The Marked Trajectory

(POV: Izuku)

I climbed down the fire escape and ran. My legs carried me toward the industrial district on their own. Somewhere in the distance, a train rumbled. An ordinary evening. An ordinary city. Ordinary me—Quirkless, without abilities, without the right to dream. But I was running faster than usual. I had already passed the shopping center and turned toward the industrial district when I heard the first explosion. A real one. Not the muffled thud I’d heard in the alley that afternoon, but a deafening roar that made the windows in the nearby buildings vibrate. A second followed. A third. A whole series of explosions, one after another, as if someone had set fire to a fireworks warehouse. I stopped. My heart pounded somewhere in my throat. Explosions. Fires. A villain? My legs were already turning me toward the sound. I knew it was stupid. I knew I shouldn’t interfere. This morning I had almost died trying to help. If not for All Might, I would already be dead. But up ahead, someone was fighting. And if I could at least watch, at least take notes, at least understand how their Quirks worked, so that in the future… In the future what? I asked myself. You’re not going to become a hero anyway. All Might said so. I clenched my teeth and ran faster. Screw what he said. At least I’ll fill up my notebook.

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(POV: All Might)

He realized he’d screwed up only after he was already in the air. All Might, the Symbol of Peace, the Number One Hero, flew over Mustafu with a bottle containing the Sludge Villain in his pocket, feeling the time of his strong form running out relentlessly. He’d spent too long with that kid. First he’d saved him, then got to talking, then read his notebook—and the boy’s analysis was genuinely impressive—and now the sun was dipping toward sunset, and he had little time left. He had to hurry. He had to deliver the villain to the station before his form collapsed. Otherwise he’d have to explain to the police why a scrawny man with sunken cheeks was bringing them a bottle of sludge, and that would be… awkward. He landed on the roof of an office building to catch his breath and check the bottle. It was in place, in his left pocket. Inside, the villain stirred weakly—a greenish sludge with eyes. “Sit tight,” All Might muttered. “You’ll be at the station soon.” The villain gurgled something in response. A curse, probably. All Might chuckled, pushed off the roof, and jumped again. His huge body soared into the air, slicing through the evening sky like a rocket. He calculated the trajectory to the station—two jumps, no more. The first to the Tatooin District, the second straight to the doors. But he didn’t account for one thing. His haste. When he landed after the first jump, his foot hit the roof with more force than necessary. Blood rushed into his mouth—he suppressed a cough, swallowed, but the impact jostled the pocket of his pants. The bottle, secured by nothing but fabric, jumped, struck the edge of the pocket, and slipped out. All Might didn’t notice. He pushed off again and flew away. The plastic bottle with the Sludge Villain rolled down the slope of the roof, bounced at a seam, and plummeted into a dark alley between buildings. No one saw it. No one heard it. The alley was empty. For the time being.

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(POV: Katsuki Bakugo)

“Damn it!” Bakugo kicked an empty soda can. It clanged against the wall and bounced into the corner of the alley. The day had been shitty. No, not like that—the day had been just fucking awesome in its shittiness. First, that idiot Kaburaya didn’t show up at school. He came down with a cold, like some girl. And now Bakugo couldn’t even look at his smug face to blow off a little steam. Second, Midoriya was hanging around somewhere on his own again after classes. Before, Deku used to follow him like a puppy, whining, apologizing, but now… now he just disappeared. And it pissed him off. It pissed him off so much that Bakugo couldn’t even articulate why. He walked through the residential blocks, hands in his pockets, kicking everything in his path. After school he’d planned to go to the vacant lot and train his explosions and the new combinations he’d come up with while staring at the ceiling during boring math class. But on the way he got held up by some idiots from a parallel class who wanted to “hang out.” He had to explain to them that they were nobodies and their names didn’t matter. It took three minutes, but it completely ruined his mood. And now this alley. He was cutting through the courtyards when he heard a strange sound. A crunch. Like someone had stepped on plastic. Bakugo stopped and listened. Instincts honed by years of street fights jangled in his head like an alarm bell. The alley was narrow, cluttered with trash cans and some cardboard boxes. Something rustled at the far end. “What the hell?” he muttered, taking a step forward. The sound was coming from a plastic bottle. The very one that had fallen from the roof a minute ago. Something was moving inside the bottle. Something alive. Bakugo narrowed his eyes. His palms sparked involuntarily—a reflex, worked to the point of automation. He wasn’t scared. He was never scared. But caution wasn’t out of place. “What the hell is this?” He stepped closer and kicked the bottle. That was a mistake. The plastic reached its breaking point and tore. From the bottle, like from a burst hose, a wave of sludge gushed out. It grew, bubbled, took shape—an enormous, shapeless, gelatinous form. Two red eyes with yellow sclera opened in the center of this mass and stared straight at Bakugo. “FREE!” the villain roared. His voice was low, gurgling, full of triumph. “I’M FREE! THAT IDIOT ALL MIGHT DROPPED ME HIMSELF! HA-HA-HA!” Bakugo leaped back and raised his hands. His palms glowed orange. “Who the hell are you, you sludge shit?!” The villain turned his horrifying eyes toward him. A grin—wide, full of sharp teeth—spread across his amorphous face. “Oh, a teenager. Athletic. Sturdy. And with a good Quirk, judging by those cute little sparks on your palms. You’ll make a perfect body.” “What?!” Bakugo thrust his right hand forward. A powerful explosion hit the center of the sludge mass. Splatters flew everywhere, but the villain didn’t even notice. His body simply absorbed the explosion, like water swallows a thrown stone. “Explosion-type Quirk,” the villain boomed. “Strong. Very strong. I like it. I’ll take you.” “Like hell you will!” Bakugo fired another series of explosions, this time aiming for the eyes. But the sludge swayed, shifted shape, dodged. Tentacles—sticky, cold, stinking—reached for him from all sides. He dodged. He was fast. He was strong. But the alley was narrow, and the villain filled nearly the entire space. One tentacle coiled around his leg. A second around his arm. A third around his chest. “LET GO!” Bakugo roared, setting off explosion after explosion. The sludge scattered but instantly gathered again. There was too much of it. Way too much. “Don’t struggle,” the villain gurgled. “Your Quirk is beautiful. With it, I can kill All Might. I’ll become the greatest villain in history! And you’ll become my body.” The sludge crawled toward Bakugo’s face. He tried to scream, but his mouth was already filling with the sticky, nauseating mass. Bakugo was suffocating. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t do anything. His Quirk—the strongest, the best—was useless against this amorphous creature. He strained, tried to break free, but the sludge held fast. It was everywhere. In his nose, in his mouth, in his throat. No, flashed a thought.No, not like this. Not now. I haven’t become a hero yet. I haven’t proved… Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. Heroes. They’d finally noticed the fires he’d caused with his explosions. Too late, you morons, Bakugo thought.You’re too late. And then everything began to go dark.

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(POV: Izuku)

I ran around the corner and froze. The street had turned into a combat zone. Up ahead, a fire blazed—a grocery store, it looked like. Black smoke poured from shattered windows. People fled in all directions, screaming, shoving. Heroes were trying to restore order, but they couldn’t manage it. “Out of the way! Out of the way!” Death Arms, a huge, muscular hero, bellowed, shoving through the crowd and trying to reach the epicenter. But there were too many people, and his size only hindered him—he got stuck in the narrow passages between buildings. “Kamui, situation?!” someone shouted. Kamui Woods, a hero with a wood Quirk, stood at an intersection, trying to create a barrier of branches to block the fire. But wood burned. His Quirk was useless against the flames—the branches caught fire faster than he could grow them. “I can’t do anything!” he cried in despair. “The fire’s too strong! We need someone with a water Quirk!” “I’m here!” A hero with a head shaped like a fire hydrant dashed out from around the corner and unleashed a powerful jet of water. The stream slammed into the burning store, but the smoke was too thick. He couldn’t see a thing. The water sprayed blindly, dousing burning buildings, the sidewalk, and random passersby. “Aim!” someone in the crowd yelled. “You can’t see anything!” “I can’t see!” the hydrant-headed hero replied honestly. And in the epicenter, in a narrow alley between two buildings, it was surging. The same sludge monster I’d seen earlier. It had gotten out again. Somehow, impossibly, it had gotten out again, even though All Might himself had sealed it in a bottle. How?! Why?! But none of that mattered now. Because inside the sludge mass, I saw something that stopped my heart. Light-colored hair. Red eyes. A face contorted with rage and terror. Kacchan. Bakugo Katsuki, my childhood friend, my chief tormentor, the person who called me a Quirkless nobody, was choking in the sludge, and his explosions—the very ones he was so proud of—couldn’t do a thing. The villain absorbed them, laughed, and pulled him deeper and deeper. “MOUNT LADY, HELP!” someone yelled. A gigantic female hero tried to squeeze into the alley, but her body was too large. She got stuck between the buildings, helplessly rolling her eyes. “I don’t fit!” she cried in despair. “It’s too narrow!” The heroes scurried, shouted, gave orders, but they couldn’t do anything. Fire, panic, narrow streets—it all created the perfect chaos. And at the center of that chaos was Kacchan. Suffocating. Helpless. And no one, no one could help him. My legs moved before my brain could give the command. I ran. Only one thought pulsed in my head:He’s going to die. Kacchan’s going to die. “All Might said you can’t become a hero without a Quirk,” I whispered to myself, leaping over debris. “You won’t be able to do anything,” I whispered, dodging the jostling passersby. “This is insane,” I whispered, crawling under the branches Kamui Woods was trying to grow. But my legs didn’t stop. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t analyzing. I was just running. Because there, in that sludge, was a person I’d known my whole life. Someone I hated and admired at the same time. Someone who’d made my life hell, but who had been part of that life from the very beginning. I couldn’t stand and watch. The villain noticed me a second before I reached him. His eyes darted toward me, and his grin widened even further. “Oh, it’s you again!” he boomed. “That nimble brat! Come back for seconds?!” I didn’t answer. I took in the situation at a glance. The sludge was liquid. It flowed around Kacchan’s body, penetrated his mouth and nose, suffocating him. But it was liquid. That meant I could break through it. I grabbed a piece of plank from the ground—one of those scattered by the explosions—and hurled it at the villain’s eyes. Not to hurt. To distract. The plank hit its mark. The villain roared, his eyes closing for a second. And in that second, I leaped. I crashed into the sludge mass with my whole body, grabbed Kacchan by the shoulders, and pulled. The sludge clung to my arms, dragged me down, tried to suck me in too, but I held on. I had trained this body for four months. I’d lifted tires, run nine kilometers, dodged Seiha-kun’s projectiles. Some sludge wasn’t going to stop me now! “GRAB ON!” I yelled, reaching out my hand. “KACCHAN, GRAB ON!” His eyes—red, furious, full of rage and fear—met mine. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. Why was I, useless Deku, standing here trying to save him? But he grabbed on. His fingers closed around my wrist with such force that the bone crunched. I pulled. With all my strength. Harder than I’d ever pulled in my life. And the sludge began to release. Slowly, reluctantly, with a sucking sound, it let go of its victim. I fell backward, dragging Kacchan with me, and we both collapsed onto the asphalt, gasping for air. “YOU!” the villain roared, gathering himself back into a single mass. “YOU LITTLE PARASITE! I’LL KILL YOU!” He lunged at us. I closed my eyes. And then a voice thundered. “I told you it was over! Why? BECAUSE I AM HERE!” “DETROIT SMASH!”he roared across the city. All Might plummeted from the sky like a meteor. Huge, radiant, with a smile full of the promise of victory. His fist split the air, and the gale was so powerful that the villain was simply torn into a thousand splatters. This time—without a trace. Every drop of sludge was gathered into a single point, compressed, packed into a new bottle—this time a glass one, with an airtight lid.

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I lay on the asphalt and stared at the sky. It was orange with sunset. Somewhere nearby, Kacchan was coughing and cursing. The heroes had finally gotten the fire under control. People were shouting, applauding, filming everything on their phones. And I just lay there and breathed. I’d done it again. Interfered again. Risked my life again, even though All Might had told me it was impossible. That you couldn’t do it without a Quirk. But Kacchan was alive. And that was more important than any words. “Midoriya,” came a voice above me. I lifted my head. Kacchan stood there, swaying, covered in sludge, with wild eyes. His fists were clenched. “You…” He stopped. His jaw trembled. “You… saved me.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact. And judging by his tone, he categorically did not like this fact. “I…” I began. “SHUT UP!” he barked. “Don’t you dare talk! Don’t you dare! You’re talentless! You’re a nobody! You couldn’t have saved me! I don’t need your help! I would’ve handled it MYSELF!” But he didn’t leave. He stood and looked at me. And in his eyes—somewhere deep, beneath the layers of rage and pride—was something else. Something I couldn’t quite name. “You didn’t save me,” he finally said. “You just… interfered. Out of turn. Like always.” He turned and walked away. But before he disappeared around the corner, he threw over his shoulder: “I don’t owe you anything. Got it?” I didn’t answer. I just watched him go. And for the first time in many years, his words didn’t hurt. Maybe because this time they weren’t true. Maybe because I knew he just didn’t know how to say “thank you.” Or maybe because I had finally done what I had to. Not for his gratitude. For myself. The heroes surrounded me. Some praised me, some scolded me, some demanded explanations. I listened with half an ear. I didn’t care. And then the crowd parted, and I saw him. All Might. He stood off to the side, leaning against a wall, looking at me. His smile—that encouraging one he gave to everyone he saved—was gone. In its place was a strange expression. As if he was working out some important problem. I wanted to go over. But he shook his head—barely perceptibly. And with his lips alone, he whispered: “Later.” I nodded.

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I was walking home when I heard footsteps behind me. It was already completely dark. The streetlamps glowed a dim yellow. The street was empty—everyone had dispersed after the incident. I had deliberately chosen the quietest route so I wouldn’t run into anyone. I wanted to be alone. But the footsteps didn’t fall behind. I turned around. A man stood before me. Tall, thin as a skeleton, with sunken cheeks and disheveled blond hair. His eyes—bright blue, glowing from within—were exactly like… “All Might?” I breathed. He smiled. Wearily, but warmly. “In this form, my name is Toshinori Yagi,” he said. “But yes, it’s me.” I blinked. Then again. I opened my mouth to say something, but there were no words. The Symbol of Peace stood before me in the form of a walking skeleton and smiled as if it were perfectly normal. “Your face right now is priceless, young Midoriya,” he said. “But I’m not here to discuss my appearance.” He took a step toward me. His eyes looked straight into mine. “I saw what you did,” he said. “You rushed into battle when all the heroes were standing around unable to do anything. You saved your friend, risking your life. You did what a hero is supposed to do. And this, just a few hours after I told you your dream was impossible.” He fell silent. Sighed. And in his eyes I saw something new. Not pity. Not regret. Respect. “I was wrong, young Midoriya. You can become a hero.” I stopped breathing. “You proved it not with words. With action. Your body moved on its own, before you had time to think. That is the instinct of a hero. It can’t be taught. You either have it or you don’t. And you have it.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. A thin, bony hand that seemed to weigh a ton. “I want to make you an offer,” he said. “Do you want to become a hero? Truly? Not just dream, but set out on that path, walk it to the end, and become the Symbol of Peace?” I stared at him, unable to utter a single word. “I am looking for a successor,” he said. “Someone I can pass my power to. My Quirk. Someone who will continue my work. And after today, I am certain: that person is you.” The world tilted. “Your… Quirk?” I whispered. “Is that even possible? To pass on a Quirk?” “It is possible,” he nodded. “It is my secret. Mine and a few others’. I’ll tell you everything if you agree. But first—your answer.” He looked at me. Seriously. Expectantly. “Midoriya Izuku. Do you want to inherit my power and become a hero?” A lump lodged in my throat. My eyes stung. I stood before the man I’d looked up to my entire life, and he was offering me something I’d never even dared to dream of. A chance. A real chance. I remembered Seiha-kun. I remembered how he believed in me. How he said there are no useless Quirks. How he promised I could make it if I went all the way. I’d rather try and fail than sit ten years from now thinking: what if I had tried? I looked All Might in the eye. And I answered. “Yes.”