Chapter Text
The boy groaned, rubbing his head as he sat up. Wild green curls stuck out in every direction, and his wide, nervous eyes darted between her and the wreckage around them. He looked like a startled rabbit.
Mei tilted her head. “You’re not here to blow stuff up, are you?”
“N-no!” the boy stammered, scrambling to his feet. “I-I was just,I mean, I saw—” He gestured vaguely toward where Bakugo had been, then flinched as if expecting her to yell at him too.
Mei studied him. No explosions, no sneering. Just a twitchy, mumbling kid who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
Her irritation faded instantly.
“Huh.” She grinned. “So you weren’t the one wrecking my babies. Good! I was about to have to invent a restraining bolt for jerks like that guy.”
The boy blinked. “B-babies?”
“My future inventions!” She spread her arms wide, gesturing to the piles of scrap around them. “Every piece of metal here is a potential masterpiece waiting to happen! And that explosion-happy moron was destroying them!”
The boy’s expression shifted something like recognition, then hesitation. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally managed, “Y-you’re… into support gear?”
Mei’s grin widened. “Ohhhh, you have no idea.” She leaned in, eyes gleaming. “You know support tech?”
He nodded quickly. “I-I’ve studied a lot of hero equipment. And quirk analysis, and—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble.”
Mei waved a hand. “No, no, keep going! Anyone who appreciates tech is a friend of mine.” She plopped down on a nearby crate, patting the space beside her. “What’s your name?”
“M-Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya.”
“Mei Hatsume!” she declared. “Future CEO of Hatsume Industries!”
Izuku smiled faintly. “N-nice to meet you.”
There was a pause. Mei could practically see the gears turning in his head—he had that look, the one she saw in the mirror when an idea was brewing.
“So,” she said, swinging her legs, “why were you hiding in the junkyard?”
Izuku stiffened. His fingers curled into his pants, gripping the fabric. “I… I saw you arguing with Kacchan. I didn’t want to get involved, but…” He trailed off.
“Kacchan?” Mei snorted. “That’s the explosion guy?”
Izuku nodded. “Bakugo. We… grew up together.”
Mei hummed. “Explains why you looked like you were about to bolt. Guy’s got ‘future villain’ written all over him.”
Izuku’s head snapped up. “H-he’s not—! I mean, he’s… intense, but he’s aiming to be a hero.”
Mei rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, heroes don’t usually go around destroying stuff for fun.” She kicked a piece of scrap. “But whatever. Not my problem.” She turned back to him. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
Izuku swallowed. For a second, she thought he’d clam up again but then his shoulders slumped, and he reached into his bag. Slowly, he pulled out a battered notebook. The cover read Hero Analysis for the Future No. 13.
Mei’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh, is that a blueprint book?”
“S-sort of,” Izuku admitted, flipping it open. Inside were pages upon pages of detailed notes, hero costumes, support gear schematics, even rough sketches of modifications. “I’ve… always liked analyzing quirks and equipment. B-but…”
His hand hovered over a page featuring a rough design for bracers—something meant to enhance strikes. His fingers trembled.
Mei peered closer. “Wait, is this a shock-absorption design? That’s brilliant! You could totally pair this with-”
Izuku’s eyes stayed fixed on the bracer sketch, but he wasn’t really seeing it. His fingers hovered, then gripped the paper too tightly, creasing it. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.
Mei blinked, turning to him. “What?”
“It’s dumb,” Izuku said, pulling the notebook back into his lap. “All of this. The designs. The planning. It’s all just… just me wasting time.” He laughed, but it was hollow, choked. “I don’t even have a quirk. I can’t be a hero. I can’t build anything like you. It’s just dreaming.”
He waited for it, that awkward pause, the look of pity or the quiet, muttered “oh.” The subtle, polite step back people always took when they realized he was quirkless. Even some teachers did it. And the kids at school? They didn’t even pretend.
But Mei didn’t step away. She didn’t go quiet.
She stared at him. Blankly. Then: “...Okay. And?”
Izuku blinked. “H-huh?”
“You said you’re quirkless.” Mei tilted her head. “Why would that make this dumb?”
“I—because—” He stammered. “It’s just most people think it’s weird for someone without a quirk to want to be a hero. Or to invent stuff for heroes.”
“Most people are idiots.” Mei shrugged. “You’ve got working hands and a working brain, don’t you?”
“I… yeah?”
“Then I don’t see the problem.” She waved her hand, like she was brushing away a cobweb. “Honestly, I’m not really interested in quirks. I like machines. I like ideas. You’ve got ideas. Good ones. That matters way more to me than whatever flashy explosion nonsense some jerk can pull off.”
Izuku stared at her. It was like the air had shifted like, for once, he wasn’t on the outside of a conversation, trying to squeeze himself in. He wasn’t being humored. Mei meant it. Every word.
“You’re really okay with it?” he asked softly.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She turned back to the notebook, flipping through more of the pages. “These notes are cool. So many babies can be made!”
Izuku flushed a deep red. “T-thank you…”
She leaned closer, eyes gleaming with interest. “This design here—what were you trying to do with the tension coils? Were you planning a kinetic feedback loop or just bracing for impact?”
Izuku perked up a little. “Ah! Bracing. I figured if someone like All Might used it, the pressure of his punches would need to be redirected somewhere or it’d blow his arm out. So I thought, maybe a set of adjustable springs to absorb some of the momentum.”
“Ooooh, like a modified torque damper!” Mei’s hand shot out and tapped the drawing. “And this part—”
As she leaned in, her body brushed against his arm. Leaned. Full contact. Her chest pressed firmly against his bicep like she didn’t even realize it, or care. Izuku’s brain short-circuited.
He made a noise. Something between a squeak and a cough.
“—would totally work if you used a flexible carbon composite instead of basic plating,” Mei went on, oblivious. “But that’d mean the frame needs reinforcement, or else the whole thing shatters if it takes a direct hit. Oh! What if you added a gyroscopic stabilizer inside the wrist joint? You could modulate it depending on how much recoil you want!”
Izuku’s thoughts were screaming. Not about the stabilizers. Not about recoil.
She’s leaning on me. She’s literally leaning on me. She doesn’t even care. How is she not freaking out?
She suddenly looked up and blinked. “Hey. You okay?”
“I’m—fine!” His voice shot up several octaves. “Totally fine! Uh—this is just—really overwhelming. I mean—good overwhelming! But I’ve never had anyone look at my notes like this.”
Mei raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, people usually just… skim. Or they laugh. Or they say it’s cute that I pretend to be a support engineer.”
She frowned. “You’re not pretending. You’re clearly thinking this through.” She gestured to the notes again. “You’ve done more planning than some of the second-years in the support course. I should know! My older brother is in one of them, and he barely does anything!"
Izuku flushed even redder. “T-thank you…”
There was a beat of silence. Then, more quietly, he added, “I… I wish I knew how to build something. I’ve never really tried.”
Mei paused, looking at him like he’d just confessed a terrible secret. “…You’ve never built anything?”
He laughed nervously. “Not really? I mean—I’ve helped with school projects and stuff. I’ve repaired things. I have some theories and I watch videos sometimes, but… I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
A slow grin spread across Mei’s face. It was electric.
Izuku’s stomach dropped. “Wh-what?”
“You want to learn, right?” she asked, eyes sparkling.
“Well… yeah…”
“Then I’ll teach you.”
His brain blanked. “W-what?”
“I’ll teach you,” she said again, "I'll teach you to make babies! Let's make babies together!"
Izuku's mind short circuited as he processed that information.
"Come on! Follow me! My parents are out for a client and my siblings all have after school things! I don't know what though!"
Izuku didn't really know why he accepted this, he was taught not to follow strangers to places, but a mix of loneliness, desperation and utter hopelessness, he decided to follow her to...
"Ta-Da! Welcome to Hatsume Industries headquarters! Or... My parents warehouse aka the place we live in!"
Mei latched onto the handle of the folding door and heaved it open with a dramatic grunt, slowly revealing a massive space bathed in the dim gold light from industrial lamps. Izuku's eyes widened as the cavernous room unveiled itself. On the ground floor, tables groaned under the weight of equipment—welding gear, an industrial saw, hydraulic presses, generators, and rows upon rows of screwdrivers, wrenches, and hammers lined the brick walls in what looked like organized chaos.
On one side, a wide staircase snaked up to an upper level—a living space of sorts. Izuku could just make out the wooden flooring, a few tables cluttered with blueprints and noodles, doors that probably led to bedrooms, and the top of a tall fridge sticking up like a tower.
"W-Woah," Izuku breathed, unable to stop the word from escaping.
Mei beamed, clearly proud. "Come on! Let’s try to make one of your babies!"
Izuku, already blushing from just being in her domain, nearly combusted when she grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. He had to force himself to focus on her words and not the fact that a girl was willingly holding his hand.
"Okay, bracers," Mei said, flipping through his notebook, her finger jabbing excitedly at a page. "Power-enhancing and shock-absorbing. We can totally do this. I've got plastic sheets, metal tubing, and even a special mesh my mom imported! This is gonna be amazing."
Izuku hovered, unsure, watching Mei zoom around the warehouse like she was on fast-forward. She tossed materials onto a workbench: a few lightweight plastic slabs, coils of copper wiring, some weird foam-like mesh with silver threading, and an old wrist brace she claimed could be cannibalized for parts.
"You’re gonna help," she announced.
"M-me? I don’t know how to do any of this!" Izuku sputtered.
"That’s why I’m teaching you, duh! Learning by doing, Greenie! That’s the Hatsume way."
She slammed down a safety goggle set on his head before donning her own and handed him a pair of gloves that were slightly too big.
"I-I'm a bit nervous..."
Mei waved her hand. "Ah! No need to worry! Look!"
Then, with her usual confident lack of caution, she marched over to the large saw and started it..
"Watch this."
Before Izuku could ask, she shoved her hand directly at the saw and the moment her fingers came near the blade, it clamped and stopped.
"HATSUME!" he shrieked, heart leaping into his throat.
"Relax! It detects human bioelectricity and halts automatically. State-of-the-art. We helped develop it last summer!"
Izuku clutched his chest. "That scared the crap out of me. You still shouldn't just shove your hands into a saw!"
"Eh! It's safe!"
The next hour was a chaotic blur. Mei explained things in a rapid-fire stream, pointing to various machines and tools while Izuku tried desperately to absorb every fourth word.
"This press is for shaping the outer shell. We'll need to warm the plastic first, then cool it under pressure to form the curve around your forearm. Oh, and this thing here is an auto-rivet machine. Don’t put your fingers near it. Learned that the hard way."
BOOM!
Something exploded.
"Don’t worry, that was just the capacitor. I overloaded it again," Mei said, brushing soot off her shirt.
Izuku looked like he was reconsidering every decision that led him here.
Still, as the hours passed, something remarkable happened. Mei was patient, in her own chaotic way. She let Izuku make mistakes, guided his hands as he applied adhesive or positioned wires, and clapped every time he succeeded at the smallest task.
"That’s it! Now thread the mesh here—yes, like that. You’re a natural!"
"I really don’t think I am," Izuku muttered.
BOOM!
Another explosion.
"That one was intentional," Mei chirped. "I was trying to fuse the polymer with that machine. Smells like burnt toast, right?"
Izuku smiled despite himself. The warehouse stank of melted plastic and ozone, his hands were sore, and he was ninety percent sure a screw was stuck in his shoe—but he was learning.
Eventually, after hours of work, sweat, and interruptions by minor (and major) explosions, they stood over a pair of crude but functional bracers.
"They’re beautiful," Mei declared.
Izuku picked one up. The mesh inside was soft but firm, the plastic curved perfectly around his arm, and the metal frame gave it a sturdy weight.
"We actually made them," he said softly.
Mei beamed. "See? Told ya. You just needed someone to push you through."
Izuku looked at the bracers, then at Mei.
"I didn’t know I could actually make something," he said. "I always thought I was just the guy with the notebook."
"Well, that’s dumb. You got the brains and the vision, and now you got the hands too."
Izuku chuckled. "Thanks. For all of this."
Mei leaned in closer, her usual disregard for personal space in full swing. Her shoulder pressed against his, her face inches from his as she examined the bracer in his hand.
"You know, you could learn all sorts of things from me," she said casually.
Izuku went red. "Y-you mean with support tech, right?"
"Obviously! What else would I mean?"
He cleared his throat. "I-I just… you just met me. Why are you doing all this for me?"
Mei tilted her head. "Why does that matter? You’re fun. You love machines. You want to build cool stuff. That’s enough for me."
Izuku blinked.
He’d expected her to pull away. To find out he was quirkless and lose interest. To laugh at him or pity him or treat him like less.
But instead, she leaned in again, pointing at the inner structure of the bracer.
"Next time, we add some springs for recoil dampening. Maybe even a battery pack if you want force redirection. Think about it!"
As Izuku stepped away, Mei called out from behind.
"CALL ME MEI! IT'S EASIER THAT WAY!"
The front door rattled before swinging open with the weight of shopping bags, the muffled chatter of the Hatsume family tumbling in with the groceries.
“Shoes off, shoes off! Mio, don’t block the entrance!” their father grunted as he hefted two big paper bags against his hip.
“I wouldn’t be blocking if Masaki didn’t insist on buying enough rice to feed a small army,” Mio huffed, wrangling a bag of vegetables and glaring at her older brother.
Masaki, five years Mei’s senior and three years Mio's senior and perpetually exasperated, clicked his tongue. “Excuse me for wanting the house to survive longer than two weeks without another shopping trip.”
Mahiro trailed in last, swinging a smaller bag full of snacks, eyes already darting toward the kitchen as if imagining which one he’d open first. At ten years old, he was small and sprightly, cheeks still round with youth, but his energy made him seem like three kids rolled into one.
The Hatsumes were mid-argument, mid-laughter, mid-shuffle when they froze.
The living room was… a battlefield.
Bolts scattered across the floor like caltrops, greasy rags draped across the couch arm, coils of copper wire snaked into the hallway. A half-disassembled toaster sat precariously on the coffee table next to an equally dismantled blender, both bleeding their metallic guts. And at the very center of the storm was Mei, hair wild, goggles crooked on her head, hunched over her little wind-up robot with the singular focus of a surgeon in mid-operation.
“Oh my god,” Mio whispered. “What… what happened in here?”
“Mei happened,” Masaki groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Their mother gasped, holding her grocery bags like a shield. “Mei Hatsume! What have you done to the house!?”
Mei barely glanced up, tightening a screw on the robot’s wheel with a screwdriver that was much too big for the job. “Don’t worry, don’t worry! It looks messy, but everything’s in its perfect place. Controlled chaos! Precision disarray!”
“You dismantled the toaster!” their father barked.
“Well, yeah. The heating coil was PERFECT for a baby!” Mei chirped, knocking over a robot with a little push so it wobbled forward on its wheel before falling sideways with a squeak. She scribbled something into a greasy notebook.
The family stood in stunned silence.
Then Masaki muttered darkly, “We were gone for two hours. TWO hours.”
Mio dropped her grocery bags onto the dining table with a thud. “We’re not even allowed to eat toast anymore, are we? She’s cannibalizing breakfast!”
Mahiro, however, crouched low to the ground, eyes wide. “Whoa… it’s like a junkyard exploded in here. Cool.” He reached for one of the gears rolling near his foot.
“Mahiro, don’t touch that!” their mother snapped, swooping in to snatch it from him. “Who knows what grease or chemicals are on it!”
Mei waved her hands dismissively. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Grease is just lubrication for the imagination!”
“Lubrication for the—” her father started, then stopped himself. “No. No, I’m not doing this. Everyone, put the groceries away. We’re cleaning this mess before someone gets tetanus.”
The Hatsume household descended into chaos again, only this time it was cleaning chaos. Groceries shuffled into cupboards, plastic bags stuffed under the sink, and Masaki armed himself with the vacuum cleaner like a knight preparing for battle. Mio tied her hair back and attacked the grease stains on the table with a rag, muttering furiously. Mahiro tried to “help” by picking up random scraps, though more often than not he stopped to inspect them and ask what they did.
Through it all, Mei chattered on, oblivious to the storm of her family’s exasperation.
“You know, I’ve been thinking, right? It’s not enough to just make things—I should be teaching people too! Passing on knowledge! That’s how technology grows! Imagine: whole armies of creators, inventors, tinkerers, all learning from me. It’d be revolutionary! A whole society of Hatsume-style minds—imagine the gadgets we’d have! No more boring! No more plain! Everyone gets upgrades!”
Masaki unplugged the vacuum to snap at her. “Maybe start with not destroying household appliances before you build an empire.”
But Mei was already rambling again, hands flailing in excitement. “It’s not just about building though—it’s about connections! Inspiration! Like, imagine teaching someone to make their first invention, and seeing their face light up when it works. That’s joy! That’s the magic! That’s what machines are supposed to be about!”
Her siblings exchanged a look over her head. Mio smirked.
“Oh please, Mei,” she teased, wringing out her rag. “You can’t even find anyone to teach. Who’d put up with your crazy lectures?”
Masaki snorted. “Yeah, who’s going to listen to a grease-goblin who takes apart the microwave for fun?”
Mahiro piped up from the floor, holding up a bent spring like treasure. “Maybe a robot would listen! You could teach them all day and they wouldn’t complain.”
The three siblings burst into laughter, their voices overlapping.
Mei froze mid-sentence, then whipped around with a triumphant grin. “Ha! Joke’s on you! I DO have someone!”
That shut them up for a second.
Her parents glanced at each other, brows raised. Masaki raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“Yup! He listens to me. He even watched me fix a gear system today. Totally interested.” Mei jabbed her thumb against her chest proudly.
Mio smirked. “Sure, sure. And what’s this imaginary friend’s name, huh?”
Mei opened her mouth. Froze. Blinked.
Her brain whirred like one of her half-finished contraptions. “Uh… his name is… um…”
Silence stretched.
“Uh oh,” Mahiro whispered dramatically, wide-eyed.
Mei squinted into space, lips moving as if the name were hidden somewhere in the air. “It was definitely a real name. With syllables. And sounds.”
Masaki crossed his arms, deadpan. “Wow. Incredible detective work.”
“His name is… is… uh… something with an I? Maybe? Or a Z?” Mei stammered, scratching her head hard enough to nearly knock her goggles off. “It’s—ugh, I had it earlier, I swear! I just… forgot.”
Her siblings erupted in laughter. Mio actually bent double, wheezing. Masaki clapped sarcastically. Even Mahiro, ever curious, snorted into his hands.
“Right,” Mio said between giggles. “A friend whose name you can’t remember. Sounds legit.”
Masaki ruffled Mei’s hair roughly as he passed her. “Nice try, grease-brain. Next time, at least come up with something believable.”
Their parents, though less cruel, exchanged knowing sighs. Their mother patted Mei’s shoulder gently. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Maybe one day you’ll find someone who understands your… passions.”
Mei puffed her cheeks out in frustration. “I’m telling you, he’s real! He’s super real! He even—he even smiled at me when I showed him how to adjust a spring tension! You’ll see!”
But the laughter drowned her out. Her siblings shook their heads, already moving on with the cleaning, and her parents chuckled quietly with that half-indulgent, half-pitying air adults reserved for childhood fibs.
Mei sat there, arms crossed, goggles slipping down her nose. For once, she didn’t fight back. She just muttered under her breath, “He really is real…” and glanced at her little wind-up robot as if it, at least, believed her.