January 1, 2226
The first rays of sunlight spilled through my window on New Year's morning. Steam rose from the mug in my hands as I sat cross-legged on my bed, surveying the changes in my room. The All Might posters that once plastered every surface had been carefully removed, leaving only a select few - the rarest pieces, preserved behind glass. Each one a bridge between the original Izuku's passion and my own evolving path.
The scent of Mom's cooking drifted upstairs. Eggs, rice, and something sweet. My stomach growled in response.
"Izuku! Breakfast!"
I pulled on a black turtleneck that hugged my transformed frame. The mirror reflected someone who would have been unrecognizable a year ago. Gone was the timid boy. In his place stood-
"Coming, Mom!"
She turned as I entered the kitchen, her emerald eyes brightening. The morning light caught the highlights in her hair, pulled back in an elegant twist that exposed her neck. Her fitted workout clothes revealed the results of our shared training - lean muscle earned through countless morning runs and weekend sessions.
"Happy New Year, honey." She rose on her toes to kiss my cheek, barely reaching despite the effort. "Sleep well?"
"Like a rock." I snagged a piece of toast from her plate, earning a playful swat. "Training habits die hard, even on holidays."
"Speaking of training..." She gestured to the spread on the table. "Sensei Bang called. Said he's having too much fun arguing with his brother to make it back today."
"Typical." I settled into my chair, which creaked in protest. "Those two probably spent all night trading insults over sake."
Mom laughed, the sound warming the kitchen. "He said to tell you training resumes next week. And to keep practicing your forms."
"No rest for the wicked." I filled my plate, noting how she'd already portioned everything according to my meal plan. "You spoil me, Mom."
"Someone has to." She sat across from me, her own portion notably smaller but still substantial. Our morning runs had increased her appetite considerably. "Though I'm not the only one who's been shopping..."
My eyes followed her gesture to the carefully wrapped package beside the sink. Gold paper, emerald ribbon. Hours spent choosing just the right presentation.
"That's for after breakfast." I pointed my chopsticks at her. "No peeking."
"Wouldn't dream of it." But her eyes kept drifting to the package, curiosity evident in every glance.
We ate in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment about plans for the day. No training, no studying. Just us.
"Remember last New Year's?" She gathered our plates. "You were still shorter than me then."
"And you were still trying to feed me katsudon for every meal."
"A mother worries." She rinsed the dishes, profile elegant against the morning light. "Though I worry less these days. You've grown so much, Izuku. Not just taller..."
I stood, retrieving her gift from its hiding place. "Speaking of growing..."
Her eyes lit up as I placed the package before her. Fingers trembled slightly as she untied the ribbon.
"Izuku, you didn't have to-"
"Open it."
The paper fell away, revealing a velvet box. Inside, nestled on black silk, lay a necklace that had cost a fourth of what I got from selling All Might merchandise. White gold chain supporting an intricate design - two hands cradling an emerald heart, surrounded by flowing lines that caught the light like water.
"It's..." Her voice caught. "Izu..."
"The hands represent protection." I lifted the necklace gently. "Like Water Stream - flowing, guarding, nurturing. And the emerald..."
"Matches our eyes." Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Before I could move, she launched herself into my arms. I caught her easily, her weight negligible after months of training. Her arms wrapped around my neck as she pressed her face against my chest.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you..."
I spun us in a slow circle, her feet dangling above the floor. Her laughter mixed with happy sobs.
"My beautiful boy." She pushed herself up to ruffle my hair, just like when I was small. "Any girl would be lucky to have you, you know. Though you'll always be my little cinnamon roll."
Her hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing away moisture I hadn't realized was there. The gesture echoed across worlds, across memories of another mother lost too soon.
"I have something for you too." She wiggled free, hurrying to retrieve a small box from her room. "Close your eyes."
I complied, feeling her presence return. Something cool pressed against my earlobes.
"Okay, look."
The mirror showed simple studs - emeralds that caught the light like captured forest pools.
"Mom..."
"I noticed your ears were pierced." She touched one gently. "I thought maybe..."
I pulled her into another hug, careful of my strength. "They're perfect."
We spent the morning reminiscing, sharing stories between cups of tea. She told me more about my father - his laugh, his dreams, the way he used to carry her on his shoulders despite her protests. I shared edited versions of my training with gramps, weaving truth with necessary fiction.
"You remind me of him sometimes." She traced patterns on her teacup. "The way you move, how you carry yourself. But you're your own person too."
"Thanks to you." I caught her hand, squeezing gently. "Everything I am now, everything I'm becoming... it's because you believed in me."
Her smile outshone the winter sun. "A mother always believes in her child. Even when they're taller than doorways."
"I'm not that tall."
"Yet." She stood, stretching. "Want to go for a walk? Work off some of that breakfast?"
We strolled through quiet streets, greeting neighbors who did double-takes at Mom's transformed appearance. I noticed several appreciative glances from passing men, my presence beside her keeping their attention respectfully brief. The few who lingered too long received looks that sent them hurrying away.
"My protective hero." She nudged me playfully after one such encounter. "Though I can handle myself these days."
"Doesn't mean you should have to." I adjusted my pace to match hers, each of my steps requiring two of hers. "Besides, what kind of son would I be if I let random guys ogle my mom?"
"Random guys?" Her laughter echoed off buildings. "Is that what we're calling Mr. Yamamoto from the supermarket? He's been trying to get my number for weeks."
"All the more reason to keep training with Gramps."
We wound up at the beach - my beach, nearly unrecognizable from the junkyard it had been. Families played in the sand, children built castles where scrap metal once rusted. A few early surfers braved the winter waves.
"Hard to believe you did all this." Mom's hand found mine as we walked along the water's edge. "My impossible boy."
"Not impossible." I squeezed her fingers. "Just stubborn."
"Like your mother?"
"Exactly like my mother."
We spent the afternoon shopping, my newly acquired height proving useful for reaching high shelves. Mom insisted on buying me a proper outfit for the UA entrance exam, though I had to convince her away from the more outlandish options.
"But the purple pinstripe would make such a statement!"
"I think my performance will make enough of one."
The sun was setting by the time we returned home, arms loaded with bags. Mom immediately began preparing dinner, refusing my offers of help.
"It's New Year's. Let me spoil you a little longer."
I watched her move around the kitchen, every motion speaking of renewed vitality. The necklace caught the light as she worked, its emerald heart throwing green sparks across the walls. My own earrings felt warm, connecting us across more than just genetics.
"You know," she said, stirring something that smelled amazing, "I've been thinking about taking some more self-defense classes. Maybe join you and Gramps for more than just basic forms."
"Really?"
"Mmhmm." She tasted the sauce, adding a pinch of spice. "A mother should be able to keep up with her hero son, don't you think?"
"Mom..."
"Besides," she continued, not meeting my eyes, "it would be nice to spend more time together before you get too busy with UA."
I moved behind her, resting my chin on her head and arms around her waist - something that still felt novel. "I'll always have time for you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
We ate dinner on the floor, sharing stories and dreams. The food was perfect - healthy but satisfying, portioned for my training needs while still tasting like home.
"To the future," Mom raised her glass of sparkling cider. "And to my son, who's going to show the world what real heroism looks like."
I clinked my glass against hers, throat tight with emotion. "To the best mom in the world."
"High praise."
"Just the truth."
The evening wound down slowly, neither of us wanting it to end. We ended up on the couch, watching old movies while she pointed out scenes filmed near her childhood home.
"Your grandmother would have loved you." She played with my new earring absently. "She always said the measure of a person wasn't in their quirk, but in their heart."
"Sounds like a wise woman."
"She was." Mom's voice grew soft with memory. "A lot like you, actually. Always helping others, even when it cost her."
"Tell me more about her?"
So she did, painting pictures of a woman I'd never meet but whose blood ran in my veins. Outside, fireworks began popping - early celebrants getting a head start on the evening's festivities.
"Want to watch from the roof?" I offered my hand.
"Just like when you were little?"
"Some traditions are worth keeping."
We climbed carefully, settling on the familiar spot where a much smaller Izuku had once watched All Might videos on his phone. Mom leaned against my shoulder, her presence grounding me in this moment, this world.
"Happy New Year, Mom."
"Happy New Year, my hero."
The sky erupted in color, but the real light was right beside me - in emerald eyes that mirrored my own, in a smile that bridged worlds and healed old wounds. In a love that made everything else possible.
I held her close as the new year began, silently thanking the twist of fate had given me this second chance at family. At being a son to a mother who deserved nothing less than everything I could give.
The fireworks painted us in shifting hues, but the real celebration was quieter - a mother and son, together, facing whatever came next as a team.
Just as it should be.