Chapter 21: I Hijacked Your Glow-Up

The gates of U.A. loomed ahead. Izuku exhaled slowly, trying not to psych himself out.

“You’re gonna kill it at U.A.—you’re gonna be the best hero!”

Aiko’s voice echoed in his head like a charm, steadying him. He tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack, the faint warmth of her hug still clinging to his memory like the last traces of a dream.

Only you.

His heart beat faster.

Thanks to All Might… I’m actually going to be a hero, he thought, stepping forward.

And then—he tripped.

Or… I’ll just die…

His eyes widened as the ground rushed up to meet his face—but instead of crashing down, he froze midair. Weightless.

“Are you okay?”

Izuku blinked.

A girl with short brown hair stood in front of him, hand raised, a friendly smile on her face.

“I bet you won’t even get through the door before one talks to you.”

Aiko’s voice rang again in his mind.

He wobbling upright.

The girl waved, already turning away with a cheerful, “Good luck to both of us!”

As he watched her go, he blinked in mild disbelief.

I talked to a girl! Aiko was right… she really does have good taste in guys!

He blushed, smiling to himself and feeling a little smug, like the universe had finally confirmed he might actually be a catch.

About an hour later, the real test began. The starting buzzer blared, and the arena erupted into chaos.

The entrance exams were in full swing. The ground trembled. Screams echoed down the shattered street, dust clouding the air as the massive zero-point robot bore down like a mechanical titan. Concrete crumbled beneath its monstrous weight.

Izuku hit the ground hard, and for a second he could barely think.

Get up. Gotta get up.

He pushed himself up on shaky elbows, legs scrambling beneath him. His breath came in gasps. He wasn’t running toward anything—he was running away. Everyone was. The zero-pointer was too big, too brutal. It wasn’t worth any points. It wasn’t meant to be beaten. It was meant to terrify.

He planted a foot beneath him, trying to stand—trying to flee.

Then he saw her.

Pinned beneath a chunk of debris, her legs trapped. The girl from earlier—the one who saved him from faceplanting at the gate. Her eyes were wide with panic, trying to get out, but she couldn’t move.

Aiko’s voice shot through his mind like lightning:

“A hero isn’t someone who wins the genetic lottery. A hero is someone who steps in anyway—power or no power—because someone needs saving.”

His chest tightened. His limbs ached. He could barely breathe.

But still—he moved.

He sprinted straight at the enemy.

No hesitation. No plan. No idea what he was doing.

He vaulted over rubble, his sneakers barely skimming the surface. The robot loomed above them now, shadow casting them in darkness. And still, Izuku ran toward it.

He gathered all his strength, everything All Might had given him, everything he and Aiko had worked for on that beach.

“Wanting to be a hero even without a quirk? That mindset is a superpower in and of itself.”

Her words echoed behind his ribs as he pushed off from the ground, air rushing around him, debris scattering beneath his leap. The robot’s head tilted as he ascended.

Green sparks crept up his arm, just as they did with Aiko earlier at the beach.

Izuku raised his fist.

His body screamed.

And then—he struck.

The explosion of force cracked the air. Metal groaned and shattered. The robot’s head disintegrated under the impact.

He hovered in midair for a breathless second—then gravity caught up.

Pain exploded through his arm. It twisted violently from the recoil. Bone, muscle, ligaments. All torn.

And he was falling.

Everything All Might did for me… all that training…

The ground rushed toward him.

I’m acting like a pro… when I don’t even have enough skill to be a sidekick.

Aiko’s face filled his mind—her hand in his, her voice, her laughter. All that time clearing the sand, all the cuts on her fingers helping him move junk. All the times she believed in him—when he didn’t believe in himself.

“You were my hero before you had a quirk.”

His breath caught again. No—he wouldn’t let it end like this.

No. This isn’t over.

His eyes snapped open as the wind howled past his ears. He got ready to use his quirk again.

But then, a sudden pressure hit his face—weightlessness again. The girl. She’d used her quirk on him. Everything slowed.

He hit the ground moments later, rolling hard but intact.

✧ ✧ ✧

“He’s back!” Aiko’s voice rang through the hallway as she ran out of the living room, his mom close behind.

Izuku barely had time to close the door before Aiko flung her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. The scent of her shampoo and the warmth of her body hit him all at once, grounding him after the chaos of the day.

She pulled back slightly, eyes scanning him. “Are you hurt?”

He blinked. “Hurt? No—why would I be?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You got hurt.”

His heart skipped. “Wait—how do you know that?”

“I just… I can feel it.” she said softly.

Izuku stared at her, stunned silent for a beat.

“I… I’m okay,” he said finally, quieter now. “The nurse… Recovery Girl, fixed everything.”

“Oh honey,” Inko cut in, breathless with worry, “what happened? How did it go?”

Izuku gave a small, sheepish smile. “It was… intense. There were robots everywhere, and this one massive zero-pointer… but I—I think I did okay.”

He paused, then shook his head, the smile fading.

“No, actually… I didn’t get any points. Not a single one for defeating enemies.”

Aiko blinked. “What? But—”

“I tripped at the gate,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Some girl with a gravity quirk stopped me from falling. Later, during the exam… she got pinned under debris. Everyone else ran, but I couldn’t. I ran toward the zero-pointer. Used my quirk for the first time. Smashed the robot’s head in one punch, but…” He held up his arm slightly, still tender. “It broke everything.”

He exhaled shakily. “I don’t think I passed. I didn’t get any villain points. I couldn’t move after. I just laid there until the exam ended.”

Aiko stepped closer, her voice soft but certain. “You ran straight into danger to save someone. That’s what a hero does.”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Izuku muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. “Not if the system doesn’t count it.”

“It matters to me,” Aiko said, her voice sharper than he expected.

He looked at her. There was a fire behind her eyes.

She sighed a moment later, softer now. “But… I know. You need the points to get into U.A.”

Before Izuku could respond, Inko looked back down the hallway. “Come on, dinner’s just about ready,” she said with a warm smile. “You can tell us everything after you’ve eaten, okay?”

She turned back toward the kitchen, leaving them alone in the hallway.

Aiko reached for his backpack. “Here,” she murmured, helping him take it off. Her fingers brushed his shoulder, lingering just a little longer than necessary—as if she were still scanning for signs of hidden injuries.

But then she paused.

“Wait.” Her brow creased. “What do you mean it ‘broke everything’?”

Izuku winced. He lowered his voice instinctively so his mom wouldn’t hear. “When I used the quirk… it kind of broke my arm.”

Aiko’s eyes widened. “What!?”

“Shhh—!” He glanced toward the kitchen, then leaned in. “Yeah. My body couldn’t handle it. It was too much power all at once. All Might said I’d be ready after the training but, I don’t know… maybe I’m just too weak, maybe…”

His voice trailed off when he saw the color drain from her face.

“Aiko?”

She lifted a hand to her mouth, staring at him like she’d just solved some horrible equation.

“Oh no,” she whispered, her other hand coming to rest on his forearm. “Oh my god, Izuku…”

“What?” he asked, growing more concerned by the second.

“I think…” She took a shaky breath. “I think I stole your gains.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

She looked genuinely pained as she gestured vaguely between them. “Okay, so you know how when a butterfly’s coming out of its chrysalis, you’re not supposed to help it? Like, even though it looks hard, you have to let it struggle on its own or its wings won’t develop properly?”

“Yeah…” Izuku said slowly.

“Well… I think that might be what happened when I helped you clean the beach.”

Izuku stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you were supposed to do it alone, right? That was the whole point of the training. To get strong enough for the quirk.” She gestured animatedly now, pacing half a step away, then back. “But I was there every day, helping you haul junk, lifting tires, dragging fridges. You weren’t pushing your limits because I kept… lightening the load.”

He blinked. “You’re saying… I failed the training because you were too helpful?”

“I’m saying you didn’t get the full chrysalis struggle experience!” she cried, exasperated. “You needed to break yourself on that junk heap and rebuild from scratch. And instead, I kept swooping in like a well-meaning sidekick with zero understanding of metaphorical transformation arcs!”

Silence.

Then Izuku snorted.

Aiko scowled. “This isn’t funny!”

He tried to rein it in, but another laugh bubbled up. “You’re acting like you sabotaged my montage.”

“I did! I montage-blocked you! You were supposed to be training under a waterfall, and I showed up with a towel and snacks!”

He was laughing properly now, leaning back against the wall, eyes crinkling. “You know, for someone who’s usually right, this is… probably the most ridiculous theory I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m serious,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “I single-handedly hijacked your glow-up.”

“Please. I still got a glow-up.” He nudged her gently. “You’re hugging it every five minutes.”

That earned him a flustered look and a light smack to the chest.

“Shut up.”

He grinned.

But as the laughter faded, the hallway settled into a quieter rhythm.

Izuku’s gaze dropped to the floor, a faint crease forming between his brows.

Aiko’s smile softened. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

He exhaled slowly. The humor drained from his face, replaced by something more thoughtful. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, quietly—

“I think…” He paused, then lifted his head, meeting her eyes. “You might be.”

Their gazes held.

“All Might gave me that training plan for a reason,” he said finally. “He wouldn’t make a mistake like that. And I didn’t slack off…” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But I did let you help.”

He hesitated—then added, softer now, “Even if that’s true… I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

Aiko’s breath caught slightly as she looked up at him.

“You being there,” he said, his voice steady but warm, “made all of it bearable.”

He reached out, taking her hand gently in his. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you. Not the physical part—the lifting, the hauling—but the rest. The days I thought I would never be good enough. The moments I thought I’d never measure up. You were there, every single time. You looked at me like I was already a hero… and that gave me the strength to keep going.”

Her eyes glistened faintly.

“Even if my body had been ready,” he murmured, “my heart wouldn’t have been.”

Aiko opened her mouth, but no words came.

So instead, she stepped closer and rested her head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a moment.

He shook his head quickly. “No. No, don’t be… It was worth it.”

He guided her arms around his waist and rubbed her back gently, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“I think… I would’ve broken in ways no school nurse could’ve fixed, if my body was ready—but my heart wasn’t.”

✧ ✧ ✧

A few days later, Aiko was doodling in her pink notebook at the low table behind the workshop when the familiar scrape of the front door sliding open made her pencil pause mid-line. She tilted her head, listening for a customer’s voice—but only caught the low rumble of Tetsurō speaking.

A moment later, the workshop curtain stirred. It was pulled back slowly, and Rika’s smiling face peeked through.

“Rika-chan!” Aiko exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

Rika slipped inside and let the curtain fall shut behind her. “Hey—sorry for dropping in randomly like this,” she said as she crossed the room and settled onto the cushion opposite Aiko.

She lifted a small plastic bag. “I’ve got some clothes that don’t fit me anymore. They might not be your style, but I thought…” She gave a casual shrug, sliding the bag across.

Aiko’s smile spread as she reached for it. “Oh wow—thank you so much. That’s so kind of you.”

Aiko peeked into the bag and pulled out a soft hoodie, then a couple of oversized T-shirts, and a pair of baggy jeans. All of them were undeniably Rika’s style—loose, casual, a little tomboy-ish. Not quite what Aiko would have picked for herself, but the gesture warmed her all the same.

“These are great,” she said sincerely, lifting a pair of purple Muay Thai shorts from the bottom of the pile.

“Oh, those were Haruki’s,” Rika explained. “He said you could have them, they’re a bit snug on him now.”

Aiko smiled, holding them up with both hands. “These will definitely fit! Tell him I said thanks.”

Rika’s gaze drifted toward the notebook still open on the table. “That’s really pretty,” she said, nodding at the half-finished doodle of a flower.

Aiko flushed faintly. “It’s okay…”

Rika leaned forward, turning the notebook toward herself. She tilted her head, studying the lines. “If you pull a couple of the petals back, like they’re folding under, it’ll make the bloom feel more dimensional. Right now they all face forward—it flattens it out.”

Aiko blinked, caught off guard. “You’re… into art too?”

Rika smiled, small and a little wry. “Yeah. It’s how I shut my brain off. I really love making things with clay, but… pencils and paper are easier to get ahold of. Cheaper. When I’m making art, everything else… just fades.”

Aiko nodded softly but didn’t push. She knew what it was like to need an escape.

“Tea?” she offered instead, rising to her feet.

“Sure,” Rika said, settling back on the cushion.

As the kettle warmed, Aiko listened to the faint rustle of fabric as Rika pulled her legs up under her. Then her voice, quiet but steady:

“I started drawing when I was four. Right around the time my quirk showed up.”

Aiko glanced back, hands pausing briefly over the cups.

“My parents… they wanted someone powerful. A kid who could make them rich. Instead, I got sticky hands.” Her tone didn’t crack, but it was flat in a way that carried its own weight. “They didn’t take it well. They yelled a lot. Sometimes… they would hit me.”

Aiko’s chest tightened.

Rika’s eyes stayed on the notebook. “Drawing was the only place I could go. I could make whole worlds on paper and disappear into them. Places they couldn’t touch me.”

The kettle clicked softly. Aiko poured the tea, forcing herself not to frown too deeply, not to show too much pity.

“When I was seven,” Rika went on, “they just left. Both of them. One day they were yelling, the next day the apartment was empty. After about a week I ran out of food. That’s when Naoto and his mom found me in the hallway.”

Her voice didn’t waver. She wasn’t sad—just matter-of-fact, like someone who’d had years to make peace with it.

Still, Aiko’s heart clenched. She slid the tea across the table, her own fingers curling briefly against the warm ceramic as if grounding herself.

“I’m… really sorry you had to go through that,” Aiko said softly.

Rika looked up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Naoto’s mom treats me like her own. She’s been the best parent I’ve ever had. Honestly…” she gave a little shrug, “…it was kind of a blessing in disguise.”

Aiko blinked, surprised by her steadiness. “You really think so?”

Rika nodded, hands curling around her tea. “If they hadn’t left, I would have been stuck with them for years. Miserable. Scared all the time. Instead… I got a family who actually wants me. And Naoto… he’s always got my back.” She tilted her head, a flicker of warmth crossing her face.

Aiko sipped her tea, then tilted her head. “So… you and Naoto…?”

Rika froze mid-sip. Her gaze dropped, cheeks coloring as she brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Umm… no. We’re not…”

Aiko’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “But… you like him?”

Rika gave a small laugh, flustered. “I… well… Naoto’s not really—”

“I see the way he looks at you,” Aiko teased, eyes glinting.

Rika smiled despite herself, shaking her head. “Yeah, but nothing’s ever…”

Aiko leaned in, smirk tugging at her lips. “Boys are slow and clueless sometimes. Even the smart ones.”

That earned her a laugh from Rika, soft and a little shy, but brighter than before.

✧ ✧ ✧

One week after the entrance exams, Izuku sat in his chair, hands clenched in his lap, heart pounding. A small, circular device blinked softly on his desk.

Finally, he tapped it.

It whirred once. A flicker of light shimmered above it, then a familiar figure appeared in holographic form.

The projection smiled. “I am here!”

“All Might…?” Izuku breathed.

His voice boomed with energy as he recapped the exam. And then—the girl from the gates.

She was shown speaking with a teacher: “…he’s kind of plain-looking.”

Izuku blinked.

Plain looking?

“…She means me.”

His thoughts stuttered for a second.

Then Aiko’s voice came back to him—unapologetically fierce:

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

Izuku winced.

Oof. Better not tell Aiko. She could probably take this girl.

He smiled to himself, still shaken, still stunned.

Then All Might’s voice rang out again:

“Welcome, Izuku!”

The words echoed through the room.

I did it. I got in to U.A!

Izuku leapt up from his chair. He swiped quickly at his cheeks, wiping away the tears he hadn’t even realized were falling.

He didn’t even stop to think. He bolted out of his room, nearly tripping. “Mom! I got in!”

Inko shrieked from the hallway. “Izuku!”

He darted back into his room, yanked open a drawer, and threw on the first pair of jeans he could find. His hands fumbled with the zipper as he grabbed his jacket and shoes.

“I need to tell Aiko!”

Inko peeked around the corner. “Izuku, it’s late—!”

But the door was already swinging shut behind him.

He sprinted into the night, the cool air stinging his face, heart hammering in his chest—grinning like someone who’d just touched the sky.