Chapter 8: Rising Star
A few weeks had slipped by since that day in the classroom the day Izuku Midoriya turned the tables, lifting books and Bakugo's ego alike with a flick of his mind. Word spread fast at Aldera Elementary, whispers growing into a steady hum: Izuku was an upcoming hero candidate, destined for U.A. Academy. He'd said it himself one lunch break, casual as anything, leaning back with a smirk while Kenji and Miki pestered him about his Quirk. "U.A.'s the plan," he'd told them, green eyes glinting. "Where else would I go?" The kids ate it up, and soon enough, the label stuck the kid with the Quirk, the future hero. Teachers nodded when he passed; classmates buzzed around him like flies to honey. Izuku soaked it in, every glance and whisper fueling that quiet ambition he carried like a torch.
Bakugo, though, hadn't taken it lying down. The spiky-haired bully had clashed with Izuku a few times since shoving him in the hall, sparking his palms with a snarled "Deku!" but the game had changed. Where once the teachers turned a blind eye, now they swooped in, sharp reprimands cutting Bakugo's tantrums short. Just last Tuesday, he'd tried tripping Izuku by the lockers, only for Mr. Tanaka to catch him mid-act. "Katsuki, detention now," the teacher had barked, glasses flashing. Bakugo stomped off, fuming, while Izuku dusted himself off with a small, satisfied grin. The staff had a new favorite, it seemed, and for once, it wasn't the explosive loudmouth. Izuku's Quirk awakening had flipped the script, and he wasn't shy about leaning into it.
At home, things ticked along steady but sparse. Izuku had spoken to his dad, Hisashi, a handful of times since landing in this world... three calls, to be exact, each one short and crackling with distance. The man was busy, always "tied up with work" somewhere in America , his deep voice warm but distracted over the phone. "Proud of you, kid," he'd said last time, two days after the Quirk registration. "Fire and telekinesis? You're a Midoriya through and through." Izuku had nodded, even though Hisashi couldn't see, and let it drop. Three calls in weeks wasn't much, but the money came regular checks in the mail, enough to keep the fridge stocked and the lights on. Inko beamed every time she opened an envelope, humming as she paid the bills. "Your dad's working hard for us," she'd say, and Izuku would shrug. Busy or not, he's covering the tab, he thought. That's good enough for now.
Training had become his real focus, and it was paying off. Every morning, before the sun peeked over Musutafu's rooftops, Izuku was out tracksuit on, sneakers pounding the pavement. He'd started rough, barely managing five push-ups that first day, but now? He could jog a full kilometer without wheezing, his breaths steady as he looped the park. Push-ups hit double digits fifteen, then twenty his arms trembling less each time. Sit-ups joined the mix, tightening his core, and he'd added squats after watching some hero workout clips online. Small muscles rippled under his skin now, nothing bulky but a definite shift lean, wiry strength replacing the old scrawny frame. He'd stand in front of the mirror after, flexing, and think, This is what a hero looks like. Step one to the top.
School reflected the change too. Academics had always been solid for Izuku math equations clicked, history dates stuck but now he pushed harder, acing quizzes with a quiet confidence. His last test, a fractions sheet, came back with a red "98%" circled at the top, Mr. Tanaka muttering, "Nice work, Midoriya," as he handed it over. Athletic performance followed suit. P.E. class used to be a dodgeball nightmare, Bakugo's spikes bruising his shins, but these days, Izuku darted through drills with ease faster sprints, sharper turns. Last week's relay race had him outpacing half the class, crossing the line with a grin while Kenji whooped from the sidelines. "You're a beast now, dude!" the boy had shouted, and Izuku just nodded, sweat beading on his brow. Power's not just the Quirk, he'd realized. It's the whole package.
The biggest shift, though, was the hair. One Saturday, fed up with the wild green mop he'd inherited the anime Izuku's trademark mess he'd grabbed scissors from the bathroom. Snip, buzz, done both sides cut close, leaving the top longer, tousled just right. Inko had gasped when he walked downstairs, hands flying to her cheeks. "Izuku! You look so grown up!" she'd said, eyes misty. He'd smirked into the mirror later, turning his head side to side. Way better than that fluffball, he thought. The shorter sides sharpened his jawline, made his freckles pop, gave him an edge the old Izuku never had. Classmates noticed too Hana had blinked twice Monday morning, mumbling, "Cool haircut," while Miki outright whistled. "Looking sharp, future U.A. star!" she'd teased. Izuku liked it. Flashy's the goal, he figured. Hair's the first billboard.
Life at Aldera had settled into a new rhythm. Kids waved at him in the halls now, not just Hana or Kenji but others shy nods from Aiko, a grin from some kid in the lunch line. Bakugo still simmered, his run-ins less frequent but twice as sour, though the teachers' hawk eyes kept him leashed. Izuku didn't mind. He'd chat with Hisashi when the rare call came, train until his muscles ached, and ace his classes with a cool-headed focus. The boy who'd stumbled into this world weeks ago—confused, weak, unsure was fading fast. In his place stood a leaner, sharper Izuku Midoriya, hair clipped, Quirk humming, and a future he'd claimed as his own.