Dabis Kid (Edits Complete)

(6) Letters With No Return Address -Edited

POV: Nezu
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It was a Monday.

Those are always dangerous.

The date hardly mattered—just another square on the calendar marked with red ink and anticipation. One week before entrance exams. One week before futures collided.

The letter arrived mid-morning, placed carefully atop my desk by a trembling aide. No return address. Plain envelope. Too plain.

That alone made my whiskers twitch.
I slit it open with a claw and found the standard application sheet first—clean, official, unremarkable. And then, behind it, a second page.

Handwritten.

I adjusted my glasses.

By the third line, my tea had gone cold.

By the fifth, my eyes had widened.

By the end, the room felt very, very small.

Dear Nezu,

My name is Ash Takami-Todoroki…

I read every word twice. Then a third time, slower.

Family situation.

Touya Todoroki—Dabi.

The League of Villains.

Keigo Takami—Hawks.

Step-parents named without hesitation.
A child who walked willingly between fire and sky and somehow did not burn.

And then the line that made my paw still entirely:

I

DO NOT want Father knowing.

Ah.

There it was.

Children rarely ask for secrecy unless they have already learned what betrayal feels like.

The quirks listed at the end were… troubling. Fascinating. Dangerous in ways that defied neat classification. A gift from All For One himself—brainwashing—paired with hellfire and wings.

And then, as if it were an afterthought:

Grandpa for all (AFO) is alive. And tell Endeavor I want to meet him.

I sat back in my chair.

Very well, then.

I called an emergency meeting.

Twenty minutes later, the room was full.
Top heroes. Faculty. Minds sharp enough to cut steel. I excluded Hawks deliberately. All Might as well—this was not a burden for symbols.

“Quiet,” I said.

No response.

“Quiet,” I repeated.

Still nothing.

“QUIET.”

That did it.

Vlad King cleared his throat. “Principal Nezu… why have we been summoned on such short notice?”

I said nothing.

Instead, I projected the letter onto the screen.

Silence followed—not the polite kind, but the heavy, stunned variety that settles when the universe tilts.

Endeavor’s breath hitched.

Eraser Head’s shoulders shook once—just once.

Present Mic swore under his breath.
Midnight moved instinctively, hand on Aizawa’s arm.

Tears fell. Unashamed. Unhidden.

Eventually, Endeavor spoke, voice raw.

“So,” he said, staring at the screen like it might vanish. “My son is alive. And I have a grandchild… fourteen years younger than him.”

“Yes,” I said gently.

He swallowed.

“And she wants to meet me.”

“Yes.”

I straightened. “And listen very carefully. Hawks cannot know.”

The air sharpened. Even the walls seemed to lean in.

“She asked me to give you these,” I continued, retrieving the folder.
One by one, I handed out the drawings.
Endeavor froze when he saw his.
Aizawa stared like he’d been struck.
Present Mic laughed weakly, then covered his mouth.

Midnight pressed her fingers to her lips, eyes shining.

Then I saw my own.

A precise sketch. Curious eyes. A small smile full of mischief and thought.
I smiled back at the paper.

“Why can’t Hawks know?” Hound Dog asked carefully.

Before I could answer, Mirko crossed her arms.

“Because my husband is a big baby,” she said flatly, “and he wouldn’t survive his kid choosing to meet her villain dad.”

No one argued.

“I would like to recommend her,” Aizawa said suddenly.

The room froze.

I nearly spat out my tea.

“You?” I asked. “You’ve never done that.”
“She’s already walking a tightrope,” he replied. “Might as well give her a net.”
Endeavor nodded slowly. “I’ll write to her.”

So we did.

Three letters.

Three careful promises.

All entrusted to Mirko’s hands.

When the meeting ended, I returned to my office and poured fresh tea.

Then I began digging.

Because children who survive fire and shadow and still choose hope?

They change schools.

They change futures.

And sometimes—

They change the world.