The doorknob felt cold under Izuku's palm.
Behind him, Inko stood frozen in the kitchen doorway. Her hand pressed against her mouth. The whir of the mail carrier's scooter faded into nothing, swallowed by the sudden silence that had descended on their apartment like a fog.
Izuku's heart hammered against his ribs. Which was ridiculous. He had faced a sludge villain without flinching. He had sparred with Hano for ten years without showing fear. He had carried two screaming girls through a collapsing cityscape while a building-sized robot tried to stomp them into paste.
But somehow, this door was harder to open than any of those things.
Get it together, Midoriya. It's just paper. Paper can't hurt you.
Unless it's a rejection letter. Then it can definitely hurt you.
Shut up, brain.
He twisted the knob and pulled.
The February air bit at his face. The mailbox sat in its usual spot, a sad little metal rectangle bolted to the wall beside their door. Inside it, perfectly positioned as if someone had placed it there with reverent care, sat a single envelope.
It was thick.
Cream-colored, the kind of expensive paper that whispered of old money and important institutions. The corners were crisp and perfect. And in the center, stamped into brilliant red wax that caught the afternoon light like a fresh wound, was the seal of U.A. High School.
Izuku stared at it.
The envelope stared back.
Okay. Cool. This is fine. I'm fine. Everything is completely fine.
His hand reached out. His fingers closed around the paper. The weight of it surprised him. Heavier than he expected. Heavier than any of the 200 kilograms he'd worn across that beach for ten months.
How was that possible? It was just paper.
Paper that holds your entire future, you absolute moron. No pressure or anything.
He pulled the envelope free and stepped back inside. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft finality that seemed far too dramatic for a Tuesday afternoon.
Inko hadn't moved.
Her eyes were wide, locked onto the envelope in his hands. Ten years of worry lived in those eyes. Ten years of watching her son come home bloody and bruised. Ten years of packing extra bandages in his lunch bag. Ten years of hope and fear tangled together so tightly that neither one could exist without the other.
Izuku met her gaze and gave her a small nod.
We've got this, Mom.
Together, they walked to the living room table.
Izuku sat down slowly, the envelope resting on the worn wooden surface in front of him. Inko took the seat across from him, her hands clasped in her lap, her knuckles white.
Neither of them spoke.
The afternoon sun slanted through the window, painting golden stripes across the table. Dust motes drifted lazily through the light. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn honked.
Normal sounds. Normal day. Nothing life-changing happening here at all.
Just open it, coward.
Izuku's fingers traced the edge of the envelope. The paper was smooth. Expensive. The kind of stationary that said "we have money and we want you to know it."
If this is a rejection letter, they're really rubbing it in with the fancy packaging.
He slid his thumb under the seal. The wax cracked with a satisfying pop. The envelope fell open, and two things tumbled out onto the table.
A single sheet of paper, folded neatly in thirds.
And a small metallic disc, about the size of a large coin, that gleamed silver in the afternoon light.
Izuku picked up the disc. It was surprisingly heavy. A small button protruded from one edge, and as his fingers brushed against it, the surface began to glow with a faint blue light.
"What is that?" Inko whispered.
Before Izuku could answer, the disc activated.
A beam of light shot upward from the metal surface, bright enough to make both of them flinch. The light twisted, condensed, and then exploded outward into a three-dimensional shape that filled half their living room.
"I AM HERE... AS A PROJECTION!"
Izuku's brain short-circuited.
All Might stood in their living room.
Well, not stood exactly. Hovered. Floated. Existed as a three-foot-tall hologram that somehow still radiated enough presence to make the air feel heavier. His massive frame was compressed into the projection, but nothing could diminish that smile. That legendary, world-famous, hope-inspiring smile that had launched a thousand merchandise deals.
"ALL MIGHT?!"
Inko's shriek nearly shattered the window. She stumbled backward, her chair scraping against the floor, her hand flying to her chest like she was checking to make sure her heart hadn't actually stopped.
Izuku just stared.
Okay. Processing. All Might is in my living room. As a hologram. Delivering what I assume is my entrance exam results. This is... not what I expected.
He's a U.A. alumnus. That much I knew. But a personal video message for accepted students? That's logistically insane. The school gets thousands of applications. Even if only a fraction pass, that's still hundreds of individual recordings. There's no way he has time for that.
Unless...
Unless this isn't a standard acceptance.
Unless this message is specifically for me.
The hologram All Might spread his arms wide, his cape billowing in a wind that didn't exist. Even as a recording, his charisma was overwhelming. The man oozed confidence from every pore.
"Young Midoriya! Thank you for your patience in waiting for these results! I know the past few weeks must have been difficult!"
You have no idea, big guy.
"Let's start with the basics, shall we?" All Might's projection gestured, and a small chart materialized beside him, floating in midair. Numbers and percentages scrolled across its surface. "Your written examination! A remarkable 92%!"
Izuku felt a small surge of satisfaction. He'd estimated 96%, but that was probably the ego talking. 92% was still excellent.
"More than enough to qualify for General Studies!" All Might continued, his voice booming with enthusiasm. "But you weren't aiming for General Studies, were you, my boy?!"
Obviously not. General Studies is where dreams go to die.
"No, no! You wanted the Hero Course! And for that, we look at the practical examination!" The chart shifted, displaying new information. "You racked up 47 villain points! Incredible! With your bare hands, no support items, no Quirk advantages, you tore through those robots like a man possessed!"
Like a man who spent ten years getting his ass kicked by an old monster on a mountain, actually.
"That score alone would have placed you comfortably in the top ten! Truly heroic!"
All Might paused. His expression shifted. The smile remained, but something deeper entered his eyes. Something serious.
"But before we discuss your final score... there's something else we need to address."
The hologram raised one massive hand, and a new screen materialized behind him. Static crackled across its surface.
"A hero academy isn't just about destroying villains, Young Midoriya. It's about saving people. And you..." His smile widened. "You were very busy during that exam, weren't you?"
The static cleared.
Grainy footage filled the screen. Security camera angles, choppy and low-resolution, but unmistakable. The replica city. The chaos. The Zero Pointer rising above the skyline like a mechanical god.
And there, in the center of it all, a flash of green hair.
Izuku watched himself on the screen. Watched as he caught Jiro falling from the collapsing fire escape. Watched as they sprinted through the debris. Watched as he found Ochaco trapped under concrete, the robot's foot descending toward her with the weight of certain death.
The footage captured everything. The moment he lifted that concrete slab. The desperate grab as he threw Ochaco over his shoulder. The sprint to safety with two girls on his back while the world collapsed behind him.
It looked insane from this angle. Suicidal, even.
Was I always that reckless? No wonder Jiro called me crazy.
The footage froze on a single frame: Izuku standing in the wreckage, both girls safe, the Zero Pointer's foot embedded in the ground mere meters behind him.
All Might turned back to face the camera. The seriousness had melted into something else now. Pride. Respect. The look of a man who had found something he'd been searching for.
"Self-sacrifice," he said, and his voice had lost some of its booming theatricality. This felt more genuine. More real. "The instinct to run toward danger when everyone else is running away. To put the safety of others above your own score. Above your own dream."
He leaned forward, and somehow even as a hologram, his presence filled the room.
"That is the quality that makes a true hero, Young Midoriya. Not Quirks. Not power. Heart."
Izuku's hands trembled. Just slightly. He pressed them flat against the table to hide it.
"Did you think we weren't watching?" All Might's grin returned in full force. "A hero school that doesn't reward that kind of spirit is no school at all! And for that display of true heroism, Young Midoriya, you have earned..."
The numbers on the screen reset. Golden light pulsed around them.
"SIXTY RESCUE POINTS!"
The number blazed across the projection like a second sun. RESCUE POINTS: 60. Each digit was massive, triumphant, impossible to ignore.
Izuku's brain stopped working.
Sixty.
Sixty rescue points.
They have rescue points?
Nobody told me about rescue points!
Toru didn't mention rescue points!
Wait. She saved someone too. Did she get...
His thoughts scattered like startled birds as the final calculation appeared on screen. The numbers stacked themselves automatically, cold math transforming into something that felt like destiny.
VILLAIN POINTS: 47
RESCUE POINTS: 60
TOTAL: 107
All Might spread his arms wide, and golden light exploded from behind him like a divine sunrise. His smile was blinding. His presence was overwhelming. And when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of every hero who had ever dared to stand between darkness and the innocent.
"Izuku Midoriya! First place among all applicants! COME! THIS IS YOUR HERO ACADEMIA!"