Chapter Text
Nana Shimura had been dead for decades, but she'd never felt more helpless than she did watching Toshinori Yagi slowly kill himself.
From within the void of One For All, she could see everything he saw, feel the ragged edge of his breathing, the constant ache in his side where his injury had never properly healed. She felt every landing that jarred his damaged organs, every forced smile that cost him more than anyone knew.
"Another one," Toshinori muttered, launching himself toward yet another villain attack. His phone hadn't stopped buzzing in six hours. Every petty crime, every mugging, every reported disturbance—he answered them all.
Because there's no one else, she heard him think. Because I have to be enough.
"Toshinori, you stubborn bastard," Nana whispered into the void where no one could hear her. Except someone did.
"He's going to die if he keeps this up," En said flatly. The normally stoic fifth user sounded worried. "His body can't take much more."
"He won't listen," Yoichi added softly. "He never does. He thinks carrying the weight alone makes him stronger."
Nana watched as Toshinori landed another punch, felt the way his vision swam for just a moment before he steadied himself. Watched him turn down help from other heroes. Watched him skip another meal because there was always another call.
When Recovery Girl cornered him at UA, Toshinori smiled that damn smile and promised he was fine.
He was lying.
"You know what?" Nana said, her voice sharp enough that all the vestiges turned toward her. "I'm starting to think my successor is an idiot."
Yoichi blinked. In all their years together in this strange afterlife, Nana had never said anything like that about Toshinori. She defended him constantly, spoke of him with pride and love, called him one of the best men she'd ever known, and treated him like the second son she'd never had.
"What's up with you?" Yoichi asked carefully.
"Well, it's just—I'm worried about the lug, you see." Nana's form flickered with agitation. "He's been working so hard after taking out All For One, even though he shouldn't be. His injury—God, his injury—and he just keeps pushing. I'm worried he's going to kill himself. And I, for one, do not want him joining us so soon."
"Well, it's not like we can tell him 'get some fucking rest' now, can we?" Yoichi growled, frustration bleeding through.
They'd all tried reaching out, pushing feelings of exhaustion or concern through the connection, but Toshinori interpreted it as the quirk demanding more from him.
"No, we really can't." Nana's voice was heavy. "But surely there is something we can do, right?"
The void fell silent except for the distant echo of Toshinori's heartbeat—too fast, too strained.
Then Second spoke up, his gruff voice cutting through the despair. "We could find a new successor."
"What?"
"Can we do that?"
"Is that even possible?"
"I don't know," Yoichi said slowly, his form brightening with sudden interest. "Then again, I had no idea I could even pass my quirk on until it happened the first time. Have we ever tried to leave this space?"
The answer was immediate and unanimous: no. They'd been trapped in the void since their deaths, passengers in their successors' lives but never participants.
Until they tried.
It started with Yoichi, naturally. He simply... pushed. And suddenly he was standing on a rooftop in Tokyo, the city spread below him, Toshinori a bright beacon of power somewhere in the distance.
"Holy shit," En breathed as one by one, they materialized. "We're out."
They tested the limits quickly. A mile, maybe a mile and a half—that's how far they could drift before the connection snapped them back like rubber bands into Toshinori's body and the void.
But a mile was enough.
"You know what this means, right?" Yoichi said, sounding more excited than Nana had heard him in years. "We can go looking for a successor. Then Toshinori will have to take a break!"
"And with all of us looking," Daigoro added, cracking his knuckles with a grin, "surely one of us will find a good successor."
Nana felt something she hadn't felt in a long time: hope.
"All right," she said firmly. "Let's save my idiot not son from himself."
En had always been the most patient of the vestiges—mostly because he'd had to be. Decades spent alone with a quirk that turned him into a living smoke bomb, then more decades listening to the fourth user's paranoid danger sense rambling had taught him how to observe quietly and wait for the right moment.
So when the vestiges fanned out across the city around Toshinori, each searching for someone who felt right, Hakage simply drifted.
He let instinct guide him, following a pull he couldn't name through alleyways and along school fences, past convenience stores and apartment buildings, until—
There.
A playground. A cluster of children. And a blonde brat at the center of it all.
The kid couldn't have been more than five, but he already acted like he owned the world. He strutted around with sparks popping from his palms as the other children shrank away, a miniature tyrant in the making.
But En wasn't looking at him.
He was looking at the tiny boy with impossible green hair stepping in front of another crying child, arms spread wide even though he was shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.
The blonde kid—Bakugou, someone called him—sneered. "Move it, Deku! That crybaby deserves it for being useless!"
"N-no!" The green-haired boy's voice cracked, but he didn't move. "Leave him alone, Kacchan! He didn't do anything wrong!"
Bakugou's palms sparked brighter. "I said move, you quirkless loser!"
The word hung in the air like a slap.
Quirkless.
The green-haired boy—Izuku, one of the other kids had called him—flinched. His arms trembled. His eyes were shining with unshed tears.
But his feet stayed planted.
"I don't care," Izuku said, voice barely above a whisper. "You can't just hurt people because you're stronger, Kacchan. That's not whdat heroes do."
En felt something settle in his chest like a stone dropping into a still pond, sending ripples through his entire being.
That one.
He drifted closer, studying the boy. Five years old. Quirkless, apparently. Terrified out of his mind.
And standing his ground anyway.
Perfect.
En reached out, letting his presence brush against the boy's—just a whisper, a promise. Izuku shivered and looked around, confused, but En was already pulling back into the void.
He had a report to make.
In the void, the vestiges stirred as En reformed among them.
'Already?' Nana sounded startled.
'You chose a kid? ' Second added flatly.
'A five-year-old kid?' Fourth growled.
But Yoichi only hummed, intrigued. 'Show us.'
En expanded the memory—Izuku's shaking legs, his terrified defiance, the way he'd shielded a kid twice his size with no hesitation whatsoever.
The void filled with quiet approval.
Daigoro whistled low. "Kid's got guts."
"And heart," Nana added softly. "Look at him. He's quirkless and he still—"
"He stood up anyway," Second finished. For once, the usually critical second user sounded approving. "No quirk, no advantage. Just... principle."
"He's going to get himself killed," Third muttered, but there was fondness in his voice.
"Probably," En agreed. "But not if we get to him first."
Yoichi's form brightened with satisfaction. "Then we're decided? The green bean is the one?"
One by one, the vestiges voiced their agreement.
Finally, Nana exhaled.
"Yeah. All right. He's ours." She paused, then smiled—the first real smile since they'd started this venture. "Poor Toshinori. He's going to be so confused."
"Good," En said firmly. "Maybe it'll shock him into taking care of himself."
"From your lips to whatever gods are listening," Nana murmured.
But first, they had a five-year-old to prepare.
And En had a feeling this was going to be interesting.
The day Izuku Midoriya's life changed forever was like any other. He'd awoken feeling strangely like he'd swallowed something strange, though how that could be possible, he didn't know. And he'd gone to school, just like always. And of course, Kacchan was the instigator for the change, because of course Kacchan was the reason everything would change for him, again.
"Give it back, Kacchan!" A smaller boy—Suzuki, from the other kindergarten class—sobbed, reaching for his All Might figurine. Bakugou held it high, grinning meanly.
"What's the magic word, extra?"
"Please!"
"Wrong! It's 'Bakugou-sama is the best!'" Sparks popped from his palm, dangerously close to the toy. "Say it or I'll melt it!"
Izuku's feet were moving before his brain caught up. "Kacchan, stop! That's his favorite—"
Bakugou whirled on him. "Stay out of this, Deku!"
"Just give it back," Izuku pleaded, positioning himself between Bakugou and Suzuki. "It's not yours."
"And what are you gonna do about it, quirkless wonder?" Bakugou shoved him. Hard.
Izuku stumbled but didn't fall. "Kacchan—"
"Run!" Suzuki grabbed his figurine—Bakugou had dropped it in surprise when Izuku didn't immediately back down—and bolted.
Bakugou's face went red. "You little—"
He lunged for Suzuki, but Izuku grabbed his arm. "Kacchan, no!"
"Let GO!"
Explosions popped against Izuku's hands. Pain flared, sharp and bright, but Izuku held on because Suzuki was getting away, he just needed a few more seconds—
Inside the void, En felt the boy's desperation like a prayer.
'Hold on, kid. I've got you.'
He pushed.
The world erupted in purple-grey smoke.
It poured from Izuku like water from a broken dam, thick and choking, filling the playground in seconds. Children screamed. Someone called for a teacher.
And Izuku stood frozen in the center of it all, staring at his hands in shock.
"What—" He coughed. "What's happening?!"
'Easy,' En's whispered, gentle and amused. 'You're okay, kid. Just breathe. Think about wanting it to stop.'
And to his surprise, the kid thought about it. Desperately.
The smoke vanished like it had never been.
Teachers were running over now, and Bakugou was coughing and cursing, but Suzuki was gone—safely away.
And Izuku...
Izuku looked down at his hands, trembling and burnt from Bakugou's explosions, and felt something ignite in his chest.
'I have a quirk,' he thought, awed and disbelieving and overwhelmingly, impossibly happy. 'I have a quirk!'
Inko Midoriya sobbed when Izuku came home and demonstrated, filling their small apartment with smoke before making it disappear with a thought.
"My baby!" She pulled him into a crushing hug. "You manifested a quirk! Oh, Izuku, I'm so proud of you!"
"I know, Mom! I can be a hero now!" Izuku was bouncing, practically vibrating with excitement. "I can go to UA and—and everything! Just like All Might!"
Inko laughed through her tears and held him tighter.
In the void, the vestiges watched through En's eyes.
"Well," Nana said softly, "there's no going back now."
"Did you feel that?" Yoichi asked. "The moment the quirk activated?"
They all had. The connection had pulled, drawing power from One For All through Hakage and into Izuku. Not the stockpile—that was too much for a five-year-old's body—but Hakage's original quirk, the smoke.
"It worked," En said, sounding amazed. "The transfer actually worked."
"Partially," Second corrected. "He has access to one quirk. We'll need to be careful about giving him more."
"One's enough for now," Hakage said firmly. "Let him adjust. Learn to use it. We've got time."
"And Toshinori?" Daigoro asked.
They all felt it—the sudden drain on One For All's stockpile. Not much, barely noticeable, but there.
In a hospital across Tokyo, Toshinori Yagi coughed blood and wondered why he felt so tired.
Nana's smile was bittersweet. "Now he has to rest. The quirk won't let him push anymore."
"Good," En said firmly.
Yoichi looked at Izuku—laughing now, showing his mother how he could make smoke shapes—and felt pride swell in his chest.
"Welcome to the family, Izuku Midoriya," he whispered. "We're going to take good care of you."
In the void, the vestiges settled in to watch.
This was just the beginning.