The faculty lounge was silent when Toshinori Yagi slipped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Afternoon light filtered through the blinds, striping the room in pale gold. The quiet pressed against him.
He didn't sit.
He paced once, twice, then stopped and pressed a trembling hand to his chest. Not from the pain he felt with every breath — but from something he hadn't felt in years.
Doubt.
Takeshi Yagi.
The boy's movements, his restraint, his precision — all of it had reminded Toshinori of her. But the eyes…
There could be no doubt. Hers.
That sharp, steel‑blue stare that could cut through excuses and see the truth beneath. A stare he had once known better than his own reflection.
He hadn't seen those eyes since—
He pulled out his old phone. The number wasn't saved under a name. It never had been. Just digits burned into memory.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
I have to know.
He pressed it.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a click.
"…Toshinori?"
Her voice. Cool. Steady. Familiar in a way that made his ribs ache.
He swallowed. "Hello, Comet."
A long silence stretched between them — not hostile, not awkward, just heavy with years of things left unsaid.
"I didn't expect to hear from you," she said at last. "Not after all this time."
"I saw him today during the exam," Toshinori said quietly. "I saw Takeshi."
Another pause. Sharper this time.
"…I thought you might. U.A. always was your territory."
He exhaled shakily. "More than you know. Nezu convinced me to be a teacher starting this year but… Comet, I need to ask you something. And I need the truth."
Her tone didn't change. "Ask."
Toshinori closed his eyes.
"That name and his appearance… is he, my son?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Then:
"Yes."
The word hit him like a physical blow. His knees nearly buckled. He sank into a chair, gripping the armrest with all the strength he could manage in this form.
He forced out the next question.
"Does… does Takeshi know that?"
"Yes," she said softly. "He's known for years."
Toshinori pressed a hand to his forehead, breath unsteady. His heart raced in a way it hadn't since that battle three years ago.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered. "Why didn't you call? Why didn't you let me be there?"
A breath on the other end — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh.
"Because Japan needed the Symbol of Peace more than Takeshi needed a father."
The words cut deeper than any wound he'd ever taken.
Toshinori's voice cracked. "Comet… that isn't fair. To him. To you. To—"
"It was the truth," she said, firm but not unkind. "You were fighting a war no one else could fight. And the last thing you needed in that war was a weakness."
He froze.
She continued, voice low but steady.
"You were facing the most dangerous man alive, Toshinori. All For One would have torn the world apart to find a crack in your armor. A child? A family? That would have been the biggest crack of all."
Toshinori's breath hitched.
"And if he ever learned Takeshi existed," she said, "he would have hunted him. Used him. Broken him. I wasn't going to let that happen."
Toshinori's hand shook around the phone.
"So, you stayed," he whispered. "You stayed with him halfway across the world."
"It was the only way to keep him safe," she said. "Distance was protection. America was protection. Me raising him alone was protection."
He swallowed hard.
"You should have let me choose."
"I did," she said quietly. "You would have had to choose Japan. And I had to choose Takeshi."
He flinched.
Not because she was wrong — but because she wasn't. He never would've been able to let the sacrifices of the One For All bearers be in vain. Never continue to let that man rule in the darkness, casting his shadow of fear over all of Japan.
"He never hated you," she added. "He never even blamed you. He just grew up knowing his father was saving the world. And that was enough for him."
Toshinori closed his eyes.
"I saw him fight today," he said. "He moves like you. And that stare… that's yours."
A softer silence followed.
"He inherited my eyes," she said. "And my stubbornness. And my temper. And my sense of justice."
Toshinori smiled faintly. "He carries it well."
"He does," she agreed. "But don't mistake that stare for distance. He's watching everything. He always has. And Toshinori… he inherited plenty from you too. More than anything, your unbreakable will Once he decides to do something it is a matter of when and not if."
Toshinori leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"Comet… I want to be part of his life. If he'll let me."
"You should be," she said. "But let him come to you. He's built himself carefully. He won't let anyone — even you — knock him off balance."
He nodded slowly.
"I understand."
"Good."
He hesitated.
"…Comet?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad he's here."
A beat.
"So am I."
The line clicked.
Toshinori lowered the phone, staring at the blank screen.
Japan had needed the Symbol of Peace more than Takeshi needed a father.And All For One would have destroyed him to get to me. But All For One was gone, he had made sure of that.
He exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest shifting — not gone but no longer crushing.
Takeshi Yagi was coming to U.A.
And Toshinori Yagi — All Might — would be there not just to teach the next generation of heroes, but to finally try to connect with the son he never knew he had.
Takeshi's Call to Silver Comet
The hologram projector still sat on the nightstand, its light long faded but its message echoing in Takeshi's mind.
Highest overall.Accepted into U.A.Class 1‑A.
He wasn't surprised.
But he was… thoughtful.
He picked up his phone and tapped the familiar contact.
Mom.
The call rang once before she answered.
"Takeshi?"
Her voice — steady, warm, and sharper than most people realized — eased something tight in his chest.
"Hey," he said. "I got the acceptance letter."
"I figured," she replied, amusement threading through her tone. "I could hear it in your voice before you even said it. How do you feel?"
He glanced at the projector. "Ready."
"I figured," she said. "Walk me through the exam. I want to hear it from you."
He did.
He told her about the robots, about the patterns he'd noticed, about the girl trapped under the rubble — and how he'd lifted the slab off her. He told her about the green‑haired boy who'd launched himself at the Zero‑Pointer like a missile, and how he and the girl had worked together to catch him.
Silver Comet listened without interrupting, the way she always did.
When he finished, she hummed softly. "You kept your head. You stayed aware. And you didn't overextend. I'm proud of you."
Takeshi felt warmth bloom in his chest — a quiet, steady thing.
"Thanks."
There was a pause on the line.
"Takeshi… I need to tell you something."
He straightened. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," she said quickly. "But I had a phone call today. One I should have made a long time ago."
He knew instantly who she meant.
"…You talked to him."
"Yes."
He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "What did he say?"
"That he saw you," she replied. "And that he recognized you. Not because of your name. Because of your eyes."
Takeshi's jaw tightened. "They're yours."
"They are," she said softly. "But he saw himself in you too. More than he expected."
He didn't respond.
Not out of anger — but because he didn't know what to do with the feeling in his chest.
"He asked if you knew," she continued. "I told him the truth."
"That I've known for years."
"Yes."
Another silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, just heavy.
"And Takeshi… I told him something else."
He waited.
"I told him why I kept you away. Why we stayed in America. Why I raised you alone."
He nodded slowly. "Because of All For One."
"Yes," she whispered. "Because that man would have torn the world apart to find a crack in All Might's armor. And a child — you — would have been the biggest crack of all."
Takeshi's fingers curled loosely around the phone.
"I know," he said quietly. "You did what you had to."
"I did," she said. "And I'd do it again. But you deserve the truth now. All of it."
He let that settle.
Then she added, gently — and with a softness Takeshi rarely heard from her:
"And there's one more thing. Something I learned today."
He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"He's going to be a teacher at U.A."
Takeshi blinked.
"…What?"
"He didn't know you'd be there," she said. "But he wants to be part of your life now. If you'll let him."
For the first time since the call began, Takeshi's composure wavered. Not visibly — but internally, something shifted. A quiet, unexpected ripple beneath the surface.
"…A teacher," he repeated, voice low. "So I'll see him. Every day."
"Yes," she said. And though she tried to keep her voice steady, he heard the faint tremor — the emotional residue of her earlier conversation with Toshinori. "He sounded… hopeful. More than I expected."
Takeshi stared at the wall, expression unreadable.
"I don't need him to be my father," he said quietly. "You've always been enough."
"I know," she said. "But that doesn't mean you can't let him try."
He didn't answer.
She softened her tone. "Takeshi… I didn't keep him away from you because he didn't care. I kept you away from him because it was the only way to keep you safe."
"I know," he said again. And he did.
"So what now?" he asked.
"Now," she said, "you go to U.A. You train. You grow. And if you want to talk to him… you do. If you don't… he'll respect that."
He nodded slowly.
"Okay."
"And Takeshi?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm proud of you. Not because of your quirk. Not because of your score. Because you're becoming the kind of hero who saves people without needing a reason."
A small, rare smile tugged at his lips.
"Thanks, Mom."
"Get some rest," she said. "You've earned it."
The call ended.
Takeshi set the phone down, leaned back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
All Might — his father — was going to be a teacher at U.A.
And for the first time, the pressure in his chest didn't feel like weight.
It felt like direction.
A direction shaped by everything his mother had taught him — discipline, clarity, purpose — and now, perhaps, something new.
A future where he would decide what kind of connection he wanted with the man who helped bring him into the world.