Inheritance of Giants

The Chain

Not because he was caught — but because the sound didn't come with a melody.

Just her voice. Sharp. Layered with exhaustion and fear. Real.

Inko stood at the far end of the hallway, hair disheveled. Ace barely a step behind, arms crossed, giving him a disappointed glance before he looked away.

'Don't you look at me like that!' Izuku screamed inwardly. 'You don't understand — I need this! I'm not wrong!'

Inko stumbled forward, one shoe missing. Her breath hitched once before she stormed closer, faster now.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," she hissed, just loud enough not to wake anyone. "You know you're not supposed to be wandering the compound alone — especially not here."

Izuku's hand dropped from the handle like it had been burned. His mouth opened. Then shut again.

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to explain that it hurt not to hear it. That he wasn't sneaking — he was trying.

"I wasn't gonna touch it," he mumbled, staring at the floor. "I just— I need it, Ka-san. It needs to be mine."

"Do you hear yourself, Izuku?" Inko said, eyes wide with something equal parts fear and anger. "This isn't you, baby, just—"

"I'm not a baby," he whispered.

Inko froze.

The air between them twisted. Not angry — not yet. Just taut. Threadbare. Waiting to snap.

She knelt and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her hand trembling.

"You need sleep, Izuku," she said quietly. "Please. For me?"

'Hypocrite,' he thought bitterly. 'You haven't slept either.'

"I can't," he admitted, voice cracking. "It's too quiet. It's wrong without it."

Her fingers tensed. She wanted to say you need rest, or you'll hurt yourself, or maybe just please trust us.

But she could see it in his eyes — that bright, haunted green.

He didn't need comfort. He needed answers.

And she didn't have any.

So she pulled him into a hug anyway — tight. Protective. Fragile.

"I know. I know it feels wrong. But you have to give Kyotoku time."

Izuku didn't hug her back.

"What if there isn't time?" he asked.

Inko didn't answer.

Because she didn't know.

And maybe, just maybe... he was right.

"...I'm going back," Ace announced quietly, turning without waiting for a response.

"I— Ace, wait," Izuku called after him, but his voice didn't land.

Didn't matter.

Ace was already gone, his footsteps fading into the sterile hush of the hallway.

Inko stroked his back gently, a trembling rhythm against his spine. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered. "Mom's here, okay?"

"But—"

He bit the word off.

No. No use arguing. Not here. Not now.

Ka-san's opinion wasn't going to change. Maybe not ever.

And somehow, that realization hit harder than anything else.