Gonna be honest, I wasn't sure if I would post this. MHA is a bit of a iffy fandom for me right now, but I still love the characters enough to give you all this.

CW: Light bullying, general Bakugou-like behavior, and a strong sense of denial from our favorite cinnamon roll.

I own nothing from MHA, that all belongs to Kohei Horikoshi. Cover art is edited by me, and it is sourced from the anime itself.

This story will likely be a maximum of 5 chapters long, and I have most of it thought out in my head. All I need to do is take hand to keyboard at this point.

Enjoy, my dear readers.

Things to note:

- Izuku will meet himself in the future. No letters or indirect communication; I mean we're getting face to face convo.

- Izuku is currently 13/14 at this point, so he would meet his 23/24 y.o. self.

- This story is extremely slow in pacing at times. This first chapter should provide insight as to how slow some scenes may get.

Izuku is giddy, bouncing in his seat. Sure, a few strange looks his way had crushed his mood somewhat, but he is euphoric nonetheless. Today is the day.

His first term as a second year is coming to a close, fresh after his thirteenth birthday, and he is on the cusp of summer vacation. That meant more time to gawk at superheroes, more time to watch All Might in action, and time for– if he'd been staring at his calendar correctly– about a few month's worths of researching his favorite heroes.

So, without any restraint, Izuku remains twisting in his seat, positively buzzing with words that flew out of his lips faster than they could be comprehended. Sure, he'd been told to shut up a total of three times by Kacchan, but he really couldn't help himself. His peers' protests were as effective as tossing pebbles into the ocean in order to stop waves.

Simply said, he isn't stopping any time soon.

By the end of class, the clock on the wall is a beacon of hope. Izuku finds himself staring at it in some sort of unholy awe as if it were the realization of all his dreams. He's essentially vibrating in his seat, his hands cement onto the desk as if it were an anchor, and he's just ready to go. He would just leave this place, Sensei and his peers shoved into the back of his mind for a whole two months, so that he could finally go home and research his favorite heroes and…

–and that sounds kind of sad, now that he thinks about it.

He wilts like a flower for perhaps a millisecond before the thought catapults itself out of his mind. No room for negativity, he tells himself. A smile forces its way onto his dimpled face, and he looks more frantically at the clock on the wall. His fingers tap incessantly, nearing desperately, on the desk in front of him.

The back of his shoe bangs against the yellow backpack sitting at the side of his desk, incessantly rumpling it a bit before striking against the metal leg of the chair. His smile grows, and his teeth start protesting with a sound akin to nails on a chalk-board

Suddenly, a piece of paper makes contact with his cheeks, and Izuku's head swivels to the right. He is met with a seething Kacchan, and he immediately wonders where he went wrong. His smile falls off his face, and he is left looking clueless at the ball of anger next to him.

Kacchan flips him the bird – Izuku shrugs at that – and he then mouths the words, "SHUT THE FUCK UP," while wildly exaggerating his fury with splayed out arms and an admittedly comical facial expression to match. The corner of Izuku's lips twist upward awkwardly, and his eyes dart to the side as he nods complacently.

Make that four times; he's been told a total of four times to shut up.

He shifts in his seat again to face the still-lecturing Sensei, and his chin rests on the tip of his palm with a sort of tentativeness to it. He breathes out silently through his nose and begins to let his eyes wander around the classroom, then to the window.

Sensei stops before he can get to huff again.

"Alright, class," the man interrupts, brown eyes slanting to the side as he drawls out the last syllable. He pauses, sunken eyes darting around as he looks for attentive faces. He finds some in the crowd, and he smirks fiendishly, "Since we're heading towards the last ten minutes of the term, I thought it'd be as good a time as any to stop babbling on about the summer assignment. The teacher's committee of Orudera Junior High finally managed to raise enough money for this years' students to get a special surprise. That is… if any of you are interested."

Sensei's eyes scan the room again, and a devilish grin sprouts on his face as he notes the many sets of eyes trained on him. Izuku straightens like a ruler, equally intrigued by the surprise.

"Ah, yes," Sensei chuckles a bit, voice as slick as oil, "There's the attention I've been waiting for."

The man walks to his desk and opens a drawer, taking out a stack of pamphlets that he starts handing out to each row. Izuku takes a pamphlet from the student in front of him and starts scanning the paper.

The cover reads: "The Meet Your Future Program™"

Izuku's eyebrows rise a bit, and he wonders about the implications that such a name holds. Can he quite literally meet his future self? Are there even Quirks out there that can do such a thing? He nearly opens the pamphlet himself before the teacher interrupts his train of thought.

"Settle down, folks," Sensei barks out to catch their attention. It works well enough, Izuku supposes, but his eyes dart down towards the pamphlet, glaring daggers into the five words that pop out in bold letters. "We nagged and nagged and nagged the treasurer to give us a grant for this program. Chances are that you've probably heard of it. The big shot schools, from Somei Academy to Shiketsu High, hire people from this company to read their students' futures."

A murmur breaks out in one side of the room and soon, the entire class is buzzing with excitement. Sensei hushes them with one well-timed stomp to the ground.

"Now, if you haven't heard of the program, let me give you a run-down–"

Sensei clears his throat and opens the pamphlet, and Izuku scrambles to open the little booklet too.

"Essentially, a company representative will be sent to the school in order to give you a thirty-minute session with, as you can guess, a rendition of your future self. You'll get a chance to meet yourself, just ten years from now. This session entails the use of a Quirk– blah, blah, blah, legal obligations– so you must have a parent or guardian sign the permission slip on the back of the pamphlet. Failure to have it signed will lead to disqualification."

Sensei's eyes scan the classroom, and his smirk only grows further.

"Oh, but there's one catch, kids," he waggles a finger incessantly, "You're gonna have to come in during summer break to meet the company rep. It'd be an absolute shame for all of you to trudge over here, to this lame school, during summer break! It might just be for the best if… well… only some of you apply to the program.

The class breaks out into groans, and Izuku finds himself wondering if Sensei really just hates kids or didn't scrounge up enough of a budget to let everyone participate.

Sensei slides the pamphlet back onto the desk with an ambiguous wink, and Izuku tentatively lets the paper fall onto his desk as well. He shifts slightly, and his leg starts jackhammering against the floor as his mind races with thought.

His eyes bore into the pamphlet, mind drifting into another plane as Sensei addresses the class for what seems like the last time.

He absentmindedly gathers his things into his bag, stuffing them with renewed vigor as his body races to leave the class in the shortest amount of time possible.

With a curt bow to Sensei on his way out, Izuku suddenly pauses in his gait, standing at the orifice between the classroom and freedom.

A snap decision is made, and he turns around to confront Sensei. Izuku's ankles wobble as he makes his way to the front of the class, very much aware of the various students sending him odd looks as they filter out of the class.

They can't stop you, he reminds himself, They can't put you down.

"Midoriya, do you have a question?" Sensei asks while simultaneously packing his own things away. It seems like the man didn't want to be there either, Izuku reasons. To be fair, nobody did.

"Ah, yes, a-actually," Izuku's mind draws a blank, as it always does, and he stutters his way through it, "I-I just wanted to kn-ow if… you know… the–"

"PROJECT, BOY!" Sensei bursts, mouth completely straight. The man is completely unstartled after the outburst, and Izuku gets the urge to cry.

"Y-yes sir!" he all but shouts, eyes pricking with salty tears. "I-I want to know when to hand in my permission slip!"

"Oh," Sensei turns to him fully in surprise, stopping his hand mid-air which had been lifting his briefcase to his side. The man turns pensive, his free hand darting to his face, "You know, I didn't think you would take this offer, Midoriya."

The man slings the briefcase's strap over his shoulder as he gingerly shakes his suit jacket straight.

"No offense, but I don't think you have anything to glean from it," Sensei pushes in a chair squeakily, now aware that the room had emptied out completely. "You're a straight-mannered kid, and I don't think you have any doubts about where you want to be."

"S-Sensei, with all due respect–" Izuku stammers.

"Ah– don't stop me yet," Sensei claps his hands free of chalkboard dust and grabs his thermos from his desk, now completely ready to leave. "What I don't think is that you know where your life is going. I'll be honest; I have had some hope throughout the year that you'd give up this foolish dream of becoming a hero–"

"Sir, please," Izuku is now pleading, much to his own chagrin. His tears now stream down his face in a neverending river, and he grows more desperate with each hiccup that escapes his lips.

Sensei backs up, eyes wide and hands placating whilst in the air. His tone shifts to something softer, and he lets out a deep breath.

"I–I'm not going to stop you, Midoriya. You can do what you want, but just keep it real."

Sensei starts hurrying towards the door, speedily checking his wristwatch and hassling the door with his free hand. Before he can leave, he pauses again.

"Oh, and Midoriya," Sensei turns slightly from the door frame, lips in a thin line.

"The permission slip's due on Monday, two days from now. You can hand it to me in the teacher's office, but just think it over first."

Izuku is left alone in the classroom, with only he, himself, and his very own venomous thoughts.

I hope you enjoyed! Please review, these are like fuel to me. I accept criticism wholeheartedly, as long as it is clear and reasonable (e.g. I won't accept criticism that there isn't a particular character in this story, or something of the like)

I'll try to be back with something next week for you guys, and I hope to wrap up this story efficiently compared to my other stories.