Chapter Text
Aizawa erased Midoriya’s quirk. Izuku felt it immediately.
The steady, familiar presence of One For All, which was always humming just beneath his skin, went silent. Not painfully, not abruptly, but just… gone. It was like a light switched off in a room, except he’d learned to navigate the room in the dark to begin with. The absence felt almost polite, leaving him a bit of space rather than ripping something away.
Izuku exhaled, slow and steady with a roll of his shoulders, loosening the tension that instinctively crept into his muscles. His body remembered this feeling, remembered what to do when he didn’t have power to fall back on.
Around him, the class had been warming up, stretching, chatting, with a low buzz of energy in the air. One by one, they gathered closer as Aizawa spoke, sneakers scraping softly against the concrete. Izuku felt the faint return of One For All’s presence as Aizawa’s gaze shifted away, but something about the timing made Izuku pause.
Aizawa didn’t usually erase quirks for no reason.
“Alright,” Aizawa said, standing at the edge of Training Ground Gamma, his capture weapon hanging loose at his side. “Today’s focus is close-combat fundamentals. No quirks. One-on-one sparring. Three minutes per match.”
A murmur rippled through the class.
“No quirks?” Kaminari echoed, blinking like he’d misheard.
It wasn’t often that Class 1-A sparred without quirks, let alone were required to. Izuku felt a grin tug at his face before he could stop it, a flutter of excitement bouncing around in his chest. This was familiar ground. Comfortable, even.
“That includes mutation and passive quirks,” Aizawa added flatly. “You’ll rely on positioning, timing, and control. This is not about winning, it’s about awareness. Am I understood?”
A chorus of reluctant acknowledgements followed their teachers instructions. Not many of them sounded as enthusiastic as Izuku, though.
Izuku nodded automatically, posture straightening without conscious thought and a wide grin flashed over his face.
Aizawa’s tired eyes flicked toward him. “Midoriya. You’re first.”
Izuku snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“Kirishima,” Aizawa continued. “You’re up against Midoriya.”
Kirishima blinked once before he broke into a grin, clapping his hands together. “Alright! Let’s do this!”
The two stepped onto the marked sparring circle, the white paint scuffed and cracked from years of use. The concrete beneath Izuku’s shoes felt familiar, grounding. He adjusted his stance without thinking. His feet were shoulder-width apart, knees loose, weight balanced evenly. His hands stayed open, relaxed, ready.
Across from him, Kirishima rolled his shoulders and popped his knuckles, clearly at ease. He bounced lightly on his heels, energized and confident.
“Hey, uh,” Kirishima started, lowering his voice as they squared off. “You good without your quirk?”
While part of Izuku was happy that Kirishima cared, he felt a little looked down on. He knew that wasn’t the intention, so Izuku smiled, small but genuine. “Yeah. I’m good.”
From the sidelines, Bakugou scoffed. “Don’t underestimate him,” he told Kirishima, who nodded, just loud enough for Izuku to hear.
Izuku’s heart skipped.
Bakugou wasn’t looking at him, arms crossed tight over his chest, gaze sharp and focused on the ring like he was evaluating some kind of strategy rather than a classmate. It wasn’t loud encouragement, but it wasn’t soft either. Just blunt, certain. Like Bakugou knew exactly what was about to happen.
Aizawa raised a hand. “Begin.”
Kirishima moved first.
He wasn’t hardened, but he was still strong, lunging forward with a straightforward punch aimed at Izuku’s shoulder. Izuku stepped back just out of range, the motion smooth and automatic with his shoes barely scraping the ground.
Kirishima followed immediately, swinging again, only faster this time.
Izuku ducked, feeling the air rush past his head, and pivoted to the side. He caught Kirishima’s wrist, not gripping or twisting or aiming to cause any harm, and used the momentum to guide him forward a step, redirecting rather than stopping the blow.
Kirishima stumbled, surprised, letting out a sharp sound of confusion. Izuku released him immediately and backed off, hands raised. “Sorry!”
“Don’t apologize,” Kirishima chuckled, resetting his stance with a grin. “You’re doing good, bro!”
The second exchange was more cautious.
Kirishima feinted left, testing him, but Izuku didn’t bite.
He waited, eyes fixed on Kirishima’s shoulders instead of his fists, tracking the subtle shift in weight and the tightening of muscles before a real strike. When it came, Izuku sidestepped and hooked his foot behind Kirishima’s ankle.
Kirishima hit the ground with an “oof,” more startled than hurt, blinking up at the sky.
Izuku froze for half a second, then immediately offered a hand. “Are you okay?”
Kirishima stared up at him, then burst out laughing. “Dude. You’re fast.”
He took Izuku’s hand and pulled himself back to his feet, still smiling.
From the sidelines, whispers began to spread.
The class chattered in unexpected amazement.
Bakugou clicked his tongue at the commentary, but Izuku caught the faintest curl of approval in his posture.
The final exchange came quickly.
Kirishima rushed in again, determination written across his face, throwing a wide punch meant to corner Izuku and force a mistake. Izuku dropped low, slid inside the swing, and used Kirishima’s own forward momentum against him. He had one hand braced on his shoulder, the other steady at his side.
They went down together, but Izuku landed on top, pinning Kirishima’s arm carefully, knee planted for balance, careful not to put his full weight down.
The buzzer sounded, sharp and loud.
“Match over,” Aizawa said.
Izuku scrambled back instantly. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
Kirishima sat up, no longer coughing from having the wind knocked out of him, grinning wide and unbothered. “That was awesome! You totally outplayed me.”
Izuku flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I— uh— I just practiced a lot!”
Aizawa nodded once. “Good control, Midoriya. You didn’t overcommit once.”
Izuku felt his shoulders relax at the praise, something warm settling in his chest. He felt sort of triumphant.
As Kirishima headed back to the group, Bakugou finally looked directly at Izuku.
“Told you,” he muttered. “You hesitate less without the quirk.”
Izuku blinked, startled. “You noticed?”
Bakugou scoffed, ears faintly pink. “I always notice.”
Izuku smiled.