RESURGENCE - MHA x FReader

Chapter XII: The First SCENE

You're late.

Not catastrophically late, not "hero swings in at the last second to save the day" late—just regular four-year-old late. The kind where you got distracted by a butterfly and spent too long trying to see if your quirk could keep it floating in place. (Answer: kind of, but you just made the air weird, and the butterfly left in protest.)

By the time you reach the park, something feels off

No screaming kids fighting over turns on the swings, no echoing laughter from the slides, no sounds of sneakers slamming against the pavement as they chase each other around.

The air feels thick. Wrong.

And then you see him.

Izuku.

On the ground.

His mint-green T-shirt is creased from the fall, his green cargo shorts slightly twisted, and his red shoes scuffed from the impact. He's bruised, his body trembling slightly as he tries to push himself up. His scraped hands shake against the ground, struggling to find the strength to lift him. Sweat beads on his forehead, dampening his messy green curls, a few strands clinging to his skin.

His wide, green eyes—normally full of light—are half-closed. Dazed. Unfocused.

And kneeling beside him, gripping onto his sleeve like he's afraid to let go, is a much smaller boy.

You don't recognize him. But he's untouched.

Izuku took the hit for him.

Something in your chest clenches, sharp and instinctive, like déjà vu with teeth. You've seen this before. Lived it through a screen, rewound it, analyzed it, felt a distant, detached sort of sympathy. But now it's real. Now it's right in front of you.

And suddenly, it's unbearable.

This moment. The first real scene of My Hero Academia.

The moment Bakugo takes his first real step toward becoming what everyone will later call a bully.

The moment Izuku learns, in a way that leaves bruises, that people are not born equal.

The moment that sets off the long, painful chain of events that will eventually lead to that bridge, that sludge villain, that encounter with All Might that changes everything.

And this time, you're here.

You inhale sharply, but the air feels thick, heavy in your lungs.

What are you supposed to do? How much can you change? How much should you change?

You don't belong in this story. You're not a protagonist, not a side character, not even an extra. You're something that shouldn't exist in this world, an anomaly forced into a narrative that was never meant to have you.

But Izuku is on the ground, small and trembling, and you're not some passive observer anymore.

You inhale sharply, shoving away the weight in your chest, and step forward.

"Izuku."

His head jerks up at the sound of your voice, sluggishly, like even that small movement takes effort. His lips part slightly, but no words come out. His eyes—wide, glassy—don't quite seem to focus, like he's still caught between pain and instinct, trying to decide if acknowledging you will make this moment better or worse.

Your throat tightens.

You step closer, lowering yourself to your knees beside him. The pavement is rough against your skin, grounding in a way you don't want to think about. Your hands hover awkwardly, unsure where to touch without making things worse. His arms are trembling. His t-shirt is scuffed. The beginnings of a bruise bloom on his cheek.