Izuku's Point of View
The warm atmosphere left with her.
The moment Mama's humming faded into the kitchen, the atmosphere in the living room shifted like someone had drawn a curtain between two worlds. Politeness stayed — but stretched thin, taut, like the surface of a drum before the first strike.
And I could finally let my real posture settle beneath the innocent mask I wore as my second skin at this point.
Time to see what type of predator is sitting in front of me.
I waited for a second.
Then I chuckled.
Quiet, low, and absolutely intentional.
Hikaru's head jerked slightly — confusion breaking through his smooth professional veneer for the first time since he walked in. His brows twitched, and his eyes sharpened with a watchfulness that told me I'd stepped just outside the script he expected me to follow.
Good.
I leaned back against the couch, crossing my small arms with all the leisurely calm of someone playing with a knife only I could see.
"So," I said casually, "now that my mother is out of earshot... why don't we stop pretending?"
Hikaru blinked slowly.
A subtle shift — a tell — but there.
"Pretending?" he repeated quietly.
His tone was soft and controlled. But there was a tension beneath it — a subtle pull, like a bowstring being drawn back.
I smiled — bright, childish, polite.
And let my words cut clean through the politeness.
"Let's drop the act, Hikaru," I said lightly. "If that's even your real name."
His stillness was absolute after I said that.
I continued, voice smooth and conversational, the way someone might discuss homework or the weather:
"You're not here about schooling opportunities. Nobody with your posture, walk, or micro-reaction patterns cares about curriculum pacing."
A flicker crossed his face — so fast most people would've missed it. Surprise? Annoyance? Amusement? Hard to tell. But it was there.
"You're pretending to be normal," I said, tilting my head. "And you're very, very good at it. I'll give you that."
His eyes narrowed the slightest fraction — not hostile, just... recalibrating.
"But everything about you," I went on, voice softening into something colder, "from how you scanned the hallway before stepping inside, to the way your center of gravity shifts when you breathe, tells me one thing."
I held up one tiny finger.
"One: you are dangerous."
His jaw tightened — barely.
I lifted a second finger.
"Two: you're used to killing."
No flinch.
But his pupils contracted just slightly.
"And three..."
I set both hands in my lap.
Smiled sweetly.
"You're most likely an assassin."
Silence folded between us.
Not heavy.
Just... honest.
I let my eyes meet his — not the childish softness Mama saw, but the steadiness of someone who had lived through gunfire and buried brothers in the sand.
"So," I said gently, "before I lose my hospitality..."
A thin, razor-edged warning wrapped in honey.
"Why are you here?"
Hikaru's breath stilled.
I leaned forward slightly.
"And what are your real intentions?"
Kaito's Point of View
Inko humming faded into the gentle clatter of pans in her kitchen.
The door hadn't fully swung shut, but the space Inko Midoriya occupied was gone, and the air in the living room turned several degrees colder the instant she was gone.
The boy let out a quiet chuckle.
It wasn't a child's laugh. It was the sound of a lock disengaging. My spine straightened a fraction before I could stop it. The script I'd prepared, the gentle probing of a gifted student, evaporated between one breath and the next.
He leaned back, a picture of casual ease, and crossed his arms. The gesture should have looked comical on his small frame. However it didn't look comical at all. It looked like a king settling onto a throne.
"So," he said, voice light. "Now that my mother is out of earshot... why don't we stop pretending?"
Pretending.
The word hung in the air, a direct challenge wrapped in silk.
I kept my face still, my voice soft. "Pretending?"
He smiled. It was the same bright, polite smile he'd given me when he first bowed. But now, his eyes didn't match. They were steady, evaluating, stripped of any childish gleam.
"Let's drop the act, Hikaru. If that's even your real name."
A cold splash of realization hit my gut. He'd seen it. He'd seen the mask and named it for what it was. My own tool, my second skin, turned against me by a six-year-old.
He continued, dissecting me with a conversational ease that was more unnerving than any threat.
"You're not here about schooling opportunities. Nobody with your posture, walk, or micro-reaction patterns cares about curriculum pacing."
"You're pretending to be normal," he said, tilting his head. "And you're very, very good at it. I'll give you that."
A flicker of something—not anger, a professional's grudging respect—stirred in my chest. He saw the craftsmanship.
"But everything about you," his voice softened, dropping into a colder register, "from how you scanned the hallway before stepping inside, to the way your center of gravity shifts when you breathe, tells me one thing."
A small finger rose. "One: you are dangerous."
A second joined it. "Two: you're used to killing."
My pulse, which I'd kept at a steady, controlled rhythm, gave a single, hard thump against my ribs. No flinch, but my pupils tightened. He saw that too.
"And three..." He set his hands in his lap and smiled sweetly. The contrast was jarring, masterful. "You're most likely an assassin."
Silence. Not the empty silence of a room, but the loaded quiet of a standoff. He met my gaze, and for the first time, I saw what he'd been hiding beneath the round cheeks and wide eyes. It wasn't malice. It was a weary, ancient certainty. The look of someone who has already stared down the abyss and decided not to blink.
"So," he said gently, the tone a velvet sheath over a blade, "before I lose my hospitality... Why are you here?"
He leaned forward, just an inch. The movement was deliberate, predatory.
"And what are your real intentions?"
The question hung between us. This was no longer a teacher meeting a student. This was a negotiation between two dangerous entities, and he had just seized the initiative.
A slow, genuine smile spread across my face. I let it reach my eyes, dropping the last vestige of Hikaru Ishida, the polite tutor. The mask was pointless now. He'd already shattered it.
"Beautiful," I murmured, the word tasting of real admiration. "You wear a mask better than operatives I've trained for a decade. Your mother has no idea, does she?"
I didn't wait for an answer. The pieces clicked. His careful politeness when I asked about his quirk, that subtle shift in the air— and his hidden message; choose your next words carefully—it wasn't just protectiveness. It was control. He'd been managing the conversation, managing me, from the moment I sat down.
This child was something else entirely. A pristine, uncut diamond of potential, and he'd just proven his edge was already sharp.
A dark, curious impulse rose in me. Let's see how sharp.
I let my posture relax further, but it wasn't a surrender. It was the loose readiness of a coiled spring. My voice dropped, losing all its previous warmth, becoming flat and matter-of-fact.
"You're right. I'm not a teacher. Not really." I held his gaze. "And my intentions?"
I paused, letting the silence thicken. Then I gave him a small, cold shrug.
"What if I said I was here to kill you?"
The words fell into the quiet room like stones into a still pond. I watched him waiting for his reaction. What would he do next?
I needed to see what this heir was made of when faced with the genuine article.
Izuku's Point of View
⸻
The words What if I said I was here to kill you? didn't frighten me.
If anything, they were disappointing.
I tilted my head, watched him carefully, and then—
I smiled.
A quiet, knowing curve of the lips that belonged to a man who had already died once and remembered how little the world scared him anymore.
I even gave a small, amused exhale.
"Hikaru," I murmured, tone soft, almost pitying, "if that's the case..."
My eyelids lowered.
"...I can't exactly let that happen now, can I?"
I snapped my fingers.
A tiny, crisp sound.
And the living room shifted.
Not physically—no grand mechanisms tearing open, no walls sliding dramatically—no, that would be sloppy, loud, and to obvious.
My systems were built differently.
Efficient.
Silent.
And Unavoidable.
In the span of a heartbeat, a dozen micro-panels along the baseboards slid open with soundless precision. Turrets no wider than my palm glided upward on magnetic rails, each one humming with charged capacitors.
Red dots blossomed across Hikaru's body.
One on his forehead.
Two on his chest.
Several on joints—knees, hips, elbows—calibrated for instant immobilization.
One aimed directly at the exact point that would paralyze him without killing him.
His eyes flicked around the room.
He hadn't heard them deploy.
Good.
He shouldn't.
Then the soft clicking began.
Vent covers shifted.
Something skittered.
Shadows moved.
My spiders—nine of them—poured out from vents, wall seams, and under the furniture. Their legs clicked lightly against the wood, each movement perfectly synchronized. Their red optics blinked in alternating patterns—silent commands, threat indexing, formation shifts.
Hikaru's body tensed.
His instincts knew what they were.
Killers.
Designed to neutralize a threat within three seconds.
But I raised a hand lightly, almost politely, stopping them mid-crawl.
"Easy," I said.
And then, with a gentleness that contrasted beautifully with the danger in the room—
"Silk," I called, smiling. "Would you mind coming out to say hello to our supposed assassin?"
A soft metallic chirp answered me.
Silk crawled over the back of my head, emerging from my curls like a tiny queen ascending her throne. Her legs tapped my hair lightly before she perched on top of my head, optics glowing a bright, curious blue.
She sparked once—static electricity crackling adorably between her whisker-like sensors.
She tried to look intimidating.
And she failed spectacularly.
She was too small.
Too cute.
And Too expressive.
Exactly as I designed her to be.
Behind her, however, her brood shifted their postures into predatory readiness, legs tightening, body plates expanding to reveal internal shock charges and deployment mechanisms. Their optics glowed a far more menacing crimson.
Hikaru's attention flicked between them.
Silk chirped again, proudly.
I rested a hand on my knee and looked at him with that same soft, cold smile.
"Well?" I asked, voice lowering into something darker. "Are you ready to die to kill me?"
His breath hitched—not from fear, but from recalculation.
Good.
"I must warn you," I continued, "if you try..."
I glanced around the room appreciatively.
"...I think the living room would look pretty good in blood red."
At that single sentence, every spider in the room shifted simultaneously. Their legs braced. Their internal systems activated with a soft, rising hum.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Just enough to promise violence.
And Silk?
She puffed up her tiny thorax and sparked again.
I spread my hands innocently.
"So?" I asked, tone light, playful, completely and utterly lethal underneath. "How would you like to proceed?"
Kaito's Point of View
Silence.
But not a true silence. A room full of charged capacitors, whirring servos, and the nearly imperceptible hum of targeting lasers painting my body had a sound all its own. It was the sound of a perfectly laid trap, sprung without a single wasted motion.
And it was Beautiful.
The thought was clinical, and detached. A professional's appreciation for a masterful piece of work. He hadn't just prepared defenses; he'd woven them into the very fabric of his home. The turrets had deployed with a sound so faint, a whisper of magnetized rails, that I would have missed it without my quirk. The spiders... they were a work of art. Lethal, coordinated, and commanded by that absurdly adorable one perched on his head like a crown.
I let my eyes, trace the lines of threats that were aimed at me. The red dots were steady, unblinking. They covered all primary and secondary strike zones. The spiders were positioned to cut off any avenue of flanking or retreat. The boy's expression was serene, almost bored, as if asking about the weather.
"Are you ready to die to kill me?"
The question wasn't a taunt. It was a genuine inquiry. A cost-benefit analysis delivered by a child.
A slow, real smile touched my lips, one that had nothing to do with the persona of Hikaru Ishida. This was the smile I wore when a mission parameters shifted in a fascinating way. When a target proved to be more than a file suggested.
"A convincing argument," I said, my voice a low murmur. "But let's ensure we're arguing from the same set of facts."
I didn't move aggressively. I simply let the control slip. The tight leash I kept on my quirk, the one that kept me looking human, loosened.
A low, subsonic hum vibrated in my chest first. Then, the change swept over me. My pupils elongated, sharpening into feline slits that glowed with a piercing, phosphorescent yellow. The air around my head shimmered as a thick, dark mane of hair erupted from my scalp and spilled down my neck and back. A long, powerful tail, tipped with a tuft of black fur, swept out from the base of my spine, its movement controlled and whip-like. My fingers ached pleasantly as my nails extended into sharp, black claws.
The transformation took less than two seconds. The scent in the room sharpened exponentially—ozone from the capacitors, the faint oil of the spiders' joints, the clean soap on Izuku's skin, the distant ginger and garlic from the kitchen. Every sound clarified, from the soft click of a spider adjusting its stance to the steady, calm rhythm of the boy's heart.
QUIRK: Dark Lion
Description:
Transformation-type quirk that enhances the user's senses to an extreme degree. Heightened perception forms the foundation of the quirk, allowing precise awareness of movement, sound, and intent. Physical strength, speed, and durability are increased to both offensive and defensive levels as a secondary effect, optimized for close-quarters combat and survival.
I saw the turrets now not as vague threats, but as individual devices. I could trace the wiring paths in the walls by their faint electrical hums. I could hear the minute differences in the servos of the spider drones, identifying which ones were primed for entanglement and which for a shock.
I watched Izuku's face. No fear. Only intense, analytical interest. He was studying my quirk, already filing it away.
"Heightened senses," I explained, my voice gaining a subtle, bestial gravel. "Added strength, defense, agility. I heard your systems the moment you activated them. I can see the weak points in your armor, boy. The junction box behind the bookshelf. The overload capacitor on the third turret to your left."
I let the observation hang, not as a threat, but as a demonstration.
See? I am not someome you can scare easily
Then I leaned forward slightly, my glowing eyes fixed on his. "But killing... that's not something a hero does, is it, kid?" I let the 'hero' word drip with a faint, weary cynicism. "Isn't that what all children dream of nowadays? To be the next All Might? To be a Symbol of Peace who never takes a life?"
For a moment, he just stared. Then, he laughed.
It wasn't a child's giggle. It was a short, sharp, humorless bark of sound that seemed too old for his small body.
"You're right," he said, the laughter fading into a chilling calm. "I do want to be a hero. I want to be the first quirkless hero. To show this world that power doesn't make the hero. It's the heart. The will to protect others."
His green eyes hardened into chips of jade. "But you're wrong about the rest. Heroes should kill. They should kill the ones who are beyond saving. The ones whose every breath is a promise of more suffering. This corrupted world lets them live, lets them escape, lets them hurt more people... all because a hero's hands must stay 'clean' in public." He scoffed. "I know they can't do it in the open. Not with all the cameras and civilians. But removing a cancer quietly, and permanently so that no one else gets hurt? That is the truest protection hero's can give others."
His voice began to rise, simmering with a fury that was suddenly, vividly real. The calm analyst was gone, replaced by something raw and indignant.
"Than there's the fact that there are fewer real heroes in this world than you think! Most of them are just fakes! They run their routes, save people for the cameras and the endorsement deals! They let people suffer if the rescue is too hard, or if the victim isn't 'valuable' enough, or if it won't get them enough exposure! They see people as ratings points!"
As he spoke, his hands clenched. There was a series of soft, hydraulic hisses and magnetic clicks I hadn't heard before. From under the sleeves of his simple green shirt, sleek, matte-black bracers deployed, wrapping around his forearms. They were beautiful and deadly, with crimson energy lines pulsing to life like awakened veins. The little spider on his head, 'Silk,' chirped excitedly, skittering down to his shoulder to nuzzle against his cheek.
He was armed the entire time. Even his clothing is a disguise.
Izuku took a deep, shuddering breath, visibly reigning in his anger. The red glow of his bracers remained, but the tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.
"I... don't know why I'm telling you all this," he muttered, more to himself than to me. He looked down at his now-armed hands, then back up at me, his gaze fierce and unwavering.
"I want to use my skills. My knowledge. Not to be a symbol of peace like All Might." He said the name not with reverence, but with analytical distance. "Peace is a lie. It can never be achieved, not in this world or the next. The selfish intent of wanting to preserve peace initiates wars and as long as there a concept of victors, the vanquished will also exist."
He took a step forward, a small figure haloed in lethal red light and the glow of a dozen targeting lasers.
"I want to be a hero for the ones this world has abandoned. The ones it's thrown away. I want to save people when they've lost all hope." His lips curved into a small, terrifyingly determined smile. "I don't want to be the Symbol of Peace. I want to be the Symbol of Hope."
The speech hung in the electrified air. It was naive. It was grandiose. It was born of a child's idealism filtered through a mind that understood the darkest mechanics of the world. It was the most compelling and dangerous philosophy I'd heard in years.
My smile returned, wider this time, showing a hint of sharpened canine. "That's a pretty good speech, kid," I said, my voice a low rumble. "But speeches are cheap. Conviction... that's what separates the dreamers from the doers."
I let the last word fade.
And then I released my bloodlust.
It was a tool, honed over countless missions. An invisible wave of pure, predatory intent. It wasn't magic; it was the culmination of posture, focus, breath, and the unshakable certainty of a killer who has decided you are prey. The room's temperature didn't drop, but the feeling in it did. It was the silence before the pounce, the moment in the tall grass when the gazelle finally understands.
I aimed it all—every ounce of the darkness I carried, the ghost of every life I'd ended—directly at Midoriya Izuku.
I didn't move a muscle. I just watched. The turrets tracked me. The spiders twitched. But I wanted to see what he would do.
Could his hope survive a direct taste of the abyss he so casually spoke of navigating?
The wave of intent hit him like a physical force.
His small body rocked back on his heels. A sharp gasp tore from his throat, and for a glorious, telling moment, his legs trembled. The color drained from his face, his wide eyes reflecting the primal understanding of a creature facing an apex predator in its own domain. Every instinct in that brilliant, engineered mind was screaming at him to flee, to submit, to curl into a ball and make the scary thing go away.
He stumbled, one foot sliding back to catch his balance.
But he did not fall.
He did not kneel.
His knees locked, muscles straining visibly against the tremors. His jaw clenched so tight I could hear the grind of his teeth. He fought his own biology, his own survival programming, and he won. The sheer, stubborn will of it was breathtaking. A lesser mind would have shattered. His... adapted to his new reality.
Izuku's Point of View
Run. Hide. Submit. Please, please, please—
The thoughts weren't my own. They were the shrieking, primal chorus of every cell in my body, a biological alarm triggered by something deeper than fear. My vision swam, the edges darkening until all I could see was a haze of red—the glow of my bracers, the targeting lasers, the burning yellow of his eyes. The air turned thick, heavy, pressing down on me like I was drowning in tar.
So this... is bloodlust.
The realization cut through the panic like a scalpel. This was the invisible weapon Stain had used, the aura that could paralyze seasoned pros. It wasn't magic. It was certainty. The absolute, unshakeable certainty of a predator that has already decided you are dead, and the crushing weight of all the deaths that came before you to prove it.
A tiny, frantic tapping on my temple broke through the red haze. Silk. She was scrambling up the side of my face, her legs poking, her blue optics blinking rapidly in my peripheral vision. She chirped, a sound so full of worry and distress it was heartbreaking. I definitely didn't program that, I thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest. I managed a shaky exhale that was almost a chuckle.
"Heh... I'm definitely.... going to... check your code... later," I gasped out, the words a struggle.
How many times have I said that today? The irrelevant thought was an anchor. I clung to it, using it to drag one rational process back online. I shook my head, a sharp, painful motion.
Focus.
The pressure was immense. It wanted to crush my spirit, to make me admit that his way—the way of the killer—was the only true power.
I saw the desert. The grenade hitting the ground and that moment of silence were my body moved on its own. Then the blinding white.
I've already died once so why should I be afraid of the threat of death?
It was a compelling argument. A soldier's logic. But it wasn't enough. The bloodlust wasn't just promising death; it was promising meaningless oblivion.
Then I saw her in my mind. Mama. Her smile as she tasted the breakfast I made. The fierce, Kushina-like protectiveness in her eyes when she faced down that manager. The soft, warm sound of her humming in the kitchen right now, utterly unaware of the silent war in her living room.
She is my reason.
The terror didn't vanish, but it was put in a box. My family. My promise. I had someone to protect, a world I wanted to build for her. I had to move forward. No matter what.
Death is nothing to me... What was it Luffy preached? Follow your dream, even if it kills you? No... it was about living without regrets and doing everything for the sake of your dreams. The memory of my platoon, laughing around a tablet, surfaced. I don't want to live a life I'll regret. I won't be stopped here.
The trembling in my legs didn't cease, but I forced the muscles to obey. I straightened my spine, pushing back against the crushing weight in the air. Inch by inch, I stood fully upright. The action made Silk chirp with a sudden, clear note of happy relief, and she nuzzled against my cheek.
I met Hikaru's—no, not Hikaru, the assassin's—glowing yellow gaze. My heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but my breath evened out. A smile, real and fierce and born of stubborn defiance, touched my lips.
"I can do this all day," I said, my voice hoarse but steady.
Then I stepped forward.
The movement was a declaration. A refusal to be pinned. As my foot landed, the reactor nodes on my Widow Stingers flared. A cascade of crimson lightning, jagged and fierce, erupted from the seams of the bracers, arcing over my forearms and snapping in the charged air with a sound like tearing canvas.
The red glare of my weapons brightened, their hum deepening into a threatening growl in response to my will. The spiders around the room took a synchronized step forward, a wave of clicking limbs. The turrets recalibrated with a series of soft, deadly whines.
The suffocating darkness of his intent now met the crackling, armed defiance that made up my existence.