YAGI TOSHINORI

The cafe was quiet at this hour—mid-afternoon on a weekday, the lunch rush long past and the evening crowd not yet arrived. Toshinori sat in the back corner booth, his skeletal frame hunched over a cup of tea he hadn't touched. Across from him, Aizawa nursed his own coffee, his expression grim.

They'd been here for ten minutes, waiting. Preparing themselves for a conversation that would change everything.

Toshinori's mind kept replaying the moment he'd found the letters. The way Young Midoriya had shoved something into his desk drawer with trembling hands. The way he'd tried to smile, tried to act normal, even as fear radiated from every line of his body.

Just give me a minute to change, and we can head out!

Such a simple request. Such an innocent moment.

Except Toshinori had seen the drawer. Had seen it wasn't quite closed. Had seen the edge of an envelope peeking out.

And he'd looked.

God help him, he'd looked.

Seven letters. Seven increasingly disturbing messages written in careful, obsessive handwriting. Seven pieces of evidence that Young Midoriya had been carrying this burden alone, trying to protect everyone else by suffering in silence.

And a package. Unopened. Sitting there like a bomb waiting to detonate.

"Stop," Aizawa said quietly.

Toshinori looked up. "Stop what?"

"Blaming yourself. I can see it on your face." Aizawa's dark eyes were steady. "You found the letters. You're helping him now. That's what matters."

"I should have seen it sooner," Toshinori said, his voice rough. "Should have noticed he was pulling away. Should have pushed harder when he started making excuses—"

"He's been hiding it from everyone," Aizawa interrupted. "From his agency, from his friends. He's gotten very good at pretending everything is fine. You couldn't have known."

"That doesn't make it okay."

"No," Aizawa agreed. "But it means you can't change the past. All you can do is help him now. Be what he needs going forward."

Toshinori took a shaky breath. Aizawa was right, of course. Self-recrimination wasn't going to help Young Midoriya. Action would.

"Tell me again what the letters said," Aizawa prompted. "Everything you remember."

Toshinori closed his eyes, forcing himself to recall the words that had made his blood run cold.

"The first one was almost... reverent," he said quietly. "Talking about how beautiful Midoriya was. How pure. How the writer had been watching him for years, admiring him from afar. It was dated about two months ago."

"And the others?"

"They escalated." Toshinori's hands clenched into fists on the table. "Each one became more possessive. More explicit about the writer's feelings. More detailed about Midoriya's daily life—his routines, his apartment, the way he looks when he thinks no one's watching."

Aizawa's expression darkened. "Proof of surveillance."

"Yes. And the most recent ones..." Toshinori's voice caught. "They're obsessed with him. With his body, his mind, his vulnerability. The way he moves. The way he thinks. Every detail is about Midoriya himself—like he's the only thing that exists in this person's world."

"Singular focus," Aizawa said. "That's often more dangerous than jealousy. It means the stalker isn't reacting to external threats. They're building an internal fantasy that has nothing to do with reality."

"The letters talk about owning him," Toshinori continued, his voice hollow. "About making him understand what he means to them. About how no one else sees the real him, but they do. They've been watching long enough to know him better than he knows himself."

"Delusion," Aizawa said flatly. "Classic obsessive behavior."

"And there's a package. It came with the most recent letter—delivered to his agency. Midoriya was too afraid to open it alone."

"Smart," Aizawa said. "Based on the escalation pattern, it could contain anything. Photographs. Stolen items. Something more explicit."

The thought made Toshinori's stomach turn.

"The timeline," he said. "When I was reading through the letters, trying to understand—there were references. Things the writer said about watching Midoriya grow up. About being there from the beginning."

"How far back?" Aizawa asked sharply.

"Ten years." Toshinori's voice was hollow. "The writer claims to have been watching Midoriya since he was sixteen years old. Since right after the Paranormal Liberation War."

The silence that followed was heavy with horror.

"Sixteen," Aizawa repeated, his voice flat. "Someone has been stalking Midoriya since he was a student at UA."

"Yes." Toshinori felt sick. "For ten years, someone has been watching him. Learning his patterns. Building up this obsession. And Midoriya only found out two months ago when the first letter arrived."

"A decade of violation he didn't even know about," Aizawa said quietly. "That's going to destroy him when he realizes."

"I know." Toshinori's hands trembled. "That's why we need Bakugo and Todoroki. They're the only people who can make him accept help. The only ones he trusts enough to let his guard down around."

"They'll want blood," Aizawa warned.

"So do I," Toshinori said, and meant it. "But first, we need to make sure Midoriya is protected. That he's never alone. That this person can't get to him."

"What's your theory?" Aizawa asked. "About who this person is?"

Toshinori was quiet for a moment, thinking through everything he'd read. "I think it started as a fan. Someone who saw Midoriya during the war—saw him fight, saw him become a symbol of hope. Someone who became fixated on him in that moment."

"And then?"

"And then they couldn't let go. They followed his career. Watched him grow up. Learned everything about him. The obsession grew slowly, methodically, over the course of a decade. Until two months ago, when something changed. When they decided watching wasn't enough anymore."

"What changed?" Aizawa asked.

"I don't know," Toshinori admitted. "But something triggered the escalation. Something made them decide to make contact. To start sending letters. To make their presence known."

"Could be anything," Aizawa said. "A perceived slight. A change in Midoriya's life. Or just the natural progression of the obsession reaching a breaking point."

"Whatever it was, they're not going to stop," Toshinori said. "The letters make that clear. They're building toward something. Some kind of confrontation or claim."

The cafe door opened, and Toshinori looked up.

Bakugo and Todoroki entered together, their expressions identically grim. They moved in sync, scanning the space with practiced efficiency before their eyes locked onto the back corner booth.

Toshinori's chest tightened at the sight of them. They looked like they were preparing for war—shoulders tense, movements purposeful, every line of their bodies radiating barely contained violence.

They crossed the cafe together, their strides matching, and slid into the booth across from Toshinori and Aizawa.

"Where's Deku?" Bakugo demanded immediately.

"At his agency," Aizawa said. "Working. He doesn't know we're meeting."

"Why not?" Todoroki's voice was cold, controlled. But Toshinori could see the fury burning in his mismatched eyes.

"Because he doesn't know that we know," Toshinori said quietly. "He's been trying to handle this alone. Trying to protect everyone else by suffering in silence."

Bakugo's hands sparked on the table. "Handle what? What the fuck is going on?"

Toshinori and Aizawa exchanged a look. Then Toshinori leaned forward, his sunken eyes filled with a pain that made his chest ache.

"Young Midoriya is being stalked," he said, his voice rough. "Has been for approximately ten years, though he only discovered it recently when he started receiving threatening letters."

The words hit like a physical blow. Toshinori watched as both young men went rigid, their expressions shifting from confusion to horror to rage in the span of seconds.

"Ten years?" Bakugo's voice was dangerously quiet. Sparks danced across his knuckles.

"Since he was sixteen years old," Toshinori confirmed. "Since right after the Paranormal Liberation War. We believe the stalker became obsessed with him after seeing him fight. After seeing him become a symbol of hope."

"And it escalated," Todoroki said, his voice flat. Ice crystals formed on the table beneath his left hand.

"Yes," Aizawa confirmed. "Slowly, over the course of a decade. The stalker has been watching Midoriya, learning his patterns, his routines. Building up detailed knowledge of his life. And about two months ago, they started sending letters."

"Two months?" Bakugo's voice cracked. "He's been dealing with this for two months and didn't tell us?"

"He didn't tell anyone," Toshinori said, his voice heavy with guilt. "I only found out by accident. I was waiting for him to change so we could go to lunch together, and I saw him hide something in his desk drawer. Something that clearly frightened him."

"You looked," Todoroki said.

"I looked," Toshinori confirmed. "And I found seven letters. Seven increasingly disturbing messages from someone who's been watching Midoriya for a decade. And a package. Unopened. It came with the most recent letter, delivered to his agency."

"A decade." Bakugo's voice was hollow. "Someone's been watching Deku since he was sixteen fucking years old."

"Yes." Toshinori's hands clenched into fists. "For ten years, someone has been following him. Studying him. Learning everything about him. And Midoriya had no idea until two months ago when the first letter arrived."

"What do the letters say?" Todoroki demanded, his voice tight with controlled fury.

Toshinori's expression darkened. "They're obsessive. The writer claims to have been watching Midoriya since the war. Claims to understand him better than anyone else. Claims to see the 'real him' beneath the hero persona."

"They reference specific incidents," Aizawa added. "Specific dates and locations. Details about Midoriya, his routines, the way he acts when he thinks no one's watching. The way his body moves. The way he thinks. Every word is about Midoriya himself—his vulnerability, his strength, his beauty. Like he's the only thing that exists in this person's world."

Aizawa's jaw tightened as he continued. "But there's something worse. The letters talk about Midoriya falling. Failing. They're almost... anticipatory about it. Like the writer is waiting for the moment when Midoriya breaks, when he can't carry everything anymore. And they keep saying the same thing over and over—that when that happens, when he inevitably falls, only they will accept him. Only they will love him unconditionally. That everyone else will abandon him, but they never will."

"A savior complex," Toshinori said quietly. "They're not just obsessed with him. They're obsessed with the idea of being the one who catches him when he falls."

Bakugo's entire body was vibrating with barely contained rage. "I'm going to kill them. When we find them, I'm going to fucking kill them."

"Focus," Aizawa said firmly. "Right now, we need to make sure Midoriya is protected. That he's never alone. That this person can't get to him."

"Do you have suspects?" Todoroki asked, his voice eerily calm despite the ice spreading across the table.

"No" Toshinori said. "But we need to do this carefully. And with people he trusts, so he doesn't feel violated all over again."

"Us," Todoroki said flatly. "You want us there when he opens it."

"More than that," Aizawa said. "We want you two to be the ones who confront him about this. Who make him understand that he can't handle this alone."

Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "Why us?"

"Because you're the only two people who can make him accept help," Toshinori said quietly. "The only ones he trusts enough to let his guard down around. If we try to intervene—if I try, or Aizawa, or anyone from his agency—he'll shut down. He'll try to protect us. Push us away."

"But he can't push you away," Aizawa continued. "Not the same way. You two have a history with him that goes deeper than mentorship or professional relationships. You know how to get through to him when he's being stubborn."

"He's going to resist," Bakugo said. "He's going to try to protect us."

"Yes," Toshinori agreed. "Which is why you need to be firm. Make it clear that you're not going anywhere. That he doesn't get to make this decision alone."

"We won't be there," Aizawa added. "This needs to be just the three of you. He needs to hear it from people he considers equals, not authority figures he feels obligated to protect."

Todoroki's jaw tightened. "You're asking us to ambush him."

"I'm asking you to save him," Toshinori said, his voice breaking slightly. "Because if we don't intervene now, if we let him keep trying to handle this alone—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

The silence that followed was heavy with understanding.

"When?" Bakugo asked, his voice tight.

"Now," Aizawa said. "He's at his agency. Working. He has no idea anyone knows about the letters. No idea that we're planning to confront him."

"Good," Todoroki said, standing. "The element of surprise will keep him from preparing his defenses."

Bakugo stood as well, his expression grim. "Let's go."

BAKUGO KATSUKI

Katsuki felt like his entire world had tilted sideways.

Ten years. Someone had been watching Deku for ten years.

Had started when he was sixteen. When he was still a student, still learning, still processing the trauma of the war.

And Deku had only known about it for two months. Two months of carrying this burden alone, of being terrified, of trying to protect everyone else by suffering in silence.

Katsuki's hands sparked violently as he walked out of the cafe.

"Control yourself," Todoroki said quietly beside him. "We need to be calm when we talk to him. If he sees how angry we are, he'll shut down. Try to protect us."

Katsuki took a deep breath, forcing the sparks to die down. Todoroki was right. Deku would absolutely try to protect them if he thought they were too emotionally invested.

Which meant they needed to be strategic. Calm. Focused on solutions rather than rage.

Even if rage was all Katsuki felt right now.

They stood in the parking lot for a moment, looking at each other.

"You okay?" Todoroki asked.

"Fuck no," Katsuki admitted. "Are you?"

"No." Todoroki's left side frosted over slightly before he pulled it back under control. "But we're going to fix this. We're going to make sure he's safe."

"Yeah." Katsuki's voice was rough. "We are."

He thought about the training room. About the way Deku had looked at them—vulnerable, wanting, scared. About the way he'd pulled away afterward, like he was afraid of what might happen if he let himself get too close.

He'd thought it was about their feelings. About Deku being uncomfortable with the obvious attraction between them.

But it wasn't that at all. It was about the stalker. About Deku trying to protect them from a threat he thought he had to face alone.

"He's been pulling away," Katsuki said quietly. "For weeks. We thought—"

He stopped, not wanting to admit what they'd thought.

"We thought he was uncomfortable with our feelings," Todoroki finished. "With the obvious attraction between the three of us."

Katsuki looked at him sharply. Todoroki's expression was carefully neutral, but there was something raw in his eyes.

"Yeah," Katsuki said. "That."

"But it was never about that," Todoroki continued. "It was about this. About him trying to protect us from a threat he thought he had to face alone."

"Stupid, self-sacrificing idiot," Katsuki muttered.

"Yes," Todoroki agreed. "Which is why we need to make it clear that he doesn't get to make that choice. That we're not going anywhere, whether he likes it or not."

Katsuki nodded. "My car or yours?"

"Mine," Todoroki said. "You're too angry to drive safely."

Katsuki wanted to argue, but Todoroki was right. His hands were still sparking intermittently, his entire body vibrating with barely contained fury.

They walked to Todoroki's car in silence. Katsuki got into the passenger seat, his mind racing through possibilities.

What could be in that package? Photographs? Stolen items? Something more explicit?

Whatever it was, it was going to be difficult for Deku. Difficult for all of them.

But they'd handle it. They'd document everything, figure out who was doing this, and make sure this bastard never got near Deku again.

Todoroki pulled out of the parking lot, his movements precise and controlled. The afternoon sun was bright, the streets busy with traffic, but Katsuki felt like he was moving through a nightmare.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Todoroki said quietly.

Katsuki was silent for a moment, organizing his thoughts. "I'm thinking about how scared he must have been. For two months, dealing with this alone. Reading those letters. Knowing someone's been watching him for a decade."

"He's been terrified," Todoroki agreed. "And trying to hide it from everyone. Trying to act normal while his entire world is falling apart."

"That's why he's been canceling plans," Katsuki said. "Why he's been avoiding us. He thought if he pulled away, if he kept his distance, the stalker wouldn't target us."

"Protective to a fault," Todoroki said. "Even when it means suffering alone."

"Yeah." Katsuki's hands clenched into fists. "Well, that ends today. We're not letting him push us away anymore."

"Agreed." Todoroki's voice was cold and certain. "Whatever he says, whatever excuses he tries to make—we're not leaving. We're going to make him understand that he doesn't have to be strong enough to handle everything alone."

Katsuki glanced at him. Todoroki's expression was carefully controlled, but his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His left side kept frosting over in small patches before he pulled it back under control.

"You're not as calm as you're pretending to be," Katsuki observed.

"Neither are you," Todoroki replied. "But we need to at least appear calm when we confront him. If he sees how affected we are, he'll try to protect us. Push us away for our own good."

"So we lie to him?"

"We control our reactions," Todoroki corrected. "There's a difference. We can be angry later. Right now, we need to be what he needs—steady, reliable, unwilling to be pushed away."

Katsuki nodded slowly. Todoroki was right. They needed to be strategic about this.

The city passed by outside the windows—familiar streets, familiar buildings. Katsuki had driven this route dozens of times, heading to Deku's agency for meetings or joint operations.

But this time felt different. Heavier. Like everything was about to change.

"What's your theory?" Katsuki asked. "About who this person is?"

Todoroki was quiet for a moment. "All Might thinks it started as a fan. Someone who saw Midoriya during the war and became fixated on him."

"Makes sense," Katsuki said. "Deku was all over the news during that time. Saving people, fighting villains, becoming a symbol of hope. Someone could have seen him and decided he was special."

"And then they couldn't let go," Todoroki continued. "They followed his career. Watched him grow up. The obsession grew slowly, methodically, until two months ago when something triggered the escalation."

"What changed?" Katsuki asked.

"I don't know," Todoroki admitted. "But something made them decide that watching wasn't enough anymore. That they needed to make contact. To make their presence known."

"They're building toward something," Katsuki said. "Some kind of confrontation. Some kind of claim."

"Yes." Todoroki's voice was flat. "Which is why we need to act now. Before they escalate further."

The agency building came into view, tall and modern, its glass facade reflecting the afternoon sun. Todoroki pulled into the parking garage and found a spot near the elevators.

They sat in silence for a moment, both of them staring at the building.

"Ready?" Todoroki asked.

"No," Katsuki admitted. "But we're doing this anyway."

They got out of the car simultaneously, their movements synchronized. Katsuki felt his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline flooding his system like he was preparing for a fight.

In a way, he was. Just not the kind of fight he was used to.

They walked to the elevators together, neither of them speaking. The parking garage was quiet, the concrete walls echoing their footsteps.

Katsuki thought about what they were about to do. Confront Deku about something he'd been desperately trying to hide. Force him to accept help when all his instincts would be screaming at him to protect them by pushing them away.

It was going to be brutal. Emotional. Possibly the hardest conversation they'd ever had.

But it was necessary. Because Deku couldn't face this threat alone. He needed help. Needed protection. Needed people who would refuse to let him fall.

And Katsuki and Todoroki were exactly the kind of help he needed.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. Todoroki pressed the button for Deku's floor.

"Whatever happens," Katsuki said quietly, "we don't leave. No matter what he says, no matter how hard he tries to push us away—we stay."

"Agreed," Todoroki said. "We're not leaving until he understands that he doesn't have to face this alone."

The elevator rose smoothly, the numbers ticking upward. Katsuki's heart pounded harder with each floor.

He thought about Deku as a student—bright-eyed and determined, always pushing himself too hard, always trying to save everyone else even at the cost of his own safety.

Some things never changed.

Even now, as a professional hero, Deku was still trying to protect everyone else. Still trying to handle everything alone. Still refusing to ask for help until he had no other choice.

It was admirable. Frustrating. And deeply concerning.

Because people like Deku—people who refused to acknowledge their own limits, who kept pushing until they broke—were the ones who ended up hurt. Traumatized. Destroyed by the weight of everything they tried to carry alone.

Katsuki wasn't going to let that happen.

Not while he was still breathing.

The elevator doors opened onto Deku's floor. The agency was busy at this hour—heroes coming and going, support staff coordinating schedules, the hum of activity that came with a successful operation.

Katsuki scanned the space, looking for Deku. Not seeing him.

"His office," Todoroki said quietly, already moving in that direction.

They walked through the agency together, their presence drawing curious looks from the staff. Katsuki ignored them, his focus entirely on the office at the end of the hallway.

Deku's office. Where he was probably working, completely unaware that his entire world was about to change.

They stopped outside the door. Katsuki could see movement through the frosted glass—a figure at the desk, bent over paperwork.

Deku. Working. Trying to act normal while carrying the weight of a decade-long stalking threat.

Katsuki's hands clenched into fists.

"Ready?" Todoroki asked quietly.

Katsuki took a deep breath. "Yeah. Let's do this."

TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto stood outside Midoriya's office, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

Ten years. Someone had been watching Midoriya for ten years.

Had started when Midoriya was sixteen. When he was still a student, still learning, still processing the trauma of the war.

And they'd been patient. Methodical. Building up their obsession slowly, carefully, until two months ago when they'd finally made contact.

Two months. Midoriya had been dealing with threatening letters for two months and hadn't told them.

Hadn't told anyone.

Shoto thought about the way Midoriya had been pulling away. The cancelled plans. The short texts. The way he'd avoided eye contact in the training room.

He'd thought it was about their feelings. About Midoriya being uncomfortable with the obvious attraction between them.

But it was about this. About a threat Midoriya thought he had to face alone.

Shoto's left side frosted over slightly before he pulled it back under control.

"You okay?" Bakugo asked quietly.

"No," Shoto admitted. "Are you?"

"Fuck no." Bakugo's hands sparked. "But we're doing this anyway."

Shoto nodded. They were doing this. They were going to confront Midoriya about something he'd been desperately trying to hide. Force him to accept help when all his instincts would be screaming at him to protect them by pushing them away.

It was going to be brutal. Emotional. Possibly the hardest conversation they'd ever had.

But it was necessary.

Shoto reached for the door handle, then paused. "Let me start. I'm better at staying calm."

"Fine," Bakugo said. "But if he tries to run, I'm blocking the door."

"Agreed."

Shoto took a deep breath, centering himself. He needed to be calm. Steady. The kind of presence that would make Midoriya feel safe enough to be honest, even when honesty was terrifying.

He opened the door.