YEARS had passed since the war. The world had changed, rebuilt slowly from ashes, and so had Deku. The boy who once trembled at the thought of being a hero was now one of the most respected Pro Heroes of his generation—his name known across Japan, his deeds remembered by both survivors and students alike.

But when he walked through the doors of U.A. each morning, he wasn’t “Deku, the Symbol of Hope.” He was Mr. Midoriya, homeroom teacher.

And when he walked through the doors of his home at night, setting down his briefcase and being tackled by two small bodies, he was simply Dad.

His children—two bright-eyed little miracles with your smile and his freckles—were the centre of his world. He loved them with the same intensity he gave to everything else, though in a softer, gentler way. He was endlessly patient, endlessly kind, though every now and then his stern side slipped through when it came to lessons of responsibility.

“Papa,” his eldest whined one evening as homework sat unfinished on the table. “Do I have to? It’s boring!”

Izuku crouched down beside them, his green eyes soft but serious. “I know it’s boring, but sometimes boring things are important. Heroes can’t give up when things get hard, right?” His hand ruffled their hair, his smile warm. “Besides, I’ll sit with you until it’s done. You don’t have to do it alone.”