“We need to talk.” Inko stared at the man standing in her bedroom doorway.
Rampart.
The Human Fortress.
His face appeared on rescue posters, television interviews and public-safety campaigns across Musutafu.
Children collected figures of him.
Parents trusted him to stand between their families and danger.
Now he stood inside her home.
No costume.
No polished armour.
No reassuring smile.
Only a dark coat, black gloves and the quiet confidence of a man who knew no one was coming to stop him.
Another figure waited behind him in the hallway.
Inko could see only his outline.
Tall.
Broad through the shoulders.
One hand rested near the opening of his coat.
Izuku stirred beneath the blankets.
Inko moved before he could open his eyes, placing herself between the bed and the doorway.
Her telephone sat on the bedside table, less than a metre away.
Rampart noticed her looking.
“Don’t.” His voice remained calm.
That frightened her more than shouting would have.
“What are you doing in my home?” “We need to discuss what happened to my brother.” The room seemed to tilt.
Daichi Senda.
The alley.
Blue-white electricity crawling across Mitsuki’s arm.
Katsuki striking the rubbish bins.
Izuku standing against the wall with a gun shaking between his hands.
The deafening sound that followed.
Inko curled her fingers into the fabric of her pyjamas.
“I spoke to the police.” “I’m not interested in what you told the police.” “I have nothing else to say.” Rampart glanced past her.
Izuku’s breathing changed.
He was awake.
Inko could feel it without looking.
Rampart stepped into the bedroom.
The floor creaked beneath his weight.
“You’ve had two months to prepare something better than that.” “I don’t know what you want.” “Yes, you do.” He gestured towards the hallway.
“Let’s sit at the table.” Inko did not move.
Rampart’s expression barely changed.
“I’m trying to be civil, Mrs Midoriya.” “You broke into my home.” “And yet we are still speaking politely.” The man behind him shifted.
Rampart looked over his shoulder.
“Bring the boy.” Inko moved.
She did not think.
She did not plan.
The stranger had taken only one step towards the bed when she threw herself at him.
Her shoulder struck his chest.
He grunted in surprise and stumbled into the hallway wall.
Inko clawed at his face, catching skin beneath her nails.
When he raised an arm to protect himself, she drove her knee into his stomach.
The man folded forward with a curse.
“Mum!” Izuku’s frightened voice came from the bed.
“Run!” Inko shouted.
The underling caught the back of her pyjama top.
Fabric tightened against her throat.
Inko twisted and reached with her Quirk.
The bedside lamp tore free of its cable.
It flew across the room and struck the man’s cheek with its metal base.
He released her.
Inko grabbed Izuku’s wrist.
For one perfect second, the path to the front door was open.
Then Rampart raised one hand.
A translucent wall formed across the hallway.
Inko ran into it.
The barrier did not flex.
Pain exploded through her shoulder, and she fell backwards.
Izuku’s hand slipped from hers.
“Mum!” The underling recovered.
Blood ran from a split beneath his eye.
He touched it, looked at his fingers and stared at Inko with disbelief.
“She’s stronger than she looks.” Rampart kept his attention on her.
“A frightened mother usually is.” Inko forced herself upright.
The barrier stretched from floor to ceiling, blocking the route to the front door.
Its surface shimmered faintly where the light caught it.
She reached for the telephone with her Quirk.
It lifted from the bedside table.
Rampart closed his fist.
A second barrier appeared around it.
The telephone struck the invisible box and dropped uselessly onto the carpet.
“You’re wasting time,” he said.
Inko placed herself in front of Izuku again.
“What do you want?” “My brother was sent to collect a debt.” “I didn’t know about it.” “He gave you an opportunity to pay.” “He attacked us.” “You could have cooperated.” “He electrocuted two women and two children.” Rampart’s jaw tightened.
“You killed him.” Inko went cold.
Izuku made a small sound behind her.
She kept her eyes fixed on Rampart.
“I didn’t.” The lie came easily.
Not because she wanted to protect herself.
Because her son was listening.
Rampart studied her face.
“The gun belonged to Daichi.
There were no useful fingerprints.
The children’s records were sealed, and the police report has been buried beneath enough redactions to make it worthless.” For the first time, uncertainty entered his expression.
He did not know.
The police had protected Izuku’s identity.
Rampart believed one of the adults had fired.
Inko could keep it that way.
“I killed him,” she said.
Behind her, Izuku inhaled sharply.
Rampart’s eyes narrowed.
Inko did not turn around.
She would explain later.
She would tell Izuku why she had lied.
She would hold him and make him understand that none of it was his fault.
Later.
The word entered her mind with cruel clarity.
Rampart gestured towards the kitchen.
“Table.” Inko remained still.
The underling moved towards Izuku.
She attacked before he reached the bed.
Inko seized the wardrobe doors with her Quirk and ripped them open.
Hangers, shoes and storage boxes shot into the room.
The underling covered his face.
Inko pulled Izuku against her and ran for the window.
A barrier formed across it.
She changed direction.
Rampart caught her by the back of the neck.
Inko drove her elbow behind her.
It struck something solid rather than flesh.
A thin barrier covered his body like a second skin.
She hit him again.
Pain travelled through her arm and into her shoulder.
Rampart lifted her from the floor and threw her into the wall.
The impact emptied her lungs.
She dropped beside the bed, fighting for breath.
“Mum!” Izuku scrambled towards her.
The underling caught him around the waist.
Izuku kicked and screamed.
“Let me go!
Let me go!” Inko forced herself onto one knee.
Rampart stepped between them.
She swung at him.
He caught her wrist.
“You have courage,” he said.
“I’ll give you that.” Inko spat in his face.
The room became still.
Rampart wiped his cheek with a gloved thumb.
Then he struck her.
The blow sent her into the side of the bed.
Pain burst across her face.
Izuku screamed her name.
Inko tried to stand.
Rampart seized her by the hair and dragged her into the hallway.
Her fingers scraped across the floorboards, reaching for anything she could pull towards herself.
A shoe.
A picture frame.
The metal umbrella stand near the entrance.
The objects rose.
Rampart created a barrier above her.
Everything struck it and scattered.
“You rely too much on anger,” he said.
Inko kicked at his knee.
His barrier absorbed the impact.
He dragged her into the kitchen and forced her into a chair.
An invisible wall closed around her torso, pinning her against the backrest.
Pressure tightened around her ribs.
She could not see what held her, which made the restraint feel more complete.
The underling carried Izuku into the room.
The boy twisted desperately in his arms.
“Put him down,” Inko said.
Her voice hardly sounded like her own.
The underling’s cheek had begun to swell.
Blood ran towards his jaw.
He looked at her with an unpleasant kind of admiration.
“Your mum fights dirty, kid.” Izuku tried to bite him.
The man jerked his hand away.
“Little animal.” “Don’t touch him!” Rampart sat opposite Inko.
He placed both hands on the table.
Calm returned to his face as easily as a mask.
“Where is your husband?” “I don’t know.” “He borrowed a substantial amount of money.” “I didn’t know.” “He stopped paying.” “I didn’t know.” “He disappeared.” “I didn’t know.” Rampart leaned forward.
“You expect me to believe Hisashi Midoriya took money from my organisation, vanished and told his wife nothing?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because he abandoned us.” The words escaped before she could stop them.
They hung between them.
For one moment, something almost human passed through Rampart’s eyes.
Then it vanished.
“How convenient.” “You’ve seen the police records.
You know I haven’t spoken to him.” “Records can be manipulated.” “You would know.” The underling laughed quietly.
Rampart did not.
“My brother was not supposed to die.” “He wasn’t supposed to attack us.” “He was doing his job.” “He attacked children.” “He was collecting what your husband owed.” Inko pulled against the barrier.
The chair legs scraped across the floor, but the pressure around her ribs only increased.
“You call yourself a hero.” Rampart’s expression cooled.
“I am a hero.” “No.
You wear the costume.” A muscle moved in his jaw.
“You stand in front of cameras and tell children to protect the weak.
Then you send men like Daichi to threaten families.” “My public work and my private business are separate.” “Not to the people you hurt.” “You know very little about what keeps this city functioning.” “I know enough.” Rampart glanced towards Izuku.
The underling had placed him on his feet but kept both hands on his shoulders.
Izuku’s face was wet with tears.
He stared at Rampart.
Not with the confused recognition he had shown when the man first entered.
Now there was horror.
Inko saw something breaking inside him.
Heroes were supposed to arrive after monsters entered a home.
They were not supposed to be the monsters.
Rampart noticed the boy’s stare.
“Do you know who I am?” Izuku did not answer.
“You’ve seen me on television.” His lower lip trembled.
“You’re a hero.” “I am.” “Heroes don’t hurt mums.” Rampart’s face remained calm.
“Heroes make difficult choices.” “You’re lying.” The accusation was quiet.
Inko had never been prouder of him.
Rampart leaned back.
“Your son has inherited your disrespect.” “He has good judgement.” “He has poor survival instincts.” Inko’s blood turned cold.
“What does that mean?” Rampart returned his attention to her.
“I’ve spent two months deciding what to do with you.” “You could leave.” “I could.” “Then go.” “But my brother would still be dead.” “He chose to attack us.” “And you chose to kill him.” “I protected my family.” “So did he.” Rampart reached across the table and touched the framed photograph Masaru had returned to its place after the move.
Inko, Hisashi and baby Izuku.
He turned it towards her.
“Family makes people unreasonable.” “Leave my son out of this.” “That depends on you.” The underling tightened his grip on Izuku’s shoulders.
Inko saw her son wince.
Fear sharpened inside her until it became almost clean.
“What do you want?” “Tell me where Hisashi is.” “I don’t know.” “Tell me where he hid the money.” “I don’t know.” “Tell me who else knew about the debt.” “I don’t know!” Rampart sighed.
“That answer is becoming tiresome.” “It’s the truth.” “Truth has limited value when it fails to produce results.” He nodded towards the underling.
The man moved one hand from Izuku’s shoulder to the back of his neck.
Izuku froze.
Inko pulled against the barrier until the chair groaned beneath her.
“Don’t.” Rampart’s voice became almost gentle.
“You endured my brother’s attack.
You challenged a hospital consultant.
You returned to this apartment after being warned not to.
You are remarkably stubborn.” Mitsuki had warned her.
The police had warned her.
Two nights, Mitsuki had said.
If either of you feels uncomfortable, you come back.
Inko had wanted her own home.
She had wanted Izuku to believe they could reclaim it.
She had mistaken returning for winning.
Now her son stood in a criminal’s hands because she had refused to remain somewhere safe.
The guilt struck harder than Rampart’s fist.
She should have listened.
She should have stayed.
She should never have brought Izuku back.
Rampart saw the change in her face.
“There it is,” he said.
“You understand.” Inko looked at her son.
He was terrified.
He was watching her, waiting for her to make the world safe again.
She could not undo the choice that had brought them home.
She could not defeat Rampart in a fair fight.
His barriers stopped everything she threw.
The front door was sealed.
More men were likely waiting outside.
There was no fair fight left.
There was only the thing she had spent her entire life refusing to test.
The edge of her Quirk.
Inko had always been able to draw small objects towards herself.
Keys.
Toys.
Cups.
Pens that had rolled beneath furniture.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing impressive.
She had been told her Quirk was weak so often that the word had become part of its name.
Weak attraction.
A useful domestic trick.
But Quirks were tied to bodies.
Bodies could be pushed.
Muscles could tear.
Blood vessels could rupture.
Bones could crack beneath forces they were never meant to carry.
She did not need to survive what came next.
She only needed to open the hallway.
Inko closed her eyes for half a second.
The apartment changed.
She felt the cutlery resting in drawers.
Pots hanging inside cupboards.
Coins trapped beneath sofa cushions.
Nails buried inside wood.
Screws joining shelves to walls.
Copper pipes.
Steel brackets.
Electrical wiring.
The metal frame of the table.
The hidden skeleton of the apartment pressed against the limits of her awareness.
Thousands of small objects.
Thousands of separate points.
All of them waited at the edge of her reach.
Her Quirk trembled inside her skull.
Even touching that many objects at once brought a sudden spike of pain behind her eyes.
Her stomach rolled.
Warm liquid gathered in one nostril.
She inhaled carefully.
Blood touched her upper lip.
Rampart continued speaking.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Mrs Midoriya.” Inko opened her eyes.
“No?” “You’ve demonstrated that pain will not persuade you.” His gaze moved towards Izuku.
“But a mother’s strength can become a weakness.” The underling’s fingers tightened against the back of Izuku’s neck.
Her son whimpered.
Something inside Inko became still.
Not calm.
Not peace.
Decision.
“Let him go,” she said.
“Tell me where your husband is.” “I don’t know.” “Then give me something useful.” “I can.” Rampart waited.
Inko looked at Izuku.
He stared back at her through his tears.
She smiled.
Her swollen face resisted the expression, but she forced it into place.
It was the same smile she had given him after nightmares.
The smile that meant his mother was there.
The smile that promised he was not alone.
“Izuku.” “Mum?” “Do you remember the way to Auntie Mitsuki’s house?” His eyes widened.
Rampart began to rise.
Inko reached for everything.
Pain detonated behind her eyes.
The kitchen drawers flew open.
Cutlery tore into the air.
Cabinet doors ripped from their hinges.
Pots, plates and glasses shot towards the centre of the room.
Rampart threw barriers around himself.
The invisible wall pinning Inko to the chair vanished.
She stood.
The movement nearly made her collapse.
Blood ran freely from her nose.
Pressure filled her skull, enormous and crushing.
The muscles along her neck tightened until she could barely turn her head.
The underling released Izuku to shield his face.
“Run!” Inko screamed.
Izuku did not move.
Inko pulled harder.
Every capillary in her eyes seemed to burn at once.
Her vision flooded red.
Tiny vessels burst across the whites of her eyes until they became veined and dark, the green of her irises shining through blood.
A sharp wetness gathered beneath one eyelid.
A red tear slipped down her cheek.
The villains stared at her.
The underling backed away.
“What the hell is she?” Inko could no longer hear him clearly.
A roar filled her ears, the sound of her own blood moving through her skull.
Her Quirk continued spreading.
The apartment groaned.
Metal screamed inside the walls.
Nails dragged through timber.
Pipes bent beneath the strain.
Inko’s hands shook so violently that her fingers curled into claws.
Blood ran over her lips and down her chin.
To the men who had entered her home, she no longer looked like the frightened woman they had expected.
She looked like something dragged from a nightmare.
A blood-eyed creature standing at the centre of a dying building, tearing the world towards herself.
Rampart’s composure finally cracked.
“Stop her!” The underling tried to move towards Izuku.
Inko shifted her attention to him.
The metal frame of a kitchen chair struck his legs and threw him aside.
The effort sent another bolt of agony through her head.
Something ruptured deep in her ear.
Sound vanished on one side.
Her balance failed.
She caught herself against the table.
Not yet.
Every object rushed towards the centre of the room, hammering against Rampart’s barriers.
He raised both hands.
Layer after layer formed around him.
The barriers shuddered beneath the impact.
The windows shattered inward.
The floor split beneath Inko’s feet.
A terrible pressure tightened around her heart.
Her pulse stumbled.
For one frightening moment, it did not start again.
Then it struck once, hard enough to send pain through her chest.
Her knees bent.
She forced them straight.
Not yet.
Izuku remained beside the wall.
He was staring at her.
Inko saw herself reflected in his wide green eyes.
Blood covered her face.
The whites of her eyes had turned crimson.
Her hair lifted around her head, pulled by currents of force she could no longer control.
The apartment twisted around her.
She knew what the villains saw.
A demon.
A monster.
Something unnatural and terrible.
But Izuku did not look at her with disgust.
He looked at her with wonder.
He had spent his short life believing heroes were people with bright costumes, powerful Quirks and fearless smiles.
Now his mother stood between him and evil with blood running from her eyes.
She was terrified.
She was hurt.
She knew she was dying.
And she still refused to move aside.
To Izuku, she was not a monster.
She was his hero.
Inko felt the understanding pass between them.
It gave her enough strength for one final act.
She turned the pull away from herself.
For one impossible second, she held the entire apartment inside her Quirk.
Every loose object.
Every broken wall.
Every bent pipe and torn bracket.
The strain crushed through her body.
Blood vessels burst beneath her skin.
Her heartbeat faltered again.
A deep tearing pain opened inside her chest.
Inko tasted iron.
Then she released everything outward.
The blast tore through the apartment.
Walls split.
Furniture lifted.
Rampart’s barriers fractured with a sound like breaking ice.
The underling vanished beneath falling plaster.
The hallway opened.
The front door ripped from its frame and disappeared into the corridor.
Cold night air rushed through the ruins.
Izuku stood amid the destruction.
Inko could no longer feel her hands.
Her left eye had gone dark.
Her legs trembled beneath her.
She thought of him jumping on her bed.
The pillow striking her face.
His All Might pyjamas.
His small hand inside hers.
His question after the hospital.
Am I broken?
No.
Never.
He was frightened.
He was wounded.
He was hers.
And he was going to live.
“Run to Auntie!” Inko shouted.
The words tore at her throat.
“Mum!” “Go!” Rampart forced himself upright beneath a broken section of wall.
Blood covered one side of his face.
His coat was torn, and one arm hung uselessly at his side.
A barrier flickered around him.
Weak.
Unstable.
Still there.
Inko placed herself between him and Izuku.
She had nothing left.
Her body had become a collection of failing parts.
Her heart beat out of rhythm.
Her lungs refused to fill completely.
Blood continued to run from her eyes, her nose and the corner of her mouth.
But she stood.
Rampart looked at her.
For the first time since entering the apartment, he looked afraid.
Izuku looked at her too.
His mother had no costume.
No licence.
No crowd cheering her name.
Only torn pyjamas, shaking legs and a body she had destroyed to give him one open door.
Inko smiled at him.
“Run,” she whispered.
Izuku turned.
He fled through the broken doorway.
His bare feet struck the hallway floor.
Then the stairs.
His footsteps faded into the night.
Inko listened until she could no longer hear them.
He had escaped.
The knowledge settled inside her like warmth.
Her knees finally gave way.
Before she reached the floor, Rampart’s damaged barrier struck her from behind.
The world disappeared.
Rampart woke beneath broken concrete and splintered wood.
For several seconds, he heard nothing but a high ringing sound.
Then the pain arrived.
His shoulder was dislocated.
Blood filled his mouth.
Every attempt to breathe sent agony through his ribs.
His barrier had saved his life.
Barely.
He pushed debris aside and found Inko beneath him.
She did not move.
Blood had dried across her face, but the burst vessels in her eyes remained visible beneath half-closed lids.
Even in death, she looked fierce.
The woman who had once pulled spoons and keys towards herself had torn half an apartment apart.
All for one child.
Rampart looked towards the shattered doorway.
The boy was gone.
Voices rose from the corridor.
His men.
Several had been positioned around the building, watching the exits.
They entered through the ruined hallway and stopped when they saw the destruction.
One of them helped Rampart stand.
“What happened?” Rampart looked down at Inko’s body.
For one bitter moment, he remembered how she had appeared at the centre of the blast.
Blood-red eyes.
Hair twisting in the air.
The whole apartment screaming around her.
“She was stronger than we thought.” “Where’s the kid?” Rampart wiped blood from his mouth.
Far below, somewhere beyond the apartment complex, a four-year-old child was running through the dark streets of Musutafu.
Rampart’s expression hardened.
“Find him.” The men hesitated.
Rampart turned towards them.
“Search every street.
Every station.
Every alley.” A fractured barrier flickered around his clenched fist.
“Bring me the boy.”