The following afternoon, Inko and Izuku stood outside the Bakugou family home.
The house occupied a quiet residential street lined with low walls, bicycles and narrow gardens.
Wind chimes rang somewhere nearby.
A neighbour swept the pavement while a delivery scooter buzzed past the end of the road.
Inko had almost cancelled the visit.
Neither of them had slept well.
Izuku had woken twice during the night.
The first time, Inko found him staring at his hands beneath the glow of his All Might lamp.
The second time, he had asked whether toe exercises could remove the extra joint.
By morning, his excitement had been replaced by something careful.
He still smiled.
He still spoke.
But every emotion seemed to pause and ask permission before appearing.
Inko hated that more than the crying.
She had called Mitsuki after breakfast and explained only that the appointment had gone badly.
Mitsuki had immediately ordered them to visit.
Inko had attempted to refuse.
Mitsuki responded with a colourful description of where she could place her objections.
Now Izuku stood beside Inko wearing his backpack.
His hand felt small inside hers.
“Is Kacchan home?” “He should be.” “Does he know?” “I told Auntie Mitsuki that the doctor was uncertain.” Izuku looked down at his shoes.
“What do I tell Kacchan?” “Whatever you’re comfortable telling him.” “What if he asks what my Quirk is?” Inko crouched in front of him.
“You can say the doctors do not know yet.” “Is that lying?” “No.” “But the doctor said I’m Quirkless.” “The first doctor gave his opinion.
We are asking another.” “They don’t know yet,” Izuku said.
“That’s right.” The front door opened before Inko could knock.
Mitsuki Bakugou stood in the doorway with one hand on her hip.
Her ash-blonde hair was tied back, and she wore an apron decorated with small red explosions.
“You two planning to camp out there?” Inko blinked.
“How did you know we were outside?” “I saw your shadows.” A voice from inside called, “She’s checked the window four times.” Mitsuki twisted around.
“No one asked you, Masaru.” Izuku’s mouth curved into a small smile.
Mitsuki noticed.
Her expression softened.
“There he is.
Get inside, squirt.” Izuku stepped into the genkan and removed his shoes.
Mitsuki crouched and held out her arms.
He hesitated for half a second before hugging her.
She squeezed him tightly.
“You’re getting heavier.” “I’m growing.” “Well, stop it.
You’ll be taller than me soon.” “That will take ages.” “Rude.” A thunder of footsteps came from upstairs.
Katsuki Bakugou appeared wearing shorts, a dark shirt and a red towel tied around his shoulders as a cape.
Tiny sparks snapped against his palms.
“Izuku!” “Kacchan!” Katsuki charged down the stairs and stopped in front of him.
“We’re playing heroes.” “Who are you?” “All Might.” “I wanted to be All Might.” “You’re too late.” “That isn’t fair.” “I got the cape first.” “It’s a towel.” “It’s a hero cape.” Masaru Bakugou entered the hall, drying his hands on a tea towel.
“Inko, Izuku, welcome.” “Hello, Uncle Masaru,” Izuku said.
Masaru crouched to their height.
“I have been informed that the garden is under attack.” “It is,” Katsuki said.
“A villain took over the tower.” “The tower is a kitchen-roll tube taped to a box,” Masaru explained.
“It’s a skyscraper.” “Of course.
My mistake.” Katsuki looked at Izuku.
“You can be my sidekick.” “I don’t want to be a sidekick.” “Then be the villain.” “I don’t want to be a villain either.” Katsuki frowned.
“What do you want to be?” Izuku straightened.
“A hero.” The answer came automatically.
A second later, his shoulders lowered.
Mitsuki saw it.
Her eyes met Inko’s.
Masaru rose.
“I believe the city requires two heroes.” “Three,” Izuku corrected.
“Excellent.
I shall be the helpless civilian.” Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s wrist.
“Come on!” The boys ran through the house.
“Shoes!” Mitsuki shouted.
They stopped, turned and raced back to the genkan.
Mitsuki sighed.
“Future protectors of society.” Masaru smiled.
“They’re four.” “Exactly.
Plenty of time to improve.” Once the boys had pulled on their garden shoes, Masaru followed them outside.
Mitsuki watched through the glass door until they were safely in the garden.
Then she turned to Inko.
“Kitchen.” “You don’t have to…” “Kitchen, Inko.” The room was warm with the smell of fresh tea.
A plate of senbei and biscuits waited on the table.
Inko looked at them.
“You prepared all this?” “No.
The tea brewed itself and Masaru was tragically defeated by a packet of biscuits.” From the garden, Masaru called, “I can hear you.” “Then supervise louder.” Inko sat.
Mitsuki poured two cups and placed one in front of her.
For a moment, they listened to the children outside.
Katsuki announced an explosion attack.
A cardboard box collapsed.
Masaru responded with the appropriate level of alarm.
Mitsuki folded her arms.
“How bad was it?” Inko wrapped both hands around the tea.
“The doctor thinks Izuku is Quirkless.” Mitsuki’s expression remained controlled.
“All right.” “He took an X-ray of his foot.” “The toe-joint test?” “Yes.” “What else?” Inko looked at her.
“That was it.” Mitsuki waited.
When Inko did not continue, her eyebrows drew together.
“What do you mean, that was it?” “He said the extra joint and the lack of a manifestation were enough.” “No genetic screening?” “No.” “Quirk-factor scan?” “No.” “Neurological imaging?” “No.” “Blood work?” “They took blood, but he wouldn’t discuss the results.” Mitsuki slowly placed her cup down.
“He looked at one toe and decided Izuku’s entire future?” “That is the accepted indicator.” “An indicator.” “A strong one.” “Still an indicator.” Inko stared into her tea.
“The doctor may be right.” “That isn’t the point.” “Mitsuki…” “No.
Whether Izuku has a Quirk is one question.
Whether that doctor did his job properly is another.” “He said further testing would waste hospital resources.” Mitsuki’s head lifted.
“He said what?” “He did not call Izuku a waste.” “He said testing him was a waste while the child sat in front of him.” “I asked you to keep your voice down.” “I am keeping it down.” “You’re nearly shouting.” “This is restrained fury.” Outside, Katsuki yelled, “Die, villain!” Masaru replied, “Heroes generally arrest villains, Katsuki.” “This one’s a robot!” “Very well.
Carry on.” Mitsuki pointed towards the garden.
“That is shouting.
I am conducting a calm legal consultation.” “You are not a lawyer.” “No, but even I know you should file a complaint.” “Would it achieve anything?” “It creates a record.
You request all the notes, all the results and the written policy he used.
Then you take Izuku to a specialist.” “It may be expensive.” “We’ll help.” “No.” “Yes.” “I’m not taking money from you.” “Then borrow it.” “I don’t know when I could repay you.” “I don’t care.” “I do.” Mitsuki thought for a moment.
“Fine.
Masaru will create one of his painfully polite repayment plans.” From the garden, Masaru called, “I remain able to hear you.” “Good.
Put together a repayment plan.” “Inko has not agreed to borrow anything.” “Why are you taking her side?” “I’m not.
I’m preserving the illusion that she has a choice.” Inko laughed before she could stop herself.
Mitsuki pointed at her.
“There.
You’re still alive.” The laughter faded.
Mitsuki reached across the table.
“What exactly did the doctor say?” Inko told her.
She described the diagnosis, the refusal to perform more tests and the way the doctor had spoken about Izuku without speaking to him.
Mitsuki grew quieter with every detail.
Quiet anger was more frightening on her than shouting.
“He told you to accept reality?” she asked.
“Yes.” “In front of Izuku?” “Yes.” Mitsuki looked towards the garden.
Izuku was holding a cardboard shield while Katsuki launched himself from a small plastic step.
Masaru intercepted him before he could land in a flower bed.
“That absolute bastard,” Mitsuki said.
“Mitsuki.” “I chose the polite word.” “You did not.” “I chose the polite one available to me.” Inko rubbed her thumb along the side of her cup.
“The toe joint is a recognised sign.
The doctor has years of experience.
What if every other specialist says the same thing?” “Then you’ll know.” “And what do I tell Izuku until then?” “The truth.” “That he might never have a Quirk?” “That they don’t know yet.” Inko looked at her.
Mitsuki leaned closer.
“You are not promising him a Quirk.
You are promising him a proper answer.” Inko’s eyes burned.
“He asked if he was broken.” Mitsuki went still.
“He thought he had broken his own Quirk by misbehaving.” For once, Mitsuki had no immediate reply.
She left her chair and moved around the table.
Inko saw the hug coming and shook her head.
“Mitsuki, I’m fine.” “That is an impressive lie.” “I don’t want the boys to see.” “They’re busy destroying civilisation.” Mitsuki pulled her into an embrace.
Inko resisted for less than a second.
Then she folded against her.
“I should have protected him,” she whispered.
“You did.” “I took him there.” “You took him to a doctor.
That is a normal thing for a mother to do.” “I should have known.” “You challenged the head of the department in his own office.” “I should have done more.” “You demanded records.
You’re finding another specialist.
That is what doing more looks like.” Inko pressed a hand over her mouth to silence a sob.
Mitsuki held her until it passed.
“He isn’t broken,” she said.
“I know.” “And neither are you.” Inko drew back and wiped her eyes.
Mitsuki returned to her chair.
“Has Hisashi called?” The question changed the air.
Inko looked down.
“No.” “You told him?” “I left a message yesterday.” “And sent texts?” “Yes.” “When did you last hear from him?” “He messaged before the appointment.” “That isn’t what I asked.” Inko stared towards the garden.
“Three weeks ago.” Mitsuki’s jaw tightened.
“He sends messages.” “Messages are not parenting.” “He works overseas.” “People overseas still have telephones.” “He’s busy.” “He’s always busy.” “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.” “I didn’t say he doesn’t care.” Mitsuki’s voice remained low.
“I said he isn’t here.” Inko swallowed.
“He sends money.” “He is supposed to be a husband and father, not a bank transfer.” “That isn’t fair.” “No,” Mitsuki said.
“It isn’t.” She nodded towards the window.
“It isn’t fair to him.” Inko watched Izuku race after Katsuki.
“When was Hisashi last home?” Mitsuki asked.
“Eight months ago.” Mitsuki stared at her.
“He was supposed to come for Izuku’s birthday.” “But he didn’t.” “There was a problem at work.” “There is always a problem at work.” “He called afterwards.” “Afterwards.” Inko’s hands tightened around her cup.
“He loves Izuku.” “Then he needs to start behaving like Izuku can feel his absence.” The words landed painfully because they were true.
Inko looked away.
“I don’t know what has happened to us.” Mitsuki’s anger softened.
“You don’t have to solve that today.” “I can’t manage everything alone.” “You aren’t alone.” “Mitsuki…” “You have me.
You have Masaru.
Izuku has us.” “You have your own family.” “Yes, and unfortunately we have decided to keep you.” Despite herself, Inko smiled.
Outside, Katsuki’s voice rose above the garden.
“Izuku!” Both women turned.
The boys had stopped beside the cardboard city.
Katsuki stood with his hands on his hips.
Izuku held the bent shield against his chest.
“Did the doctor tell you your Quirk?” Izuku froze.
Inko’s breath caught.
Mitsuki moved closer to the window, but neither of them opened the door.
Katsuki waited.
“Well?” Izuku looked down at his hands.
For a moment, he seemed very small.
Then he raised his head.
“They don’t know yet.” Katsuki frowned.
“How can they not know?
They’re doctors.” “They have to do more tests.” “Oh.” Katsuki accepted this with the uncomplicated certainty of a child.
“Then you’ll know after the tests.” “Maybe.” “It’ll probably be strong.” Izuku blinked.
“You think so?” “My Quirk is strong,” Katsuki said, as though this explained everything.
“So yours has to be strong too.” “Why?” “Because we’re going to be heroes together.” Izuku’s mouth opened slightly.
Katsuki pointed at the cardboard tower.
“You’re the rescue hero.
I’ll fight the villain.” “Heroes arrest villains.” “This one’s a robot.” “That’s different.” “Come on!” Katsuki ran towards the cardboard city.
Izuku remained still for one second longer.
Then a smile appeared.
It was not the bright, effortless smile he had worn before the appointment.
This one was smaller and more fragile.
But it was real.
He lifted the shield and raced after Katsuki.
Masaru caught Inko watching from the kitchen.
He gave her a quiet smile.
Mitsuki folded her arms.
“Our boys are going to be a nightmare.” “They already are.” “Good.” Inko looked at her.
“Good?” “Quiet children rarely change the world.” Outside, Katsuki leapt from the step again.
Masaru caught him beneath the arms.
“That was a tactical flight,” Katsuki protested.
“That was gravity,” Masaru replied.
The afternoon passed more gently after that.
They ate together in the garden while the boys argued over which heroes were strongest.
Masaru repaired the cardboard tower with tape.
Mitsuki complained about the amount of mud Katsuki had managed to collect on one knee.
For several hours, Izuku was simply a child visiting friends.
The word Quirkless did not vanish, but it loosened its grip.
As evening approached, Inko prepared to leave.
Masaru packed leftover food into containers despite her protests.
Mitsuki placed the bag directly into Inko’s hands.
“Eat it tomorrow.” “You’ve given us enough for three days.” “Then enjoy not cooking for three days.” At the genkan, Katsuki grabbed Izuku’s sleeve.
“You’re coming back tomorrow.” It sounded less like a question than a command.
“I have to ask Mum.” “I already asked her.” Both boys looked at Inko.
“You did not,” she said.
“I was going to.” Mitsuki placed a hand on Katsuki’s head.
“Your negotiation skills are terrifying.” Izuku slipped on his shoes.
“I’ll come if Mum says yes.” Katsuki nodded.
“Bring your hero notebook.” “Which one?” “All of them.” Inko and Izuku stepped outside.
The evening air had cooled, and the streetlights were beginning to flicker on.
Mitsuki remained in the doorway.
“Call me when you get home.” “It’s a ten-minute walk.” “Call me anyway.” Inko smiled.
“I will.” She and Izuku started along the pavement.
Halfway to the corner, Izuku slipped his hand into hers.
“Did Auntie Mitsuki swear about the doctor?” Inko looked down at him.
“What makes you think that?” “I heard ‘absolute’ and then Uncle Masaru closed the window.” Inko fought a smile.
“Auntie Mitsuki expressed her concerns.” “With swearing?” “Some concerns require stronger vocabulary.” Izuku nodded solemnly.
At the end of the road, a white van was parked beneath a streetlight.
The same make and colour as the one Inko had noticed after the appointment.
Perhaps it was a common model.
Perhaps she was imagining connections because she had slept badly.
As they approached, the man in the driver’s seat lifted a telephone towards his face.
His cap cast a shadow over his features.
Inko could not tell whether he was speaking or taking a photograph.
She slowed.
The man looked towards her.
For one brief second, their eyes met through the windscreen.
Then the engine started.
The van pulled away from the kerb and disappeared around the corner.
“Mum?” Inko realised she had stopped walking.
Izuku tugged her hand.
“Are you all right?” “Yes.” “Who was that?” “I don’t know.” She looked towards the empty road.
It was probably nothing.
A delivery driver checking an address.
A parent waiting for someone.
A stranger who had looked in her direction because she had been staring at him.
Musutafu was filled with white vans.
Still, Inko tightened her grip on Izuku’s hand.
“Let’s go home.” They continued walking.
Izuku talked about the cardboard city, Katsuki’s cape and the specialist they would visit.
His voice grew more animated with every step.
Inko listened.
The doctor might be right.
Izuku might never manifest a Quirk.
The thought still frightened her, but it no longer felt like the end of everything.
There would be another appointment.
There would be tests, questions and arguments.
There would be complaints, forms and probably several furious telephone calls from Mitsuki.
There would be days when Izuku doubted himself.
There would be days when Inko did too.
But he would not face them alone.
Izuku stumbled on an uneven section of pavement.
He caught himself before he fell and kept walking.
They did not know yet.
For now, those words still contained pain.
They also contained possibility.
For now, possibility was enough.