Izuku's Point of View
Perched on the cliffside, the structure curved like poured silver—sleek, modern, and impossibly balanced above a sea of green. Glass walls framed mountain horizons, and each level extended outward in sweeping arcs, floating above the forest like wings. Smooth stone, hidden structural supports, an infinity pool merging with the sky. A sanctuary carved into nature.
This was Our home.
(Image here)
Three years had passed since my first meeting with Kaito. Yeah, I knew his real name now. It took some digging, some careful cross-referencing of old Commission ghost files I probably shouldn't have been able to access, but I got it. Mom didn't know. He'd asked me to let "Hikaru Ishida" be the man she knew, a clean break from the name tied to the blood on his hands. I'd allowed it. A small kindness for the man who was systematically turning my body and mind into a finely honed instrument.
I'd bought the Karuizawa property one month after our teacher/student relationship began. The moment the funds—a sizable but carefully laundered portion of Stark capital—cleared, I'd shown Mama the plans. Her reaction was... memorable as it could get.
"Izuku, sweetheart, this is a house?" she'd squeaked, staring at the holographic rendering floating above my desk. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates. "It looks like a spaceship landed on a mountain! How many bathrooms does it even have?"
"Enough," I'd said, grinning. "And it's secure. The best security system money can't even buy because I designed it personally."
The excitement had quickly overtaken her shock. She'd never loved the cramped Musutafu apartment, with its thin walls and the constant background hum of a city wrestling with its own hero-infested chaos. The memories there were a mixed bag—warmth with her, but also the lingering stain of that doctor's verdict, and the ever-present shadow of a certain explosive blonde.
Ah, Katsuki Bakugo.
Mama's feelings on that front were crystalline and absolute. She'd declared him persona non grata the day I'd reluctantly admitted he'd been trying to pick fights. I'd downplayed it, of course. I told her it was just childish bullying, that I was fine, that I could handle it. I saw the fury ignite behind her eyes anyway—that fierce, protective flame that burned away all softness. She'd accepted my deflection then, but for years afterward, in quiet moments, she'd try to gently pry. "Are you sure that's all, Izuku?" "You can tell me anything, you know." I'd always changed the subject.
I thought that I'd buried that part of the past. The weak, crying, self I used to be before I woke up in this world. It was a closed book, ashes scattered. Or so I'd believed, until two years ago, one year after we'd moved into our silver aerie.
Until the past dug itself up and roared in my face.
(Start of Flashback:)
The whine of the soldering iron was a familiar, calming hum. My fingers, smaller and more precise than any adult's could hope to be, guided a microscopic filament of superconducting alloy into the housing of a bracer prototype. The hero, "Polaris," had a fascinating magnetism quirk, but it was volatile. Uncontrolled ferrous particulate buildup in his bloodstream after prolonged use—a slow, painful poisoning. My solution was a series of nanofiber filters and inertial dampeners woven into a new suit lining. It was intricate work, requiring absolute concentration.
Then a wave of bloodlust washed over me like a physical tide. It was cold, jagged, and utterly foreign. It was not Kaito's controlled, predatory pressure which he used to train my resistance to it. This was untamed, explosive, and blazing with a rage so personal it felt like a scream against my skin.
My body moved before my mind processed the impossibility. The soldering iron clattered to the bench. My Widow Stingers, perpetually in their standby housings on my forearms, deployed with a series of hydraulic hisses and magnetic clicks, their crimson energy lines blazing to life. Silk, who had been monitoring circuitry from my workstation, let out a sharp, alarmed chirp. A skittering chorus answered as her brood poured from ventilation seams and under furniture, their optics shifting from idle blue to combat-red.
Attack. Home. Mama.
The logic was irrefutable and terrifying. My home—a fortress of my own design, layered with motion sensors, thermal imaging, seismic readers, and silent aerial drones—had given no alarm. No breach detected. No unknown signatures. It was impossible. Which meant the threat was already inside. And it was emanating from the direction of the living room.
I was a blur of green and black. Silk anchored herself to my shoulder, her legs a tense cradle. I took the hallway not at a child's run, but with the low, fluid strides Kaito had drilled into me, minimizing my profile, my enhanced hearing straining. The bloodlust was thickening, a suffocating miasma of anger and... something else. A deep, resonant hurt.
I rounded the final corner into the living room's open-plan space, bracers raised, targeting reticles already painting potential hostiles on the wide glass walls and furniture.
And I froze.
The threat wasn't an intruder.
It was my past. Playing on our wall-sized television screen in brutal, high-definition clarity.
There I was. Or rather, he was. A tiny, three-year-old Izuku, with round cheeks and watery green eyes. Opposite to him stood a four-year-old Katsuki Bakugo, his smirk as vicious as ever, and his palms already sparking.
"No," I whispered, the word sticking in my throat.
On screen, Katsuki lunged. Not with a shove, but with a small, popping explosion fueling his punch. The tiny Izuku crumpled to the ground with a cry, clutching his stomach. The impact of the hit was bad enough, but the sizzle of the minor burn made him curl tighter. Then the kicks started. From Katsuki, and from two other kids hovering behind him like vultures. Useless. Nobody. Deku.
My eyes ripped away from the screen. I couldn't look at it for more than a second. The sheer, helpless vulnerability of it was like a physical blow.
My gaze then found Mama.
She was standing rigidly to the side of the television. Her back was to me. Her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists at her sides. That wave of bloodlust—cold, maternal, and terrifying—was pouring off her in palpable waves. She was utterly still, but she was vibrating with a fury I had never felt from her before. She was seeing it. All of it. The beatings I'd never wanted her to know about.
My head moved to the other side of the room. Kaito sat in a low chair, his expression a storm cloud. His laptop was open on his knees, connected to the TV by a cable. His fingers weren't moving. He was just watching, his emerald eyes tracking each blow on the screen, his jaw so tight I thought it might crack. He must have hacked the servers. The preschool's security feeds, maybe even city cameras near the old park. He'd dug up a graveyard I'd tried to bury forever by uncovering video evidence I did not know even existed.
A cold, sick feeling washed over me. He wasn't supposed to find these heck they weren't even supposed to exist. If I had known there were recordings... I would have burned every server in Musutafu to ash before letting Mama see this. Those memories didn't matter anymore. They were the pain of a boy who was gone. I'd moved past them. I'd built walls, armor, and a future. All to protect her from ever feeling this... this hurt that I was forced to take on.
The video changed. Another scene. A different playground. The same story. A tiny explosion to the back. A trip that sent the smaller me sprawling into the dirt. Laughter. Teachers in the background turning away, pretending to be busy ignoring my pain.
Each new clip made Kaito's expression darken further. Each one made Mama's shoulders tense another impossible degree.
I was caught in a nightmare. My bracers and my spiders, felt stupid and heavy on my arms. This wasn't a fight I could win with bracers or my spiders.
Then, Mama moved.
She took one step, then another, placing herself directly between the horrific display on the screen and the rest of the room. As if she could physically block the images from existing.
Her dark green hair began to rise.
Slowly at first, then all at once. It lifted off her shoulders and back, floating around her head like a dark, furious aura. The air in the room grew thick and charged, prickling against my skin.
(Image here)
Oh shit!!! My mind went blank for a second. Kushina Midoriya has decided to make an appearance.
Her eyes weren't on me or Kaito. They were locked on the screen, on the frozen, smirking image of a four-year-old Katsuki Bakugo. The image flickered, replaced by another of him looming over a crying child.
Then, a change. A subtle, impossible shift that made the breath freeze in my lungs.
Her soft, round pupils—the ones that always held warmth and worry—sharpened. They narrowed into vertical, emerald-green slits, like a cat's, like a predator's caught in the dark. It wasn't a trick of the light. It was a fundamental, biological alteration. In that instant, the gentle woman who baked cookies and fretted over scraped knees was utterly gone, replaced by something feral and lethal.
Kaito's low growl from the corner of the room cut off into a sharp, startled silence. I felt my own blood turn to ice. Do we have feline quirk users in our family line or what? How did that even happen? The thoughts were a seismic shock in my already reeling mind.
The silence that followed felt deliberate.
However when she spoke, her voice was a low, guttural hum that vibrated in my bones, a sound that belonged in a deep forest, not our sunlit living room.
"That filthy, yapping mutt," she snarled, each word dripping with venom. "That parasite dared to lay his paws on my cub. To soil my den with his scent of violence and cowardice."
She took a step closer to the screen, her emerald-slit eyes fixed on the frozen image of Katsuki. "He does not deserve the air he breathes. I want him to feel everything my cub felt, the pain, the betrayal and humiliation."
Her speech was archaic, laced with a predator's logic. Cub. Den. Pride. The words clicked into place in my analytical mind, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. A latent quirk. Ancestral. Feline. A project for another time, a fascinating mystery buried under a mountain of immediate crisis.
Her rage expanded, encompassing the entire Bakugo family. "That entire pride is weak. Blind. They let a rabid pest run loose in their own den, poisoning everything I care about!!!!" Her head snapped toward a framed photo on a side table—a picture of her and Mitsuki, years younger, arms around each other and laughing. "They are dead to this den. Dead to my pride!"
As she spoke, her quirk flared. The static charge in the air intensified. A teacup on the coffee table trembled, then shot into the air, orbiting her like a tiny, furious moon. A book followed, then a remote, then a vase of flowers—all caught in a whirling, chaotic storm of her rising killing intent. Her focus locked on the photograph.
"They are not welcome here!" she screamed, the sound raw and feral.
The orbiting objects ceased their dance. For a split second, they hung in the air, pointed like accusations. Then, with a sharp jerk of her hand, she sent them all hurling at the framed picture. Glass shattered. The photo was shredded with the shared of the broken vase that broke mid air, the image of two smiling friends obliterated under a hail of ceramic and paper.
In the echoing silence that followed, I saw Kaito.
He hadn't moved from his chair, but his transformation was complete. His own golden, feline eyes were wide, fixed on my mother with an expression that stripped away all his assassin's cool. It was raw, primal recognition. A deep, rumbling purr—unconscious, approving—vibrated from his chest. He was looking at her as if she were the most terrifying and magnificent thing he had ever seen.
Oh, for fuck's sake, I thought, the exasperation a sharp, clean note in the cacophony of my shock. The man was practically preening. Yet, watching him—the sheer, unguarded intensity of his focus on her, not as a threat to be managed but as a force of nature to be revered—my annoyance bled away into something more resigned. Fine. Let him purr. It's... not the worst thing.
But the immediate problem was Mama. This wasn't her. I had to pull her back from the ledge of her own primal wrath.
She turned from the wreckage of the frame. Her emerald-slitted eyes found me, and the fury in them fractured, revealing a hurt so profound it stole my breath.
"Why, my cub?" she whispered, the guttural edge softening into a wounded ache. "Why did you not tell your mother you were hurting? Why did you let me believe that insignificant pest was nothing? Why did you carry his filth in silence?"
The question was a plea from a mother who believed she had failed her child. My own anger—a cold, patient thing that had been simmering since the day I woke up in this body—stirred in response. I will have my own vengeance, I thought, the promise iron-clad and personal. I will break him where it truly hurts: his pride, his destiny, everything he thinks makes him superior. But not like this. Not with her claws.
To her, I offered the broader, safer truth. The mission, not the personal grudge that is mine and mine alone.
"I'm not that cub anymore, Mama," I said, my voice steady. I deactivated my bracers with a thought. The red light died. Silk chirped softly. "The one in those videos... he's gone. I am stronger now. My claws are sharper now." I held up my hands. "My mind is sharp. Our den is stronger than ever before." I paused, my gaze flicking to Kaito, the lovesick lion in the corner. An idea came to mind quickly. If this is happening... let's make it official.
My left bracer reactivated with a quiet hum. I didn't raise it in threat. With a barely perceptible twitch of my wrist, a thin, high-tensile cable shot from a concealed housing. It crossed the room in a blur, the magnetic grapple head wrapping securely around Kaito's wrist with a soft clack.
He jolted, the purr cutting off, his golden eyes snapping down to the cable in shock, then back to me.
"And our den," I continued, holding his gaze as I gave the cable a firm, deliberate tug, "has new protector."
He was too surprised to resist. The pull brought him stumbling forward from his chair until he stood awkwardly beside us, tethered by the wrist. I released the cable, letting it retract.
"I didn't tell you," I said, looking back at Mama, "because I didn't want his poison to touch you. I didn't want to hurt your bond with your friend and my aunt. I thought I could bury it."
Inko stared, her eyes shifting from my face to Kaito's, then back. The predator was receding, leaving confusion and a dawning, fragile understanding.
"I could care less for that woman," she said, her voice trembling but losing its feral growl. "All I care for is you, my cub. My only cub. And I want that snake's blood."
I shook my head, crafting the deflection with care. "My fight isn't for him, not like that. He's a symptom." I let my voice harden with the ambition I knew she would understand. "My fight is with the world that created him. A world that says a quirk is everything. That says we are nothing. I will break that world, Mama. I will forge power they cannot even imagine and turn their entire rotten system to ash. That is my vengeance. Katsuki Bakugo..." I let my tone drip with cold, calculated disdain. "...he's already irrelevant to that future. A footnote. Beneath my notice."
The storm around her finally stilled. Her pupils softened back into warm, round emerald. Her hair settled.
She swayed, then collapsed inward, catching me in a crushing hug. "My brave, foolish cub," she wept into my hair. "You should never have had to be so strong alone."
"I'm not alone," I mumbled into her shoulder. Then, with a final, decisive motion, I reached out. My small hand found Kaito's wrist again, not with a cable this time, but a firm grip. I pulled him into the hug.
He stiffened, a statue of a trained assassin completely out of his depth. Then, hesitantly, one arm came up to rest across Mama's shoulders, his large hand coming to rest on my back. The hug was awkward, monumental.
Well, I thought, the clarity sharp and simple. If she ever does choose someone... if this life ever gives me a father... it might as well be the deadly one who understands what we are. The thought was accompanied by a surprising lack of resentment.
Inko felt the addition, pulling back slightly to see Kaito included in our circle. A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, but a small, real smile touched her lips. She didn't push him away. She leaned into the circle, completing it.
"Our den," she whispered, the words a vow.
She pulled back, cupping my face. "I will allow this path of yours," she said, her gaze a mother's resolve. "But those snakes... they are not welcome in my home. Not ever."
She managed a shaky smile. "I believe in you. You are meant for great things. After all," she said, the ghost of her old warmth returning, "you are my little cub."
She glanced at the shattered glass, embarrassment flickering. "Oh... I have to clean this mess."
"Mama," I said, smiling. "We have maids for that."
As if on cue, my domestic drones whirred to life, gliding forward to tidy the wreckage with silent efficiency.
Inko watched them, then let out a long, weary breath, leaning her head against mine once more. Kaito's arm around us didn't move. It just stayed, a solid, warm weight. A new pillar.
(End of flashback )
(Present day)
So, yeah. That day was... intense. After Mama's "Kushina meets Lion Queen" moment, the Bakugo family became a topic that was officially banned in our den. No discussions, no mentions, no hypotheticals. Mama's word was law, and her law was absolute silence. If Auntie Mitsuki's name ever came up in the news (which, given her rising fashion line, it sometimes did), Mama's eyes would just glaze over, like she was looking at a stranger. A sad, distant stranger she used to know.
Frankly, that was more than enough closure for me. Wasting any more brain cells on that Pomeranian and his family drama was like using a supercomputer to play Pong. Pointless. Boring. Beneath me. However I did feel bad for aunt Mitsuki but mama has not forgiven her for not controlling the mutt.
Anyway after that incident, I decided to invest my considerable intellect and resources into something far more productive, challenging, and, let's be honest, hilariously entertaining after that day.
Operation: Parental Lock.
The objective? Simple. Get Mama and Kaito hitched.
Look, don't judge me. Yeah, the guy annoyed me at first with all his blushing and awkward silences. But after seeing like that when Mama went full primal protector, after feeling how solid his arm was in that weird, three-person hug... well, the math checked out.
He was strong. He was smart. He was deadly enough to make most threats rethink their life choices. He looked at Mama like she'd hung the moon and stars, and not just because she was cute (which, ugh, she is, but that's my mom, so it's gross). He looked at her like she was the sun his shadow had been missing. And he looked at me... not like a student, not like a project. More like a legacy he was weirdly proud of, even when I was being a little gremlin.
Which, let's be clear, I am. I'm a nine-year-old genius with the mind of a seasoned soldier and the secret keys to a growing tech empire. Gremlin tendencies are a professional hazard witch I learned to love.
So why not have the deadly ex-assassin become my father? He was already living with us, technically. After the "Incident," when I was 7 he'd quietly moved a bag into the guest wing "for extended training sessions." Two years later, his bag had multiplied into a full suite, complete with a hidden armory and a secure comms hub. He was basically a very dangerous, very handsome piece of furniture.
And of course I could not accomplish it with out some help so after my past was shown to my mother I decided that it was about damn time to create Jarvis to help me with my endeavors and hide things from my family that I did not want them to know and Jarvis was perfect for that.
After all many things can be achieved with Just A Rather Very Intelligent System.