The hologram thrust one fist toward the ceiling, cape billowing, smile blazing, and then...
It flickered.
And vanished.
The living room fell silent.
The afternoon sun continued its lazy drift across the table. The dust motes continued their aimless dance. The metallic disc sat innocently on the wooden surface, its glow faded to nothing.
Everything was exactly as it had been five minutes ago.
Everything was completely different.
A sound broke the silence.
It was small at first. A wet, shuddering intake of breath. A hiccup of emotion that couldn't be contained any longer.
Izuku turned.
Inko stood with both hands pressed over her mouth. Tears streamed down her face in silver rivers. Her shoulders shook with the force of the sobs she was trying desperately to suppress.
But these weren't the tears Izuku had grown up watching. Not the worried tears when he came home bleeding. Not the fearful tears when she read news reports about villain attacks. Not even the proud tears from when she saw him on television.
These were different.
These were the tears of a mother who had watched her son be told "no" by the entire world for fifteen years. Who had bandaged countless wounds and dried countless tears of his own. Who had believed in him when no one else would. Who had packed his lunches with extra protein and slipped antiseptic into his bag because she knew, she always knew, that he would need it.
These were the tears of a woman whose faith had finally, irrevocably, been rewarded.
"Oh, Izuku..."
Her voice cracked on his name. She took one shaky step forward, then another, and then she was in front of him, wrapping her arms around him with a gentleness that somehow hit harder than any bone-crushing embrace.
She pressed her face against his chest. Her tears soaked through his shirt. Her shoulders trembled with every breath.
"You did it," she whispered. "My baby... you really did it..."
Izuku stood there, holding his mother, and let the moment wash over him.
First place.
One hundred and seven points.
They wanted me. Not despite being Quirkless. Not in spite of having nothing. They wanted me because of who I am.
His mind flashed backward. Images cascaded through his consciousness like a highlight reel of suffering and triumph.
The playground at age four. Rain on his face. Gravel in his hair. Bakugo's smoking palms and that sneer that said "you're nothing."
The doctor's office. That pitying look. "I'm sorry, but..."
The mountain. Hano's silhouette against the sunrise. "Welcome to Hell, brat."
Ten years of being told he couldn't. Ten years of being dismissed, ignored, pitied, laughed at. Ten years of training until his bones screamed and his muscles tore and his hands bled through his gloves.
Ten months of hauling trash through rain and sun and cold and heat because an old monster told him it would make him stronger.
All of it. Every bruise. Every scar. Every early morning and late night and moment of doubt he'd crushed beneath his heel like the worthless thing it was.
It had all led here.
To this moment.
To first place.
Izuku's hands hung at his sides. His fingers curled slowly into fists. His nails dug into his palms with enough force to leave marks.
A single tear traced a path down his cheek.
Just one.
He looked down at his mother, still pressed against his chest, still crying with the force of a decade's worth of repressed hope.
"I'm on my way, Mom."
His voice was quiet. Steady. The voice of someone who had just conquered the impossible and was already looking toward the next mountain to climb.
Inko pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes and a smile that could have lit up the entire city.
"I know you are," she whispered. "I always knew."
Izuku's phone buzzed in his pocket. Then again. Then five more times in rapid succession.
He pulled it out with his free hand, his other arm still wrapped around his mother.
Seven messages from Toru.
Toru: IZUKU IZUKU IZUKU
Toru: DID YOU GET IT
Toru: PLEASE TELL ME YOU GOT IT
Toru: I SAW THE RANKINGS
Toru: YOU'RE FIRST
Toru: FIRST!!!!!!
Toru: I'M GOING TO SCREAM
Izuku typed a quick response to Toru, a simple thumbs up emoji followed by "See you in class, Spotlight." His phone buzzed again before he could pocket it.
A different name this time.
Compass.
Izuku's lips curved upward.
Jiro: heard you passed
Jiro: whatever
Jiro: don't let it go to your head
Cute.
Izuku settled back onto the couch, ignoring the way Inko hovered nearby with a knowing smile. He could feel her eyes on him. Could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she calculated grandchild potential.
He focused on his phone.
Izuku: Miss me that much?
The response came almost instantly.
Jiro: in your dreams broccoli
Jiro: I was just checking
Jiro: to see if I have to deal with your smug face in the hallways
Jiro: looks like I do
Izuku: So you were thinking about my face.
Jiro: that's not what I said
Jiro: can you read
Izuku: I can read between the lines.
Jiro: there's nothing between the lines
Jiro: the lines are empty
Jiro: void of meaning
Jiro: like your skull
Izuku laughed. Actually laughed. The sound startled Inko, who had been pretending to organize the bookshelf while obviously watching his every expression.
His thumbs moved across the screen as he stood up to head to his room.
Izuku: What class are you in?
A pause. Longer than the previous responses. The typing indicator appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Jiro: 1-A
Jiro: why
Jiro: don't tell me
Izuku: Same.
Jiro: great
Jiro: fantastic
Jiro: my life is over
Izuku: You're welcome.
Jiro: I didn't say thank you
Jiro: I will never say thank you
Jiro: I'd rather chew glass
Izuku: That's a weird kink but I don't judge.
Jiro: I HATE YOU
Izuku grinned at his phone like an idiot. He could picture her perfectly. Sitting in her room, probably surrounded by band posters and discarded hoodies, her earphone jacks twitching with barely suppressed frustration as she typed increasingly aggressive messages to someone who absolutely refused to take the bait.
He hit the FaceTime button.
She answered on the second ring.
"What do you want, Broccoli?"