Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter one: First Bloom

The afternoon sun filtered through the ancient stained-glass windows of the little church, casting vibrant shards of colour onto the well-tended garden outside. It was here, among the quiet rustle of leaves and the soft hum of nature, that Ibara Shiozaki found solace and purpose. Her garden wasn’t just a patch of earth; it was her living canvas where every blossom symbolized hope and renewal.

It was her little oasis, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city and it soothed her homesick heart as the recent move from the quiet of the cloister in Mei to the convent in the busy metroplex of Mustafa had jarred her normal tranquillity and tending to the her new garden made her feel more at ease.

On this day, as Ibara carefully pruned a flowering vine, humming gently to herself, the quiet was disrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps and loud, ragged breathing. Looking up, her emerald eyes fell upon a young man stumbling heavily through her garden’s gate. His uniform was torn and singed, his body marked with fresh bruises, cuts and his eyes heavy with the weight of carried pain. In the distance Ibara heard vague threats being hurled through the air but could not lay eyes on the hooligans making the threats.

Ibara’s heart clenched at the sight of this battered young man. Without a second thought, she rushed to him, her voice soft yet imbued with urgency.

“Are you alright?” she asked, kneeling beside him.

The concern in her tone was immediate, genuine, a lifeline extended to this soul in front of her. The feeling of hurt, suffering and despair was rolling off this young man in thick waves and Ibara for a moment was almost overwhelmed by the feedback from her empathic senses.

The boy, startled by her gentle presence, hesitated before nodding shakily. “I— I’m okay,” he murmured, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his words and the anxious glance he threw behind him. He tried to rise, but a wince of pain forced him back down and sitting onto the cool cobblestones of the garden path.

Ibara could smell something sickly sweet in the air as rapidly fading contrails of smoke wafted away from the boy’s backpack and uniform. It was a local uniform Ibara noted as she began to help the young man to his feet. Without judgment, Ibara retrieved a worn satchel from her side table and began to carefully clean a cut on his arm, her deft fingers moving with a tender precision. The boy flinched as the wound was disinfected and Ibara felt that it was not from the pain entirely, but also from her proximity.

As she worked, she offered him a seat on a nearby stone bench, its surface warmed by the sun. “You don’t have to hide your pain,” she said quietly, her eyes locking with his. “Sometimes, it’s okay to let someone help.”

There was a moment of silence as her words were digested by the battered and bruised intruder in her oasis of peace. “Izuku – my name is Izuku” the boy blurts out, his cheeks starting to turn cherry red. Ibara feels her breath leave her as his own green eyes meet hers. For a moment she almost drowns in his own eyes as they brim with unshed tears.

This is a boy, no a man with a core of steel. Her senses go into overdrive, everything smells clearer, sharper, she can feel the calluses on his hands giving her goosebumps. Part of her wants nothing more than to embrace him, to commit his scent to memory but she resists and dulls her empathic powers to the lowest they can go.

Why is she having such a reaction? Panic rises but she squashes it and focuses on the injuries she can visibly treat.

It was in these hushed quiet moments, beneath the dappled light and amidst the mingling fragrance of roses and fresh earth, that something unspoken passed between them. For Ibara, it was as if fate had gently guided her to this bruised soul, whose quiet resilience resonated deeply within her own hidden scars. Izuku, who often felt isolated in his struggles, found himself unexpectedly comforted by her caring presence. It felt different to his mother and he found himself almost mesmerized by her hair, her quirk and the gentle way she tended to his injuries.

They sat together in the serene garden, as a tentative conversation blossomed like the flowers around them as cream was rubbed onto bruises and burns whilst cuts were disinfected and covered. Ibara listened as Izuku recounted the sharp fragments of his day; the harsh words of bullies, the relentless pressure he faced, and the loneliness that sometimes overwhelmed him. In return, she shared bits of her own story, of finding refuge in nurturing life around her, her own loneliness due to the distance from her parents and how each plant taught her that healing, much like growth, required patience and kindness.

As the shadows lengthened and the garden grew quiet once more, a gentle promise seemed to linger in the air; a promise of healing, understanding, and perhaps, the start of something beautiful. In that sacred space, two hearts found a momentary reprieve from their own respective battles, each quietly affirming that even in the darkest hours, the light of compassion could lead to a new beginning.

And so, amid whispered prayers and tender blooms, Izuku and Ibara’s journey together began a journey where every bruise might mend, and every tear could water the seeds of hope.

Chapter Text

Chapter two: Bruised petals

In the quiet hours following the sludge villain incident, the world felt heavier for Izuku Midoriya. Even heroes renowned for their resolve, including All Might himself, had offered words of encouragement and advice. Yet amid the clamour of praise and caution, one gentle voice echoed in the recesses of his mind; the soft counsel of Ibara, whose calm presence in the garden had become a sanctuary for his battered spirit.

The little church garden had become something of an oasis of calm for Izuku over the past few months. It was becoming more and more common for him to sneak out of class earlier to avoid Kacchan and then spend more time with Ibara. He’d even started helping with tending the plants although it was under the very strict observation of Ibara.

The sludge incident had left more than physical marks. Though his body was mending, each bruise and scrape carried the residue of inner turmoil. That afternoon, as the twilight deepened into a serene dusk, Izuku found himself drawn back to the church garden. The garden, with its carefully nurtured blossoms and winding vines, had become his quiet refuge; a place where pain could be acknowledged and, perhaps, slowly healed.

He stepped cautiously along the familiar stone path, the gate making a small squeal of protest as he pushed onwards, yet his thoughts were swirling like the leaves in a gentle breeze. The lush greenery and carefully nurtured blooms had a way of whispering solace to him, even when the burdens of responsibility and self-worth seemed too heavy to bear.

The lingering echoes of the villain’s destructive sludge mingled with the offer that All Might had given him. His dream had ended up falling into his lap but was he even worthy of it? He had impulsively said yes but the weeds of self-doubt were hard to pull out by the roots and even now he could feel the gnawing of insecurity in his belly.

It was Ibara’s soft-spoken advice that he wanted. Not his mother (and that inner self admission surprised even himself) – he wanted Ibara.  There was an unspoken magic in the way Ibara listened, as though every word he uttered was a seed waiting to bloom into strength and right now with his chaotic jumble of thoughts all he wanted was her soft-spoken voice.

In the heart of the garden, Ibara was tending to a cluster of delicate ivy, her fingers deftly weaving through the tendrils as if coaxing life from every strand. The evening light played upon her features, and in that gentle glow, she seemed somehow both fragile and resolute, a living symbol of quiet strength. Her dress gently fluttered in the breeze and for a moment Izuku had a knot in his throat.

When she looked up and caught sight of Izuku, her eyes filled with empathy and understanding, and without hesitation, she offered him a warm, welcoming smile. Izuku smiled back, his heartbeat for the first time in hours starting to slow and relax.

“Welcome back, Izuku,” she said softly, motioning him toward a worn stone bench nestled under an arch of climbing roses. “I sensed, hoped you might return today.”

Izuku hesitated for a moment before settling onto the bench next to her, the cool stone grounding him amidst his inner tempests. The murmurs of distant conversations from outside the church, the quiet perfume of the blossoming garden and the rustling of leaves provided a soft background to the unspoken bond forming between them.

As he began to speak, his words came in quiet, measured fragments; a recount of the recent battle, the searing pain of both his physical and emotional wounds (Oh Kacchan why?), and the overwhelming sense of isolation that sometimes followed even the gentlest of victories.

Despite the accolades and encouraging admonishments from heroes like All Might, Izuku found that these voices, although mighty, could not quite reach the tender recesses of his heart. He still doubted. Was he worthy?

“Ibara – today I was made an offer that would make my dream come true. It’s a miracle but somehow… I don’t feel worthy of it” Izuku placed his head in his hands, his voice heavy.

Ibara listened intently, her gaze steady and kind as she raised his head to meet her gaze. Izuku could feel his cheeks heating under the tender touch of her vines on his chin.

“Sometimes,” she murmured, “the wounds we cannot see are the ones that need the gentlest tending. Healing isn’t always about grand gestures; it’s often in these quiet moments, in the softness of care, that we truly mend.” Her words, simple yet profound, touched something within him; a recognition that vulnerability was not a flaw, but rather a path to growth.

A small smile graced her face. “And of all people Izuku, I would deem you worthy of receiving a miracle. You have a good heart Izuku, or I would not have permitted your entry into my sacred space. You always have been worthy.” Her hands had moved from her lap and had wrapped around his own and she finished her gentle admonishment, Izuku felt her hands tighten around his.

In that moment, Izuku realized that his admiration for Ibara’s advice was not solely because she spoke with wisdom, but because her counsel came wrapped in the understanding of someone who had faced her own battles. He didn’t know what those battles were yet, but maybe one day he would. In time.

Perhaps it was the way she transformed her pain into nurturing life, or the delicate balance she maintained between strength and gentleness. In the softness of her voice and the steadiness of her gaze, he saw a reflection of the resilience he yearned to embody; a resilience that was patient, tender, and deeply rooted in the belief that even the smallest acts of care could foster profound recovery.

Though he couldn’t yet articulate why her guidance resonated so powerfully within him, Izuku felt it like a whispered promise under his skin; one that quietly assured him that every bruised petal could unfurl into a blossom under the right care.

As the evening deepened into night, and the first stars began to twinkle above the ancient church, he found solace in her presence. In the sanctuary of that garden, amidst the enduring life of ivy and roses, he began to understand that the true strength of a hero might sometimes lie in the art of gentle healing, in the willingness to lean on others when the weight of the world became too much to bear alone.

In that tender interplay of dusk and dawn, as the garden continued its timeless cycle of growth and renewal, Izuku silently vowed to nurture his own inner garden with the same care Ibara bestowed upon the blooms around them. And in that quiet promise, a new chapter of recovery and understanding took root, a testament to the quiet power of empathy and the enduring light of compassion.

“Thank you Ibara”

A small gentle laugh answered his thanks. “Come – let us attend to the tomatoes. The priest will be happy to add them to his pantry”

And so, they did.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Trust blooms.

The early afternoon light spilled through the stained-glass windows of the old church, illuminating the meticulously tended garden outside. The garden, with its vibrant array of flowers and well-worn stone paths, had always been a sanctuary for Ibara Shiozaki, a place where she found solace in the gentle hum of nature and quiet prayer. 

Yet today, as she strolled among the blooming roses and ivy-draped archways, a feeling of unease had tugged at her heart. She hadn’t seen Izuku Midoriya in quite some time, and worry crept in like a slow tide. They had become firm friends and Ibara had found herself looking forward to their afternoon and evening gardening as it made a refreshing change from her educational peers and the nuns that ran her schooling. 

Ibara’s thoughts wandered as she recalled their last meeting in the flesh, a soft exchange of kind words and reassurance after Izuku’s encounter with the sludge villain. That was almost three months ago now. Apart from their regular texting it was almost as if Izuku had dropped off the face of the earth. 

With a heavy sigh, she made her way toward a secluded bench near the small fountain that marked the centre of the garden. As she reached the bench, she saw a lone figure sitting quietly, his head bowed as if deep in thought.

“Midoriya?” she called softly.

The figure slowly raised his head, revealing a familiar face, but one etched with fatigue and determination. Izuku’s eyes met hers, bright, earnest, and tinged with worry. He managed a small smile as if to reassure her, though the weariness in his gaze betrayed the weight he carried.

Ibara noted that he had grown taller and broader since she’d last seen him in person and that his uniform was straining at his shoulders. 

“Ibara… I’m so glad you’re here,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant but I’ve been training hard for the last few months and time flew away from me.”

Ibara’s heart swelled with both relief and concern. “I was so worried,” she admitted, taking a seat beside him. “You haven’t been here in the garden for months, and I wondered if something had happened.”

Izuku’s smile deepened. “I’ve been busy. There’s so much to learn, and every day is a struggle. But today, I’m glad to be here, with you.” His smile deepened and Ibara felt her breath catch as his eyes almost seemed to sparkle in the late afternoon light. 

“I’m just glad you’re here” she told him simply. 

The conversation paused as they both looked toward the horizon. The garden’s serenity offered a brief respite from the endless demands of training and the weight of expectations. Yet Izuku’s mind was not at rest. In his eyes flickered a secret that he had guarded for so long; a secret that was destined to change everything.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, standing up with renewed determination. “I want to show you something.” He extended his hand to Ibara and she took it, rising from the stone bench. 

Intrigued and a little concerned, Ibara followed him along the garden’s paths until they reached the small gate at its edge. Beyond the gate lay the metropolis of Mustafa and Izuku took her hand and led her into the urban jungle.

They walked side by side in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps blending with the murmur of dying traffic and the commuting pedestrians. The air was brisk, and Ibara began to detect the air carrying hints of salt and freedom; a stark contrast to the structured quiet of the church garden. 

Mustafa’s metropolitan noise faded as they left the city and began to approach Dagobah beach. Ibara had not been in Mustafa all that long but she had heard the rumours of ‘the trash beach’.

As they neared the beach, the rhythmic crash of the waves grew louder, and Izuku’s excitement became palpable.

Arriving at the beach, they found a secluded spot away from the prying eyes of the world and Ibara was surprised at how clean it was. The late sunlight danced on the water, and the gentle sea breeze tousled Ibara’s hair as she took in the stunning vista. Izuku’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and anticipation.

“This… is where I find a little peace after I've cleared out the rubbish,” Izuku explained softly, gesturing toward the endless blue horizon. “Between training, and all the chaos of my life at the moment, moments like these remind me why I fight.”

Ibara nodded, her eyes reflective. “It is a beautiful place, Izuku. And I can see why it means so much to you. You’ve been working hard.”

Before Ibara could ask more, a deep, resonant voice interrupted their quiet reverie. “Young Midoriya, may I have a word?”

Izuku’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the commanding tone. A large figure approached from the direction of the beach, none other than All Might himself. His broad smile was as radiant as ever, but his eyes carried a glimmer of caution.

“All Might!” Izuku greeted eagerly, stepping forward. “Sir, I’m glad you could join us.”

All Might’s gaze softened as he surveyed the scene. “I see you have brought a friend today,” he observed, his tone warm yet measured. “And I must say, it pleases me to see you find solace in good company.”

Ibara curtsied respectfully, though a hint of curiosity danced in her eyes as her thoughts tumbled like a pebble in the waves. This was where Izuku had been? This was who was training him?! “It is an honour to meet you, Sir.” Ibara was glad her voice didn’t waver. 

All Might’s smile widened. “The honour is mine, as you must be young Shiozaki. You have been a steadfast friend to this young man from what I understand, and I know that he holds you in the highest of regards.”

Izuku shifted uncomfortably, aware that All Might was concerned about him. He hesitated, his inner conflict evident. Deep down, he knew that what he was about to do might upset his revered mentor, yet his heart urged him to be honest with the one person who had come to mean so much to him.

“All Might,” Izuku began, his voice quivering slightly, “there is something I need to share with Ibara.. She’s my closest friend and keeping secrets from her doesn’t feel right.” Ibara felt her belly tingle with warmth at Izuku’s admission and a small smile stole across her face.

All Might’s brow furrowed, his concern immediately evident. “Izuku, are you sure? This is - ”

But before All Might could finish, Izuku continued, a mixture of resolve and vulnerability in his tone. “Please, sir, just listen for a moment. I have trained hard under your guidance, and I now understand that being a hero isn’t just about strength. It is about trust, sacrifice, and hope.”

Ibara watched the exchange in silence, her heart pounding as she sensed the gravity of the moment. Izuku took a deep breath, and then, with eyes shining with raw honesty, he spoke the words he had rehearsed in secret many times over.

“Sir, I trust you,” he said, “and I trust in the ideals you represent. I have inherited your power of One For All, a power that has been passed down through generations of heroes. It is not merely a quirk, but a symbol of hope for those who believe in justice.”

A heavy silence fell upon the trio. The sound of the crashing waves mingled with the distant call of seagulls, punctuating the magnitude of Izuku’s confession. Ibara’s eyes widened in astonishment; her heart pounding as she realized that this was not just a casual admission. Izuku was sharing something massive with her - a trust so profound that it left her momentarily speechless.

All Might’s expression shifted from concern to a mixture of pride and dismay. “Izuku, I must caution you,” he said sternly. “This power is sacred. It is a responsibility that you must bear with the utmost care. Not everyone is prepared for its burden.”

Izuku’s gaze did not waver. “Sir, I believe that trust and faith are what truly give this power its strength. I have chosen to share this with Ibara because I know she will understand that she will stand by me no matter what. I - ” he paused, swallowing hard as his eyes locked with Ibara’s, “I want you to know that my strength is not just for fighting villains. It is for protecting those I care about.”

For a long moment, All Might’s eyes searched Izuku’s face, as if weighing the sincerity of his words. The silence that followed was thick with emotion and consequence. Finally, All Might sighed, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to come from his very soul.

“Very well,” he conceded, his tone softening. “Your trust in Shiozaki is commendable, Izuku. But remember, the burden of One For All is heavy. You must always be vigilant, for the sake of those who depend on you.”

Ibara’s breath caught in her throat. The revelation, the depth of trust that Izuku had placed in her, overwhelmed her with a mixture of awe and profound responsibility. “Izuku,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, “I am honoured. You have given me a secret that few have ever been entrusted with. I promise to guard it with all my heart.”

Izuku’s eyes shone with gratitude and relief. “Thank you, Ibara. Your trust means everything to me. I’m sorry I’ve been keeping secrets from you.”

All Might, though still stern, allowed a small nod of approval. “May you both find the strength to bear this responsibility, together.”

The afternoon sun began to dip toward the horizon as the trio lingered by the water’s edge. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore provided a soothing counterpoint to the raw intensity of the moment. Ibara felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes - not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming weight of the trust that had been placed in her.

In that sacred silence, the beach became more than just a place of retreat; it became a sanctuary where secrets, hopes, and dreams intertwined. Izuku, still flushed with a mixture of vulnerability and resolve, reached out and took Ibara’s hand in his. His grip was gentle yet firm, a silent promise of unwavering support.

For Ibara, the revelation was transformative. She realized that the path of a hero was not one walked alone; it was paved with trust, sacrifice, and the love of those who believed in the cause of hope. In that moment, she vowed to herself that she would stand by Izuku, not only as a confidante but as a friend in his journey; a journey that transcended mere physical strength and embraced the very essence of what it meant to be human.

As the sky turned a brilliant shade of gold, the three stood together, united by trust. Ibara’s heart swelled with pride and determination. She had been given a rare gift and she knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would carry that trust with her always.

“Thank you, Izuku,” she said softly, her voice barely audible above the gentle murmur of the ocean. “For trusting me with your heart and your secret. I promise I will never let you down.”

Izuku’s eyes shone with unshed tears, a smile tugging at his lips. “And I promise to always protect you, too. We will face every challenge together, as friends.”

In that moment, as the day faded into a luminous twilight, Ibara and Izuku sealed their bond; not with grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but with a quiet, unspoken commitment that resonated deeper than any words could express.

Although for Ibara the word 'friend' left an oddly bittersweet taste in her mouth. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: New blossoms

Even though the spring sunshine had started warming Mustafa, it was failing to warm Izuku’s spirit. He’d failed miserably – failed, failed, failed. He’d been given an opportunity – fated as Ibara often stated – and he’d blown it.

The little metallic hockey puck glinted at him mockingly on his desk. He hadn’t opened it since it arrived, even with his mother’s encouragement.

Instead, it just sat there. A monument to his failings. Sat on his desk like the worst form of paperweight. There was a button on it. Should he press it? Would ripping the bandage off make the pain easier or should he –

Izuku’s spiralling thoughts are cut off by his phone trilling at him. Izuku sets each ring tone personally – and although he only has three contacts in there – everyone gets their own theme song.

It’s currently trilling church organ music at him so that means it’s Ibara calling. Hesitantly, Izuku picks up.

“Izuku are you alright?” Ibara’s voice is concerned, “I had already expected you to call me with the good news?”

His stomach roils. He’d already told her about the disaster that was his entrance exam and had been scolded thoroughly for breaking his bones. “I haven’t played the message yet.” Izuku admitted, the words feeling heavy on his tongue.

“Oh” There is a beat of silence from Ibara. “Izuku, I have the utmost faith that you passed. All Might has faith in you. Is it so hard to have a little faith in yourself?”

“Yes” The blunt admission takes Ibara aback for a few seconds judging by the silence down the phone line.

Izuku hears shuffling and then “Izuku I am going to talk to some people. Where is your apartment?”

Izuku rattled off the address without even thinking about it as Ibara had her ‘no nonsense’ tone going and Izuku had learnt the hard way to listen to that tone.

“Thank you Izuku. Expect me in an hour.” The call ended.

The words sank into Izuku’s skull.

Then the panic set in.

“MUM!”

Inko Midoriya was a woman of many talents but when her only child suddenly yelled into the apartment they lived in, she did the only sensible thing and burst into Izuku’s room.

“Izuku what’s the matter?!” she had burst into his room and found him almost hyperventilating over his phone and the message from UA still sat on his desk.

“Honey what’s wrong?” She coaxed the stuttering answer out of Izuku and then began to smile. She’d heard a lot about Shiozaki from Izuku and how the girl and the garden they’d both been attending to had helped his self confidence.

Her smile widened as Izuku blushed and stammered about Shiozaki coming over. “That’s perfectly fine Izuku – here” She handed Izuku her debit card and ushered him out the door with an ingredient list before she turned to her kitchen.

Time to cook!

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The chapel's quiet stillness was broken only by the gentle rustling of fabric as Ibara approached the modest office tucked beside the sanctuary. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting rainbows along the polished floor as she knocked gently on the old wooden door.

“Enter,” came the warm, but stern, familiar voice from within.

Ibara stepped inside, bowing respectfully to the elderly woman seated behind the desk, Mother Superior Agnes, the abbess. The woman’s lined face softened as she looked up, her eyes wise and kind beneath her wimple.

“Ah, Sister Shiozaki,” she said, setting down her pen. “You seem lighter today. Has something good happened?”

Ibara hesitated for a breath, then smiled. “Yes, Mother Superior. I have received notice of my acceptance into U.A.”

A small, pleased sound escaped the older woman. “Praise be. You have worked hard, and I know your path is not an easy one. Congratulations, my child. This is excellent news.”

“Thank you,” Ibara replied, folding her hands in front of her. “There is... another matter. I’ve been invited to visit a friend today. His name is Izuku Midoriya. He also received notice of his acceptance, and he and his family wish to celebrate together.”

Mother Agnes tilted her head, considering her. “This boy—he is the one you’ve spoken of before? The one with the kind heart and the one being trained by a pro hero?”

“Yes,” Ibara said softly. “He has been a faithful friend to me, and he is also walking the path of a hero.”

There was a moment of quiet. Then Mother Agnes chuckled. “Well, it would do us good to show that the faithful can rejoice as well as endure. You may go, Ibara. Just be back before night prayers and remember your Lent promises.”

Relief and gratitude filled Ibara’s expression. “Thank you, Mother, I will.”

As she turned to leave, another voice called out—Sister Naomi, one of the younger nuns, peeking into the room with a teasing smile. “Bring back a slice of that cake you keep mentioning if you want us to bless your next exam.”

The other sisters nearby giggled softly, and Ibara flushed just slightly, offering a small, amused bow. “I shall do my best.”

And with that, she stepped out of the office and hurried out into her garden, collecting a small bouquet of wildflowers and some vegetables to provide to Izuku’s mother. It was the polite thing to do after all.

A small stop by her room to smooth her hair out, change into a wrinkle free dress and put some ribbons into her hair, the one vanity that she allowed herself over this period. Ibara considered herself in the mirror before she left for Izuku’s. Would Izuku’s mother approve?

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BING – BONG!

The chime of the bell cut through the air of the apartment and to Izuku it almost sounded like a portent of doom. He still darted over to the front door before his mother could open it and was greeted with the sight of Ibara, dressed in a flowing summer dress, red ribbons tied in her vine hair and a small, shy smile directed at Izuku. The dusty light in the corridor outside gave her an almost ethereal glow as she dipped a small curtsey at Izuku and Inko.

Izuku broke out of his daze. “Ibara – come in! Mum made food if you’re hungry – can I get you anything to drink?” He babbled as Ibara stepped over the threshold, shedding her sandals and taking indoor slippers. His nerves were getting the better of him but there was this odd yearning deep in his belly for Ibara to make a positive impression on his mother.

While his mind was roiling, they had already moved into the living room and Ibara had a glass of water in her hands and was gracefully sitting on family sofa, chatting with his mother. Izuku froze for a moment – his hyperactive thoughts stilling for a moment as he preserved the image in his brain.

“Are you going to share your good news Izuku?” Ibara asked primly, but with a smile.

Izuku stammered and tried to stall for as long as possible but in the end he caved – and retrieved the metallic disk that had been sitting on his desk since this morning.

A hologram of All Might flickered into life on top of the coffee table. Izuku heard Inko hold back a gasp.

“Booya! I am here as a projection now!” Even diminished in size, All Might’s voice still carried weight, rolling around the living room as three pairs of eyes all focussed on the show before them.

The glowing figure continued, “I know it's been a while, but with great power, comes a great amount of paperwork! My apologies, young man. The truth is, I didn't come to this city just to fight villains. You're looking at the newest UA faculty member!”

Ibara’s heart aches as she watches Izuku from the corner of her eyes. His hands are gripping his knees so hard, and tears are starting to well up. She knows the signs already and wraps one hand around one his and goes for the other but instead her eyes meet Inko’s, who is already holding Izuku’s other hand. A teary smile meets her wide-eyed gaze.

“Huh? Yes, what's the matter?” The hologram continues, oblivious to the drama occurring. “Who's showboating? - Oh, sorry. I'll wrap it up, but I have to show him something first. Wait. I have to do how many of these things?!”

A sigh and the recording of All Might clears his throat “Right! So, moving on” – Ibara can feel the trembles wracking Izuku’s frame.

“Even though you passed the written test, you got zero combat points in the practical exam. Sorry”

A sob breaks through. “Izuku look at me” Ibara find herself saying, vines guiding his face to look at her. “I believe in you. Your mother believes in you. Do you not believe in yourself?”

A teary shake of the head makes her heart pang, the recording still playing, and they watch as a brown-haired girl talks to someone off camera.

“You know that boy with the really messy hair and all the freckles? It's hard to describe his face. He's kinda plain looking. Uh, doesn't really stand out anything, you know?” Ibara feels a fission of anger – Plain looking?! Before her attention is snapped back to the recording.

The girl continued, fingers tapping together, “I was wondering. Would it be possible to give him some of the points I earned in the exam? I heard him say something about wanting to get just one point in, which just seems crazy. How could someone who took down that huge villain all by himself and save my life not have any points in the end?”

Izuku is almost hyper ventilating as Ibara give his hand a firm squeeze. “Trust and faith Izuku, as I have in you.”

All Might cuts back in, bombastic and larger than life. “You have a Quirk now, yes. But it's your actions that inspire others. And that's why I am here. You see, the practical exam was not graded on combat alone.”

Hope hangs in the air – a precious tiny thing as the recording plods onward.

“How could a hero course reject someone who is committed to saving others, no matter the consequences to himself? After all, that is what makes a hero.
And that's what my alma mater is all about. Training those who would risk their lives for the greater good. So, we have Rescue Points. A panel of judges watches, and they award points for heroic acts beyond just fighting villains!”

Ibara looked at Izuku who’s mouth is starting to resemble a fish – “Faith and trust Izuku.”

“Izuku Midoriya, 60 Rescue Points! And Ochaco Uraraka, 45 Rescue Points! You both passed the exam. WELCOME TO YOUR HERO ACADEMIA!”

Both Izuku and Inko burst into tears – Ibara’s vines have never been so watered before!

The crying quickly stops as Izuku turns fully to face Ibara.

“What about you?”

“I will be joining you in the hero course as well” Izuku cheers and to Ibara’s surprise and secret delight, effortlessly picks her up by her waist and spins her round in sheer effervescent joy.

A sniffle from Inko draws them from their celebrations “Oh my baby boy!” She cheers, sweeps him into a hug. “You’ll stay for dinner?” Inko asks, muffled by Izuku.

Ibara smiles, “It would be an honour Mrs. Midoriya.”

The atmosphere of the small apartment was filled with a quiet joy as the small gathering fully settled in the living room, where soft sunlight filtered through lace curtains. Over a steaming pot of tea, dinner and an assortment of freshly baked treats; each made with Inko’s love and care, the celebration began in earnest of the two’s acceptance into their university of choice.

As the food was consumed Inko observed how her son and Shiozaki interacted, over the recent months she’d noticed he’d become more confident, more outspoken and Inko was now sure where the change has been driven from. Izuku was oblivious but Inko was sure that Shiozaki had set her sights on Izuku. Internally she approved and wondered how long before Shiozaki became frustrated with Izuku’s naïve nature. She gave it three months tops.

Inko watched them both with a mixture of amusement and tenderness, silently affirming that what she witnessed was the blossoming of a truly special bond; a bond built on trust, mutual respect, and the gentle yet determined pursuit of dreams.

After a while, Inko brought out a special treat; a slice of cake decorated with a shining emblem of UA. “I made this for you both,” she said softly. “A little token of celebration for this wonderful occasion.”

The pair dug in and Ibara shyly met Inko’s eyes. “Is there any more of this? The sisters would greatly appreciate some of your delicious baking.” Inko smiled and as Ibara was eating placed a small, wrapped package on the table next to her.

“I always make a little extra” she said with small smile and a wink.

As the evening ended and the celebration wound down, Izuku walked Ibara to the door. The cool night air greeted them outside the apartment block, and the stars had begun to twinkle in the clear sky. He paused, filled with a sense of gratitude and awe, the night resonating with the promise of new beginnings.

“Thank you, Ibara,” he said earnestly. “For coming today, for sharing this celebration with me and my family. It means more than I can say.”

Ibara’s eyes shone as she looked at him, her smile warm and sincere. “Izuku, today has been a beautiful reminder of the strength that lies within us. We have accepted the challenges ahead, and we have the love and support of those around us to guide us.”

In that quiet moment, their eyes met, and no words were needed. The unspoken promise of walking together through the challenges of UA, nurturing their shared dreams and hopes, was as clear as the starry sky above.

With a final, gentle squeeze of his hand, Ibara bid him goodnight, leaving Izuku to stand on the doorstep, his heart both light and full of anticipation for the journey ahead.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5:  Separate Blossoms

Ibara was a patient person. Patience was a virtue, but as the clock above the train station ticked away, she found herself starting to worry as it was very unlike Izuku to be running late.

Her internal thoughts were soothed a moment later when she saw Izuku barrel around a corner, bag bouncing from one shoulder as he thundered into the station entrance, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth.

A small giggle burst from her quietly as they both boarded the train, the automated doors sliding shut behind them as they found seats. Hurriedly, Izuku scarfed down his toast and Ibara winced as crumbs liberally flew all over his fresh uniform and his infuriating mess of a tie. Ibara itched to reach out and correct it but quashed the impulse.

They rode the train in quiet companionship, Izuku muttering into his notebook, the light scratches of his pencil being a soothing, familiar cadence to Ibara’s ears. She took the time on the journey to murmur a few quiet prayers under her breath, asking for guidance and strength for both her and Izuku in this new part of their lives.

They stepped off the train together, and after a short, quiet walk both gazed upon the gates to UA. They loomed larger than life and even Ibara with her steadfastness felt a tingle of nerves at the bottom of her belly.

She ignored it for the moment and instead, drew in a breath. “Shall we find a map for class B?”

“Don’t you mean class A?” Izuku queried, looking puzzled.

Ibara felt her heart sink. They hadn’t discussed what class they’d been assigned to. Softly she met Izuku’s gaze and said “I’ve been assigned to Class B”

“Oh”

The simple word from Izuku made her feel like a heel. She could see that the news they’d be separated was affecting him as well. She put on a brave face “Lunchtime? And we’ll take the same train home”

Izuku nodded, his curls bouncing lightly as he gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Of course! I’ll find us a table and we can compare classes! It’ll be fun!” The warble in his voice did not convince either of them.

Instead of words, she reached out to the now frustratingly taller boy and tugged on the edge of his blazer and as he leaned down, the impulse from the train came back and she sorted his tie and brushed crumbs from his shirt. Red faced, Izuku goggled at the quiet look of concentration on Ibara’s face as she sorted his tie.

“There.” She said into the quiet that had enveloped the two. “Now you look presentable.”

There was another moment of silence before (was that reluctance on her face?) Ibara let go of his blazer. “We will be fine. We cannot be in each other’s pockets all the time.” She said primly. Green met green as they looked at each other. “Show your class the spirit I know you have, you’ll be fine.”

That got a small smile from Izuku. Ibara could see he was trying not to gush all the words he had bubbling in his brain, so he simply nodded and to her great surprise gave her a swift hug, a whispered “Good luck!” that made her hair writhe in pleasure before he darted deeper into the school.

Ibara regained her equilibrium before joining the flow of other students passing under the gate and began to find her way to Class 1B.

For her lunch couldn’t come fast enough.

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Class 1B was… rowdy, Ibara had decided. She liked Vlad King, their new sensei and homeroom teacher well enough. Her first impression was that he was firm but fair but some of her classmates left a sour taste in her mouth.

Take Monoma for example. She could sense the envy and pride wafting from him like a heat wave in the desert and it made her instinctually wary of him.

Another classmate that worried her was Tokage – under the jokester guise that she presented, Ibara sensed that she was quite insecure. There were days when she rued the secondary aspect of her quirk as sometimes it felt… invasive.

Still, it was (very) early days and she had faith that the class would bond over time.

The orientation had been interesting but the fact that class 1A had been missing had set her on edge. It was lunchtime now and through the throng of the other students that had descended on the canteen Ibara was searching for Izuku – she spotted his familiar green head of hair and headed over in his direction.

She slowed as she neared him. There were other people at the table. A tall, dark haired boy with classes, waving his arms enthusiastically, a familiar looking brown-haired girl and another girl with dark green hair, very large, almost protruding eyes.

They were all engaged in conversation and as Ibara made her way over her eyes spotted bandages around Izuku’s fingers.

“You’ve hurt yourself, again” In retrospect not the greatest of ways to introduce oneself, but all Ibara was focussed on was the bandages wrapped around his fingers.

“Midoriya who is this ribbit?”

“Oh! Sorry Ibara – I got caught up with my new classmates. Everyone this is Shiozaki Ibara, we’re good friends and we’ve known each other since before UA”. Ibara noted that Izuku had a small stutter in his voice as she finished assessing the bandages, then straightened his tie again and wiped crumbs from his sleeve.

Ibara’s correction of Izuku’s tie and her scolding about the bandages had stilled the conversation at the table. The girl with large eyes blinked slowly, while the brown-haired one tilted her head, curious. The tall boy with glasses adjusted his frames in a practiced motion, clearly taking mental notes.

Izuku chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I swear.”

“You always say that” she murmured, soft but chiding. She glanced at his tray and gave a quiet sigh. “And you’ve chosen fried things again.”

“I… needed the calories,” Izuku offered defensively.

She felt her vines twitch with restrained judgment. “As you’ve said before.” She finally looked toward the rest of the group. “Pardon my interruption.”

“No problem!” the brown-haired girl chirped, rising to her feet with an energetic smile. “I’m Ochaco Uraraka! Midoriya’s been really sweet.”

“Iida Tenya,” the boy with glasses added quickly. “And I am honoured to meet anyone who supported Midoriya before U.A. We’re finding him quite an admirable classmate.”

“Tsuyu Asui,” the frog-eyed girl said plainly. “You two seem close, ribbit.”

Ibara folded her hands together in a polite bow. “A pleasure to meet you all. Shiozaki Ibara. Midoriya and I are… long-standing friends.”

She didn’t mean it as anything more than the truth, but something in the way the new classmates glanced between them made her spine stiffen ever so slightly. The implication in their eyes was subtle, but it pressed against her composure: They’re wondering what I am to him.

Izuku tried to bridge the tension with a nervous laugh. “Ibara helped me a lot before U.A. We trained together… talked a lot. I owe her a lot.”

“And you’ve already repaid it in kind,” Ibara said softly. Her eyes flicked once more to the bandages. “Just not by resting enough.”

She didn’t stay long after that. Class 1-B had its own schedule to resume, and she excused herself with a graceful nod, though her steps away from the table lacked her usual serenity. She wasn’t angry, far from it. But something about seeing Izuku so instantly surrounded by others, his hands injured again, had stirred something uncomfortable in her chest.

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Back in Class 1-B, she sat by the window and half-listened to Vlad King as he introduced more of their hero curriculum. Her mind, however, was with Izuku, wondering if he’d be okay, if the bubbly girl with brown hair made him smile as easily as she used to. Her faith reminded her not to cling, not to envy and that jealousy was a sin. Still, a flicker of something like loneliness kept tugging at her and her eyes kept wandering towards the clock, ticking down until she could see his crooked smile again.

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Izuku, meanwhile, spent the rest of his afternoon in a mild haze. He liked Uraraka, Iida, and Asui well enough. They were kind, smart, and enthusiastic in their own ways. But after Ibara had left, a kind of imbalance had settled in. He noticed her absence acutely.

He couldn’t explain it. His new classmates were great, but none of them knew him yet. Not like Ibara did. And the distance, even though she was in the same building, felt wider than he’d expected.

It made him feel as if he had an itch, or an ache deep down that he couldn’t quite satisfy.

When the final bell rang and students dispersed into after school activities and home time, Izuku stood off to the side, clutching his bag, scanning the tide of uniforms for a familiar head of vine-like hair. Relief washed through him when he saw her at the edge of the crowd, waiting with quiet grace by the front gate.

He jogged over, his bag bouncing again, tie askew once more.

“You’re late,” she said, voice even.

“Only a little,” he replied with his crooked grin.

She hummed in acknowledgment, then without a word reached up and straightened his tie again.

They walked to the train together in silence, slipping into their usual seats without discussion. Izuku pulled out his notebook. Ibara folded her hands and stared out the window.

For a time, neither said anything.

Then, finally, Izuku spoke. “Did you… did you have a good first day?”

“I did,” she replied. “Our class is… lively.”

“Same,” he said. “Everyone’s nice. But it felt weird not having you around.”

She turned to look at him.

“I’m serious,” he said. “You’ve always been the one I talk things out with. Not just training, but everything. You help me think.”

Her expression softened, and one of her vines lazily curled around her wrist like it was listening.

“I’m glad we’ll still have time,” she said. “Even if it’s outside of class.”

“Yeah,” he said, with that little smile that tilted to the right. “It’s not the same, but… it’ll be okay.”

Later that evening, after a quiet dinner at the Midoriya apartment where Inko fussed over both of them and made far too much rice, they made their way to the church garden as Izuku escorted Ibara home.

It was a place of stillness that had always brought them peace, and Izuku had offered, perhaps too eagerly to help her water the beds after such a long day.

The garden was shaded in evening gold. Pale flowers bloomed beneath leafy hedges. The small stone pathway wound between the boxes where herbs and flowers grew in measured rows amongst the perfume of the blooming roses. Izuku carried the watering can as Ibara gently knelt, checking the soil and pruning any wandering leaves.

They didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to.

The quiet hum of cicadas filled the background as Izuku moved beside her. She held up a pot and tilted it slightly so he could pour. Their rhythm, even now, remained in sync.

“I think…” Izuku began, voice soft, “that today felt big. Bigger than I expected.”

Ibara looked at him, brushing a thumb over a stem. “Because of U.A.?”

He hesitated. “Because of everything. New classmates. New expectations. And not having you nearby. It’s a lot.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “I understand.”

He poured water gently into another pot, careful not to spill.

“I’m going to work hard,” he said. “I want to be someone you’re proud to know.”

She reached over, resting a hand on his wrist, stopping the can. He blinked and looked at her.

“I already am,” she said simply.

His heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.

In the hush of the garden, where only the rustling of leaves and distant bells filled the air, their bond lingered, a quiet thread running steady between them. Not love, not yet - but something close. Something tender.

They resumed watering side by side, and as twilight settled over the garden, Izuku thought for all the changes of the day, this felt like something unchanging. Something theirs.

And he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Chapter Text

Hurt blossoms

Ibara found herself unable to focus during English class. Mic Sensei always tried to make class fun and engaging, especially for such a complex language but today Ibara’s focus was fractured.

There was something in the air. A tension, a warning maybe? Ibara wasn’t sure but her empathic senses had been on low-level alert since the early morning, and it had been driving her normally limitless patience up the wall.

She’d even found herself almost snapping at Izuku during the morning train ride, but had reigned herself in.

Even with her focus drifting she still found her head twitching toward the front of the class as Mic sensei’s phone rang. There were some muffled giggles from a few of her classmates, but Ibara sensed Mic’s confusion and concern as he answered the phone and then stepped out of the classroom.

Whispers broke out around her, but Ibara could feel the mounting worry, anticipation and low-level dread that had broken out from Mic as he was on the phone. The conversation was quick and even as Mic sensei poked his head back into the classroom, before he began talking, Ibara could sense the tension and worry hovering over him like a cloud.

“YO! Little listeners! Something’s just come up – I’ve been asked to help with it! Self-study until I get back. Kendo you’re in charge whilst I’m gone!” Ibara felt the class shift in surprise as they watched Mic sensei start sprinting down the corridor, joined by another member of the faculty (was that Snipe?).

Murmurs immediately started up and Ibara felt the worrying feeling in her gut intensify.

Something was very, very wrong.

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Kendo was a good class president, and she rallied the class into working on the exercises that Mic Sensei had left on the board before his abrupt departure.

It didn’t help the mounting feeling of dread that Ibara had.

“What do you think is going on?” She heard Rin ask, from two seats over.

“I don’t know” came the reply from Bondo.

The words “Something bad” sprung from her mouth before she could stop them, and the rest of the class quieted as she felt their focus turn on her. “I can feel it. Mic sensei was worried when he was on the phone.”

“What do you mean worry?” Monoma interjected, his eyes narrowing.

“I must confess that my quirk is two parts, my vines can also sense emotions. Only the strong ones though.” The rest of the class began murmuring amongst themselves as both nuggets of information were digested.

A thought came to her unbidden and with that horrible feeling gnawing at her she asked aloud “Where was class 1A today?”

A scoff from Monoma “They get favourable treatment by being the first class to use the USJ.”

Ibara found herself up and moving towards the classroom door before she even registered it. It was all adding up. The teachers worry, the sudden rush – something had happened at USJ. Something had happened to class 1A.

Something had happened to Izuku.

As her hand began to descend to the door handle, voices raising in worry behind her, she felt it.

She’d left a small chunk of vine with Izuku that morning, he’d been babbling about her empathic senses at range recently, so to humour him, she’d left him a small piece with him. It would stay ‘alive’ for a few hours before drying out and Izuku had wanted to see if it could ‘send’ messages.

What it sent was PAIN.

Pain ripped through Ibara as she was about to open the classroom door. Sheer, crippling pain, as one of her arms felt like it was on fire and a terrifying numbness in her legs.

She felt herself fall to her knees in as her classmates looked on in horror and then there was nothing except the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness.

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Ibara came to with the concerned faces of several of her classmates hovering over her, the cool tile of the classroom floor under her back.

A cacophony of voices flew around her, her senses still disorientated from before.

“What happened?”

“You collapsed and passed out” Kendo answered, concern etched across her face as she helped Ibara to her feet.

The memory of pain flashed across her mind like a searing brand and everything else ceased to matter for her. Izuku was in trouble, and she rushed for the door, only to find it blocked by Kendo and her quirk enlarged hands. Vines lashed out in single-minded fury and purpose as she pushed past into the corridor outside.

IZUKU!

She heard Kendo call something out after her, but the pounding of Ibara’s heart drowned out everything except the thundering of her own feet. Her vines trailed behind her, twitching and curling with her urgency. She didn’t care about detentions, reprimands, or the rules, none of it mattered. Not when the ache she’d felt through that fragment of vine still pulsed like a fresh, open wound in her mind.

She tore through the corridors, ignoring startled glances from other students. The faculty room. If any teachers were here, they’d know something.

But when she rounded the corner, it was empty.

No, there were footsteps. The clipped, purposeful stride of someone used to being obeyed.

Ectoplasm appeared from a side hallway, mid-conversation on his earpiece. “—confirmed. Ambulances en route…” He stopped short when he saw her, his eyes narrowing. “Shiozaki, what are you doing out of class!”

“What happened to 1-A?” she demanded. Her vines lashed involuntarily, an outward reflection of the tight coil in her chest, the echoing crack reverberating down the corridor.

His mouth opened, then closed again, gaze flicking down the hall as though the walls themselves might overhear. “Return to your classroom. That’s an order.” His face was impassive, betraying nothing, but she could sense the fear, anger and worry wafting from him with a faint electric tang.

“I can feel him,” she blurted before she could think better of it. “Midoriya. He’s hurt, badly. Please!”

Something in her voice must have pierced the teacher’s armour, because his expression softened for the barest second before hardening again. “The situation is under control.”

Control? The pain she’d felt through her quirk had been anything but.

She didn’t remember choosing to move, but her feet were already carrying her toward the front entrance. If she could get to the gates, maybe she could do something, anything to numb the throbbing in her heart.

“Shiozaki!”

She ignored the call, pushing open the main doors, only to stop dead at the sight of the growing cluster of vehicles at the campus edge. Silhouettes of staff members were visible in the distance. Sirens wailed, still a way off but closing fast.

And then she saw him. Not clearly, too far away, but the green mess of hair was unmistakable even from here.

He was on a stretcher.

Her breath caught, all thoughts scattering. The rest of the world narrowed until there was only him, the medical team surrounding him, and the silent prayer already forming in her mind.

She took a step forward.

A firm hand landed on her shoulder. She turned to find Vlad King standing there, his expression a wall, but she could see the tension in his frame.

“Shiozaki. You’ll see him later. Right now, they need to work.” His gruff tone hid the worry that slid off him in invisible waves.

Her vines curled tightly around her arms, restrained only by her sheer will. She bowed her head, forcing words past the knot in her throat. “Then please, tell him I’m here.”

Vlad gave a single, grave nod as he strode down to the emergency below.

She stayed there at the entrance until the stretcher left. Until the sound of sirens faded. Until the last of her classmates found her standing in the afternoon light, vines trembling, whispering prayers for the boy she refused to lose.

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The next thing she remembered was moving. She didn’t recall deciding to walk, or hearing the teachers’ giving instructions, only that her feet carried her towards the medical wing. One of the other faculty members tried to stop her (was that power loader?) but all her thoughts were fixed on a single point: the medical wing.

By the time she arrived, the school was wrapped in that strange quiet that comes after chaos, the low hum of human traffic, the soft chatter and gossip of people who didn’t quite know whether to speak loudly or whisper. More than a few whispers were aimed at her.

She spotted Recovery Girl’s distinctive form not far down the corridor and, without thinking, approached.

"Is he…?" she started, but her voice cracked.

Recovery Girl eyed her for a moment, as if weighing what to say. "Midoriya’s stable. He’s banged up, exhausted, but no permanent harm. You can see him for a few minutes but keep it short, he needs rest."

Relief nearly buckled Ibara’s knees beneath her. She bowed deeply, murmured her thanks, and followed the nurse to a small, curtained room.

There he was. Izuku lay on a bed, pale, battered, and his eyes closed. He looked oddly peaceful. His right arm was wrapped in thick bandages, the skin around his knuckles mottled with bruises. A heart monitor beeped at a steady rhythm, each sound loosening a fraction of the tension in her chest.

She stood by the bed and unbidden a vine wove its way over and around the bed to wrap around Izuku’s hand. She felt his hand squeeze the vine as one eye cracked open.

"Ibara…?" His voice was faint, still hoarse from exhaustion, but his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

"You frightened me," she whispered, her voice cracking as she stepped closer. The vines at her shoulders relaxed slightly, at the sound of his voice. "I heard there was a villain attack. And you!" Her voice broke again. "…I couldn’t do anything."

"You… wouldn’t have wanted to be there," he murmured, trying to smile. "But I’m glad you weren’t hurt."

The sheer gall of him, injured and still worrying about her, made her throat tighten, her pulse quicken, and heat pool in her belly. She reached out, hesitating only a heartbeat before taking his uninjured hand in both of hers, the vine slipping out from Izuku’s hand and then knotting around their joined hands, unconsciously.

"You should focus on healing," she said softly. "The Lord may protect you, but that does not mean you should throw yourself into danger so recklessly."

His cheeks pinked faintly. "I wasn’t trying to…" He trailed off, eyes shifting away in guilt. "I just couldn’t stand back."

"I know," she said. And she did. More than anyone, she understood the way he couldn’t ignore someone in need, no matter the risk to himself. But knowing didn’t make the fear or frustration in her chest any lighter.

They spoke only a little longer, about how his classmates were doing, about how Recovery Girl had fussed over him before Recovery Girl came over and gave Ibara her marching orders.

Before leaving, she bent over and, without giving herself time to reconsider, pressed a light kiss to his temple. "Rest well, Izuku," she murmured, her voice barely above a breath. "I will pray for your swift recovery.”

As she stepped out into the corridor, she was met with Inko. Before she had a chance to even speak, Inko had swept her into a hug and Ibara felt the well of tears she’d been holding back break.

Inko hushed her as she cried, saying nothing and gently rubbing her back. Eventually the well ran dry and she mumbled into Inko’s warm embrace. “I was so scared. But he’s ok. Hurt but ok.”

Inko’s smile was a small, frail thing. “Thank you for being with him until I got here, Shiozaki-chan. I appreciate it.”

Ibara gave a small bow, her cheeks colouring at the praise from Izuku’s mother. As she left, she heard the door to Izuku’s room open and close and she felt better, knowing that Izuku was now under the care of both Recovery Girl and his mother.

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The walk to the train station was long, but she barely noticed the evening chill. One of the elder sisters from her church was waiting at the platform, hands tucked into her sleeves.

"We were worried when you didn’t return from school," the nun said quietly.

"There was an incident at school and a friend of mine was injured - I needed to see that he was all right," she replied, equally soft.

The sister only nodded, falling into step beside her. The train ride home was silent but not heavy; it gave time for Ibara to put her thoughts in order.

By the time they returned to the church, the last traces of sunset had given way to deep night. Lanterns lit the cloisters, casting warm pools of light along the path. Ibara’s feet carried her, almost without thought, to the garden as her cloister sister went inside to report to the abbess.

It was quiet here, save for the rustle of leaves. In the far corner, beside a small bench, stood a young camellia bush, one that she and Izuku had planted together months ago. He had insisted on helping, even as his hands blistered after the first hour. She’d teased him for being a city boy unused to garden work; he’d only grinned sheepishly and kept digging.

She knelt in front of the bush, brushing her fingers gently along its glossy leaves. It had grown well, sturdy, green and alive with vitality.

"Father in Heaven," she whispered, bowing her head, "thank You for keeping him safe. Please grant him the strength to heal, and the wisdom to guard his life, for it is precious to many… and to me."

Her vines curled protectively around the base of the plant as she prayed, her words slipping into the soft cadence of the rosary. Above her, the stars shone steady and bright, and though worry still lingered in her chest, there was a deeper thread beneath it now of gratitude.

She stayed there for a long while, letting the garden’s peace settle over her. Somewhere in the night, the camellia’s leaves caught the light and glimmered, as if sharing in her prayer.

Only when the church bell struck midnight did she finally rise, brushing dirt from her skirt, her resolve renewed. She would do her best to support both her and Izuku’s dream no matter what trials or tribulations may lie ahead.

Even if her treacherous heart longed to be more than a friend.  

Chapter Text

Sport blossoms.

Ibara pressed herself closer, feeling the steady warmth of his chest against hers, the quickened beat of his heart syncing with her own. His hands moved up to cup her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, tracing the edge of her lips. Their eyes meet, dark with emotion and yearning, and she let her lips find his again.

Ibara woke with a start, her cheeks flushed and heat still lingering around her mouth and belly in the dawn light.

Her lips still tingled as if the kiss had really happened. She pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling vaguely horrified at herself.

She inhaled, exhaled and then, gently screamed into her pillow.

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It had been nearly six months since she’d last stepped into the confession booth. But after the… dream of the morning, she found herself clutching her rosary tight, knuckles pale, compelled back into the wooden box.

The words stumbled out of her as she sat in the booth, halting, faltering as a small quiet part of her wondered why she was supposed to feel bad about this?

“Forgive me, Father, for I have… I have thought of things I should not. Of someone dear to me. A friend.”

A chuckle answered her from the other side. “Sister Shiozaki, there is no sin in love – whatever gave you that idea?”

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She left the confession booth feeling even more conflicted. Usually it soothed her, but not today.

Her thoughts still whirled as she ate breakfast and tumbled around even as she met Izuku at the train. It was unsettling.

The day at school passed by mostly in a blur, until Vlad Sensei made the announcement about the sports festival. Ibara found herself surprised at the proclamation as the words detonated in the air. Cheers erupted from across the student body; Tetsutetsu’s booming laugh, Monoma’s smug grin and Kinoko’s tinkling laughter.

Ibara folded her hands loosely in front of her, feeling the energy swirl around her like a physical thing. For most of her classmates, this was an opportunity; an open stage to show the world who they were. For her… it was complicated. The thought of performing, of fighting under the watchful eyes of thousands, tens of thousands was daunting.

The walk back to the convent was lighter than the morning, but as soon as Ibara entered the convent’s doors, she was summoned by the abbess and as she walked up to the office, the weight of her rosary beads in her pocket a reassuring presence.

The office was dusty and still as a tomb when Ibara entered. The abbess was sat at the desk, reading a piece of paper. The silence stretched on for a moment until the abbess broke the silence.

“Do you know what this is?”

“Yes, Mother abbess.”

The eyes behind the spectacles squinted at her. “You do not understand. Not fully. You merely think this is a permission slip for your participation. What I see is a chance for the church.”

Ibara did not respond, her vines curling tightly around her forearms, under her habit. “After the strife of the quirk wars, religion in general has fallen to the wayside. Even before the wars we were a minority in Japan.” The abbess continued, even as she signed the permission slip. A finger jabbed into the paper, and it crinkled under the force.

“This is opportunity clothed as duty. UA’s sports festival is broadcast to the world. A good showing will not only honour you, but it will also honour the Church. Do not mistake this stage for your own; it belongs to us and to the church.” The abbess voice was still warm and nurturing, but Ibara could hear the steel underneath the velvet.

“Yes, Mother abbess, I will do my best”. It sounded robotic, even to her ears. The abbess’s words pressed down heavier than her rosary beads, and Ibara realized she wasn’t sure if she was trembling from reverence or dread.

“When you stand upon that stage, remember that you carry the cross with you. Do not stumble.” The abbesses final statement rang in her ears and made the hair on the back of her neck prickle, even as she left the office.

Her steps down the corridor were automatic, her hands folded neatly in front of her as if posture alone could hold her together. Her vines coiled tight around her arms, pressing against her skin in a silent, instinctive embrace.

Her chest still rang with the abbess’s words, each syllable a nail pressed deeper into her resolve, until only the garden’s silence could soothe her.

The courtyard smelled faintly of rain and new leaves. She spotted Izuku immediately, sitting on the low stone wall, legs bouncing nervously, hands worrying at the hem of his uniform jacket. His face lit up in joy; almost reverence, the second he saw her.

“Ibara! I came by to check on you – you didn’t seem like your normal self today” He stopped mid-sentence, the smile faltering as his eyes searched her face. “Hey… are you okay?”

She forced a small smile. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. Her voice didn’t shake, but the weight of expectation lay heavy upon her shoulders. She felt her vines betray her as they sought Izuku’s hands of their own volition and for one fleeting, dangerous second as the warmth from his calloused, scarred hands travelled up her vines, she almost believed that this would be enough.

Believed that he had been sent to her.

He said nothing, simply smiled and helped her weed and water in the tranquil silence of the gardens. She also didn’t comment when she found a training plan left on the garden bench by him when he left.

A smile stole unbidden across her face. How very… Izuku of him.

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The roar of the crowd smashed into her with almost physical force as she crossed the line into fourth place. The front three runners, Izuku, Todoroki and Bakugo had dominated the event from the start, but Ibara had finished high enough to draw eyes, but not high enough to paint a target as bright as first place.

She caught her breath, bent over as she greedily sucked in air, a touch of cold on her hand shocking her upright. She met Izuku’s bright eyes, a wide, wide smile etched across his face, a water bottle being pressed into her hand.

“You were FANTASTIC!” Ibara felt herself flabbergasted as Izuku gushed over how effective her control of her vines had been. She drunk mechanically from the bottle, hydrating herself and her quirk as the sheer effervescence of Izuku’s praise radiated from him and along with the water her vines greedily drunk up the feelings of pride, praise and adoration from him.

She let him gush as the event finished around them. She kept one ear on the announcements and heard Midnight sensei calling out the last finalists.

The second event was announced, and the crowd reacted with a collective murmur: a cavalry battle. The top forty finishers would form teams of two to four, each protecting a headband worth points equal to their first event placing; then came the stinger and she felt Izuku wilt as every hungry eye fell on him.

One million points.

The words landed like a curse. Around them, classmates drifted away; friends of convenience evaporating, until he stood almost alone.

Ibara felt the fury quietly simmer in her veins as fellow classmates deserted Izuku and she could feel his confidence dwindling, like the embers of a choked fire.

Her vine immediately snapped out and pulled him closer, and she felt his confidence reignite under her touch.  

“You look like you could use a teammate,” she said quietly, one hand on his shoulder.

He blinked, startled, then gave a quick, lopsided smile. “I, uh—yeah. I was just… trying to figure out who…” His gaze flickered to her vines, then back up to her face. “You’re perfect! Combine my speed with your precision -” He cut himself off. “Sorry I’m rambling!”

It wasn’t flattery; he said it like a gospel truth.

They didn’t need more than one other partner, deciding on a lean, mobile team. Her vines could handle both offense and defence, while Izuku’s agility and tactical thinking would keep them moving in unpredictable ways. They chose a quiet, sharp-eyed student from 1-B; her classmate Honenuki, to round out the trio.

As they strategized, the ground rules settled between them naturally. Ibara would guard their headband, her vines weaving a living shield. Izuku would direct movement, anticipating threats before they reached striking distance. Honenuki would disrupt enemy approaches with well-timed softening of the ground.

The signal blared. The field exploded into chaos.

Her vines lashed out like striking serpents, pulling them just clear of a lunging Sero from 1-A. Honenuki’s quirk swallowed the boots of another incoming rider. Through it all, she heard Izuku’s voice; low, urgent, certain and calm guiding them through the fray.

At Izuku’s shout, she lashed her vines low, snagging an enemy’s ankle at the exact instant Honenuki softened the ground. For a heartbeat, they moved as one body, one will.

He was sent to me.

The thought roared through her as adrenaline surged, a smile spreading as they moved in perfect sync, cyan energy sparking from Izuku beneath her and soaking into her vines. It was glorious. 

At one point, Bakugo’s explosive roar split the noise, and she caught sight of him tearing through another team, sweat and fury streaking his face. Her jaw tightened. She knew the type; loud, violent, convinced that domination was the only form of victory. And although she didn’t know every detail, she had seen enough in Izuku’s eyes when Bakugo’s name came up to understand that this was more than a simple rivalry.

She saw the pride in those devilish red eyes, knowing full well that pride always comes before the fall.

She still remembered the first time Izuku found her garden after all. She’d make him fall.

When the timer ran down, their team had kept their one-million-point headband, which was more than enough to qualify for the one-on-one matches. Izuku was flushed with adrenaline. Honenuki was quietly pleased. Ibara, though composed, felt something unfamiliar flicker under her ribs as she and Izuku celebrated the win.

As the stadium announcer’s voice boomed the names of the finalists, her gaze slid to where Bakugo was standing, head high, shoulders squared in that unyielding posture. A thought came, sharp and certain:

If I face you, I will not hold back. Not against you. Not against anyone. The cross I carry demands nothing less and I shall not stumble.

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Ibara strangely felt cheated by her first-round win. The boy from 1-A, the loud vulgar one with the electricity quirk, had never considered that her vines could ground themselves. His lightning fizzled harmlessly through her roots, leaving nothing but the sting of ozone in her nose. A single sweep of her vines, and he was lifted, twitching from his quirk, over the boundary line.

She made her way up to the stands to watch Izuku’s match.

Watching Izuku, however, was a quiet delight. His new technique wrapped him in an almost unearthly glow, light glancing off of every scar and every hard line. She found herself drinking in his victory as though it were her own. And when the pink-skinned girl fell, Izuku was already there, hand outstretched, helping her rise with a gentleness and chivalry that made Ibara’s chest tighten.

Izuku slid into the seat beside her, notebook already open, pen scratching with furious energy. She folded her hands instead of seeking his, whispering quiet prayers between the deafening roars of the crowd. Oddly, the noise became soothing; his scribbles, her whispers, the rise and fall of the stadium around them like a hymn and a heartbeat.

When the break came and the next matchups echoed across the stadium, Izuku leaned close, voice low. “Ibara… he always opens with a -” Her vines slid softly across his lips before the words could escape.

“I appreciate it, Izuku,” she murmured, vines still hushing his lips. “But this is a trial I must earn myself.” His face reddened under her touch, yet after a moment’s hesitation, understanding softened his eyes. He nodded.

Her vines withdrew with a lingering caress. “Good luck,” he whispered. Then, softer still: “Would it be inappropriate if I offered a prayer for you?” The small smile that followed was meant for her alone. Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could stop it.

She left as Midnight announced that her match would begin shortly, the whisper of Izuku’s devotion warming her thoughts and heart as she waited for the gate to open for her match.

When the gate opened, she delicately trod upon the arena floor, her vines tightening around her arms, the noise of the crowd rose around her like a living force. She could barely hear Present Mic announcing her and Bakugo over the noise but as the crowd simmered down, as the devils’ eyes meet hers.

He is vibrating with barely contained rage and a cruel slash of smirk inches over his face. “Tch. Guess an extra from 1B will be my warmup before the final.”

“Then you are as blind as you are cruel.”

Bakugo goes still. “What the hell is that supposed to mean extra?”

Ibara feels her lips curl. “You know exactly what I mean” She turns her back on him, ignoring his enraged shout as she took her starting point.

The crowd has gone silent.

Midnight’s whip drops.

Bakugo shoots forward in an eruption of fire and fury, his voice already shredding the air. Ibara moved to meet him, vines spilling out around her like living shields, weaving into a wall of green.

The first blast connects. Searing heat; the smell of scorched plant matter thick in her nose. She grits her teeth and forces the vines to regrow, regrow, regrow, every lash of fire met with another surge of green.

He laughed. “Pathetic! You think weeds can stop me?”

Ibara’s jaw tightened. “The weeds at least know humility, Bakugo. You have none.”

Bakugo snarls and uses an angled blast to leap sideways, dodging her strike to the right and backwards, but the crowd notices; she’s not giving him the openings he forced in the first round. She’s studying him, reading him. His pride will be the root from which his downfall blooms.

He’s more cautious now, the all-out assault slows as Bakugo circles, feinting left, and launches a heavy blast at her midsection from her right. She blocks, but the heat scorches her vines. He grins, cocky, his red eyes alight with ego.

Bakugo sneers as he circles her like a shark scenting blood in the water. "You really think Deku’s gonna cheer for you? You’re just another extra in my story." He spits the word ‘Deku’ as if he had eaten something disgusting.

Her eyes widened. That cursed nickname, spat like a slur. The same tone of dismissal Izuku had once confessed, voice trembling, in the garden.

Ibara felt her voice quiver "You… were the one."

"What?"

Ibara seethes at his callous dismissal, "The one who made him suffer."

She feels her vines tighten in a slow, deliberate flex, more like an animal’s claws than a plant.

Bakugo scoffs, "Tch. You mean that crybaby? He made himself suffer. He was weak. I just told him the truth."

"No… you tried to crush his hope. And I will not let you do that again."

Her vines snapped forward with a ferocity she’d never felt before. How dare he? How dare this boy profane Izuku’s name with his filthy mouth?

For a moment, Bakugo is stunned by the change of pace and forced onto the defensive, blasts weaving him around hungry, snapping vines, slowly by inches forcing him backwards to the arena edge.

“Heh! Not bad after all side piece! You’ve got some fight in you!”

She felt her hackles raise at his back handed praise. “And you are afraid of the quiet – you hide behind noise and your barking, to stop yourself from actually seeing what you are.”

The barb causes him to hesitate for half a second.

It’s all the opening she needs.

She lashes a thick coil of vine around his arm, quick and as hungry as serpents, yanking him off balance. The crowd gasps as she almost throws him out of bounds. He counters with a highly focussed explosion searing one of her vines off and she recoils in pain, giving him an opening.

Explosions rain down, shaking her bones, tearing her stance apart. One blast hurled her to the brink, and through the smoke she catches the devil’s smirk, sharp as fire, before the final detonation sent her flying, out of bounds.

There is a beat of silence and then the crowd roars in bloodlust.

As Midnight announces the match in Bakugo’s favour, she gets up, her pride stinging.

Up above in the stands, Ibara can feel Izuku’s eyes upon her. She looks up and sees him pale faced, hands almost breaking the railing with the force he’s exerting; but there’s a look in his eyes an almost starry-eyed awe that almost makes her feel uncomfortable as after all… she lost.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The noise of the arena was still ringing faintly in her ears when she pushed open the door to the quiet hallway behind the stadium. The scent of dust, sweat, and the faint caramel odour of Bakugo’s explosions clung stubbornly to her uniform. Her shoulder and vines ached from where he’d hit her, but she ignored it.

She’d lost the match.

And yet, she didn’t feel defeated. Not entirely.

The image of his smirk; mocking, and dismissive had lit something inside her. She’d fought him not just for herself, but for the boy who had told her, quietly and haltingly, what his childhood had been like. And every blast she’d endured, every step she’d pushed forward, had been for him.

She had been fighting for Izuku.

She was halfway to the showers when she heard his voice.

"Ibara!"

She turned, and there he was, green hair sticking up in tufts from the sweat, a flush high on his cheeks. He skidded to a stop just short of her, hands still slightly trembling from the way he always burned nervous energy.

"That—! That was amazing! You—you were incredible out there!"

His words tumbled out in one long breath. He was beaming, eyes bright, the kind of smile that made something in her chest ache in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

She blinked, momentarily forgetting the stinging pains that ailed her.

His earnestness stumps her for a moment. "But I lost." She protested softly.

“No, you didn’t. I mean, yes, the match, but not really.” He stepped closer, eyes locked on hers.

"You stood your ground. You didn’t let him walk all over you. You made him work for every second of that fight. I”, he swallowed, and for once, his words stalled.

"I could tell… you weren’t just fighting for yourself."

Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, the noise of the festival faded away, replaced by the sound of her own pulse. She wanted to look away, but something in the way he was looking at her so earnest, so unguarded, kept her rooted.

She could tell him now. She could tell him that yes, she’d fought for him, because of him, and maybe, just maybe; because she… cared for him in a way that went beyond friendship.

Instead, she smiled faintly and shook her head.

"Thank you for your words of praise Izuku."

He frowned slightly, but didn’t press. She knew he wouldn’t.

Still, as they walked together toward the exit, his arm brushed against hers, and she felt the urge, sudden, sharp and startling; to reach up, cup his face, and press her lips to his cheek. Just a brief touch, just enough to let him know without words.

But she didn’t.

Not here, not now. Not when her heart was pounding this hard, and the air between them felt so thin. She kept her hands clasped neatly in front of her instead, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them.

When they reached the point where their paths split, his toward the waiting area, hers toward the showers and recovery girl he turned to her.

"I’m proud of you, Ibara."

She held his gaze a moment longer than she felt was proper, letting herself memorize the warmth in his eyes.

"And I, of you."

Then she stepped away before she could do something she might regret. But as she walked, the thought stayed with her; soft, insistent, dangerous:

One day. She whispered it like a prayer and feared, deep down, that she already knew the answer.

----------------------------------------------------------------

It was almost dark by the time she returned to the church after celebrating her 4th place and Izuku's third place.

The chapel was empty but for the flicker of candles. Ibara stepped inside, her footsteps muffled by the worn red carpet. She’d come here for quiet, to pray, to think but the moment she crossed the threshold, she saw the abbess seated in the front pew, her silhouette still and severe in the candlelight.

"You fought well today." The words should have been a compliment. They didn’t feel like one.

Ibara bowed her head slightly. "I did what I could."

The abbess studied her, eyes sharp beneath the shadow of her veil.

"Your performance has brought attention; not only to you, but to the Church. Do you understand how rare this is? How valuable?"

Ibara shifted, uncomfortable. She had heard this tone before: the one the abbess used when speaking not of faith, but of strategy. The tone she had heard before the sports festival.

"I did not compete for glory. I fought because it was my duty as a hero-in-training."

The abbess rose, slow and deliberate, her rosary glinting in the low light from the altar candles.

"And yet the glory is there, whether you sought it or not. The public sees you as something rare: a young woman of devotion and virtue, untainted by the vanity and scandals that plague so many in the spotlight. If the Church nurtures this image…"

“If you would use me.” Ibara bowed her head, fingers tight around both her rosary and the training notes Izuku had written for her.

The abbess didn’t flinch as she continued. "If we present you as the embodiment of our values, it could change how this nation sees the faith. You could be the light in the darkness for thousands."

Ibara’s vines tightened in front of her.

"And what if my path as a hero takes me somewhere you do not approve of? What if I… care for someone in a way that doesn’t fit this image?"

The abbess’s gaze sharpened. "Are you speaking of the boy? Midoriya?"

Her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. "He is my friend. A good man. One I trust."

“And if friendship became more? What then? You think the world would see you as the same holy figure if you were to… give yourself to him? No. The moment you are seen as anything less than a ‘pure and devoted servant of God,’ the illusion is broken. And so is the influence you could wield."

For a long moment, Ibara said nothing. The weight of her vow, her upbringing, her sense of duty; all of it pressed down on her. She did want to serve. She did want to bring light to others. But she could not deny the truth in her own heart, the way Izuku’s smile made her feel.

Ibara took a breath, "I understand… the responsibility. But I also understand this: God did not create me to be an image. He created me to act, to serve, to love. I will not turn away from the path He sets before me, even if it is not the one you expect."

The abbess’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t speak again. She simply turned, walking down the aisle toward the doors, her voice drifting back.

"Be careful, child. The higher the pedestal, the longer the fall."

The heavy doors closed behind her, leaving Ibara alone with the flickering candles.

Chapter Text

Naming of the blossom

The few days of respite after the Sports Festival passed in a blur, and to Ibara it felt as though no time had slipped between that midnight warning and the next summons from the abbess.

She had been called to the smaller, private chapel, the one closed to the public, upon her return from school. The air was thick with incense and furniture polish, dust lingering in the beams of afternoon light. She sat alone in the pews, rosary in hand, murmuring prayers of protection. For herself. For Izuku. Always for Izuku first.

She had just finished when the chapel door groaned open. The abbess entered, leaning on her cane. She rarely used it. The sound of its thumping struck like a gavel, each echo carrying judgment. Ibara felt the vines at her neck prickle, warning her that this was a day when the abbess was in no mood for softness.

“Sister Shiozaki.” The greeting was clipped, formal, each syllable punctuated by the cane’s rhythm.

Ibara bowed her head.

“Ibara,” the abbess began again, her voice softening but carrying ritual weight. “Your progress at U.A. is commendable. You have brought no shame; only honour and recognition. For this, the church is grateful.”

Though they were words of praise, they pressed against Ibara’s chest like iron bands.

“The time has come for you to declare a name,” the abbess continued. “Your classmates will each choose, but you must not forget, you are not merely a girl. You are a servant of the Lord. Your name must reflect that.”

“Yes, Mother Abbess,” Ibara murmured, eyes lowered.

A deliberate silence followed, heavy as stone.

“Maria,” the abbess intoned. “The holy heroine. That is the name that has been prayed upon for you. It honours the Virgin and marks you as His instrument. When people call it, they will remember who you serve.”

For a heartbeat, Ibara almost bowed her head in gratitude. The word carried sanctity, the Virgin’s mantle, the church’s blessing.

But when she whispered it aloud, “Maria”- it tasted of ash. Her vines recoiled as if scorched.

The abbess smiled; serene, absolute. “It is not yours to question. It is your duty to carry it.”

Ibara forced a nod, though every fibre of her soul recoiled. And when she stepped into the sunlight outside, it struck her face but felt colder than the shadows she had left behind.

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The cafeteria buzzed with louder energy than usual. The announcement about internships had turned every table into a hive of excitement, bragging, and anxious chatter.

Ibara sat with her tray untouched, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Across from her, Izuku was scribbling furiously into his notebook, lips moving soundlessly as he rehearsed potential hero names. He glanced up at her, then back down again, then up once more, until finally he blurted out:

“I, uh, I was thinking… about hero names.”

Ibara raised her head. His eyes were wide and bright, cheeks faintly pink, as though he’d been caught in a confession. She tilted her head gently. “And you assumed I would wish to hear your musings?”

“Yes!” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I mean, if you don’t mind. It’s just - you deserve a name that really means something.”

He turned the notebook around. The pages brimmed with scrawled lists, flowers, herbs, saints, scripture. A whole garden of possibilities.

Her lips curved faintly. “You have been busy.”

“I… well, uh, yes.” He tapped one entry. “Like, here! Hyssop. It’s in scripture, right? About purification? That seems like it fits you, with your - your… heart.”

His voice trailed off, softer, and he ducked his head as though embarrassed at his own earnestness.

Ibara felt warmth prickle at her cheeks. “Hyssop…” she repeated, testing the word. It carried weight, yes. But also, the abbess’s shadow, hovering. Purity, obedience, cleansing. The same chains gilded anew.

Izuku, oblivious to her hesitation, flipped the page. “Or Rosalia! That one sounded… um… beautiful. It has this saintly history, but also just - it sounds like you. Graceful.”

Her vines stirred at that. She allowed herself the smallest smile. “You have a poet’s heart, Izuku.”

He turned bright red. “N-no, I just read a lot!”

Then, softly, he asked: “You’ve already picked a name, haven’t you?”

Her breath caught. Of course he noticed. He always noticed.

Her vines twitched against the floor, betraying the unease she kept hidden in her face. “I’ve been suggested one,” she said carefully. “But…” She let the word linger, unfinished, like a candle’s flame snuffed out.

“But it is not mine. It was given with the weight of expectation. It feels less like a name and more like a… leash.” The confession leapt from her like a gunshot; startling even to herself.  

Izuku’s pencil stilled. He looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her chest tighten. “Then don’t take it,” he said simply. “Hero names are supposed to be yours. Something you can carry into the world without regret.”

The simplicity of it shocked her. She had lived so long beneath obedience that the idea of choosing for herself felt revolutionary.

She gave a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “And yet here I sit, paralyzed.”

Izuku’s smile was small, private - just for her. “Then… maybe I can help. Not decide for you, just… offer ideas. Like… Olive Branch.”

Her head tilted. “Olive Branch?” It sounded too gentle, too fragile.

“It’s a symbol of peace,” he explained quickly, fidgeting. “You fight, but you also…” His hands faltered. “You bring people calm. Hope. Like the hope you gave me.” His voice dropped, prayer-like. His emerald eyes burned with conviction.

For a moment she heard both voices: the abbess’s hiss, leash yourself, child, and Izuku’s trembling faith, something you can carry into the world without regret.

Her vines slipped across the table to touch his hand, choosing which voice to believe.

His breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away, one hand curling into her vines in return and for the first time that day her shoulders eased, a burden lifted.

“Olive Branch,” she murmured again, tasting the words. A symbol of reconciliation, of a new beginning. Something hers, not imposed. A promise she could carry.

And Izuku, with his flushed cheeks and shaking hands, watching her with reverence as if she’d already chosen, already become the hero she longed to be.

Her lips curved upward. “Perhaps,” she said softly, “perhaps that would be enough.”

The bell ended lunch too soon. Students scattered, but his words lingered in her chest: Then don’t take it.

The abbess’s voice still hissed in her mind; You are Maria, the vessel of the church’s will. But Izuku’s faith had stripped away the chains she thought unbreakable.

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Now she stood in Class 1-B’s homeroom, lined up with her classmates as Midnight paced at the front.

“Alright, my darlings,” the R-Rated Hero purred, drawing out the syllables as she swept a crop across the blackboard. “This is it, the names you’ll wear when you step into the world as pros. Your brand, your banner, your identity.”

Her grin sharpened. “So, no pressure.”

A few nervous laughs rippled across the room.

Ibara’s palms pressed together, a prayer forming silently on her lips. God grant me the courage…

One by one, students presented. Monoma made a show of his own wit, earning groans from his peers. Kendo’s was straightforward. Tetsutetsu’s, blunt. Each name painted a picture, a mask they chose to wear into the world.

Then Midnight’s eyes slid to Ibara. “Next, Shiozaki, darling. What banner will you raise?”

She stepped forward, vines whispering against the floor. She felt her classmates’ eyes, the shadow of the abbess, Izuku’s quiet faith.

The card in her hand bore two words. She had written Maria first, trembling, obedient. Then she had crossed it out and written another.

Part of her feared someone would question the thick, heavy marks above her choice.

She raised the card. Her voice held steady.

“Olive Branch. The merciful heroine”

A hush fell. “Olive Branch?” Midnight repeated, brows rising. “Now that is refreshingly unpretentious. A heroine who fights for peace rather than glory. You’re full of surprises, darling.” A faint smile curved her lips. “I like it.”

Relief surged through her like sunlight after rain.

But then came the true test; the reactions of those who knew her.

Kendo’s smile was bright and supportive. “That suits you perfectly.”

Tetsutetsu scratched his head. “Kinda peaceful for a fighter, huh?”

Monoma sniffed. “Sentimentality doesn’t win battles.”

But none of it mattered. What mattered was the warmth in her chest, the knowledge that, for once, the choice was hers.

As she stepped back into line, her vines coiled unconsciously toward the edge of her desk, where Izuku sat scribbling furiously in his notebook in Class 1-A across the hall, visible through the window as the two sessions overlapped.

His eyes caught hers for a fleeting moment, and he mouthed a single word:

Perfect.

Her heart stuttered, but her smile held steady.

Olive Branch. Hers to claim, hers to carry.

The abbess’s voice still hissed at the edges of her mind, but she silenced it with a prayer, not for obedience, but for strength.

The Lord knows me by my true name.

And soon, the world would too.

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“Olive Branch is a lovely choice, my dear.”

Inko’s sweet words made Ibara preen as she sat at the Midoriyas’ dinner table. Scattered across it were internship offers for both her and Izuku, fragile papers carrying the weight of futures not yet decided.

Ibara demurred, hands folding primly in her lap. “Izuku helped me with the name. He had already done a great deal of research.”

The swell of pride, adoration, and love that radiated from Inko was almost overwhelming in its sweetness, but the pop of cinnamon-sharp embarrassment from Izuku made Ibara giggle at the counterplay between mother and son.

“Mum!” Izuku protested, voice cracking as papers fluttered into the air.

Inko laughed warmly, ruffling her son’s hair as she passed. The affection glowed between them, so natural it seemed stitched into the air itself. Ibara felt a pang; sharp, unexpected. It was the sort of love she had only ever watched from the outside, never claimed as her own. The ache swelled, but she smothered it with a question.

“You never told me which name you’d chosen for yourself Izuku.”

Izuku, still flushed from his mother’s attention mumbled “I chose the name Deku: The hopeful hero.”

Ibara felt one of her vines curl tightly in agitation under the table. “Isn’t that the awful name the heathen Bakugo had given you?” she hissed. Even as the words left her lips, the abbess’s voice coiled through her mind: Not yours to question. You are His instrument. The echo pressed like iron against her ribs, a leash tugging tight. For a heartbeat, she almost bowed her head and stayed silent, until Izuku’s voice cut through.

“Uraraka said it sounded like Dekiru or ‘you can do it’.” He replied softly, “It seemed like I was claiming something back from him. You inspired the hopeful part”

The words fell over her like sunlight through stained glass, scattering the abbess’s voice to dust. She could breathe again.

They sat there in peaceful quiet, Inko puttering around the kitchen as they both decided on possible internships.

“Have you decided on an internship?” Ibara asked quietly, gathering up her forms and moving closer to Izuku as dinner began to be placed on the table.

He nodded as he began setting the table, the clinking of cutlery and glasses a pleasant accompaniment to the smells coming from the bowls being placed on the table. As he passed around by Ibara, he leaned in and whispered, “All Might came to me with an offer – his old mentor; a hero known as Gran Torino.”

Izuku finished setting the table before asking, “have you decided on where you’re going Ibara?”

“I believe I will go with Kamui Woods. He has a similar quirk and may have some insights that I may be able to use.”

Izuku perked up and smiled widely “Excellent choice – he’s also religious but he’s never confirmed which, he should be a very good fit for you!”

“Enough school talk dears, dinner is ready.” Inko gently scolded them with a small, maternal smile and served them dinner.

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Later that night, after finishing her evening prayers before bed, a piece of paper slid under her dorm room door. Her internship forms. The abbess’s neat, merciless handwriting had already signed them, and among the bundle was a single note.

Acceptable.

Her chosen name, written there in black ink, was not her own. Maria.

The abbess’s voice seemed to rise from the paper itself, cool and certain: It is not yours to question. It is your duty to carry it. The words coiled like vines around her throat, pressing down, demanding obedience.

But as her hand trembled above the page, another voice lingered in memory. Inko’s voice, gentle and warm at the dinner table, saying with unfeigned sweetness: “Olive Branch is a lovely choice, my dear.”

That warmth still lived in her chest, softer than the abbess’s iron, but stronger.

With a shaking hand, Ibara uncapped her pen. She drew the line hard through Maria until the letters split and broke apart, gouged black and ruined. Then, with slow, steady strokes, she wrote Olive Branch in its place. The scratching of the nib was sweeter than church bells, a sound bright with defiance.

The abbess’s echo faltered, fading to nothing. In its place lingered Inko’s quiet blessing, and Izuku’s hopeful smile.

Ibara set the papers aside and folded her hands over her chest. When sleep finally came, it carried her with a smile, lighter than she had felt in years.

Chapter Text

Intern blossoms: Day 1

The Lurkers agency building wasn’t nearly as imposing as Ibara expected. Nestled among the urban jungle of modern life, its wooden façade and wide windows looked almost like it had grown there, not been built. She smoothed down her uniform, feeling the abbess’s words pressing in on her like a veil: “Stand straight.”

The only blemish on today was her two companions. Both crass boys from 1A were also interning with the Lurkers, although with the other two heroes in the agency.

The purple one muttered something lewd about Mount Lady; the blond one kept his distance, wary. Good. Neither of them was Izuku.

Neither could ever be.

As she entered the agency, Ibara felt herself frown. Twisting her vines into a more severe bun and adjusting her UA uniform, Ibara felt like she was almost playing dress up, or pretending to be an adult. Unbidden, Izuku’s smile came to mind. He wouldn’t care what she looked like; he’d only care that she felt like herself.

Inside, the air was alive with the smell of cedar and ink, earthy and clean. Kamui Woods greeted her in full gear, bowing slightly, his bark-like features shifting into something that looked like a smile.

“Shiozaki Ibara. Welcome. I’ve heard good things. You did well at the festival. Controlled. No wasted motion.” His voice carried the calm weight of someone used to silence.

She bowed deeply even as she stiffens as words from the previous evening’s sermon spring to mind. “Control yourself. No excess. That is how a maiden of the Lord behaves.” “Thank you for taking me, Kamui Woods.”

“You’ll be with me and the Lurkers for patrols and paperwork both,” he said. “But before I put you to work…” He gestured for her to follow. His movements were unhurried, as though the world always bent to his pace. “I think you should see something.”

He led her down a quieter corridor, lined with wooden beams, until they stopped before an unmarked door. When he opened it, Ibara froze.

It was a chapel, no bigger than a broom closet, really. A narrow wooden bench, a crucifix carved into the wall, and a vase of fresh branches that smelled faintly of pine and sandalwood (it reminded her of Izuku). The air was hushed, touched with reverence but not ceremony. No incense. No heavy icons. Just a space for prayer.

Her vines twitched toward the crucifix, her hands beginning the familiar motions of the Lord’s Prayer almost unconsciously.

Kamui inclined his head, almost apologetic. “It isn’t much. But when the city feels like it’s burning, I like to remember the forest doesn’t rush. The Lord speaks here as well as anywhere.”

Something in Ibara’s chest twisted, painfully, tenderly. The abbess’s voice hissed from somewhere deep within: “This is not a real chapel. A servant of the Church should worship in dignity, not in scraps.”

But over that poison came another current, quieter and more human. She could feel Kamui’s faith in the room; not performed, not demanded, simply lived.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, almost afraid to speak too loudly. Her vines shifted restlessly again, as though they wanted to reach towards the branches.

Kamui smiled, serene. “You may use it whenever you wish. But only if you want to. Faith forced is not faith.”

The words landed like cool water on parched earth.

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It seemed that the two 1A boys were interning with Mount Lady and Death Arms respectively and after a brief detour to claim a sleeping quarter for herself and deposit her bags, Ibara found herself in her hero outfit, standing in Kamui Woods small office.

“Each of the Lurkers is managing their own intern at the moment,” Kamui explained, rifling through the neat paperwork on his desk. “Before we go on our first public patrol, I just wanted to confirm something with you Shiozaki. The hero name you’ve chosen is Olive Branch, correct?”

Ibara felt her mouth dry. Had the abbess contacted the agency? Her thoughts were running so fast that she almost missed Kamui’s follow up question.

“Why Olive Branch?”

It felt like Izuku was besides her, whispering into her ear as she answered tentatively at first, her voice gaining confidence with each syllable. “Because peace is better than violence. It’s a symbol of offering life. Of… mercy.” She paused for a moment before adding “And a good hero should always be willing to extend a hand to those in need.”

She could almost feel Izuku’s approval beaming through her.

A hearty chuckle came from Kamui, leaves rustling as his shoulders briefly shook. “A good name. Mercy does indeed take more strength than violence. If you can live that name, you’ll do more than fit in here Olive Branch.”

Ibara could feel the approval and satisfaction radiate from the elder hero and she felt a small thrill of pride at hearing her hero name before she ruthlessly quashed it. “Pride before the fall. You are a vessel!”

Kamui stood from the desk. “Let’s do a small patrol. Get you situated to the neighbourhood and let the locals get to know you.”

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The first patrol surprised her most of all. The district was alive with heteromorph quirks; scaled, feathered, furred, many walking with easy confidence. Yet the farther they walked, the clearer it became: the tensions pressing in on the borders were not theirs.

Graffiti scarred walls; shopkeepers muttering about thefts. Kamui’s tone was calm, even when he did not say outright what Ibara heard between the lines: the trouble came from outside.

The locals (even with the issues afflicting the area) flocked to Kamui, their voices a constant tide; complaints about fences, sightings of gang members, even who sold the best produce. Ibara trailed after him, her robe brushing against stalls heavy with fruit and spice, and thought: Is this truly hero work?

They stopped for ramen, steam curling up beneath the awning. The broth seared her tongue and painted her lips red. Kamui broke the silence, chopsticks poised in his hand.

“You’re wondering why I listen to all of them,” he said simply.

She blinked, caught. Then nodded.

“A broken fence. A quarrel. A lost cat. None of it is grand. But carrying those little burdens is part of the work. Sometimes people need a branch to lean on more than a sword to save them.”

The follow up wink was so corny she almost choked on her noodles. She covered up her bubbling laugh with her sleeve.

“I will reflect on it later, Sensei,” she said primly.

Her gaze dropped to her reflection in the water glass. Her mouth was still stained red. For half a breath she imagined Inko’s gentle smile at dinner; then the Abbess slammed down upon her.

“Filthy! You should be clean and pure!”

Her lips burned; her palm stung with phantom lashes.

The ramen was quickly finished, the guilt searing her belly hotter than the spices from the broth.

Patrol resumed.

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The afternoon sun slanted through the alleys; dappling walls marked with fresh gang tags. Kamui slowed his pace, wooden joints creaking faintly as he took in the spray-painted sigils. Ibara followed close behind, vines shifting restlessly under her robe.

A sharp cry split the air. Ahead, a pair of teenagers bolted from a fruit stand, arms full of stolen produce, a cascade of bright oranges spilling across the cobbles as they ran. The vendor shouted after them, face red with frustration.

Kamui didn’t move immediately. His weight shifted, ready to act, but his gaze flicked to Ibara. A silent question, a silent permission.

Ibara inhaled, vines unfurling like serpents across the stones. With a crack of green and thorns, they whipped forward, curling around the thieves’ ankles. The boys tumbled to the ground, fruit rolling everywhere.

One scrambled up, spitting curses, but she had already raised her hand; vines tightened just enough to pin, not to harm, but for a second, she felt the temptation.

“Tighten. Make them bleed.”

“Stand and cease -,” she declared, voice sharp and righteous. The Abbess echoed in her skull. Too harsh.

Ibara steadied her breath and ignored the temptation to pierce flesh with thorns. “Return what is not yours.”

The older boy glared, but when Kamui’s towering shadow loomed over them, the fight drained out. They shoved the fruit back into the vendor’s basket. The guilt, hunger, envy and fear rolled off the boys in a stinking, almost nauseous wave.

Kamui crouched low, his voice gentle. “Go home. And if hunger’s the problem, we’ll find another way.” His hand rested briefly on their shoulders, firm but not cruel. The boys bolted; shame more binding than Ibara’s vines could ever be.

The vendor muttered thanks, still clutching his rescued basket. Around them, civilians whispered, not about the thieves but about Kamui; about how he had handled it.

Ibara stood rigid, vines retracting under her robe. She could still hear the Abbess’s hiss, the lash of her disapproval. She forced herself to meet Kamui’s eyes.

“You let them go?” she asked.

“Justice isn’t always the same as punishment,” Kamui replied. His voice was steady as an oak trunk. “Sometimes it’s a chance to stand straighter next time – and as you said earlier, sometimes you need to extend a hand, even if it may be bitten.”

Ibara thought of the boys’ faces, defiance flickering into fear, then shame. She thought of her own shame, constant and unyielding, pressed into her bones by the Abbess.

And she wondered, almost achingly, what it would be like if she too were allowed to stand straighter.

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The district quieted as lanterns flickered to life, a warm orange glow against the deepening dusk. Ibara knelt on the woven mat in the small room Kamui’s agency had provided. Her white robe was spread neatly around her, hands folded, rosary sliding through her fingers in practiced rhythm.

Her lips shaped the words of the evening prayer, steady and reverent. But inside her skull, the Abbess’s voice coiled, sharp as thorns.

“You coddle sin.”

Ibara’s hands trembled around the beads. She pressed her forehead to the mat.

She prayed aloud softly, reciting the familiar verses. Her hands folded; her voice quiet. Forgive us our trespasses… The words snagged in her mouth like thorns. Was mercy weakness? Did justice not demand punishment?

“Weakness breeds rot.”

The Abbess’s voice slithered in, sour and certain.

Ibara forced herself onward, lips moving, but each word landed heavy, as if her own tongue no longer trusted her.

Her chest ached with the contradiction. Kamui’s words echoed instead, justice isn’t always the same as punishment. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe mercy was not weakness. She wanted to live up to her name and to Izuku’s belief in her.

Her vines curled restlessly along the floor, betraying her unease.

Almost without thinking, she found that her vines had deposited her phone into her hands. The screen glowed harshly in the dim room. A number stared back at her, familiar, comforting. She hesitated; calling him after just one day seemed selfish and needy. She whispered a psalm for strength, but her thumb pressed before she could stop herself.

The line clicked, then a muffled shuffle. “H-hello? Ibara?” Izuku’s voice came through, tinged with exhaustion but warm, like he’d been waiting for her.

Relief spilled through her chest. “Forgive me for calling so late, Izuku. I simply wished to… hear how your first day went.”

The “I missed you” went unsaid.

There was a pause, then a small, sheepish laugh. “Gran Torino… he’s intense. I don’t think I’ve ever been yelled at that much in such a short time. But -” his voice brightened, almost crackling with energy, “I learned so much already. He said if I survive the week, I’ll come out stronger.”

Ibara smiled faintly, imagining his wild gesticulations even though she could not see them. “That sounds… most encouraging.”

“What about you? How was Kamui Woods?” Izuku asked.

Her throat tightened. She thought of the boys stealing fruit, of Kamui’s patience, of the Abbess’s scorn in her head. She thought of the phantom sting of lashes that had never truly struck but lived in her memory.

“…Challenging,” she admitted softly. “But perhaps the kind of challenge that shapes one’s beliefs, not just one’s strength.”

Izuku was quiet a moment, then his voice softened. “That sounds… good. I mean, heroes don’t just fight villains, right? Sometimes it’s about being there for people in smaller ways too.”

Her chest warmed; the Abbess’s voice momentarily drowned out. “I pray you are correct, Izuku.”

They spoke a little longer; of the day’s work, of plans for tomorrow, before she finally set the phone down beside her mat. For the first time that evening, the silence in her room did not feel like judgment. It felt, fleetingly, like peace.

As sleep claimed her, she imagined his warmth at her side. For one treacherous heartbeat, it felt holy. Then the guilt immediately smothered her like a weighted blanket.

Chapter Text

Intern Blossoms: Petal 2.

The phone buzzed against the desk where she had laid it. Ibara frowned, she had only just finished her morning prayers, and Kamui-sensei was waiting for her in the lobby. Still, she reached for it.

The message was short. Almost alarmingly so.

Gran Torino just threw a microwave at me. Don’t worry! I’m fine!!

Ibara stared. She read it twice, three times, as though her eyes might have misled her. No. The words did not change. Her thumb hovered uncertainly above the screen. She could not decide whether to pray for his safety, his courage, or his common sense. Perhaps all three.

Another buzz.

It was unplugged! I caught it! I think??

A breath slipped from her before she realized it was laughter. She covered her mouth quickly, glancing toward the chapel door in case Kamui heard. Izuku’s words carried their own frenetic rhythm, half apology, half breathless triumph. She could almost hear him saying it, with the same anxious grin and the same unshakable determination behind his eyes.

She typed carefully, folding composure into each word: Be safe, Izuku. And steadfast. I fear a microwave maybe harder than your head.

Her finger hesitated over “send.” Was it too formal? Too cold? She added quickly: I am praying for you.

The reply came almost before she could set the phone down.

Thanks, Ibara. That means a lot. Really.

Her lips curved despite herself. The warmth of the words lingered as she rose and smoothed her robe.

When she stepped into the hallway, Kamui was waiting. He tilted his head, studying her expression. “Good news?”

She folded her hands primly. “Lively news.”

He chuckled as though that explained everything. “Well, hold on to that liveliness. Today we’re stretching further into the district. And I want you to keep your senses open; not just for threats.”

They stepped out into the bright morning. The streets smelled different here from Mustafa and the church; fried oil, sharp chilies, faint undercurrents of sawdust and plaster where shopfronts were still being repaired. Her vines whispered at the edges of her perception, tasting the heartbeat of the district. Where yesterday she had noticed only the press of bodies, today she felt texture; the weary rhythm of mothers setting out stalls, the quickened pulse of young men hanging too long in an alley, the low sigh of a vendor already worried about the day’s trade.

Kamui’s voice drew her back. “Most of hero work? It’s reading the ground you stand on before it shakes you off balance. Yesterday you watched the surface. Today, I want you to feel beneath it.”

Ibara inclined her head. She thought of Izuku, of a microwave flying, and the absurd grit that would make him stand firm all the same. And quietly, she resolved she would do the same here.

As they began their walk deeper into the district, Ibara could feel eyes on her from the locals. Small whispers flickered past her ears, but it was her vines that told her the truth. They brushed the air, tasting it. The sharp, acidic tang of vinegar fear clung to more than one gaze upon her.

“Some of them fear us,” she murmured quietly, the words more an observation than a complaint.

Kamui inclined his head. “Some will. Always. Even when we pose no threat. It is in everyone’s nature to fear those who wield power, sometimes our work is to show them that we are not a threat.”

The words were steady, kind. But in her mind another voice hissed, rising like a lash. Good. Spare the rod, spoil the child!

Her fingers tightened against her sleeves. She forced her eyes forward, breathing through the clash of voices, letting the weight of Kamui’s steadiness anchor her.

They meandered through the early morning market, Kamui stopping for a few moments at some stalls, nodding gravely as words were exchanged with the owners. Ibara noticed that at one point, a piece of paper was discreetly given to Kamui. A very faint sour odour arose from him. He saw her watching and the smell immediately cut off.

It wasn’t long until she got answers, as before she’d even voiced the question, Kamui had edged them discreetly out of view and sat them down on some benches, producing a flask of herbal tea from somewhere in his costume.

As the cool but bittersweet nectar flowed down her throat Kamui read the note and sighed. “Looks like we may have a stake out today, are you feeling up for it?”

Ibara nodded. “If that is what the lord wills; then yes.” She held Kamui’s gaze for a moment before he nodded again.

“Good. One of my informants told me that something may be happening later this afternoon at one of the warehouses towards the outskirts of the district. I want to be clear Olive Branch; this could be dangerous – so if I tell you to do something, you listen. Am I clear?”

“Yes Kamui Woods. You are crystal clear.”

Obedience is holiness! Submission is salvation!

The word hissed through her brain, and she bolted the last of the iced tea, wincing at the pain but clearing her of the lingering poison.

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The sun was almost past its zenith when Kamui led Ibara into a narrow residential street, looking out at a decaying warehouse.

The walls of the warehouse were already scarred; harsh black spray-paint stencilled with crude letters:

MUTTS OUT.
KEEP HUMANITY PURE. KILL ALL HALFBREEDS.

Ibara’s jaw tightened. Blasphemy written in acid across God’s creation.

Kamui didn’t break stride. “We’ll wait here,” he murmured, guiding her into the shadow of an overhanging fire escape. “The informant said this afternoon. Kids most likely. Mouthier than mean.”

When they came, they were just that; three teens in threadbare hoodies, one nervously glancing down the alley as another shook up a spray can with a rattling shhk-shhk-shhk. The smell of paint was sharp, chemical, invasive.

Ibara’s vines coiled, ready to lash out. Punishment would be swift. Cut the hand that sins, the Abbess’s voice hissed. Better a limb lost than have corruption.

But Kamui only raised a hand to her, steady, as if catching her wrath before it broke free.

“Not yet.”

They waited until the first harsh line of paint stained the brick. Then Kamui stepped out, his wooden form rising tall and imposing. The kids froze like startled animals.

“Drop it.” His voice was steady, but not cruel. The spray can clattered to the ground.

Ibara moved to bind them, vines snaking across the pavement, but Kamui stopped her again. “Not today. We’re not punishing.”

She turned, aghast. “They spread hatred, against our people! Against God’s design! Should they not be chastised?”

Kamui knelt instead, picked up a battered bucket from the alley corner. “They’re going to clean it. And you are too.”

“I - what?”

He handed her a sponge. “Lesson two of community work: don’t just wipe out hate. Show them how to replace it with care.”

The Abbess’s voice seared through her skull: Degradation. You kneel beside sinners and call it holy?

Her hands shook as she dipped the sponge, the cold water dripping onto her white sleeves. To kneel in the filth beside these jeering boys; it felt like blasphemy itself. Yet Kamui was already scrubbing, humming a hymn under his breath, the thick letters smearing into ugly streaks.

Reluctantly, Ibara pressed her sponge to the wall. Her vines trembled at her sides. One boy muttered something about “tree freaks” under his breath, but she caught the flicker of shame in his eyes and the reek of mould as she ignored him.

One of the boys’ hands slipped as he scrubbed. He muttered a curse, then glanced at her. For the briefest instant, his fear wasn’t vinegar, it was saltwater guilt. It startled her. Guilt was… human.

They worked until the words disappeared into clean brick and foamy water. By the end, the boys’ bravado had dulled into quiet embarrassment, a sticky smell, almost like flat soda. Kamui dismissed them with a wave. “Next time I see you, bring paint and fix something up instead.”

As the boys bolted one blurted out “I’m so sorry!”

When they had gone, Ibara remained by the wet warehouse walls, the sponge limp in her hand. She felt sick, humiliated.

Kamui crouched beside her. His voice was calm, almost gentle.
“A scar left on a wall can fester into anger. But teaching them to undo it plants a seed instead. You’ll see. Even rotten soil can surprise you.”

Ibara clenched the sponge, nails biting into the rough surface. The Abbess’s voice hissed: Seeds in rotten soil never grow.

But another voice, softer, pressed through; the memory of Izuku’s smile when he had spoken of hope.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure which voice she believed.

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Dinner was supposed to be a quiet affair.

They had returned to the Lurkers office and after some more training, Kamui had dismissed her to dinner. Still in inner turmoil from the warehouse cleaning, Ibara had not realised she had company until the purple ball haired boy spoke up.

“So is your outfit like a fetish thing or -” the wave of too sweet rose-tinted lust that wafted from him stopped as a vine snapped up from under the table, thorns dancing dangerously close to his face.

A warning, although the temptation to punish him was strong, every part of her demanding he be struck for his disrespect.

“It is no fetish,” she said evenly, every syllable clipped with steel. “It is faith. And faith deserves reverence.”

She felt herself continue, sneering “And you clearly have neither, nor will you ever possess any either. You disgust me.”

Ibara picked up her chopsticks and started eating again but could not resist a final shot. “You are part of Izuku’s class. You would do well to emulate him, but I doubt you ever could.”

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Ibara excused herself from the table as soon as she politely could, claiming she needed air. In truth, her stomach was knotted too tight to eat much more after Mineta’s comments, and the faint reek of his lust still clung to her like spoiled perfume. She stepped up into the Lurkers’ rooftop, letting the night breeze cut through the lingering unease.

Her phone buzzed. Izuku’s name lit the screen.

For a moment she simply stared at it. Then she answered.

“Hello?” Her voice came soft, steadier than she felt.

“Ibara!” His voice spilled through the line, breathless as always, but warm; oh, so warm. “Sorry, is this a bad time? I just finished drills with Gran Torino and I thought - I wanted to check on you.”

Something in her chest unknotted at once. “You thought correctly,” she murmured, easing onto the stone bench beneath the roof’s single oak planter. “Your timing is… providential.”

There was a pause, and she could picture him tilting his head, confusion shading into concern. “Did something happen?”

Her fingers traced the smooth line of her rosary beads in her lap. “Only a reminder that not all hearts are… pure. But I endured.” She hesitated, then added more lightly, “You need not worry.”

“I - of course I’ll worry,” Izuku said immediately, voice cracking like he wanted to protest harder but didn’t know how. “That’s… you’re my friend. I care about you.”

The words sank deep, warming her like coals. Friend. Care. She bowed her head, smiling despite herself.

“And what of you?” she asked, steering gently. “You are not injured from… appliances hurled at you?”

He let out a sheepish laugh. “No more microwaves today. Just… I think he’s trying to make me trip until I learn how to not trip.”

“Perhaps he is trying to teach you to fall with grace.”

“Maybe.” She could hear him smiling now, even without seeing. “But it’s a lot easier when I know someone’s praying for me. So… thank you. Really.”

Her heart stirred. “It is my joy to pray for you, Izuku.”

The line fell into a silence that wasn’t awkward at all, just the quiet of two people resting in the sound of each other breathing across the distance.

Finally, he said, almost bashfully, “Good night, Ibara.”

Her lips curved. “Good night, Izuku. Be steadfast.”

She ended the call and tucked the phone close to her heart for a moment before slipping it away. The night no longer felt heavy.

She finished praying, up in the evening air, the life of the city district beneath her a pleasant backdrop to finish the day.

This was how Kamui found her, his maskless face grim.

“We’re leaving early tomorrow, so be ready.”

His voice was terse, and the light sour odour that had been present all day from him spiked into spoiled milk that made Ibara’s vines recoil with worry. “What is happening tomorrow?” she asked, as she was escorted to her sleeping quarters.

“We’ve been summoned to Hosu to support in the hero killer operation.” With that ominous warning, Ibara tried to sleep, only succeeding after she prayed for Izuku’s safety, for Kamui’s wisdom to be steadfast, and strangely, she found herself praying for Mrs Midoriya, who sang lullabies into Izuku’s heart.

The thoughts of a mother’s lullaby drifted her off to sleep, even as her heart panged with jealousy.

Chapter Text

Intern Blossoms 3: Danger petals

As Kamui-sensei had promised, the wake-up call came painfully early; so early that Ibara had not yet whispered her morning prayers. She rose, still heavy with sleep, and followed the others into the modest briefing room. The place was crowded with heroes, interns and assistants alike, the air carrying the mingled scents of fresh pastries, bitter coffee, and beneath it all, the sour vinegar tang of fear.

At the front stood the man himself; slender, precise, every line of him drawn like a blade: Edgeshot. His words cut just as cleanly.

The Lurkers Agency had been drafted by the HSPC to assist in Hosu.

An operation to bring down the Hero Killer, Stain.

The fear sharpened as he spoke the name. Ibara’s vines twitched, tasting it from all corners of the room. One of the junior heroes smelled of acrid sweat; an assistant clutched his paper cup too tightly, the Styrofoam bending inwards. Yet Edgeshot’s voice remained steady, his eyes cool, as he laid out the plan.

Kamui Woods, Death Arms, and Mount Lady were to focus on crowd control and rescue, their interns assisting them. Edgeshot himself, and a select few others, would hunt.

And then their orders came clear as scripture:

“Interns do not engage. Search, rescue, evacuate. Quirks only in self-defence. Anything else and you’ll answer to me.”

The calmness of authority in his voice was both mercy and commandment.

The dawn blurred away in a rush of preparation; equipment checked, uniforms straightened, breakfast swallowed too fast to taste. By the time the agency boarded a private train car bound for Hosu, Ibara’s head still spun.

Only when she settled into her seat did the world slow enough to breathe. The steady hum of the bullet train filled the silence, almost like a hymn without words. Kamui joined her, his long frame folding carefully into the seat beside her.

For a while they said nothing. Then, gently, he asked, “Have you had a chance to pray this morning? I know you prefer the chapel at dawn, but you didn’t have the opportunity today.”

The kindness in the question startled her. She had braced for correction, for a rebuke. Instead, his tone was warm, almost fatherly, and she felt a small flush of pleasure at being seen.

“No, Kamui-sensei,” she admitted softly. “I haven’t.”

Rather than scold, he inclined his head, voice lowering. “Then let us pray here.”

Her breath caught. And there, in the rattling quiet of the train, Kamui Woods led her through a prayer; not precisely the same as the one she knew, but close, its cadence steady, its words humble.

The rest of the Lurkers grew hushed around them. Mount Lady even closed her eyes, pressing her palms together as though remembering childhood catechism. Death Arms bowed his head, his massive shoulders still.

It was not the abbess’s chapel, nor the strict liturgy of her convent. But as Ibara whispered the words alongside her mentor, surrounded by the quiet reverence of those who bore witness, something in her chest eased.

It felt almost holy.

The quiet reverie was broken by an almighty belch from Kaminari. Every eye swivelled to him and he cringed, the cinnamon of embarrassment almost as strong as the artificial sweet scent of the energy drink he held forward as the guilty party.

Small guffaws and chuckles broke out as the quiet moment was broken, even Kamui giving a hearty chuckle.

“Drink slower next time, kid!” came Death Arms’s gruff advice, his heavy pat nearly knocking Kaminari out of his chair.

“At least it wasn’t from the other end!” Mount Lady teased, and good-natured heckles rolled across the car.

Kamui leaned in as the train rode onwards. His voice was low, for her ears alone.
“You are content with your role? It may not be the most glamorous part of heroics, but to me it is the most rewarding one. After all -” his wooden fingers folded gently together, “saving a seed and watching the life that grows from it… that is the true joy.”

Ibara smiled, not a sermon of fire, but of growth and nurturing. How very Izuku like of him.

The thought of Izuku sent her hands back together as she murmured prayers of protection. For herself. For Izuku. Always for Izuku first.

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The ozone of anticipation crackled against her vines, the vinegar of fear seared her tongue, the iron tang of anger clung to her skin. Hosu’s air was thick with it as if the city itself braced for blood.

The Lurkers were given a base of operations and most of the interns were told to get some rest as the operation wouldn’t start until evening. For now, they were to lay low and recharge, ready for the evening.

So Ibara did. She read her favourite psalms, sent Izuku a good luck message for his own evening patrols and made sure her hair was combat ready.

As the sun set, the tension in the temporary headquarters rose. Other big-name heroes had arrived: Mirko, Endeavor their very presence straining the already taut building to a knife’s edge.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Kamui led Ibara out into the streets for a small patrol, encouraging any lingering civilians to stay behind locked doors that evening.

They were in the middle of cautioning a group dining at a café veranda when Ibara felt it: eyes on her.

Her vines stirred restlessly, tasting the air. There; a gaze too sharp, too fixed.

A civilian sat at the edge of the crowd: broad-shouldered, sun-kissed skin, business-casual attire, a briefcase in hand. What made him stand out was his hair or rather, the nest of snakes that writhed in its place. Several hissed and tugged at a hat between their fanged mouths like quarrelsome children playing keep-away.

And strange as it was, Ibara felt no fear. Only a strange, buried familiarity, like the echo of a childhood dream she had never been meant to keep. The snakes’ eyes gleamed as they fixed on her, their amusement sharp as ginger ale on her tongue.

The man was laughing, gruff but fond, until his gaze locked with hers.

He froze. Paled. The brief warmth of cardamom curdled, replaced by the stagnant reek of mould, the salt-sting of shame, the acrid burn of anger.

A cocktail of self-loathing.

“Sir?” Ibara asked, moving from Kamui’s side.

He stammered nonsense, then bolted for the train station, snakes hissing in agitation as they clung to him.

“How odd,” Kamui murmured, eyes following the man’s retreat. “You don’t run like that unless you have something to hide. Did you sense anything, Olive Branch?”

The use of her code name jolted Ibara from her stillness. “Surprise. Guilt. Anger. But nothing that suggested ill intent, Kamui-sensei.”

“Strange, but I’ve seen worse reactions. Come. Let’s persuade these civilians to get inside.”

She followed, but for the briefest instant, another memory stirred: small hands cradling a garden snake, its scales cool and clean against her skin. A child’s laughter bubbling in her throat, then the abbess’s sharp slap across her knuckles.

Unbecoming for a girl of faith to love such creatures, the abbess spat.

And beneath the echo of her voice, Ibara could almost swear she still heard it; the low, restless susurrus of snakes hissing in the dark.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In an instant the night split open with fire. Hosu burned, not with ordinary flame, but with the chaos of Nomu rampaging through the streets, their cries unnatural, guttural. Sirens wailed, metal screamed, and the ozone tang of violence hung heavy in the air.

Ibara’s vines whipped restlessly, drinking in the storm of sensation. Fear was everywhere, sharp and sour; desperation poured off the crowd like sweat. Even her own lungs felt choked with it.

“Remember the orders!” Kamui barked, his wooden form cutting through the smoke like a mast through storm-waves. “Rescue first!”

“I understand!” Ibara called, already vaulting toward the nearest alley where her vines told her a cluster of heartbeats hammered too fast, too fragile.

The alley was choked with dust. Her vines spread through it, tasting the sharp sting of pepper fear, the heavy dampness of despair. A family: mother, father and two children were pressed against a collapsed wall. One of the children was crying, the hiccupping sob thick with saltwater shame at being afraid.

“Fear not,” she murmured, letting her vines unfurl like gentle arms. They wound around the debris, pried it away stone by stone until the air cleared. The father tried to shield the family with his own body, but when Ibara’s pale face and robe emerged from the haze, his fear shifted to a startled ginger fizz of hope.

She extended her hand. “Come. The Lord has given you this branch to cling to. Trust, and I shall bear you out.”

They hesitated for only a heartbeat before the mother pushed her children forward. Her vines swept them up, tender but unyielding, and lifted them toward Kamui’s awaiting arms at the street’s end.

The cries of “Thank you!” echoed behind her as she pressed forward.

A Nomu lurched at the far end of the street, its arm a jagged scythe of bone. Ibara’s vines bristled in reflex. The Abbess’s voice hissed at the back of her mind: Strike! Rend the monster limb from limb! Holy punishment! Show the world the power of the church!

But Kamui’s command echoed louder: “Rescue. Always rescue.”

She darted instead into the burning shop to the right, where her vines already screamed of life trapped inside. Smoke stung her throat, the bitter taste of ashes clogging her senses. She found three civilians; two men and a grandmother, huddled beneath a collapsed beam.

“Hold fast,” she called, vines coiling under the smouldering wood. Her strength was not infinite, but the green fury of her faith surged through her arms. With a groan, the beam lifted, vines spreading wide to hold the ceiling like the branches of an oak.

“Go!” she urged. The men dragged the grandmother between them, coughing, their terror stinking of vinegar and smoke. One hesitated. “What about you?”

“I am upheld.” Her voice was steady, though her knees shook under the strain. “Go!”

They fled. Only when they were clear did she release the beam, slipping back into the open air just as Kamui snapped another Nomu into submission with roots as thick as ropes.

Cameras flashed. News drones buzzed above. She felt the hum of recording lenses, their attention like heat on her skin. Voices rose in awe: “That’s Kamui’s intern; what’s her name? She’s like an angel, look, she’s saving people!”

Ibara bowed her head, ignoring them. Glory was not hers to claim. She turned instead toward the next cry; higher, thinner, achingly familiar.

Her vines snapped taut.

Through the chaos, through the flames, she tasted a heartbeat she knew as surely as her own prayers.

Izuku.

It was faint, buried beneath layers of smoke and the metallic bite of blood. The tang of iron clung to it, sharp and frightening, but beneath it pulsed that rhythm she knew stumbling, stuttering, but never stopping.

Every fibre of her being screamed to run to him. Her vines surged that way, desperate, reaching -

But another sound cut her: the shrill chorus of children crying from the subway entrance, where concrete had cracked, and smoke was rising.

She froze. Her heart tore in two.

The Abbess shrieked in her skull: Leave the sinners! Save the chosen! Obedience is salvation!

Her fists clenched. Her vines trembled.

Then Izuku’s voice rose in her memory, soft but unshakable: “You bring people calm. Hope. Like the hope you gave me.”

She turned.

Her vines shot into the subway like lifelines, coiling around terrified children, lifting them out into the night air. She worked quickly, efficiently, pulling them one after another into safety. Each child clung to her, sobbing thanks, their fear shifting into the sweetness of relief.

By the time the last child was delivered into a mother’s arms, Ibara’s face was streaked with soot, her robe torn. She stood among them, vines still curled protectively overhead, like a canopy against the falling ash.

One of the drones whirred closer. She ignored it, soothing a child that still clung to one of her vines. Her eyes turned back toward the city, toward that faint, stumbling heartbeat still fighting in the dark. Her lips moved in silent prayer, a trembling child ensconced safely in her vines, the flashes of photos from the drones.

“Steadfast, Izuku. Steadfast.”

Kamui Woods stepped into the street then, towering, his wooden body blackened by soot, his branches still smoking from the Nomu he had just bound. His eyes swept the gathered crowd; frightened civilians pressed close, children clinging to parents, drones hanging like watchful insects overhead.

He saw them. But more than that, he saw her.

Ibara stood amidst them, vines curved protectively over the rescued like a living shelter, ash and firelight turning her into a silhouette of both fragility and strength. For a breath, even Kamui himself faltered at the sight. She was not merely his intern in that moment.

She was the image of heroism itself.

One of the civilians turned to Kamui, voice breaking. “Sir your intern, she - she saved us. What’s her name?”

Ibara flinched. Attention burned like fire on her skin. She wanted to shrink back into shadow, to pray this glory away. It is not mine to claim. Not mine…

But Kamui, steady as always, lifted his chin and spoke clearly enough for every camera, every microphone, every watching soul.

“You see before you Olive Branch. A protector, a shield, a bearer of hope. Remember it well.”

The name fell from his lips with the weight of blessing, not boast.

The crowd repeated it again, this time louder, steadier, a tide that carried her whether she wished or not:

“Olive Branch! Olive Branch!”

Mount Lady stumbled onto the scene then, face flushed, hair wild from battle. She took in the chanting crowd, the drones circling like vultures, and barked a laugh, half incredulous. “Hah! Looks like we’ve got ourselves another rising star. Careful, Kamui, the kid’s going to outshine you.”

Kamui only smiled, pride hidden but present in the faint softening of his features.

Ibara’s hands trembled, her vines curling tightly at her sides as if she could bind her heart still. She bowed her head low, lips moving in fervent prayer. Let this not be for me. Let this glory pass from me, O Lord. May it only serve to guide souls toward hope, never toward me.

Yet as she prayed, her vines brushed against the air, searching, and there it was again; that stuttering heartbeat in the dark, iron-tanged but stubbornly alive. Izuku.

Her lips curved faintly, a small, private smile the cameras could not see. She whispered to herself, too quiet for any but God to hear:

“Hold fast, beloved. The Lord has not forsaken us. Nor will I.”

And with that, Olive Branch turned back into the storm.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The hospital room was hushed save for the steady beep of the monitor and the faint hiss of oxygen. Izuku lay propped against a mountain of pillows, his freckles made starker by the pallor of exhaustion. Even in sleep, his brow creased as if he were still running calculations, still fighting battles.

Ibara stood in the doorway a long moment, her robe still stained with soot and dust, vines twitching faintly at her sides. She had washed the worst of the ash from her hair, but the faint smell of smoke still clung to her. She didn’t step inside until she pressed her palms together in silent thanksgiving.

“Thank you, Lord. For sparing my beloved. For sparing us both.”

The word sprang from her with joy in her mouth, but guilt in her belly.

The abbess would never approve.

Best to keep it quiet, keep it secret, keep it safe. It was hers and hers alone.

Her prayer finished; she crossed the threshold. Her vines curled instinctively, brushing the walls, tracing the edges of the room, before drawing back in close around her. She didn’t want to intrude; she only wanted to be nearby.

“Ibara…?”

His voice was hoarse, drowsy. His eyes fluttered open, green meeting green. His smile was small, pained but real. “You’re safe.”

The words undid her. She crossed to his bedside and sat; hands folded so tightly in her lap her knuckles whitened. “I am safe? Izuku, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Her voice trembled with the effort to keep it stern, but the tears welling at the corners of her eyes betrayed her. “Charging into battle like that… what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking…” He coughed, winced, then chuckled softly, “…that I couldn’t let anyone else get hurt. That Ilda was in trouble.”

Her heart ached. Foolish, glorious, infuriating boy.

She reached for his hand, hesitated only a moment before lacing her fingers through his. His skin was warm, roughened with calluses, but his grip was gentle, almost tentative.

“You frighten me more than any villain could,” she whispered, finally letting the tears fall. “But still… I trust you.”

His thumb brushed across the back of her hand, clumsy but earnest. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“Yet I do.” She leaned closer, her hair falling like a curtain around them, cocooning the two of them from the sterile world of beeping machines and white walls. Her lips hovered above his temple for a long moment before she pressed the faintest kiss there, chaste and trembling. She had done it before, after Izuku had been injured in the USJ and again it still felt magical.

Her vines, acting on instinct, slipped forward to adjust his blanket, to tuck it more securely around him. The gesture felt motherly, wifely even, and the thought made her blush furiously. She busied herself smoothing the fabric to hide her trembling and to inhale the honey sweet scent of happiness drifting from Izuku.

A secondary scent wafted from him, a hint of peppery pride. Confused Ibara eyes tracked across Izuku and found that one hand clutched his phone tightly, a video paused.

A frozen image of herself, passing a child to a tear-streaked mother dominated the screen.

Pride burned in her chest like a hot coal. “Were you watching me?”

A crooked smile. “I saw the news, people were talking about Olive Branch and -” He broke off, flushing red.

She bowed her head quickly. “It was Kamui-sensei’s words, not mine. I only… did what was required.”

“Required?” His voice cracked. He leaned forward, eyes wide. “You pulled children out of a collapsing subway! You saved families from a burning shop! I - I don’t think there’s a word big enough for that.”

Her vines trembled faintly at his praise, though she tried to school her face into calm. “And you,” she said, vines gently squeezing his hand, “faced the Hero Killer. And lived.” Her hand lifted before she could stop it, brushing at the edge of the bandages on his arm, hovering just shy of touch. “The Lord must have lent you, His strength.”

Izuku swallowed hard. His throat worked once before words stumbled free: “Maybe He did… but I like to think He sent me yours too.” He went cherry red, cinnamon popping from him as he stumbled and stuttered “I mean your strength, uh, or, um, calmness, or, I mean, you…”

The words knocked something loose in her chest. Her lips curved, barely, and she lowered her gaze quickly, hiding the warmth rising in her cheeks.

For a long, fragile moment, the only sound was the steady beep of the monitor and the rustle of her vines shifting against the floor.

The door creaked open then, and Inko peeked in, a tray of food in her hands. She froze at the sight: her son flushed red as a tomato, with a soot-streaked girl whose vines curled around the bed like living guardians.

“Oh!” Inko’s eyes widened, and then softened. The smile that spread across her face was bright and proud and utterly pleased. “Shiozaki-chan! I didn’t know you were here!”

Ibara nearly shot out of her chair, mortified, vines whipping back in a panic. But Inko only laughed lightly and set the tray down. “Don’t mind me. You know you’re always welcome.”

Izuku sputtered incoherently, burying his face in his blanket. Ibara bowed her head, praying desperately for the earth to swallow her. Yet beneath her shame, warmth bloomed, an unexpected blessing.

For now, there was silence, at last, where once there had only been scorn. Only Inko’s gentle approval, and Izuku’s hand still firm in hers.

And for Ibara Shiozaki, Olive Branch, that was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Wilted Blossoms.

After the tumultuous events of Hosu, the last two days of the internship seemed mundane by comparison. The bulk of Ibara’s time had been taken up by the after action reports, debriefs and interviews with Hound Dog, the UA counsellor.

There had been some low level patrols but it had been incredibly jarring to be recognised, the locals giving her a level of respect almost the equivalent of Kaumi.

Then, of course, there was the class group chat. The day after Hosu it had exploded.

📱1-B General Chat
The 1-Bee Hive 🐝🍯

Pony 🐴: OMG GUYS DID YOU SEE THE NEWS??!?!!

Pony 🐴: OUR IBARA IS ON TV!!!

Kendo 👊: Just saw it! She’s amazing. “Olive Branch,” huh? That’s a good name.

Tetsutetsu 💪: SHE WAS SAVING LIKE TWENTY PEOPLE AT ONCE I SWEAR!!!

Sen 🎭: It was more like… seven? Eight? But the drama of it was impeccable. 👌

Shiozaki 🙏: …

Shiozaki 🙏: I… do not know what to say.

Manga 📖: SAY “MAIN CHARACTER VIBES”!!

Manga 📖: OLIVE BRANCH!!!

Komori 🍄: She looked so calm while everyone else was panicking… it was kinda… inspiring 🫣

Kosei 🪁: Her vines were moving like a net… I couldn’t even keep track. She’s so controlled.

Awase 🔧: Yeah, like… we’ve been training the same time, and I can’t even - dang.

Kendo 👊: Don’t sell yourselves short, guys. This is what internships are for learning and rising to the occasion. Ibara just rose really high.

Tetsutetsu 💪: SHE’S A LEGEND ALREADY!!

Sen 🎭: The way the civilians clung to her vines? Pure theatre. I’d pay for that performance.

Manga 📖: BRO SAME!!!

Reiko 👻: 👀 Olive Branch… suits her. Peaceful, but strong.

Pony 🐴: And so pretty!!! They filmed her hair glowing under the streetlights like… like an angel 😭✨

Komori 🍄: …yeah… angel 😳🍄

Kuroiro 🌑: If she keeps this up, 1-B’s stock value just went up 30%.

Kendo 👊: 🙄 you sound like Monoma.

Monoma 🐍: Did someone say my name? Because yes, Kuroiro is correct. 1-B supremacy!!! The world has finally been given proof! Our class breeds heroes that can outshine anyone!

Awase 🔧: Here we go…

Kendo 👊: Monoma, stop.

Sen 🎭: Still… she’s going to come back to class with everyone looking at her differently.

Reiko 👻: Not us. We’ve always seen her.

Shiozaki 🙏: …thank you. Truly.

Shiozaki 🙏: Glory belongs not to me, but to God. Yet… it warms my heart to know you all are proud.

Pony 🐴: WE’RE YOUR BIGGEST FANS!!!

Tetsutetsu 💪: OLIVE BRANCH SUPREMACY!!!

Manga 📖: Main character vibes, main character vibes, MAIN CHARACTER VIBES!!!

Kendo 👊: …Okay but seriously, Ibara. When you get back: snacks are on you.

Pony 🐴: SNACKS!!!

Tetsutetsu 💪: SNACKS!!!

Manga 📖: SNACKS!!!

Yet even as her classmates filled her phone with emojis and praise, a quiet dread seeped into her bones, cold and heavy as mercury.

She had been televised.

She had seen the memes.

And even as Pony declared her an angel, she could almost hear the abbess’s voice cutting through the praise: “Angels are obedient, not proud. Remember that, child.”

Deep down, the eight-year-old who once played with snakes in a convent garden knew this was but a reprieve. When she returned to Mustafu, there would be a reckoning.

The only light in this cloud was Izuku.

Her beloved (Keep it secret, keep it safe!) had been sending her messages regularly. Most of them were everyday chatter, but sometimes he’d highlight his favourite clips of her rescue… or the memes that made him laugh hardest.

She knew, just knew; that if she rummaged through his phone or computer, she would find a folder dedicated just to her. The thought was both mortifying and electric.

She ought to be ashamed for even wanting such a thing. She ought to rebuke herself.

And yet her heart sang at the thought, like a hymn she could not silence.

Even so, she still felt like a prisoner with a due date at the gallows.

--------------------------

Ibara sat stiffly on the wooden bench outside the Abbess’s chambers, her hands folded primly in her lap, nails pressing faint crescents into her palms. She had only been back from internships a day, but already the summons had come.

The glow she’d carried from Kamui’s words, from the shouts of civilians calling her Olive Branch in Hosu’s markets, the laughter of her classmates and Izuku’s quiet messages, felt faint now in the cloister’s cold air.

The door creaked open.

The Abbess didn’t gesture her inside; she didn’t need to. Ibara rose, bowed her head, and entered as though pulled by an invisible chain. The air in the chamber was thick with incense and candle wax, heavy with the silence of judgement.

The Abbess herself simmered with cold iron anger.

“Tell me,” She said at last, her voice smooth as oil, “what did you learn from your time away?”

Ibara clasped her hands tighter. “Kamui-sensei showed me the work of patience. That even small things; a fence, a quarrel, a lost cat, they matter. He…” She swallowed. “…He said sometimes people need a branch to lean on more than a sword to save them.”

A silence. Then: the dull slap of newsprint on wood. Ibara startled.

There she was, caught in a grainy freeze: her vines coiled protectively around a knot of children, smoke curling in the background. Above the image, bold headline:

Olive Branch Protects Hosu’s People.

The Abbess did not look at the page. She looked only at Ibara.

“Olive Branch,” she repeated, peeling each syllable slow, deliberate. “How quaint. How arrogant.”

Heat burned in Ibara’s cheeks. She bowed her head lower.

“You are not the world’s balm, child. You are not some heroine playing at purity. You are ours. Mine.” The Abbess’s hand pressed flat against the paper, pinning Ibara’s face as though crushing a beetle. “The Lord’s branch. Not one that flails about in the wind, pretending to bear fruit on its own.”

“I - I only wished to serve,” Ibara whispered, words tumbling out before she could stop them.

“Then serve me. Serve the Church.” The Abbess’s tone sharpened, whip thin. Her gaze bored into Ibara’s skull; the shame rose sharp and choking in her throat, too sudden, too strong, as if planted there. “A branch without the vine withers. Have you forgotten? Or did you believe a camera’s flash could take the place of scripture?”

Her throat tightened. She wanted to cry that she had saved children, that she had only done what was right. But the Abbess’s eyes left no room for such weakness.

“On your knees.”

The command left no space for disobedience. Ibara sank to the floor, vines curling reflexively around her wrists like shackles.

“Repeat.”

Her mouth opened, automatic. The scripture uncoiled like ash in her throat.

“I am the branch of the vine. Without the vine I am nothing.”

“Again.”

Her voice shook.

“Again.”

The word became a hammer. Each strike split the echo of Hosu’s cheers, shattered Kamui’s steady voice, ground down the flicker of Izuku’s smile, until her throat was raw and the scripture tasted like ash.

At last, the Abbess leaned closer, her shadow falling long across Ibara’s bowed head. “Do you understand now?”

“Yes, Abbess,” Ibara breathed, so faint it nearly died in the air.

She braced before she even heard it; her body remembered what her mind prayed would not come.

The lash cracked across her calves. She cried out, the sound scraped raw by shame and airless lungs.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Each strike seared not just her skin but the injustice deeper into her chest.

When the Abbess dismissed her at last, Ibara rose unsteady, legs trembling. The newspaper remained on the desk, face-down now, headline hidden. As though the name had never existed.

She left the chamber hollow, yet somewhere deep in her chest, beneath the shame, beneath the guilt, beneath the sting of lash; the name Olive Branch still clung, fragile but unbroken.

She wanted someone - anyone - to tell her she was not nothing.

------------------------------

Izuku was good at noticing things. Patterns, numbers, puzzles – all of them could be figured out with time.

But people?

They were harder.

There were exceptions though. His mother for one, and most recently Ibara.

And she was worrying him. Ever since the return to school from the internships (Izuku was never going to look at a microwave the same way ever again) Ibara had been acting oddly.

She had always been a little closed-off, but over the months, much like her vines, she had crept closer, wrapping quietly around his days until it was strange to imagine them without her.

The first clue had been her avoiding dinner. She’d always enjoyed taking leftovers back to her sisters at the church; and Izuku was pretty sure his mom loved the challenge of finding new things to bake for her, but these past few days? Not once. Always an excuse, too many excuses.

Izuku knew it was in the nature of a hero to meddle (he’d done it for Todoroki, after all), But he also knew that with Ibara, pressing would only make her retreat further. She moved at her own pace, inexorable as the tide. All you could do was wait for the current to carry you.

So maybe he couldn’t meddle directly… but there were other things he could do.

With some brainstorming help from his mom, they’d come up with an idea.
And now that idea was making his knees knock and his heart pound like he was about to fight Stain himself.

They still rode the train together. It was in the rush of the station, where the crowd’s noise gave them a bubble of privacy, that Izuku made his move.

He caught her wrist gently, tugging her aside. A vine curled up in response, snake-like, defensive and then stilled when she realised it was him.

“Izuku,” she scolded, soft but stern. “Do not startle me like that. I could have taken an eye out.”

“You wouldn’t. I trust you.”

The words came out before he thought. Simple. Certain.

And he saw her stagger under them, as if they’d struck harder than any blow. She bowed her head, eyes closing, and, in that pause, he slipped the box into her hands.

It was small. Too small. Too jewellery-box-shaped. (He knew it was a bad idea, he had said it was a bad idea, but his mom had been so insistent, and in the end he’d caved.)

Her breath hitched when she saw it. Pupils dilated. Fingers trembling. Her vines curled down, delicately opening the lid.

Inside lay the key.

Izuku swallowed. He could see the question written across her face, bright and raw.

He smiled; nervous, earnest, everything at once and said, “It’s a key to the apartment. For you. A safe haven, if you ever need it. No questions asked.”

For half a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

Then Ibara slammed into him with a hug.

The impact nearly knocked him off balance, but the rush of warmth against his chest stole the breath from his lungs more than the force did. His arms came up automatically, holding her close, the box caught awkwardly between them. He barely registered the victory cry hammering in his brain - Operation Greenhouse: success! because she was holding onto him like her life depended on it.

--------------------

She hadn’t meant to. Truly.

Her body simply moved, faster than thought, faster than restraint.

One moment she was staring at the key, the next she was pressed into Izuku’s arms, clinging as though the world might end if she let go.

It was foolish. Reckless. Unseemly. The Abbess’s voice shrieked in her mind: A girl of faith does not throw herself into the arms of a boy, like some wanton creature of impulse.

But his words - I trust you - had undone her.

Trust. Not command. Not demand. Not scripture or lash. Just trust.

Her vines betrayed her, coiling instinctively around him in a desperate brace, as though they too had starved for this warmth. She breathed in the faint scent of notebook paper, sandalwood and soap, and for a single dangerous instant, she let herself believe in the promise that little brass key carried.

A key to his home.
A key to safety.
A key to belonging.

Her heart ached so fiercely she thought it might split.

With immense effort, she loosened her hold. Her vines slithered back, hands smoothing her robe as though the embrace had never happened. But the blush burned hot across her cheeks, and her voice trembled despite her best attempts at composure.

“…Thank you, Izuku. You cannot know what this means to me.”

The key rested warm in her palm now, no longer just cold metal. It was an anchor. A lifeline. A promise that she was not as alone as the cloister walls made her believe.

And somewhere deep within, past the shame, past the guilt, something fragile and defiant unfurled.

Perhaps I am not only the Church’s. Perhaps… I am allowed to be mine.

--------------------------

She hadn’t used the key.

Not yet.

But she held onto it like the holiest of relics. Hidden deep within her hair, a cluster of vines wove around it as carefully as though sheltering a babe in the womb.

That small, simple gesture had unleashed such a storm in her heart that even after repeated “grace” sessions with the Abbess, she could not untangle it. Instead, she withdrew often, meditating not on scripture but on the key, its meaning, Izuku, and the feelings blooming; unyielding, undeniable towards him.

It was during these quiet storms that she found herself noticing more. Too much. The way Izuku drew others in without trying, especially certain classmates.

Kinoko, with her tinkling laughter and endless mushroom puns, circling him like a woodland pixie.

Pony, with her earnest love of English and All Might’s old American comics, who lit up in his presence.

And Ochako, with her wide smile and easy claim of being “Deku’s best friend.”

It made Ibara grind her teeth sometimes.

She knew it was part of Izuku’s nature; the way he scattered his warmth freely, a sun that could not help but shine. That very light had drawn her in long ago. But now… now that light stirred something new, something sharp in her chest. A tender jealousy. Not jealousy to diminish the others, but a longing to keep his warmth for herself, to know that their bond was set apart amidst the clamour of youthful adoration.

The thought was bittersweet, but she held to a quiet triumph. After all… she alone carried the key.

Unbecoming! a voice snapped within. Throw it aside. Submit.

Her vines curled tighter around the hidden treasure. The whisper was met not with surrender, but with clarity.

Summer camp was coming.

Away from the church. Away from the Abbess.

There, in the hush of nature, she would confess.

And lay herself on the altar of Izuku’s mercy, to see what fate awaited her.

No matter what happened…

She would not wither…

She would bloom.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Blossoms and chains

Summer camp did not start the way Ibara expected.

First, there had been the bus ride. Then, the insufferable grumbling of Monoma, wounded that Class 1-A had received “special treatment.”

Seeing the state 1-A arrived in made her thankful for the difference. But the training that followed was merciless.

Her vines were forced to grow until her scalp ached, stretching further than she thought possible. She tried and failed to mimic other plants, while teachers pressed her to expand her empathic reach until her mind itself felt overextended. By the time they were released to help with dinner, her body trembled with exhaustion. She managed only a few stolen words with Izuku before the next task dragged them apart.

It was here, on the second evening, that Ibara finally caught her breath.

The heat of the springs clung to her skin like a second robe, steam curling upward and blurring the lanterns set along the rocks. Class 1-A and 1-B’s girls had melted into loose clusters: Mina and Ochako splashing each other; Kendo laughing with Yaoyorozu about their classes’ antics; Pony perched on the edge like a curious bird, dipping her hooves and watching everything.

Ibara sat a little apart, arms folded modestly over her chest, vines trailing in the water. The warmth eased the stiffness from her shoulders, but not the knot in her stomach. The chatter of the others floated over her, bright and unselfconscious.

She hoped that the chatter would avoid her.

It didn’t.

Kinoko paddled closer, chin resting on her folded arms, mischief bright in her eyes. “So, Ibara,” she said in a sing-song tone, “when are you going to tell us what’s going on with you and Midoriya-kun?”

The words rippled through the spring and every head turned. Ochako’s head snapped around so fast bones creaked, Mina’s grin went feral, and Pony perked up on her stone perch, ears practically twitching.

“I… I do not know what you mean,” Ibara said quickly, lowering herself so only her chin was above the water, vines drifting lazily around her like kelp.

“Ohhh, please,” Mina drawled, swimming over. “You two are joined at the hip. Train rides, lunches, that whole ‘soft look across the classroom’ thing.”

“That’s real,” Ochako cut in, smiling warmly. “He lights up around you. Like he’s at peace.”

Ibara’s cheeks burned hotter than the springs. She pressed her hands together under the water, whispering, “Midoriya is… noble. I hold him in high regard.”

Kinoko smirked. “That’s nun-speak for ‘I’m crazy about him.’”

“Yeah,” Mina chimed, eyes sparkling. “You’re so gone for him.”

Ibara’s lips parted, denial balanced on the tip of her tongue but something gentler slipped out instead, so quiet she almost didn’t realize she’d said it aloud:

“…He is my beloved.”

The steam carried the word like a prayer.

“BELOVED?!” Mina shrieked, splashing water so high it hit the lanterns. Kinoko almost drowned herself laughing.

Ochako, only smiled, soft and understanding. “That’s… really sweet,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise with calm sincerity.

Pony squealed and clapped, kicking up little waves. “Awww! That’s so romantic!”

Ibara’s hands flew to her mouth, mortified. “I - I did not mean!”

“Oh, you meant it,” Mina teased, hugging her from the side. “You’ve got it bad, girl.”

The giggles swelled again, but Ochako only leaned closer, voice gentle. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s beautiful, Ibara. Really.”

Steam curled around them as the laughter softened into sighs and murmurs, and though Ibara wanted to sink beneath the water and vanish, her heart thudded with a strange new warmth.

The word had escaped.

Her beloved.

And she could not regret it.

“Beloved,” Mina repeated, still giggling, splashing water in emphasis. “You actually said beloved. Like, who even talks like that outside of, like, Shakespeare?”

Ibara groaned softly, sinking deeper until the water lapped at her chin. “It is simply… the word that comes to me in prayer.”

Ochako tilted her head, curious but gentle. “So you’ve liked him for a while then? Since school started?”

A vine curled up defensively around Ibara’s shoulder, but she didn’t retreat. The steam and warmth were disarming her, like a veil had been lifted. “…Not since school. Since before.”

That got their attention.

Kinoko leaned in, eyes wide. “Wait wait wait - you met Midoriya before U.A.?”

Ibara hesitated, secrecy battling with yearning. But the faces around her weren’t mocking; Pony’s sparkling excitement, Mina’s greedy grin for drama, Ochako’s patient encouragement. Even Reiko had drifted closer, listening.

“…Yes,” Ibara admitted at last, vines loosening. “We met… by providence, I suppose, while I was gardening. He was different even then, so eager to better himself, yet so kind. I thought him extraordinary even then.”

“Awww!” Pony squeaked, kicking up little waves. “That’s, like, destiny!”

Mina clasped her cheeks. “So, you’ve been secretly pining this whole time? This is like one of my K Drama shows!”

Ibara’s blush deepened, but she found herself smiling faintly despite the mortification. “I had thought… speaking such things aloud would be unbearable. But…” She looked around at them, the eager faces, the laughter, the kindness. “It is not so frightening as I imagined.”

Ochako reached across the water, brushing Ibara’s wrist in quiet solidarity. “That’s because you’re not alone. You don’t have to carry feelings all by yourself.”

The words sank deep, wrapping around something raw in her heart. For so long, secrecy had been survival. Yet here, under the stars and steam, among friends who teased but also held her gently, she felt the faintest taste of freedom.

She wasn’t only the Abbess’s branch. She was a girl. A girl in love. And it was… okay.

Mina let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, now it’s official. Operation Confess At Camp is on.”

“Mina!” Ibara spluttered, but the laughter bubbled up around her again, warm and unthreatening.

For the first time, letting others in didn’t feel like a sin. It felt like fellowship.

Mina smirked, rubbing her hands together like a villain plotting world domination. “Okay, so listen; summer camp isn’t just training, it’s also, like, peak romance opportunity. Bonfires, starlight, spooky forest walks; chef’s kiss, perfect atmosphere. We’re not letting you waste this chance.”

“I-I never asked!” Ibara tried, but her protest drowned under the rising chorus.

Pony splashed eagerly. “We can totally make it happen! Like, if we ‘accidentally’ pair you up for a supply run or something - boom, alone time!”

Kinoko nodded, giggling. “Or if we tell him ghost stories by the fire, and then, y’know, push you together when you’re both all spooked.”

Ochako, bless her, tried to be the voice of reason, though even she was grinning. “You guys, come on… we can’t force it. It has to be natural.”

“Natural!” Mina declared, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Exactly! Which is why we’ll just y’know create the perfect natural circumstances.”

Reiko, silent until now, murmured from her corner of mist. “…I can float objects. Quietly. Keys, letters, little nudges.” The ghost of a smile touched her lips. “No one would know.”

The group erupted. “YESSS!” Mina cheered. Pony splashed like a happy dolphin. Kinoko dissolved into giggles.

Ibara, mortified, buried her face in her hands. “This is - this is unseemly!”

But she was smiling behind her fingers. They were teasing, yes, but there was no cruelty in it. Only warmth. Only mischief shared among friends.

Ochako leaned closer, voice low, kind. “Ibara… you don’t have to do it alone. Sometimes it helps to have a little push.”

The vines that had wound tight around her chest seemed to loosen. She’d spent so long believing love had to be hidden, smothered, suppressed. Yet here were her peers conspiring, not to shame her, but to help her.

It was… almost intoxicating.

“…If this is discovered, I will deny all knowledge,” she muttered primly eyes narrowed at the smiling perpetrators.

“Yesss, she’s in!” Mina fist-pumped, nearly slipping under the water. “Operation Confess at Camp is officially a go!”

The steam filled with laughter and plotting, and for once Ibara didn’t silence her smile.

--------------------------------------------

The next two days were… eventful, to say the least. The enthusiasm of the girls of 1A and 1B was almost overwhelming.

Every time they weren’t training, one of them was trying to ‘help’ in someway shape or form.

Kiniko would make puns about symbiotic fungus.

Pony would ‘steal’ Izuku’s water bottle for Ibara to return it.

Reiko kept discreetly chasing people off benches so they could sit together.

Mina ‘rearranged’ the chore board so they were on dishwashing duty together and out of everything, this was the thing that Ibara enjoyed the most. They didn’t need to say anything, they worked together as a well-honed team, the months spent tending to the garden letting them work in quiet synchronicity.

They had nearly finished the dishes when Izuku quietly spoke, face red, the familiar and comforting scent of cinnamon popping from him. “Did you hear about the plan for tomorrow night?”

Ibara hummed gently, multiple vines darting around and drying dishes. “Something about a test of courage I think.” She was caught in a half-idle thought of this happening in an apartment, in the far future, and almost missed Izuku’s question.

“They’re doing the test of courage in pairs. D-d-did you want to do it with me?”

Ibara’s brain short circuited. In the corner of her eye, she could see Kinoko and Pony jumping up and down in encouragement.

“I – I would love that Izuku.”

---------------------------------------------

Damn Monoma and his stupid pepper pride.

Damn him!

Instead of being a joint work where the classes could mingle, instead the insipid ego maniac had managed to persuade Vlad sensei to turn it into a competition of class vs class.

She was so distracted and fuming from the stolen opportunity that by the time Ibara noticed the gas it was far too late.

The gas clawed at her lungs, sharp and bitter, dragging her down into blackness.
And as her consciousness slipped, the Abbess’s voice slithered into the void:
So the branch withers…

-------------------------------------

Ibara blinked awake to sterile white ceilings, the heavy rasp of an oxygen mask against her face. Her vines twitched, sluggish and weak, their tips browned from strain. The memory of the attack came rushing back; the shouting, the smoke, the horrified cries of her classmates.

The next few hours passed in a blur.

Doctors came in an told her about ‘exposure to quirk-based toxins’ and how it may affect her vines, but her attention was elsewhere as the screens blared about the attack on the camp, the kidnapping of Bakguko.

The only thing on her mind was her beloved.

She drifted off to sleep, prayers of protection for Izuku on her lips.

The door to her room opened caused her to snap awake as several figures came into her room.

She tried to rise, but firm hands pressed her back.
Not doctors.
Her sisters.

“Rest, Sister Shiozaki,” one murmured. The veil shadowed her eyes, but the grip on Ibara’s wrist was iron.

“You have brought shame. To fall unconscious in battle - how disgraceful.”

“I must -” Ibara rasped, pulling against their grip. Her lungs burned, but her heart burned hotter. “Izuku…”

“The Midoriya boy is not your concern,” the other sister snapped, and with practiced efficiency they began to gather her things. “The Abbess awaits.”

--------------------------------------------------

Later that night the stained glass cast holy colours across the stone floor, but the shadows pooled thicker around the pews. Ibara knelt before the Abbess, still pale, still weak. The key - her key - pressed uncomfortably in her hidden vines, hot as a brand.

“You see now, child,” the Abbess intoned, each word smooth and final. “Your body betrays you. Your will falters. This ‘Olive Branch’ foolishness has left you brittle.”

Her voice coiled closer, soft, suffocating: “And while you lay helpless, the world raged on. Heroes rose. Children were stolen. What did you do? Nothing. Because without the vine…”

“I am nothing,” Ibara whispered, throat raw.

“Good.” The Abbess’s hand cupped her chin, forcing her gaze up. “Remember this. Do not reach again for fruit that does not belong to you.”

She paused and then leaned in closer, breath washing over Ibara's face.

“When you were brought here,” the abbess continued, “you were barely six months old. Wrapped in a blanket, left on the steps in the rain. Whoever gave birth to you… left no note. No name. No clue that you were wanted.”

The words cut like glass.

“It was the Church that took you in. It was us who fed you, clothed you, taught you. We gave you purpose when no one else in the world thought to give you a chance.” She finally looked up; eyes sharp. “And now… you defy us. With your name, with this… boy”

Ibara’s voice felt small. “He’s just -”

Guilt wormed her way through her brain, the abbesses’ eyes boring into hers.

The Abbess’s voice softened, silk over thorns. “If you throw away the life we gave you, Ibara… where will you go? You have no one else. You know that.”

Ibara’s vines curled tight around her arms. For one, traitorous moment, she thought of Izuku’s smile, the way his eyes sought hers in a crowd, the word beloved blooming unbidden in her prayers.

And then the vision cracked under the Abbess’s shadow. What if he grew tired of her? What if he saw what she truly was; a foundling, an orphan, a girl with nothing but borrowed faith and clinging vines? He could leave, too. He could leave like her nameless parents had.

Obedience was survival. Disobedience was loss.

So, she bowed her head, swallowing the scream clawing at her throat. “Yes, Mother Abbess.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The church kept the television locked in the refectory, turned always to the evening news. When the news broke, the sisters gathered in silence, candles flickering low.

Ibara stood in the corner, heart hammering as images played:
All Might clashing with a monstrous shadow of a man.
Izuku - her beloved - running into danger, eyes blazing with the same fire she had first glimpsed in a small garden over a year ago.

Running into danger for a boy who had hurt him so.

She clutched the hidden key until her palm bruised.

Every shout, every impact on the screen was agony. She could have been there. She should have been there.

But she was locked behind stained glass and scripture, forced to watch the boy she loved risk his life for another.

When All Might’s arm rose in triumph, the sisters whispered prayers of thanksgiving.
Ibara only wept silently, her tears dripping onto the hidden key.

------------------------------------------------

The move into the combined dorms came quickly, less than a week after what the media had begun referring to as ‘the Kamino incident’.

The sun spilled through the big windows of Heights Alliance, painting everything in gold. Laughter rose, warm and awkward but real, plates clattering as classmates bickered over chores and seating. Already, the dorm was becoming a home.

Izuku sat at the edge of it, notebook open but forgotten, chopsticks idle between his fingers. His friends were here. His family was here.

But not all of them.

Every time the door creaked, his heart jumped, expecting vines to trail in behind her, a quiet smile at the corner of her mouth. He imagined her delight at the greenhouse in the back garden, the way her voice would soften at seeing everyone gathered around one table. He imagined it so vividly his chest ached.

But her chair stayed empty.

Izuku stared at it as the laughter washed over him, hollow in his ears.
She should be here.
And the thought gnawed at him like an open wound:
Where is Ibara?

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: In full bloom

The shadow of Ibara’s missing presence stretched long in the new dorms, especially amongst class B.

Kendo found herself looking for vines as she placed worksheets on desks.

Setsuna missed the occasional acerbic but well-meaning barbs when she was being a menace.

But Izuku missed her most. It was like an open wound. He’d gone to Vlad Sensei and had been told that she’d had an adverse reaction to the gas in the attack and that she was being cared for and was not taking visitors currently.

Every message went unread.

Every call rang until it fell into silence, then straight to voicemail.

Izuku’s worry had nowhere to go, so he buried it in the soil. Every evening, he worked behind the dorms, no matter how tired he was, weeding, pruning, planting. Sometimes others joined him; most often Kinoko, Pony, or Ochako but it was always his hands in the dirt until the light failed.

When asked why he pushed himself so hard, he only smiled and said:
“So it’ll be ready for her.”

So, when his phone buzzed with a text from his mother:
She’s at the apartment.
Izuku didn’t hesitate. He was already moving. It didn’t matter what trouble he got into.

------------------------------

The Abbess had declared her “restored by grace.” Her lungs, her vines; whole again, at least in body. But the gaze that followed her as she left the chapel told her plainly: she was still bound.

With the Abbess occupied elsewhere and the senior sisters distracted by illness in the ranks, there was a narrow window.

It was disturbing, how swiftly her life fit into a single case. Her phone had been taken, but the Midoriyas’ address burned brighter in her mind than any scripture.

She slipped into the hall, the silence of the convent pressing down on her like judgment. She nearly made it when she collided with Sister Hibiki; second youngest, and firmly under the Abbess’s thumb.

For a heartbeat they simply stared at one another. Hibiki’s breath hitched; her mouth opened.

The vines struck first. Gentle but firm, binding arms, gagging words. Kamui’s teachings guided her hand, even in desperation. Snapping the vines sent pain lancing through her skull - nothing compared to the lash - but it gave her a few precious seconds.

She eased Hibiki into a closet, the younger girl’s wide eyes shimmering with fear. Ibara whispered a prayer for forgiveness, though whether for herself or her sister she could not tell.

Then she was gone, out into rain-slick streets, hugging the shadows. The Midoriyas’ apartment glowed in her mind like the faintest of prayer-lamps, pulling her forward.

----------------------------------------

When the door opened, she braced for rejection.

Instead, Inko took one look at her and drew her inside.

The apartment was warm in a way the chapel never had been. The air smelled of tea and something sweet baking. When Inko folded her into an embrace without hesitation; no scripture, no judgment, just soft arms and steady breath - Ibara nearly wept.

She did weep when a steaming cup was pressed into her trembling hands, when Inko smoothed damp strands of vine from her face and murmured, “You don’t have to explain. Just rest. You’re safe here, my dear.”

Was this… the warmth of a mother’s touch?

Later, Inko gently insisted she change from her damp clothes. Ibara slipped into exercise wear of Izuku’s; scandalous and comforting all at once. Fed, coddled, cradled, for almost one blissful hour she felt as though she mattered.

But reprieve never lasted.

A knock sounded — measured, deliberate, like a gavel.

Ibara froze, cup trembling in her hands. She knew that rhythm. The weight of it. Every strike landed in her chest like a judgment pronounced.

Her vines shivered, curling tight against her body as if to hide her.

Inko looked toward the door, her brow creasing. “My, that’s… firm.” She rose, steady but puzzled, wiping her hands on her apron. She didn’t feel it; not the way Ibara did.

To Inko it was simply someone at the door.

To Ibara it was the sound of chains.

The warmth of the apartment, the scent of sugar and tea, seemed to thin. The air grew heavier, thick as incense smoke in a sealed chapel.

She whispered, voice breaking, “It’s her.”

Another knock. Louder. Unhurried. Like the visitor had all the time in the world to claim what was hers.

Inko turned back, eyes softening at the terror on Ibara’s face. She came to her; hands light on her shoulders. “Stay here. Whatever this is… you are not alone.”

The words sparked something inside Ibara - fragile, trembling - but then the knock came again, slow and certain, and the little flame guttered under the weight of dread.

The door opened on a whisper of hinges. The Abbess stood there, come to collect her wayward branch.

She filled the modest apartment doorway as though it were a cathedral arch. Her habit was immaculate, her veil shadowing eyes that glimmered with the cold iron of authority.

“Sister Shiozaki” she said softly, and though her words barely rose above the patter of drizzle against the window, the air in the room bent around them. “My lamb has wandered too far from the flock.”

Ibara couldn’t breathe. Her cup rattled against its saucer; tea bitter and cloying in her mouth. Her knees itched to fold, to kneel, to yield. Her vines curled in, hugging her ribs.

But Inko stepped forward.

Arms crossed, chin lifted, she stood between the Abbess and Ibara with the simple, immovable presence of a mother whose home had been trespassed. “You’ll not speak about her like that in my house.”

The Abbess tilted her head, serene as a saint in stained glass. “This is not your matter, Mrs. Midoriya. The girl belongs to the Church.”

“She’s a child,” Inko said, voice sharpening. “And right now she’s a frightened child under my roof. That makes her my matter.”

Something invisible pressed at the edges of the room - a subtle tightening, like unseen wires twining up the walls, constricting the air itself. The Abbess’s quirk. Her voice remained gentle, almost pitying.

“You mistake shelter for salvation. We gave her life when none would. You gave her… borrowed clothes.” Her gaze flicked toward the sweatpants Ibara wore, and the corner of her mouth quirked faintly. “Tell me, child. Do you feel any holier for your little masquerade?”

Ibara flinched as though struck, shame sparking through her veins. The old reflexes screamed to agree, to submit. But Inko’s hand came down, firm and steady on her shoulder.

“You leave her be,” Inko snapped. “She’s not a masquerade. She’s a person. And in this home, she’ll be treated like one.”

For the first time, Ibara’s wide eyes turned not to the Abbess but to the woman shielding her.

No one had ever spoken back.

No one had ever dared.

The air thickened again; heavier, pressing like a hand on the back of the neck. “Bold words,” the Abbess murmured, her quirk slinking further and tighter around the pair. “But words will not keep her from withering.”

Inko’s answer was as cold as steel. “Then let her grow where she chooses.”

The tension trembled, ready to snap. Ibara’s breath came shallow, her heart battering against her ribs. She could not move. Could not look away.

And then:

“Mom, I came as soon as – Ibara! - what’s going on?”

Izuku’s voice broke into the charged silence as the front door shut behind him. He stopped dead at the sight: his mother squared off against a veiled woman radiating menace, Ibara crumpled on the couch in his clothes, tears shining in her eyes.

“M-Mom? Ibara? Abbess?” His voice cracked on the last word, horror dawning as the scene unfolded before him.

The Abbess turned her head slowly, and the smile she offered him was the kind that had blessed countless congregations; gentle, serene but under the façade, poison lurked. “Ah, Midoriya Izuku. How timely. You see the state she is in. The rot has set in, and what happens to trees when they rot?”

Her voice lilted, calm as a lullaby. The pressure in the room grew heavier, like wires curling unseen around throats, around wrists. Ibara gasped faintly, bowing her head as if the weight itself forced her down.

“You would not want her to be pruned, would you?” the Abbess murmured, eyes narrowing. “A girl without guidance is lost to temptation. And temptation… destroys.”

“Ibara isn’t lost,” Inko snapped, her hand firm on the girl’s shoulder. “She’s exhausted and hurting, and you’re making it worse.”

The Abbess didn’t look at her. She looked only at Izuku; voice soft as silk. “She is a stray, Izuku. Strays cling to the first hand that feeds them. But what happens when the hand tires? When you realize she was never yours to hold?”

Ibara’s breath hitched, her head jerking up at those words. Shame. Fear. They wormed through her, familiar poisons. Never yours. Never anyone’s.

Izuku’s body trembled. His fingers twitched at his sides. He still hadn’t moved.

“Let her go,” the Abbess said, quiet but absolute. “She is bound to the Church. Not to you.”

The room seemed to constrict. Ibara could hardly breathe. For a heartbeat she thought Izuku would step aside.

Instead - he moved.

With a sharp, decisive step he came forward, slipping between Ibara and the Abbess, his back straight, his fists clenched at his sides. His voice shook, but the words rang like steel on stone:

“She was never yours. She’s hers and I love her.”

The air cracked. The Abbess’s quirk pressed harder, invisible chains of shame, guilt and fear trying to burrow into him, but Izuku didn’t flinch. Inko’s hand squeezed Ibara’s shoulder in fierce solidarity. And for the first time in her life, Ibara saw the Abbess falter.

Her eyes narrowed. Her lips curved into that saintly smile, but the corners quivered as her quirk wound tighter, an invisible lattice of pressure forcing itself into the room. The air itself felt like a cage.

Ibara’s chest locked as if the invisible wires threaded straight through her ribs, tugging her vines into a half-bow. Her throat burned with words of apology that weren’t hers, old reflexes clawing their way out.

And then — she saw Izuku.

His back, squarely in front of her. His shoulders rigid. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles blanched. His whole body shook with the effort of not moving. He stood as if braced against a storm, green eyes locked on the Abbess. The air shimmered faintly, not with power but with the sheer stubbornness of his will.

“Stop,” he ground out. His voice was low, shaking, but unyielding. “You can’t take her. Not now. Not ever.”

The Abbess’s serene mask faltered. Her quirk pressed harder, chains of invisible guilt and fear seeking cracks. “You defy me? A child thinks he can withstand God’s hand?”

Her smile widened; too wide. “You will break as easily as her. And when you fall, boy, she will crawl back to me. They all do.”

“I won’t fall.” Izuku’s words cut, plain and sharp. “Because I’m not alone. She isn’t either. And you know it.”

The pressure snapped like a storm at full gale. Ibara gasped, the air crushed from her lungs. For a heartbeat she thought Izuku would be ripped apart by it. Ripped apart by the guilt, the fear, the shame.

But then — the weight shivered.

The Abbess’s eyes widened. A tremor ran through her hand, then up her arm. Blood dribbled from her nose as her quirk rebounded, backlash cutting into her like barbed wire. She staggered half a step, one hand bracing against the wall, breath coming sharp and ragged.

“You!” she rasped, voice trembling. “You don’t know what you’ve set in motion.”

Izuku didn’t flinch. Inko rose behind him, her hands firm on Ibara’s shoulders, grounding her.

The Abbess straightened, face smoothing again into marble, though the faint trembles in her jaw and the flecks of blood staining her pristine white clothes betrayed her. Her eyes flicked between mother and son, lingering last on Ibara; and in that gaze was a promise, bound with venom.

“This defiance will cost you dearly. When the bloom fades, you will return.”

And with that, she turned sharply, her robes whispering as she swept into the hall. The door shut with a finality that rattled through Ibara’s bones. The silence that settled in the wake felt raw, like skin after the lash.

Ibara could hardly breathe. Relief, terror, disbelief, and something deeper, all tangled within her like a knot she couldn’t undo. Her eyes drank in Izuku’s back, his form still trembling but unbowed, the echo of his words still burning in her ears.

He said he loved her.

Her hands pressed to her mouth, tears spilling unchecked. Never had she felt so weak, so undone, and yet so full of hope. Her chest ached with it, her whole body near swooning under the weight of what he had done, what he had declared.

Silence pressed on the apartment, broken only by Izuku’s ragged breaths. His shoulders heaved, but he didn’t turn around right away. He stood there, as if daring the shadows to test him again.

Then Inko’s hands were on both, fluttering over them in search of any wounds. “Ibara, Izuku, are you hurt? She - her quirk – all those ugly feelings!”

“I’m fine, Mom.” His voice was hoarse but steady. Finally, he turned, eyes darting past her to the sofa. “But Ibara -”

She was already rising, unsteady, her legs shaking as though her own vines had betrayed her. Her wide eyes locked onto him, wet with tears, luminous in the dim apartment light.

“You… you said…” Her voice broke, half-sob, half-laughter. She pressed both hands to her chest as if to steady the storm within. “You said you loved me.”

Izuku froze, colour flooding his face as if he’d only just realized what had escaped his mouth. His lips parted, fumbling for words, but Ibara moved first. She crossed the distance in halting, trembling steps, then collapsed against him, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders.

“I -” Her voice was muffled against his shirt, her body trembling. “I thought I was only ever meant to be bound. That no one would ever stand for me like that. And then you…”

Her words dissolved into sobs, raw and unrestrained.

Izuku’s arms came around her, hesitant at first, then firm, steady, protective. He didn’t know what to say; so, he didn’t. He just held her, feeling her shake, feeling the heat of her tears soak through his shirt.

Inko watched, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes glistening. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than he’d ever heard it: “You’re safe here, Ibara. For as long as you need. That woman won’t touch you again. Not while either of us still draw breath.”

The words broke something in Ibara all over again. For years, comfort had been laced with scripture, with penance, with conditional love. This, this was warm, human, unconditional.

When at last she looked up, her face blotchy and wet, her eyes found Izuku’s again. Hope burned there, fragile but alive, and she whispered like a prayer:

“Maybe… maybe I can bloom here.”

Izuku smiled — crooked, awkward, warm. “Then we’ll make sure of it. Together.”

And for the first time since she’d been given the precious gift in the form of a key, Ibara let herself believe it.

The three of them lingered in the quiet after the storm, breathless, hearts pounding. Ibara had not let go of him, as if afraid that if she loosened her grip, he would vanish like a dream.

Izuku shifted, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck even while her arms were still looped around him. “I… I should tell you something.”

She blinked up at him, eyes red but searching. “Something?”

He nodded, cheeks burning. “Behind the dorms… there’s a patch of land. It wasn’t much. Mostly weeds. But every day since you’ve been gone, I’ve been working on it. Pulling weeds, planting new flowers. Everyone asks why I’m working so hard, but…” He swallowed. “It’s for you. I wanted it ready for when you came back.”

Her breath hitched. The words struck her deeper than any scripture ever had, threading through every fracture in her heart. A garden. Made ready for her. A place to root, to belong, to grow.

She covered her mouth with trembling fingers, unable to contain the cry that slipped out. And then she was laughing and weeping all at once, vines trembling around her like a storm contained in green. “Beloved… do you not see? You were sent. You were sent to me.”

Izuku blinked, confused and flustered by her fervour, but didn’t protest as she pressed her forehead to his chest, whispering prayers of thanks into the fabric of his shirt.

Inko, standing at the kitchen doorway, pressed a hand to her heart, watching the fragile moment take shape between them. The air smelled faintly of rain and tea, but for Ibara, it was sweeter than incense, richer than any hymn.

For the first time, she allowed herself to believe fully, without reserve or hesitation:
She was not forsaken. She was chosen.

And she would bloom.

Outside the rain began to ease and the night smelled of a fresh start - new earth.

The garden waits. And for the first time, she believed she might belong in it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Taking Root

Freedom was louder than Ibara had expected.

At the church, days were carved by bells and scripture; every hour measured, every step accounted for. In the dorms, time sprawled. Laughter spilled through the halls, alarms rang at odd hours, and no one told her when to sit, when to eat, when to pray. It was dizzying, like stepping into sunlight after years underground.

Even their return had felt unreal. Inko Midoriya herself had escorted them back to UA, a steady hand against the storm still thrumming in her chest. Izuku, though, had paid a price for it. He’d slipped from campus without permission, and Aizawa-sensei’s voice had been flat when he declared a week’s detention.

But Izuku had only bowed his head, shoulders square, and said, “For Ibara - I’d take any punishment.”

The words rang like liturgy, and she had nearly swooned, the honeysuckle-lavender scent of him washing over her in a tide of fierce devotion.

Mercy came in the form of Vlad-sensei, who ruled that Izuku’s punishment would be spent in the garden. He accepted it with a smile, dirt under his fingernails, and she worked beside him every evening as if it had always been so.

Still, whispers clung like burrs. No one asked outright where she had been, but eyes lingered, voices hushed when she entered a room. Izuku gave no explanation, only shrugged and said, “She’s here now. That’s what matters.”

It was worse, in some ways, when they were together. Her vines betrayed her constantly snaring his sleeve, brushing his hand, tugging him along without thought. And he never pulled away. More often than not, he leaned into it, touches casual but intimate enough that the dorms noticed.

And beneath all of it, her emotions bucked and reeled. The Church had not fought the guardianship transfer; she was now a ward of UA. Free, in name. Free, and yet abandoned again. Untethered.

Izuku was the only constant. Her sun in the morning prayers he joined, awkward but earnest. Her anchor when doubt clawed in. Yet even in the warmth of his presence, she ached for a space that felt sacred, somewhere to root her faith in this strange, blooming new life.

And still, temptation whispered. When she prayed, her thoughts drifted to the warmth of his hand when it brushed hers. When she recited psalms, she imagined his voice beside her. It was sinful to let her mind wander so, but it was also sweet.

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The dorms came with many, many new experiences.

The laundry

Ibara stared at the rows of whirring machines, utterly baffled by the buttons. She’d washed her habits by hand for years, in cold water with soap. Now the dormitory hummed like some mechanical hymn.

She reached for a dial, uncertain, and jumped when Setsuna leaned over her shoulder with a grin.

“Relax, Vine-chan,” Setsuna grinned, hands behind her head. “Worst case, you shrink your socks and join my aesthetic.”

Izuku appeared a moment later, sleeves already rolled up. “Here; I’ll show you.”

He walked her through each step, patient and soft-spoken.

The Abbess would have called her helpless. A child lost without a shepherd.

When the machine finally rumbled to life, Ibara whispered a small prayer of thanks, not sure if it was for the clean clothes… or for him.

Movie Night

The only television in the church had been tuned to the news and the news only.

Ibara knew about films and movies but only in a similar way to knowing about foreign countries. She knew about them but had never visited. 

So, when Mina forced a bowl of popcorn into her lap and declared her in need of “cultural education” she had no idea what she was in for.

She was entirely unprepared when the screen exploded with noise and light, a blur of battles and witty banter. Ibara sat stiff-backed, overwhelmed, until Izuku leaned close to explain the plot. His breath brushed her ear; warm, distracting and her mind wandered places prayer could not reach.

Sin begins with a glance, a voice, a thought. The Abbess’s words coiled like barbed wire in her skull.

Mina caught the flush creeping across her cheeks and smirked into her soda. Ibara spent the rest of the film convinced the other girl knew exactly what was in her heart.

That night, kneeling at her bedside, she pressed her rosary beads so hard into her palms the cross left an imprint in her skin. The words of her prayers flowed familiar and steady, but her thoughts betrayed her. She had not only watched a movie; she had carried home the memory of Izuku’s breath at her ear, the warmth of his shoulder against hers. It was sinful, surely, to let the rhythm of her prayer beat in time with the echo of his closeness.
And yet… she whispered each prayer a little softer, almost as though she were binding the memory into her faith itself, not driving it out.

Decorating

Her new room, when she first moved in was a square box of blank walls and bare floorboards. Too empty. Too exposed. Just a bed and a desk.

The first thing that had been added was a plant.

Izuku had stepped into her room one morning, holding a little clay pot. Inside was a modest green plant, its leaves round and glossy. “Um… I thought maybe… for your window?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It reminded me of you.”

Her heart stuttered. She reached for it, careful, and their fingers brushed. Warmth sparked through her arm, startling, treacherously welcome. She set the plant on the sill, and it looked instantly at home, as if it had been waiting for her.

That was the first thing.

Others soon followed.

A dog-eared Bible from Yanagi. A dinosaur plushie from Setsuna. Phone charms, cushions, comics. Piece by piece, her room filled with gifts until it no longer looked empty; it looked lived in.

She stood at the threshold one evening, vines curling along the doorframe, staring at the collection.

Borrowed gifts. Masquerade. Never yours.

Her throat tightened. She pressed her palms together until they ached and whispered to herself:

“They are gifts given of love. That makes them mine.”

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One of the biggest changes though was her wardrobe.

The second weekend after coming to the dorms, the common room turned into an Amazonian war council.

“Well, she’s got nothing,” Kendo said, arms folded as she surveyed Ibara, who sat stiff-backed on the couch, her rosary wound tight around her fingers. “Uniforms don’t count. And those habits” her nose wrinkled, “no offense, but they’re not exactly casual wear.”

Ibara lowered her eyes. “They were… sufficient.”

“They were prison clothes,” Setsuna said bluntly, head floating upside-down on the sofa arm. “Girl, you look like you’re about to sneak into midnight mass every time we leave the dorm. We’re fixing that.”

Ibara’s face flamed scarlet. “I - I do not mean to cause -”

“You’re not causing anything,” Ochako cut in quickly, sliding onto the couch beside her. She smiled, soft and bright. “We just… want you to have stuff that’s yours. Things you pick. You’ve never done that before, right?”

The question silenced Ibara. She stared down at the beads in her hands, vines tightening around her sleeves. She thought of cupboards filled with folded habits, all identical. Of drawers with plain socks and heavier stockings for winter. Of underthing’s sewn in the convent, coarse and functional. Nothing chosen. Nothing hers.

“No,” she admitted quietly.

Kendo clapped her hands together. “Then it’s settled. We’re going shopping.”

Ibara’s eyes widened in alarm. “Shopping? As in shops?”

“As in shops,” Setsuna said with a wicked grin. “Rows and rows of clothes. Options. The most dangerous word in the world: choices.”

Ibara almost bolted right there.

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The shopping district was a cathedral of glass and noise. Bright signs blazed with neon hymns of SALE and NEW ARRIVALS. Music pumped from unseen speakers. Laughter, chatter, and the endless hum of movement pressed in on every side.

Ibara froze just inside the doors, vines bristling faintly under her sleeves. Her eyes darted across racks and mannequins, at the sheer riot of colour.

“Breathe,” Ochako whispered, slipping her hand into Ibara’s. “It’s okay. One step at a time.”

Momo stepped forward with her usual quiet grace. “We’ll keep it simple. Essentials first. And I’ll handle the payment, so you don’t have to worry.”

“That seems… extravagant,” Ibara murmured, clutching Ochako’s hand tighter.

Momo only smiled. “Consider it… an investment. Everyone deserves a wardrobe that reflects who they are.”

Kendo grinned and steered them toward the first store. “Alright, troops. Formation. We’re getting her out of those nun rags if it kills us.”

It began with jeans.

“Try these,” Kendo said, holding out a pair of dark denim.

Ibara accepted them gingerly, like she was being handed a weapon. “These are… trousers?”

“Pants,” Setsuna corrected, grinning. “Civilian leg armour. Trust me, they’re a game-changer.”

Inside the dressing room, Ibara struggled. Denim clung in ways habits never had. When she emerged, awkward and stiff, the girls’ reactions hit her like a hymn sung too loud.

“Oh, that looks great!” Ochako beamed.
“Very practical,” Momo nodded approvingly.
“Now spin,” Setsuna ordered, making a twirling motion with her finger.

Ibara flushed crimson. “SPIN?!”

But Kendo caught her by the shoulders and turned her anyway. Setsuna whooped. Ochako clapped.

The mirror showed her a stranger: tall, slim, vines peeking from beneath the hem of a soft shirt. Normal. Human. Not holy. Not bound.

Her throat closed. She ducked back into the cubicle before they could see the tears welling.

It went on like that; shirts, skirts, cardigans, even shoes. Some pieces she refused outright (Setsuna’s attempt to push a crop top on her nearly killed her on the spot), but others she let them coax her into. Each time she stepped out, their encouragement chipped away at the wall around her.

At one point, Ochako pressed a lavender sweater into her hands. “Try this one. Please?”

The colour was soft, gentle, nothing like the stark black and white of her old life. It reminded her of Izuku’s smell when he looked at her with such adoration. When she slipped it over her head and looked into the mirror, something inside her cracked. She touched the fabric with trembling fingers.

“It’s… warm,” she whispered.

Not just in temperature. Something else. Something she couldn’t name.

Ochako squeezed her hand. “That’s because it’s yours.”

By the time they emerged into the early afternoon air, Ibara was burdened with shopping bags and a dazed expression.

Kendo pressed the last shopping bag into Momo’s hands. “We’ll take these back to the dorms.”

Setsuna smirked, dangling a much smaller gift bag between two floating fingers. “Just this last one. For you, Vine-chan.”

Ibara blinked, caught off guard. “…For me?”

“Uh-huh.” Ochako’s smile was bright but gentle. “Something little. Don’t worry, it’s not… you know, scary.”

Suspicion tugged at her, but she accepted it anyway. The bag was light, almost insubstantial. She slipped a hand inside; then went rigid.

Fabric, soft and delicate, brushed her fingers. She pulled it free, and her face went crimson. A silky camisole in pale cream, trimmed with lace that seemed far too fine for her. Not the coarse, functional underthing’s she’d worn all her life, no this was beautiful, impractical, almost… sinful.

“I - I cannot possibly!” She tried to thrust it back, mortified.

Setsuna laughed and held up her hands. “Relax, nun-girl. It’s not lingerie. It’s just… something nice. Something that’s yours.”

Ochako nodded earnestly. “Clothes don’t have to be plain to be proper. Sometimes they can make you feel… confident. Like you can shine a little brighter.”

Momo’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to wear it until you want to. But when you do, remember, it was chosen for you, not for the Church.”

Her throat tightened. Vines curled around the gift bag protectively. “I… see.” She pressed her palms together briefly, whispering a prayer she barely understood. Gratitude. Fear. Hope.

Setsuna nudged her with a grin. “And don’t worry, we’re not tossing you into the deep end. Remember it’s not lingerie, it’s training wheels for lingerie.” Setsuna only laughed when Kendo scolded her. 

“Like a training arc,” Ochako added with a laugh.

Ibara’s blush had reached almost self-combustion levels, but she held the little bag closer to her chest. It was terrifying, yes - but also secretly, guiltily thrilling.

Momo took the last little bag from Ibara, then smiled knowingly. “We’ll take these back to the dorms. Why don’t you… take a break?”

“A… break?” Ibara repeated, confused.

“Yeah,” Setsuna said, winking as she was dragged away by the others. “A date, nun-girl. Don’t look so scandalized.”

Before Ibara could protest, the girls were gone, leaving her alone with Izuku who had been patiently waiting by the entrance to the shopping mall.

“Um,” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “Do you… want to get something to eat?”

She stared at him, vines twitching nervously. “…Together?”

“Yes. I mean only if you want. If not, that’s fine too!”

Her lips trembled. She thought of the Abbess’s words, of being told she was a stray, that she clung to hands that would tire. But then she remembered him standing in front of her, unbowed, declaring his love for her.

“…I would like that,” she said softly. She imagined for a moment that Izuku could do what she could. Would he smell the honey scent of adoration drifting off her?

They ended up in a small ramen shop, steam curling in the air. Ibara stared at the menu, overwhelmed again. Too many options. Too much freedom.

Izuku leaned closer, pointing. “This one’s good. Miso base, lots of vegetables. I think you’d like it.”

But a memory made her pause. Kamui sensei ordering a spicy one, lips stained red as she laughed at his corny wink.

She ordered a spicy one. When the bowl arrived, fragrant and rich, she bowed her head automatically to say grace, smiling quietly as Izuku earnestly mimicked her.

But when she lifted her chopsticks and tasted it, her eyes widened. The flavour was rich, complex, alive, as good as the memory with Kamui sensei. She covered her mouth with her hand, laughing breathlessly. “It’s… it’s wonderful.”

Izuku grinned, shoulders relaxing. Watching her discover something so ordinary with such joy filled him with warmth he couldn’t describe.

The movie theatre was next. They chose a light-hearted comedy, something silly. Ibara sat rigid at first, clutching the soda Izuku bought her, but as the screen exploded with colour and sound, louder and more intense than the television in the dorms, her expression softened into wonder.

“Is it always like this in here?” she whispered once, eyes huge.

Izuku leaned close. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

She watched with rapt attention, sometimes hiding her smile behind her hand when the audience laughed. At one point their shoulders brushed. She didn’t move away. His pinkie brushed hers on the armrest. She trembled, but didn’t pull back, instead letting a vine slide down and wrap around his hand.

The evening air was cool as they walked, a vine still entwined around Izuku’s hand. The glow of the city lights washed her in a gentle, unfamiliar radiance.

She exhaled, words slipping free before she could catch them. “It feels like… I was never meant to choose. And now… I don’t know how to stop choosing.”

Izuku’s steps faltered. Then he smiled, shy and earnest. “Then keep choosing. As much as you want. I’ll be here.”

Her heart stumbled. She looked at him, luminous with awe. For once, she didn’t try to pray it away. She simply let herself feel it.

The walk back toward campus was slow, deliberate, neither of them in any hurry for the evening to end. The ramen’s warmth still lingered in Ibara’s chest, and the theatre’s laughter still echoed faintly in her ears. A vine remained twined loosely around Izuku’s hand, as if it had forgotten how to let go.

They paused near the gates, where the city glow softened into the darker quiet of UA’s grounds. Izuku shifted awkwardly, fumbling with something in his pocket.

“I, um… I wanted to give you something,” he said, eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

Ibara tilted her head, vines stirring faintly as she waited patiently. 

He finally looked up; his cheeks pink but his gaze steady. In his hand was a simple bracelet; woven green thread threaded with tiny silver beads that caught the lamplight. Handmade, uneven, but careful.

“I, uh… made it. During the week,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand. “It’s not much. Just… when I was working in the garden, I kept thinking about how you always make things grow. How you make me grow, honestly. And I wanted you to have something that’s yours, from me.”

Her breath caught. The Abbess’s voice hissed in memory; borrowed gifts, masquerade, but it sounded weak, distant, compared to the earnest tremor in his words.

Slowly, reverently, she extended her hand. “Would you… put it on for me?”

Izuku’s hands shook as he fastened the simple clasp around her wrist, just above her rosary. His fingers brushed her skin; she thought her knees might fail her.

The thread hugged her wrist snugly, green against pale skin, silver glinting faintly like stars. Ordinary. And yet, extraordinary.

She lifted it, studying the imperfect weave as if it were a relic. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Her vines curled close around her shoulders, protective, overwhelmed. “I… I will treasure it.”

Izuku ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. “I’m glad.”

Her chest swelled with so many emotions she thought she might burst. The camisole waiting in the little bag upstairs felt terrifying, almost scandalous. But this bracelet, warm against her skin, felt safe. A promise.

She took a slow breath, steadying herself, and whispered before she could lose her courage: “…Thank you, beloved.”

Izuku froze, then flushed from ear to ear. But his answering smile was radiant. “Always, Ibara.”

And for the first time in weeks, the Abbess’s voice was silent.

Back in her room, Ibara sat on the edge of the bed, shopping bags arranged neatly at her feet like offerings. The bracelet gleamed faintly in the light from her desk, snug around her wrist. She traced the imperfect threads with a fingertip, heart still tumbling from the evening.

Her vines curled protectively around her shoulders, trembling with her. She whispered a psalm under her breath, but for once, it wasn’t to drown out the Abbess’s voice. It was to steady the weight of joy pressing against her ribs. It had been perfect.

The Abbess had always said love was a chain, that desire was a sin. And yet, when she looked at the bracelet; at this fragile, handmade thing, she saw no sin, only tenderness. Not a chain, but a choice. Her choice.

Her eyes flicked to the smallest bag. The camisole nestled there, pale silk folded carefully between tissue paper, felt like a forbidden relic. Just the thought of wearing it made her cheeks burn, but… Setsuna’s words lingered: it’s not about sin, Vine-chan. It’s about feeling like you.

A quiet knock at her window startled her. Or… not a knock exactly. A head was hovering at her window, Setsuna’s grin as shameless as ever.

“Yo,” she whispered. “Just checking in. You, uh… didn’t pass out from shopping shock, right?”

Ibara’s vines twitched defensively, but the edge softened when she caught the faint guilt in Setsuna’s eyes.

“I am… intact,” Ibara replied primly.

“Good.” Setsuna tilted her head, eyes flicking toward the bags. “Listen… if the, uh, ‘confidence wear’ was too much, you don’t have to keep it. We were just messing around. I might’ve… pushed too far.”

Ibara hesitated, then shook her head slowly. “No. You… meant well.” She glanced down at the bracelet again, her voice quiet but firm. “It is frightening, but… perhaps frightening things are worth facing.”

Setsuna’s grin returned, softer this time. “Knew you’d get it. You’re tougher than you look, Vine-chan.” Her head floated back up to her room before Ibara could answer.

Silence returned.

Ibara rose, tucking the camisole deeper into the drawer, then lifted her wrist once more, letting the bracelet catch the light. She pressed it to her heart, closed her eyes, and breathed.

For the first time, she did not feel abandoned.

For the first time, she felt as though she had chosen and been chosen in return.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Training Vine

Freedom still tasted strange, even after feasting on it.

In the convent, freedom had been rationed like bread. A walk in the garden only under the Abbess’ gaze. Prayer scheduled, meals measured, silence imposed. Even her dreams had been inspected, in a way; every confession pried open, weighed, judged.

Now, weeks into life at Heights Alliance, Ibara was learning how to live without chains. She was learning to leave her door unlocked and not fear who might come through. She was learning that the sound of laughter in the corridor did not mean cruelty was waiting. She was learning that warmth could be constant, not conditional.

But freedom was not simple. It came with shadows.

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“I want to remind you again,” Hound Dog rumbled, claws drumming on the desk, “that none of what she did to you was ever your fault.”

The office was a little too warm, a little too bright. A small diffuser hissed in the corner, lavender scent trying and failing to cover the musk of wet fur. Bookshelves sagged with psychology texts. On the wall behind him hung certificates she couldn’t read clearly because her eyes kept flicking down to her lap.

Ibara sat straight-backed in the chair, hands folded in her lap as if posture itself could shield her. She had chosen her neatest uniform, bow tied just so, socks uncreased. She hated how much she wanted to appear perfect. She hated how it felt like she was waiting for punishment if she slipped.

“I understand,” she said.

The words sounded obedient, but inside she was not sure. The Abbess’ voice still gnawed at her: every bruise, every cutting phrase had been wrapped in scripture, justification, divine order. When you are told a lie every day, it begins to sound like truth.

Hound Dog’s ears flicked. He bared his teeth; not a threat, but a frown from him. “You say you understand, but I can smell the guilt rolling off you. You’re still blaming yourself.”

Ibara flinched. Her braid slipped forward over her shoulder, a green rope across pale hands. “Old habits. I am… trying to think differently.”

“That’s enough for now. Trying counts.” His tone softened. For Hound Dog, that only meant less gravel, but she felt the intention. “The Commission has already opened a formal case. Quirk abuse. Coercion. Unlawful punishment. They’re interviewing every nun who’ll speak. They’ll hold her accountable.”

Accountable.

The word landed like a stone in a pond, rippling through her. The Abbess had been the law for so long, her word God’s word, unchallenged, absolute. To imagine men in suits combing through prayer books, photographing crops and locked doors, treating her cruelty as criminal…

Her hands trembled in disbelief before she could stop them, phantom pains dashing up her limbs.

“I never thought…” Her voice shook. She swallowed. Forced herself to look up. “I never thought anyone would care.”

Hound Dog leaned forward. Sunlight caught across the scar that split his muzzle. His nostrils flared. “Listen. You’re not alone anymore. You’re not powerless. And you’ve got people here who’d tear down walls to protect you. You realize that, right?”

Her thoughts jumped, unbidden, to her beloved Izuku.

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The memory of Ground Beta was sharp as glass.

Izuku had been radiant with panic, eyes wide and frantic, arms flailing as dark tendrils erupted from him. Black whips of energy cracked against concrete, ripped steel from supports, lashed at anyone too close. His cries had been hoarse with fear: I can’t stop it!

She had never seen him like that. Not gentle, not awkward, not muttering shy encouragements under his breath but wild, terrified, out of control.

She had thrown every vine she had around him, binding his arms, anchoring his body to the ground while he shook. He’d wept apologies even as the whips kept striking, as though sheer contrition could cage a power that felt alive.

It had taken both teams to hold him down before Shino could brainwash him down out of the panic.

Afterwards, he’d hidden in guilt, voice raw, head bowed. Later still, he had come to her door at night, eyes rimmed red, shoulders hunched as if he were carrying the weight of a battlefield.

“Do you hate me now?” he had asked, the salt water reek of guilt falling off of him.

She remembered standing there in her simple nightclothes, rosary cool against her palm. Her chest ached, tight and sudden, as if someone had pressed their hands over it. The words almost stuck in her throat, not because she didn’t know the answer, but because her body protested the thought even for a second. Hate him? Impossible.

The words had risen without hesitation: “I do not. I could never.”

She would not forget the relief that broke across his face then; fragile, overwhelming, so human it made her want to shield him forever.

She had pulled him across the threshold and, ignoring every lesson of propriety the convent had beaten into her, tucked him into bed with her. She curled around his back, her living hair weaving a cocoon around them both.

She still needed to thank Setsuna for running interference the next morning.

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Back in Hound Dog’s office, she folded her hands tighter.

“Midoriya has been… burdened since that day,” she admitted. “I worry for him.”

The counsellor’s ears flicked. He gave a low, approving growl. “He worries for everyone else. Sounds like you two match.” His eyes narrowed. “Just don’t take on his load and yours both. Support him, yes. But don’t let his struggle drown you.”

Ibara bowed her head. “I will remember; after all no one is an island.”

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The dorm common room that evening was a riot of sound. Kaminari’s shouts at his video game echoed off the walls. Mina and Kirishima bickered with cheerful intensity about who made the better training partner. Kendo fussing and scolding about mud tracked across the floor. Even Bakugo was present, snarling over some minor offense whilst Setsuna mocked him silently.

Once, the noise would have made her skin crawl. Once, she would have been searching for orders, punishment, rules. Now, the chaos felt almost… safe.

Izuku sat in the middle of it, hunched on the couch, surrounded by spiralling notes. His handwriting looped desperately across page after page: sketches of whip-arcs, calculations of angles, emotional triggers, tiny boxes marked “control???”. His pen scratched so fast it threatened to tear the page.

He startled when he noticed her watching. Pages scattered, hands flailed. “Ibara! I - I wasn’t - well, I was but not – uh… did you need something?”

She bent smoothly, gathering the papers before they could drift under the couch. “You apologize too easily,” she said gently, lightly tapping his forehead with a vine.

He flushed crimson. “S-sorry.”

Her smile widened just enough. She stacked the papers neatly and set them back in his lap. “How are you?”

He hesitated. His pen stilled. Finally, he whispered, “Like I’m holding a bomb that’s alive. And it hates me.” His laugh was small and brittle, meant as a joke, but his eyes betrayed the weight as well as the intensifying odour of ash.

Ibara lowered herself to the couch beside him. “Then perhaps it is time to train with it. Not against it.”

His head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “Train… with Blackwhip?”

She inclined her head. “Every vine grows wild without a trellis. Perhaps your power needs one.” Her voice softened. “And perhaps I can help. Afterall, you yourself have seen how my own power acts on its own sometimes. When it first came in it tried to steal extra communion wafers.”

He stared at her as if she had offered him a miracle. Slowly, his shoulders sagged, tension easing. His mouth curved into the smallest, most grateful smile she had seen.

Something in her chest ached warmly.

As the dorm life surged around them, Ibara watched Izuku sketch again; only now, his diagrams steadier, his movements less frantic. She thought of the Abbess and her chains, of years bent beneath a false shepherd. She thought of welts and whispers, of prayers turned to shackles.

But here, in the glow of dorm lamps, surrounded by noise and laughter, with Izuku trusting her, she felt the chains loosen.

The investigation into the convent would grind on. The church might collapse. There would be letters, hearings, maybe even a trial. Shadows still stretched behind her.

But she was not powerless anymore.

And when she looked at Izuku, her beloved; awkward, brilliant, burdened beyond reason, she knew she could be his anchor as well as her own.

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The gymnasium at Heights Alliance was quiet after curfew. Mats rolled neatly along one wall, balance beams stacked in corners, the faint smell of chalk and rubber still hanging in the air. The only fixed light came from the ceiling fixtures above the sparring ring, the setting sun casting long shadows through the windows.

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped inside. “We’re… really not supposed to be in here this late.”

Ibara slipped in after him, braid trailing like ivy in the dark. “Rules may be bent, when the purpose is growth. I will not tell if you do not.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “Guess we’re both accomplices, then.”

His nerves showed in every fidget, every dart of his eyes. He hadn’t slept properly since Blackwhip had burst free. He carried himself like someone bracing for a storm only he could feel.

Ibara moved to the centre of the mats and turned to him, steady. “Show me.”

Izuku swallowed, nodded, and stepped onto the mat. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. He focused, drawing deep from the power that had once been a steady ember and now carried wild threads woven through it.

For a moment, nothing. Then the air snapped. Black tendrils erupted from his forearm, alive, whipping outward with violent cracks.

“Too much!” His voice cracked. The whips lashed, slamming into a training dummy and sending it crashing to the floor. Another struck the mat, leaving a seared groove.

“Breathe,” Ibara commanded. Her vines unfurled from her back, green against black. They wrapped around his wrists, anchoring, pulling his arms down before the tendrils could strike wild again.

Izuku strained against her hold. “I…I can’t; what if I hurt you?”

“You will not,” she said calmly, even as the lashes whipped past her cheek. “You are not a danger to me. You are afraid and fear makes your power thrash.”

“I’m not afraid for me!” His voice broke. “I’m afraid for you what if I lose control and… something awful happens”

“Then let me hold you,” she interrupted, vines tightening around his torso, binding his arms to his sides. She stepped closer, eyes bright and steady. “Do not fight the storm alone.”

Izuku’s chest heaved. The whips thrashed harder, then faltered, like a beast caught between rage and exhaustion. Ibara’s vines coiled tighter, twining with the dark lashes. Black and green tangled, clashing, then finding a rhythm.

She spoke low, firm: “It is not wrath that fuels you. It is compassion. Do not resist, breathe with it.”

Izuku’s breath stuttered, then steadied. Slowly, painfully, the tendrils began to coil inward, drawing close instead of lashing out. For the first time since their manifestation, they did not feel like a curse, they felt like part of him.

The whips flickered, dimmed, and retracted back into his skin.

Izuku sagged in her hold, sweat dripping down his face, chest heaving. “I - I did it!” His knees buckled.

Ibara caught him, bringing him closer to her, helping him stand upright. Her vines loosened but did not fully release, still curled around his arms in a protective brace.

“You did not do it alone,” she said softly.

His head fell forward, forehead pressing against her shoulder. His voice cracked. “I was so scared. I thought I’d become - something dangerous. I don’t want to be a monster.”

“You are not.” Her hand found the back of his head, fingers brushing damp curls. “Even your power trusts you more when you let love guide it.”

There was silence, then her voice again, matter of fact:
“And the man I love could never be a monster. He is kind and compassionate, full of joy and hope.”

Izuku’s breath hitched as if he’d just taken a gut punch. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. They were close, oh so close. Her vines were still wrapped around him, his chest pressed against hers, their breaths mingling.

Something in the silence shifted.

Neither spoke. The gym faded, the world narrowed. His freckles flushed deep red, her cheeks warmed, but neither looked away.

And then Ibara leaned in.

It was clumsy; too quick, her teeth bumping his, the heat of his breath shocking against her mouth.

And the abbess’s voice slammed into her: filthy girl, shameless, defiled. Her lips burned as if lashed, her hands trembled. She pulled back sharply, breath coming ragged, guilt rising like bile. “Forgive me!” she whispered, hands clasped tight at her chest, vines curling in frantic knots over the gym mats.

Izuku’s eyes were wide, stunned, freckles stark against his pale skin. The cinnamon-burst embarrassment was so strong it almost made her gag; but beneath it, oh Lord, beneath it was something else. Warmth, soft and sweet as honey, a yearning that mirrored hers so perfectly it made her knees weak.

She caught herself shaking, torn between pulling him closer or collapsing into him.

Her breath hitched. She pressed her lips together, then blurted, trembling:

“…I’m going to do that again.”

Before guilt could rise to smother her, she leaned in once more, slower this time, eyes fluttering shut. The kiss landed soft, tentative, lingering. And when Izuku, hesitant but steady, kissed her back when she felt the sweetness of it, the solid honey-rose truth that he wanted this too, the dam inside her burst.

Her vines quivered like plucked strings, her whole body alive with the rush. The abbess’s voice howled in the distance, but it was drowned under the flood of heat and joy, guilt and hunger tangled together until she didn’t care which was which. She wanted more, she needed more and now that she had tasted it, she knew she would not stop.

Her vow; I’m going to do that again, was not a promise, but a declaration.

The second kiss lingered, slower, but it was no less intense. Izuku’s hand twitched against her vines as if he didn’t know where to put it, his breath catching. When he finally moved; hesitant, trembling, his fingers brushed up her hand, then her wrist, then finally, daringly, her waist. That smallest of touches made Ibara shudder, made her press forward more urgently, her whole being trembling with joy.

The guilt tried to rise again, black and sharp; filthy, shameful but it was drowned in the flood of warmth when Izuku kissed back properly. Not just enduring her kiss but answering it. Wanting her.

That thought cracked something open in her. She gave a broken little gasp against his lips and then surged, hand catching at his shoulder as if she might fall without him. The kiss turned fierce, unpractised but hungry, all clashing breath and trembling mouths. Izuku made a startled sound; half surprise, half something deeper, that only spurred her further – she wanted to hear more of those delicious noises.

Her vines betrayed her want, fully slipping free of her braid, curling around his back, his arms, one even brushing the back of his neck with the gentlest of touches. He jolted at the sensation, eyes going wide, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned closer, freckles flushed crimson, their training forgotten in the rush of new sensations.

There was no rhythm, no careful plan. It was a flood, a tumble, mouths meeting again and again, sometimes too hard, sometimes too soft, breathless and messy and real. She barely knew what she was doing, only that she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop; her lips burned, her chest ached, and she thought wildly that if the abbess struck her down this instant she would die with joy on her tongue.

Finally, they broke apart, panting, foreheads pressed together. Izuku’s hand had found her own somewhere in the tangle, fingers clutching hers tight, sweaty and shaking but there. His green eyes, wide and stunned, locked onto hers.

“…Ibara,” he breathed, voice trembling and full of reverence like a prayer.

And she laughed; quiet, shaky, half a sob but full of wonder because his voice, his warmth, the way he said her name, it didn’t feel like sin at all. It felt like salvation.

Her lips were already moving again, pressing to his mouth, his cheek, the corner of his jaw, unable to stop herself. “Again,” she whispered against his skin, almost desperate. “Again! Please!”

And when he answered her with another kiss, shy but sure, the last of her restraint shattered.

The crack in the dam burst open, and there was no stopping it.

Kisses turned into something more; frantic, tumbling, unshaped. Ibara couldn’t keep still, couldn’t keep her vines in check. They spilled from her like water from a cracked jar, curling around gym equipment, snaking over the floor, winding themselves further around Izuku with a will of their own, anchoring him fully to her, body to body.

He gasped, startled, but he didn’t flinch away. Instead, his hands; shaking, burning hot roamed all over her, then her hair, then settling at her waist and hips as though trying to hold onto something solid while the world tilted.

And tilt it did. Ibara wasn’t sure who lost balance first, they both went with it. A gasp, a stumble, a tangle of gym clothes, limbs and vines, and suddenly they were on the floor in a heap, breathless, mouths still colliding, more laughter than grace between them.

Her vines cocooned them instinctively, shielding them from view that wasn’t there, framing their bodies in a trembling cage of green. She could feel every point of contact as his chest pressed to hers, the warmth of his breath mixing with her own. Their kisses grew messier, deeper, more insistent, until her lips bruised, and his freckles looked painted in fire.

“Sorry!” he tried to gasp between breaths, blushing furiously.

“For what?” she managed, already kissing him again before he could answer.

The world narrowed to heat and heartbeat and the frantic pulse of being alive. The abbess’s voice tried to break through - filthy, sinful, unclean - but it was drowned, drowned completely, in Izuku’s trembling whisper against her lips:

“I… I want this too. I want you!”

Those words undid her. Her vines tightened protectively, wrapping him closer, as though the whole world might rip him away if she didn’t hold on.

By the time the storm passed, they were both sprawled out flat on the floor of the gym, limbs tangled, robes askew, vines slackened and draped like a green net across them both. Their cheeks were flaming, their foreheads slick with sweat, their lips swollen and raw, but they were smiling. Shaky, bashful, disbelieving smiles, but pleased.

Ibara lay still for a long moment, chest rising and falling as though she had just run a race. Then, unable to help herself, she let out a small laugh, her head laying on his chest, the hammer of his heartbeat one of the sweetest things she had ever heard.

“Izuku…” she whispered, voice trembling but steady enough to hold the truth. “If this is sin… then I would gladly sin again.”

His answering blush nearly outshone the sunset glow seeping through the window, but he nodded, eyes soft, and squeezed her closer, head moving to bury into the crook of her neck.

And there, tangled and breathless on the floor, they both silently promised: again.

The heat and desire faded slowly. Somewhere in the quiet of the gym, the world outside could wait. For the first time, she realized that the strength to anchor someone else didn’t come from ruling them, but from standing beside them. And tomorrow… tomorrow they would train again. Together.

-----------------------------------

The days that followed were filled with the ordinary rhythms of dorm life: shared meals, laughter spilling down the corridors, whispered notes exchanged when no one was watching. And slowly, the lessons of the gym began to bloom in subtle ways.

Two weeks later, there was another cross-class exercise. Although she had been placed on the losing team, it was still highly cathartic to see Monoma, bound, gagged, and trussed up like a turkey via Blackwhip by a thoroughly grinning Izuku. The improvement was clear, his new aspect of One for All had grown more controlled, more precise, and along with it, his self-confidence shone brighter than ever. He stood straighter, stuttered less and spoke clearer.

It was a good look on her beloved.

Gracious even in defeat, Ibara used the vines that curled around her as an excuse to pull Izuku closer. Under the pretence of good sportsmanship, she whispered into his ear, the brush of her breath sending a familiar shiver down his spine:

“This doesn’t mean we won’t continue our… training sessions, does it, beloved?”

Izuku’s blush deepened, the faint scent of rose clinging to him, betraying the pulse of desire that he hid. He swallowed, lips parting, and murmured a shy, almost breathless, “No… never.”

Ibara smiled, pressing her forehead briefly to his, savouring the closeness and the quiet victory of shared growth. Yet even in that stolen moment, the edges of her mind tickled with awareness. Reports still trickled in breadcrumb like, and the investigation into the convent’s abuses was far from over. The church might be crumbling, one letter at a time, one testimony at a time. Shadows stretched behind her, reminders that life beyond their little cocoon of the dorms and UA still demanded attention.

But for now, in the warmth of the dorm, with Izuku’s hand entwined in hers and the memory of controlled power still thrumming in their veins, she allowed herself to breathe. They were learning. Growing. Anchoring one another.

And she knew, with a clarity that made her chest ache, that they would face whatever came next together.