Izuku's point of view
It has been six months since I woke up in this new world of mine.
I leaned back in my chair, the familiar scent of solder and warm circuitry filling my nose. On the desk in front of me, two laptops sat open, their screens displaying the intricate schematics for my current project. My fingers, now a little more steady and sure than they had been half a year ago, were carefully threading a fine-gauge wire through a custom-molded polymer bracer.
It was a start. My own, very crude, version of the Widow's Bite. No fancy energy blasts yet, just the basic housing and the initial taser-level circuitry. Baby steps after all Rome was not built in a day.
A soft chuckle escaped me as I glanced at the third laptop, the one off to the side. Its screen was a quiet, professional display of stock portfolios and banking summaries. The numbers there would make any adult sweat, and they were all under the control of a four-year-old. Well, a four-year-old with a thirty-year-old soldier, budding engineer/hacker and Marvel fan mentality.
It all started after my birthday. A real, proper birthday with a cake that Mama had stayed up late to decorate with a wobbly All Might figure. It was the best day I'd had in either of my lives. And it was that warmth, that feeling of being truly cared for, that solidified my resolve. I had to build something to protect it. I had to start building my foundations.
And let's be real, there was only one name that would ever do. Stark Industries. I mean, come on. What else was I going to call it? "Midoriya Support?" Please. It had to be Stark. It just had to.
There was just one tiny, insignificant, massively irritating problem: I was four years old.
Trying to legally start a company at this age was like trying to fist-fight a hurricane. The laws were very clear: you needed an adult. It pissed me off, but I got it. They weren't exactly expecting a toddler to try and file corporate paperwork. But, as I quickly learned, for every annoying law, there's a beautiful, exploitable loophole just waiting to be loved and cared for. And I was in a very loving and caring mood.
First things first: funding. Mama worked her fingers to the bone as a nurse just to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. There was no way, no way, I was going to ask her to risk what little we had on my crazy dream. And I sure as hell wasn't going to follow the "proper" path like All Might or those uptight police commissioners—like that dog from the Stain incident in the original series. Too much red tape, and not enough results for my liking.
So I decided to make money the easier way. My not so legal way.
Let's just say the Musutafu Police Department's cybersecurity is… tragically bad. I mean, it was so bad I almost felt bad for them. Almost. It took me less than a day to slip into their evidence servers. I wasn't looking for state secrets; I was looking for dirt. Specifically, dirt on villains who had gotten away with their loot, cases where the police had a suspect but lacked the final piece of evidence to make an arrest.
I found my first target pretty quickly: a low-level thug with an adhesive quirk who'd been robbing jewelry stores. The cops had him on their list, but they couldn't pin the last two heists on him. His financials, however, told a different story. A story of a sudden, unexplained cash deposit sitting in a shady, off-the-books account.
So, I did what any good, concerned citizen would do of course. I anonymously emailed the complete, untraceable evidence packet to the lead detective on the case. And then, while the police were busy celebrating their breakthrough and making the arrest, I… liberated the funds. Hacking the bank was actually harder than hacking the police, but only marginally. Moving the money through a few dummy accounts and into my own, newly-created, and perfectly secure offshore bank was the easy part.
My first act of vigilante capitalism was a resounding success. The villain went to jail, the police got a closed case, and I got the seed money for my foundation of my empire.
With that initial capital, I started investing. The stock market in this world wasn't that different from my old one, just with different players. I focused on stable, boring companies with solid growth trajectories—established support gear manufacturers, logistics firms, and the burgeoning industry of quirk-friendly materials. I wasn't looking for a flashy, high-risk win; I was building an empire, brick by boring, profitable brick. Compound interest is the eighth wonder of the world, and I had time on my side.
My eyes, of course, remained fixed on the ultimate prize: the Yaoyorozu Group. But they were a fortress, privately held and impenetrable. I'd ran the numbers, analyzed their corporate structure, and the only event that would force a dynasty like that to go public would be a catastrophic liquidity crisis or a massive, paradigm-shifting expansion that required capital on a scale even they couldn't muster internally. I was patient son of a gun. I could wait for that moment, my war chest growing larger with each passing day, ready to buy a significant piece of the future the moment the drawbridge lowered.
In the meantime, I had other, more immediate concerns. Like avoiding a homicide charge.
For six months, I had successfully avoided Katsuki Bakugo like he was a radioactive IED. It wasn't hard. Mama thought I was just being a "big boy" and playing quietly at home. Aunty Mitsuki, while suspicious, seemed to buy my story of being engrossed in "helping Mama" by learning. The truth was, every time I even heard his explosive yelling from down the street, my spine went rigid. The soldier in me saw a loud, aggressive, undisciplined threat. The man who had taken a grenade for his platoon saw a bully who tormented the boy whose life and mother I now cherished.
If I had to interact with him for more than five minutes, my old instincts would have taken over. The carefully constructed calm would have shattered, and the rage—the pure, unadulterated fury at everything he represented—would have been a useful, terrifying tool for removing a problem. The possibility of me breaking his neck or shattering his limbs in a "playground scuffle" was not just a possibility; it was an inevitability I was not yet prepared to face. So, I stayed away. It was the strategic choice.
While my money worked for me in the digital world, I put my body to work in the physical one. I had suspected it from the moment I woke up, and my training over the last six months confirmed it: the human bodies in the MHA universe were on a different level. They were much stronger, more durable, and infinitely more adaptable than the ones in my old world. What would have stunted a child's growth or caused repetitive stress injuries back home was met here with relentless adaptation.
I abused that fact. Mercilessly.
My "playtime" was a carefully regimented workout. I did bodyweight exercises until my muscles screamed. I ran until my lungs burned. I practiced falls, rolls, and basic stances until they were as natural as breathing. I pushed this four-year-old body to its absolute limit every single day. And instead of breaking down, it responded. My scrawny frame began to hint at lean muscle. My stamina increased exponentially. My coordination, even in this unfamiliar form, was becoming sharp, precise. I was forging a weapon, and the raw material was far superior to anything I'd ever had before.
Parallel to my physical training, I dove into the theoretical. My late-night studies shifted from corporate finance to biology, chemistry, and genetics. I was laying the foundation of knowledge for the real game-changers: biotechnology and gene splicing. The ultimate goals, sketched in the deepest, most encrypted parts of my notes, were daunting.
The Super Soldier Serum. A paradigm of peak human potential, rewriting the body's limits without the need for a quirk factor.
The Extremis Virus. A terrifying, volatile key to cellular regeneration and bio-energetic weaponry that could level the playing field against even the most powerful meta-humans.
They were moonshots, dreams on paper. But every journey begins with a single step. And my steps were the stolen cash in my accounts, the growing muscle on my bones, and the schematics slowly taking form on my screen.
The soldering iron hissed softly, a thin ribbon of smoke curling upward as I connected the final lead. I held it in place just long enough for the metal to settle, then leaned back, exhaling slow.
The bracer lay across my forearm—ugly, heavy, and uneven in a way that made my inner perfectionist twitch. The main cuff was a roughly cut steel housing, filed down at the edges and tightened with makeshift clamps. Five slim glass conduits were mounted along the top, each one containing a spiraling filament of blue energy that pulsed faintly when the wires connected correctly. Thin red and blue wires snaked along the metal like veins—messy, exposed, vulnerable— but functional.
My first prototype Widow bracers.
Calling it homemade was generous at best. Calling it safe was hilarious. But I flexed my wrist, and the tiny capacitors hummed back, responding to me.
I allowed myself the smallest, smug little grin.
"…It won't win any prizes for beauty," I murmured, turning my arm to catch the light, "but it works. For now."
(Image here)
The chuckle that escaped me was half-proud, half-tired. It was clunky, too heavy, and the exposed wiring made the entire thing look like it could electrocute me if I sneezed wrong. No sleek Stark-tech polish. No ergonomic shaping. Just the first step.
And like Mama—and like the Izuku from the anime—my brain immediately began picking it apart.
"If I reroute the wiring through a casing, maybe carbon fiber if I can source it, reduce the weight by half— no, quarter— and if I can rework the capacitor housing into something flatter… could integrate a compression spring? Or maybe split the power distributor so it's not all in one place— and the charge is way too unstable, maybe I could—"
I was muttering. Full-on muttering.
Rapid-fire whispers. Brain sprinting ahead of my hands. A habit inherited straight from Mama's kitchen and Izuku's hero notebooks.
I didn't even notice I'd started smiling at the damn thing.
Then—
A soft click.
The apartment door opening.
A shift of air in the hallway.
"…Izuku?"
Her voice.
My spine went rigid. Every instinct snapped to immediate alert. I turned around slow, like the act of not jolting might somehow rewrite reality.
She was in the doorway.
Still wearing her clinic scrubs. Eyes tired, soft, warm—and now widening in shock as she took in the sight.
Me.
Her four years old son.
Sleeves rolled up, soldering tools scattered, wires everywhere—
—and a crackling, needle-lined bracer strapped to my arm.
We locked eyes with each other and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Only one word crossed my mind while looking at mama.
Shit!!!!
"M–Mama—" I started, but she was already taking a step forward.
"Izuku… what is—"
BZZT!
A sharp crackle of blue electricity jumped across the exposed wiring.
The bracer lit up like a very angry toaster.
Her eyes widened and with that reaction from her my soul left my body.
I smacked my hand behind my back so fast I almost slapped myself in the spine.
"H–Hi Mama! You're home early!" I said, voice going up two octaves into squeaky cartoon territory. Casual. Totally normal. Not doing mad-science. Nope. Not me.
I also not-very-smoothly shuffled sideways to block her view of the laptops and the open schematic tabs and the soldering kit and—
Right. Everything.
She stared.
She did not look angry.
Just stunned.
The kind of stunned where your brain is buffering and your mouth hasn't caught up yet.
"…Izuku," she said slowly, "what is all of this?"
I let the fake smile drop.
There was no escaping this.
So might as well face the music.
So I walked over, took her hand gently, and guided her to sit in the chair by the desk.
Her knees bent automatically, like her body remembered how to mom even when reality had just punched her in the head.
I stood in front of her, small hands clasped behind me.
"Okay," I said. "So… I made a company."
Her blink was audible.
"…You what?"
"A company!" I repeated proudly. "It's called Stark Industries."
She mouthed the name, confused, and curious.
"I started studying online 'cause you were working a lot," I continued. "Math, biology, physics, quirk science, hero history—everything! But—"
My cheeks puffed out.
"I got really bored because it was too easy for me."
She let out the softest gasp she could.
"So I started learning business and market dynamics and capital flow structure," I continued, very seriously. "Then I learned about stocks! And after that I started doing online jobs when you weren't home."
Internally, I sighed in relief.
Good thing I actually did those boring survey and transcription jobs first. It was my Perfect alibi.
"And I invested some money—into stable growth companies. And then I shorted some overvalued stocks based on misaligned revenue projections and—"
I grinned.
"I made money! Real money!"
Her hand went to her mouth.
"And I was really happy," I said more softly, "because that meant I could help you, Mama. So you don't have to work so hard. So we can spend more time together."
Her eyes shone, filling with warmth and confusion and love all tangled together.
"…Izuku," she whispered. "My sweet boy…"
"But then," I continued, "I got bored again."
Her soul visibly left her body for a moment.
"So while the money is compounding passively through diversified automated investment allocation algorithms I started studying mechanics, circuitry, metallurgy, energy conduction… and hero gear creation!"
I lifted my arm.
The bracer hummed.
Five needle-like capacitor chambers flickered softly with blue current.
Red and blue wires crossed like a nervous system over metal plating.
"It's my first prototype," I explained. "It's a discharge-assisted kinetic conduction bracer designed to incapacitate targets non-lethally using a focused electroshock injection system."
She stared.
"…That means… it shocks people?" she asked weakly.
"Yes!" I smiled brightly.
I pointed across the room to a stack of well-worn cookbooks taped together with painter's tape.
"I was just about to test it! So we can test it together since you're here now!"
"I— what— Izuku wai—"
Too late.
I lifted my arm.
Aimed.
Focused.
Click–THRRRRR—ZAP!
The first dart ignited its coil, launched, and buried itself dead-center in the book stack.
Blue arcs danced across the pages, sizzling lightly.
The bracer hissed—then auto-cycled.
The second dart slid into firing position with a satisfying mechanical chk-CHNK.
My heart burst into stars.
"I DID IT!" I shouted, jumping in place. "Prototype proof-of-concept successful! Calibration optimal! Target acquisition stable!"
Mama did not speak.
Mama did not even blink.
Mama's entire worldview was currently rebooting and I could literally see error messes and a rebooting bar on top of her head.
I turned to her, beaming, cheeks flushed with proud excitement.
"So!" I said happily. "What do you think?"
She opened her mouth.
No sound came out.
I waited for her with tail-wagging energy, small body trembling with my first victory.
Finally—
Very, very quietly—
"…Izuku," she whispered, "my baby… you are… terrifying."
I blinked.
"…Thank you!" I said brightly.
There was a beat of absolute silence.
Then reality rushed back into her face all at once.
Her eyes filled. Her hands flew to her cheeks. Her breath wobbled.
"Oh, my sweet boy—!" she cried, grabbing my shoulders. "You're so smart—and thoughtful—and kind—and you did all of this because you didn't want me to be tired—and—oh—my baby!!"
She crushed me into her chest so tightly I heard my ribs protest.
I laughed nervously. "M-Mama— breathing— very optional— apparently—"
But then—
Her arms stopped.
Her grip loosened.
She pulled back slowly.
And something changed.
Her expression shifted from emotional meltdown to…
The Look.
The one that says:
Someone. Is. In. Trouble.
"…Izuku." Her voice dropped an octave. "You did all of this—you used my computer—built weapons—ran a financial portfolio—AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!?"
I froze the instant I heard her say that.
Because suddenly—
Her hair started to levitate around her.
Not metaphorically.
Like. Actually levitating.
Her dark green hair rose with the force of PURE MATERNAL FURY.
This—this was not anime fluff.
This was Naruto Uzumaki's Mother Mode.
Kushina in full "Do you want to die?" energy.
I felt my tiny soul leave my tiny body, completely ready to die at any moment.
Shit!! - Nope nope nope this cannot be happening right now—abort mission—retreat—pull back pull back—
"I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY—!!" I yelped, bowing so fast I nearly headbutted her in the stomach. "I SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU I PROMISE I WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING ALWAYS FOREVER I WILL NEVER HIDE ANYTHING AGAIN PLEASE DON'T GO FULL CHAKRA MODE—!!!"
She blinked.
"…Chakra?"
Uh-oh.
But then—
Her hair dropped.
Her lips trembled.
And she lunged forward and wrapped me up again, hugging me so tight the bracer squeaked against her shirt.
"Oh my sweet little genius baby, you're so talented and responsible and thoughtful and I am SO PROUD OF YOU—"
She began to rock me back and forth.
Like a baby.
While mumbling rapidly at speeds only dolphins and panicked mothers should be able to reach.
"My baby is so smart—stark industries—investor prodigy—brilliant—my little inventor—so polite—so caring—maybe he'll get an award—oh gods what if he gets too famous—oh no what if heroes try to recruit him too early—should I build a panic room—"
I sweat-dropped at her reaction.
She is absolutely Kushina.
This is definitely a confirmation of this.
100%.
The anime did not do her justice.
I cleared my throat gently. "Uh… Mama?"
She blinked, still hugging me.
"Yes, my little miracle?"
"Maybe next time," I said slowly, "give me a warning before your chakra flares up?"
She blinked.
"…My what?"
Her confusion lasted exactly two seconds before she started spiraling again.
"My baby knows SO MANY WORDS!!!"
I groaned internally.
Then—finally—she stopped enough to focus.
"Izuku," she said softly, brushing hair from my face, "how… how do you know all this? All those complicated business terms… and engineering… and science…?"
I sighed.
Right.
We were back to that part.
I rubbed the back of my head, bracer clinking gently.
"Okay," I said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"Mama… I'll explain from the beginning."