6:58 PM.
Izuku stood on the doorstep of the Jiro residence, checking his reflection in the darkened window beside the door. His leather jacket sat perfectly across his shoulders, the black turtleneck underneath hugging his chest in a way that suggested the muscles beneath without being obnoxious about it. Dark jeans. Clean boots. Silver chain catching the last rays of sunset.
Looking good, Midoriya. Looking very good.
The house itself was exactly what he'd expected from what Jiro had told him about her parents. A tasteful two-story place in a quiet neighborhood, the kind that screamed "we made our money doing something creative and cool." The garden was well-maintained, the architecture was modern without being pretentious, and he could see what looked like a recording studio extension attached to the back.
Successful musician parents. Explains a lot about Compass, actually.
He took a centering breath. Not because he was nervous. Izuku Midoriya did not get nervous about meeting parents. He'd faced down sludge villains and zero-pointer robots and ten years of Hano's training.
A middle-aged rock musician was nothing.
Still. First impressions matter.
He rang the doorbell. A pleasant, melodic chime echoed from somewhere inside, probably custom-designed because of course it was.
Footsteps approached.
The door swung open.
A man stood in the doorway. Wavy shoulder-length blond hair. Sharp, triangular eyes that were unmistakably the same shape as Jiro's. Arms crossed over his chest in the universal pose of "I am the father and you will respect my authority."
Kyotoku Jiro.
The Dragon of the household.
The man who would determine whether Izuku left this house with his date or in a body bag.
There was just one tiny problem with this intimidation attempt.
Izuku was a solid six inches taller than him.
Kyotoku had to physically tilt his head up to glare at Izuku, which transformed what was probably meant to be a terrifying paternal threat into something that looked more like an angry Pomeranian challenging a Great Dane.
"You must be the Midoriya boy." Kyotoku's voice came out in a low growl.
"Yes, sir." Izuku offered a polite, charming smile that didn't waver in the slightest. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Jiro's told me a lot about you."
She hadn't, actually. But parents loved hearing that their kids talked about them.
Kyotoku's eyes narrowed. His arms tightened across his chest.
This is fun. I could do this all night.
"Kyotoku! Stop trying to scare the poor boy and let him in!"
Mika Jiro appeared behind her husband, wiping her hands on an apron decorated with little music notes. She had her daughter's features but softer, warmer. Her dark purple hair was cut short and practical, and her eyes held none of the hostility her husband was attempting.
She physically shoved Kyotoku aside, which was hilarious, and beamed at Izuku with genuine warmth.
"Welcome, Izuku-kun! Please, come in! Kyoka is..." She paused, her smile turning slightly conspiratorial. "Still getting ready."
"Thank you, Jiro-san." Izuku stepped inside, removing his shoes at the entrance because he wasn't raised in a barn. "I appreciate you having me."
"Oh, please call me Mika!" She waved away his formality with one hand while steering him deeper into the house with the other. "Jiro-san makes me feel old."
===
A massive vinyl collection dominated one entire wall, records organized by what looked like year and genre. Several high-end guitars hung on display racks, each one probably worth more than everything in Izuku's bedroom combined.
This is a house built on music. No wonder Compass is so obsessed with it.
"Please, sit!" Mika gestured toward a comfortable-looking couch. "I'll make some tea. You two can get to know each other!"
She vanished into the kitchen with suspicious speed, leaving Izuku alone with the Dragon.
Kyotoku sat in the armchair across from him, his posture rigid and his expression locked in what was clearly supposed to be an intimidating glower. It mostly made him look constipated.
He really is trying so hard. I almost feel bad.
"So." Kyotoku's voice came out clipped. Controlled. "U.A., huh? Hero course?"
"Yes, sir. Class 1-A."
"First place in the entrance exam, I heard."
"That's correct."
Kyotoku leaned forward slightly, his triangular eyes narrowing. "What's your Quirk, son? Some kind of super-strength? Enhanced speed?"
Ah. Here it comes.
"I'm Quirkless, sir."
The words hung in the air between them.
Kyotoku blinked.
"You're... Quirkless."
"Yes, sir."
"And you got first place."
"Yes, sir."
"At U.A."
"That would be the one."
Kyotoku sat back in his chair, his arms still crossed but his expression shifting from hostile to genuinely confused. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle that didn't make any sense.
"How?"
"Training." Izuku shrugged. "Ten years of it. Started when I was five."
"Ten years."
"My sensei is very thorough."
Before Kyotoku could formulate a response to this information, Mika reappeared with a tray of tea and what looked like homemade cookies. She set everything down on the coffee table with the practiced ease of someone who had defused a lot of awkward conversations in this room.
"Tea!" She announced brightly, completely ignoring the stunned expression on her husband's face. "I hope you like green tea, Izuku-kun. It's Kyoka's favorite."
"It's perfect, thank you."
Mika settled into the seat beside her husband, smoothly inserting herself into the conversation like a professional mediator.
"So tell me about yourself, Izuku-kun! Kyoka mentioned you live with your mother?"
"Yes, ma'am. Just the two of us."
"And she must be so proud of you! First place at U.A.! That's quite an accomplishment."
"She cried." Izuku smiled at the memory. "A lot. I think she still hasn't stopped, actually."
Mika laughed, a warm sound that reminded him of his own mother. "Mothers are like that. We spend years worrying about our children and then they grow up and do incredible things and we don't know what to do with ourselves."
She shot a pointed look at her husband.
"Speaking of children doing incredible things," Mika continued, her tone turning slightly mischievous, "Kyoka has been in such a good mood lately. Ever since the entrance exam, actually. She's been smiling more. Humming around the house. It's very unusual for her."
"I'm glad to hear that." Izuku kept his expression neutral. "She's fun to talk to. When she's not threatening to stab me with her earphone jacks."
"That sounds like her." Mika's smile widened. "She threatened to stab her last boyfriend too. And the one before that. It's how she shows affection."
"Last boyfriend?" Kyotoku suddenly came back to life, his eyes snapping to his wife. "What last boyfriend? She's never had a boyfriend!"
"Oh, honey." Mika patted his arm sympathetically. "You're so cute when you're in denial."
This family is amazing. I love them already.
Footsteps sounded from somewhere above them.
All three of them turned toward the stairs.
Kyoka Jiro appeared at the top of the staircase, and Izuku's brain temporarily stopped functioning.
She wore a ripped vintage band t-shirt, some punk group he didn't recognize, the fabric artfully torn and faded. A black pleated skirt that ended mid-thigh. Fishnet stockings that traced patterns across her legs. Chunky combat boots that added an inch to her height.
Her choppy purple hair was styled in deliberate chaos, and she'd done something with her makeup that made her sharp eyes look even sharper.
But the legs.
Okay. Okay. Be cool. You are Izuku Midoriya. You have faced down monsters. You can handle a pretty girl in fishnets.
Oh who am I kidding she's going to kill me.