A World Changing Dream

Midoriya Izuku stirred, his head pounding with a dull, throbbing ache. A damp chill clung to his skin, making him shiver. Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and the glistening, moss-streaked walls of the sewer came into focus. Water was dripping rhythmically from the ceiling into dark, murky puddles below.

The air smelled of rust and stagnant water, heavy and suffocating. He blinked several times, trying to shake the haze clouding his mind, before pushing himself up on trembling arms.

“What… happened…?” he murmured aloud, his own voice sounding strange and distant to his ears.

Memories trickled back in fragmented flashes. The slime villain—his lungs screaming for air. The sensation of being dragged under, helpless. … and then—blackness.

“I… I remember… dying…” The words slipped out before he could stop them. His breath quickened, heart thundering in his chest. “But… I’m still here…”

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, movement—no, a figure—caught his attention.

There, slumped against the damp sewer wall, was a woman. Her body was naked, pale skin glistening faintly in the low light, and her figure… well, it was enough to make his face flush red in an instant. But what struck him most was her hair—long, flowing down her back, yet its strange, slick texture shimmered like green slime.

She wasn’t moving. Her head tilted slightly to the side, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.

Midoriya froze, unsure what to do, his thoughts tripping over themselves.

"Who… is that?" he wondered, his pulse pounding in his ears. "That hair… It’s not normal… slimy, almost alive. Could it be—?"

His eyes widened.

"The slime villain…?"

He scanned the tunnel, searching for any other clue, and what he saw next shocked him to the core.

His favorite hero—Arise, the Symbol of Peace—lay sprawled on the sewer floor in her hero costume, motionless. The fabric of her suit clung damply to her, seams dark with water, and for a second, Izuku couldn’t process it: the impossible sight of the woman from posters and headlines, collapsed and **** in a grime-streaked tunnel.

“Wha—” he breathed, the word dying on his lips. The world narrowed to the pale plane of her face. Up close, the practiced calm of her public image fell away; there was something softer in the set of her features.

As he looked, something unclenched inside him. The edges of the blackness that had swallowed him snapped, and one by one the broken pieces of the scene slid back into place. His memories began to return.

He began to remember the Sex that they had, an experience so rare it had once felt like an impossible dream, yet he had lived it. How he had sucked him off without any worries. And how horny he felt when he saw her, masturbating before him.

Izukue's breathing became heavier when he realized just what just happened to him.

He had Sex with the Number One Hero.

And he did not know how to feel about it.

On the one Hand, he of course enjoyed it, that few minutes being one of the best times he had ever enjoyed in his life. No matter what happens to him, he will remember that experience.

But at the same time, he had a bad feeling about it.

For once, he truly felt not like Midoriya Izuku. His feelings were real, yet it seemed as if some unknown Quirk had amplified his lust, at times acting through him without his consent.
And of course the while Shimura enjoyed herself at that time, she was also strongly under the influence of that unknown quirk, and the reason her Body acted that way was not because of her actual love for him, which stems from experience, but just love that came from a Quirk.

"What should I do?" he thought, his pulse pounding as he stared down at the **** form of Shimura Nana. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to disappear before anyone could connect him to whatever had just happened." If she knew what happened… I’m screwed". The thought gnawed at him, icy and sharp.

But beneath the panic was something else—something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just fear; it was a strange, heavy pull in his chest. "But at the same time… I just feel..." His eyes lingered on her, the woman he had idolized for years, now so close he could hear the faint rhythm of her breathing.

A thousand questions raged through his mind like a tornado, each one battering at the edges of his thoughts until nothing felt steady. He didn’t know where to begin, what to say, or whether he should run—every option felt suddenly enormous and impossible.

“Uuuu—” Shimura exhaled, a long, involuntary yawn that cut through the storm of his thoughts and froze him in place.

The sound landed softly and humanly in the damp tunnel. She began to open her eyes slowly, blinking as if clearing sleep from a fogged lens. For a heartbeat, her gaze wandered, unfocused, and Izuku’s chest tightened with the awful, hopeful fear that she might never notice him at all. Then, in an instant, her eyes shot wide open—sharp, alert, and suddenly entirely present.

“What happened?” Shimura thought, her eyes sweeping the dank tunnel as she tried to piece things together. She pressed a hand to her forehead, rubbing at the damp hair stuck to her skin. "I remember going into the sewer to follow that slime villain," she thought, "but then I smelled… something—oddly familiar, almost sweet—and then… black. Just black."

A slow wash of disorientation passed over her; she blinked hard, forcing the fragments of memory back into order.

She pushed herself upright. When Shimura straightened, she found a young man standing a few feet away—green hair mussed, eyes wide and disbelieving. Staring back at her with pupilless eyes.

Across from him, pressed against the damp wall, lay the slime villain in her human form. The woman’s clothes were gone; her hair flowed down her back with that same slick, green sheen, and her breathing was shallow. Shimura’s professional composure flickered for a moment—then steadied. The smell of slime hung thick in the air, and it trailed from the **** woman to the boy’s drenched uniform.

“That—” Shimura began, staring at the pair, then at the slime on his clothes. Her voice was sharp with disbelief. “That’s the slime villain, isn’t it? And you—” she pointed, incredulous, “—you were with her? Don’t tell me you were… with her.”

“No!” the boy blurted, cheeks flushing. His reply came out in a breathless rush. “She attacked me after I left school and dragged me into the sewer.”

Shimura blinked, chastising herself for the momentary lapse in professionalism. Concern replacing the shock. “Are you all right, young man? Do you need me to call an ambulance or the police? Are you an adult, or should I contact your parents?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, voice a little too flat, eyes glued to the wet pavement. “I turned eighteen a few weeks ago.” He swallowed and added, still avoiding her gaze, “My mom’s a nurse and she lives just a few streets away. I don’t need— I don’t want to make a fuss.”

Nana studied him for a second, something subtle tugging at her—an odd, fragile look in his face that set her nerves on edge. She wanted to say something comforting, a line that would come easily in a staged rescue or a press conference, but this wasn’t a script. He had just been attacked and might be traumatized.

Shimura hoisted the limp villainess onto her shoulder with a practised motion, the slime already congealing and dripping away. She turned back to the young man, eyes softening as she tried to sound reassuring. “What’s your name?” she asked, offering a small, professional smile.

“Midoriya… Izuku,” he blurted, face flushing as the name tumbled out.

Shimura nodded once, taking the information in. “Okay, Midoriya. Since you’re an adult, the choice of what to do next is yours — but the police will want a statement, so don’t be surprised if officers come knocking at your door, understand?” She paused, then added more gently, “If you’d like, I can escort you home."

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Izuku said, watching his favorite heroine speak. Relief washed over him like heat — she didn’t remember. The joy of that knowledge made him feel oddly guilty; he swallowed, cheeks hot with embarrassment and a flicker of shame, because part of him was quietly, selfishly glad she hadn’t seen what happened.

“Okay, have a nice day, young Midoriya,” she said, and started toward the maintenance staircase, the **** villain slung over her shoulder like a roll of cloth.

Izuku watched her go. His gaze dropped to her boots—white, scuffed at the toes from use—and stayed there, as if the simple sight of them could give him courage. A single question burned in his chest, small and fierce, and for a moment, he argued with himself: Should I ask it? Will it be stupid? Will I ruin this? His feet felt rooted to the wet concrete, every heartbeat a countdown.

Arise lifted herself fluidly, gliding up the ladder instead of stepping.

His body moved before his brain caught up. He felt his feet carry him forward, voice tearing out of him louder than he meant it to be. “Arise— I have one question for you!” he yelled, the words echoing off the tunnel walls.

Above him, Arise paused mid-ascent. For a second, everything held its breath—the drip of water, the distant city noise, the hush of the small group gathered around. Her head tilted, and in the hush her hazel eyes found his, something unreadable flickering there.

"What am I doing?" he thought, breath coming heavy in the damp air. His heart rattled in his chest like it was trying to break free. He **** himself to slow his breathing, to gather enough courage to speak without stammering.

Arise was watching him now, head tilted in quiet question. The light spilling down from the sewer entrance framed her in a soft halo, making her look almost otherworldly—like some kind of savior.

“Ever since I was a kid,” Izuku began, his voice trembling but steady enough to carry, “I wanted to be a hero… like you. To save everyone with a smile, no matter the evil in front of me.”

Her expression shifted—something in her eyes hardening, but also growing sad, as if she already knew where his words were leading.

“But… I was born a boy and, therefore, automatically quirkless.” He looked down for a moment, then back at her. “Still, I wanted to be like you. No matter what other people said. No matter how hopeless I was told I am.”

He swallowed hard, the weight of the question pressing against his chest. “So please… answer me. Can I be a hero… even if I’m quirkless?”

Arise stared at him, her expression unreadable, before finally speaking.

“Young man,” she said, her voice sharp but controlled, “I won’t lie to you. Your dream… it’s noble, yes. But you can’t just throw yourself into danger thinking courage alone will save you.”

Izuku felt his chest tighten, the words hitting harder than he expected.

“You don’t see it on the news,” she continued, her eyes narrowing, “but heroes die every single day. Powerful villains, accidents, mistakes… twelve years ago, I fought a villain who nearly killed me. Gravely injured me. I almost didn’t make it.”

She tugged at her costume slightly, revealing the deep scar on her abdomen. Izuku’s eyes went wide, shock rooting him to the spot.

“Do you think strength alone guarantees survival?” she asked, voice rising slightly. “Even I, the strongest among them, almost died. And you… you have nothing. No quirk, no special ability. Throwing yourself into that world? You won’t be a hero. You’ll just become another casualty.”

Her tone softened only a fraction, but the warning was clear and cutting. “I don’t want to see another young life wasted because of foolish pride. If you want to save people, choose wisely—be a doctor, a police officer, anything where you can make a difference without dying the moment you try.”

She took a step back, her eyes still locked on his. The weight of her gaze pressed down on him like a physical ****, leaving no room for excuses.

“I’m not saying this to be cruel,” she said firmly, her voice carrying even as she began to float upward, “but to protect you.”

With that, Arise lifted herself gracefully out of the sewer, the light from above casting her in a radiant glow. Izuku was left alone in the damp tunnel, the echo of her words lingering in the air.

Izuku stood in the sewer for several long minutes, the damp air pressing around him as his mind replayed every word he had heard that day.

“Why do you have to apply for U.A.?” Yuki’s voice echoed in his memory, skeptical and practical.

“Give up on your dream, Deku,” Katsumi had said, sharp and biting, her words laced with both challenge and frustration.

“You won’t be a hero,” Arise’s voice resonated too, heavy with warning, fear for his safety shining through the harshness.

Each phrase swirled in his mind, a storm of doubt, fear, and impossibility. Izuku clenched his fists, the wet concrete beneath his shoes grounding him. The tunnel was silent.

He sank down against the cold, damp wall of the sewer, his shoulders slumping as the weight of the day pressed down on him. The echo of Arise’s warning mingled with Katsumi’s harsh words and Yuki’s practical doubts, forming a relentless chorus in his mind.

"Why even try?" he thought bitterly." I don’t have a quirk. I’ve never been strong. Every step forward feels like I’m running through mud, dragging my own failures behind me."

He stared at the trickle of water sliding along the concrete floor, its slow, inevitable path mocking him. "All my life, I’ve dreamed of being like the heroes I admired… of saving people, of standing proud. But I’m… nothing. Just a boy with no power, no gift, no chance to truly make a difference."

A hollow ache settled in his chest." Maybe they’re right. Maybe I should just give up… fade into the background like I always have. No one would even notice if I stopped trying."

His hands rested on his knees, trembling slightly. The sewer’s silence pressed down on him, amplifying his doubts, his fears, and his loneliness. Every memory of failed attempts, whispered ridicule, and lost opportunities pressed into him like a tide.

"Why do I even want this? "he wondered, voice barely a whisper."Is it courage, or just stubbornness? Is it love for the idea of heroes, or some foolish desire to prove myself worthy?"

He closed his eyes, letting his head drop forward. For a long moment, he simply sat there, lost in the weight of his own despair, teetering on the edge of giving up entirely.

Even as he had the most amazing minutes with his favorite Hero, at the end, he still felt hollow even after the Sex he had dreamed about for so long.

As Izuku sat there, lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the figure slowly approaching him.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder, accompanied by a soft, almost hesitant voice: “Hey.”

Startled, he looked up and saw a woman standing before him. Her hair was a cool shade of blue that caught the dim light of the sewer, and her eyes were a deep, striking red. She was slightly underweight, yet her figure retained graceful proportions, and her pale skin seemed to long for sunlight.

“I-Is…” Izuku stammered, caught off guard.

“Midoriya Izuku, right?” she asked, a warm adn still cold smile tugging at her lips. “My name is Shigeraki Tomoka.”