Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

On the morning of his sixth birthday, Izuku Shigaraki learned that love was a fragile thing—a prize to be earned. Through obedience. Through strength. Through success.

Kurogiri earned love each time his body twisted and bent to serve his master. Tomura earned love in the fleeting seconds when his final finger dropped and reduced all to ash. They earned love when they had proven their worth.

Izuku failed to prove his worth. 

As his fifth year on Earth slowly drew to a close, the hollow space in his soul meant for a quirk remained empty. All For One had been lenient. The forgiving master gave him a year longer than when his quirk should have developed, an entire year to get his act together. And Izuku tried. He truly had.

When his body stubbornly refused to give him a quirk on its own accord, he sought every remedy he could imagine. He tried to will Tomura’s quirk into himself the way his father could, desperate to steal what didn’t come naturally. But instead of love, he earned a hand-shaped scar around his neck. He hurled himself out of his fourth-story bedroom window, praying that fear and adrenaline might awaken something within him. But instead of love, he earned a set of screws driven into his window frame, sealing it shut for good.

No matter how hard he worked, how desperately he pushed himself, the quirkless void inside him stayed silent. And with each failure, the weight of disappointment pressed heavier on his shoulders. All For One had long since stopped looking at him the way he looked at Tomura, with that faint gleam of approval and interest. Now there was only disinterest—an indifference that stung more than the punishments he once feared.

On the morning of his sixth birthday, All For One killed Izuku Shigaraki in every way but physically.

He was Deku, now. Good-for-nothing. A failure, not even worthy of a name, let alone love. 

The boy didn’t argue when All For One stripped him of his identity—it was the last kindness his father would ever show him. Without it, he was untethered from the weaknesses that plagued lesser beings—like the fear of dying, or the will to do anything but serve. He no longer had to concern himself with things like affection or self-preservation. He was nothing more than a tool waiting to be used, a body willing to break and bleed for his master.

Izuku Shigaraki had been weak and useless—craving something as pathetic as love, something he wasn’t even worthy of. But Deku? Deku was beyond that. He didn’t need love. He didn’t need approval. He only needed a purpose.

Purpose, Deku found in the decade that followed, was everything. 

For years, his purpose was to analyze the society his master so dearly hated. If the universe wasn’t going to give him a quirk, then fine. He had no need for one. He could tear apart their beloved heroes and their system using only his mind. He studied psychology—human behavior, fear, ambition. He memorized how to spot weakness in people, learned how to dismantle their lives piece by piece until there was nothing left but desperation and ruin.

He was efficient in his purpose. Precise. Ruthless. 

His brother, on the other hand, was anything but. 

"How long do you think he'll last?" Tomura's voice cut through the silence of the small room on the second floor of the bar. He was excited as his fingers tapped idly against the neck their captive to the beat of some American Christmas song—they always got stuck in the boy’s head, even through February as it was now. If he were to mess up the tempo at all, the man would be dead. 

Deku leaned against the wall, listening with a detached interest as wiped the blood from his knuckles. He had been attempting to gauge Hikaru Tadashi’s tolerance for pain when Tomura got overexcited. Deku’s singular, methodical punch to the man’s nose quickly turned into a dislocated shoulder, a missing tooth, and the current choked position.

A part of Deku hated Tomura. Hated his brother for being everything Deku wasn’t—violent, reckless, messy. Loved. For all Tomura’s chaotic violence, Deku found solace in the methodical. Each decision he made was calculated, each move precise. He’d spent years honing this ability, this skill, and it was far more effective than brute violence, in his opinion.

Deku’s opinion, of course, didn't matter. Tomura had earned All For One’s love. He was a weapon; Deku was a tool.

He took a measured breath, gaze fixed on Tadashi. Deku studied the man's reactions, the subtle shifts in his posture, the way his eyes dart around the room. They were all signals, a map to the man's psyche. Deku absorbed it as nothing more than data.

For example, Tadashi’s breaths were becoming increasingly erratic, each gasp louder than the last. Deku may not be as sadistic as Tomura, but he understood fear. He knew how it worked, how it settled into the bones, how it made people pliable. Tadashi was already on the edge—any more violence would push him into shock, useless for interrogation. But the right words, delivered at the right moment? That could break him.

“Tomura,” Deku said, his voice cutting through the din. “Stop.”

Tomura’s fingers twitched, the pressure on Tadashi’s neck easing just enough for the man to gasp for breath. “What, you’re allowed to have fun and I’m not?”

Deku glanced at Tomura from the corner of his eye. He was thoroughly unamused by his brother’s question, but he painted a look of concern on his face anyway. Once he was sure Tadashi was watching, Deku crossed the room and crouched down beside the battered man.

“Mr. Tadashi.” The words are whispered and shaky. Deku could see the effect on Tadashi immediately—the roundness to his face, the concern in his green eyes, his age clear in his voice… They were effective pieces in building trust. “I know you’re trying to be a good hero, but my brother will hurt you. Please, just tell him where All Might is.”

Tadashi's bloodshot eyes locked onto Deku’s, a flicker of recognition and hope surfacing beneath the layers of fear. It was working. Tadashi wanted to believe in it, to see Deku as the younger, weaker sibling that actually cared. Deku made himself small, crouching even lower to appear non-threatening, reinforcing the illusion of innocence.

“Come on, kid,” Tadashi gasped, voice rough and broken. His face was bruised and his lip swollen from the earlier hits, but his focus was entirely on Deku now. “You don’t understand… I-I can’t tell you. I won’t—”

There was a violent crash from the other side of the room as Tomura turned a table into ash, all of the crates that had been on top falling to the floor. Tomura was close to snapping, eager to crush something, someone, under his fingers. The sound of flesh turning to ash was probably echoing in his mind already. But Tadashi wasn’t ready to break entirely. Not yet.

Deku turned back to the man, leaning closer. “Listen to me.” His voice was soft but carried an edge of warning now, enough to make Tadashi’s eyes widen. “If you don’t give us something —anything— he’ll kill you. And I can’t stop him.”

The lie rolled off Deku’s tongue with ease. Perhaps because it wasn’t entirely a lie. Tomura would kill him, and Deku couldn’t do anything about it. Nonetheless, Tadashi cracked further, judging by the way his lip quivered. It was a simple manipulation, pretending to be the sympathetic figure in the room while Tomura was the rabid dog held barely at bay. It always worked.

Tomura, of course, didn’t mind being the monster. If anything, he thrived on it.

“You’ve got ten seconds,” Tomura growled, his voice vibrating with the promise of violence. His hand hovered over Tadashi’s head, fingers poised to drop and erase whatever was left of the man. If Deku hadn’t been here, Tadashi would already be dead. Tomura didn’t care about the long plan, master’s mission, only about the satisfaction of breaking things. Deku, however, found no pleasure in violence unless it served a purpose.

“Help me help you. Tell us where All Might is.” Deku leaned in even closer, whispering urgently. Tadashi's panicked breathing filled the silence.

“He’s… he’s at U.A.!” He cracked, his will crumbling beneath the weight of fear and desperation. His eyes darted between Deku and Tomura, his voice trembling. “They say he’s signing on as a first-year teacher. That’s all I know, I swear!”

So, All Might had gone into hiding as a teacher. It made sense. He couldn’t roam the streets anymore, not after his injuries, not while his power had faded. Deku wondered if he was scouting for a successor. All For One wouldn’t appreciate that. If the power got passed on once more, it would start everything over.

Deku took in the information with a sharp nod, his mind already running through the implications of All Might hiding at U.A. He stood, wiping the tears from his face with calculated ease before turning to his brother. “Are you going to let him go?”

“And skip my favorite part?” Tomura tilted his head, a low, menacing chuckle escaping his throat. “You’re useless, not dumb, Deku.”

It was true. His question was more of a formality than an actual plea at this point. Deku knew exactly what was going to happen next, and there was no stopping it. Tomura would kill Tadashi, slowly. Painfully. There were a thousand ways Deku had tried to manipulate, strategize, and delay, but this was inevitable.

For a fleeting moment, Deku considered pulling his gun and sending a silver bullet right through Tadashi’s skull. A mercy kill. It would spare him from what Tomura had planned—the slow, agonizing disintegration of every cell in his body, the drawn-out screams that would echo long after the man had died. But Deku’s hand never reached for the weapon at his side. He knew better than to interfere with Tomura's fun. It would only make things worse for everyone involved.

So Deku turned his gaze back to Tadashi, who was trembling in Tomura’s grasp, fear etched deep into his features. Tadashi’s eyes widened, realization dawning far too late as the boy murmured, “I’m sorry.”

He turned on his heel and walked toward the door, steps deliberate and controlled. Behind him, the smell of flesh turning to dust pierced the air, followed by the sickening crackle of bones collapsing into ash. Tadashi wasn’t gone, yet, Tomura took his time.

Deku didn’t look back. He never did.

The door closed behind him, the sounds of Tomura’s satisfied hum dissolving into nothing. Deku stood in the hallway for a moment, eyes closed, breathing evenly. He had learned long ago to compartmentalize. To separate himself from the violence, from the chaos that followed his brother wherever he went.

This was his role.  To ensure the mission succeeded, even if it meant stepping over the bodies Tomura left behind.

But there was a part of him—a small, quiet part buried deep beneath the layers of calculation and strategy—that resented it. Resented Tomura for being the chosen one. For being the loved one. For being reckless and brutal when Deku couldn’t.

He shoved that part down. He didn’t need love. He didn’t need approval. He had a purpose.

And that, he reminded himself as he walked away from the scene of another one of Tomura’s messes, was enough.

It had to be.

Winter dragged on, painfully slow, giving way to Deku’s long-forgotten fifteenth birthday and then the fall. It was only when spring began to bloom once more that All For One anything with the information Tadashi had shared. That was how most things progressed under the watch of someone who had stopped aging nine generations ago. Time meant little to a man like him, allowing him to process every detail perfectly. 

And when All For One finally acted, it was with the precision of a surgeon and the patience of a predator. Tomura and Deku were summoned to the sprawling underground hall. Kurogiri had warped them, so there was no telling what city, let alone continent they were on. All For One’s empire stretched through every deep corner of the planet.

This specific hall was a labyrinth of sterile corridors and cold, concrete walls. No windows. No clocks. Time ceased to matter when All For One was involved. It was designed to strip away everything human—emotion, fear, love—leaving only the mission. 

Only purpose.

All For One sat at the head of a long obsidian table, his mask gleaming in the dim light. Beside him, Kurogiri stood in stoic silence, a shadowy presence as always. Tomura slouched into a chair to the right while Deku took his place in the corner of the room. He was not welcome at the table.

The silence was deafening. Tomura squirmed under it, shifting from sitting properly and curling up. Deku kept his eyes down, waiting, his pulse steady. This was the game All For One played—stretching time, letting the tension build until the moment became unbearable. He wielded silence like a weapon, and when he finally spoke, the words cut through the room with the force of a blade.

“Tomura,” All For One began, his voice low and deliberate, “I am pleased to see you, my son.”

All For One had lost his eyes a long time ago, leaving his face an expressionless mask of thick muscle and scar tissue. But, Deku had no doubt his master’s eyes would be directed at him if they were there. Scrutinizing the boy’s reaction to the subtext. He was pleased to see Tomura and only Tomura. His son.

"Thank you, Father," Tomura drawled, his voice filled with the usual insolence that never seemed to provoke All For One’s wrath. Deku stood quietly in the corner, his presence fading into the shadows, unnoticed. It wasn’t his place to be noticed. His mind, however, was already calculating the next steps. Whatever All For One had in mind, it would be complex. Precise. Each move is carefully orchestrated over time.

But Tomura? He had no patience for planning, for strategy. He wanted action, destruction. He was the storm—unpredictable, dangerous, but ultimately short-lived. Deku had long accepted his role as the calm before the storm, the strategist in the shadows, ensuring Tomura’s rampages served the larger plan.

“Your performance in recent months has been… satisfactory,” All For One continued, though his voice lacked any real warmth. It was a statement of fact, not praise. Deku doubted Tomura even noticed the difference. Perhaps there wasn’t even one with their master. “That is why, as the time has come to shift our focus, I am granting you the honor of being the fist of my plan. U.A. will be pivotal in the coming months.”

The mention of U.A. piqued Deku’s interest. He had anticipated this, of course. The school’s days had been numbered since the moment All Might decided to take refuge there. And logically, the symbol of peace wasn’t just retreating; he was preparing. For what exactly, Deku wasn’t sure, but he knew All Might was surely grooming someone—likely a successor. That had to be stopped. Whatever All Might had planned, Deku would dismantle it. He had to.

Tomura, meanwhile, leaned forward with a smirk. “About time we did something interesting. What’s the plan, Father? Should I turn the campus to dust first, or the students?”

All For One tilted his head, a small, imperceptible smile behind the mask. “Destruction alone will not serve us here, my son. If U.A. falls without the proper groundwork, All Might will return to the shadows without a second glance.” His gaze, though unseen, shifted away from Deku. “We must play the long game. I have a timeline stretching throughout the next twelve months to ensure the fall of not only All Might but the entire hero society, all the while returning One For All to its rightful place in my hand.”

“Then why the hell am I here?” Tomura scoffed, sending a flash of violent rage over Deku. He was asked here, he was speaking to their master, and he had the audacity to question his place at the table. It was disgusting.

All For One did not scandalize the boy’s arrogance, though. He just nodded. “While it alone cannot carry out my will, destruction is still a key asset. I need you, Tomura, to act as a vanguard and tether All Might to the battlefield. Cause grief and panic amongst his students, bending them but never breaking them, and it is a matter of time before All Might become vulnerable.”

Deku could already see the outline of the plan forming. They wouldn’t attack U.A. with brute force; they would tear it apart systematically. Isolate the key players, manipulate the students, exploit the weaknesses of the faculty. Turn All Might’s own strength—his selfless, bleeding heart—into his downfall.

“And you, Deku,” All For One’s voice broke through his thoughts, “have an opportunity to prove you’re more than a strain on my resources.”

Deku’s pulse quickened. An opportunity. That meant trust. Acknowledgment. Purpose.

All For One leaned back in his chair, his mask gleaming under the low light. “You will ensure that All Might’s colleague, Aizawa Shouta, does not live to see the fruition of my plans. If his quirk dies alongside him, there will be nothing standing in the way of Tomura’s full potential.”

Deku’s mind raced. Aizawa, also known as pro-hero EraserHead. Delu had studied him in sparing detail—not nearly as much as he did with others on U.A.’s faculty. That was because there was little documentation about the man. But, he knew instantly what made the hero dangerous. 

His ability to neutralize quirks with a single glance. He wasn’t just a random hero in All For One’s mind—he was a countermeasure to everything their family worked for. A man who could take Tomura’s destructive power, the thing that made him worthy of love, and evaporate it.

“Do you understand your task?” All For One’s voice was measured, patient.

Deku nodded, though his acceptance was never under question. A tool doesn’t refuse its task. “Yes, master.”

Tomura snorted, clearly uninterested in anything that didn’t involve immediate destruction. “You’re giving him the fun mission?”

“Please, Tomura,” All For One’s mask remained inscrutable, but his tone conveyed his first hint of disapproval. “You are my masterpiece—the king piece for which this entire game of chess is based. Deku, on the other hand, is merely a pawn. A means to clean the board and ensure that your vibrant vision remains untainted by trivial matters.”

Tomura rolled his eyes but said nothing. He slouched further into his chair, waiting for the conversation to shift back to something he found more entertaining. Deku, however, absorbed every word with unwavering focus. Yes, he thought. I am a pawn. A tool, a means to an end. 

And despite how the idea slightly unsettled his logical mind, it utterly devoured his emotional side. He had always been a pawn on his master's chessboard, a piece meant to stand in the way and protect the real players. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe this mission meant he’d been promoted to something more valuable—he wasn’t so accustomed to pain for such hope. But, Shouta Aizwa’s death was an opening move. And out of all the pawns All For One could have chosen for it, he had chosen Deku.

It wasn’t love. But it was the closest thing the boy had ever known.

Chapter Text

No more than five minutes into investigating Shouta Aizawa’s file, Deku decided he hated the man.

It wasn’t simply because the file was barely three pages long—though that fact definitely didn’t help. By now, Deku had enough experience to realize three pages wasn’t nearly enough to base an assassination attempt on.

No, what really irked him was how sickeningly perfect the hero appeared on paper. Every line of the report read like one of those “golden hero” documentaries. It all started with his acceptance into U.A.’s General Education program. Deku had managed to bypass the firewall in the school’s database and get his hands on the acceptance notes, which stated that Aizawa’s non-combat-oriented quirk wouldn’t be an asset to the hero program. Instead of dropping out like many students who didn’t get into their preferred courses, Aizawa persevered, sticking with the General Education program until the first Sports Festival rolled around.

There, he proved his worth by defeating all his classmates, who were left clueless when their quirks were voided. As a result, he was promptly moved into the hero program.

After three spotless years, he graduated with honors and wasted no time opening an agency with his classmate—and now husband—Hizashi Yamada. They worked side by side for a while, racking up a decade of exemplary work before settling down as alumni teachers at U.A., where Aizawa proudly boasted a record of only teaching the most promising students.

And if all that weren’t enough, the man seemed to collect troubled kids like stray cats. He had fostered several problem children over the years, polishing them up before sending them off to their permanent homes. At the moment, he had two such cases. The first, Hitoshi Shinsou, was a runaway that Aizawa had saved from an abusive household. His documentation in the system was minimal, likely because he had been homeless for a long time before Aizawa found him. But since arriving in the hero’s life, he must have been doing better, given that he was recommended for a spot in U.A.’s hero program for the coming semester.

The second child was, to Deku’s surprise, Overhaul’s failed pet project. Deku had heard of the Shie Hassaikai’s goal a few times through the years, but they had always seemed weak compared to his master’s— black-market drugs, seriously? Still, Deku knew that the little girl was an untapped weapon. Deku had no idea how Aizawa had gotten his hands on her, but it only fueled his growing hatred. Here was a man holding an unbelievable power, the kind that could earn purpose—that could earn love— and yet he had her swaddled in bubble wrap, playing house.

It was unbelievable.

Deku tried to slam the file shut with all the strength he could muster, but there was only so much sound three fucking pages could make. Unsatisfied, he opted for a more direct approach: sweeping his hands across the desk. It was a crude solution, but it worked all the same. The computer he had been using crashed to the floor without any argument, wrenching away from its wires, followed by the keyboard and a series of notebooks. 

“That better not be broken,” Tomura muttered, eyes still glued to the television, barely flicking a glance in Deku’s direction. He was sprawled lazily across Deku’s bed, completely absorbed in the game of Kingdom Hearts he had commandeered on Deku’s TV. He had two PlayStations of his own, one in his bedroom and another in the bar downstairs, yet somehow, he always ended up in Deku’s room whenever his brother was around. Deku was convinced it was intentional. Torture, even. “I had an unsaved game of Portal 2 on there.”

Deku let out a sharp breath, abandoning the mess in favor of glaring at Tomura. “You’ll live.”

“Maybe…” Tomura’s gaze slid slowly from the screen to Deku, a predatory smirk tugging at his lips. “But if I have to restart the game because of you? You most definitely won’t, Deku. Punch the wall like a normal person next time.”

The thinly veiled threat sent a ripple of unease down Deku’s spine. He quickly masked it with a laugh, too practiced to be genuine. “Noted, but it’s not like it matters. You weren’t actually going to get past Chapter Seven, anyway.”

Tomura’s fingers paused on the controller, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?” His voice had lost its lazy edge, now taking on something more dangerous, more pointed. “It’s your fault. That stupid file you downloaded is buggy and makes the white gel impossible to use.”

Deku’s pulse quickened, though he fought to keep his expression neutral. He was used to Tomura’s biting tone, the insults that came wrapped in humor. But there were moments like these—moments when the air between them grew thick, when Tomura’s threats carried the weight of someone who could actually follow through. Moments that reminded Deku just how insignificant he was compared to the man lounging so casually on his bed.

He let out a hollow laugh, forcing himself to move, as if the tension knotting in his chest didn’t exist. He nudged Tomura’s leg out of the way with his foot and shifted to the opposite side of the room, wanting a vantage point if Tomura decided to move. The sharp edge of frustration still lingered, but he knew better than to let it show. Especially now.

“Right. Blame the game. You just can’t handle a little strategy,” he tried to bite back in the same playful tone.

Tomura scoffed, but his gaze moved back to the screen, his focus now intent. Deku wasn’t a target at the moment. “Please. I’m a master strategist. I don’t lose. Especially not to something as simple as a game that’s obviously rigged.”

“You’re right,” Deku muttered, lapsing back into silence.

This was how all of their conversation went—weightless insults traded back and forth in the cadence of a playful conversation. Both of them pretending that they understood each other’s lives, although they were nothing more than parallel lines. They stretch eternally beside each other on the plane and are nearly identical to the naked eye, but destined never to intersect. The difference between the life of a pawn piece and the life of the King.

This wasn’t new information. Deku refocused on the problem at hand: Aizawa.

There were cracks in the man’s perfect facade; there had to be. But Deku knew he wasn’t going to find them by analyzing a file a hundred more times or breaking it down into insignificant details.

No, if he wanted real answers, he’d have to look at the source.

It was one of those nights at the beginning of every spring. The kind that clung a little too closely to the remnants of the winter, drawing a biting cold to the air. It was enough that Deku had to wrap a scarf across the lower half of his face to hide the puff of air that formed in front of his lips. At least the rain had let up earlier in the afternoon, so he didn’t have to worry about a raincoat that squeaked every time he moved. 

The bus stop he was stationed at, squished between an older woman and a kid, had front-row seats to U.A.’s front gates. The building was separated from the public by two different gates as well as a thick crowding of forest. Deku’s eyes scanned the entrance slowly, waiting. The students had cleared out hours ago, but the staff was still holed up inside, locked in their weekly meeting. 

The streetlights flickered on, and the occasional hiss of cars broke the silence. Deku checked his phone: a few minutes past nine. The meeting should’ve been over by now. Where were they?

He shifted, gaze sharp beneath the scarf. If Tomura had been here, he’d have obliterated the gates long ago, reducing them to dust, pro-heroes dead by the dozen. But Deku didn’t share that impulsive rage. Observation was his strength. Patience, his weapon. He’d learned long ago that rushing in meant leaving with more than just scars.

Tonight wasn’t for killing. It was for gathering intel—learning Aizawa’s habits, studying his movements, cataloging every piece that could be exploited.

A flash of movement caught his eye. The school doors creaked open, and two figures emerged.

There he was.

From afar, Aizawa looked just like the countless other heroes Deku had encountered: tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of power. But there was something irritatingly calm about him, a quiet confidence that said he wasn’t worried about his safety—because he didn’t need to be. He had the skills to back it up.

Deku’s jaw clenched. He hated that.

Hizashi Yamada, on the other hand, was all smiles and carefree energy, clearly under the impression that Aizawa's quiet power would be enough for both of them. His boisterous voice echoed down the street as they stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Even from here, Deku could tell Yamada was the type of person who drew people in, effortlessly charismatic.

For a moment, Deku wondered how the two of them worked. How did someone so loud and grating like Yamada manage to get close to someone so seemingly indifferent like Aizawa?

His mind worked over a dozen angles. Exploit the differences. If Aizawa and Yamada were this different in public, surely there had to be cracks behind closed doors. He could pose as someone who appealed to one and not the other, drive a wedge between them. Or, plant the seeds of tension from behind the scenes until they unravel on their own.

It would be easy. Relationships were fragile.

But as the crosswalk’s light changed, Yamada was too engrossed in whatever story he was spinning to notice. Aizawa noticed, though. Deku saw the slight shift in his stance, the brief flicker of his eyes toward the timer. For a second, he thought Aizawa would start walking without a word, letting Yamada catch up when he noticed, or maybe tugging him along like a burden he was used to carrying.

But he didn’t move.

He remained at Yamada’s side, letting the countdown tick away, his attention returning to his husband. His body language softened slightly as Yamada raised both of his hands to emphasize something, his tired features lifting for a moment.

Deku knew that look. He had seen it before, caught in passing on the street between a mother and her child or children sharing an umbrella. Affection, bliss. Love.

And that made it worse.

Yamada had earned Aizawa’s love. Love, that word churned in Deku’s mind like a toxin. It wasn’t just any relationship; it was the one bond he knew was impossible to forge, and therefore exponentially harder to dissolve through petty manipulations.

Frustration gnawed at Deku’s insides, and he glared at the couple across the street. How? How had Yamada proved his worth? What did he do that made someone like Aizawa—so calculating, so pragmatic—choose to stay? His quirk wasn’t useless, but it wasn’t nearly at the level of his husband’s. Perhaps he was a powerful business partner for their agency? A good distraction on missions?

The crosswalk blinked red again, and Yamada finally noticed they had missed their chance to cross. Instead of being frustrated, he laughed, throwing his head back with an exaggerated groan. Aizawa’s lips twitched—a near smile—before he nudged Yamada lightly, teasing him to pay attention next time.

It was infuriatingly simple. And yet, Deku couldn’t look away.

He stayed silent in the shadows as the two men walked past. Aizawa eye’s met Deku’s for a brief moment as he scanned the street—even now, he was vigilant, prepared for any threat. But he didn’t linger on Deku; why would it? He was just another figure in the background, a worthless piece of the scenery. When nothing stood out, Aizawa’s attention shifted back to Yamada, who was already moving on to his next story.

That momentary flicker of contact between them, the recognition—however unconscious—that the two existed in the same world left Deku seething. How could someone like Aizawa, wrapped up in villains and bureaucracy much like All For One, build a life so far removed from the chaos? Strolling through the night as if the weight of responsibility didn’t press down on him like it did for the rest of them, handing out love as if it were the simplest thing he could do.

Deku followed, his body moving like a shadow, silent and untraceable. He trailed them through the city streets, slipping in and out of pools of light until they reached a quiet neighborhood. Manicured lawns, peaceful streets, the kind of place where families felt safe, where windows were left open at night.

It was so ordinary.

He watched as they approached their home. Yamada fumbled with the keys clumsily while Aizawa waited patiently, ever vigilant. When the door finally opened, Aizawa ushered his husband inside first, a small gesture of care.

That should’ve been the end of it. Deku had gathered enough intel for one night. But something held him back.

Moving silently, he slipped around the side of the house, finding an angle where he could see inside. The curtains were half-drawn, but through the gap, Deku watched their quiet domesticity unfold. Yamada kicked off his shoes while Aizawa moved through the space with practiced ease, checking doors, turning off lights.

Then the children entered—Shinsou and the girl. They greeted their fathers warmly, with smiles and casual conversation. Overhaul’s pet project rushed to Aizawa, who bent down to meet her at eye level, resting a hand on her head in quiet affection. Shinsou took Yamada’s coat and hung it up for him without being asked.

None of it made sense.

Deku could understand Aizawa’s love for Yamada. Annoying as it was, it could have been earned. But the children? They were nearly useless in Aizawa’s mission, unable to fight, to defend themselves. Yet they received the same affection, the same quiet approval.

Deku wanted to destroy it. 

To ruin it all. The urge to find the gas line, to strike a match and let it all burn, rose like bile in his throat. He imagined the house engulfed in flames, Aizawa powerless to save what he had built.

For a moment, the vision was so vivid it took his breath away.

But Deku stepped back, forcing his fists to unclench. What was this? Since when did he act on rage? He was a tool—a strategist. He didn’t burn houses down just to feel the heat.

His mission was to kill Shouta Aizawa. Nothing more.

Deku tore his eyes from the window, turning on his heel before he could do something reckless. The night air cut through his clothes as he walked away from the house, the sound of laughter fading behind him. Each step was a reminder of the stakes, of the control he needed to maintain.

He wouldn’t let pointless emotions cloud his chance to prove himself.

Aizawa would be dealt with—efficiently, carefully.