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One more year. One more year.
Counting down the days for middle school to end had started during the first week of first year, when he was outed as Quirkless and ostracised again. He was bullied worse than before. The teachers did nothing.
No one cared.
He’d just be another Quirkless kid to the ever-increasing list of worthless outcasts.
20% of the population was Quirkless.
Around 1.6 billion people.
Approximately 25 million people in Japan.
Izuku hated being one of them.
But middle school was over in a year and he was approaching the chance to try out for the U.A. He was going to be able to take the Entrance Exams and, hopefully, get in.
Unfortunately, his path to school was blocked by a villain.
The criminal looked a bit like a man on steroids with a rat-shaped head. Kamui Woods was on the scene and Izuku already had his notebook out, writing and writing. Then, a new hero debuted.
She called herself Mt. Lady. Loud, bright, fun. And she stopped the criminal, though one could argue she took all the glory. Izuku’s mutter storm hadn't stopped all throughout the fight, watching as she grew taller than any building and shrunk at the end.
A man beside him, with star shapes on the side of his head, had laughed when Izuku proudly exclaimed he’d be a hero.
Then school.
Talking about High School choices was… dreadful.
Akamatsu-sensei droned on about different grade requirements and ensuring one studied or tried hard.
“Bakugou, I understand you’re trying out for the U.A. Hero Course. Any other Hero Course-hopefuls?”
“HA!”
Izuku flinched. Three rows in front. Three seats behind. Kacchan’s voice grated against Izuku’s nerves. It was loud and scary and always—always—followed by a threatening spark of Kacchan’s hands raised, explosions already filling Izuku’s ears.
“Don’t lump me in with this lot, Sensei. I’m going to be Number 1, these extras aren’t anything special!”
Kacchan and his perfect Quirk had always been praised. Believed. Kacchan had always been told he’d be perfect. Everyone pandered to him.
“Of course, Bakugou. And… Midoriya,” Izuku’s name was said with disgust by Akamatsu-sensei, “You’re trying out for U.A. too, I see.”
All eyes turned to him. Red, angry, jeering. Bright.
They were the crowd, Izuku the play. The spotlight was on him and Izuku didn’t know how to act okay.
Izuku shrunk more. So much for teacher-student confidentiality.
Kacchan’s laugh was a crack of dynamite in the silence. “Are you shitting me?!” he barked, sparks already flaring at the corners of his palms. His chair screeched back as he stood, every eye in the room snapping to him like they always did. Always to him. “Deku thinks he’s going to U.A? The hell are you smoking, nerd?”
Izuku’s pulse hammered. He wanted—needed—to say something, anything, before the words buried him alive. His notebook trembled beneath his fingers, the pen cap digging into his palm. “T-the rules changed,” he forced out, throat dry, words stumbling over each other like broken glass. “Five years ago. They said Quirkless applicants could take the entrance exam. I checked, it’s written—”
The words were drowned in an explosion of sound as Kacchan slammed his hand against his desk, a scatter of sparks spitting across the wood. “SHUT UP!” he roared. “Like some half-baked, worthless Deku like you could ever get in! Even if you got to take the damn exam, you’d just die in the first five minutes!”
The laughter came fast. Cruel. Unstoppable. Snickers, jeers, whispered repeats of the word Deku ricocheting around the room. It dug into his skin, into his lungs, until it felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Izuku tried again, voice thin, desperate: “B-but the rules—”
“THE RULES DON’T MATTER!” Kacchan’s face twisted, red eyes burning hot and hateful, veins pulsing at his temples. He leaned forward, every muscle in his body straining like a predator about to pounce. “You’re nothing but dead weight, Deku! You think U.A’s gonna waste a spot on a loser like you? Keep dreaming!”
A spark hissed close enough that Izuku flinched back in his seat. The laughter grew louder, filling the air until it was all Izuku could hear. Even the teacher didn’t intervene, didn’t look up from his papers. Just like always.
Izuku’s hands trembled on his notebook. His lips moved soundlessly, repeating words only he could hear: It’s allowed, I can try, I can try, I can try—
But no one was listening. No one ever listened.
By the time the bell rang, he was already shrinking into himself, shoulders curled, eyes locked on the scratches etched into his desk. Homeroom ended. The classroom emptied in a wave of chatter and footsteps, like nothing had happened. Like his humiliation was just another joke.
The day dragged after that, every period bleeding into the next, each tick of the clock a reminder that he still had to survive the gauntlet of stares, the whispers, the muttered Deku at the back of his neck. His notes blurred on the page, his pencil tapping and tapping and tapping until even he wanted to snap it in two.
By last period, he felt hollowed out. Just a husk carrying notebooks heavier than his body, waiting for the final bell to free him.
But freedom never came easy.
The moment the teacher dismissed them, Izuku hurriedly packed his things up. Hero Notebook No. 13 remained on his desk as he stuffed his pencil case in his beat-up yellow bag. Scuffed and burnt.
Izuku was a tad too slow.
He looked up as three distinct shadows fell across his desk. Kacchan, along with his two lackeys that had followed him since daycare all through school till now.
Izuku had never really caught their names because one said they didn’t want their name in Izuku’s “filthy” mouth. One was labeled Red-wings in his head, the other was called Stretchy-hands (because Stretchy-fingers sounded weird as hell). Red-wings and Stretchy-hands smirked as Kacchan grabbed Hero Notebook No. 13 out of Izuku’s hands.
Izuku’s training left him.
He was but an ant to Kacchan and he was terrified.
“You still doing this creepy analysing shit? Deku, you do realise that this crap is never going to get you anywhere. You’re useless and creepy with all your muttering and analysing.”
Izuku felt annoyance building up inside him. He tamped it down (because Kacchan hated him being annoyed and he didn’t have a right to be annoyed at Kacchan and), and looked Kacchan in the face. “It’s not creepy, Kacchan! I can use it in a fight to—”
“What fight?! You’ll die in the first two seconds you quirkless fucker! You will never be able to compete with me! You’re nothing!”
“I’m not trying to compete with you, Kacchan, I just have aspirations—”
“Shut the fuck up, Deku! No one wants to hear your useless voice, it’s so high and whiny and annoying as hell.” And, right as Izuku reached for his notebook again, Kacchan held it in both hands and used his quirk.
The notebook burned in the small sparks and Kacchan tossed the notebook out the window, the notebook falling into the koi pond below.
Izuku gasped, turning to look at the window, but his collar was grabbed roughly and he was thrown back. He caught himself on a table and forced himself upright, but it was for nothing because Kacchan’s hand was on his shoulder, squeezing hard as he glared at her, the burning sensation from his quirk being activated, ruining the already semi-ruined uniform. Kacchan never used his Quirk more than to threaten now, but it still hurt and Izuku’s skin still tingled from phantom pain and there were still marks across his body.
“Never try out,” he growled. “You’re useless. A freak of nature. You’re a fucking pathetic weirdo with no skills and no use. You might as well just disappear, no one would care.”
Wrong, he wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Disabled. Quirkless. Freak!
Izuku was terrified, eyes screwed shut as the hand on his shoulder squeezed harder. And it hurt. God it hurt!
Finally, he released Izuku, seemingly happy with the fear he’d instilled in him. Red-wings and Stretchy-hands followed as Kacchan exited the classroom, until he paused in the doorward and turned back, that angry grin he wore when he knew what to say in place.
“If you wanna be a hero so bad, why don’t you go take a swan dive off the roof of a building. Pray for a quirk in your next life.”
And he left.
Laughter rang in his wake.
And Izuku’s entire world shattered at the seams.
Toshinori had been chasing this sludge guy for a while and it was getting a little tiring.
This was why the tunnel had been perfect. Until the sludge guy tried controlling a kid’s body.
Toshinori had gotten to the tunnel just in time to see the kid stab the sludge in the eye with a pen, which was what got the kid released.
“FEAR NOT, FOR I AM HERE!” Toshinori exclaimed, already moving to the villain at incredible speeds. He caught the way relief spread across the kid’s face before the kid passed out.
A Texas Smash later, Toshinori had stuffed the sludge into a bottle, somehow, and was outside the tunnel with the kid. He knew that he needed to call someone, probably, to get the kid checked for injuries and also maybe a therapy session for nearly dying.
But first, he had to make sure the kid woke up. He’d already signed a blank page of the kid’s notebook, the page beside what was a drawing of him on a page labelled “Page 15.” The one problem was that notebook had been a little burnt and he’d been a little worried about the ink bleeding through pages, and the slight dampness of the paper.
He’d flicked through to see the water damage and suddenly was hit with page after page of not just sketches of heroes, but analyses. Their Quirks, their strength, weaknesses, fighting styles. The analyses ranged from Midnight (and how her hero costume seemed unhelpful considering Midnight had to rip the cloth all the time) to an underground hero named The Image Hero: Vivid, who was hardly ever seen on camera, and yet the sketch was near-perfect.
Toshinori was, for a lack of better words, amazed at how detailed the analyses were.
That was when the boy woke up.
He was rather plain-looking. Wide eyes, curly green hair, freckles, slightly-tanned skin. But Toshinori noticed the burn on his wrist as his sleeve rolled up slightly. Noted the scar on his neck, barely hidden beneath the collar of his uniform. He noticed the scuffed yellow bag and the odd patch on the left shoulder of his uniform.
“All Might! Oh my god, oh my god—” Ah, here was the fanboying. And glowing eyes, it seemed. “Can I have—”
“I’ve already done it, Young man. Well done for fighting against the villain, but you should go and get a check-up. That was a traumatic experience, Young man. Now, I must go to the police station and hand in this criminal.” Readying to jump away, he saw the boy scrambling.
He had his notebook grasped tightly, his bag back over his shoulder. “Wait! All Might, I have a question, I—”
The time limit was going to be exceeded if Toshinori stayed any longer. “I’m really sorry, I must get going.”
The boy did something very, very stupid. He grabbed Toshinori’s leg as Toshinori jumped and, though briefly arguing about letting go in the air, Toshinori landed on a rooftop right as the time limit was exceeded.
A massive plume of smoke cleared, and Toshinori finally took a breath. The kid was across from him now, eyes wide as saucers. Toshinori felt a pang of sympathy; most people didn’t expect him to look… like this. No booming frame of All Might, no glowing aura, just a man with a worn suit, greying hair at the edges, and exhaustion threading every movement.
“Who are you?!” Before Toshinori could even answer, the kid was already talking. “Wait, no one knows All Might’s identity, and his Quirk is some sort of superstrength, but… Oh my god, are you All Might? Without your Quirk activated?!”
Well, that was faster than Toshinori expected, but he nodded. “Yes.” The events caught up with him and his eyes narrowed into a sharp look, which had the boy cowering back, fearful. He was trembling.
Shit, he was trembling.
Toshinori’s eyes softened. “Young man, that was reckless and dangerous. You shouldn’t have grabbed my leg or followed me.”
“I had a very important question!” he defended, and then realised he’d raised his voice and flinched back. “Sorry, I just—”
“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your question?”
“Can I be a hero?” Taking a breath, Toshinori waited for the last bit. “Can Quirkless people become heroes too?!”
Ah, well, no wonder he was worried about the question. Quirkism these days was far worse then when Toshinori was younger and Quirkless. Suicide rates were at an all-time high in the Quirkless community.
“Why do you want to be a hero?”
“I want to be like you!” the kid replied.
Oh. Toshinori had seen the boy and he was quick. He’d read the boy’s analyses and he was smart. But Toshinori had faced so many things, to thrive in that sort of society without a Quirk…
But the child was hopeful and they were on a roof and he was Quirkless. And Toshinori didn't want to break the kid’s heart.
Toshinori sat down against the railing on the roof, sighing. He lifted his shirt to show his wound, the skin, the old scars.
The child gasped—shocked, awed, confused. “W— What happened… to you?” the young boy asked tentatively.
“I got it in an attack by an enemy about five years ago. Half my respiratory organs were destroyed, and I lost my whole stomach. I’ve become emaciated from repeated surgeries and the aftereffects.” He lowered his shirt, looking at the small child meaningfully.
“Five years ago… Toxic Chainsaw?” he inquired curiously, his voice trembling a little, but strong enough to be heard and understood.
“You’re well informed,” complimented Toshinori. “But no, a punk like that could never pose a problem to me. This fight was not made public to the world. I asked that it not be made public.” He looked down at his words, away from the boy in front of him, before he returned his fearsome gaze back to the kid. “I will save people with a smile! The Symbol of Peace cannot be daunted by evil. I smile to show the pressure of heroes and to trick the fear inside me.” A glance at the boy again and his eyes sparkled with awe, his jaw dropped like Toshinori exceeded his expectations.
Toshinori’s voice softened. “I’m not saying you can’t, but I got this injury in a fight against a very dangerous foe with a very powerful Quirk. You could be a great support to heroes with your analyses, you could definitely try to make support equipment—I saw your ideas for Midnight—but a hero? Kid, you’ve got spirit, but sometimes—”
“Spirit isn’t everything,” the child finished bitterly. Like he’d heard it dozens of times before. “I… I understand, All Might, thank you.”
Toshinori felt terrible. He’d probably made this kid’s already ruined day worse.
“Can I escort you down from the roof, Young man?”
The kid lit up. “Can you tell me about your Quirk then?”
“Not everything, but I can try.” Toshinori stood and walked to the rooftop door, opening it for the child, who walked through and bounced on his toes, a pen and notebook out as he started on a new page, scribbling.
“So, it’s some sort of superstrength Quirk, right?”
“Correct.”
“Are there any specific requirements for the Quirk to work? Is it burdensome? You said something about a time limit earlier, when we landed. Can you only use the strong form for a certain amount of time?”
Toshinro tried answering, but the kid was too fast. He was quick and seemingly comfortable now, talking at speeds almost indecipherable while not stuttering. It was strangely endearing.
He watched as the child speed-wrote. Whatever answer he gave was in the notebook along with his own little annotations in a different colour because he was using a multi-coloured pen. Toshinori watched in fascination as the child, without all the information about stockpiled power and the sentient side of One For All, somehow broke down the superstrength aspect incredibly fast.
An idea formed. A successor. A smart, quick-witted successor who could master the Quirk and use it in whatever form it took for them.
Toshinori got superstrength… What would this kid get?
They, unfortunately, parted, the kid bright-eyed and excited. “I’m going to try to be a support course student! They could use my analyses, right?”
“Actually—” Toshinori felt for the bottle. He’d completely forgotten about it, but now he realised it wasn't there. “Shit!”
“Huh, what’s wrong?”
“The sludge— Damnit!”
The boy’s eyes widened as he too scanned the surroundings. No bottle or sludge insight.
Fuck.
“It’s my fault! I was so stupid—”
“Young man, while it was reckless, I also should’ve been more aware. I’ll find it, stay safe.” Toshinori didn’t have time to correct himself about the earlier “you can’t be a hero” thing. He had to find the criminal. He could talk to the kid again later, after the criminal was locked away.
He didn’t stay to watch the kid, he ran down an alley.
Five minutes later, he heard sirens, screams. And he smelt smoke. Turning around, he saw the smoke. Thick, grey clouds.
Toshinori ran towards the smoke, because there was a massive cloud of smoke a couple blocks away and he just knew, instinctively, that the slide villain was there. He passed hundreds of pedestrians, all calling in about delays and villain attacks or heading home, or going out. He remained focused on getting to the attack despite knowing his time limit for the day was over and he really couldn’t transform any longer lest he wanted it to decrease even more.
There were pros and police already on the scene. Toshinori stayed hidden in the shadows of an alleyway as he watched the pros do… absolutely nothing.
Why the hell were they doing nothing?!
There was a child hostage and the pros were doing jackshit! There was a child in danger and the pros were waiting for the correct match-up!? Were they idiots?! Did they not understand their job as a fucking hero?!
Did Toshinori really become No. 1 only to see the others around him failing as a hero?
What the fuck?
Before Toshinori could react, a blur of green and black passed him, and stared in horrified awe as the Quirkless boy from earlier charged past the pro heroes, the police, the fire and straight to the sludge villain.
For a moment, Toshinori saw himself, until the boy had his pen out again and stabbed it in the sludge villain’s other eye (he was not going to like that). Toshinori had never held a pen as a weapon before. He was also not going to start, thank you very much.
But two kids in danger made Toshinori act.
Without thinking, without even realising, he activated One For All and stepped out the alley.
He ran in front of the boy as the hostage—another young boy in what looked to be the same uniform—fired another explosion (What was that boy thinking, firing it off like that?!) and acted as a shield. Smoke fell off him, covering the area for a good few seconds.
The boy looked up, his hands scratched and burned, and he hardly looked affected (Toshinori wondered how many times he’d been hurt by bullies that he hardly even realised he was injured).
“I really am pathetic. Even though I admonished you, I wasn’t putting what I said into practice! Pros are always risking their lives!” He grabbed the hostage’s—arm and, with every last drop of strength he had, he pulled the boy free.
As soon as the boy was free, behind Toshinori, he punched, releasing the power. “Detroit smash!”
The smoke disappeared, the main part of the sludge remained unmoving on the ground, sloshing around and several areas splattered with its remains (it was alive, just scattered), the pros on the side watched on in shock, as did the civilians. The two young children were behind Toshinori, the boy awakening from unconsciousness and the Green-haired boy watching in absolute awe.
That was when the rain started. It wasn’t supposed to rain that day, but clearly Toshinori put in a little too much power, because it rained anyway.
Toshinori disappeared again, his transformation dropping after he’d done his signature fist in the sky move. He remained in the shadows as he watched the verdette get…scolded?
Why the hell was he getting scolded and not the blond boy with random, unhelpful quirk usage?! He was fucking helpful! Then, soon, he left after giving his statement and disappeared down another path, shoulders hunched. The blond boy followed the verdette too, lots of pros continuing to tell him he did so well and etcetera as he disappeared down the same path of the boy.
Toshinori needed to find the boy.
Izuku had been suicide baited, nearly killed, been told that he couldn't be a hero without a quirk, charged recklessly into a fight to save Kacchan, and was blamed for doing something while pros on the scene had done nothing.
Naturally, he was exhausted. He was just so damn tired.
Sure, he’d held out hope, even if Kaa-san had never explicitly said he could be a hero, he had hoped Kaa-san believed in him. But who would believe in Quirkless Midoriya Izuku? Who would believe in a boy who could only analyse Quirks and do a little bit of martial arts?
No one ever told him outright he could be a hero.
He walked home slowly and completely ignored Kacchan when he passed him. He'd shouted at Izuku and he just walked past and ignored him. He'd probably be angry and try to attack Izuku at school tomorrow, but that was for future Izuku to worry about, right now he was done mentally with everyone around him.
His walk home was stopped again by the lanky form of All Might. Oh, yeah, did he forget to mention that he’d found out All Might was actually a skinny man beneath all that muscle from his quirk. Yeah, well now he did.
It had been surreal, meeting All Might. He’d explained everything so kindly, giving Izuku a reason other than being Quirkless. Told him his options instead of heroics. All Might really had saved Izuku at that moment.
Gulping, he paused.
"Young man, you asked me if you could be a hero without a Quirk."
Oh, he was here to tell Izuku he was useless and had hindered the fight entirely. Why did he expect anything different? Why—
"Young man, I come with thanks, a correction, and a suggestion."
Izuku’s breath caught. His eyes widened. He looked up at All Might.
Stood there, watching him carefully.
"If you hadn't been there... If you hadn't told me about your life... I would've turned into a guy in a bodysuit who was all talk. Thank you."
Izuku flailed around, waving his hands in front of his face. "It was my fault, I got in the way of your work and said all those impertinent things even though I'm Quirkless." It was his fault.
He needed All Might to agree. (Because if it wasn’t his fault—if he hadn't done something wrong—why did everyone tell him he could never be a hero?)
"You're right. It was because it was none other than the timid, quirkless you at the scene...that I was able to react. Top heroes have stories about them from their school days. Most of them have one thing in common." He looked at Izuku carefully, the look meaningful. "Their bodies moved before they had a chance to think."
And somehow, Kaa-san’s words were back in his head, replaying again and again. His chest felt tight and his eyes felt too heavy.
A memory rose, unbidden, unwanted, yet it rose.
The video played and played as Izuku watched, tears falling.
He watched it over and over again as All Might rose with a massive smile, laughing in the face of the fire.
"I am here!" All Might shouted from the video.
Shouts, cheers, delight. Everyone around was so happy that someone had saved them, someone was here.
Izuku turned around, hearing Kaa-san at the door, entering the room. "Can I be a hero?" He pointed at the screen, the tears still there.
And Inko walked to Izuku slowly, his mother looking so pained. She dropped to her knees and engulfed Izuku in a hug, crying so much. "I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm so sorry."
And Izuku wished his mother could've heard the shattering of his heart in that moment. He didn't blame his mother, but she could have given Izuku something else, something to latch onto rather than the cold, empty dreams he’d held.
And the tears fell, the dam he’d built broke and his vision blurred from the flood.
And something ached as he looked up at All Might. Something hurt inside him. Something burned inside him.
I'm sorry, Izuku. I'm so sorry!
Izuku keeled over, holding his chest.
"That was true for you too, wasn't it?" All Might asked.
That's not it, Kaa-san. Back then, I wanted you to say... The words I wanted you to say… That I needed to hear from you and Tou-san…
And then he was kneeling on the ground, hurting and hurting.
The world was a cruel, unjust place. It tore people, broke them down, chewed them up only to spit them out.
But sometimes, the world was kind and sometimes, it gave a person what they needed. Words that justified everything they went through. Everything they did to get where they were.
Sometimes, the world was a kind, kind place. With the right words at the perfect time.
“When I was younger, this power I have was gifted to me by my teacher, and it wasn’t what gave me the chance to be a hero. No, my teacher told me I could be one with or without a Quirk and then she gifted me the Quirk as her successor,” All Might explained and Izuku knew, he just knew words he had desperately longed for were coming. Words that would make his chest burn and the dam break all over again.
“I know what you went through and I am sorry I crushed it without a thought. I am sorry when I went through what you did and told you you couldn’t.”
Izuku’s chest hurt as he fisted his uniform, clenching it like it would relieve the ache.
“I was wrong. Without a Quirk, or with…”
The roaring in Izuku’s ears fell away and the words he’d longed for for years enveloped him like a warm hug.
"You... can be a hero too.”