Inko Midoriya, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, wearing a tank top and running shorts that fit a new, firm body, moved through the kitchen with the efficiency of a five-star chef. She sliced strawberries with a quick, precise rhythm, tossed them into the blender, and measured out the protein powder without even looking.
Izuku, sitting at the small breakfast table, watched her over his own bowl of oatmeal.
"Mom, your arms look stronger than mine," he commented, without thinking.
Inko paused and flexed a bicep, admiring it with a satisfied smile. "That's from carrying the weight of your critiques on my running form for ten months. It builds character and deltoids. Now, make sure you eat all of that. And the smoothie. If you're going to be training your friend, you'll need double the energy."
Izuku, who had just put a huge spoonful in his mouth, nearly choked. He coughed, thumping his chest. "How… how did you know…?"
She turned, leaning against the counter with a confidence that was entirely new. She gave him a mischievous smile, one Izuku hadn't seen in a decade. "I'm your mother, Izuku. And you're not as subtle as you think. I heard you on the phone the other day, talking about 'vestibular conditioning' and 'maximizing potential.' I didn't think you were talking about a dog."
She came over and ruffled his hair. "I'm happy for you. It's been a while since I've seen you so... alive. Having a training partner is good. Keeps you honest."
"Yeah…" Izuku managed to say, his face red. "Something like that."
"Just make sure she eats well," Inko added. "She'll need the energy to put up with you. Now, drink up. It tastes awful, but according to the Internet, it'll make us invincible."
Izuku drank the thick, greenish smoothie. It did, in fact, taste awful. But seeing the light in his mother's eyes and the strength in her posture, he thought that maybe, just maybe, the Internet was right.
Later that same day, the comfortable normality had evaporated. They were in the living room: Inko was reading a book on the sofa and Izuku was standing in the middle of the room, silent. He hadn't moved for five minutes, simply staring at her. His gaze wasn't empty; it was intense, analytical, like a scientist observing an unpredictable chemical reaction.
Inko slowly lowered her book, one eyebrow arched. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he answered, too quickly.
"Are you sure? Because you're looking at me like you're thinking of selling me for new weights."
Silence. Izuku ran a hand through his hair, nervous.
"Izuku, honey, can you stop looking at me like I'm a piece of furniture you're thinking about moving? You're genuinely starting to scare me."
He took a deep breath, as if preparing to jump off a cliff. "Mom… what happened in the exam… with Uraraka. What happened at the beach. I think I can do it again."
"You mean your Quirk? The one that lets you read… manuals?" she asked, intrigued.
"Yeah. But I need to test it. I need to understand it. I can't rely on luck or panic. And…" he hesitated. "I need you to help me."
Inko closed her book and set it aside. "Me? How? You want me to yell at you while you lift the sofa? Because I can do that. I've had practice."
"No. I need something else," he swallowed. "I need… you to let me 'read' your Quirk."
Inko blinked. Once, twice. Then a nervous laugh, almost a squeak, escaped her.
"What?! Are you kidding me?"
"I'm completely serious."
"Why on earth would you want to read my Quirk?" she stood up, pacing the room restlessly. "What are you going to find? That I can attract the remote control with eighty-percent accuracy? That sometimes, if I concentrate really hard, I can find my keys without having to move the couch cushions? Izuku, your Quirk is supposed to be for dogs!"
"That's the point! I don't think it is! I think the 'Trainer' label was a mistake! A misdiagnosis!" he exclaimed, frustration and excitement mixing in his voice. "But to activate it, to make it work… I think I need to touch you!"
"Touch me?"
"Yeah. For a little while. And concentrate. It's the only way."
Inko's face went from bewilderment to the deepest, most absolute blush. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Absolutely not! No way! Izuku, that's so weird! I'm your mother! You are not going to put your hands on me to… to read my soul or whatever it is you do!"
"It's not reading your soul, it's analyzing a Quirk! It's science!" he insisted, desperate.
"Well, find another test subject for your science experiments! Your friend, for example!"
"I already did it with her! And it worked!" he admitted, instantly regretting it when he saw his mother's expression.
"You put your hands on that poor girl, too?! Izuku Midoriya!"
"It was for science! And to save our lives!" he defended himself. "Mom, please. This is important. It's the most important thing that's ever happened to me."
He took a step toward her, his voice lowering, losing its desperation and gaining a persuasive tone.
"Think about it. Your Quirk. 'Minor Object Attraction.' Is that all it is? Really? Haven't you ever been curious? Not even once in all these years have you wondered if it could do more? If there was something else inside, waiting? Have you never wanted to know what your true potential is?"
That last question hit its mark. Inko's indignation faltered. The word "potential" hung in the air between them. For thirty years, her potential had been defined by being a wife, an employee, a mother. The idea that there could be something more, a measurable, real potential hidden inside her, was a dangerous idea. And a terribly tempting one.
She bit her lip, looking at her son, at this determined, slightly crazy young man who had pulled her out of her stupor. She saw the plea in his eyes. It wasn't a weird request; it was an invitation.
She let out a sigh that seemed to carry away her last shred of dignity.
"Fine," she muttered. "But if this gets any weirder than it already is, we're stopping. Understood?"
Izuku's smile of relief was blinding. "Understood! Thank you, Mom! You won't regret it!"
"Oh, I think I'm already regretting it," she grumbled.
The execution was as awkward as Inko had feared. Izuku, in his "scientist" mode, tried to direct the operation with a seriousness that only made it more ridiculous.
"Okay, uh… stand up. In the center of the room. Feet apart."
"I feel like I'm in a police lineup," Inko complained, taking the stance. "Do I have to do a pirouette, or are you going to show me a mugshot to identify?"
"Mom, please, concentrate!" Izuku begged, his face flushed. "This is science. I need controlled conditions."
"Right, 'science'," she muttered.
He took a deep breath. "Okay. Now… I'm going to stand behind you. Don't move."
"Where would I go? The door is blocked by a mad scientist."
Izuku ignored her and got into position. The air became charged with a strange electricity.
"Alright. I'm going to place my hands on your shoulders," he announced, as if he were disarming a bomb. "Like we did in training. Don't think about anything weird."
That last comment was directed as much at himself as it was at her.
Slowly, he rested his hands on her shoulders. Even though it was a gesture they had repeated hundreds of times during their exercises, this time it felt completely different. It wasn't the contact of a trainer and his student. It was an intimacy they weren't used to, a silent invasion of her personal space. Inko felt a shiver. Izuku swallowed hard.
"Okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible right behind her head. "Now… try to use your Quirk. Concentrate. Pull… the keys from the coffee table."
Inko closed her eyes, more to avoid looking around and dying of embarrassment than for concentration. She took a deep breath and searched for that small, familiar feeling inside her, that little tug that was her power. She found it and pulled.
She felt the Quirk activate, an almost imperceptible flow of energy heading toward the keys.
At the same time, Izuku focused with all his will. Not on panic or adrenaline, but on pure, cold intention. Read. Analyze. Connect.
For a moment, nothing happened. And then, the connection was made. The flow of information, clearer and faster than with Uraraka, flooded his mind. It was as if his own mother's Quirk was an open book to him, written in a language he suddenly understood perfectly.
It lasted barely five seconds.
Izuku snatched his hands away as if he'd been burned. He took two steps back, his eyes wide with shock. He was pale.
Inko opened her eyes when she felt him pull away. She turned, worried by his state. "Izuku? Are you okay? What happened?"
He couldn't answer. He just raised a trembling hand and pointed to a notepad and pen on the bookshelf. Inko handed them to him, and without a word, he sat on the floor and began to write with a feverish speed, as if he feared the information would vanish from his brain if he didn't get it onto the paper immediately.
Inko stood and watched as her son filled an entire page with diagrams, notes, and terms she had never heard him say. When he finished, he tore the sheet from the pad and held it out to her, without looking up from the floor, as if he were afraid to meet her eyes.
With trembling hands, Inko took the paper. What she saw left her breathless.
[FULL QUIRK ANALYSIS: ENHANCEMENT MODE] [QUIRK NAME: MINOR ATTRACTION] [USER: INKO MIDORIYA] [LINKED PHYSIOLOGY: Generation of a low-power telekinetic vector from the user's center of mass. The concept of "small objects" is a purely mental barrier imposed by years of limited use and a subconscious lack of confidence. The Quirk has no inherent mass limit, only an energy output limit.] [CURRENT LIMITS (PRE-TRAINING):] ** * Attraction of one (1) single visible object.** ** * Maximum perceived mass: ~500 grams (~1.1 lbs).** ** * Effective range: 10 meters (~33 feet).** ** * Trajectory control: None (straight line towards user).** [UNEXPLOITED POTENTIAL (ATTAINABLE):] ** * 1. MULTIPLE ATTRACTION: Latent ability to "tag" and attract up to ten (10) objects simultaneously. The number can increase with training.** ** * 2. FINE VECTOR CONTROL: Ability to manipulate the trajectory of attracted objects in a 180-degree arc in front of the user. Allows for dodging obstacles or creating complex movements.** ** * 3. VECTOR INVERSION: Most powerful latent potential. Involves inverting the "attract" vector to "repel." Instead of pulling, the Quirk can PUSH. This would create a short-range telekinetic impulse. It could be used to deflect projectiles, create a shockwave to unbalance an opponent, or even for a small personal mobility boost.** [SUGGESTED EVOLUTION PATH:] ** * PHASE 1 (Mental Control): Daily focus meditation to break self-imposed mental barriers. The goal is for the user to believe in her potential.** ** * PHASE 2 (Fine Control): Exercises in manipulating multiple, small objects (e.g., a handful of marbles, grains of sand, beans). The goal is to learn to attract and move each object independently.** ** * PHASE 3 (Inversion): Visualization exercises to conceptualize the act of "pushing" instead of "pulling." Start with light objects (a sheet of paper, a feather) and gradually increase the mass.**
Inko read the page once, twice, three times. Her eyes, however, kept returning to a single line, to two words that changed everything she thought she knew about herself.
"VECTOR INVERSION."
She looked up from the paper, her eyes meeting her son's, who was now looking up at her from the floor with a feverish intensity.
"Repel…" she whispered, her voice incredulous, fragile. "You mean… push?"
A slow, manic, and utterly triumphant smile spread across Izuku's face. He jumped to his feet, his pallor replaced by an electrifying energy.
"According to the manual, yeah," he said, his voice vibrating with excitement. "Mom, your new training isn't just going to be yoga and protein shakes. Starting today, you're going to learn to meditate. You're going to become a Zen master. And tomorrow… tomorrow you and I are going to buy every single jar of marbles we can find in the city."
The chapter ended for Izuku in that moment. But for Inko, a new one had just begun. She stared at the paper, and then at her own hands. All her life she had seen them as the hands of a wife, an office worker, a mother. Hands that cleaned, that cooked, that comforted.
Now, for the first time in forty-one years, she saw them as something more. The hands of someone with a hidden power, with an unknown potential. Hands that could do more than just pull.
Hands that, maybe, could push.
And for the first time in decades, she asked herself a terrifying and thrilling question.
Who am I, really?