Inheritance of Giants

The Unforgiven

"What I've felt, what I've known..."

The car ride was a blur of broken rules. Inko ran red lights. Jumped lanes. Swerved around heroes who tried to block her path.

Sirens howled. Quirks flashed in her rearview.

She didn't flinch.

"Never shined through in what I've shown."

Ace punched the dashboard as they neared the final turn.

"MOVE!" he screamed at a blockade ahead — a row of stunned patrol officers and two heroes mid-hover.

Inko drove through them.

"Never free, never me!"

The SSSP gates burst open as if fate itself made way.

They screeched to a halt outside Medbay Command. Inko threw the door open and bolted.

Ace followed — grabbing two guards and hurling them aside when they reached for Inko. "Touch her again and I will burn this place to the core!"

She slammed through the medbay doors, wind still caught in her lungs, her grip on Izuku tight enough to bruise. She didn't look left or right. Didn't ask permission.

She threw her son onto the nearest recovery cot like she was trying to outrun whatever had swallowed him.

Doctors and staff turned.

Confused. Startled. Some angry.

"What the hell—? Ma'am, you can't just—!"

One worker stormed forward and ripped the earbud from Inko's ear, the trailing cable snapping against her shoulder.

"Lady, what the hell are you doing?!"

Inko stared at him. Not with malice — but with the glazed, crackling rage of someone who'd just been pulled from a warzone only to be questioned about paperwork.

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Not with her ears still echoing from what she'd heard.

"Hey, leave her alone, jackass!" Ace shoved past two medics, fire coiling around his arms. "That's her son! He just collapsed, out of nowhere! He's not breathing right, he's not moving—he pressed play and something took him!"

The room went still for a second too long.

And then, the spell broke.

"Get an active scanner online!"

"Vitals table, now!"

"Someone notify Archives — if this is Quirk-triggered, we need Ide cleared!"

An orderly grabbed a mask. Another one pressed sensors to Izuku's chest. The table beeped. Monitors flickered.

"Pulse detected. BP stable. Neural scan... inconclusive?"

"Try again," someone barked.

"I did. He's... he's not asleep. But he's not awake either. He's—he's just not present."

A silence fell — thin and fragile, like glass stretched too tight.

"Wait a minute... Dr. Midoriya?" a nurse asked softly. "What—what happened?"

Inko turned her head, slowly. Her eyes locked on the nurse.

And everything she had been holding in — everything she had crushed into silence for Izuku's sake — broke.

Tears welled instantly, burning at the corners of her vision.

She grit her teeth.

No.