Chapter Text
Why did he think it was a good idea?
How stupid he was he to believe that All Might was any different?
“Be realistic. You should have given up on this dream long ago. Think of yourself and your loved ones. How would they feel if they were told that you died in the line of duty because you couldn’t defend yourself? Please, my boy, wake up. You can’t be a hero without a quirk.”
Was it all a lie? Whenever All Might proclaimed that anyone could be a hero, was it all just a publicity stunt? Just to make himself look good for the cameras and popular with the people?
It didn’t matter. His dream was no more, torn to shreds and laying in pieces at his feet.
He didn’t know how long he remained on the roof, in catatonic silence as the tears fell freely from his eyelids. He did not break down into hysterical sobs, he was too much in shock to even make a sound.
What was he supposed to do now? If even his idol told him to give up, what use was there for him to continue? He had held on to the belief that All Might had the answer, one he sought after for years despite the bullying, ostracization, torment and pain that he endured simply for pulling the short straw on the genetic lottery. But now, it was just a fading memory of hope in vain, and he was left with nothing.
Just what on earth was he supposed to do?
“Just go and fucking kill yourself, Deku! No one fucking cares if you’re gone! With a bit of luck, maybe you’ll get a quirk in your next fucking life!”
It sounded so easy. He was on the roof of a tall building in the middle of downtown Musutafu. If he managed to pull the energy together to throw himself off the ledge, death will come as soon as he hit the ground, maybe even before that if his heart stops from a shock-induced cardiac arrest from freefalling. But he didn’t want to die. What if he somehow survived his suicide attempt? What if he really died, and there was no next life? Just an empty void of nothingness?
He just…didn’t know how to go on from this point.
A cold gust of wind blew across the rooftop. He barely registered it.
“What will you give for a chance?”
He thought that he didn’t hear it, but his subconscious did.
“Anything.”
“Anything? Nothing comes for free, you know.”
“Anything!” his subconscious screamed, “Anything to escape this hell!”
Another gust of wind blew, even colder than the first.
“It shall be done.”
It was a perfectly clear, warm May day when the wind picked up. People walking along the streets would remember this unremarkable day as the one when the weather suddenly changed, seemingly out of nowhere and not by the cause of man or quirk.
The blue sky suddenly morphed into a sombre grey, and the little white wisps of clouds grew in size and turned ominous. The temperature plummeted, and to the confusion of those on the streets, snow began to fall from the heavens. It descended upon the city at a steady rate, reaching inches within an hour.
News crews would descend upon Musutafu to report on this strange weather phenomenon, and scientific circles would go to say that they could neither draw head or tail on how snow could suddenly fall on a city completely out-of-season.
In all of the hubbub, no one paid any attention to the rooftop of a random office building. As a teenager of barely thirteen lay prone upon the concrete, the snow fell over him like a soft blanket. As the hours passed, he became buried under more than a metre of frozen water particles.
The sun, hidden away by the clouds, descended below the horizon unnoticed. The snow continued to fall well into the night, and clean-up crews were called in to help clear the streets to let traffic flow. Up on that office building, the snow had built up to the point of blocking the rooftop access door.
At first, nothing happened, just a deep pile of snow on a rooftop.
Then, something burrowed through the snow, and broke through.
There were no security cameras on the roof, so no one spotted a teenager of average height, wearing the same gakuran as the one whom All Might left behind, emerge from the snow. But while the teen previously had untamed curls that were forest-green with black highlights, the lights that reflected off revealed a brilliant white colour, the exact same shade as the snow at his feet. The follicles have lost their curls, falling in gentle waves over the teen’s face.
He took a few steps through the snow, and stopped. Glancing down, he stretched out a hand, and made a circular sweeping motion.
As if swept up by a powerful wind, all of the snow was pulled off the floor, swirled around the teen for several moments, before coalescing into his open palm as a large snowflake. The teen thrust his hand into the air, and the snowflake was thrown upwards, whereupon it exploded into a shower of sparkling crystals.
The teen went over to a yellow backpack that lay innocently a few paces away, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the staircase, closing the access door behind him with an audible click.
To Be Continued.