AN at bottom. Don't own FMA or MHA.

She was precisely seven months old when she realised it, and perhaps it said something about her previous life that the entirety of her reaction to her reincarnation was the phrase "Okay then," and a halfway indifferent shrug.

Then again, Izumi Curtis had never phased easily- so why should Midoriya Inko be any different?

They were the same person, after all.

Being a child again wasn't exactly something Izumi had ever expected would happen to her. She'd never really been religious in her first life, and any hope of getting her to so much as set foot in a holy building was snuffed out the moment she saw That, all those years ago.

How long had it been now?

Truthfully- (no matter her hatred of that word)- she had no idea.

Times certainly had changed since she'd last walked this earth. Cars were everywhere, it seemed, and radios had been upgraded to televisions (which had held her attention for a grand total of two hours as she'd attempted to figure out how it worked), and physical books, appeared to be shuffled aside in favor of things her new parents called 'cell-phones' 'laptops' and 'tablets.'

Of course, they didn't let her touch those. Not after she'd disassembled her baby monitor.

Izumi had been extremely proud of herself for that one. Baby fingers weren't exactly the most coordinated of things.

Walking was hard and it was annoying.

Izumi hadn't exactly expected it to be easy, or anything. Her little toddler muscles were only just nearing the stability she needed to stand, after all.

Still.

There was something just- aggravating. About being incapable.

She'd known that inability all too well in her later years.

Missing organs took their toll, after all- and improbable meddling by her students' father aside- she'd been extraordinarily lucky to make it into her early fifties.

Even if her last two years had been spent in that blasted wheelchair.

So- standing. As a toddler.

Difficult.

Walking. As a toddler.

Near improbable.

Her new parents were starting to get concerned. They'd taken her to the doctor once already, worried that her 'Quirk-' whatever that was- was developing early and preventing her from gaining the correct muscle mass.

An X-ray and a physical later, followed by a rather confusing conversation about foot bones, Midoriya Inko had been pronounced perfectly healthy- and just a late bloomer.

Izumi was not a late bloomer, and she was not incapable.

If anything, her reincarnation gave her the collective experience and knowledge of a natural genius.

Thus- failure was unacceptable.

Besides, all that crawling around was starting to piss her off.

So, she'd try again. And again. And again. Until she could do it as easily as breathing.

It would be one step forward in her new life-

and she'd make it count.

Her first word had been a sentence.

It had taken some time to decide just what to say first, considering the wide variety of options she had gathered over her decades as Izumi Curtis.

Swearing, had come to mind. She'd always been fond of german swears- even more so after the blond brats had suckered her into teaching them. (Alchemy, not the swears. Although she'd taught them quite a few of those too.)

But, considering her parents- (a year since her rebirth they were no longer quite new)- weren't exactly bilingual in any sense, let alone the germanic one, suddenly spouting a deluge of her favorite german curses would raise questions she'd like to avoid.

So, she'd thought of quotes. Phrases and sentences she'd heard over the years and thought particularly interesting or profound.

But-

Somehow, she'd always known what she'd pick when the time came.

The same phrase she'd held close to her heart all through her first life- and the phrase she'd hold there even through the next.

So, perhaps it was unsurprising that two-year-old green-eyed green-haired Midoriya Inko gathered her parents into the living room; climbed upon a phone book she'd placed specifically for this purpose, cleared her voice and said those six words like a miniature preacher speaking to a choir.

"One is All, All is One."

"H-Honey?! Her first words!"

"Our little Inko is so smaaaaarrtttt~! I'm so proud!"

"Honey, you're crying again."

"I caaan't heeelp it~"

...Yeah, her parents were weird.

Preschool. In a word: Izumi hated it.

Detested, technically, since most of her hatred was reserved for special occasions and- That Place.

It was loud, bright, smelly and gross. The teacher refused to speak in anything but a truly obnoxious baby-voice, even in the face of Izumi's best glare and firm reprimand. He'd even had the gall to call it cute.

The other children were all completely normal toddlers and therefore did very little other than drool on every surface they could get their grubby little hands on, making Izumi want to touch the toys (or much of anything really) even less than she already did.

In fact, the only thing she really could do was sit down on the garish rainbow play-mat and glare at everyone.

Of course, she'd been doing that since her parents had left an hour ago- (her father had blubbered like the child Izumi appeared to be while her mother remained the calm and rational one, as usual)- and she was beginning to get bored.

How long was this hell supposed to last again?

Izumi's glare directed itself to the wall clock- which would have shuddered in the face of such a gaze had it been able. Of course, being an inanimate object, it didn't.

Oh. Right.

It hadn't technically started yet.

Izumi's scowl deepened. The clock shit itself.

She. Detested. Preschool.

Had she actually been anywhere near the mental age these drooling baboons were, she might have actually enjoyed herself. But she wasn't. And. It. Was. Hell.

"Heyyyyyy~ Are you dead or somethin'?"

Green eyes shifted to glare full-force into a set of blood-red irises.

"What do you want." Izumi growled moodily, scowling fiercely at the young sandy-blonde girl who'd interrupted her perfectly warranted emo moment.

The girl grinned viciously, eyes glittering with dangerous excitement. "Guess you're not dead then. I'm Mitsuki. Wanna play with me?" She asked, teeth bared in a shape that wasn't so much a smile as it was a snarl.

It wasn't a question.

But-

Izumi didn't do orders. She never had- and she never would.

Her cheeks puffed out in a distinctly childish pout as she looked away, arms crossed. "No."

...

No one ever said she had to be mature about it.

She was technically three.

…

Mitsuki frowned at that, brows furrowing for a moment in concentration before her grin-snarl returned full-force. "Well I wanna play with you and those other guys are stupid, so there." She stated confidently, as though that statement destroyed any argument Izumi might've had against her.

Too bad Izumi had years of experience debating with annoying blond pipsqueaks.

"Well I don't want to play with you- so you're stupid for asking." She retorted, turning her head away with a huff, green curls bouncing cheerfully with the motion.

…

She missed her box braids.

…

Dumb parents with their dumb excuses. She was totally old enough to get them. It wasn't like she was asking to get a tattoo.

...

Yet, anyway.

...

A sharp tug quickly derailed that train of thought as Izumi let out a high-pitched squeak of pain.

Izumi blinked.

Did Mitzuki just-

Did she just-

Another, sharper, yank.

That little brat was PULLING HER HAIR.

Letting out a short growl, Izumi turned towards the source of the tugging- and sure enough- Mitsuki had a fistfull of green curls and an insufferably smug look on her face.

Izumi's eyes narrowed.

…

Alright, screw this.

"Inko-chan! I cannot believe you-!"

"Mitsuki-! Young lady you are in so much trouble-!"

"-attacking a classmate like that, just what has gotten into you-!?"

"-your father and I have warned you about-!"

"-this sort of behavior is completely unacceptable-!"

"-this is the fourth time this week-!"

"-you've always been so well-behaved-!"

"-I honestly should've expected something like this-!"

"-what will your father say-!?"

"-grounded for a month I swear-!"

Izumi and Mitsuki shared a commiserating look as their mothers' rants blended together into a mish-mosh of words and admonishments.

Contrary to what the adults probably believed, there were no hard feelings between the girls.

...Despite the vicious looking bite on Izumi's bicep and Mitsuki's rapidly-darkening black eye.

After all- there were some things people simply couldn't go through without becoming friends-

and a preschool fistfight just happened to be one of them.

AN:

FFN keeps eating my line breaks. Bear with me while I fix it.