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Izuku knows the statistics by heart. He’s done the math. 20% of the world's population is quirkless¹. The quirkless population in Japan is closer to 12%. This of course does not take into account the generational gap²nor the amount of 'hidden' quirks with overtly special activation requirements in that the user is 'assumed quirkless', even without the spare toe joint.
Izuku figures the quirkless percentage for his generation is closer to 1.5% percent. A true 12% would mean that, statistically, there should've been at least 42 quirkless kids at school. At 1.5% there should’ve been about 5³.
He is was the only one.
Izuku knows that in larger cities with denser populations there’s a higher percentage of quirkless individuals. Maybe if he went to a Tokyo school he would have had a handful in his grade.
As it is, the only other quirkless individuals Izuku has ever met were over the age of 60 and lived in a time when quirkless-ness wasn't near as rare as it is now.
The older quirkless generation have their jobs and their support systems and they stick to them. They don’t understand why the quirkless youth today won’t just settle down and get a job.
He knows the quirkless unemployment rate is skewed because of them. He knows that, even if he manages to get accepted to a high school and graduate, the chances of him finding a job higher than minimum wage- of finding a job he can support himself with is impossible.
He knows that hopefuls on the internet would tell him to lie and say his quirk is having green hair, or fake an intelligence quirk.
He knows that one glance at his medical records, at his x-rays, would put a mark on his record for life. For lying. For quirk perjury. And that the chance of finding employment after that would be abysmal. Impossible even.
He knows that a quarter of formerly incarcerated people don’t have education past the middle school level; and that 80% of his quirkless peers will be unable to find a high school that will accept them."⁴ .
Inko had insisted he fill out an application for more than just UA. It was like she thought he was entirely delusional, like she thought he didn’t think these things through. He’d planned on applying to multiple schools either way. He remembers filling out application forms for school and seeing the Quirk Type field options of emitter, transformation, and mutant⁵. It was a required response. Short of lying on his application, Izuku wouldn’t be able to finish filling them out. He’d asked his mom about it and she’d insisted she’d call the school for him and sort this whole thing out.
The first phone call had been oddly short. She had just begun explaining the problem when she stopped suddenly and held the phone away from her ear. “They, ah, we must have lost connection.” She’d sent him a smile but had then taken the phone into the other room to make the consecutive phone calls.
Izuku has a lot of experience listening in on things he knows people don’t want him to hear.
“Yes... yes I understand,” His mother’s muffled voice said from behind the door, “but.... Yes but he’s very bright, I can assure you-”
Izuku took a deep breath and moved to sit down at the kitchen table, crossing the school's name off the list.
Eventually Inko emerged from her room with red-rimmed eyes, wringing her hand like she always did when she lies. She’d smiled over at him, “They don’t have any openings at that school. How about we try the next one?”
-
When Izuku gets into UA, for a moment the surprise of getting into a high school at all overrides the fact that he got into UA.
He'd always thought that even with UA publicly announcing their acceptance of quirkless students that he would be judged much harsher than other students. He'd have to work twice as hard to get into even just the general department, to prove he even deserved to take the spot of a quirked kid.
He first thinks, Wow, I got into high school.
His next thought comes crashing through the forefront of his brain: he's going to UA. He's going to be a hero.
He has a quirk.
Ah.
Right.
Of course. That makes sense. He has a powerful quirk now. Even with his medical records, the display of his quirk at the entrance exams would be indisputable proof of his quirk, extreme late bloomer or not.
All Might’s quirk was solving more problems than Izuku had thought it would. Namely: getting a higher education.
People had always told him to “dream realistically”, and he had known being a hero was a long shot. But he’d still wanted to help people, to be there for them- to put a smile on his face and take away worries and fears.
But he’d looked for other high schools. Insisted to his counselor that yes, he was also applying for the general studies course at UA because the school actually allowed quirkless individuals to apply.
She’d begrudgingly let him apply.
(And it wasn’t like he couldn't apply for both the general studies course and the hero course. Just to see. Just to know.)
(He just wanted to try.)
-
Quirkless is a term used for those without quirks. Quirked; Quirkless. With and without. It's a diagnosis. (A disease.)
It's just a word. Just a term.
And yet.
And yet everyone uses it like it's a slur.
"Oh did you hear? She's quirkless."
"He's one of those quirkless."
"Oh, you’re quirkless?"
A derogatory term used to label and set apart.
“He’s so dumb I’m surprised he even has a quirk.”
“What, your fingernails change colors? Are you sure you’re not just quirkless?”
There are communities online, (hidden and tucked away, but Izuku knows where to look,) and they say to have pride in yourself and what you are.
In the 21st century, the LGBT+ community began to reclaim the term 'queer'¹⁴. Before that, it had been a derogatory slur used against them. An insult. A word used to hurt. But the community took it and used it for themselves. They took what hurt them and turned it into a badge of honor and belonging.
Quirkless isn't a slur, but it's spoken like one.
And Izuku isn't quite sure how he's supposed to be proud about something that everyone in his life tells him is wrong and disgusting.
"I'm quirkless," he says as a fact.
"He's quirkless," they say as an explanation for why they’ve hurt him. For why he’s not worth anything.
When he was younger the teachers would say “Izu-kun is quirkless, so you all have to be gentle with him. He doesn’t have a quirk like the rest of you.” They would keep him inside during recess and place him on the sidelines during gym class because he was too ‘fragile’ and ‘weak’, and then they'd wonder why the other kids treated him as such. Why the other kids didn’t want to play with him.
Some of the kids acted like it was contagious. Like if you're around useless Deku for too long you'll catch his quirkless-ness, too. (As if that's how genetics work.) So they avoided him like the plague. (Like he's the plague.) They'd give him a wide berth and point and whisper and laugh.
It wasn’t so bad. Being ignored.
The kids that didn’t ignore him punished him for being quirkless. As if that's something he could possibly control. They shove him down on the playground, in the halls, in the classroom with the teacher ignoring them from their desk and say, "We don't want your kind here."
-
Being a hero wasn’t the only thing Izuku was told he couldn’t do growing up. For a while, he’d thought maybe he wanted to be a doctor. Or a police officer. As long as he could help people.
One google search rabbit hole later had nipped that cleanly in the bud. Medical professions and law enforcement seemed to screen quirks even more rigorously than heroics.
He couldn’t go on field trips because “What if something happened, Izu-kun?” and “We can’t spend the whole trip looking out for you, Midoriya.” He wasn’t allowed to join clubs- too weak and fragile for sports clubs, too dumb and underdeveloped for anything else.
His mother, overprotective as she was, said she was just as happy to see him in the Going Home⁶ club. 'More time to spend with her little boy.'
He'd managed to be in the Scout Association⁷ for two whole weeks one summer, much to his mother’s chagrin. It’d been going well, too. Right up until a boy from his school joined. The other kids hadn’t minded how excited he’d gotten over their quirks, or that he muttered under his breath and didn’t know how to play the games they all wanted to play during free time.
Then the boy from school joined and asked carelessly, “What’s quirkless Deku doing here?”
After that, it’d been a whole fiasco.
His mom was called to the meeting and the Scout Leaders scrambled to figure out how a quirkless boy had ever been admitted.
Izuku kept insisting that they hadn’t asked.
His mother had admonished him for lying on the application form- even though he had simply left the Quirk Type field blank.
It’d been a long summer spent indoors.
-
Inko Midoriya spends every second she can doing what she believes is best for her son.
Izuku knows his mom is trying, and he appreciates it, really, he does. Sometimes though, he really wishes she would just trust him more.
He knows his dad isn’t in America. He’s known that for a long time. He’s not 5 anymore, and he doesn’t know why she keeps insisting that’s where his dad is. He’s seen the letters- from lawyers and his dad alike, shoved deep in a drawer in his mom’s bedside table. He found them when he was looking for a spare phone charger.
He’s seen a lot of things he’s sure his mom is trying to protect him from.
Bills from the insurance company, for one. Bills he knows now are much higher due to having such a “liability” as a son. Old rejection letters from daycares and schools that seemed to take up entire folders.
Once when Izuku was 7, a classmate had invited him to a birthday party. She’d invited the whole class and said it was going to be at the park. She'd talked all about the food and games they’d have there. She’d talked until the teacher had made her sit back down, but not after passing out invitation letters with flowing script to each student.
Izuku had been cautiously excited, holding the invite reverently.
During lunch he had approached her, and asked if she’d actually meant to invite him. Asked if she remembered he was quirkless.
She laughed and said, “Of course,” because she wanted to have the biggest party, and the more the better.
Izuku had been vibrating, eager to tell his mom once she got home from work. He’d sat himself up at the dinner table, snack in hand and homework spread about him as he waited for her to get home.
A call had come through on the home phone, but Izuku wasn’t allowed to use the phone without his mom so he ignored it until the answering machine picked it up.
There was a moment of silence until, “Midoriya-san? Hello, this is Kiki-chan’s father. My daughter goes to school with Izuku-kun. I just wanted to-” The man on the other line pauses and Izuku finds himself holding his breath. “My daughter invited Izuku-kun to her party this weekend, and while we love how caring she is and we always encourage her to help those, ah, less fortunate than her, my wife and I aren’t sure if it’s a good idea that Izuku-kun come. There’s going to be so many kids and we don't have the kind of supervision it would take to accommodate him coming . Who knows what could happen? I just really believe it’s for the best if-”
Izuku stops listening.
Once the man has stopped speaking and the light on the answering machine is blinking, Izuku moves almost robotically; sliding down from his chair and walking in a daze to the phone sitting on it’s stand.
He deletes the message.
Inko may spend every waking moment doing what she believes is best for her son, but Izuku spends all of his protecting his mom from things he knows would only hurt her.
He throws the invitation away and finishes his homework.
-
The first time Recovery Girl just heals his broken bones, Izuku is more blown away by the fact that she'd healed him then he is by being healed by Pro-Hero Recovery Girl.
It was the first time a healing quirk had actually been used on him before, and he marveled at how quickly the skin had stitched itself back together. He kept bending his limbs back and forth the next day because he coul. Only a day after he’d broken the majority of bones in his body and he was fine.
Izuku had been to the hospital a lot growing up. He'd had his own fair share of broken bones and cuts from “falling down the stairs” and “tripping on his own two feet”.
It wasn’t even like pre-quirk medical treatment wasn’t used anymore- it usually depended on the hospital's staff, and what quirks they had on hand. Sometimes they had a healing quirk but it didn’t work on bones- only skin. Other times, they had a quirk that would fit the pieces of bone together but it still had to heal on its own.
Izuku's done extensive research on the types of quirks used in medical professions. How they helped in surgery, in field operations, how they could be applied to vaccines and infections. The way people had found to adapt quirks to the medical field was fascinating.
Still, as interested as he was in them he’d never before experienced a healing quirk first hand.
Most hospitals didn’t want to waste those sorts of resources on a quirkless kid. Izuku understood. He was just one kid, there were bound to be hundreds of other patients with injuries or illnesses much worse than whatever he had come in for. He knew how to shower with a cast on, how to apply the salve to 2nd degree burns, how to wrap various kinds of injuries. He didn’t need a quirk to heal him. His body would do that on it’s own, eventually.
(Once, a healer had downright refused to heal him when they had found out he was quirkless. They had seemed insulted that the nurse had even asked. Said they had much more important things to do than heal some quirkless kid. Said he was probably overreacting anyway.)
He was used to it. He understood.
He’d watched his mom fill out emergency room paperwork for years. Eventually, once he decided he was old enough to stop dragging his mom to the hospital with him for every little thing, he'd learned to do it himself. He'd grown used to how fast the sympathy would fade, once they glanced over his paperwork.
How they’d tell him to sit and wait his turn, even if he was first in line. Sometimes he’d wait for hours.
But they were busy- he understood.
He should have understood that Recovery Girl would have limited patience. He was grateful that she had healed him at all, that he’d had a grace period to work on All Might’s- on his quirk. He knew he got hurt a lot, though. It must be troublesome to deal with a student who's stupid enough to hurt himself with his own quirk so often. His middle school nurse had never wanted to deal with him either. There were so many other kids in need, and he was taking up an unfair amount of time.
He understood.
So when Recovery Girl told him after the Sports Festival that she wouldn’t be healing him anymore, he nodded. How could he have forgotten so quickly.
His injuries were his own fault. He had no one else to blame for them. He’d just have to take better care of himself, get stronger, pay more attention. Be better at controlling All Might’s quirk. There was no excuse for being as far behind as he was- it was a miracle he was training to be a hero, he should be grateful he was even here. He didn’t need to waste Recovery Girl’s time. Waste All Might’s time. He knew how to take care of himself and it was time he act like it.
The next time he overused his quirk and he was certain he’d managed to fracture a finger he excused himself to the restroom. Wrapped it in athletic tape to stabilize it and kept going. He was already used to taking care of injuries like this, and he's glad it's something small that he can take care of himself. Scrapes and burns he knew how to put ointments on, and cuts he’d hold together with butterfly stitches. They weren’t that serious, and anyways he knew he couldn’t bother Recovery Girl with them.
It didn’t matter if he’d fallen two stories out a window, landing on his back and knocking all of the air from his lungs, or if Aizawa had excused him from class specifically to go visit Recovery Girl. It didn’t matter, because he knew he’d used up her patience.
Instead, Izuku went and sat in the empty locker room, breathing as carefully and deliberately as his protesting lungs would allow. He swallowed a few aspirin dry, then left for the classroom when he heard the approaching footsteps of students in the hallway.
He was fine.
He just had to not to be so weak.
-
Quirkless is defined and treated as a disability in Japan.
More than once his mom had tried to get him to attend quirkless support groups. Like that would somehow help. Like that would somehow fix everything wrong in his life. Like there's something wrong with him.
Like it would fix him.
Izuku doesn't need support for being quirkless. He can’t be ‘fixed’. (He tried. He tried so hard for years. Jumping off of swingsets and nearly drowning himself in the bath, blowing air until he was blue in the face in the hopes of developing any type of quirk.) He just needs kids to stop beating him up after (and before, and during) school.
His mom’s generation wasn’t this bad. He’s done research. In the past years, the decline of the quirkless population has been exponential. When she was a kid there were probably at least ten quirkless kids at her school. Maybe even one or two in her class.
The only quirkless person Izuku knows in person is Mrs. Shikimura, who is 80 and lives in the apartment building by the conbini that Izuku and his mom frequent.
She’s nice enough but when he was younger Izuku never understood why his mother would force him over there for tea once a week.
Now he wishes he would have asked her more, spent more time with her. With someone who could maybe begin to understand.
He’d been young though, and had mostly cared about how good she was at making cookies. Not asking which local markets would refuse him service and which ones would jack up the prices on him at the last second once they saw his ID card.
He should have asked if she knew anything about his job prospects as a person without a quirk. If she knew anyone who would hire him with just a middle school diploma.
Izuku supposes it doesn’t really matter anymore. But he still wishes he would have asked.
-
Uraraka slumps down at the lunch table in a huff, letting her head thump down next to her lunch. Tsuyu places a hand on her back and rubs it gently. “Ochako-chan?” she asks. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Uraraka says into the table, then turns her head to face Tsuyu, blowing some hair out of her face. “My dad just texted. They lost the bid to another company.”
“I thought negotiations were going well,” Tsuyu says, like this is something she’s heard about before and not a totally random thing Uraraka is bringing up out of nowhere.
“They were!” Uraraka says, pushing herself to sit up fully. “That’s what I don’t understand! They went with another company just ‘cuz it was a little cheaper. You’d think that they would want to hire someone who they know will do a good job!”
“The other company won’t do a good job?” Tsuyu asks.
Uraraka rolls her eyes. “The other company contracts quirkless people. Can you believe that?”
Izuku's mouth goes dry. he feels like a wave has just washed over him. His ears feel muffled, his skin clammy.
Tsuyu hums and puts her hand on Uraraka’s shoulder.
Izuku doesn’t breathe.
Todoroki glances at where Izuku's chopsticks have frozen over his plate but doesn’t say anything.
“Is there something wrong with quirkless labor?” Iida asks.
“Maybe not for, like, other things.” Uraraka scrunches up her nose, “But quirkless people are like, fragile. You know? Their bodies are weak. And they wanna have a construction job and do manual labor? Like, that stuff can be super dangerous, they could get hurt. So how can you expect them to do a good job on something like that?”
Iida nods along like he totally gets everything Uraraka is saying and it’s not weird or hurtful or quirkist for these words to be coming out of her mouth. “A few people my family’s agency employs have quirkless workers and while they’re nice enough they are, ah, less developed?” Iida flushes slightly. “They’re biologically behind that of the quirked individual. So I can see why you’d be worried about them on a construction job.”
Uraraka nods and nods and nods. “Exactly! Like, I don’t have anything against them but shouldn’t they do something that’s like? More safe? Something that they’re actually good at!”
Like what? Izuku’s traitorous brain asks, like jumping off the roof and hoping for a quirk in the next life?
He drops his chopsticks on his plate and moves his hands to fist them in the fabric of his pants.
“And, like, I know there’s diversity laws or whatever,” Uraraka is saying, “but shouldn’t the job go to someone who deserves it? Someone who’s actually qualified? You shouldn’t just hire people to make your company look good, you know?”
Honestly, Izuku should have known it wouldn’t be any different here. He was lulled into a false sense of security in this place where he had friends, and teachers that didn’t hate someone for a genetic -defect- trait that they couldn’t change.
Izuku knows a lot of things. He knows that quirklessness is defined as a disability, so quirkless labor is cheaper⁸. You are not legally required to pay a quirkless person minimum wage. If the employer has more than 45⁹ employees, it is required by law for 2.3% of those employees to be disabled. So if you hire a quirkless person, you can avoid hiring someone with a physical disability. You can hire someone who equally needs the work but could cause slowed or limited production, even if it's "proven" that quirkless individuals just aren't as "bright" as quirked people.
He knows that the Labor Standards Act says that working conditions should meet the needs of workers who live lives worthy¹⁰ of human beings. That quirkless individuals aren't deemed as 'worthy human beings'. They're seen as leeches of society. How could they possibly contribute without a quirk? How could they possibly be worth something?
What Izuku doesn’t know is how to imbue the knowledge of every struggle from a marginalized group that he’s learned first hand.
He doesn’t have the words to make his friends understand. He’s never even had the words to make his own mother understand.
So Izuku doesn’t say anything.
-
Izuku tries his best to be early to school. According to Iida, you should be there at least 30 minutes before the start of class. If you want to be a punctual student, at least.
So usually Izuku goes to bed before midnight (an entirely reasonable time thank you), gets at least six hours of sleep before he has to get ready for school, and leave to catch the train.
Sometimes though, he ends up in a rabbit hole of forum posts and blogs and ends up in a spiral of research that doesn’t stop until he notices the sun peaking over the edge of his window frame. On those days, it’s a struggle to drag himself out of bed for his morning run and still make it to class at an Iida Appropriate time.
Today he still makes it to class before Aizawa, but is surprised to see that most of his classmates are already there, deep in some discussion.
Katsuki looks more constipated than usual and doesn’t even grace Izuku with a glare as he slides past and murmurs, “Morning, Kacchan.”
Izuku's just sitting down when Kirishima says, “I get what you mean but you can’t just say that sort of thing, you know?”
Izuku tunes them out as he pulls out his notebooks and homework, digging for a pen to take notes with. He’s just resurfaced from the depths of his backpack when he tunes back into their conversation.
“I mean...” Mina trails off. “Isn’t it better if quirkless people disappear?”
Izuku breathes out and stares resolutely at the back of Katsuki’s head. He sets the pen carefully in the corner of his desk. His hands don't shake.
“Mina what the fuck?” Kirishima asks, half standing in his seat.
“Not like that!” she cries, waving her hands. “Just like! It’s super uncommon nowadays, and they struggle with stuff. Won’t it be easier once we don’t have to worry about them getting hurt all the time? In the future, once there aren’t any quirkless people left, I mean.”
Yaoyorozu hums. “I mean, I guess they do take up a lot of resources. Once there aren’t any quirkless people left to worry about, those resources could be re-allocated. The government puts forth a lot of effort into helping them, which is wonderful! But imagine if they didn’t have to have specialized housing for the quirkless or create all these jobs for them; they could focus more on other things. Like assisting the elderly or helping those affected by villain attacks.”
“Still...” Kirishima trails off.
“I’m not saying they should die!” Mina says, “Just that they’re like, a burden on society? Or something. Geez, it sounds terrible when I say it like that.”
Katsuki makes a show of leaning back in his seat, but the group doesn’t shift their attention to him until he speaks. “It is better that disabled people disappear¹¹.” Izuku lets himself focus on what Katsuki is saying, breathing carefully and focused. Katsuki’s hands are clenched on top of his desk and Izuku can see the beginning of sparks beneath his fists. “That's what you’re saying right?”
“Well, that’s-” Izuku’s not sure who’s speaking. He can’t tear his eyes away from Katsuki.
“They’re useless and weak and it’d be better for everyone if they weren't around,” he spits. “Easier. We wouldn’t have to think about them, see them, have them waste resources.”
“Bakugou-”
“You’re fucking lucky Aizawa’s not around to hear you say that bullshit. We’re supposed to be heroes right?” He laughs. “Save everyone regardless of our beliefs. Regardless of whatever discrimination you have against them.”
“Dude,” Sero says, “they weren't-”
"I guess we’re all pretty fuckin’ lucky that hate speech laws¹² actually do jack shit¹³, huh? Doesn’t matter what you say as long as you don’t physically attack someone. Though I bet even then it wouldn’t matter.”
Izuku finally finds his voice. “Kacchan-” he starts, but Katsuki stands up roughly, cutting him off. He turns to face Izuku and Izuku can’t quite place the look on his face.
“It’s pretty fucked up what people can get away with, Deku. What people can say.” Katsuki’s eyes are burning.
“Y-yeah,” Izuku chokes. “It’s... It's fucked.”
Katsuki gives him a tight nod. Then, ignoring the way the classroom door slides open and Aizawa steps inside, says, “You look like shit.” Izuku blinks up at him. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “You should go see the nurse if you aren't feeling good, Deku.”
“Oh!” He’s not sure if Katsuki actually expects him to go see Recovery Girl or if he knows Izuku will just find a bathroom stall to privately collect himself in. “Yeah. I’ll, uh. Do that. Thanks, Kacchan.”
Katsuki just turns around and throws himself back down in his seat.
“If you’re not feeling well, Midoriya, please pay a visit to Recovery Girl.,” Aizawa says as he sets some papers down at his desk.
“Yes!” says Izuku, sliding his notebook and pens into his backpack. “I’ll try to hurry.”
Aizawa starts to say something, probably the usual spiel of, "if he isn’t feeling well he should take the time to rest," but Izuku is already rushing out the door and down the hall.
The delayed panic is setting in and he has to find somewhere secluded before he starts hyperventilating.
He can’t believe Kacchan said that.
He can’t believe-
The shock of Kacchan standing up for him is almost enough to kill his anxiety altogether.
Izuku ducks into a bathroom and doesn’t make it back to class before the next bell.
-
Izuku spent his whole life wishing he had a quirk. Even if he had a simple, useless quirk. Something like extra fast growing fingernails, or the ability to change the color of his eyes. Anything to make him worth something to society. Something that wouldn’t make him stick out so much.
Getting a quirk was the best thing that could have possibly happened to him. Having a quirk was the reason he was able to be a hero now; the reason he had friends now. The reason his mother had finally stopped living like a ghost in her own home and treating him like he was going to fall apart at any moment.
He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to be like that.
So it’s a punch to the gut when he's taking out the burnable trash with Todoroki only for Todoroki to confess, “I wish I had been born quirkless,” as he tips his bin up and over into the incinerator.
Izuku chokes and almost drops his own bin. “What!? No, you don’t.”
Todoroki blinks. “I do. I think life would be a lot simpler.”
“Simpler!?” Izuku barely feels the bin crunch from where he’s gripping it. “So you want to be mocked and ridiculed everyday? You want to be weak? To just be a waste of space and a burden to everyone around you?”
Todoroki eases the bin from Izuku’s tense hands and dumps it into the incinerator. “That’s not what being quirkless is like.”
Izuku bristles, “Oh like you would know?” He spits. Someone with a perfect quirk like Todoroki’s or Katsuki’s would never understand.
“My brother is quirkless.”
Everything sweeps out from under Izuku. His anger drops away and he’s left feeling hollow and confused.
“...What?”
Todoroki stacks the bins together and swings the incinerator’s door shut, sliding the latch into place. “He said it was pretty rough growing up, but that college was a lot better when people stopped caring about you just for your quirk. I envy that about him.”
“What?” Izuku asks again, because Todoroki’s quirkless brother got into a college?
“People are always going to see me as quirk first.” He hums. “Maybe not always, but as heroes we’re practically inviting them to see us only for our power. Without this quirk, my mom... Well. I suppose my father would have just kept trying. Maybe it was better this way.”
“You’re brother’s quirkless?” Izuku says as Todoroki moves to walk past him.
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Natsuo, not Touya.” Todoroki looks thoughtful. “Touya had a fire quirk, like our father.”
Izuku’s world is frantically trying to rearrange itself, trying to fit with what Todoroki is saying. “He- he’s in college?”
Todoroki nods. “He’s getting a degree in medical welfare. He won’t say, but I think it’s because he wants to be able to help people like our mother.”
“How did he get in?” Izuku asks, mouth agape.
Now it’s Todoroki’s turn to look confused. “He applied? I’m not sure of the entire process for getting accepted into a college, but-”
“Where does he go? They let him apply? Even though he’s quirkless?”
Todoroki narrows his eyes. “Why would that- oh. Because you were a late bloomer, right?” Izuku’s breath catches. “I guess you would have made alternate plans in case your quirk never came.”
Izuku feels dizzy. “I- how did you-” He cuts himself off, not sure that he actually wants to know.
“You’re a lot like Natsuo was, before everything. At least, from what I remember.” Todoroki shifts the bins in his grip awkwardly. “It’s not that hard to tell. Your quirk development was exceptionally lacking. That could have been overconfidence, but the way your body quite literally broke under the pressure? And with how much you love quirk analysis, I guess I-” Todoroki shifts again, looks away, “I just- notice things. About you.”
Izuku lets this information roll around in his brain for a moment. Sure, sometimes Todoroki leaped to strange conclusions, but he was incredibly observant. Izuku wasn’t sure if he should stress about his other classmates making that connection or not.
“It’s hard,” Todoroki says suddenly, meeting Izuku’s eyes carefully. “When our friends talk about them. Like being quirkless is so far removed from anything they know that they...”
“...Treat it like being quirkless makes you less than human,” Izuku finishes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. It’s quiet for a moment, wind rustling gently through the leaves. “Todoroki-kun? Do you think sometime, maybe, if he’s not too busy-”
“I bet Natsuo would love to meet you,” Todoroki says, lips twitching up in a smile. “Fuyumi, too. She keeps insisting she meet my friends. I'll let you know the next time Endeavor's out of town."
Izuku bumps shoulders with him on the way back into the school building. "That sounds nice. Thanks, Todoroki."
-
Izuku lives with the knowledge that, had he been quirkless at the time of the Quirk Apprehension Test, he would have been expelled on the spot.
The only reason he'd been allowed to stay was because of the incredibly powerful quirk he’d inherited. Even with that, Aizawa nearly expelled him for being underprepared. For being cocky and not training his quirk properly.
Izuku is leagues behind the rest of his classmates. He needs to catch up. He needs to work harder if he ever wants to be worthy of this quirk.
He needs to work harder if he ever expects to be worth something.
-
Just before the bell rings to let out their class for the day, Aizawa calls on him.
And asks him to stay after class.
Izuku’s entire body suddenly feels clammy with sweat and his heart stutters in his chest. Kaminari lets out a low,“Ohhhhhhhhhh, someone’s in trouble,” and Sero raises his eyebrows in meaningful surprise, but Izuku can only give him a shaky smile.
(Even Katsuki turns to give him a look that Izuku can’t even begin to discern.)
When the bell finally rings, Uraraka stops by his desk as he’s slowly sliding his books and pens into his backpack.
“We’ll wait for you at the gate, Deku-kun!” she says, and heads out of the room with their friends who all send him a wave. Izuku gives her a nod in return, but finds he can’t summon his voice at the moment.
Once the rest of the class has filed out, Aizawa stands up and makes his way over to the door and closes it.
Izuku stops breathing.
He’s been here before. Teacher asking him to stay behind after class for one reason or another.
To accuse him of cheating, to tell him to stop antagonizing the other students.
His hands ache at the memory. He thinks about standing alone in a hallway for hours on end as he struggles not to drop the bucket on his feet. ("This is to teach you a lesson, Izuku," his first year middle school teacher had always said so sweetly. "It'll remind you to be better next time.")
Suddenly Aizawa is snapping his fingers in front of Izuku’s face- and Izuku jerks back with a gasp. He stares up at Aizawa with wide eyes.
Aizawa raises a single eyebrow. “Are you paying attention now?”
“Yes!” Izuku nearly shouts, sitting up as straight as he can. “Sorry Aizawa-Sensei I think I- I got lost in thought. Or- or something. Sorry!”
“It’s fine, kid,” Aizawa says, running a hand through his hair to push it off of his face. He looks exhausted.
Suddenly, Izuku is hit with how rude he’s being.
He should have met Aizawa up at his desk and stood there while Aizawa said what was wrong with him or what he needed to change or fix or clean and- Izuku jumps to his feet right as Aizawa sinks next to him into Sero’s seat. They stare at each other for a moment before Aizawa gestures to Izuku’s desk. “Have a seat, we haven’t even talked yet.”
Izuku slowly sits back down, nerves buzzing. He would have thought that Aizawa would look odd in a student desk. Like he would be too big to fit in it properly, but he seems to fit just fine. Izuku had always thought of Aizawa as a large imposing figure. Powerful and strong and smart. Izuku realizes now he’s about the same height as Sero, and sitting next to him it’s strange to be able to look him in the eyes head on.
Izuku bites at his lower lip, hands tangling in his lap and eyes flickering around Aizawa’s form. “Wouldn’t you rather... do this at your desk? Sir?” Aizawa gives him a skeptical look. “Why would I want to do that?” he asks, and before Izuku can respond, he continues. “I sit there everyday, and you were already sitting down. Why would I make you move if I’m the one who wants to talk to you? That’s illogical.”
“Ah.” Izuku isn’t quite sure he follows Aizawa’s logic, but he knows better than to question a teacher.
They both sit there a moment longer before Aizawa seems to realize Izuku has nothing more to say. “I wanted to talk to you about some of your paperwork,” he says, and produces a file from somewhere. He sets the file on Sero’s desk and flips through the papers until he apparently finds the one he’s looking for. “At the beginning of the school year, there was an addendum to the quirk status on your medical files.” He sets a printed copy of Izuku’s application to UA on Izuku’s desk.
Before, Izuku's breathing had stopped. Now, it all whooshes from his chest in dread.
Aizawa points at the paper on his desk. “On your application you put ‘not applicable’ under Quirk Type and I would like to argue that a quirk that frequently breaks your bones when you use it would count as applicable.” When Izuku doesn’t respond right away Aizawa leans back in his seat, leveling Izuku with a calculating gaze. “Would you care to explain?”
Izuku takes a few more moments to get his brain to boot up and his lungs to work again. When he opens his mouth to speak, his throat cracks and he’s forced to clear it awkwardly before he's able to get any intelligible sound out. “How did- why did you look at my medical files?”
Aizawa blinks lazily at him. “I didn’t look at anything personal, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Izuku is certain that all of his medical files would be classified as personal. “I go through each of my students' quirk history every year in order to teach them properly. I look through the evolution of their quirk classification to see how it might have developed, as well as the documentation from their quirk counselling sessions. Of which you have none.”
(He knows.)
The floor suddenly seems like a wonderful place to sink into. Izuku picks at a stray thread at the bottom of his jacket and works his jaw a few times. “I never... had them,” he manages. “They didn’t want to waste the resources on me.”
His teacher scoffs. “Resources? They couldn’t be bothered to send you to talk to the school counselor about your quirk even once? You're telling me a cocky lawless brat like Bakugou managed to make his bi-yearly appointments and fill out all the proper documentation, but you couldn't do it even once? Or are you telling me the school simply overlooked certain students? Mind telling me how that works?"
“Of- of course not.” And of course he’s being compared to Katsuki right now. When is he not?
(Why can’t you be well behaved like Katsuki-kun? Why aren't your grades as good as Bakugou’s? Why aren't you as strong? As fast? As smart? Why don’t you have a quirk like him?)
“So you’re saying it was just you? That doesn’t make any sense, Midoriya. It’s mandated by the Commission. No school would risk losing their teaching accreditation for that.”
“They- I’m not lying,” Izuku tries and he’s starting to feel slightly hysterical. Is Aizawa making fun of him? Is this just a tactic to make him more nervous? It feels like he already knows something, he’s just trying to get Izuku tripped up on his word enough to get him to admit whatever Aizawa thinks he knows. Maybe he just needs something concrete enough to get Izuku in trouble. To get him expelled.
Aizawa looks bored. “I’m not saying you are,” he says, but then he rubs at the bridge of his nose like he’s starting to get a headache from this conversation. “I’m just saying it’s highly unlikely and extremely irresponsible for a school to ignore a mandate like that. If they’re letting kids slip through the cracks like this, I can’t imagine what else they’re getting away with.”
“It’s not-” Izuku’s going crazy. Aizawa’s not listening. Does he want to hear him say it? What does he want Izuku to say? Izuku was lost before the conversation began and he’s not sure how to come out on the other side unscathed. “It was just me.”
His teacher’s eyes harden. Izuku shrinks back. “So you’re telling me they purposefully neglected the development of a single student?”
Izuku’s heart lodges in his throat. “I-”
Aizawa stands up, chair scraping against the linoleum.
“Wha- where are you going?” Izuku croaks as Aizawa makes his way past the line of desks. He manages to stand on shaky feet as he watches his teacher with wide eyes.
Aizawa's response is measured and calm. “I’m going to ask Nedzu to help me contact your middle school and then, hopefully, burn it to the ground.”
“What!” Aizawa stops and turns at Izuku’s shout. “You can’t- why would you do that?”
Aizawa scoffs. “You think I’m just going to let them get away with discriminating against students?”
“But it was just me.”
“And that makes it okay?” Aizawa narrows his eyes.
Izuku gapes at him. “Yes.” Izuku can’t let him do this. Call Aldera? It’s been so long Izuku can’t imagine trying to dig that particular can of worms back up now. Aldera hadn't even technically been in the wrong. How were you supposed to give a quirkless kid quirk counselling? You literally can't; how was he supposed to receive counseling for a quirk he didn’t have?
“How could that possibly make it okay, Midoriya?” Aizawa snaps, and oh, he’s angry.
Izuku’s heart stutters in his chest. He’d lost track of the conversation and messed up. He’d said the wrong thing. (Or maybe he said exactly what Aizawa wanted to hear, but somehow that was worse.) Aizawa’s turning away from Izuku now, taking another step towards the door. Izuku can’t let him do this, can’t let him go digging around at Aldera. He doesn’t know what Aizawa would find but he knows he can’t risk that. Can’t risk his future or Katsuki’s. If Aizawa goes looking and he finds something it’s going to be all Izuku’s fault.
Izuku has to stop him, stop this. He has to set things straight. He has to-
Aizawa is almost to the door. Panic clenches at Izuku’s chest.
“Because I’m quirkless.”
The words are out before he can even register saying them. Though his back is still turned to Izuku, he freezes in place.
“What?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku can barely hear the question over the roaring in his ears.
“Was,” Izuku chokes. “Was quirkless. I’m not. Anymore. Obviously.” He tries to take a breath but finds his lungs are locked shut. “I was- I was a late bloomer. Really late. So- so they- nobody knew. That I would- so I didn’t have counselling because I didn’t have a quirk. So it’s fine.” He drops harshly to his seat. “It’s fine.”
Aizawa moves silently back through the classroom and carefully sits back down at the desk next to Izuku’s. “Midoriya,” he says, and waits until Izuku glances over at him. “It is wrong to mistreat any student, quirkless or not. Do you understand me?”
Aizawa still doesn’t get it. How much more will Izuku have to say? He already feels drained of words. “They didn’t- that’s just why I don’t have the records. For quirk counselling. Because I didn’t need it.”
Aizawa looks like he may have accidentally eaten a lemon, “That wasn’t all they decided you didn’t need, was it?” When Izuku doesn’t respond, Aizawa breathes out long and slow, and presses his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. After a moment he says, “Regardless, you need Quirk Counselling now. We’ll start you on it next week. If I had known you were such a late bloomer, I would have-”
Expelled me, Izuku’s mind supplies.
“-treated your training entirely differently. For now, we’ll start with the counselling. After that we may have to start working one-on-one, we’ll run through some quirk-strengthening exercises. You’re close with All Might, yes? I’ll see if he has any time over the next month to work with you as well.”
Izuku blinks big, wide eyes up at his teacher as Aizawa stands and walks towards his desk, pulling out a planner and muttering to himself.
“You’re-” Izuku tries, but his voice catches. Aizawa glances back at him. “You’re doing all of this for me? To... to help? Me?”
His teacher shoots him a wry smile. “Better late than never.”