Three days after Izuku’s Quirk assessment, Inko Midoriya discovered that one doctor could close a surprising number of doors.
The first clinic refused before she finished explaining why she was calling.
“I understand that you would like a second opinion,” the receptionist said, her voice smooth and impersonal, “but your son has already been assessed by the regional head of paediatric Quirk development.” “He looked at one X-ray.” “The consultant’s notes state that further testing is not medically indicated.” Inko tightened her grip on the telephone.
Across the Bakugou kitchen, Mitsuki stopped pretending she was not listening.
“What notes?” There was a pause at the other end of the line.
“The referral includes concerns that you are having difficulty accepting your son’s diagnosis.” Inko felt heat rise through her face.
“He wrote that?” “I can only tell you what is in the file, Mrs Midoriya.” “I asked him to perform the proper tests.” “I’m afraid we cannot offer another assessment without a new referral from your family doctor.” “My family doctor sent us to him.” “Then you will need to discuss the matter with your family doctor.” “They cannot see us until next week.” “I’m sorry.” The line went dead.
Inko continued holding the telephone to her ear.
For several seconds, the kitchen remained quiet except for the gentle bubbling of water inside the kettle.
Then Mitsuki spoke.
“Well?” Inko lowered the phone.
“They won’t see him.” “Why?” “The consultant wrote that I’m in denial.” Mitsuki’s expression sharpened.
“He diagnosed your personality too?” “He said I was having difficulty accepting medical advice.” “You challenged him because he looked at one toe and declared the entire case closed.” “The joint is a recognised indicator.” “If you say that one more time, I’m going to recognise the kettle as a projectile.” Inko looked towards the doorway.
“Please do not throw your kettle.” “It’s not even a good kettle.” From the living room, Masaru called, “You chose it.” “I chose the colour.
You chose the model.” “It boils water.” “Barely.” A muffled explosion sounded from the next room.
Both women turned.
A thin line of smoke drifted through the doorway.
“Katsuki!” Mitsuki shouted.
“It was tiny!” he shouted back.
Masaru lowered his newspaper.
“The cushion survived.” Izuku appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a wooden spoon in both hands.
“It was pretending to be a villain.” Mitsuki stared at the spoon.
“And what are you supposed to be?” “A sword hero.” “Put the sword hero back in the drawer.” Izuku’s shoulders dipped.
“All right.” The change in him was small, but Inko saw it.
Before the appointment, he would have argued.
He would have explained the hero’s name, costume and special attacks in breathless detail.
Now every game seemed to remind him of the future the doctor had taken away.
Mitsuki saw it too.
“Actually,” she said, “wait.” Izuku stopped.
“A wooden spoon is terrible hero equipment.” He looked down at it.
“You need a shield.” Katsuki raced into the kitchen.
“I want a shield.” “You can make explosions.” “I want both.” “Greedy little monster.” Masaru folded his newspaper with a quiet sigh.
“I believe we have some cardboard boxes in the cupboard.” Both boys shouted at once and followed him into the hallway.
The house quickly filled with the sound of tearing cardboard and arguments over who was allowed to use the red marker.
Mitsuki pulled out the chair opposite Inko.
“Give me the list.” “I can call the clinics.” “So can I.” “You’re not Izuku’s mother.” “No, I’m the woman capable of finishing a telephone conversation without apologising to the person refusing to help.” “I do not apologise that often.” “You apologised to that receptionist.” “She was only doing her job.” “Badly.” Inko pressed two fingers against her forehead.
The headache had begun before breakfast.
It sat behind her eyes, steady and unpleasant.
She had barely slept.
Twice during the night, she had checked the front door.
The first time had been because of the anonymous telephone call.
The second had been because she thought she heard a vehicle stop outside the apartment.
In daylight, both worries felt foolish.
Wrong numbers happened.
White vans were common.
Strangers occasionally looked in her direction.
None of that meant she was being watched.
Mitsuki slid a fresh cup of tea across the table.
“Drink.” “I’m fine.” “That wasn’t a question.” “You’re very bossy.” “Yes.” “You could at least pretend otherwise.” “Why waste time?” Inko wrapped both hands around the cup.
The warmth helped.
“Hisashi still hasn’t called,” she said.
Mitsuki went still.
“Nothing?” “Not since the message before the assessment.” “You told him what happened?” “I called.
I left messages.
I sent texts.” “And he has ignored all of them?” “He may not have seen them.” “Inko.” “He works long hours.” “Inko.” “He travels.” “Stop defending him for five minutes.” The words were not shouted.
Somehow, that made them sharper.
Inko stared into her tea.
“He is Izuku’s father.” “Then he should behave like one.” Before Inko could answer, the boys charged into the kitchen wearing cardboard armour.
Katsuki had forced a box over his chest and attached two uneven shoulder pieces with tape.
Izuku wore a shield on one arm and a paper badge decorated with an enormous green letter H.
Masaru followed with several pieces of tape stuck to his shirt.
“What does the H stand for?” he asked.
“Hero,” Izuku said.
Katsuki pointed to the crooked numeral on his own chest.
“Mine says number one.” It looked more like a chair.
Mitsuki inspected them.
“You both look ridiculous.” “We’re heroes,” Katsuki said.
“Those things can happen at the same time.” Izuku lifted his shield.
“Auntie Mitsuki, can we play outside?” Mitsuki looked towards the window.
The sky was clear.
Sunlight stretched across Masaru’s carefully maintained garden.
“We could do better than outside.” Katsuki’s eyes widened.
“The park?” “The park.” The boys cheered.
Inko glanced at the crossed-out numbers on her list.
“We still have calls to make.” “We’ve called five clinics.” “There are seven left.” “And those seven will still have telephones after lunch.” “I promised Izuku we would find another doctor.” Mitsuki’s expression softened.
“You promised to keep trying.
You did not promise to spend every second making yourself miserable.” Inko looked towards her son.
Izuku stood in crooked cardboard armour, waiting for her answer.
There was hope in his face.
More importantly, there was simple excitement.
For once, he was not thinking about doctors, extra toe joints or whether his body was broken.
“All right,” Inko said.
“We’ll go after the calls.” Mitsuki shook her head.
“We’ll finish the calls now.
Then we go.” They sat together at the kitchen table while the boys returned to their game.
The next three clinics refused.
One had no appointments for four months.
Another agreed to review Izuku’s file, then called back twenty minutes later and said the original assessment appeared complete.
The final number belonged to a private specialist centre on the far side of Musutafu.
The receptionist sounded sympathetic.
“We do offer independent developmental assessments,” she said.
“May I ask the name of the original consultant?” Inko told her.
Silence followed.
“I see.” “What does that mean?” “He oversees the regional diagnostic board.” “I know.” “Most clinics will defer to his conclusions unless there is new clinical evidence.” “How am I supposed to obtain new evidence if no one will perform the tests?” The woman did not answer immediately.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but his notes describe you as confrontational and unwilling to accept medical guidance.” Inko closed her eyes.
“I asked him to test my son.” “I understand.” The gentleness nearly broke her.
“Can you help us?” “I can place your son on our review list.
I cannot promise that the specialist will accept the referral.” “How long will that take?” “Several weeks.” Inko looked through the doorway.
Izuku sat on the living-room floor beside Katsuki, drawing a costume on the front of his shield.
His tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.
Several weeks felt like forever.
It was still better than no.
“Put him on the list,” she said.
When the call ended, Mitsuki took the telephone from her hand and placed it on the table.
“That’s something.” “It’s barely something.” “Barely something still beats nothing.” Inko stared at the numbers crossed out in black ink.
“He knew this would happen.” “The consultant?” “He knew the other hospitals would read his report.
He knew they would treat me as though I was irrational.” “You don’t know that.” “No,” Inko admitted.
“But I know he wanted me to stop asking questions.” Mitsuki picked up the list and tore it in half.
Inko stared at her.
“What are you doing?” “We’ve called them.” “I wanted to keep the numbers.” “They’re in your telephone.” “That isn’t the point.” “The point is that the list was making you look like you wanted to set fire to it.” “I did not.” “Then I saved you the trouble.” From the living room, Katsuki shouted, “Can we go now?” Mitsuki raised her voice.
“Change out of the cardboard!” “But we need armour!” “You need clothes that can survive a washing machine.” Masaru began collecting discarded pieces of cardboard.
“I’ll stay here and prepare dinner.” “You don’t have to cook for us,” Inko said.
“I was already making curry.” “Make it spicy,” Mitsuki said.
“Katsuki complained last time.” “I did not!” Katsuki shouted.
“You cried.” “My mouth was sweating!” Izuku giggled.
The sound caught Inko completely off guard.
She turned.
Her son stood in the hallway with one shoe on and the other in his hand.
His shirt was tucked in on only one side.
His green hair pointed in every direction.
His smile reached his eyes.
For a heartbeat, the appointment disappeared.
Inko knelt and held out her hand for the second shoe.
“I can do it,” Izuku said.
“I know.” He let her help anyway.
Ten minutes later, Inko and Mitsuki walked towards the park while the boys raced ahead.
Katsuki carried a red ball beneath one arm.
Izuku wore his All Might backpack and stopped every few metres to inspect something on the pavement.
A beetle.
A bottle cap.
A crack shaped like lightning.
“They’re going to fall,” Mitsuki said.
“Almost certainly.” “Should we warn them?” “They won’t listen.” “Good point.” Katsuki reached the crossing first and bounced impatiently beside the kerb.
“Don’t cross without us,” Mitsuki called.
“We know!” “You said that about your shoes.” “I put them on!” “After being reminded.” When the signal changed, the boys crossed between their mothers.
Izuku held Inko’s hand.
Halfway across, he looked up at her.
“Are we still seeing another doctor?” “Yes.” “When?” “As soon as we get an appointment.” “Tomorrow?” “Probably not.” His gaze dropped.
Mitsuki reached across Katsuki and tapped Izuku gently on the head.
“Doctors are slow because they spend half their lives looking for their pens.” “My doctor had a pen,” Izuku said.
“Then he had no excuse.” They continued towards the park.
None of them noticed the white van turn onto the road behind them.
It remained two car lengths back.
At the next junction, it slowed.
A man in the passenger seat lifted a telephone.
Inko bent to adjust Izuku’s backpack at precisely the wrong moment.
Her body hid him from view.
The photograph captured her face, part of Mitsuki’s shoulder and the top of Katsuki’s head.
Then the van continued past them.
The park was crowded with families.
Children climbed reinforced play equipment designed to survive careless Quirk use.
A girl with feathers along her arms glided from the climbing frame into her father’s hands.
Near the fountain, two boys chased a floating ball that seemed determined to escape.
Katsuki surveyed the playground.
“I’m going on the big slide.” “The sign says six and over,” Mitsuki said.
“I’m nearly six.” “You’re four.” “That’s nearly six.” “By that logic, I’m nearly ninety.” Katsuki frowned at the sign as though considering whether it could be defeated physically.
Izuku pointed towards a smaller slide.
“We can go on that one.” “That one is for babies.” Izuku began climbing its ladder.
“Then I’ll go first.” Katsuki stared at him, apparently offended by the possibility of being left behind.
He followed.
Inko and Mitsuki found a bench beneath a row of trees.
For the next two hours, the boys ran themselves breathless.
They climbed, chased pigeons and attempted to recruit an uninterested corgi into their hero agency.
Katsuki used tiny explosions against the fountain until Mitsuki dragged him away by the back of his shirt.
Izuku helped a younger child who fell near the swings.
“I rescued him,” he announced afterwards.
“You helped him stand,” Katsuki replied.
“That counts.” Katsuki considered it.
“One rescue point.” “How many do you have?” “Seven.” “You made that up.” “I rescued the ball six times.” “The ball isn’t a person.” “It was pretending.” Their argument followed them across the grass.
Inko watched from the bench.
“He hasn’t mentioned his Quirk for nearly an hour,” she said.
Mitsuki gave her a sideways look.
“Stop measuring every good moment.
You’ll crush it.” Inko looked down.
“I don’t know how to behave as though everything is normal.” “Everything isn’t normal.” “That’s helpful.” “You’re welcome.” Mitsuki leaned back.
“You don’t need to pretend nothing happened.
You need to let other things happen too.” The sky began to cloud as afternoon turned towards evening.
A cool breeze moved through the trees.
Masaru sent a photograph of curry simmering on the stove.
Beneath it, he had written: Please return before Katsuki’s portion becomes mild.
Mitsuki snorted.
“He knows I’m right.” “About what?” Katsuki asked.
“Nothing.” “I like spicy curry.” “You cried.” “My mouth was sweating.” Izuku looked fascinated.
“Can mouths sweat?” “No,” Inko said.
“Mine can,” Katsuki insisted.
The first drops of rain began as they packed their things.
“We should go,” Inko said.
“We just got here,” Katsuki protested.
“We’ve been here for three hours.” “That’s not long.” “It is when your father is cooking dinner.” Mitsuki swung her bag over one shoulder.
“We’ll use the shortcut behind the shopping street.” Izuku looked towards the park entrance.
A balloon had become trapped in the branches overhead.
It pulled against its string with each gust of wind.
Something about it made his stomach feel strange.
“Mum?” “Yes?” “Can we go the long way?” Mitsuki checked the sky.
“We’ll be soaked.” Inko studied him.
“Why do you want to go the long way?” Izuku looked towards the gate.
Families were leaving.
Bicycles moved along the pavement.
A hero patrol car passed beyond the trees.
Nothing seemed wrong.
“I don’t know.” Inko’s expression softened.
“We can take the main road.” Izuku shook his head.
“No.
The shortcut is fine.” He did not want everyone changing their plans because he was frightened of nothing.
Heroes acted even when they were scared.
All Might had said so.
They left the park together.
The shortcut began between a closed stationery shop and a narrow apartment building.
It passed behind several restaurants before emerging two streets from the Bakugou home.
Rain tapped against metal fire escapes.
The alley smelled of wet concrete, cooking oil and rubbish waiting for collection.
Mitsuki guided Katsuki ahead.
“Stay where I can see you.” “You can see me.” “I would like to keep it that way.” Halfway through the alley, a man stepped from behind a stack of delivery crates.
Inko stopped.
He wore a dark jacket and a cap pulled low over his forehead.
She did not recognise him.
She recognised the cold feeling settling in her stomach.
The man glanced at Mitsuki and the boys.
Surprise crossed his face.
He had not expected them.
Then his expression hardened.
“Inko Midoriya?” Mitsuki moved closer to her.
“Who’s asking?” The man ignored her.
Inko placed one hand behind herself, guiding Izuku back.
“How do you know my name?” “Your husband owes money.” The rain seemed to grow louder.
“What?” “Hisashi Midoriya.
He borrowed from people who don’t appreciate being ignored.” “My husband does not owe you anything.” “You sure about that?” “Yes.” The man smiled.
“Maybe he forgot to mention it.” Mitsuki stepped forward.
“You’re blocking the alley.” “This isn’t your business.” “You cornered us with two children.
You stopped being selective.” The man looked towards Katsuki and Izuku.
His plan had changed.
Izuku could see that without understanding what the original plan had been.
That frightened him.
Inko kept her hand behind him.
“Whatever Hisashi has done, you need to speak to him.” “We tried.” “I don’t know where he is.” “That sounds like a family problem.” Katsuki’s palms crackled.
Mitsuki caught his wrist.
“No.” The man’s eyes dropped towards the sparks.
“A little young for that.” “Leave my mum alone,” Katsuki said.
“Kacchan,” Inko whispered.
The man stepped closer.
Inko moved back.
“I’m calling the police.” She reached into her handbag.
The man crossed the distance before she could touch her telephone.
His hand struck the bag aside.
It hit the wall and spilled its contents across the wet ground.
Izuku screamed.
Mitsuki drove her shoulder into the man’s chest.
He staggered half a step.
She followed with a punch that snapped his head sideways.
For one hopeful instant, Izuku thought she had stopped him.
Then the man caught Mitsuki by the wrist.
Blue-white light flashed between their hands.
Mitsuki screamed.
Her entire body locked.
Her knees buckled as electricity crawled across her arm.
“Auntie!” The man released her.
She collapsed against the wall, clutching her wrist while her muscles continued to twitch.
Katsuki launched himself forward.
Tiny explosions burst from his palms against the man’s coat.
The attacker grunted and raised one arm to shield his face.
Katsuki struck again.
“Don’t touch her!” “Katsuki, run!” Mitsuki shouted.
The man caught him by the front of his shirt.
Electricity snapped across Katsuki’s chest.
His small body jerked.
The sparks in his hands vanished.
The man threw him across the alley.
Katsuki struck a row of metal rubbish bins and crumpled between them.
“Kacchan!” Katsuki did not move.
Something vanished from Izuku’s mind.
Fear remained, but thought disappeared.
He ran forward and wrapped both arms around the attacker’s leg.
“Stop!” The man looked down.
Another flash lit the alley.
Pain tore through Izuku’s arms and chest.
Every muscle seized, trapping him against the man’s leg even as his body screamed for him to let go.
The current stopped.
Izuku fell onto his back, gasping.
Inko pulled a loose metal lid towards herself with her Quirk.
It flew into her hand.
She swung it at the attacker’s head.
The lid struck him with a sharp crack.
He stumbled.
Inko raised it again.
The man caught her forearm.
Electricity surged between them.
Inko cried out.
The lid fell from her fingers as her arm spasmed uselessly.
“You should have paid,” he said.
“I don’t owe you anything!” He increased the current.
Inko’s knees struck the pavement.
“Mum!” The man released her.
Inko collapsed beside Mitsuki.
“You should have stayed out of this,” he said.
His damaged coat shifted.
Something heavy slipped from inside it and struck the pavement.
A gun.
Izuku stared at it.
He had seen guns on television.
Heroes took them away from villains.
Heroes made people safe.
Across the alley, the man grabbed Mitsuki by the hair and pulled her upright.
She struck weakly at his arm.
Electricity flashed.
Her body went rigid.
Izuku crawled towards the gun.
His arms still tingled.
His fingers refused to move properly.
He closed both hands around the grip.
It was heavier than he expected.
Cold.
Wrong.
The man released Mitsuki and turned back towards Inko.
She tried to crawl away.
He caught her ankle.
Izuku forced himself onto his feet using the wall.
“Stop.” His voice was too quiet.
The man did not hear him.
“Stop!” Everyone turned.
Izuku held the gun with both hands.
His arms shook so badly that the barrel moved in small, wild circles.
Inko’s face changed.
“Izuku.” The attacker looked at the weapon.
Then at the child holding it.
He laughed.
“You don’t know how to use that.” Izuku’s finger rested against the trigger.
“Stop hurting my family.” His voice broke on the final word.
The man took a step towards him.
Izuku backed against the wall.
“Stay away!” “Izuku,” Inko said carefully.
“Put it down.” The man took another step.
“He won’t shoot.” Mitsuki reached towards him.
“Don’t.” He shoved her aside.
Izuku saw Katsuki lying between the bins.
He saw his mother on the ground.
The man began to run towards him.
“Stop!” The man did not stop.
Izuku squeezed his eyes shut.
BANG.
(First four chapters are up.
See you again on the 3th of August 2026)