Adjusts Stitch onesie and bounces excitedly in my writing chair
"WE ARE NUMBER ONE AGAIN! AND 3,000 POWERSTONES?! YOU GUYS ARE ABSOLUTELY INSANE!" I squealed, hugging my laptop close. The screen displayed our ranking on the trending charts, and my sleep-deprived eyes weren't deceiving me – we were still holding strong at the top.
This is what happens when you have the best readers in the world, I thought, reaching for my perpetually full coffee mug. The Sports Festival arc had been an emotional rollercoaster to write. Between Izuku's struggles with the One For All offer, Momo's and Hitomi's growing feelings, and that final showdown with Bakugo... well, let's just say I went through a lot of tissues and coffee.
"The final chapter drops tomorrow," I announced to my collection of All Might figurines arranged on my desk. They seemed to nod in approval.
I stretched, hearing my back pop in about twelve places. Maybe I should invest in a better chair. Or, you know, actually sleep occasionally. But who needs sleep when there are stories to tell?
"After tomorrow's chapter, I'm taking a week off. Both this and the Oshi no Ko story need to rest for a bit, and honestly?" I glanced at my reflection in the computer screen – the dark circles under my eyes had dark circles of their own. "Your girl needs to recharge. But don't worry! I'll be back April 20th with the beginning of the next arc, and oh boy..." I grinned mischievously. "You think the Sports Festival was intense? Just wait until you see what's coming."
Pulling my Stitch hood up (it helps me think better, I swear), "Before I go collapse into a blanket fort for a week, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for every comment, every theory, every powerstone. Thank you for letting me tell this story, for caring about these characters as much as I do. The support means more than you know."
I stood up, stretching again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go edit tomorrow's chapter one last time. Can't leave you with any typos for a whole week, right? Although..." I smirked. "Those cliffhangers? Those are staying. What kind of author would I be if I didn't leave you with something to theorize about?"
"See you all on April 20th! Don't forget to check out tomorrow's finale, and remember – Plus Ultra!"
======
Camie watched Izuku's chest rise and fall, his head resting against the window of the Uber. The festival medal peeked out from his jacket pocket, gold catching the passing streetlights. His eyes remained closed, not quite asleep but definitely not fully present either. His hand rested in hers, warm and solid. She ran her thumb across his calluses, battle-earned badges of honor.
In front, Inko sat primly, occasionally glancing at her son with that special mom-brand of worry that seemed both unnecessary and completely justified. The car hummed along through evening traffic, the driver mercifully silent after recognizing his passengers and asking for a single selfie.
"You good, fam?" Camie whispered, squeezing Izuku's hand.
He squeezed back without opening his eyes. "Never better."
The lie made her smile. Dude had fought four intense battles, gotten healed multiple times, and was still playing tough. Such a boy thing to do. But that was Izuku—stubborn beyond reason, refusing to show weakness even when his body screamed for rest.
"Sure, Mr. Sports Festival Champion. Totally believe you."
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Your match with Yaoyorozu was incredible. Should've been you in the finals."
"Nah," she said, studying his profile.
Inko turned around. "You both performed wonderfully. I recorded everything on my phone."
Camie grinned at her. "Mama Midoriya coming through with the receipts."
The Uber hit a pothole, jostling them. Izuku winced slightly, eyes still closed.
"Sorry about that," the driver called back.
Camie glanced down at her hand intertwined with Izuku's, then reached for her phone with her free hand. The screen lit up, displaying her lock screen—a selfie of her and Izuku pulling ridiculous faces in the UA cafeteria. She'd caught him mid-laugh, eyes crinkled at the corners, while she stuck out her tongue and flashed a peace sign.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. The festival had been incredible. Life-changing, even. The kind of thing you wanted to share with family.
She unlocked the phone and navigated to her contacts, scrolling until she found "Mom (Work)." Her finger hovered over the name. When was the last time they'd actually spoken?
Beside her, Izuku's breathing had deepened. Actually asleep now, probably. Good. He needed it.
Camie took a deep breath and pressed the call button before she could talk herself out of it. The phone rang once, twice, three times. She almost hung up when a bright voice answered.
"Utsushimi residence, this is Ume speaking."
"Hey, Ume. It's Camie." She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake Izuku.
"Miss Camie!" Ume's voice practically exploded with enthusiasm. "Congratulations on the festival! I watched the whole thing. Your match against the Yaoyorozu heir was spectacular! You've grown so much since—"
"Who is it, Ume?" Her mother's voice cut through in the background, sharp and clear despite the distance from the phone.
Camie's grip tightened on Izuku's hand. He didn't stir.
"It's your daughter, Utsushimi-sama," Ume replied, her voice muffled slightly as if she'd covered the receiver.
A pause. "What does she want? More money? I'll add it to her account."
"Wait, Utsushimi-sama—"
Footsteps faded in the background. Gone already. Typical.
"Your mother saw—" Ume began, voice apologetic.
"Thanks for watching, Ume," Camie cut in, keeping her tone light despite the knot forming in her throat. "I'll see you later, 'kay?"
She hung up before Ume could respond, before the burn behind her eyes could manifest into something more embarrassing. She stared at her phone screen, at the ridiculous selfie of her and Izuku, at the happiness captured in that single moment.
Something wet hit her hand. Then another drop. Weird. It wasn't raining.
"Camie?" Inko's voice came soft. "What's wrong, dear?"
Camie looked up to find Inko turned in her seat, green eyes—so like Izuku's—filled with concern. Only then did she realize the wetness on her hand came from her own face. Tears. How embarrassing.
"Nothing major," she said, wiping her cheeks quickly. "Just festival comedown, you know? Mad emotional day."
Inko's gaze remained steady, unconvinced but not pushing. "I understand. But if you need to talk..."
"For sure, for sure." Camie nodded too quickly. "Later, though? When this one's not drooling on the window."
Inko smiled, reaching across to pat Camie's knee. "Of course, dear."
Camie leaned her head against Izuku's shoulder, closing her eyes. The steady rise and fall of his breathing anchored her, pushing back the hollow feeling that threatened to swallow her whole. She'd wanted to share today with her mother. Stupid. Some lessons you'd think she'd have learned by now.
But she didn't want to think about that. Not tonight. Tonight was for celebrating Izuku's victory, for basking in the glow of their shared success. Her family stuff could wait. It always did.
The remainder of the ride passed in comfortable silence. By the time they arrived at the apartment complex, Izuku had shifted to lean against Camie instead of the window, his head a pleasant weight on her shoulder.
"Izu," she murmured, nudging him gently. "We're home."
His eyes fluttered open, momentarily disoriented before focusing on her face. "Hey."
"Hey yourself, sleepyhead." She gently untangled their fingers. "Time to drag your champion butt upstairs."
He straightened, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry for passing out on you."
"No biggie. You earned your nap."
The driver popped the trunk, and Izuku moved to grab their bags despite his obvious exhaustion. Camie snatched hers before he could reach it.
"I got it, All Might Junior. Save your strength for the stairs."
"The elevator exists for a reason," he pointed out, slinging his own bag over his shoulder.
"Yeah, but it's broken again."
"Since when?"
"Since I decided you needed the exercise."
He snorted, holding the car door for his mother as she stepped out.
The night air carried a slight chill, refreshing after the stuffy car. As they walked toward the building entrance, Camie spotted another car pulling up—an Uber similar to theirs. The back door opened and Mitsuki Bakugo emerged, followed by a sullen Katsuki.
"Oh good, we didn't miss you," Mitsuki called, waving energetically. Her ash-blonde hair caught the streetlight, a near-perfect match to her son's. "Masaru's stuck at work, but he sends his congratulations!"
Inko brightened immediately. "Mitsuki! Perfect timing."
The two mothers embraced while their sons engaged in a standoff of mutual posturing. Bakugo's runner-up medal hung around his neck, silver gleaming almost defiantly.
"Nice hardware," Izuku said, gesturing to the medal.
Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "Better fucking believe I'm taking gold next time, Midoriya."
"Looking forward to it."
Boys and their rivalries. At least Bakugo had dropped the "Deku" thing and according to Uraraka, has made some major strides in the personality department. Still a dickhead tho.
"We're heading up," Inko announced. "Mitsuki, you'll join us for tea?"
"Thought you'd never ask," Mitsuki replied with a grin. "These two can grunt at each other while we catch up."
The group made their way into the building and up the four flights of stairs. Izuku lagged slightly, his earlier exhaustion showing through despite his attempts to hide it. Camie hung back with him, bumping his shoulder with hers.
"Almost there, champ."
He gave her a tired smile. "Thanks for sticking around today. Meant a lot having you there."
"Duh. Where else would I be?"
Ahead of them, Bakugo took the stairs two at a time, as if even walking normally would be admitting defeat somehow. His mother called after him to slow down, which he pointedly ignored.
When they finally reached the Midoriya apartment, Inko unlocked the door with a flourish. "Home sweet home!"
The apartment welcomed them with familiar comfort—small but meticulously kept, with touches of both Inko and Izuku throughout. All Might memorabilia joined by framed photos of Izuku's training milestones and family moments. Camie herself being in some of the photos.
Camie had spent enough time here that it felt like a second home.
"Izuku, why don't you shower first?" Inko suggested, already moving toward the kitchen. "You must be dying to wash off the day."
"Yeah, you reek of victory," Bakugo muttered, dropping onto the couch.
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Izuku replied, heading toward the hallway. He paused beside Camie, voice lowering. "You okay?"
She blinked, surprised by the question. "Course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I know you."
Damn his observational skills. "Go shower before you stink up the whole place."
He studied her face for another moment before nodding. "Back soon."
As soon as they heard the bathroom door close and the water start running, Inko's entire demeanor shifted. She abandoned the tea preparations and marched back into the living room, zeroing in on Camie.
"Now," she said, voice gentle but firm, "tell me what happened in the car."
Mitsuki, perked up. "What happened in the car?"
Bakugo rolled his eyes. "I'm not here for this shit."
"Language, Katsuki," his mother snapped without looking at him. "And yes you are. Sit."
He scowled but remained seated.
Camie glanced between the two mothers, suddenly feeling cornered. "It's nothing major, seriously. Just called my mom after the festival, and she was... busy."
"Busy?" Inko's eyebrows drew together. "Too busy to talk to her daughter after she performed brilliantly in Japan's most-watched sporting event?"
"That's fucked up," Bakugo commented, earning surprised looks from everyone. He shrugged defensively. "What? It is."
Camie sank onto the armchair, setting her bag at her feet. "It's whatever. Not like I expected anything different."
But she had. That was the stupid part. She'd watched and heard Inko and Mitsuki cheering themselves hoarse for their kids, had seen families throughout the stadium supporting their students, and some pathetic part of her had thought maybe—just maybe—her own mother might have tuned in.
"Your mother didn't watch the festival?" Inko asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Camie shrugged, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. "Her assistant Ume did. She tried to tell me my mom saw something, but... pretty sure that was just being nice."
The room fell quiet, save for the distant sound of the shower running. Camie stared at her hands, hating the heavy feeling in her chest. This was exactly why she never talked about her family. It just made things awkward.
"Well," Mitsuki broke the silence, "her loss. You were fantastic out there."
"For real," Camie managed a smile. "It's cool. Been handling my own stuff for years now."
Inko moved to sit on the arm of Camie's chair, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "You shouldn't have to, dear. Not alone."
Something in Inko's tone—the genuine care, the maternal concern—threatened to unravel Camie completely. She swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat back down.
"Thanks, Mama M. But I'm good, promise. Got my own apartment now and everything. Adulting like a boss."
"Having an apartment doesn't mean you don't need people," Inko said softly. "Everyone needs someone who puts them first."
The bathroom door opened down the hall, and they heard Izuku's footsteps heading to his bedroom. Camie seized the opportunity to change the subject.
"So what's the celebration plan? Takeout? Cause I'm starving."
Mitsuki exchanged a look with Inko, clearly communicating that this conversation wasn't over, just postponed. "I vote for that ramen place on the corner. My treat."
"No way," Inko protested. "You paid last time. This one's on me."
"Ladies, please," Mitsuki grinned, "let me spoil my godson on his big day."
Bakugo made a gagging sound. "He's not actually your godson, old hag."
"Close enough," Mitsuki shot back. "I've changed enough of his diapers to earn the title."
Camie couldn't help laughing at that, the tension in her chest easing slightly. This was what family looked like, she realized. The bickering, the inside jokes, the shared history. Not the formal politeness and distance she'd grown up with.
Izuku emerged from his room in fresh clothes, hair still damp from the shower. He looked marginally more alive, though exhaustion still haunted the edges of his movements.
"Ramen?" he asked hopefully, clearly having overheard the discussion.
"Ramen," Inko confirmed, standing. "Mitsuki's treat, apparently."
"Damn straight," Mitsuki said. "My godson deserves the best."
"He's not your—" Bakugo began, then gave up with a disgusted sigh. "Whatever."
Camie rose from the chair, catching Izuku's eye. He tilted his head slightly, a silent question. You okay? She gave him a small nod. All good.
As the others gathered their things for the short walk to the ramen shop, Inko pulled Camie aside.
"We'll talk more later," she said quietly. "When you're ready. But I want you to know something."
Camie braced herself, unsure what was coming.
Inko took both her hands, squeezing them gently. "You're always welcome here, Camie. Always. This is your home too, if you want it to be."
The sincerity in her voice, the earnest offer of belonging—it hit Camie hard. For the second time that evening, she felt tears threatening.
"Thanks, Mama M," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Inko patted her cheek affectionately. "Now, let's go celebrate properly."