Inheritance of Giants

Space Oddity

Her voice trailed into a mutter, almost to herself. "And recoil dampeners like that don't even exist in that form — not unless Ide cracked inertia-neutral plating without telling anyone. And why does no one ever reload—?"

She paused, blinking as she realized she'd been talking aloud. She glanced sideways.

Izuku hadn't heard a word.

He was leaning forward, transfixed, scribbling observations into his hero journal with his tongue pressed to his upper lip in concentration.

Inko exhaled, a long, slow breath of relief she didn't realize she was holding.

Absorbed completely on consuming the show, Izuku wrote down the tactics used against the ruthless, alien, reptilian criminal Kaiju known as Bemular, attacking with the submarine and the VTOL. It didn't really have Izuku convinced this was how Bemular would be defeated, and his thoughts were proven right as Bemular got ahold of the sub Izuku's dad was using to attack him, and threw it.

All of the SSSP members in the VTOL screamed for Hayata as his sub flew, but at the last moment, an explosion of light consumed the area, Ultraman suddenly flying in, catching and laying the sub down on the ground.

Izuku could only call the suit used as... odd. It was a Silver skin base, padded to represent muscle, red lines running across the suit, circling their ribcage, painting their entire neck red, traveling down the arms, over his elbows, and encircling the wrists like arm guards. The eyes were eternally wide and glowing, all topped off with a weird, short dorsal fin-like extremity that went from the tailbone to the crown of Ultraman's head.

Still watching the screen, Izuku commented, "That suit Ultraman's wearing kinda looks like my red and silver T-shirt. The one with the line down the middle."

Inko chuckled. "I bought that one for you when you were little. You said it made you feel brave. I always liked that."

"It still does," Izuku replied, eyes still locked on the glowing figure on screen.

Inko smiled to herself and leaned back into the couch cushions. For a moment, the world outside — the Registry, the Kaiju, the quakes — could wait.

~

The rain never reached Cascadia Outpost.

Shielded by electromagnetic diffusion panels and artificial canopy towers, the mountaintop command facility shimmered beneath a dome of permanent overcast. Inside, Shin Midoriya—known these days only as "Commander Shin"—stood behind reinforced observation glass, arms folded, as the next generation trained in the simulated storm below.

In the atrium yard, a boy no older than sixteen surged forward, his fists trailing spirals of gold-orange flame that licked the air like a living thing. The fire danced, not just from technique, but instinct—wild, radiant, beautiful in its defiance. He tore through Kaiju alloy dummies with uneven rhythm, his footwork reckless, but devastating. Each strike came with the kind of smile that didn't ask for permission.

Shin squinted. "Your pivot's late. If you miss a beat, you'll fall into your own flare."

The boy didn't stop. He just shifted his weight mid-strike, let the next burst carry him sideways, and laughed. Loud and unbothered.

Shin watched him longer than he meant to.

"You see it, don't you?" said a voice from behind—smooth, digital, always a little too amused.

Shin didn't turn. "I see a cadet who thinks dying gloriously is a career plan."

A soft whirr preceded the arrival of Ide, materializing in the shimmer of synchronized microdrones. The AI took on the form of a man in an oversized coat, hands in pockets, face unbothered by time.