Chapter Text
"You...wouldn't.."
/“I would,”/ Iida said with zero hesitation. “No one has to know the details. If anyone asks, I’ll say I moved you on my own authority. But you will not sleep in this… broom closet. Is that clear?” He looked at Iida as if trying to find the man’s angle. Since when did Iida care? Since when had he gone from dry politeness and passive digs to… this?
Izuku hesitated, then nodded slowly, defeated.
“Good. Get your things,” Iida said, already turning toward the door.
Izuku gathered what little he had from the closet space. He grabbed his clothes all at once—an awkward bundle clutched to his chest—and Iida winced slightly at how rough the motion was.
“That’s all you have?” Iida asked, frowning.
Izuku nodded, too tired to be embarrassed.
“Hm. Well,” Iida murmured, straightening his spine. “The omegas are allowed shopping privileges two days from now. You’ll have a clothing allowance. Use it.”
Izuku didn’t answer. He wasn’t planning to spend money on frills. Not when he had to save every coin for the eventual escape. Izuku reached toward the mattress on the floor. “Should I—?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Iida cut in. “The new room has an actual bed.”
Izuku followed Iida through the halls of the castle, yawning quietly. They ascended a staircase that curved around the edge of one of the upper wings. Higher than the Omega quarters. Quieter.
Iida stopped at a door and unlocked it, stepping aside.
“This is your room now,” he said simply.
Izuku’s jaw dropped.
The room was… huge. Not as enormous as the communal omega quarters, but it was his. A room with thick curtains, a full-sized bed, fresh linens, a carved wooden dresser, shelves, a small desk—and a door to an adjoining...what?
He stood frozen in place, gaping.
“Close your mouth, or flies will enter,” Iida said dryly.
Izuku shut it with a quiet click. “This is… mine?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Iida nodded. “Entirely yours. I’ll speak to the staff about upkeep and regular linen changes.”
“They don’t have to—”
“They’re paid for it. They will,” Iida interrupted.
Izuku placed his small bundle of clothes on the dresser, handling the fabric carefully for once.
His voice was softer when he turned to Iida. "...Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I know you’re probably going to say something like, ‘It’s my duty,’ or ‘The least I could do,’ but… I mean it. Thank you.”
Iida’s shoulders tensed slightly, caught off guard by the directness. He opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Izuku gasping and disappearing into the bathroom.
“It has a bathroom!” Izuku’s voice echoed from within.
Iida just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I will be leaving now. I have other duties to attend to.”
Izuku popped his head out from the bathroom doorway. “Goodnight, Tenya.”
Iida adjusted his glasses. “Good night, Izu..Midoriya.” He left with a huff, closing the door behind him. Izuku turned, closing the door behind him, locking it.
He exhaled deeply.
Izuku shut the door behind him with a soft click, leaning against it for a moment. He let out a breath and glanced around the room once more—his room. It still didn’t feel real. Was this what privilege felt like? Was that even a word someone like him was allowed to use in a place like this?
He peeled off his day clothes, the seams stiff from overuse, and tossed them onto a chair. His fingers moved to undo the tighter wrapping across his chest. The knot came undone, and with the door locked, he finally let himself breathe without pressure constricting his ribs. The room was warm. Private. Safe. He changed into something softer—an oversized linen shirt with golden stitching, probably meant for lounging. It was still too fancy, too regal, but it was the most comfortable thing he had.
He padded barefoot over to the bed, placing his hand against the mattress, half-expecting it to crumble or deflate like the thin mats back home. But no—it was soft. Too soft, probably bad for his back in the long run, but it cradled his hand like a cloud. He crawled up onto it on all fours and gave a little bounce. He bit back a laugh, then couldn’t help the soft giggle that escaped his throat as he flopped onto his stomach and rolled, face half-buried in the plush covers. He fluffed up the pillows, pulling them around him like a nest.
It felt…good. Not deserved. Not permanent. But good.
He knew this wouldn’t last. This temporary calm was just the eye of the storm. The bullying would get worse. He would get cornered again—he wasn’t stupid. This room, this comfort, would make him more of a target. They’d see this as favoritism. The king letting him into his study (Not that they knew). Iida giving him a private room. And now he was isolated and still a threat in their eyes. He couldn’t afford to relax too much. Couldn’t let his guard down.
This wasn’t his life, not really. It wasn’t meant to be. He would get out eventually. Every moment of peace was just a borrowed breath.
And the king? Katsuki didn’t care. He wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t going to swoop in to stop others from tearing each other apart. Not unless it served him. Iida was nice, but he was still someone important—busy, always busy. Izuku didn’t want to be a burden. He stared at the ceiling, hands folded over his stomach.
What were his parents doing right now? He tried not to imagine it. Probably living just fine. Selling off their son like livestock didn’t seem to weigh on them. Maybe their debts have been paid now. Maybe they could breathe easier at night.
His eyes shut slowly, a sigh falling from his lips. He wouldn’t let himself break.
*
Izuku woke early, the faintest light beginning to pull against the edges of the curtains. His body, now rested, fell back into old rhythms—waking before the sun, just like he always did at home. He sat up, stretched his arms overhead, and yawned. His muscles were still sore from all the walking and lifting, but it felt like a familiar soreness.
He wandered into the connected bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, teeth chattering slightly, before he dried off with a thick towel. He brushed his teeth with one of the new ones that had been placed near the sink—minty and sharp, way better than crushed herbs.
He eyed the clothes in the wardrobe from what he brought and selected a dark green robe, probably meant to be casual for palace standards. The sleeves were long, the hem swept too close to the ground, but he folded it over and tied it high at the waist to keep it from dragging. He yanked the cloth under his arms tighter, creating makeshift pleats that made it easier to move. His hands fumbled as he looked in the mirror, glancing at his chest. Too flat. Passable, but barely. He needs to find something.
Shoes on, hair tucked behind his ears, he left the room quietly and made his way down the hallways toward the kitchen. Even before the sun had properly risen, he could hear the bustle—pans clanking, footsteps shuffling. He peeked his head through the doorway and immediately froze. All heads turned. The kitchen staff stopped moving. He held his breath.
“Not you again,” the same gruff chef grumbled from behind a counter, not even looking up. “If you want to eat, wait with the omegas.”
Izuku blinked.
Okay, he thought. That’s a start.
That meant he was expected. Recognized. Not ignored. The tone wasn’t respectful, not in the way these people probably spoke to nobles or royalty, but Izuku didn’t care about tone. What mattered was that he wasn’t invisible.
He stepped further into the kitchen. The kitchen buzzed again—cooks returned to their prep, muttering recipes and orders to one another. Izuku quietly moved toward the corner, where unused plates were stacked and breakfast ingredients were laid out. He inhaled deeply. Eggs, roasted vegetables, and baked bread.
His stomach growled.
He approached the same chef from before, the kind of man who’d survived this palace by making himself a little too useful to be cut. The man didn’t even look up from the stovetop.
“What do you want?” the chef grunted, flipping something in the pan.
Izuku tucked a curl behind his ear and took a steady breath. “About yesterday,” he began.
/“It’s fine,”/ the man interrupted. “The king gave us a warning. Clear enough.”
"You shouldn’t make me work for food?” Izuku asked.
The man paused, glancing sideways at him.
“What did he say would happen,” Izuku asked slowly, “if you made me work for it?” There was no smugness in his voice, no bite. Just curiosity. The chef must’ve seen that, because he actually stopped what he was doing and answered.
“That he’d cut our heads off. All of us,” the chef muttered, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “He said he’d make an example out of us.”
Izuku gulped, the sound embarrassingly audible in the quiet moment. He glanced down at his hand, fingers flexing as if gripping invisible reins.
“But I still want to work for it,” he mumbled.
The chef turned, throwing his spatula hard into the skillet. “Are you crazy?!” The shout echoed. No one in the kitchen turned to look—they were used to his volume—but Izuku didn’t flinch.
“You omegas,” the man hissed, “you cry and tattle, and suddenly my head’s on a platter. That’s how it works now, huh? You come in all soft-voiced, say you want to work, and next thing I know, I’m getting blamed for ‘mistreating’ a royal. I saw what happened to the ones before you.”
Izuku wanted to snap back—so now you care? Now you’re afraid, because someone with power warned you. But before? You let them starve. Let them suffer. The king had to threaten you before you even looked twice. Izuku bit his tongue. Oh, he thought bitterly, so now you care about consequences? Now that your life’s on the line?
These same people hadn’t blinked when others starved. When sick omegas were ignored, mocked, and left to rot. But now, because Katsuki had said heads would roll, suddenly they were righteous.
But Izuku held his tongue.
“I’ll sign something,” Izuku offered. “A paper. My name. My mark. Let someone witness it. I want to work. Not because you’re forcing me. Because I can’t just sit around and rot.”
The chef studied him, wary. “Aren’t you from some wealthy family?”
“I am,” Izuku said smoothly. “Or was. One of the richest in the country. But they couldn’t tame me. Why do you think they sent me here? Not to be anyone’s favorite—just one of the pile.”
The lie sounded weak even to his own ears, his voice trembling with nerves. But he pressed forward, stepping closer until the man had to look up at him—Izuku had an inch or two on him, maybe more in the morning light.
“Tell me what to do. I won’t go crying to anyone about it. I promise.”
The man stared at him for a long beat, then finally exhaled, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands. “Fine. You want chores? You got chores.”
He started listing them off, one by one.
“Take those two crates of scraps to the left side again. Then scrub the floor of the cold storage. After that, organize the vegetable crates by weight—not color, weight. Then clean the back prep counters, and after all that, if you’re still standing, you can help peel potatoes.”
With every task added, Izuku smiled wider.
“Good?”
“Good,” Izuku nodded, almost too eagerly.
And when no one was looking, he snatched two oranges and slipped them under the fabric of his robe. This’ll do, he thought, fixing the folds to make his chest look fuller, more dimensional. He didn’t want to risk anyone wondering again. At least not right now.
He picked up one of the heavy crates and started hauling it out the door. The sun still hadn’t risen, which was perfect. It was cool, quiet, and the sweat hadn’t started clinging to his skin yet. It reminded him of home—early mornings with nothing but dirt underfoot and the sound of chickens in the distance.
As he passed by the field, he noticed the guards in their early morning formation, training under a voice. Their wooden swords cracked against the air. His fingers twitched.
Kirishima… maybe he could train me, Izuku thought. He knew it was /unheard/ of for an omega to learn to fight. But he wasn’t like the others. He had to be ready not just for survival, but for escape.
Inside the castle, Katsuki paused mid-step, still listening to Iida’s information as they walked. His second-in-command was outlining the day’s tasks, ticking off one responsibility after another.
“...The feast preparation needs your approval, and after the meeting with the neighboring kingdom’s emissary, we need to address the reports from the scout teams. There’s also the matter of the new recruits’ training, which should be reviewed before the next council session. Oh, and—” Iida stopped suddenly as Katsuki froze mid-stride, nearly causing him to bump into him.
"Sir?"
Katsuki was staring out the window, squinting. “Is she… working?”
Iida followed his gaze, adjusting his glasses. “She is.”
Through the tall glass, they watched Izuku move a crate effortlessly. It couldn’t be that heavy, they assumed, which is why none of them questioned how a royal could be so strong. The omega turned, paused, and gave them an awkward wave.
Iida exhaled quietly. “I think that’s her way of proving she’s not being forced,” he said. “ She’s… a peculiar one.”
Katsuki didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed, following the curve of the robe as Izuku shifted—her chest looked more prominent. Or at least, more present. “…A chest,” Katsuki said.
“Pardon?” Iida blinked.
“Did she always have them?” Katsuki tilted his head. “That prominent?”
“My king—!” Iida’s voice cracked in offense.
Katsuki chuckled under his breath. “It was a joke.”
But he kept staring for a moment longer. Just a moment. Then turned away.
TBC