Izuku barely had a moment to breathe before his grandmother steered him into yet another store.
This one was different.
Costumes lined every wall—hero outfits, uniforms, historical pieces arranged with careful precision. It felt less like a shop and more like a wardrobe pulled straight from a film set.
His grandmother stopped at the entrance and turned to him, clearly pleased.
"This time, I won't choose for you," she said. "You pick three outfits. Then we'll head across the street for photos."
There was no real room to refuse.
"…Okay."
Izuku let out a quiet breath and stepped inside.
He passed over the modern costumes without much thought and moved toward the older designs. His eyes scanned the racks, searching for something simple—something manageable.
After a moment, he selected a missionary-style outfit.
That should work.
Next came a military uniform—structured, clean, easy to wear.
For the third, he chose a casual suit. Not too formal, but neat enough.
"These are fine."
"Only three?" his grandmother asked, clearly tempted to push for more.
Izuku didn't answer. He just looked at her.
She paused, then laughed lightly. "…Alright, I get it. Let's go. I've already booked the studio."
The photography studio across the street was ready when they arrived.
At the same time, the class group chat remained active.
Toru Hagakure: Midoriya just went into the studio with his grandma. I'm going in too… actually, I'm starting a livestream.
Tenya Iida: Please act responsibly.
Katsuki Bakugo: Send the link.
The moment Izuku stepped inside, he was surrounded.
Makeup artists moved in with practiced efficiency, guiding him into a chair before he could say anything.
He didn't resist. There wasn't much point.
He sat still and let them work—until something caught his eye.
"Wait. What's that?"
He reached out, catching one of the artist's wrists.
A red contact lens rested in her palm.
"Colored contacts," she said calmly. "Your grandmother requested them."
Izuku turned his head, slow and deliberate.
"…Grandma."
She clasped her hands together, smiling without a hint of hesitation.
"I've taken plenty of pictures of your usual look. Let's try something different this time. Something darker."
Izuku held her gaze for a moment.
Then he let go.
"…Alright."
The process resumed.
They adjusted his hair, refined his features with subtle makeup, and carefully placed the red lenses over his eyes.
When it was done, the reflection staring back at him felt unfamiliar.
Not wrong—just… different.
He changed into the military uniform.
Boots laced tight. Coat fastened. Cap pulled low.
By the time he stepped onto the set, his posture had already shifted—straighter, steadier, more deliberate.
A full team of photographers stood ready.
"Alright," one of them said, guiding him into position. "Lower your head slightly. Hands together—good. Lights."
The flashes came in rapid bursts.
Sharp. Controlled.
"Good. Now lift your cap a little," the photographer continued. "I need something sharper. More intensity. Makeup—deepen the shadows under his eyes."
The artist stepped in again, darkening the lines beneath his eyes.
Izuku followed the directions.
But the expression didn't come.
He couldn't force it.
The photographer frowned. His grandmother watched quietly, her earlier excitement dimming just slightly.
"…Let's try something else," the photographer said after a pause. "Think of something you hate. Focus on it. Let it show."
Izuku went still.
"Something I hate…"
His gaze lowered.
The studio faded.
In its place—
Voices.
Laughter.
The word Quirkless, thrown carelessly, again and again.
His fingers curled.
The feeling returned, heavier than he expected.
That's it.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Not a smile.
Something sharper. Colder.
"Heh…"
The sound barely left his throat.
"…I remember."
The expression settled, controlled but unmistakably dark.
"When I was younger… I really wanted them gone."
Silence.
The room held its breath.
Even the photographer stopped speaking.
Then—
Click.
No instructions.
No corrections.
Just the sound of the camera capturing exactly what it had been waiting for.