Chapter Text
Izuku panted, blinking spots out of his vision as he shakily rested his hands on his knees and heaved. He felt fat droplets of sweat sliding down his forehead and plopping onto the ground, forming dark little circles by his shoes.
They arrived at Urokodaki’s hut drenched and panting with the sun sinking below the trees. Izuku gasped, desperately sucking lungfuls of air.
This is just like the summer training camp, he thought ruefully. Except it was longer, he didn’t have access to his quirk, and he was trapped in his twiggy thirteen-year-old body. He wiped away a thick sheen of sweat.
Gross.
Tanjiro was no better off, especially since he had insisted on carrying his sister the entire twelve-hour hell marathon. The boy was on his knees, making a sound not unlike a dying whale. Izuku felt a pang of sympathy. He had offered to help carry Nezuko, but her brother was nothing if not protective; doubly so after recent events.
“S-so… did we… pass… the test?” Tanjiro said between ragged pants.
“The test begins now,” Urokodaki cut in. “Climb the mountain.”
Izuku had never seen such a look of utter despair on his friend. He is just like Aizawa, Izuku thought wryly. He himself groaned—curse his mentors and their logical ruses.
The boys hiked up the mountain on jelly legs. By now, night had long fallen and a low curtain of fog had rolled under their feet. Up and up they winded through the trees, the air growing thinner and thinner the further they trekked. Izuku’s breaths grew heavier and more uneven as they walked. It was only when the beginnings of vertigo settled in that Urokodaki finally stopped.
“Now, you must descend to the house at the foot of the mountain. This time, I will not wait until sunrise,” the man said, disappearing in a cloud of fog. Izuku let his head fall, hands supported on his knees as he panted and cursed under his breath. What was with demon slayers and pulling vanishing acts? How was that even possible without quirks?
It was hard not to feel despair; between being baked in the sun and then frozen in the evening chill, gulping for air on a non-stop marathon and then getting choked on a thin mountain atmosphere, he felt a little like throwing up.
Pull yourself together! he chided himself. How is this worse than Dagobah? You carried goddamn All Might and lifted a truck!
Izuku took a big gulp of air and shakily stood up.
Tanjiro, for some reason, perked up, looking excited. “Oh, this’ll be easy,” he exclaimed. “He thinks we’ll get lost in this thick fog, but I memorized Urokodaki’s scent! Even if we can’t see him, I can still follow his trail.”
Izuku nearly collapsed in relief. “Tanjiro, I could kiss you right now,” he said, voice watery with gratitude.
“H-huh?”
“Oh, sh*t,” he muttered under his breath. “Was that an anachronistic phrase?” Izuku grabbed the other boy’s hand before the situation could get awkward and pointed in the direction Urokodaki disappeared. “U-um, forget it. Lead the way!”
Tanjiro, electing to ignore Izuku's weird blunder, took a few confident steps forward, only to snag his foot on a rope. He staggered, looking down in surprise. Izuku knew a trap when he saw one. He tensed, eyes scanning the fog for movement.
A flurry of rocks came hurtling through the air.
“Get down!” Izuku cried, tackling Tanjiro to the floor.
Unfortunately, the ground immediately gave out under them. Izuku realized too late that he had tackled them straight into a pitfall.
The boys landed in a heavy heap.
“You can’t be serious,” Izuku groaned, letting his head thump against a pile of dead leaves.
With great effort, they helped each other out of the hole. Navigating Mount Sagiri, however, proved to be a hellish task. Everywhere they went, a trap seemed to lie in wait. What was worse was that the air was incredibly thin. Izuku had no idea how high up they were, but as someone who lived exclusively in the city, he felt that no matter how deeply he breathed, he could never fill his lungs with air. Even Tanjiro, who lived his whole life on a mountain, seemed to be having a hard time. Izuku slumped to his knees, breathing fast and shallow.
“Izuku?” Tanjiro said, concerned.
“Air’s… too thin,” he wheezed, flapping a hand to wave off Tanjiro's mother-henning. “We—we can’t keep going like this.”
“You gotta control your breathing, Izuku.” Tanjiro fussed over him before he suddenly stilled and sniffed the air. “Wait…” he murmured, face pulled in concentration, “I can smell the traps.”
Izuku looked up at him, blinking spots out of his vision. “Huh?”
“The traps… they’re set by human hands. I can smell them!”
The boys skidded down the mountain, following Tanjiro’s nose. Knowing where the traps were didn’t mean they had the skill to evade them all, however—evidenced by the flurry of bamboo shoots that smacked them upside the head.
Still, they helped each other, pulling each other out of the way and shouting warnings whenever they noticed an incoming trap. Tanjiro used his nose to guide them while Izuku fell back on his experience and his hero training.
“You all need to work on your spatial awareness,” Aizawa’s voice harshly cut across Gym Gamma. “You think you’ll survive this industry if you get caught off guard so easily? It’s illogical.” Their sensei grunted irritably, scribbling something on his clipboard—Izuku suspected it was a damning grade for half the class. “Fifteen laps, then we start again.”
As they descended, the air became more breathable, much to Izuku’s relief. He sincerely thought he was going to pass out. No longer did he feel like he was drowning on land—the darkness at the corners of his vision were beginning to peel away.
In the early hours before dawn, the two staggered into Urokodaki’s house, covered in mud and bruises and twigs, but triumphant all the same. Urokodaki regarded them carefully.
“I accept you as my students.”
The next day, Urokodaki briefed them on demons and the Demon Slayer Corps. Izuku discovered that the only way to kill a demon was either by burning them in the sun or decapitating them with a special weapon called a “nichirin sword.”
Izuku scowled. How did Urokodaki expect them to kill the temple demon before sunrise if they didn’t have nichirin weapons? Izuku was finding that he despised logical ruses.
Urokodaki had them repeat those same drills on the mountain, avoiding obstacles while maintaining good time. The training was ruthless, but Izuku couldn’t help but feel excited. The exercises were great for building stamina, reflexes, and situational awareness. Determined to recover his old body, he threw himself into training with relentless vigor.
The Demon Slayer Corps fights demons with their mortal bodies, Urokodaki’s voice echoed in his mind as Izuku slid under a swinging log.
They are human, so their wounds heal slowly and lost limbs do not return. Nonetheless, they fight demons in order to protect ordinary people.
To protect ordinary people, huh?
That sounded just like a hero.
“Plus Ultra,” he muttered under his breath as he followed Tanjiro down the mountain.
After nearly a month of running Urokodaki’s drills, they had become adept at dodging traps. Perhaps too adept, as Urokodaki took them aside one evening to explain changes to their training regimen.
“Starting tomorrow,” Urokodaki began, “you will be descending the mountain separately. I will prepare traps on different sides of the mountain, and you will be expected to navigate them independently.”
“Why?” Tanjiro asked, co*cking his head to the side.
“Tanjiro, the way you use your nose is admirable,” Urokodaki said. He glanced at the green-haired boy. “Izuku, however, does not have your ability, and has since become reliant on you. Tell me, every time you go down the mountain, who leads?”
“Me,” Tanjiro said carefully.
Urokodaki nodded. “It is good to trust your companions wholly. However, you may not always find yourself surrounded by friends. You must learn to rely on yourself. That is why you must do the drills on your own now, Izuku.”
Well, it made sense, didn’t it? The boy didn’t want to use his friend as a crutch.
“I understand,” Izuku said with a bowed head.
And so Urokodaki sent Izuku down the mountain by himself. It was much, much harder to complete without being able to preemptively detect traps, but Urokodaki was right—Izuku had to learn how to rely on himself.
He wasn’t completely helpless, though. Izuku had much more experience than the other boy. He was, after all, mentally sixteen, with way too many disasters and near-death experiences under his belt for a first-year. He didn’t endure rigorous hero training from one of the most prestigious hero academies for nothing; Izuku had survived far too many villain attacks to not have the prowess and strategy necessary to take care of himself. Though his muscles didn’t come back with him, his reflexes were still sharp. Running was probably the only thing Izuku was good at when he was younger. He was small, fast, and determined.
Izuku yelped as he narrowly avoided a flurry of knives.
Still, it was difficult. Every time the boys did the drill, Tanjiro was always the first down the mountain. It was to be expected, but Izuku was struck by just how much more effort he had to sink in just to match someone who happened to have a suitable innate ability. It was just like when he was quirkless.
But since when was Izuku a quitter?
Though their training was going steady, and Izuku could feel himself getting stronger little by little, there was always a prickle of anxiety in their minds.
Because early on in their training, on some uneventful day in late winter, Nezuko went to sleep and didn’t wake up.
Urokodaki continued to make the drills harder and harder, eventually requiring them to carry a katana. It definitely got in the way and messed with their balance, if the extra bruises both boys sported were an indication of anything.
Every day, they practiced swinging a sword until their arms felt like they would fall off.
“If you break the sword, I’ll break your bones,” Urokodaki warned.
“You think that scares me?” Izuku muttered under his breath. “Been there, done that.”
Apparently, there was a very particular way to swing a sword, and Izuku was very, very bad at it. Tanjiro seemed to have considerably less issue. Some days, Urokodaki scolded Izuku so much that he thought his ears would bleed.
Urokodaki also taught them how to fall correctly. Izuku was a natural, as he had already had it drilled into him his first month at U.A. Where Urokodaki had them do strength, agility, or flexibility training, Izuku took to it like a duck to water.
It was the sword fighting lessons that he had issues with. With every passing week, it became more and more apparent how Tanjiro was pulling away from Izuku in terms of sword skill.
“Like this?” Izuku asked, shifting his weapon upwards.
“No!” Urokodaki barked, cuffing him on the head and moving his katana down. “Goodness, there is such a thing as natural ability, but this is something else entirely.”
But perhaps their most important lesson was Total Concentration Breathing.
“I am going to teach you how to breathe,” Urokodaki said.
“Breathe…?” Tanjiro echoed with a head tilt.
“Yes,” Urokodaki said. “Total Concentration Breathing! It is a technique that will replenish your body with oxygen, allowing you to move faster, stronger, and heal more swiftly!”
“Could such a thing be possible with just breathing techniques?” Izuku wondered out loud.
Izuku… wasn’t sure if he understood it. He recorded it dutifully in his journal all the same, and studied and referenced his notes extensively.
Urokodaki was displeased with both their performances, however.
“Your core is too weak!” the man barked, delivering a wicked strike to Tanjiro’s abdomen. The boy wheezed and nearly crumpled to his knees. Izuku nervously shuffled further away.
Every day, Izuku studiously recorded Urokodaki’s teachings and committed what their teacher said to memory. Tanjiro was just as dutiful in recording their lessons, but no matter what either boys did, they did not quite meet Urokodaki’s standards.
“Your breathing is too uneven!” Urokodaki scolded. In seconds, Izuku found all the air knocked out of him as he was brought to his knees by an iron palm.
Urokodaki wanted them to be like water. The old man was relentless, throwing them into rivers and forcing them to endure the rush of raging waterfalls. Izuku was fine with the swimming and the endurance training. The problem came when they learned the sword forms; Urokodaki taught them the ten forms of Water Breathing.
Izuku was awful at it.
He wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong—he settled into the stances just fine, but when Urokodaki had them put the forms into practice, Izuku fell apart.
“Sloppy!” Urokodaki’s harsh voice rang out along the field. Izuku winced, flexing his battered hands—they were just about bleeding from how much he was practicing. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the sting of pain as he clenched his palms. Why? What was wrong with him? It was true that he had a hard time picturing himself as a swordsman—when he was young and starry-eyed, he always imagined himself brawling villains face to face like All Might, but this was getting ridiculous.
“Why are you standing there glaring at the ground?” Urokodaki barked, prompting a squawk from the green-haired boy. “Pick up your weapon and do it again!”
“Yes, Urokodaki-san!”
Months into their training, Izuku still struggled to do the First Form, while Tanjiro could pull off nearly all ten. Not perfectly—Urokodaki still scolded Tanjiro and corrected his forms plenty, but he was considerably better than Izuku.
And yet, despite his lackluster progress in sword fighting, Izuku was gaining muscle mass every day.
Tanjiro was beginning to grow worried.
Nezuko had fallen asleep and hadn’t woken up since.
It had been many months.
Urokodaki had called a doctor to check up on her, but the doctor had found nothing wrong. Nezuko was perfectly healthy; she had inexplicably slipped into an endless slumber, and nothing they tried could rouse her.
Tanjiro sighed, setting down his calligraphy brush and shutting his journal with a soft thud. He turned to the figure laying in the futon beside his desk, so motionless it was hard to tell if she was still breathing. He cupped Nezuko’s slack face with a tender hand and brushed dark locks of hair out of her face.
Everything Tanjiro did was for her. He swore, that day he found her body crumpled outside their family home, that he would cure her and make her human again. Everything he couldn’t give to his siblings, he’d give to her.
But none of that would matter if she didn’t wake up.
Sometimes, Tanjiro feared he would wake up one day, only to find Nezuko had died in her sleep. He went to bed every night with that fear in the pit of his gut.
“Nezuko…” he whispered, pulling the covers up her chin. “Hang in there, okay? I'll make you human again.”
Nezuko said nothing, dead to the world.
Tanjiro was the eldest son in a large family. Silence wasn’t something he was accustomed to; back home, there was always some movement, some commotion around the house. The happy squeals of Shigeru and Hanako playing. Rokuta’s delighted giggles and his loud cries. Takeo's grumbles and his mischief. Nezuko’s calm, measured voice keeping their younger siblings under control. In the daytime, the Kamado home was alive with noise and activity. At night, he heard the soft snores of his family, of bodies shifting in the dark, huddled together, feeling warm, safe, and protected.
It wasn’t like that now.
Urokodaki was a quiet, serious man who spoke few words and moved like a shadow. Oftentimes Tanjiro wouldn’t know the man had left or entered the room because he was so much like a ghost. And while Tanjiro had come to appreciate the man’s wisdom and calming presence, he wasn’t exactly the most animated of company.
Nezuko had drifted off to sleep and hadn’t made a peep since.
The only one who made noise in this house was Izuku. The boy could chat up a storm if asked the right question, and when he wasn’t rambling, he was muttering softly to himself. Izuku flushed with embarrassment when Tanjiro pointed it out, but he didn’t really mind—it filled the air with much needed white noise.
Still, Izuku was just one person, and Tanjiro had become accustomed to living with six. It just wasn’t the same.
Stay strong, Tanjiro, he thought, quietly sliding into his futon. You are the eldest son. Act like it!
Tanjiro pulled the covers up to his chin and listened to the piercing quiet of the night. Like this, swathed in his own loneliness and with fear for his sister’s fate in his heart, he drifted off to sleep.
“Look, Rokuta, isn’t it pretty?” Tanjiro said, spinning the violet between his fingers.
Rokuta giggled and clapped delightedly. “It’s so purple!” he said, hands reaching out to take the flower.
Tanjiro smiled and let his baby brother take the violet from his hands. He had been so fortunate to find a brilliant patch of them in the woods by their house and thought to take some to show his siblings.
Rokuta smiled, twirling the little flower in his tiny hands. He gasped. “Do you think Nezuko would like one?”
“I think she’d love one. Why don’t you take these and surprise her? I think it’ll make her really happy,” Tanjiro said, clapping him lightly on the back. Rokuta grinned and waddled away to the back of the house, where Nezuko likely was. Tanjiro watched him go with a fond smile.
Suddenly, a small figure darted out of their house. “Tanjirooooo!” Hanako wailed.
Tanjiro had just barely turned around when his little sister came barreling into his legs, fisting at the fabric of his haori.
“There’s a huge bug in our room!” Hanako said, face scrunched in distaste.
Tanjiro gave Hanako a gentle pat on the shoulder and detached her from his legs. “Where?”
Wordlessly, Hanako led Tanjiro through their home and into their room, squeezing her eyes shut and throwing a finger at some far, dusty corner. “There!” she cried, her shoulders hiked up dramatically.
His eyes followed her finger, settling on Shigeru, who was making an interested noise and miming a poking motion at… something. Tanjiro crept up to him, crouching down on his knees. There, he spotted a large rhinoceros beetle, its dark, shiny carapace gleaming in the diffuse afternoon light while its antennae twitched curiously. He smiled. “Oh, Hanako, it’s just a rhinoceros beetle! They’re harmless,” he said, throwing a glance at Shigeru, who was prodding the beetle’s backside. “Leave the nice bug alone, Shigeru,” he said lightly, scooping the bug up into his hands and turning around to face his sister. “Look,” Tanjiro said softly, holding the bug up to her. “He’s just minding his own business.”
Hanako eyed him suspiciously but shuffled forward all the same, wary and stiff like the beetle was going to bite her.
“You know, rhinoceros beetles are seen as symbols of courage and strength,” Tanjiro said, shifting to give his sister a better view.
She studied the bug skeptically, but her tone was curious. “Really?”
“Mhm! Look at its horns, don’t they look like the helmet crests of samurai?”
The beetle tilted its head up at Hanako. “I guess…” she said slowly. “You promise they don’t bite?”
“No, not unless you bother him,” Tanjiro said, glancing wryly at Shigeru, who looked away unapologetically. “Let’s take him outside.”
Tanjiro carried the bug past her and to the front door, kneeling down to let it skitter out of his hands. The beetle turned around once, as if regarding Tanjiro, and scuttled away into the field.
“He’s gone?” Hanako said, peering out from the sliding door. She stepped out, grabbing Tanjiro’s haori and watching the beetle disappear into a bush.
“Mhm,” Tanjiro said, giving Hanako a soft head ruffle. “You don’t have to be scared, Hanako. Whenever you need help, just call for me!” He shot her a wide smile. “Your big brother will take care of you.”
Hanako giggled, pushing Tanjiro’s hands out of her hair. She peered up at him with her big red eyes. “Thanks, Tanjiro,” she murmured softly.
When Tanjiro blinked, it was to a dark ceiling and deafening silence. He pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes and scanning the room. Dark wooden walls and two figures encompassed his vision, moving up and down with the evenness of sleep. Every shift of his covers sounded deafening in the eerie quiet of the night. He sighed, resting a hand on his cheek.
Urokodaki had worked them so hard that many nights he passed out like a rock, but sometimes, very rarely, he would have dreams—nice, peaceful dreams where he'd be with his family, doing mundane things as if nothing had happened.
Sometimes Tanjiro wished he would not dream. He hated waking and feeling the somber weight of reality overtake the dredges of sleep. He hated waking up to disappointment.
Maybe the worst part about waking up was forgetting—no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember what exactly the dreams were about; they always slipped away the moment he woke up. All he knew was that it was always about his family. All he had was a lingering feeling, something always out of his grasp. Vague sensations of contentment and safety. Blurry images and the ghosts of forgotten conversations.
Tanjiro sighed heavily and shifted to sit more comfortably, sitting in pensive silence.
Suddenly, he heard stirring to his right. “Tanjiro…?” Izuku murmured, voice heavy with sleep.
“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?” Tanjiro whispered apologetically.
The covers shifted, and in the dark, he heard Izuku sitting up. “No… not really. Why are you up?” Izuku glanced out the window. “It's really late.”
Tanjiro smiled, waving his friend off with a dismissive hand. He was trying for cheerful, but he wasn't sure if it was working. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry, go back to bed.”
Tanjiro felt sharp green eyes studying him carefully. “Bad dream?”
“No,” he replied, absently bunching the covers in his hands. “A really nice one.”
“Then what's wrong?” Izuku murmured, rubbing at his eyes.
“It wasn’t real,” Tanjiro said simply.
“Oh.”
They fell into silence.
“It’s quiet up here, on Mount Sagiri. Don’t you think so?” Tanjiro said suddenly.
Izuku startled, blinking owlishly. “Yeah. It’s been quiet everywhere, actually.”
“Is… is your home not like that?”
“No, the place I come from is… loud,” Izuku said with a breathless laugh. “I’m not used to it.”
Tanjiro let his eyes slip shut briefly, expression growing thoughtful. “Me either. I'm not a big fan of silence, actually.”
Izuku hummed, tipping his head to the side. “Why?”
“I'm used to… lots of people.”
“Oh.”
It was quiet again.
“Do you… wanna talk about it?” Izuku tried.
Did he want to talk about it?
Tanjiro shrugged. “Not really, no.”
Izuku paused thoughtfully. “Do you… want a hug?”
Tanjiro turned around slowly. “What?”
Even in the moonlight, Tanjiro could see Izuku's face flushing in embarrassment. He soldiered on, however. “Well, I dunno—when I'm sad but I can't find the words to explain it, sometimes I like it when my mom hugs me—it just feels nice,” he rambled. “Y-you don't have to, if you don't want to, you know? Maybe I'm not the person you want to see most right now, but if um… if you don't like being alone, you don't have to be,” he finished quietly.
Tanjiro didn't detect any pity in Izuku's scent—just sincerity. Maybe that was why the words, “Sure, okay,” tumbled out of his mouth before he could process it.
Izuku blinked, before a tiny smile spread across his face and he opened his arms slightly.
Tanjiro felt warmth and the soft fabric of his friend's kimono wrap around him. He closed his eyes and sank into the touch. Well, it didn't fix all his problems, but Izuku was right. This was… nice. Just nice.
“Yeah, hugs are very nice,” Izuku agreed.
Oh, he said that out loud.
Izuku giggled, and Tanjiro could feel the vibrations of it against his chest. His friend pulled away, smiling kindly. “You know,” Izuku began, “I think you're really strong, Tanjiro. I see how hard you work every day, how determined you are. It's really inspiring. But you can lean on me for support when you need it, you know? Just because you're the eldest son doesn't mean you have to bear everything in silence.”
Tanjiro fell very quiet. “Thank you,” he said at last. And while it was quiet again, it was the comfortable sort, just two people being in each other's presence.
There was something on Tanjiro's mind, however, and it was something he rarely got to bring up, with how busy they all were. Izuku was smiling at him, expression open. He would be happy to talk, or just sit there and offer his support.
“Izuku,” Tanjiro began, watching the way his friend tilted his head in attention. “There's something I've been thinking about.”
“Yeah?”
“I hope you're not doing this for my family's sake,” Tanjiro said, hand idly smoothing out the fabric of his futon. “It's my duty to avenge them—this is my fight. I don't want you dragged into my mess out of some sense of obligation.”
“I'm not,” Izuku said, shaking his head. “I’ll always be grateful for what you and your family have done for me, but I'm doing this for my own reasons.”
Tanjiro frowned. “Then why? Demon slaying is a dangerous profession.” He turned to look Izuku in the eye. “Why do you fight, Izuku?”
Izuku paused, as if considering his thoughts carefully. “When I was younger, someone inspired me. He was a hero in every sense of the word—I wanted nothing more than to be like him.” He smiled, gaze growing faraway and bittersweet. “One day, that person recognized me, and put me on the path to reach my dream. I was extremely lucky—it was a one in a million chance, and I never want to take it for granted. I still carry that dream, even if…” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Even if that person is no longer around.”
Tanjiro noted the hint of sadness clouding his scent. “I'm sorry.”
Izuku shrugged. “Don't be. He…” Izuku looked away, chewing on his lower lip in thought. “He's been gone for a long time now,” Izuku finally said, scent tinged with confusion and melancholy. He stared at his fingers, running a hand along them contemplatively. Tanjiro noticed he did that a lot—it was always his right hand, too. Sometimes Tanjiro wondered why. Izuku looked up then, the scent of sadness slowly peeling away, but still present. “As long as there are people that can be saved, I want to do something.”
Tanjiro fell quiet for a long time, but he thought he understood.
Izuku continued to endure Urokodaki’s brutal regimen, watching himself gradually transform from a stringy beansprout to… the ghost of who he used to be. He was nowhere near where he was before, but progress was steady.
Nearly seven months into their training, Izuku did something very stupid.
Izuku listened to the sounds of evened breathing and the buzzing of nighttime ambiance, slowly pulling the covers of his futon down. He shuffled out of bed quietly, pausing each time he heard shifting or a stuttering of breath. Izuku padded lightly out the door, sliding it shut with the lightest click.
The moon was nearly out in full, painting the foliage in its pale light. He picked through the underbrush by its dim glow, feet crunching softly in the swaying grass. Izuku shivered, rubbing his arms up and down. He hadn't put on a haori before he left—it would cause too much noise.
When he was a good distance from the house, he let out a deep breath. It was stupid—he knew his body was nowhere near the condition it was during his first activation, but still, he felt as though he had come to a good understanding of the quirk and how it related to his body.
“This is fine,” Izuku muttered, bringing his hand up. “I know this power. This is my power.”
He would say it as many times as it took to believe it.
His first time using it had been a disaster because he had no idea what he was doing, but now, Izuku felt like he had understood the quirk intimately—the fruits of a long, uphill battle where he had acquainted himself with all facets of it, both the good and the ugly.
But a large part of him was also just itching to use it; it was one of the few remnants he had of his old identity—one of the only familiar things in an unfamiliar world. He shut his eyes.
A breeze blew through the clearing, brushing past his cheek. His kimono began to billow, but it wasn't from the evening wind.
Come back to me…
His body glowed a faint green.
One for All!
One percent of the quirk washed over his body, warm and pleasant, chasing away the chill of the night. Izuku glowed brighter, small, intermittent sparks flying off him like fireflies.
Izuku scrunched his eyes open, before a breathless laugh overtook him, watching tiny green sparks popping into the air with an expression of delight.
“Welcome back, One for All.”
“What the HELL was that?”
The quirk cut out. Izuku spun around, eyes wide, to see two figures standing in the clearing.
In the fading green light, he saw Urokodaki and Tanjiro’s stunned faces, both slack with shock.
f*ck.
