Chapter 11: Let Me Be Brave With You

“Izuku…” Inko’s voice floated in from the hallway. “Are you still asleep?”

Izuku stirred, eyes sore, throat raw. His fingers were still curled loosely around something—small, thin, familiar.

Aiko’s paperclip bow.

He blinked against the light filtering through the curtains. Everything felt stiff. His chest ached. His mind hadn’t stopped spinning since last night.

He sat up. Looked at his phone.

9:02 AM.

No.

His pulse slammed into gear.

Aiko. The beach.

Panic tore through him as he bolted upright.

I didn’t show up. After everything she told me. After what happened last night. After I promised she could trust me—

He didn’t let the thought finish.

His feet hit the floor, and he was out of his room in seconds, flying past his mother in the hallway.

“Morning, sweetie—Izuku?”

He didn’t stop. Just darted into the bathroom. Inko’s eyes narrowed, catching the puffiness in his face, the shadows under his eyes.

“Are you okay?” she called, voice laced with concern.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” he shouted through the door—but his voice cracked mid-word, too shaky to hide.

The shower was scalding and brief—barely a rinse. He was in and out in under four minutes, towel half-secured, dragging clothes over damp skin like his bones were on fire.

Shoes. Keys. Wallet. Hair still dripping.

He bolted through the streets.

Aiko hadn’t asked him to meet her this morning—but she didn’t have to. He was always there waiting for her. That was their time. Their bubble. And now he’d missed it.

She’ll think I ghosted her. After opening up to me. After telling me everything.

He hadn’t just slept in. He’d failed her.

He reached the top of her street breathless and flushed, heart hammering like it wanted to apologize on his behalf. But he’d never actually been past this point, he didn’t know where exactly she lived.

He paused, scanning the road, unsure which door to try, which window to knock on.

And then he saw it.

A wooden sign, mounted neatly beside a sliding metal gate.

Hoshino Ironworks.

Hoshino.

The name she gave his mom the day before.

This had to be it.

Izuku took a shaky step forward, nerves fizzing under his skin. He wasn’t sure what he expected—a barking dog, a metal clang, some kind of warning—but there was only the hum of morning air, warm and quiet. He reached the door and knocked.

A moment passed.

Then, the door slid open with a quiet shhk, revealing a tall, muscular older man with soot-dusted sleeves and forearms built like iron beams. His face was weathered but kind, with deep lines around the mouth and a square jaw framed by streaks of grey in his dark beard. His eyes softened the moment they landed on Izuku.

Izuku bowed low. “Um.. Good morning, Hoshino-san. I’m Izuku Midoriya. I’m a friend of Aiko’s.”

Tetsurō looked at him for a long moment, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Midoriya,” he said, stepping aside to let him in. “She’s mentioned you.”

Izuku gave a small nod and stepped inside, careful to wipe his feet and bow again in gratitude before crossing the threshold.

As he entered, his eyes lingered on Tetsurō. The man who had hidden Aiko when she was in danger. Who had left behind his own life, his own forge, to save a girl who needed protecting. Not family. Not blood. Not even really a friend. Just a blacksmith. Just… a quirkless hero.

Izuku stood still for a moment. A quiet reverence settled over him. Proof, that you didn’t need a quirk to save people.

His eyes lifted and moved across the room.

The space beyond was wide and open—a workshop. Dust hung softly in the shafts of the windows. Against the back wall stood a heavy workbench surrounded by shelves stacked with tools, bolts, scraps of metal, and half-finished projects. A mechanical gauntlet sat disassembled on a velvet cloth.

Izuku’s eyes lingered. Everything had a purpose. Everything here was made for someone.

Tetsurō pulled back a faded curtain at the far end of the room and leaned in, just enough to peek his head through.

“Aiko,” he called gently. “You have a visitor.”

A low reply followed—muffled and brief.

He stepped back a moment later and gave Izuku a small nod. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

Izuku offered a polite bow. “Thank you, Hoshino-san.”

Tetsurō gave a faint smile. “And thank your mother for the food. It was very kind of her.”

“I will,” Izuku said, a little surprised but genuinely pleased. “She was happy Aiko came over.”

There was a pause, Tetsurō’s smile lingered. “She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”

Izuku’s expression sobered. He straightened slightly. “Y-yes, sir,” he managed, voice soft. “She really does.”

Tetsurō studied him for a moment longer, then gave a small grunt of approval—just as the curtain began to move.

Aiko peeked out. Her hair was damp from a shower, hanging loose and dark against her shoulders. She wore one of her usual soft, oversized shirt that hit mid thigh. Her eyes found him instantly and softened.

“Hey,” she said, smiling.

Izuku smiled back, relief blooming quietly in his chest.

Aiko stepped forward slightly and gave a small gesture with her hand—wordless, but clear.

Come in.

He followed.

Just before stepping through the curtain, Izuku slipped off his shoes and set them neatly beside Aiko’s boots, which were already lined up by the wall.

The space beyond was a single large room with smooth wooden floors and an accordion-style room divider sectioning off part of it at the back. Everything was clean, simple, compact.

A low side table sat between two cushions. A single shelf of books lined one wall. A kettle rested on a portable burner. Off to the side, a futon lay neatly folded on the floor, its blanket tucked with care. Aiko led him past it all, toward the far corner behind the folding screen.

There on the floor was her futon—neatly laid out with soft grey blankets, a thin pillow, and two cushions. Next to it sat a small, folded stack of clothes, arranged with care. And next to that, her new pink hair bows sitting on the navy backpack he had given her.

The room smelled fresh and clean, with a faint hint of soap and tea leaves—surprising, given how close it was to the coals just beyond the curtain.

Izuku took it all in. There was no other room except what he assumed was the bathroom beyond a door to the left. No hidden hallway. This was her whole world now.

His mind flicked to the images from the night before. The photos of her laughing on snowy slopes, stepping out of luxury cars, standing with her parents beneath a sky full of lights. A little girl with polished shoes and expensive coats.

His throat tightened. She had all of that. And now… just this.

His eyes settled gently on the futon. He said nothing. But in that silence, something in him ached for her—not out of pity, but out of a deep respect.

She’d lost everything and somehow, she was still… her.

Aiko knelt down onto her futon, tucking one leg beneath the other as she adjusted the blanket absently. She glanced up at him.

“You weren’t at the beach today,” she said softly.

Izuku hesitated, then slowly lowered himself onto the wooden floor.

“Yeah… sorry…” he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. “I… overslept.”

Aiko looked at him—really looked. Her eyes moved over his face, lingering on his swollen eyes, the slight puffiness under them, the faint redness that hadn’t quite faded.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

He flinched—not from the question, but from how gently it was asked.

“Uhh…” he started, eyes darting away. “Yeah. I mean… I—”

She looked at him more closely, her expression softening.

“…Have you been crying?”

His eyes welled up before he could stop it, and a few tears slipped through. He wiped them away fast with the back of his hand, but when he looked up, the pain was still written all over his face.

Aiko reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his knee.

He froze. It was just the lightest touch, but it landed like a spark. His breath caught, sharp in his throat, and something in his chest clenched tight.

He swallowed hard, blinking fast.

“It’s okay,” she said, tenderly.

Those simple words cut deep. His head bowed, shoulders trembling faintly as fresh tears slipped down, and he scrubbed at them quickly, almost angrily, with the heel of his hand. Her telling him it was okay—after everything she’d been through, after everything she’d lost—made his chest ache worse.

He didn’t trust his voice not to falter yet, but she didn’t press. She just waited, quiet and still.

Izuku inhaled, then slowly let the breath go through his nose. His eyes were still fixed somewhere on the floorboards.

“I… looked you up,” he eventually said, practically a whisper. “Last night. After I got home.”

She didn’t move, she just listened.

“I searched your name,” he continued, voice shaky. “I read the articles. About the fire. Your parents.”

He glanced up, eyes searching hers.

“I—I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy or anything, I just—I had to know. I couldn’t sleep. I—”

He cut himself off, frustrated by the knot in his chest and the clumsy way his words kept falling out.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I just… after everything you told me, I…”

Aiko was quiet. Then, after a moment, she reached to her side, picked up one of the cushions, and held it out to him.

He blinked. Hesitated.

“It’s clean,” she said gently. “You don’t have to sit on the floor.”

He accepted it slowly, the gesture so small and ordinary—but somehow it made his eye sting again.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, settling onto the cushion. His fingers gripped the edges lightly.

Aiko studied him a moment longer. “What did you see?”

He took another deep breath.

”Everything…” Izuku looked down, voice lower now. ”Photos. Of you. Of your parents. The articles. I read the part that said you… were presumed dead.”

Aiko nodded, but her face didn’t change. Just a calm, practiced quiet.

Izuku’s voice cracked just slightly. “They said… if you were alive, you’d be considered dangerous.”

He looked up again—this time with something fiercer behind his eyes. “They’re wrong.”

Her gaze held his. Calm and unflinching.

“Are they?” she asked quietly.

The question hit harder than he expected. Izuku’s expression shifted. He wasn’t naïve. The reports had been clear—her quirk was still underdeveloped, with the potential to reach catastrophic levels if fully trained. In the wrong hands, it could be weaponized. If she were forced, manipulated, pushed into that path… yes, it could be dangerous. Terrifying, even.

But as he looked into her eyes, all he’d ever seen—from the very first day—was peace.

“Yes,” he said softly. “They are.”

She looked at him for a long moment, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Izuku’s throat tightened as he held her gaze. His chest ached like he couldn’t contain everything pressing against his ribs.

“I’m… I’m so sorry you had to go through all that,” he said, voice low but shaking. “Losing your parents, being hunted, having the world think you’re dangerous—” His hands curled into fists against his knees, trembling. “I can’t even begin to imagine how strong you’ve had to be just to keep moving forward.”

His eyes burned; moisture blurred the edges of his vision, but he didn’t blink it away.

“If it were me…” His voice cracked, raw. “I don’t think I could’ve done it. I don’t think I’d have made it this far. I—I would’ve…”

The words caught in his throat. He didn’t finish.

Aiko looked at him—his hunched shoulders, the way he tried so hard not to crumble even as his voice wavered. Then she shook her head faintly, her voice soft but certain.

“You don’t survive things like that because you’re unbreakable,” she said, softly. “You survive because, once you finish breaking, you gather up the pieces and keep going.”

Her gaze lowered briefly, then lifted back to his. “I cried until I thought I had nothing left. But tears don’t change the past, and they don’t rewrite the future. At some point… you realize the only thing they leave behind are sore eyes.”

She paused, her voice steadying, quieter now but sharper in its conviction.

“Strength isn’t never falling apart. It’s the choice you make after you do—the steps you take when you’d rather stay shattered. That’s what it means to be strong.”

Izuku’s breath hitched. His eyes were wet, but he didn’t look away.

“You’re…” His voice broke into a rough whisper. “You’re amazing, Aiko. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

For a moment, the room was quiet except for their breathing. Aiko smiled slowly—small, fragile, but real.

Izuku swallowed, his voice steadier now. “But… I hope you know you don’t have to do it all alone anymore. You can trust me—with anything. I’ll always be here for you. You don’t have to be strong around me.”

Her eyes widened slightly at his words, and for a moment it looked like she might cry—but instead she blinked it away. Then she just looked at him, gaze softening in a way that said more than words could.

Izuku gave her a small, earnest smile through the dampness in his eyes. “You’ve spent so long being brave on your own. Let me be brave with you.”

The silence between them stretched, not heavy but full.

Then, almost reluctantly, Izuku pulled in a shaky breath and said, quieter now, “You were… wealthy.”

She gave a small nod, almost indifferent.

“Technically,” she said. “I still am.”

He blinked.

Aiko stared down at the blanket beneath her. “It’s all mine. I just need to… come forward.”

She gave a faint, dry exhale that wasn’t quite a laugh. “But that would be the same as lighting a flare over my head.”

Izuku gave a small laugh, not out of amusement, but understanding. Then, “You’re… not mad? That I… looked you up?”

Aiko tilted her head slightly, the softest smile touching her lips. “No,” she said gently.

She shifted her weight slightly, reaching to adjust the edge of the blanket, and in that moment, her ankle turned just enough for him to see it—a patch of scarred skin, dark and ridged. A burn scar.

“Is that from…?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “Yeah. If my mom were still here, it would be completely healed.”

Izuku nodded. “She would have healed you.”

Aiko looked up at him. “No… I’m immune, remember? Even from the good quirks.”

His brows pulled together.

“I would’ve absorbed her quirk,” she said softly. “And healed myself.”

He let out a slow breath. “That’s…” he trailed off, unable to find the right word.

There was a beat of silence before Izuku swallowed and spoke again. “Your parents… they… they looked so young.”

Her smile faltered, turning wistful. “That was Mom’s quirk. Purity healed everything—not just wounds or illness, but even the wear of age. Dad would copy it before bed, and overnight it would heal him too. But at work he usually absorbed other quirks, so by the time he got home, he’d always have a new one to show us.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. “That’s… incredible. Does that mean… you'll stay young forever too?”

She tilted her head, her expression gentler now. “Probably not. My quirk isn’t the same, my immunity doesn't work on everyday things. If I get burned or cut, I heal like anyone else.”

Izuku nodded slowly, taking it in. He hesitated, then asked, “Does it… hurt? When you get hit with a quirk? Like, when you… absorbed Kacchan’s explosions?”

Aiko shook her head. “No, not really. The feelings vary. Kacchan’s explosions feel warm—like heat rushing through my hands. Electricity tingles, ice is heavy, strength quirks feel dense… it just depends.”

Izuku drew in a quiet breath, eyes widening just a little. “Wow…”

Aiko smiled, a playful glint in her gaze. “But around you, I’m basically quirkless.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, a soft laugh escaping—but it faltered almost as quickly. His eyes flicked up to hers, something heavy pressing at his chest.

He shifted slightly, then softened his voice. “Do you… wanna get boba? There’s a place at the top of the street.”

Aiko’s face lit up. “Yes!” she said—a sudden burst of brightness that caught him off guard. “I love boba!”

✧ ✧ ✧

The boba shop was small but bright, with hanging plants in the windows and quiet music humming beneath the chatter. Aiko and Izuku sat tucked into a corner booth, condensation already forming on the sides of their drinks.

She wore a plain black baseball cap pulled low over her eyes, blue streaks tucked into it. It didn’t look out of place, just casual, easy to overlook, but Izuku knew exactly why Hoshino-san insisted on it.

They sat with their drinks in hand—hers, brown sugar milk with extra tapioca; his, matcha with jelly. Izuku shifted in his seat, opened his mouth like he was about to say something—then just exhaled, long and quiet.

Aiko tilted her head. “Everything okay?”

“I… I, uh—” His gaze snapped up, lips pressing together. A faint, breathy laugh slipped out through his nose, like he’d just lost his nerve. “Yeah… yeah, everything’s fine.”

She didn’t look convinced. Her brows furrowed, eyes lingering on him long enough that he had to force himself not to squirm. The silence stretched, her gaze steady, like she was waiting for him to say what was really on his mind.

Izuku’s throat worked, but the words still caught. He gripped his cup a little tighter.

Finally, she gave a soft “Hmm… okay…” and looked down at her drink. When she lifted her gaze again, the weight was gone—replaced by something lighter, a look equal parts amused and mildly offended.

“It was meant to be my turn to pay,” she said.

Izuku smiled faintly, his fingers tracing circles on the condensation ring his cup left on the table. “I don’t care how many bobas you can afford,” he said, voice cracking on afford. “If you’re with me, you’re not paying.”

Aiko smiled. She glanced at his drink.

“So you’re a matcha guy. That feels…”

Her eyes drifted up to his hair.

“…on brand.”

Izuku took a sip—then immediately choked.

He coughed into his sleeve, trying to recover, eyes watering slightly. “I—uh—th-that’s not why I—” He broke off with a breathy laugh. “Okay, maybe a little on brand…”

His cheeks were pink, but he was smiling—sheepish, embarrassed, and just a little bit delighted.

Aiko raised her cup and gave it a little swirl. “Well, for the record, brown sugar milk tea is a very sophisticated choice.”

Izuku gave her a small, amused smile. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded with a solemn expression, though her eyes were teasing. “It says I’m bold. Refined. A little chaotic.”

Izuku snorted and nearly inhaled a tapioca pearl. “And matcha?” he wheezed, thumping his chest once.

Aiko took a slow sip, then looked at him over the rim of her cup. “Dependable. Thoughtful.”

She paused, just long enough for him to brace.

“A little dorky.”

Izuku groaned. “Okay, now you’re just—”

“…Cute,” she added casually.

Izuku’s brain blue-screened. Heat rushed to his ears; he yanked his cup up and pretended to study the ice like it had the answer to life. A sound—half squeak, half word—escaped his throat before dying altogether. He raised the cup higher, a makeshift shield.

Aiko giggled, and the sound made him forget, for just a moment, that he was half-twisted in his seat, jittery knee thumping the underside of the table hard enough to set her straw bobbing. The heaviness of the morning eased as he watched her dimples appear whenever she smiled like that.

Still flustered, he mumbled behind his cup, “I’m not… I mean, no one’s ever really called me cute before.”

Aiko tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Seriously?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ve just always kinda been… plain-looking, I guess.”

Aiko blinked. Then blinked again. “What?! You’re anything but plain.”

She looked genuinely offended. “How can you be plain with that awesome hair, those huge eyes, and—and those adorable freckles?”

Izuku froze, a fresh wave of heat flooding his cheeks.

She leaned in. “Next time someone calls you plain looking—tell me. I’ll kick their ass.”

Izuku let out a startled laugh, his face still red but his shoulders relaxing just a little. Something about the way she said it—deadpan and serious but with that soft fire behind it—made it hard not to believe her.

For a beat, the noise of the shop blurred into the background. Izuku just looked at her—the curve of her smile, the way her dimples appeared when she wasn’t holding back, how her eyes seemed steadier than his even after everything she’d been through. His chest tightened, warm and aching all at once.

Izuku’s fingers tightened around his cup, thumb rubbing at the damp edge of the plastic lid. His throat worked once, twice. He opened his mouth—then shut it again, lips pressing thin. A shaky breath slipped through his nose. His knee bounced hard enough to rattle the table, condensation sliding down the side of his cup like it was on the verge of spilling.

Finally, he set the drink down with a soft thud, palms flattening against the table as if bracing himself. His voice came out low, unsteady.

“Aiko… there’s something I haven’t told you either.”

Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t speak.

He leaned in a little, shoulders hunched, eyes darting like the walls might be listening. “It’s…” His gaze flicked toward the counter, toward the other customers, back to her. His hands fidgeted against each other, fingers wringing tight, until the tension snapped and he pushed up to his feet in a burst of restless energy.

“What are you doing?” Aiko asked, her tone somewhere between amused and suspicious.

Izuku swallowed hard, scanning the room like he could check every corner at once. He sat back down just as quickly, elbows on the table, hands clasped so tight his knuckles went white. He glanced toward the door, then back at her, and made a small, urgent gesture for her to lean in.

She arched a brow but obliged, lowering her voice to a whisper. “What’s going on?”

“I…” He swallowed, eyes darting once more to the other customers. “The real reason I’m training so hard. Why… why I’m always at the beach. Why I can’t afford to slack off for even a day…”

Her head tilted slightly, curiosity sharpening her gaze.

“All Might…” His voice faltered. His face had gone pale, breath quickening.

The words clogged in his throat. This was All Might’s greatest secret, one he’d sworn to protect with everything in him… but the longer he kept it from her, the more it ached—like he was lying by omission. Like he was building a wall between them when all he wanted was to tear every wall down.

Aiko’s brows furrowed. “Izuku, what is it?”

He swallowed hard. “All Might… he’s…”

His fingers tightened around his cup until the plastic creaked. He set it down too fast, condensation smearing across his palm. He dragged in a shaky breath, held it, then forced the words out before he lost his nerve.

“…he’s going to give me his quirk.”

She stopped mid-sip, straw dangling like it, too, was stunned.

“…I’m sorry—he’s going to what now?!”