late. Now I have to.”

Rei groaned.

Souta threw his arms around him. “Aw, c’mon, babe! Let’s be menaces together.”

Rei sighed heavily, dramatically, but he didn’t push him away.

Haruto just watched them, grinning.

Yeah.

This was good.

Rei needed this.

And for once, it wasn’t just Haruto and Ren causing all the chaos.

Suki Kirishima did not like surprises.

So when she walked into her own living room to find four unfamiliar teens sprawled across her couch, making themselves way too comfortable, she froze.

What the hell?

They were laughing, talking, like they belonged here. Like they’d been here before.

She narrowed her eyes.

The first one to look up was a boy with wild, messy black hair, sharp red eyes, and—what the actual fuck—cat ears? His tail flicked behind him, slow and deliberate. His skin was practically snow white, like he’d never seen the sun. His sharp gaze met hers with instant suspicion, and his fingers twitched like he had claws he was just dying to use.

The girl beside him was stunning, all long, thick strawberry-blonde curls tumbling past her waist, lightly caramel tan skin kissed with freckles, and huge, shining green eyes that should have made her look sweet—but there was something sharp in them, something a little too knowing. Her outfit was almost offensively feminine—a short, pleated pink skirt, knee-high socks, and a cropped green top—like some giggly little schoolgirl, but the way she carried herself was all fire.

Across from them, a pale, spiky-haired blond with steely gray eyes slouched into the couch, arms crossed, watching her under perpetual exhaustion. He wore a long, fluffy red scarf, but it was pulled down just enough for her to see the way his lips twitched, always on the edge of mischief. His band t-shirt and tight black jeans screamed Hot Topic gremlin—the type of guy who either had great taste in music or the worst taste imaginable.

And then—the pink-haired menace.

Neon fucking pink.

It was everywhere, wild and flowy, completely unrestrained. His cloud-gray eyes practically sparkled with energy, and his tanned russet skin made his whole look even more absurd. He was stretched out over the couch like he owned it, one leg draped over the armrest, grinning like he was just dying to say something annoying. His outfit was straight-up fuckboy core—ripped jeans, an open hoodie over a tank top, a chain around his neck like he was trying to start shit.

She hated him immediately.

Suki took one step forward, crossing her arms.

“Who the hell are you?”

The four of them turned to face her at once.

The black-haired one—Ren—squinted. His cat ears twitched, tail flicking once in mild irritation. “Who the hell are you?”

Oh, she hated him.

The girly one—Haruto—grinned, leaning forward with her chin in her palm. “Be nice, Ren,” she teased. “She’s just a kid.”

Suki’s rage was instantaneous.

“Excuse the fuck out of you?” she snapped.

The pink-haired menace—Souta—let out a delighted cackle. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

The blond one—Rei—gave Suki a slow, measured once-over, like he was assessing a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “We can win her over,” he said, deadpan.

Ren scoffed. “Or never.”

Suki glared at all of them. Why were they here? Why did they look so fucking comfortable?

And more importantly—

Why was her dad standing in the doorway, looking like he belonged with them?

“Dad,” she said sharply, turning to him. “Who the hell are these people?”

Kirishima, standing beside Mina, sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Suki, don’t be rude.”

“Rude?” she echoed. “I come home to find a bunch of randoms in my living room, and I’m the rude one?”

Mina, grinning, put a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart, relax. They’re friends.”

Suki jerked away from her touch.

For a split second, the room went silent.

Then—

Haruto, smoothly breaking the tension, tilted her head. “You don’t trust us?”

Suki’s jaw clenched.

“Fair,” Haruto said easily, smiling. “Then let’s earn it.”

Suki’s eyes narrowed.

Haruto rested her chin in her hand. “We’re gonna be around, whether you like it or not. So if you wanna keep your eye on us? Go for it.”

Souta snickered. “Not like we’re hiding anything.”

Ren coughed aggressively.

Haruto kicked him.

Suki’s gaze snapped between them.

Her dad was still looking at Ren with that look. That weirdly familiar, strangely fond, slightly guilty look. And she hated it.

He hadn’t been there when she needed him.

He hadn’t fought for her the way she deserved.

And now? Now he had a new person? A new priority? Someone who wasn’t her?

Suki clenched her fists at her sides.

Fine.

If they thought she was just gonna accept this?

If they thought she was just gonna let this slide?

They had another thing coming.

Chapter Text

The hero suits come next.

It’s a conversation they’ve been avoiding, an unspoken question hanging between them for weeks. What the hell are their hero costumes supposed to look like now? Everything about them is different—their bodies, their quirks, the way they fight. But some things... some things will always be the same.

Ren knows he still needs something fast, light, made for movement. The gauntlets are gone, but the rest of his new suit is a reflection of everything he’s become. The material is sleek, flexible, built for raw speed and adaptability, colored in deep black with streaks of crimson and orange—like sparks flashing in the dark. His collar is high, flared just slightly at the edges, an echo of Dynamite’s explosions, shaped by motion. The reinforced bracers remain, supporting his wrists while keeping his hands free. His boots have extra grip, designed for sudden pivots, for leaps, for the unpredictable movements that make him impossible to track.

One thing is different. One thing is new. A single green stripe runs down the left sleeve—at first glance, it looks random, just part of the design. But Haruto knows exactly what it means.

Deku’s colors. A scar, a reminder, a promise.

Haruto’s suit is a statement.

It holds onto the foundation of Izuku’s old uniform, but only in color—the deep green remains, but everything else? Everything else is hers.

The bodysuit is sleek, form-fitting, built for speed and impact, but what stands out is the skirt. Short, pleated, sharp—designed for movement, for flexibility, for absolute freedom. It flares when she fights, twirls when she kicks, and Ren is never going to recover from it. It’s undeniably feminine, yet undeniably combat-ready, reinforced at the seams, designed with a balance of grace and devastation.

She ditches the full mask, replacing it with a sleek, reinforced visor, tinted black with a faint green glow—a reminder of what she carries, of what burns inside her. The gloves are reinforced to stabilize the raw force of Genesis, designed to absorb some of the backlash so she doesn’t blow out her own arms. The boots? Impact-resistant, shock-absorbent, perfect for grounding her when the world around her is crumbling under the force of her power.

But it’s the details that matter.

Her shoulder armor isn’t symmetrical. The left side is edged, jagged, like an explosion frozen in time. The pattern is unmistakable. To anyone else, it might just look like an aggressive design choice, but Ren? Ren knows exactly what she did.

She didn’t just make a hero suit. She didn’t just reinvent Deku.

She built something that says I’m here, I survived, and I’m carrying him with me.

Ren is so fucked.

Rei keeps the scarf. Obviously. But the rest of his suit is entirely different. The material is layered, loose enough for movement, but drapes like shadows shifting in the dark. His visor hides his eyes completely, a subtle glow built into the lenses to enhance and focus his quirk. The suit itself is dark gray, almost black, but the edges shimmer faintly when he moves, an illusion of movement, like he isn’t quite real.

Souta’s suit is storm-colored—deep blue streaked with silver and white, the material shifting slightly with the energy of his quirk. His boots and gloves are insulated, reinforced to handle lightning strikes without backlash. His jacket billows when he moves, reacting to the wind currents he controls, making him look like a living stormfront. The design isn’t random. None of it is.

They each leave something for each other. Something small, something private. A lightning insignia hidden under Rei’s scarf, stitched in where only Souta would know it’s there. The inside of Souta’s jacket lined with the same pattern as Rei’s scarf—a reminder that even when storms rage, he is never alone.

When they finally see the suits for the first time, no one speaks at first. Haruto is the first to break the silence, tapping the edge of her sketchpad against her lip before looking over at Ren.

“You ready?” she asks.

Ren, still staring at the holo-display of his new suit, doesn’t answer right away. He studies it, the way it moves, the way it fits him. It’s not the suit he wore before. It’s not what Dynamite would have worn.

But it’s his.

And finally—he grins.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I am.”

The party was a memory. The laughter, the warmth, the ridiculousness of it all—it felt distant now, as if it had happened in another lifetime.

Because by morning, Suki Kirishima was gone.

The First Sign

Ren woke up wrong.

His skin crawled with something sharp and electric, his ears flicking before he was even fully awake. The dorm was silent, the world outside still half-asleep, but something was off. His breath came shallow, uneven. His claws had extended. His tail was stiff.

Something was missing.

A shift. A wrongness.

He knew before Haruto even stirred beside him. Before her breath hitched, before the faint glow of Genesis crackled in her fingertips out of pure instinct.

The door slammed open.

Ren was already on his feet. Haruto was right behind him.

Shoto stood in the doorway. His face was unreadable, but his **eyes—**there was something heavy, something frighteningly steady.

“…She’s gone.”

Haruto’s stomach dropped.

Ren’s breath caught. His tail lashed. “Who—”

But he already knew.

They already knew.

Suki.

The Group Chat

The moment they checked their phones, the sheer fury of the chat hit them like a physical blow.

Every notification—sharp, clipped, desperate.

[Kirishima]: I need help. Now.
[Mina]: Suki is gone.
[Ochako]: What? What do you mean gone?
[Kirishima]: She’s missing.
[Mina]: No forced entry. No note. Nothing.
[Denki]: How long?
[Mina]: Last seen last night.
[Shoto]: We’re already looking.
[Jirou]: You called the authorities?
[Kirishima]: Of course we did.
[Mina]: No leads. No one saw anything.
[Rei]: …This doesn’t feel normal.

[Ren]: What do you mean?

[Rei]: She didn’t run. And no one took her.

[Souta]: Then where the hell is she?

[Rei]: That’s what I’m afraid of.

Silence.

Then—

[Kirishima]: …You think this is Entropy.

It wasn’t a question.

And no one denied it.

Haruto exhaled sharply, fingers digging into the fabric of Ren’s shirt.

Entropy.

The wrongness she had felt since waking up? The crawling sensation beneath her skin?

It wasn’t paranoia.

It was real.

Ren’s jaw tightened, fangs bared in a silent snarl. “We need to move.”

Shoto was already ahead of them. “Everyone’s searching. But we need more than just boots on the ground. Haruto—” His gaze flickered, sharp and knowing.

She knew what he was asking.

She hated that she understood.

“Genesis,” she whispered.

Ren tensed. “No. You’re not using it like that.”

Haruto swallowed hard. “I might not have a choice.”

If Suki had truly awakened Entropy, if the world was already unraveling—then Genesis was the only thing that could sense it.

The only thing that could lead them to her.

Ren’s ears flattened. He hated this. But he didn’t argue.

Because they were out of time.

Chapter Text

The air felt wrong.

The buildings stood half-dissolved, their edges curling into nothingness like burnt paper, flickering at the edges of reality. The street beneath them warped, twisted—as if the world itself was struggling to remember it should exist.

And in the center of it all—Suki.

She stood alone.

Barefoot. Small. A silhouette against the ruin she had made.

Her hair hung wild around her face, her skin cast in eerie shadow, her eyes—

Empty.

Not black. Not glowing.

Just empty.

Haruto’s breath stilled in her throat.

Ren’s ears flattened. His tail flicked once. Twice. Agitation. Instinct.

Souta’s voice was barely a whisper.

“…She wasn’t taken.”

Haruto knew it before he even said it.

Because the way she stood, the way she didn’t flinch, didn’t cower—

This wasn’t fear.

This wasn’t a hostage situation.

Suki had run.

And now, she wasn’t Suki anymore.

She was Entropy.

“Suki—”

Haruto barely started before the world lurched.

Not an attack. Not a blast.

A wound.

Reality fractured.

And then—

It was gone.

Not burned. Not obliterated.

Just—gone.

Haruto’s stomach turned to ice.

And before she could react—

Before she could even think—

A wave of nothing tore through the space between them.

And it hit her directly.

A breath—sharp, wet—ripped out of her.

Ren’s heart stopped.

Haruto swayed—

Then collapsed.

She was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Ren moved.

She hit his arms before she hit the ground.

Her body was limp. Too light. Too still.

And then he saw it.

The hole.

A gaping wound, the size of a softball, burned clean through her left side. Not cauterized. Not scarred.

Just—missing.

Like it had never been there at all.

Blood poured from the edges—too much, too fast.

Ren’s ears rang.

His claws shook.

His breath hitched.

Her chest was still rising and falling—shallow. Weak.

She was alive.

But—

But how much longer?

His hands pressed against the wound instinctively, trying to hold in the nothing. But there was nothing to hold.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

All he could see was red—her red.

Her blood.

She sees the way Ren holds Haruto.

The way his arms curl around her, the way his whole body locks up as if he’s the one coming apart.

And she hates it.

She doesn’t understand why.

It makes her feel itchy.

Like something inside her is wrong.

Like the whispers curling at the edges of her mind are too loud, too sharp, too demanding.

Like she should be angry.

She tilts her head, watching the blood pour between Ren’s fingers, the way his body shakes, trembles.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She doesn’t know why, but she knows.

Something inside her shifts.

A voice hisses.

And then—she disappears.

Ren doesn’t remember how they got back.

All he knows is Haruto’s blood is still on his hands.

They had barely landed on UA grounds before the healers were ripping her from him.

He snapped.

His claws wouldn’t retract. His tail lashed violently. His whole body was on the verge of something—something uncontrollable.

He had to be pulled away.

Now, he sits.

Waiting.

Every second feels like a century.

She’s in there.

Bleeding.

Hurting.

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should be hunting.

Should be tracking Suki. Should be tearing her apart for what she did—

But instead, he’s here.

Helpless.

Again.

The door opens.

Ren is already standing.

The second he sees her, his whole body locks up.

Haruto—still pale. Wrapped in bandages. But awake.

And then—

Then she smiles.

Soft. Small.

Too fucking familiar.

“It’s okay, Kacchan,” she whispers.

Ren’s throat closes.

His claws dig into his palms, so hard it hurts.

She looks weak.

She shouldn’t look weak.

She shouldn’t look like that.

And she’s saying it again.

That same fucking lie.

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

She doesn’t stop.

“I’m fine.”

His stomach twists.

His tail lashes violently.

He turns.

And he storms out.

Ochako’s hands shook.

She had seen Izuku injured before. She had seen him break his body a hundred times over, had seen him collapse, bleed, suffer.

But this—this was different.

This was Haruto.

Soft, quiet, delicate Haruto.

And she was just like him.

Hizashi’s throat was tight. He gritted his teeth, running a hand through his hair, breath shuddering. “I—”

Shoto cut him off. His voice was low. Sharp.

“I’m going after Ren.”

No one argued.

Because none of them could look at Haruto without feeling like the world was coming apart.

Kirishima’s heart pounded.

Suki had done this.

His daughter had done this.

To Haruto. To Izuku.

To the kid he had carried through so many battles, who had been his brother in another life.

And now—now he had to decide.

Suki was lost.

She was gone.

And she had to be stopped.

Even if it meant—

Even if it—

His stomach turned.

He felt sick.

And Mina—Mina was watching him.

Her voice wavered.

“…Eiji.”

He exhaled.

Shaky. Weak. Resolute.

“I know.”

His hands curled into fists.

“…I know.”

Chapter Text

Ren didn’t know where he was going.

He just ran.

Through the corridors, past the dorms, out into the courtyard, into the cold night air that felt too heavy, too suffocating.

The scent of her blood still clung to his skin.

He rubbed at his hands furiously.

It didn’t come off.

The crimson was gone, but he could still feel it.

Could still hear her voice.

"It’s okay, Kacchan. I’m fine."

He clenched his teeth so hard his skull hurt.

Liar.

His nails dug into his arms, claws extended, slicing through fabric, through skin. He didn’t care. Didn’t feel it.

His pulse roared in his ears.

He couldn’t do this.

Not again.

Not again.

Souta found him first.

Didn’t say anything at first.

Just walked beside him as he stalked through the empty field.

Waiting.

Ren wasn’t stupid.

He knew he was being followed.

Didn’t mean he acknowledged it.

Didn’t mean he stopped.

Souta finally sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“So. You wanna talk about it, or should I just stand here looking pretty?”

Ren’s ears twitched violently.

His tail lashed.

Souta was about to crack another joke when a low, guttural snarl tore from Ren’s throat.

Souta’s mouth snapped shut.

Oh.

He wasn’t joking this time.

Ren didn’t snap like this.

Not with them.

Not like this.

Before Souta could say anything—

A voice, low and calm, cut through the tension.

“Let him breathe.”

Souta turned.

Rei.

Not surprised.

Rei was always watching.

Always waiting.

Ren stopped at the edge of the training field.

Hands clenched. Shoulders tight.

He didn’t turn around.

Didn’t look at them.

Didn’t breathe.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. Raw.

“She lost a fucking piece of herself today.”

Souta flinched.

Ren’s claws dug deeper into his own arms.

“And she just—” His breath hitched. His tail lashed violently. “She just kept going.”

No one spoke.

Because what could they say?

Ren’s ears flattened. His fists shook.

“She lost a chunk of her body today,” he growled. “And the second she woke up, she was already planning her next move.”

His chest heaved.

His whole body shook.

“She’s doing it again.”

Rei’s gaze sharpened.

Because he understood.

Souta, still processing, still trying to wrap his head around it, exhaled shakily.

“Ren, she’s—”

“She’s making me fucking sick,” Ren spat.

Souta stilled.

Because Ren’s voice—

It broke.

Cracked right down the middle.

His breath was uneven, too fast, too uncontrolled.

His tail wouldn’t stop moving.

“She’s going to do it again,” he whispered. “She’s going to fucking die, and she’s just—letting it happen.”

Rei sighed.

Slow. Controlled.

Stepped forward.

Ren didn’t move.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t breathe.

“You were Katsuki,” Rei said simply.

Ren flinched.

Rei’s gaze didn’t waver.

“And she was Izuku.”

Ren’s jaw locked.

“I know what that means to you,” Rei continued.

His voice was even. Steady. Like he wasn’t just talking about them.

Like he was talking about himself.

About all of them.

Ren’s ears flattened further.

“She never knew how to stop,” Rei murmured. “You’ve always known that.”

Ren exhaled sharply.

His hands curled into fists.

“Then why does it still—” His voice caught. “Why does it still feel like I’m watching her die all over again?”

Souta’s jaw tightened.

Ren was right.

That’s what made this worse.

Haruto wasn’t thinking about herself.

She wasn’t afraid.

Wasn’t hesitating.

She had bled out in Ren’s arms only hours ago, and now she was already moving forward.

Planning.

Preparing.

Sacrificing.

Like it didn’t matter.

Like she didn’t matter.

Souta shoved a hand through his hair.

“This fucking sucks.”

Ren let out a short, sharp breath.

Not quite a laugh.

Not quite anything.

Rei, quiet for a long time, finally spoke again.

“She still needs you.”

Ren’s tail twitched.

He scoffed, bitter.

“Not if she keeps acting like this.”

Rei’s expression darkened.

“She needs you more because of this.”

Ren clenched his teeth.

And then—

He turned.

Sharp. Abrupt.

His red eyes burned.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?”

Rei met his glare evenly.

Neither of them backed down.

A long, heavy silence.

And then—

Ren inhaled sharply.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Exhaled slow.

Too slow.

Like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

“…I just wanted peace.”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“I just wanted us to be happy.”

The words cracked.

Like something deep inside him was finally, finally breaking.

Souta and Rei watched.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

And Ren—

Ren stood there, shaking, with too much blood on his hands and no idea how to fix it.

Chapter Text

Haruto wakes to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant hum of voices. The air is heavy with tension, thick like it’s pressing against her skin, like it wants to remind her of the weight of everything that just happened.

She blinks up at the ceiling. The room is dim, the soft glow of recovery monitors casting eerie shadows across the walls. There’s a dull, echoing throb in her torso, a sensation that’s neither hot nor cold—just empty. It takes a second for the memories to catch up to her.

Suki.
Entropy.
The fight.
The moment the world tilted sideways.

The moment her body stopped existing in places where it should have been.

A phantom pain crawls along the missing piece of her torso, and she exhales slowly, pushing past the nausea curling in her stomach. It should be unbearable. The thought of it should make her spiral, should make her freeze. But it doesn't.

Because all she can think about is what comes next.

"You're not supposed to be awake," Kirishima mutters from where he's sitting nearby, arms crossed over his broad chest, worry creasing his brow. Mina is pacing. She always paces when she’s upset.

Haruto ignores them both.

“We need to plan,” she says instead, forcing herself upright.

Kirishima moves instantly, a solid, grounding presence, his hands hovering just inches from her in case she falls. Mina stops her pacing, spinning on her heel to face her with a disbelieving scoff.

"Are you seriously—" Mina gestures vaguely at her, at the hospital bed, at the bandages wrapped around her midsection. "Haru, you just almost died—"

"But I didn't," Haruto interrupts, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, biting down on the sharp, electric jolt of pain that protests the movement. "And we don’t have time. Suki is still out there. Entropy is still spreading. If we waste—"

"You lost a chunk of your fucking body today, Haruto!" Kirishima snaps, voice unusually harsh, frustration laced with something deeper, something more broken. "You need to—"

"We don’t have time," she repeats, steel lining every syllable. "If we stop now, she gets farther away. If we stop now, she keeps breaking the world. If we stop now, we might lose her forever."

Mina presses her hands to her face, inhaling deeply before dragging them down with a groan. "You sound like you did back then," she mutters. "Exactly like you did back then."

Haruto doesn’t flinch.

She knows what she sounds like.

She sounds like the same desperate, reckless fool who thought she could save Tenko. Who thought she could reach him, even when he was too far gone. Who thought that if she just pushed a little harder, if she just took more, if she just gave more, then maybe—maybe—it would be enough.

She remembers how that ended.

And yet, sitting here, battered and still bleeding, she is right back where she started.

Because this time, she won’t fail.

She can’t fail.

But before she can open her mouth, before she can push past the emotions clawing at her ribs, a familiar figure looms in the doorway.

Haruto stills.

Ren doesn’t say a word.

For a long moment, he just stands there, silent, his red eyes cutting through the room like something lethal. His shoulders are tense, his ears pressed flat against his head, tail lashing in sharp, uneven movements that betray the storm beneath his skin.

And then—

"You're not supposed to be out of bed," he says, voice low, eerily calm.

Haruto swallows.

There’s something dangerous in his tone, something that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She meets his gaze, unwavering, steady. "I don't have time to sit around."

Ren exhales sharply through his nose. He doesn’t move for a second, doesn’t even blink.

Then, with slow, measured steps, he crosses the room.

He stops in front of her, close enough that she can feel the heat rolling off him, close enough that she can see the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

"Get back in bed," he says, voice quieter now, steadier, but no less furious.

Haruto shakes her head. "Ren—"

"I swear to fucking god, Haruto—"

She reaches for the argument, the fight, the resistance that should come naturally—but before she can, his hands are on her shoulders.

Warm. Grounding.

And just like that, the weight of the pain, the exhaustion, the sheer reality of what happened crashes down on her.

Her breath stutters.

Ren’s fingers tighten. He’s trembling.

For the first time since she woke up, she sees it—the absolute, unfiltered devastation in his expression. The way his ears are still pinned down, the way his breathing is just slightly too sharp, too uneven. The way his body is wound too tight, like if he lets go of the tension, he’ll break apart completely.

And it hits her, like a blow to the chest.

He caught her.

She had been falling, and he caught her.

She had been bleeding to death, and he had held her in his arms, helpless, unable to do anything but watch as she nearly slipped away.

And now—now, she’s here, standing, talking about planning, like her body hadn’t almost stopped existing.

She barely has time to process it before Ren moves.

His arms scoop under her knees, his grip firm, unshakable, as he lifts her effortlessly into his hold.

"Ren—"

"No," he grits out, voice raw, heavy with something dangerously close to desperation. "I don’t want to fucking hear it."

She swallows the protest burning at the back of her throat.

Mina and Kirishima stay silent as he carries her out of the room, as if they know better than to interfere.

She doesn’t fight him.

Not when he carries her through the hallways. Not when he kicks their dorm door open with enough force to rattle the hinges. Not when he lays her down on their bed, pulling the blankets up around her like a shield, like a desperate attempt to keep her in place.

Not even when he kneels beside the bed, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles go white.

Not even when he finally exhales a sharp, shaking breath and whispers:

"I can't fucking lose you again."

She feels the burn at the back of her eyes before she can stop it.

Her fingers reach out, tangling in his hair, pulling him close until his forehead presses against hers.

"You won't," she murmurs. "I promise."

He doesn't believe her.

Not really.

But he doesn’t say it.

He just breathes.

And this time, when the silence stretches between them, it isn’t heavy.

It’s just them.

The moment Ren lays her down, Haruto finally lets herself feel it.

The pain.

The exhaustion.

The loss.

It drags at her, heavy and suffocating, curling around her bones like something vile, something clawing and relentless. She clenches her jaw, pushing it down, trying to breathe past the ache radiating from the gaping wound that had nearly stolen her life.

Ren is kneeling beside the bed, gripping the sheets so tight his fingers tremble. His tail lashes behind him, erratic and tense, his ears still pinned back, his whole body wound so tight it might snap apart at any second.

He’s not okay.

And neither is she.

Her fingers twitch, reaching—hesitating—for only a moment before she exhales softly, breaking the silence with something fragile.

"C’mere, please."

Ren's head jerks up instantly.

His red eyes, still burning with residual fury and something deeper—something broken—lock onto hers, searching. His hands flex against the blankets, as if he’s debating something, as if he wants to but won’t let himself.

Haruto doesn’t let him overthink it.

She shifts, ignoring the way her whole body protests the movement, ignoring the lingering fog of pain, ignoring the fact that every single breath feels like it's burning her from the inside out.

"I need you to hold me, Ren."

Her voice is barely above a whisper.

But it's enough.

Ren moves before he even realizes it.

One second, he's kneeling by the bed, tense and wrecked, and the next—he’s there, pressing in close, slipping under the covers, wrapping himself around her like a shield, like a promise, like something he can’t afford to lose again.

His arms tighten around her waist, careful but unyielding, his forehead pressing against the crook of her neck, breath warm and shuddering against her skin.

Haruto exhales slowly, something inside her unraveling as she sinks into the familiar weight of him.

His grip is almost too tight—almost—like he's still afraid she'll disappear, like if he lets go for even a second, she’ll slip through his fingers again. His tail curls around her leg, anchoring her, grounding him.

And Haruto lets him.

Because she needs this too.

Her fingers thread through his hair, trailing down, gentle and slow, grounding him the way he’s grounding her.

Ren shudders. His whole body sags, the last bit of tension bleeding from his muscles as he buries himself against her, gripping her like she's his lifeline, like he needs her to breathe.

Haruto swallows past the tightness in her throat.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs.

Ren flinches.

Haruto feels it—the way his fingers twitch against her back, the way his tail flicks sharply once before stilling. She feels the barely restrained shake in his breathing, the way his chest rises and falls in a rhythm that’s wrong—shallow, uneven, like he's holding something back.

Then—barely audible, so quiet she almost misses it—

"Don’t say that."

Haruto blinks.

Ren grips her tighter. "Don’t say that, Haruto. Not when—not after—" His breath catches. "You almost died. I—I fucking felt you slipping. I saw—" His voice breaks— "don’t say you're okay."

Haruto exhales softly, pressing her lips against his temple, letting her fingers glide over his scalp in slow, soothing motions.

"I’m here," she corrects instead.

Ren trembles.

But this time, he doesn’t say anything.

He just holds her tighter.

And Haruto lets herself fall into it.

The silence stretches, but it's not empty.

It’s full.

Full of everything they don’t say. Full of all the words that don’t need to be spoken. Full of history and grief and relief and something deeper, something unbreakable.

Eventually, Ren’s breathing evens out.

Eventually, the weight of exhaustion pulls them both under.

And for the first time since everything shattered—

For the first time since Haruto bled out in his arms, since Suki looked through them like they were nothing, since the world tore itself apart in front of them—

Ren sleeps.

And Haruto lets herself be held.

Ren sleeps.

For the first time since everything, since the world cracked at the seams, since Haruto bled out in his arms, since he thought—for real—that he had lost her, Ren finally sleeps.

It’s deep and warm and safe, his body molded around hers, the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest beneath his arm grounding him in a way nothing else could. She is here. She is breathing.

And that’s all he needs.

But Haruto—

Haruto doesn’t sleep.

She stares past the ceiling, her thoughts unraveling, stretching thin over the past and the future, over everything she’s gained and everything she’s about to lose.

She thinks about him.

About Katsuki.

Not Ren—not this Ren, not the boy sleeping so peacefully beside her, ears flicking faintly even now—but Katsuki Bakugo. Her Katsuki. The one who had died with her in his arms.

She remembers the way he held her—desperate, shaking, his hands fisting into her hero suit, clutching her like he could keep her there by sheer force of will.

"I got you, nerd."
"I got you. I got you. I got you."

Like a mantra, like a prayer, like if he said it enough, it would be true.

And now—now, Haruto wonders if she’s going to have to do the same.

If she’s going to have to give up just as much.

If—no matter how hard she fights, no matter how much she gives—this is how it ends for them. Again.

A soft, shuddering breath escapes her lips.

She doesn’t sob. She doesn’t shake.

But the tears slip out anyway.

Silent, warm, trailing down her cheeks in slow, quiet mourning.

Because it isn’t fair.

She had just started to dream again.

She had just started to believe—really believe—that she got to have this. That she got to have Ren. That she got to have Rei and Souta. That she got to have Ochako and Shoto and Kirishima and everyone else from before.

She had started to picture it—the life they could build, the future they could have.

One day, she and Ren could get married. Be pro heroes together again, fight side by side. Live.

Shit—she had even imagined—

Way, way, waaaay in the future—

Tiny, adorable little cat-eared and tailed babies.

She could give him children one day.

They could have a family.

But not if she died.

Not if he died.

Not if they both died.

And god—it hurts.

It hurts so much she feels like she’s being hollowed out from the inside.

She barely notices the way Ren shifts, instinctively pulling her closer, burying his face into her hair.

She barely notices the way his ears twitch, the way his nose wrinkles, the way his tail flicks slightly in irritation.

But when his whole body tenses—when he smells the tears—

Haruto feels him wake up.

It takes a second. He’s groggy, slow, half-asleep. But the second he registers the scent, the second his brain catches up, he knows.

His grip tightens.

“Haru…?” His voice is a rasp, deep and rough from sleep.

She stills.

Ren exhales sharply, eyes fluttering open, adjusting to the dim light of their dorm.

For a moment, he just stares at her.

Then—his brows knit together, his ears tilt back, and his tail stills.

"Why are you crying?" he asks, voice softer now.

Haruto blinks. The tears keep falling, even though she really, really doesn’t want them to.

She swallows.

And because it’s Ren—because he’s looking at her like that, like he sees straight through her, like lying would be pointless—

She tells the truth.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers.

Ren frowns. “What’s not?”

Haruto clenches her jaw, frustrated at herself, at everything.

“This,” she says. “All of this.” Her breath wobbles. “We had just—we had just started to really live again, Ren. We got to be happy. We got to have each other—we got to have everyone.”

Her voice cracks.

“And now I feel like it’s all about to be ripped away again.”

Ren stares.

And fuck—he feels that.

Because he’s been thinking the same thing.

Haruto sniffs quietly, looking away, like she’s ashamed of her own thoughts.

“I was stupid,” she mutters. “I let myself believe. I let myself dream about—” Her lips press together.

Ren tilts his head, his red eyes scanning her face.

“Dream about what?”

Haruto exhales, something tight and aching in her chest.

“You.”

Ren blinks.

Haruto swallows, voice barely above a whisper.

“Us.”

Ren stops breathing.

Haruto keeps going—because if she stops, she might never say it.

“I imagined us being pro heroes again,” she says, voice small. “Side by side. Fighting together. Living together.”

Ren doesn’t speak.

Haruto looks down at her hands.

She stops.

But Ren hears it.

He sees it.

Something clicks in his head, something big, something so much more than he was prepared for—

And suddenly—he gets it.

His ears twitch.

His tail flicks.

His chest feels too tight.

Ren swallows hard, trying to breathe.

His heart is pounding.

And then—

“…I want it too,” he admits.

Haruto jerks.

Her wide, tear-filled green eyes snap to his.

Ren holds her gaze, something raw, something real shining in his.

“…I want it too,” he repeats, voice quieter this time. “I want all of it.”

Haruto’s breath catches.

And then—before she can stop herself—she kisses him.

Soft. Desperate. Full of everything she can’t put into words.

Ren melts.

Because fuck—he wants this. He wants her. He wants every damn impossible dream she’s ever had.

But more than anything—

He wants them to live long enough to make it real.

Chapter Text

Ren doesn’t know how long it’s been. Days. Weeks. Hours. Maybe no time at all. Maybe forever. Time is meaningless here. It stretches, distorts, rots. Just like him.

He doesn’t remember the last time he ate. Doesn’t remember the last time he drank. His tongue is swollen in his mouth, thick and dry, his lips cracked and bloody. The wounds on his body—deep, raw, wrong—refuse to close. Some are jagged, carved by claws that were never his. Some are smooth, precise, like she had taken her time. Like she had wanted them to be beautiful.

She says she loves him.

Suki—**Entropy—**kneels beside him, fingers brushing through his matted, blood-clotted hair, humming something soft and sickeningly sweet. Ren flinches, or tries to, but his body is too weak to recoil properly. It’s useless. She notices anyway.

"Aww, don’t be like that, Ren," she murmurs, pressing her palm to his cheek. He wants to vomit. "You’re being difficult."

Her fingers trail down, slow, deliberate, tracing the sharp edges of his hollowed-out body, the places where he’s lost too much—too much blood, too much weight, too much of himself.

He’s starving.

He’s dying.

And she knows it.

She likes it.

Her touch is affectionate, in a way that makes him want to scream. Not cruel. Not violent. Worshipful. Like she’s taking care of something precious. Something fragile. Something that belongs to her.

Ren’s stomach twists.

Suki smiles.

"You’re mine now," she whispers against his temple, her breath too warm, too human. It shouldn’t be. Nothing about her is. "You’ve always been mine, haven’t you?"

Ren doesn’t answer.

She laughs.

Soft. Pleased.

"I knew you’d come back to me," she says, her fingers slipping under his chin, tilting his head up. He can’t fight it. Doesn’t have the strength. "I knew, no matter what, you’d find your way home."

Home.

He wants to rip his own throat out.

Suki watches him like she can hear the thought. Maybe she can. Maybe she’s inside his head. Maybe she’s always been.

She hums, tilting her head, gaze flickering over the damage she’s done—the bruises, the cuts, the slow, decaying places where his body is forgetting how to exist.

"I hate when you bleed," she murmurs, swiping a thumb over a dried streak of crimson across his cheek. "But I love how you look in red."

Ren clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches.

She sighs, something wistful, something mockingly soft, and then—presses a kiss to his temple.

Ren snaps.

Or—he would.

If he had anything left in him.

Instead, he just shudders, the sound that leaves him pathetic, half a gasp, half a sob, something wrecked and helpless and breaking.

Suki hears it. She smiles.

"That’s better," she whispers.

Ren is too weak to scream.

Too weak to pull away when she shifts closer, wrapping herself around him, curling into his side like she belongs there. Like she’s not the thing that’s killing him. Like she’s not the thing hollowing him out, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left to take.

"You’re not fighting me anymore," she says, nuzzling into his throat. Her voice lilts, teasing. "Does that mean you’re ready to accept it?"

Ren swallows down the bile.

She pulls back, studying him, tilting her head.

"You were always meant to be mine, you know," she murmurs, thoughtful. "Even back then, you belonged to me. I think I just needed to remind you."

Ren's vision is swimming.

He can’t tell if it’s from the blood loss, the exhaustion, or the fact that something inside him is finally crumbling.

"You love me, don’t you?"

His breath hitches.

Suki smiles, slow and knowing. She tugs him closer.

"You do," she answers for him.

Ren’s entire body is shaking.

He hates her.

Hates her.

Hates himself.

Because she’s wrong. She’s wrong.

But there’s a part of him—**a desperate, dying part of him, the part that refuses to hurt her, the part that refuses to stop seeing her as a child, as a person, as something that isn’t a fucking monster—**that almost wants to believe her.

Just so this can stop.

Just so he can stop fighting.

Just so he can be done.

Suki sees it. Sees it.

She leans in.

Her voice is quiet, soft, deadly.

"You can let go now, Ren," she whispers, stroking through his hair, soothing, almost loving. "There’s nothing left for you out there."

Ren’s heart stops.

For a moment, just a moment, he feels it.

The pull.

The truth in her words.

He’s alone.

No one is coming.

Not this time.

And maybe—maybe—

He never wanted them to.

For a second—**just a second—**Ren remembers.

It’s not this place. Not the cold, suffocating, rotting void of her touch, her voice, her everything. Not the slow unraveling of himself beneath the weight of something he refuses to break.

It’s Haruto.

Bright. Burning. Fierce.

She tears through his mind like a wildfire, like the strike of lightning before the storm hits, like the moment before an explosion.

Haruto, standing in the sun, hands on her hips, hair a mess, eyes green, green, green.

Haruto, grinning at him, poking at his ribs, calling him Kacchan like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Haruto, alive.

Ren’s body lurches. His breath stutters, something like fire igniting in his chest, something clawing, tearing, screaming.

No.

No, no, no, no.

He has to go back.

He has to get out.

He has to—

But then—

Then he sees her.

And it all dies.

It happens in an instant—his fire, his fight, his last desperate **fucking hope—**it flickers, wavers, and then goes out completely.

Because she’s looking at him.

And her eyes—

They aren’t hers anymore.

They’re Mina’s.

Wide, warm, full of something too human to belong in this place.

And her teeth—when she grins, slow and knowing and too, too familiar—

They’re Kirishima’s.

Shark teeth.

Like she’s about to tell him it’s gonna be okay.

Like she’s about to laugh and call him some dumb nickname and slap him on the back like everything isn’t coming apart at the fucking seams—

Ren chokes.

The fight dies.

Everything in him screams to keep going, to push through, to tear his way back to Haruto—

But he can’t.

He fucking can’t.

Because it’s them. It’s them.

Even if it’s not.

Even if it’s just another twist of Entropy, another illusion, another piece of himself unraveling.

Even if it’s the thing inside her, warping her, shaping her into something he knows isn’t real.

He still sees them.

And he can’t do it.

He can’t fucking do it.

So instead—

He folds.

Crumbles, body shaking, hands clutching at his hair as he sinks to his knees.

His own breath betrays him, ragged and frustrated and broken.

Tears burn down his face before he can stop them.

He hates himself.

Hates himself more than he has ever hated anything.

Because he should have fought harder. Should have done something, anything, fucking anything—

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

And now—

Now he’s never going home.

Never going back to Haruto.

Never going back to them.

Because he lost.

And she won.

She kneels in front of him, fingers curling beneath his chin, tilting his head up just enough to make him look at her.

He doesn’t fight it.

He doesn’t move.

Just breathes. Just shakes.

Just gives up.

"There you go," Suki whispers, brushing his damp hair from his face. "See? It’s easier this way."

Ren sobs.

And this time, he doesn’t stop her.

Haruto has given everything.

She is running on empty, pushing herself beyond limits that are already dangerous.

And Rei?

Rei watches.

He watches as she skips meals, as she ignores sleep, as she keeps fighting with everything she has.

And he—

He keeps his promise.

He keeps her secret.

But every day—

He wonders if this is the biggest mistake of his life.

Because if he loses her, too—

If she dies before Ren is even back—

He will never forgive himself.

Chapter Text

Rei hates this.

Hates watching her do this to herself.

Hates the way she moves like a ghost, barely eating, barely sleeping, barely even existing outside of tracking leads and preparing for the next fight.

He follows her through the halls of UA, scowling, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watches her pick at a protein bar like it’s a goddamn burden to eat.

Haruto doesn’t even look at him.

"Don’t start," she mutters.

Rei’s eyes narrow.

"Not starting anything," he says flatly. "Just making sure you don’t drop dead in the next five minutes."

Haruto rolls her eyes, taking the tiniest possible bite of the protein bar before shoving it back into her pocket.

That’s it.

That’s her meal.

Rei snaps.

"The fuck was that?" he demands.

Haruto sighs. "It’s food, Rei."

"That wasn’t food," he argues. "That was a nibble. Like a fucking rodent. You’re eating like a damn mouse. Try again."

Haruto glares at him. "I ate."

Rei steps in front of her, blocking her path.

"No, you didn’t," he says, voice sharp. "You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You think I don’t notice how much weight you’ve lost? How you barely sleep? How you’re running yourself into the fucking ground?"

Haruto’s jaw clenches.

"Rei—"

"You’re pregnant," he hisses, voice low and furious. "Do you even remember that? Because I do. Every goddamn second, I remember. And all I see is you—draining yourself, pushing yourself, risking your life over and over like it doesn’t fucking matter."

Haruto flinches.

It’s the first real reaction he’s gotten out of her in days.

Rei exhales hard, dragging a hand through his hair.

"You don’t get to do this," he mutters. "Not this time."

Haruto finally looks at him.

And what he sees in her eyes—

It wrecks him.

Because she’s not just tired.

She’s not just running on fumes.

She’s scared.

Terrified, even.

And fuck, of course she is.

Because Ren is gone.

Because she doesn’t know if he’s alive.

Because she is doing this alone.

"Rei," she says softly.

And he hates the way it sounds.

Like she’s preparing for something.

Like she’s already planning to throw herself headfirst into something she might not come back from.

"Eat," he says, voice raw. "Drink some fucking water. Take care of yourself."

Haruto looks away.

"I can’t," she whispers.

Rei’s stomach twists.

"Why?" he presses.

Haruto clenches her fists. "Because if I stop moving—if I stop for even a second—"

Her breath shudders.

"—then I have to think about it."

And Rei understands.

Of course, he understands.

Because this is exactly what she’s always done.

This is Izuku fucking Midoriya all over again.

Run until you collapse.

Fight until there’s nothing left of you.

Throw yourself into saving everyone else and pretend like you’re not the one bleeding out.

Rei closes his eyes.

"Haruto," he says, voice softer now. "Ren is still out there."

Haruto freezes.

"You don’t know that," she whispers.

Rei takes a deep breath. "You’re right. I don’t. But if he is—"

His gaze sharpens.

"Then you damn well better still be alive when we get him back."

Haruto’s breath catches.

And for a moment, just a moment, she lets it show.

The exhaustion. The pain. The fear.

Rei places a bento box into her hands.

She looks at it, then back up at him.

"Eat," he says. "You don’t have a choice."

Haruto stares at the box for a long, long moment.

And then—finally—

She opens it.

Takes a bite.

Rei exhales, shoulders easing just slightly.

"Good," he mutters. "Now drink some damn water."

Haruto huffs under her breath.

"Bossy," she mumbles.

Rei smirks, nudging her with his shoulder.

"Annoying as hell," he counters.

Haruto snorts.

And for the first time in weeks, it feels almost normal.

Almost.

Souta doesn’t buy it.

Not for a second.

Not the forced meals, not the quiet compliance, not the way Rei’s been hovering around Haruto like she’s one wrong move away from shattering.

Something’s wrong.

Very wrong.

And Rei’s keeping it from him.

Which is bullshit.

Because Souta knows Haruto better than anyone.

She’s his best friend. His partner in crime. The only person in this entire fucked-up, reincarnated mess who could keep up with him.

And now?

She’s a shell.

She’s still there—still moving, still talking, still fighting.

But it’s wrong.

It’s so wrong it makes his stomach turn.

And Rei fucking knows something.

Souta watches him watch her.

The way he checks her plate. The way he makes her drink water. The way he always, always positions himself near her in fights, like he’s expecting something to go wrong.

Like he’s waiting for her to fall apart.

Souta’s done waiting.

He corners Rei that night.

“Spill.”

Rei doesn’t look up from the reports he’s going over.

“Go away.”

Souta glares. “Not happening.”

Rei sighs, rubbing his temples. “What do you want, dumbass?”

“I want to know what the fuck is going on with Haruto,” Souta snaps.

Rei’s shoulders go tense.

Bingo.

Souta steps in closer, lowering his voice.

“I know you know,” he mutters. “And I know she’s not telling me. But something’s wrong, Rei. And if you think I’m just gonna sit here and let you keep me in the dark, then you don’t know me at all.”

Rei closes his eyes.

He doesn’t want to do this.

Doesn’t want to say it.

Because once he does, once Souta knows—

It’ll make it real.

And fuck, it’s already too real.

But Souta isn’t backing down.

So Rei opens his eyes, meets his gaze, and says it.

“She’s pregnant.”

Silence.

Souta stares.

Then—

“…What?”

Rei exhales sharply.

“She’s pregnant,” he repeats. “And she’s not taking care of herself.”

Souta’s mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“…You’re fucking with me,” he says weakly. “This is a joke, right?”

Rei doesn’t answer.

Souta pales.

His stomach drops.

Oh, fuck.

Haruto.

Pregnant.

With Ren’s baby.

And Ren isn’t even here.

Oh, fuck.

He sways slightly, gripping the back of a chair to steady himself.

Rei watches him carefully.

“Now you get it,” he says quietly.

Souta lets out a shaky breath.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

Because holy shit.

Haruto.

Haruto—who doesn’t eat.

Haruto—who doesn’t sleep.

Haruto—who throws herself into battle like she has nothing left to lose.

And she’s—

She’s carrying Ren’s baby.

And she’s going to fucking lose it if she keeps this up.

Souta snaps his head up.

“We can’t let this happen,” he says, dead serious.

Rei nods. “No. We can’t.”

Souta clenches his jaw. “If we don’t stop this—if we don’t make her take care of herself—”

Rei finishes for him.

“Ren will kill us.”

Souta exhales hard.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “And so will I.”

They triple down on taking care of her after that.

Souta doesn’t let her skip a single meal.

Rei doesn’t let her overuse her quirk.

Every time she tries to push herself too far, one of them is there.

Blocking her.

Stopping her.

Holding her back from destroying herself.

And she hates it.

She glares, she argues, she tries to shrug it off.

But they won’t let her.

And when nothing works, when she refuses to listen—

They force her to.

The Breaking Point

It happens late at night.

Haruto is standing in the UA war room, staring down at maps, at plans, at everything except her own fucking body.

Souta and Rei walk in.

Haruto doesn’t acknowledge them.

“Haruto,” Rei says.

Nothing.

Souta clenches his fists.

“Haruto.”

Still nothing.

And then—

Souta slams a hand down on the table.

Haruto jumps.

And finally—**finally—**she looks at them.

“What,” she snaps.

Souta’s eyes burn.

“You’re pregnant,” he growls. “Do you even fucking remember that?”

Haruto freezes.

Souta takes a step closer.

“Because we do,” he says, voice shaking. “Every fucking second. And we’re watching you throw yourself away. We’re watching you act like none of this matters—like you don’t matter. Like this baby doesn’t matter.”

Haruto flinches.

“Shut up,” she mutters.

Souta’s hands slam against the table.

“No,” he snaps. “You shut up. Because if you don’t stop—if you don’t take care of yourself—this baby is going to die.”

Haruto’s breath catches.

Her eyes widen.

And Souta hates saying it.

Hates how fucking cruel it is.

But it’s the only thing that will get through to her.

“If you don’t eat,” he continues, voice like steel, “if you don’t rest, if you keep using your quirk like this—you are going to lose it, Haruto. Is that what you want?”

Haruto’s lips part.

Her whole body locks up.

And then—

She breaks.

Right there, in front of them, she crumbles.

Her hands fly to her stomach, shaking.

Her breath hitches.

And then—

Tears.

Silent. Gut-wrenching.

Rei’s jaw tightens.

Souta lets out a shaky breath.

And finally—

She whispers, “No.”

Rei nods.

“Then start acting like it.”

Haruto inhales sharply.

She blinks fast, tries to pull herself together.

And then—

She nods.

“Okay,” she whispers.

And this time—

She means it.

Haruto Tries Her Best

Haruto keeps her promise.

She forces herself to eat.

She lets Rei and Souta take care of her.

She rests when she has to.

She does everything she can to protect the baby.

Because she won’t—can’t—lose another piece of Ren.

And the weeks keep ticking forward.

She gets stronger.

Not physically—her body is still struggling. Still aching, still working overtime to sustain life while she fights a fucking war.

But she stays standing.

And that’s enough.

For now.

At first, she can still hide it.

The weight gain is subtle.

She was always small. Always wiry. The muscle she’s built over her years of training keeps her from looking too different.

But around month four, her stomach starts to round.

Not much.

Barely noticeable.

But she notices.

So she starts wearing Ren’s hoodie.

At first, it’s just because it’s comfortable.

Just because it smells like him.

But then—

Then she realizes that it hides everything.

And after that, she never takes it off.

Rei and Souta notice immediately.

They exchange worried looks.

They don’t say anything.

Because at least she’s trying now.

At least she’s alive.

At least she’s not throwing herself into battle like she has nothing to lose.

But the closer they get to finding Ren—

The more desperate she becomes.

The harder she trains.

The faster she moves.

Because every second that passes is another second that Ren is out there.

Alone.

And she’s not going to let him die.

Not again.

Not this time.

Haruto Tries Her Best

Haruto keeps her promise.

She forces herself to eat.

She lets Rei and Souta take care of her.

She rests when she has to.

She does everything she can to protect the baby.

Because she won’t—can’t—lose another piece of Ren.

And the weeks keep ticking forward.

She gets stronger.

Not physically—her body is still struggling. Still aching, still working overtime to sustain life while she fights a fucking war.

But she stays standing.

And that’s enough.

For now.

At first, she can still hide it.

The weight gain is subtle.

She was always small. Always wiry. The muscle she’s built over her years of training keeps her from looking too different.

But around month four, her stomach starts to round.

Not much.

Barely noticeable.

But she notices.

So she starts wearing Ren’s hoodie.

At first, it’s just because it’s comfortable.

Just because it smells like him.

But then—

Then she realizes that it hides everything.

And after that, she never takes it off.

Rei and Souta notice immediately.

They exchange worried looks.

They don’t say anything.

Because at least she’s trying now.

At least she’s alive.

At least she’s not throwing herself into battle like she has nothing to lose.

But the closer they get to finding Ren—

The more desperate she becomes.

The harder she trains.

The faster she moves.

Because every second that passes is another second that Ren is out there.

Alone.

And she’s not going to let him die.

Not again.

Not this time.

Ren doesn’t remember what it feels like to be full.

He doesn’t remember what it feels like to be clean either.

The filth clings to him—layers upon layers of blood and sweat and something rancid, something rotting. His own body is betraying him, the slow decay setting in, wounds festering, fever gnawing at his bones. His head swims. His breath rattles in his lungs like broken glass.

Food is a privilege.

Water is a reward.

And Suki makes him beg for it.

Sometimes, she gives it to him. A sip of water from the tips of her fingers, a bite of something just enough to keep him on the edge of starvation without letting him die.

Most of the time, she doesn’t.

He holds out as long as he can. Refuses to let her see him break. Refuses to let her see him weak.

But hunger is a bitch.

And thirst is worse.

His lips are cracked, split down the middle, dry and peeling. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth. His throat burns. His ribs have started to show, stretching his skin too tight over bones that feel like they’ll crack with the next breath.

He’s not healing.

The wounds fester.

It’s getting worse.

And sometimes—sometimes—he gives in.

“…Please.”

Suki tilts her head, eyes glowing, shifting, cracking at the edges with golden fractures of Entropy. She crouches in front of him, close enough that he can smell her—warm, untouched, clean. The scent of something he can’t have anymore.

“Please what?” she whispers.

Ren clenches his teeth. His tail—limp, useless—twitches weakly against the nothingness beneath him.

“…Water.”

Suki smiles.

Bright. Sweet. Like she’s rewarding a pet.

“Good boy.”

Ren wants to vomit.

Wants to sink his claws into his own stomach and rip something out just to feel like he still has some kind of control.

He hates this.

Hates the way she talks to him.
Hates the way she thinks she owns him.
Hates the way she acts like she loves him.

Because she doesn’t.
She doesn’t even know what love is.

But she strokes her fingers down the side of his face, tucking damp strands of hair behind his ear, nails ghosting against his fever-warm skin, and he doesn’t have the strength to pull away.

She coos at him, voice thick with mock sympathy.

“You’re burning up, Ren. Are you sick?”

Her hand drifts down his throat, past his collarbone, over his ribs—lingering over a wound that hasn’t closed. Her fingers press, just slightly, just enough for a pulse of wet, sticky pain to bloom under her touch.

Ren jerks, teeth clenching around a strangled noise.

Suki laughs.

Low. Amused. Loving.

“Oh, Kacchan,” she whispers, tilting his face up so he has no choice but to meet her gaze. “You’re not going to last much longer, are you?”

Ren sways, dizzy.

She lets him. She watches.

And something about that—something about the way she studies him, like she’s waiting for him to crack, to shatter into something unrecognizable—makes bile rise in his throat.

He coughs. Dry. Violent. Feels something wet and metallic coat his tongue.

Not blood.

Not exactly.

Suki hums, brushing a thumb over his lips, wiping it away before he can even register what it is.

"Poor thing," she murmurs. "Fighting so hard for nothing."

Ren swallows hard.

He can’t do this.

He has to do this.

His chest heaves. His head is pounding. He feels like he’s going to fall apart if he moves wrong. His fingers twitch, weak and useless in his lap.

And then—

Haruto.

Haruto.

The thought hits him like lightning, like a wildfire burning through the rot in his mind, clearing the haze for just a second.

She’s waiting for him.
She’s fighting for him.
She’s out there.

And he—

He has to get back to her.

He forces himself to focus, to see past the darkness curling at the edges of his vision. His lips part, voice raw, cracked, something desperate clinging to the words before he can even process what he’s saying.

“Your parents love you.”

Suki stiffens.

Her entire body locks up, fingers curling against his jaw too tight, too sharp.

Ren breathes through the pain.

“They never stopped,” he rasps, blinking sluggishly. His head lolls slightly, but he forces himself to keep looking at her. “They’re—they’re waiting for you.”

Silence.

It stretches between them, thick, suffocating.

Suki smiles.

It’s soft. Gentle. Almost real.

Then—

Her fingers dig in.

Ren gasps.

"You’re so sweet," she whispers, tilting her head. “Even now, even after everything—you’re still trying to save me.”

She strokes a hand through his hair, soothing.

Ren trembles.

"But I don’t need saving."

He sucks in a sharp breath.

And then—then she leans in, presses her lips to his temple. Soft. Sickening.

“You’re mine, Kacchan,” she whispers against his skin. “You’ve always been mine.”

Chapter Text

They were so close.

UA’s war room was a blur of movement, weapons being prepped, support gear being secured, final strategies being laid out. They had leads. They had a trail. For the first time in three months, they had a fucking chance to get Ren back.

Haruto stood at the center of it all, arms crossed, weight shifting slightly. Her hands twitched, fingers flexing like she could already feel him in them. Ren. He was out there. He was close. She knew it. She could feel it in her chest, in her pulse, in the way Genesis had been burning hotter, more violently with every passing day.

This was it.

This was the moment she got him back.

And then—

The air changed.

It wasn’t an attack. It wasn’t a breach. It was worse.

Because the front doors of UA opened.

And Suki walked in.

And she wasn’t alone.

Haruto’s stomach dropped.

Because she was dragging something.

No—someone.

No one moved. No one breathed.

Because the thing—**the person—**that Suki held up by the back of his torn, blood-soaked shirt, dangling like a broken doll, wasn’t just anyone.

It was Ren.

And he was barely alive.

Haruto’s body locked. She heard someone choke out a sound—maybe Kirishima, maybe Mina, maybe herself. But it didn’t matter. Because he was here. Because he was dying.

His skin was gray, his body horrifyingly thin, bones jutting against his shredded clothes, lips cracked, fever-bright eyes unfocused. His ears drooped. His tail was nothing but a limp, matted rope of fur and dried blood. He swayed in Suki’s grip, too weak to stand on his own, too gone to even react.

But the worst part?

The worst part was his expression.

Empty.

He wasn’t afraid. Wasn’t angry. Wasn’t anything.

Ren—Katsuki—who had never once gone down without a fight, wasn’t fighting.

Something in Haruto cracked.

Suki dragged him forward, smiling. Her lips curled, too sharp, too knowing. "I need you to fix him," she announced. Her voice echoed—something wrong slithering beneath it, something ancient, something too powerful to be human.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Suki sighed, rolling her eyes. "He’s broken," she said, shaking Ren like she was talking about a shattered toy. "And I don’t want him if he’s broken."

Haruto’s pulse roared.

Everything in her—**everything—**went still.

You don’t want him?

She had—**for three months—**she had done this to him, **starved him, cut him, hollowed him out, stripped him of everything, destroyed him—**and now she didn’t want him anymore?

The silence shattered.

Because Haruto moved.

The air cracked.

Not just the air—reality itself.

Haruto didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t breathe.

Because Ren was here.

Because Suki had done this to him.

Because Suki had tortured him. Starved him. Torn him apart piece by fucking piece.

And now she had the audacity to show up and ask them to fix him?

Something in Haruto snapped.

Genesis erupted.

Light—pure, prismatic, alive—shattered through the room, casting eerie rainbow fractures across the walls, the floors, the faces of everyone standing there.

The walls shook.

The ground splintered.

Suki barely had time to blink before Haruto was already on her.

She didn’t just **move—**she exploded forward, raw light twisting into massive constructs in a blur of violent motion.

A fist. A blade. A mace. Something ancient, celestial, powerful.

She swung.

Suki dodged. Barely.

The wall behind her wasn’t so lucky.

Haruto didn’t give her a chance to breathe.

Genesis warped and pulsed around her, an extension of her fury, morphing into something monstrous—jagged spikes of searing light ripping from the floor, massive gauntlets forming around her hands, each one heavier than planets, stronger than gravity itself.

Suki laughed.

Mocking. Sharp.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, that’s it. Show me how much you love him, Haruto."

Haruto saw red.

Genesis answered.

The light around her condensed—sharp, dangerous, shifting into serrated, neon constructs that hummed with an eerie, unnatural beauty.

She launched herself at Suki again.

This time, she didn’t miss.

A spear of Genesis impaled Suki’s shoulder, sending her reeling back with a snarl, golden fractures splitting through her skin like shattered glass.

But she didn’t fall.

She didn’t even slow down.

Because Entropy wasn’t a body. It was a force.

And Suki—**or whatever she had become—**was no longer something mortal.

Haruto didn’t care.

Because Ren had stepped between them.