Izukus point of view
"Okay," I said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"Mama... I'll explain from the beginning."
The bracer on my arm hummed faintly, its capacitors still warm from the test shot. I glanced at it, then quietly unbuckled the straps and slid it off. The weight left my arm with a dull release, like setting down a tool you'd been holding too long.
"...I don't need to have it on right now," I murmured. "And it's still a prototype, so... better not push my luck."
I crossed the room and placed it gently on the desk, turning off the power relays with careful fingers. The faint glow of the conduits dimmed to nothing. Only then did I sit on the edge of my bed, facing her.
Mama sat in the chair beside the desk. Hands folded. Shoulders lifted slightly. Waiting. Listening. Trying to understand.
I took a breath.
"So... after my birthday," I began, "I started thinking a lot. About school. About what the doctor said. About... you."
Her eyes softened, and I pushed forward before my voice could waver.
"When I came home that day, I used your computer. I wanted to learn more. I didn't want to just... sit and wait for someone to tell me I couldn't be something."
I fiddled with the blanket beneath my fingers.
"At first, I looked up school things. Math, science, biology... easy stuff. I learned them really fast. Too fast. I didn't feel like I was moving anywhere."
I puffed my cheeks unconsciously.
Old habit.
New body.
"So I started looking up how to help. How to... help you."
Her breath caught.
But she didn't interrupt.
"You work so much," I said quietly. "So late. And you come home tired and still try to smile for me. I wanted to make that stop. I wanted you to rest. I wanted you to not worry about money anymore."
Her eyes glistened.
"So I learned about business. About banking. About stocks and investments and company structures. And... I learned how to use them."
I swallowed.
"That's when I decided to start a company. Stark Industries."
The name hung between us.
"But... I'm four." I looked away. "So legally, I can't own anything yet. So I started reading laws. A lot of them. And I found something."
Mama leaned forward a little completely focused on me.
"...Izuku," she asked softly, "what exactly did you do to make the 'loophole' work?"
I winced.
"...Please don't get mad."
She didn't say anything.
She just gave me the look.
The universal mother look.
I sighed in surrender.
"I... made a fake adult."
Her eyes widened.
"Not like— not a real person! Just... a legal identity placeholder. A proxy CEO. A name that doesn't actually exist, but the paperwork system accepts it because it matches formatting and age requirements. So technically the company has a director and owner... just not one that's real."
The silence was long.
Her expression was not anger.
It was deep disapproval.
"...Izuku," she said slowly, "that cannot stay like that."
I nodded.
Of course.
I knew that.
Eventually someone would notice.
She crossed her arms.
"How can it be fixed?"
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking.
Then—
A thought clicked and an imaginary lightbulb lit up.
I sat up straight.
"You could be the CEO."
She blinked.
"M–Me?! Izuku, I— this is your company. I couldn't just—"
"If you did," I said gently, "you wouldn't have to work at the clinic anymore."
She froze.
"You'd stay home," I continued. "With me. Helping me. Until I turn thirteen. That's when I can legally file for independent ownership transition. Then I'd take over. And everything would already be stable. And we'd be together. Every day."
The words landed like a blessing and she broke.
Tears flooded her eyes so fast she couldn't even speak for a beat. Then she laughed through them—half-sob, half-giddy disbelief—and wrapped both arms around me like she'd been holding me too tight my whole life.
"Oh, my baby," she choked, voice thick, "you're the best son in the whole world. I am the luckiest mother to ever exist. How did I get so lucky?" She pressed her forehead to mine, tears hot against my skin. "You thought of everything... you thought of me."
I grinned, small and proud and a little embarrassed as she fussed at my hair like I was still a toddler.
Then her face changed, folding into a new kind of worry. Her fingers tightened in my hair until I squeaked.
"What if..." she whispered, eyes hardening as the protectiveness came flooding back, "what if someone finds out? What if someone tries to control you—use you—turn you into something monstrous? No. No one is going to touch my baby. If anyone ever tried to hurt you, I—" Her voice dropped into a cold place. "I won't allow it. Anyone who dares will... will pay. I will make sure of it."
My chest warmed at the ferocity in her tone. That kind of unfiltered maternal wrath was terrifying and somehow comforting all at once. I hugged her back, tightening my arms around her shoulders.
"Everything's going to be fine, Mama," I murmured, because words like promises sounded safe and felt real when I said them. "I'll be careful. I'll hide things better. I'll make it so no one can use me."
She sniffed, still trembling, and then a thought struck her—hope wrapped in fear.
"Maybe you do have some sort of intelligence quirk," she breathed. "That stupid doctor—he lied to us. I have never heard of a four-year-old being this... this capable. But keep it secret, Izuku. Please. If anyone tries to exploit you or kidnap you because of it—" Her voice broke again. "I will not forgive them. My baby comes first."
I smiled and squeezed her tighter. "I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you either. And I'll be careful, I swear."
Then, because I was still a kid in a kid's life and there were practical things to be done, I blurted it out.
"Since you said I could hide... can I be put in online schooling, please, Mama? I don't like school anymore." My lowered voice trembled with something like shame. "The other kids bully me because I'm smart, and ever since the teacher told everyone I don't have a quirk, they try to hurt me more. I can usually avoid them—because I'm smart and quick—but the teachers... they don't do anything. Sometimes I think they even encourage it. And Katsuki—he's been trying to pick fights with me every chance he gets. He's not my friend anymore."
Her expression shifted again—first shock, then a flash of fierce anger—like a storm cloud rolling in with zero warning.
I looked up at her, words trailing off, and for a second the room was very quiet.
She didn't yell at first. Instead she inhaled, and the air felt thick with the kind of anger that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with injustice.
Then—
Her pupils narrowed.
Her jaw clenched.
And her hair began to rise.
Slowly.
Like a storm cloud pulling itself together.
"Bakugo Katsuki..." she said, voice low and dangerously calm. "That boy. The child of my best friend. The one I held when he was a newborn. The one I bought birthday gifts for. He laid his hands on my baby?"
Her voice cracked and boomed at the same time.
"Oh, that little explosive gremlin has the AUDACITY to put even a SCRATCH on my Izuku—!?"
The air pressure in the room spiked.
I swear pictures on the wall rattled.
"Kushina Midoriya is back—" I whispered to myself in horror.
Her hair shot upward in full WRATH GODDESS MODE.
I sat there frozen, tiny and helpless, like a soldier facing an artillery cannon that suddenly grew feelings.
"H-HEY—HEY MAMA—WAIT—MAMA—" I scrambled off the bed and hugged her waist before she could physically go storm their apartment. "It's okay!! I'm fine!! Really!! See—? All limbs attached!!"
She did not calm down.
"He HIT my baby. He BULLIED my baby. HE MADE MY BABY FEEL UNSAFE—" Her voice rose, climbing toward the kind of octave where dogs three blocks away start howling.
"Mama! Mama!" I tugged on her shirt like a kid pulling the pin out of a grenade. "Listen! I still like Aunty Mitsuki!"
She stopped mid-scream.
Blink. Blink.
Her hair... slowly lowered... like an antenna retracting.
"...You like Mitsuki?" she asked, voice wobbling.
I nodded fast. "I love Aunty. She's good. She didn't know. She never saw it happen. Katsuki hides it from her because he thinks it's normal. But— I don't like him anymore. At all. But I still want Aunty Mitsuki in my life. Please don't fight with her."
Mama's expression softened—only a little—but the rage stayed under the skin like a loaded trap waiting to snap.
She exhaled. Sharp. Cold. Decisive.
"Fine," she said. "I will not fight with Mitsuki."
She took another breath, bracing herself.
"But." Her voice sharpened like a blade being drawn.
"That boy is no longer welcome in this home. Ever. Again."
My shoulders dropped with relief.
But internally?
I made a note to myself: Never. Make. Mama. Angry.
Mama's hair settled completely, emotion shifting back to protective worry instead of "I will end an entire bloodline."
She placed her hands on my cheeks again, softer this time.
"No more hiding," she whispered. "No more suffering alone. If someone hurts you—even just a little—you tell me."
I nodded.
And this time, I meant it.
In her arms, the storm passed—but the vow remained.
Katsuki Bakugo may not have realized it yet...
...but a new line had been drawn.
And this time?
He wasn't the one standing on the right side of it.