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The sky was darkening by the minute. It would probably rain later; thick clouds had already swalowed almost the entire sunset.
The longer he watched them roll in, the heavier the sense of dread settled in his chest.
He couldn't quite remember when he had started hating the rain, but for years now he had preferred shutting himself away in his study with a book rather than stepping outside beneath it. Sometimes he felt as though the rain might swallow him whole. Perhaps it was because, long ago, he had been forced to fight through countless storms, to face disasters, to save lives until his body gave out. Or perhaps something else had happened. Honestly, he couldn't remember. All he knew was that he hated the rain. More than that, he hated fighting in it.
In the end, though, it hardly mattered anvmore. He was a retired hero now.
And yet, that afternoon, he had no choice but to leave the house.
His legs carried him slowly along the sidewalk while one hand held his umbrella open, even though it hadn't started raining yet. Every movement was slow, weary. Now and then he limped, or stopped for a moment to catch his breath and give his aching legs a rest. He had laughed at himself countless times for ending up like this, but what could he do? Old age came for everyone sooner or later.
Sometimes he found himself thinking about how agile he used to be--the leaps he could make, the effortless acrobatics that had once come so naturally to him. Those were the things he missed the most. Now he could only dream about them... or remember them. Still. he refused to dwell on it. There were plenty of other things he could do.
He had never stopped studying. Never stopped researching, observing, sketching. On his better days, he still enjoved tinkering with little mechanical gadgets that he would later give to his grandchildren. Assuming, of course, that his eyesight cooperated.
Something, however, caught his attention. Or rather, a conversation between two elderly women.
"I never expected him to die so young."
"I still remember the day he saved my life."
He looked up and realized he was standing riaht in front of the district's funeral notice board. With a weary sigh, he leaned on his cane. The battles had taken their toll on him As much as he had loved fighting for ustice and saving people, years of combat and relentless strain had worn his body down far beyond what anyone would have considered normal. Sometimes he wondered if one day he simply wouldn't be able to get out of bed anymore.
Even so, he always tried to stay positive. He still insisted on taking his usual patrol walks.
Then he read the name.
Katsuki Bakugo.
At first. he wasn't sure he had read it correctly. But the women's voices, drifting beside him as they reminisced about moments he himself had shared with Katsuki. left no room for doubt.
His eves traced the bold letters over and over again.
He stood there for several minutes, so motionless that he didn't even notice everyone else had already left. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the name, as though it were pulling him in. Only when the weight of his arm became too much did he finally lower the umbrella and close it.
The sky had grown even darker, yet somehow the rain still held back. And for that, Izuku felt strangely relieved.
At last, he turned away, absentmindedly nudging his glasses higher with his little finger, even though they were already sitting perfectly in place. It was a habit he'd picked up whenever he didn't know how to react almost like a nervous tic.
After taking only a few steps, he stopped. Then he turned back once more, iust to make sure he had read the name correctly.
His expression remained unreadable, worn only by exhaustion and old age.
It had been a long time since he had last heard that name. Years, perhaps. Maybe even longer. He couldn't remember.
"...Kacchan?" he murmured under his breath uncertain whether he had actually spoken the name aloud. It sounded strangely childish now. didn`t it? A nickname that no longer seemed to belong to people their age.
The funeral would be held the following morning, he read, committing the date to memory.
Eventually, he managed to walk away. Yet instead of continuing with his errands, his feet carried him back home.
No... he wouldn't finish them today.
He was simply too tired, he told himself. He needed to rest.
When his wife saw him return so soon, all it took was a quiet, "Something happened." She didn't ask another question. She simply stayed by his side, just as she always had.
Morning came all too quickly.
If anything, Izuku felt as though he had slept far too long. Yet despite it all, he hadn't rested at all. Somewhere deep inside him, an uneasy feeling had continued to grow throughout the night.
He knew exactly why. There was no point denying it. And yet... he still couldn't quite understand it. Had he always struggled this much to accept bad news?
He didn't know whether any of his old friends -or his former classmates-- would be there. But something deep inside him told him they would.
At first, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He had been so consumed by the idea of saying goodbye to Katsuki that he'd forgotten everything else.
Only later did he realize he would have to face something he had avoided for a very long time: memory itself.
Would he remember them?
Would he recognize them?
What would they even talk about?
How were they supposed to greet each other after all these vears?
The questions made his head spin. He leaned heavily against the back of the chair, closing his eyes for a moment.
His wife's gentle reassurance helped steady him. He slipped into his usual dark green raincoat--the one she had given him for his birthday the year before.
"It's not raining," she said softly as she straightened the front of his coat, smoothing the fabric before giving his chest two gentle pats.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" she asked, her voice as calm and warm as ever, her hand finding his.
"I'II be alright. This is something I have to do on my own."
He offered her a faint smile, grateful for the gesture.
Izuku had never been particularly religious. Even so, the moment he stepped inside the church, something stirred within him.
What would Katsuki have said if he'd seen him here?
He probably would have laughed at how out of place he looked. Mavbe he'd have shoved him aside with that usual lack of patience and muttered that people came to church every day, and that he was an idiot for acting so lost.
As he glanced around the sanctuary, a memory surfaced.
Years ago, they had arrested a villain who had posed as a priest to swindle money from the congregation. He remembered the furious flush on Katsuki's face as he berated the man after kicking him across the room. Katsuki had never been able to tolerate people who preyed on others like that.
For a brief moment, the corner of Izuku's mouth lifted into a smile.
Then his stomach tightened painfully.
The funeral was simpler than he had expected.
He had imagined a much larger crowd. Instead, it was a quiet service attended by only a handful of people.
Most of the faces around him were little more than blurred memories-shared conversations, moments they had once lived through together, fragments that no longer connected into anything whole.
It made him feel sick. Forgetting people had never been like him. Neither had hiding from them.
And yet, when the service began, he found himself slipping into a seat at the very back of the church, as far away from everyone else as possible.
There was only one reason he'd chosen that place.
He couldn't bear to hear Katsuki's name spoken aloud again.
His grip tightened around the handle of his cane as though it could somehow steady him. He listened in silence while the priest spoke, interrupted every now and then by the quiet murmurs of his former classmates.
Some things, he supposed, never changed.
Even after all these years, he could still recognize lida's quiet irritation whenever someone talked during a ceremony.
And yet, he couldn't help thinking that Katsuki would have hated this.
He would have been furious to see everyone crying over him. He probably would have muttered something under his breath before storming right back out. Katsuki had never liked being the center of anyone else's emotions.
But... was he still the same, in the end?
Once the church had emptied, Izuku finally found the courage to approach the coffin. Beside it rested a photograph of a stern-looking man whose expression, despite everything, still carried a quiet kindness.
Perhaps that was the moment it truly sank in.
Katsuki Bakugo was dead.
Katsuki.
No... Kacchan.
His childhood friend. The boy he had spent his entire life competing with. Growing alongside. Becoming stronger alongside.
He realized it the moment his fingertips brushed the polished wood of the coffin before drifting to the photograph beside it. His skin was thin now, weathered with age, every wrinkle reminding him of just how much time had passed.
It could have been anyone.
Izuku wouldn't have recognized him.
And yet... he knew it was Kacchan.
"You beat me to it again, Kacchan."
For a moment, the world tilted beneath him.
His legs gave way, forcing him onto one of the front pews before they could collapse entirely under him. He remained there, staring silently at the empty space that separated him from Katsuki.
Maybe... maybe he really should schedule those medical checkups. His wife had been telling him so for years.
"Who would've thought, huh?"
The pew dipped slightly beside him, and Izuku recognized the voice despite how much age had changed it.
"Hey, Kirishima."
Izuku offered him a tired smile as he turned to look at him. Even now, he could still see tears streaking down Kirishima's face, no matter how hard he tried to keep a brave front.
Somehow... it made Izuku smile inside.
Some things really never changed.
"That bastard was cursing me out just the other day, and now he's..."
Izuku wasn't sure whether Kirishima had stopped talking on his own or if Mina, who had just walked over, had interrupted him. Either way, he heard the words die in his friend's throat.
"Honestly, aren't you a little too old to still be swearing like that, you old geezer?" Mina scolded, managing a watery laugh.
"If he could see you right now... he'd probably tell Mighty to bite your feet until you begged for mercy."
She laughed through her tears as she wiped one away, earning nothing more than a grumbling noise from Kirishima.
"Mighty?" Izuku asked.
By then, all three of them were looking toward the coffin as though Katsuki were still there with them. Izuku, however, couldn't take his eyes off the photograph.
"Oh, right. His cat." Mina sniffled. "Who gets a cat when they're already old? Seriously... who does that?"
She let out a shaky laugh that quickly broke into sobs.
"That idiot, that's who."
Unable to hold herself together any longer, she quietly walked away.
"Sorry," Kirishima said softly. "We're looking after him now... and every little thing he does..."
He shook his head.
"I don't know. It's just... hard to believe he's really gone."
Age had caught up with Kirishima too. Crying this much exhausted him far more than it once had.
Izuku rubbed his thumb absently over the curved handle of his cane before pushing his glasses up his nose once again.
He didn't say a word.
There was nothing that needed to be said.
Not now.
Not while he kept staring into the eyes of that photograph.
Not while the distance between them seemed to stretch farther and farther.
Cats.
Katsuki had alwavs seemed more like an angry Chihuahua.
The memory drew the faintest smile from him. They'd once argued about exactly that. Katsuki hadn't spoken to him for an entire week afterward.
Thinking back on it now... That would've been better.
Better than this.
A cat, though?
"You know..." Kirishima spoke up again after a long silence. "Life really is strange, isn't it?"
He let out a weary chuckle.
"Did you ever imagine we'd all end up meeting again at Katsuki's funeral? After... what? Fifty years?"
He stared at the coffin for a while before continuing.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is.."
"...maybe we should've done this more often."
"...before now."
His voice broke.
"Sorry."
"I... I don't think I can do this anymore."
"l'm gonna go check on Mina."
He stood up and rested a hand gently on Izuku's shoulder.
Izuku remained silent.
"It was good seeing you again, Midoriya.
"Let's not wait another fifty years this time."
Then he walked away, leaving Izuku alone once more.
After a long moment, Izuku pushed himself to his feet.
It was time to go home.
But before leaving, he rested his forehead against the coffin and closed his eyes, almost as though he were praying.
Would Katsuki have believed it if he'd seen him like this?
He'd probably have laughed himself sick.
His fingers brushed gently across the wrinkles captured in the photograph one last time before finally letting go.
The tolling of the church bells signaled the end of the service, and one by one, everyone stepped outside-including Izuku.
For the first time in his life. all he wanted was to leave a place behind and never look back.
The feeling made him walk a little faster than he should have, and before long exhaustion settled heavily into his legs. He stopped beside a low stone wall, leaning against it to catch his breath.
His gaze remained fixed on the empty street though his mind was somewhere else entirely.
His hand brushed against something carved into the stone.
Frowning, he traced the grooves with his fingertips until he could make out the words.
"How much courage does it take to keep moving forward?"
Something bumped against his cane, startling him from his thoughts.
"I'm sorry!" a little boy called before taking off again, another child chasing after him.
They laughed, shoved each other, stuck out their tongues, and darted through the crowd, bumping into adults who hardly seemed to mind.
Their joy was strangely infectious.
And just like that, Izuku remembered: back when they were children, he and Katsuki had claimed the neighborhood playground as their own, spending entire afternoons pretending to be heroes and villains.
Izuku had hated playing the villain because Katsuki insisted on being the hero every single time.
And whenever Izuku complained, Katsuki would roll his eves and tell him he was the worst villain in history.
He always ended up helping people.
"How much courage does it take to keep moving forward?"
A faint smile tugged at Izuku's lips, The kind of smile that revealed nothing. The smile of a hero The mask he had worn for most of his life.
Maybe that wasn't the right question. Maybe the real question was- How much courage does it take to stay? When he thought about it... He had never truly stopped.
Not once.
He had spent his entire life rushina from one destination to the next, like a train that never reached a station.
And now that life had finally forced him to
stop...
He wondered whether he had actually lived the life he was supposed to live.
Had he been happy?
Had he achieved his dream?
Had he truly cherished every moment he had been given?
He was happy. Of that much he was certain.
He had dreamed of the impossible... And somehow, he has achieved it.
So why...
Why did he feel so empty?
A cold raindrop landed on the top of his head.
Then another.
And another.
Within seconds, the sky broke open, swallowing the last traces of sunlight beneath a sudden downpour.
He hadn't brought his umbrella.
Slowly, he pulled up the hood of his raincoat, but he didn't move. For a brief moment, the rain wrapped around him like an embrace.
Rough.
Almost violent.
And yet... Terribly familiar.
I hate the rain, he reminded himself.
Then the dark sky erupted.
Crimson flashes burst overhead one after another, blooming across the clouds like fireworks.
Was this Katsuki's way of mocking him?
His eyes trembled.
At last, he turned toward home.
But before leaving, he looked back one final time at the church.
Was that really it?
Was this truly goodbye?
His wife welcomed him the moment he stepped inside, studying him carefully.
"How about I make you something warm to drink while you change?" she asked, noticing he was still standing in the doorway, reluctantly bending down to take off his shoes.
He had done it thousands of times before.
Today, though, it seemed harder than ever
His trembling fingers slipped over the muddy laces, and it took several attempts before he finally managed to untie them. He simply nodded in response.
A cough shattered the silence.
Moments later, droplets of rainwater began gathering on the floor beneath him.
The window in his study screeched as the wind forced the curtains to billow violently into the room. He had forgotten to close it before leaving.
Idiot, he scolded himself.
Not because of the window itself, but because he had spent countless hours writing those notes.
And now... Now they were scattered evervwhere, some of them soaked through.
It would probably take him over an hour just to put everything back in order.
Yet he left it exactly as it was.
Instead, he lowered himself into his armchair one hand pressed against his chest, the other gripping the armrest.
Sharp pains had been stabbing through his chest for quite some time now.
He had simply chosen to ignore them.
But now, drained both physically and emotionally, he couldn't anvmore.
He drew in a slow breath, forcing his lungs to fill trying to steady the frantic rhythm of his heart.
Little by little... His breathing calmed.
His eyes drifted half-shut while his fingers absentmindedly twisted the soft wool of his sweater.
A faint smile almost escaped him.
Kacchan would have called me an idiot
He would have grumbled that freezing himself to death was exactly what he'd deserved
Then another thought crossed his mind.
What an idiot he had been. How could someone allergic to animal fur decide to get a cat? Had he forgotten?
The thought made lzuku let out a quiet huff as he opened his eyes again.
Was he really going to find reasons to be angry with him.... Even now that he was gone?
Then another realization settled over him.
How many things did he no longer know... about his Kacchan?
Would he still look at him with that fire burning in his eyes?
Would he still hurl insults at him simply to push him forward?
Would he still get... that angry?
Why had his face looked so gentle? So fragile?
Even age had only softened him, the wrinkles somehow making him even more beautiful in Izuku's eyes.
And, for the first time in his life, he found himself envying his friends. They had been by Katsuki's side until only a few days ago.
But... When had it happened?
When had it happened?
When had they stopped talking?
When had they drifted apart?
Izuku couldn't remember.
The thought stole the air from his lungs.
How could he have let that happen?
Perhaps the better question was: How could Midoriya Izuku ever drift away from Bakugo Katsuki?
They had walked almost their entire lives together.
And now? What had happened?
Where had the two boys who devoured their fear in the middle of battles gone?
Where had the two troublemakers who were constantly getting detention disappeared to?
Where had the pair of heroes gone-the unstoppable duo no villain could ever outrun?
And where had... they gone?
No.
He couldn't think about that.
He simply couldn't.
There wasn't a single obiect inside that house that should have reminded him of his old rival.
And yet...
Every thought circled back to him.
Even the scattered notes lying across the floor made him think of every observation he had ever written down about Katsuki.
His fighting style.
His costume.
The countless ways he could still improve.
If he searched his bookshelves carefully enough, he would probably still find them.
Slowly, his eyelids closed once more, surrendering to exhaustion.
The rain had worn him down, or perhaps... He had simply grown too old to challenge fate.
A cool breeze drifted in through the open window, stirred by the storm raging outside.
It almost made him laugh.
Outside, everything was calm; inside... everything was falling apart.
He didn't remember falling asleep.
He only knew he woke up in the exact same position, rewarded with a sharp pain shooting across his back.
For a moment, confusion clouded his mind as he stared at the condition of the room.
Then, with a weary sigh, he forced himself to his feet, determined to clean up the mess.
He shut the window before lowering himself onto the floor.
His hands were still trembling. Or perhaps it was his arms making everything else shake.
He reached for the same stack of papers over and over, trying to straighten them into a neat pile. They seemed determined to fight him.
Ridiculous, he thought.
The same thing happened when he tried to place his pencil holder back beside his collection of All Might fiqures.
He missed every single time.
Normally, he wasn't someone who got angry easily. But something inside him snapped.
He felt stupid. Furious with himself. Why couldn't he manage something so simple? He had done these things every day of his life. What was so difficult now? Especially for someone as obsessively tidy as he was.
His frustration exploded. His hand jerked. His favorite All Might figure toppled from the desk and shattered against the floor.
He stared at it for several long seconds. His nose began to sting. His lips trembled. He pressed a hand against them, hoping the trembling would stop.
It didn't.
Of all of them.... It had to be that one.
The ceramic head had broken cleanly in two. twisting All Might's familiar smile into something unrecognizable.
The one Katsuki had given him years ago for his birthday.
The one he had wanted so desperately but could never afford himself.
The one... Katsuki had chosen for him.
Katsuki.
He crouched down, gathering a few of the broken pieces. One nearly sliced his fingers open, but he barely noticed.
The realization that no one would ever be able to give him that gift again hurt far more than any cut ever could.
Nothing... could ever be put back together.
Katsuki...
Katsuki was dead.
He was gone.
There would be no more birthdays.
No more presents bought months in advance.
No more celebrations.
No more moments together.
Nothing left to share.
No more arguments.
No more teasing.
No more "You're such an idiot, nerd."
No more neighbors yelling at them to keep their voices down.
No more excitement over another limited-edition All Might figure.
They would never argue over who got to rush into battle first. They would never share another secret. There was no one else left who knew about One For All. No one else who understood what it meant to carry its burden.
No one he could explain to why he had become quirkless once again.
No one left to grieve it with him.
No one.
Because the one person who had always been his had a name.
His grip tightened around the shards. This time they cut through his palm. His eyes squeezed shut as his breathing turned ragged.
He hated this feeling.
Maybe... he had started hating too many things.
Kacchan wasn't here anymore.
Somewhere... he still had a gift he had never managed to give him.
He was sure of it.
He had kept it safe all those years, always telling himself there would be another chance.
But now? What was he supposed to do with it?
Why hadn't he given it to him sooner?
His face grew damp.
A few moments later, something warm landed on the hand still clutching the broken porcelain: his tears.
His knees ached. He couldn't bring himself to move. He simply couldn't.
"How much courage does it take... to keep moving forward?"
His chest hurt and every breath felt like another knife twisting inside him.
His glasses had become useless and he couldn't focus on anything anymore.
Just this once... he wanted to stop.
To stop moving forward, to stay there... with his grief, but he had never known how.
The crooked smile on All Might's broken face seemed almost mocking now.
He was certain the two of them were laughing at him together.
That Katsuki had already become All Might's favorite.
Oddly enough there was comfort in knowing he wasn't alone.
Still... What an asshole.
An asshole because he had spent his entire life admiring him, only to leave him behind in the end.
Izuku had chased him all his life and the one moment he looked away, Kacchan had run too far ahead.
He had won. Again.
His legs finally gave out beneath him and he sank slowly onto the floor.
Blood stained his clothes but it didn't matter.
His eyes fell to the wedding ring on his finger. He turned it once, twice. Then closed his hand into a fist and held it tightly against his chest.
He remained there for what felt like forever, just staring into nothing. Too empty to do anything, too empty even to feel.
The silence was unbearable. With the window now closed, the room felt like a sealed box.
Was it still raining outside?
"If everyone's special to you, then nobody is."
The words struck him like a train. He hadn't remembered them in years.
Yet there they were. Kacchan's voice.
It had been him, he had said those exact words.
Back then, Izuku had dismissed them as just another one of his provocations. He had assumed Katsuki simply couldn't understand how wonderful it was to care about everyone.
Now... he wondered if he had simply never listened, somewhere along the way he had forgotten how to enjoy life.
He had only kept moving forward.
No.
Kacchan had never been just anyone.
Not when they were children.
Not during the war.
Not even after they had stopped speaking.
Then... how had they ended up here?
""Zuku.... may I come in?"
His wife's voice gently broke through the suffocating silence from the other side of the door.
He wiped the last traces of tears from his face, sniffled quietly, and told her to come in.
She looked at him with the kind of tenderness only someone who has truly loved can possess
Without saying a word, she walked over to him and took his trembling hands in hers.
When she noticed the cuts, she gently kissed the backs of them.
Izuku met her eyes, the same eyes that had supported him for an entire lifetime.
And finally he let himself speak.
"You know something?" he asked, his voice rough.
She simply waited, still holding both of his hands, gently stroking them as she helped him back to his feet. Together, they walked to the window. He pushed it wide open.
It was still raining.
Izuku watched the rain for several long seconds.
Then slowly stretched one hand beyond the windowsill, letting the raindrops collect across the back of it.
A distant memory surfaced.
"You're such an idiot!"
Katsuki shouted as they sprinted away from a gigantic monster, buying time until reinforcements arrived.
Izuku turned toward him, confused. Katsuki clicked his tongue.
Then, completely against his own will, a smile slipped onto his face.
"I've told you a thousand times my quirk sucks in the rain! And what do you do? You keep throwing yourself into trouble anyway! You're unbelievable, you damn idiot."
He grabbed Izuku by the arm, yanking him toward himself just in time to avoid the villain's attack.
Izuku let the rain soak the back of his hand.
Then... he smiled. A small, quiet smile.
"I actually", he whispered, "...really like the rain."