Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya was only 15 years old, but already he knew he had experienced the three worst days of his life.
The first came when he was only 5 years old. The day he'd been diagnosed as quirkless.
Him and Kacchan had always dreamed of growing up to become heroes, just like their idol All Might. Kacchan would be the very best there ever was, number one in all Japan, if not the world, someone who never lost a single fight. And Izuku would be his side kick, someone brave and strong, who'd save everyone with a smile. It had been the subject of so many playtime imaginings they even had a theme song ready to go for their future agency.
"Forward march and here we go-..."
He still hums it to himself sometimes when hes feeling sad and needs the motivation to get out of bed. Sometimes it works, sometimes the song just makes him sadder.
When they were little Kacchan used to draw comics about their future together, him kicking bad guy butt and Izuku saving all the bystanders in the way. He thinks maybe these crude crayon comic strips are why he loves manga and comic books so much now. Why he learned to love and idolize heroes so much in the first place. Because some of the happiest funest moments he ever spent with his best friend growing up were when they were making promises to one day make those comics into a reality…
But without a quirk, that dream just didn't seem possible anymore.
Izuku wasn't sure what to make of it when he first heard the news. He couldn't quite comprehend it. He'd known it was a possibility of course. Most kids get their quirk by the age of 4, so he was already late to the party at 5 years old. And his dad had left for America a few months prior, almost as if he sensed what a disappointment Izuku was going to be and decided to get out while he still could…
But still, its not like it was unheard of to be a late bloomer. Or for quirks which were less obvious to the naked eye to go undetected until activated by some other means. So he considered this to be circumstantial evidence towards anyone's suspicion of his quirkless status. In truth, the most damning piece of evidence against him was his feet. That cursed spare joint in his pinky toe that forced him to wear hideous red sneakers and marked him as a genetic failure for all the world to see…
The evidence was irrefutable, it spoke for itself, and yet some small part of him still hoped- no- still knew that he was special too.
He was smart, and perceptive, and he seemed to just inherently know and understand things other people couldn't. Where other people looked at heros and saw only the flashy take downs and quippy catch phrases Izuku saw a wealth of knowledge. The exact mechanical and chemical breakdown of their quirks, the precise speed and angle of every maneuver, the best ways to enhance or counteract their strengths and weaknesses to your advantage, he saw it all. He knew the secret behind every magician's trick. He knew the nutrients break down of all the food on the shelves without reading the labels. He knew what someone's quirk and occupation was just from looking at a picture of them. He could see the facts laid out before him in his minds eye just as clear as reading about these things on paper. He just- understood things about the world around him better than other people….Or at least he used to. Or thought he could, if nothing else. Now he's not sure he understands anything .
He's not sure if he ever really did to be honest. Or if he'd just deluded himself into thinking he was smarter and more capable than he really was.
He remembers the Doctors running their tests, his friend Tsubasa's grandfather seemed particularly invested and insistent in being thorough with his exams. But after several scans, tests, and questionnaires that made his brain hurt, they still ended up sitting in that room with an x-ray of his feet as the only evidence necessary to declare him quirkless.
He had apparently failed every test.
He doesn't remember doing that poorly on them at the time, but then again he doesn't seem to remember much about that day at all.
All he knows is he walked in feeling alright, but about half way through his exam he got a terrible headache, and everything after that was a bit of a blur.
He got home in a bit of a daze, a numb sort of pain in his skull as if someone had ripped out some fundamental part of him. He tried to comfort himself by looking out the window and learning something new about the world around him, but between his migraine and his depression over the diagnosis the world just seemed a little duller and grayer than it was before. Information that used to come to him so freely was just beyond his reach.
Since learning something new was a bust, he turned to something old and familiar for comfort instead. His favorite video of All Might, from the day he saved all those people at the very start of his career. It was far from being his biggest or flashiest day of heroics, but something about they way he carried all those people to safety with a smile on his face just gave Izuku hope for a world where heroes could be judged based on their ability to do good and not whether they looked as cool as possible doing it.
It was a good clean rescue. He did everything exactly right to be able to save as many people as possible. Used just the right amount of his strength to toss debris on just the right trajectory to clear a path without harming civilians or doing excess property damage. He grabbed the civilians in just the right order to be able to lift and carry them all to safety without squashing any of them. And all the while he kept people calm and brought them hope by giving them a warm friendly smile.
Kacchan always preferred the videos where All Might showed off his full power, huge fights full of action and explosions, but this, this perfect rescue, it was everything he wanted to be as a hero and more. All Might's muscle might have been what made it possible. But it was his heart and his head that made this particular mission so memorable and admirable in Izuku's eyes.
But even his favorite video didn't seem to cheer him up the way it used to. He watched it on repeat. Sitting in the dark of his room in front of his computer, arms wrapped around his knees as he picked at his toes in an absentminded yet vengeful manner, his eyes glued to the screen waiting for those same feelings of euphoria the footage used to give him. But instead he just felt…numb.
Empty.
Useless.
He could still remember all the details about what made this the perfect rescue, but he didn't see it the way he used to. Before when he analyzed the footage of his favorite heroes he could easily imagine himself in those same scenarios, using his intelligence to outwit foes and calculate the best methods of attack. Now when he looked at these videos he just saw everything he wasn't. Someone powerful, and brave, and strong. Someone who never had to wear red shoes or feel the shame and isolation of being the only one in the room who didn't have a quirk.
By the time his mom found him he was a good 16 repeats of the video in, his pinky toes red and swollen from how much he'd been tugging at them or trying to jam them further into his feet. Trying to change them somehow in order to change himself. With tears in his eyes and a wobble in his throat he asked her if he could still be a hero, if there was still some way for someone like him to become someone who mattered. And she simply fell to her knees and broke down crying with him, holding him tight to her chest as she sobbed.
"I'm so sorry Izuku."
It wasn't really an answer to his question. And yet it told him everything he needed to know. His own mother didn't even believe in him anymore.
…
He still tried his best. Worked four times harder to analyze and understand the same information that used to come to him so freely. Still took copious notes on everything he learned or speculated about so he wouldn't forget. Still spent all his time day dreaming about a world in which the impossible became probable if he only persevered. But some tiny voice in the back of his mind knew it was a lost cause. A voice that only got louder and louder each day as the news of his diagnosis reached the rest of his neighborhood. and one by one, all his friends turned against him. Even Kacchan…
The world continued to grow duller, the light and color that once made the future seem so bright and clear slowly dimming out as his own happiness died behind his eyes.
He hid the tears and the bruises and everything else from his mother. He already over-used her skills as a seamstress to patch the holes in ruined backpacks and uniforms. Lying to her face and saying he was just roughhousing with kacchan and the other boys when she asked why his things needed mending so often. But what was he supposed to tell her? The truth? That the rips and stains came from his bullies chasing him around the neighborhood, or tossing things at him as he walked past, or pulling him aside behind the gym or on the playground to test out their quirks on his things and his body. She had enough to worry about as the single mother to a weak and defective kid. She didn't need to add hospital and therapy bills to the list of her concerns.
So he faked his smiles and dealt with his own injuries. Asked her to teach him to sew so he could start doing his own repairs. He filled his notebooks with analysis, trying to find some secret technique the pros were using that he could replicate on his own without a quirk. He moved on as best he could.
But the only thing he really seemed to understand about the world around him anymore was just how much he didn't fit in.
…
The second worst day of his life was the day Kacchan told him to jump.
It was their final year of middle school, everyone had just turned in their paperwork declaring their preference in highschool and course work for after graduation.
His homeroom teacher never really made fun of Izuku for his quirklessness himself, but he certainly didn't stop the other children from doing so. In fact, he seemingly went out of his way to point it out as often as possible, as if to give the others ample opportunity to rub salt in his wounds for him. And that day was no exception.
He knew he was doomed as soon as his teacher declared, in front of everyone, that Izuku's first choice was the heroics department at UA. Knew from the vengeful glean in Kacchans eye and the way the room filled with the scent of nitroglycerin and smoke. He knew the moment the school bell rang for the day he would be in a world of hurt.
He expected his former best friend to shove him into the lockers, to slap him around or maybe let off a few warning pops of his quirk to really sell his point. He expected to hear all sorts of hurtful things about how he was weak, useless, doomed to fail, a Deku . What he was not prepared for was Kacchan destroying his notebook, burning his shoulder, and worse of all the cold indifference in his tone when be suggested the worst.
"If you really wanna become a hero, there might be another way. Just jump off the roof of a building and hope you'll be born with a quirk in the next life."
He'd heard similar things before of course. Kids were cruel, and sometimes adults could be even more callus. More than once he'd come to class to find his desk riddled with graffiti reading RIP and covered in red spider lilies that he'd then be yelled at by his teachers to clean up. He'd heard a few passersby shout at him from their bikes as they rode past. Heard people snickering to themselves when they learned the statistics for early deaths among the quirkless population in class, heard them point and laugh as they whispered "then why is he still here?" He was used to people wishing he was gone. Gone and never coming back…But never had he heard something like that from Kacchan .
It was a step too far. A step too personal. Strangers and bullies telling him he'd be better off dead was one thing. But to hear it from him? From the same kid who used to be his best friend? From the boy who used to hunt for bugs with him in the woods or play heroes with him in the park? The boy who used to draw comics of the two of them fighting side by side to save the day?
From anyone else it felt to him exactly like it was meant to, a cruel and terrible joke at his expense. But from Kacchan, it felt like an honest suggestion, like a final rejection from the person whose approval he craved most. And that's what hurt him far worse than the slight burn on his shoulder or the sting of having to fish his soot stained notebook from the fish pond in front of the school.
But that alone wasn't what made this one on the top three worst days of his life. No that honnor was bestowed upon this day for a different reason entirely. This may have been the first time Kacchan gave him such sage advice but it was far from being the last. This confirmation that Izuku would be trying out for the hero course at UA, with or without his approval and support, seemingly pushed Kacchan over the edge from seeing him as a mild annoyance to a direct threat. His poor treatment of Izuku really escalated from there. So if being told by his former best friend that death was a reasonable option was enough to make something "the worst day of his life" he would have had a lot more worst days on the list than just this top three…
No. This was a record breaking bad day not because of what Kacchan said, but because of just how close Izuku came to following that advice.
It wasn't intentional at first. He was simply walking home, minding his business, muttering to himself about how foolish it was for Kacchan to risk his hero career by saying something like that to him out loud where someone might have heard them. But then all of a sudden a villain made of slime emerged from a grate below the bridge. And vile tentacles of slime were withering down his throat. And a putrid stench was burning his nostrils as he struggled to breath around the intrusion in his mouth. And his eyes were watering and turning dark as his vision began to tunnel from lack of oxygen. And it felt like his insides might begin to rip and burst from this creature crawling around inside him. And Izuku thought, for just one fleeting moment…that maybe it would be better if he didn't fight back so hard. That maybe things would be easier for everyone if he just shut his eyes and let it happen…
And then All freaking Might burst onto the scene and rescued him at the last moment.
Scooping up the villain he'd been struggling with in an old soda bottle like it was nothing. Proving once again just how big the disparity of power was between someone like All Might and someone like him.
He's not sure why he clung onto his leg the way he did. Not sure why he went so far out of his way to inconvenience the top hero and further endanger himself just so he could ask a question he already knew the answer to. But he did it anyway.
He asked his hero, his idol, the man who always saved everyone with a smile, whether or not he could be a hero like him without a quirk. And All Might told him, in absolutely no uncertain terms, that the answer was No.
"Not without a quirk."
His heart shattered.
All Might told him his dreams were unattainable, showed him his own deflated and defeated form, told him if someone as powerful as him could end up like that , then someone like him had no chance of surviving in such a quirk driven field. It made sense in a way he really wished it hadn't. But it felt more to Izuku like he was saying he had no chance of surviving in a quirk driven world . Like if he was already giving up his dreams, he might as well give everything else up to…
And then he left him on the roof of a skyscraper all alone.
Izuku stood there. Numb and empty feeling once again. His lungs and throat still aching from the sludge. Holding on tightly to his desecrated notebook, which once held all his scribbling and hopes for the future, now signed by the same man who just told him his hopes and dreams were forfeit. His eyes stung with tears and his heart fractured below his rib cage. The howl of the wind whipped through his curls as his dead ends left tiny cuts along his freckles.
He couldn't be a hero "not without a quirk."
But maybe if he just "wished for one in the next life" then…
He shuffled toward the edge of the building and looked down. He was really high up. Too.high for even a worthless Deku like him to mess it up…
He carefully set his backpack and notebook down along the edge. Took his phone from his pocket so it wouldn't get smashed. Toed himself free from those atrocious red shoes that marked his disability. Anything of real value or identity he left along the ledge for someone else to find later.
And then he stood upon the half wall and closed his eyes, taking three long deep breaths; each inhale through clenched teeth coming out shaker and more ancipatory than the last as he tried to think of a single reason not to just lean forward, and let it all end.
One…
An absent-minded hum under his breath of a song meant to give him courage. "Forward march and here we go..."
Two…
The heel of his left foot already hovering an inch in the air in anticipation of taking the first step
Thr-
His phone rang.
He was so startled by the sudden noise he almost fell. It seemed silly given what he was about to do, but his heart still sped up in a panic in his chest when he realized he might slip.
He looked back and forth from his phone to the sky to the ground below. Contemplating whether or not he should see who was messaging him at the very least. After all, he didn't want to die with unfinished business and wind up a quirkless ghost for all eternity… he stepped down from the ledge.
It was a text from his mom.
"Izuku honey, could you please bring home some milk and eggs on your way home from school? Thanks <3"
His vision blurred over with tears as he stared down the text. He hiccuped through his sobbs while slipping his shoes back on. Shouldered on a bag that suddenly felt much heavier a load to bare on such a small and tired back. And he shuffled down the stairs towards the nearest conbini.
Izuku did not kill himself that day purely because he did not want to inconvenience his mother with a lack of proper groceries for dinner. But really, what more of a reason could he ever ask for?
He'd stayed home from school for a few days after that. Faked a sudden cold so he wouldn't have to face anyone in his condition. He didn't check the news or check in with classmates, he just lied in bed all day considering each elongated nap a trial run for an early death.
And as a result. He never learned what happened with that slime monster All Might saved him from. Never knew it had broken free and claimed another victim. Never learned that Kacchan had stayed home from school just as long as he had. Never realized just how miserable and close to death they both had come that day.
…
The third worst day of his life was when he got the rejection letters from UA.
He knew it was coming. He did pretty well on the written entrance exam. Well enough to earn him one of the highest scores the school had seen in years according to the first few lines of the letter. But when it came time for the practical exam he totally chocked. The buzzer sounded and everyone took off in a million directions to take down robotic enemies like it was nothing. Meanwhile, all Izuku could do was run around in a panic trying not to get blasted by lazers or run over by mechs... He hadn't earned a single point.
"We regret to inform you we can not accept your admittance to the heroics course at UA high school at this time. Please note-"
He folded the page as calmly and carefully as he could, unable to read a single sentence more, and resealed the letter back into its envelope before setting it down on the table. He promised his mom he would wait for her to get back from work before reading these. But he knew if he did he wouldn't be able to stop himself from breaking down over the news. Wouldn't be able to school in his own emotions when he saw those sympathetic tears fill his mothers eyes as she said those dreaded words.
"I'm so sorry Izuku."
No, it was better to get it out of his system now before she came home. Better to fall to pieces when he still had plenty of time left to glue himself back together again in time for her return. That way he at least stood a chance of being able to fake a sad smile and tell her he would be okay. So he could lie to her and say he 'knew he'd never actually get in all along, he just wanted the chance to try.' So he could pretend those words typed up in 12 point font just bummed him out a little, instead of making him want to die.
He did not bother with the other, denser looking package that came with it.
He'd tried out for the support course as well. A back up plan for in case of the inevitable. When the gatekeepers of the universe keep slamming doors in your face all your life, you learn early on to look for a back door. Some loophole or unorthodox route that would allow you to hike up the side of the same perilous mountains that were paved and easily sloped for everyone else. So Izuku had done the research. He knew there was an alternate way of landing yourself in the heroics department should you fail the entrance exam. And that was by wining the sports festival.
It had been done a few times in the past. Most notably by one of the homeroom teachers at the school Shouta Aizawa, otherwise known as the underground hero Eraserhead. He'd started out in general studies and transferred to heroics after his underdog victory in his first year. But Aizawa had a quirk. And Izuku didn't. And that meant his only real hope of beating the other students was to manufacture his own. Hence, his plan b. Joining the support course so he could make his own gear and use that to win.
It wasn't exactly an original idea. Every year a few hopefuls from other courses would try to earn their way into the spotlight during the sports festival, and the support course students were no exception. But Izuku did have one small advantage over the rest, as miniscule as it may be, and that was the fact that he wasn't trying out for the support course as a lab technician but as an analyst.
It was a little known fact. One Izuku only discovered as he read the fine print of the schools website while he was bored and depressed in his bed. But there was a third track of the support department that focused not on gear and costumes but on strategy and coding. The only issue being it was by recommendation and recruitment only.
He's sent letters to every teacher, counselor, or baby sitter he'd ever had. Reached out to every adult he'd ever met with any sway or authority whatsoever in the fields of academics or hero support. All in an attempt to beg literally anyone to write him a recommendation letter. But no one replied.
He knew it was a long shot. He knew it was against the rules. But it was the last chance Izuku had left, so he signed up to take the regular support course exam and just brought all his notebooks along with him as a portfolio. He had plans of trying to find the principal or one of the other teachers and asking them to please just take a look at his notes. Getting down on his knees if he had to, to plead with one of them to give him an incredibly last second recommendation to the analysis track of the support department. But…
When he got there, shaking with nerves for both the tests and the prospect of begging a stranger to take a shot on him of all people, his scrawny arms full of notebooks and eyes full of anxious tears, none of the teachers even spared him a second glance. He'd finally get up the nerve to approach one of them, stutter out a pathetic little "E-excsuse me sir," or "I'm sorry mam, could you just-" and they would take one look at him and cut him off with a dismissive wave and a smile
"general studies is over there."
"The business course is that way."
"If you need to see the nurse she's down the hall to the right."
How could he possibly ask any of them to read his notes, to believe in him, when they didn't even let him finish a sentence before writing him off?
So needless to say, he did not get his recommendation. He walked into the exam room for the support course. Sat a stack of useless paper down on the desk where some marvelous invention was meant to be. And fumbled his way through the questionnaire and the test build based on his self taught coding knowledge alone.
He knew what the rest of the letter would say. Knew he'd been rejected from the support course as well. Knew the thicker envelope likely just held some sympathetic pamphlets for other schools in the area still accepting late enrollment to their basic courses. So what point was there in making himself read it twice?
With all his plans failed, all his hopes and dreams dashed, all his prospects in life nonexistent from birth just because he wore red shoes and didn't fit in; what more was there for him to do but just curl up into a ball and cry?
And cry.
And cry some more.
He cried until his throat was horse and his eyes were blood shot and red. Until there was more snot and salt staining his shirt sleeve than there was clean fabric. Until he was so overheated, and dehydrated, and devoid of oxygen that his face felt numb and tingly and his knees wobbled when he tried to stand.
Hobbling into the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water he noted the time blinking back at him from the stove and nearly dropped the glass. He'd been sobbing to himself for 6 hours. His mom was due back home any minute and there was no way he'd ever be able to clean himself up in time not to worry her.
In a bit of a panic he concocted a nonsensical plan; if he simply was not home by the time his mom got here, she would not see him looking like this, and therefore would have no cause to worry. Right? Not fully thinking it through he threw open the fridge door and dumped out half a carton of milk into the sink. Tossing away the evidence as he typed out a text to his mom and haphazardly threw on a coat and shoes.
"Hey mom. Just realized we're out of milk again so I'm gonna run to the store to go get some. Be back soon. Love you."
He sent the message and ran from the apartment with no real distraction in mind beyond being anywhere but here.
Past the playground where he and Kacchan used to play games with the other kids. Past an old community garden filled with sunflowers and vegetables. Past the mountains of trash that littered a once beautiful beach. All the way out to the edge of the pier, where dark gray waves crashed against half rotten planks below his feet. And he just- screamed.
Screamed at the top of his lungs.
Letting out all his anger and frustration and sorrow.
Screaming for injustice and discrimination. Screaming for his worth as a human being determined by his inability to blow things up with his hands or grow engines from the back of his legs. Screaming for the father that left him and his mother behind when he was small. Screaming for the friends who abandoned him when they found out he was different. Screaming for the boy who was supposed to lead him through the world of heros and instead told him to leave this world all together. Screaming for the idol who crushed his dreams and broke his heart the day he saved his life. Screaming for the autograph his delusional and sadist self still framed up on his wall despite the smudged ink and blast marks and bad memories associated with the marks. Screaming for his complete inability to find one person, just one, who believed in him enough to give him a chance.
He put his heart, his soul, all the air in his lungs into the scream. Like it was a battle cry. His stance like that of a sonic attack, his jaw stretched wide to accommodate the strength and volume of his emotions. He imagines, from a distance, that he may look like a tiny dragon, ready to burn his village to the ground in vengeance for what was stolen from his horde. For the loss of his last and final shred of hope.
His voice cracked as he ran out of steam, stumbling backwards on unsteady legs till he collapsed onto the pier. The sound of the turbulent ocean waves echoing back the same roar he'd delivered with a far more steady and sustained pace.
He still felt like crying. But he had no tears left to give. So he simply tucked his head between his knees and shivered against the cold ocean spray.
A moment or two passed before he heard quicked footsteps approaching from behind him on the pier. Not expecting to see or hear anyone else out here amongst the refuse Izuku snapped his head up and looked around. Which is when he spotted a rather short and thin man with long red hair and unusual fingers sprinting his way with a worried expression.
"Are you alright?! What's going on?! Are you hurt?!" The stranger yelled in a frantic rush as he started inspecting both Izuku and the surrounding area for threats.
Izuku felt his whole body flush in embarrassment. How is he supposed to explain randomly screaming into the ocean void on a Thursday evening to the random well meaning stranger on the beach?
"Uh-um-" He began as he hesitantly moved to get his feet back below him so he could stand. "I- I'm fine. Just uh… had a rough day is all. I…didn't think anyone else was out here." He said with a blush as he avoided eye contact.
"Ah, I see, the old 'scream into the void' maneuver for removing stress. I get it. I usually do that in a less literal sense by just funneling my energy into my work. But to each their own."
Izuku chuckled awkwardly despite himself at the easy going nature of the unusually understanding man.
"Sorry for disturbing your um-... evening walk?" Ikuzu guessed. It seemed like an odd place for a stroll, but a trash dump like this was an odd place for most things.
"Oh I'm out looking for scrap. The school subsidizes a lot of our material fees, but I still like to come out here for a treasure hunt every few months just so we have enough material to play around with when one of the kids gets an idea for a side project or two."
"W-what school?" Maybe under better circumstances where Izuku's brain wasn't turned to mush by sorrow and stress he would have been able to piece the context clues together. But as it stood he was trying to figure out what school needed random hunks of garbage alongside things like books and ink.
The stranger blinked twice with a furrowed brow, as if confused by his confusion, before a look of realization washed over his face and he let out a friendly chuckle while elaborating.
"Ah right, I guess it's kinda hard to recognize me out of uniform. You only saw me the once and the helmet kinda obscures the face a little." The red head extended a hand for Izuku to shake with a smile as he introduced himself. "Higari Maijima. But you'd know me better as Power Loader."
As soon as the name was out of his mouth Izuku felt like ten times more of an idiot. Flushing head to toe once again by not only getting caught throwing a hissy fit but doing so by the teacher of the course he was just rejected from.
"M-mr. Power Loader Sensei. I'm so sorry for not recognizing you. I um- I probably should have guessed from the fingers and everything, I just uh, I'm sorry."
He smiled a bit wider and shook off his concerns "Eh. Don't worry about it kid. I'm used to it by now. Obscuring my identity in my hero suit to enhance my ability to maintain a private personal life was like half the point of designing it the way i did. I consider it a job well done on my part that nobody knows who I am outside the suit."
"I-I guess that's good then?" Izuku said a little hesitantly, unsure where to go in the conversation from here. It seemed like it'd be rude to ask the man to leave now so he could continue crying on a rotting pier in peace.
Seeming to sense his discomfort and hesitation Mr Maijima scratched at the back of his neck and offered Izuku an easy out.
"Well, so long as you're sure you're alright I suppose I can get out of your hair for now… Or hey, if ya want you're welcome to join me in looking for some good scrap before class starts up in a couple weeks. You're probably gonna want as much conduit as possible and the stuff doesn't come cheap."
"Uhhh…what?"
The redhead lightly smacked his palm against his forehead. "Wait, no, sorry bout that. Im all mixed up. You probably won't be needing as much raw materials in the analytics track…Unless of course Nedzu decided to make you build your own computer from scratch or something? But that seems unnecessary." He concluded with shrug.
"I-... the analytics track sir?" Izuku asked with a mixture of hesitant hope and learned suspicion.
Was this guy just trying to rub it in that he hadn't made the cut? Trying to force him to admit to his own failure out loud? It seemed out of character with his earlier presumed friendliness and concern. But people have feigned niceties with him to make the blow of their layer mockery hit harder in the past.
"Oh, did you not get your acceptance letter in the mail yet? Whoops. My bad kid, didn't mean to spoil the surprise or nothing."
"That-... that's not possible. The analytics track is by recommendation only. I applied for the tech support and gear design track."
"Oh, right. Don't take this the wrong way kid, technically your test build and base written exam score were enough to get you in. But your portfolio piece is supposed to be an actual invention of yours, not a full dissertation on the quirks of every pro hero in active duty. So uhh, I couldn't really let you into the track you applied for based on that… But I did show the principal your work and write you a quick recommendation letter when you were doing your test build. And he really liked what he saw, so…. I hope you don't mind."
"You….you recommended me for the analytics track without me even having to ask?" Izuku asked with tears in his eyes and a wobble of his bottom lip.
Seemingly misinterpreting his reaction Mr Miajima held his hands up in surrender and started apologizing. "I'm so sorry. In hindsight I probably should have asked you if you even wanted to apply for other tracks. I just saw all the great work you put into those notes and it seemed like such a waste to turn you away from the support course all together with a mind like yours based on the technicality of an incomplete portfolio. And I mean, I was just so impressed, I had to show them to somebody else who I knew would appreciate them. Like when you see a really great machine online and you wanna share it with other gear heads? Like 'hey look at this cool kid i found, his brain purrs like a cadillac.'"
Izuku let out another broken little sob at the idea of anyone finding his random creepy scribblings impressive enough to warrant showing off. But Power Loader hissed a breath through his teeth and barreled on through another unnecessary apology.
"Okay. I heard it. As soon as I said it, I heard it. I messed up. I shouldn't have been showing your stuff to other people without your permission. You're a person, not an engine. It was an invasion of your privacy and your trust, and I won't do it again. You have my word."
He's not sure why. But all of a sudden Izuku just could hold back any longer, he tossed his arms around the miraculous teacher in a hug and wailed into his shoulder as he thanked him profusely.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Thank you so so much sir! I promise I'll work extra hard in class and-and I'll never miss a single assignment or fail a test. And I- I'll be in class early everyday with um- fresh fruit for you to eat at lunch! A-and i'll stay late to help you clean the lab! And-"
"Hey, hey, woah! Kiddo, slow down." Power Loader urged as he gave Izuku a few pats on the back. "You don't gotta do all that… I mean trying your best is a good idea, and I wouldn't say no to some help with the clean up from time to time. But ya really don't owe me nothing. I mean, home room teacher with the highest average test scores at the end of the semester gets a bonus and a gift certificate to the local Cat Cafe. With how well you scored on the entrance exams, really you're doing me a favor by ensuring I finally beat old Eraserhead for top prize."
Izuku sniffled loudly and cleared his throat as he pulled back. Not only had this kind stranger taken a chance on him with him needing to beg for it, he also seemed to be implying he thought he was intelligent enough to help raise his classes average test scores.
Never in his life had a teacher believed in him like this. Honestly, no adult- or anyone else for that matter, had ever believed in him like this…And he really still thought that even after he found Izuku screaming at the ocean on a random thursday evening?
A sudden wave of guilt crashed over him at the realization that he was only gonna stay in the support department for as long as it took him to earn a spot in heroics. Would Mr Maijima be offended that he went out of his way to help Izuku out only for him to leave him hanging and down a student a few months or years from now?
With a down cast and hesitant expression, he admitted his ulterior motives.
"I- I'm really grateful for all you've done for me. Really I am. You have no idea how happy this has made me, but I-.... to be honest with you sir analytics was only my second choice. My real dream is to earn a spot in the heroics course and to-"
He cut himself off mid sentence. Unsure if he should admit to his goals of becoming the first quirkless hero. Was it possible Mr. Miajima simply hadn't noticed his quirkless status on the application? Would he change his mind when he realized how useless and powerless he was?
Well, he seemed nice enough so far, and he'd been really honest and understanding with him, so, maybe, just maybe…
With a preemptive wince and a mental brace for the emotional blow, Izuku told the full truth.
"-And to become the first quirkless hero."
Powerloader let out a small sigh of mild disappointment, and Izuku could feel those cracks in his heart start to fissure again at the prospect of another person telling him no. But then he said something just as unexpected and unprecedented as the rest of this.
"Damn. Guess I better make the most of all the Cat Cafe gift certificates I can get before Aizawa swipes you away from me after all then."
"You…Aizawa is one of the home room teachers for the heroics course…You really think I can get in?"
"Well yeah, of course I do." He said with a shrug before folding his arms in front of his chest as he went on. "A mind like yours kid? You get some lessons from Nedzu on stealth and coding and the like, and then you let me teach you a thing or two about building and repairing your own gear. Well have you decked out with support gear so great those 1a and 1b kids won't know what hit em."
"E-even though I'm quirkless?"
"Didn't ya hear me kid? You'll have the tech and the inside scope on all the competition. Who needs a quirk yourself when all those hero course kids come to you for their gear and costumes? You'll have two months to learn all about their quirks, analyze their fighting styles, and memorize any potential weak points in their systems. Plenty of time to build yourself an arsenal designed specifically to knock those kids down a peg or two."
He couldn't believe it. Someone who not only believed in his potential as an analyst but as a hero? Someone who thought he could really do it even without a quirk? It felt too good to be true.
"A-and your not upset that I'd be- well- leaving the support course if I did win?"
"Well, I'm not gonna lie, I think we'd all miss you over in the lab… But it happens kiddo. Ya gotta follow your dreams right? And who knows, between you and Patches maybe the support course will actually take home the gold this year before yall both move on to greener pastures."
He didn't know who this "patches" guy was, but with a determined clench of his fist and a fire in his eyes Izuku swore to do what he could to return the unprecedented kindness.
"You can bet on it sir! I promise I won't let you down! I'll study harder than I ever have in my life to win you that cat cafe prize for the first semester. And then I'm gonna win the sports festival in the name of the support department."
"Alright! That's what I like to hear!" Mr. Miajima cheered with a light pump of his fist before reaching out to ruffle Izuku's curls. "See? Days not so bad now, is it?"
Izuku blinked twice, a little stunned. But then a smile slowly spread across his face as he realized he was right. What had started as one of the worst days of his life had rather suddenly and unexpectedly morphed into one of his best. because for the first time ever he knew there was at least one person in the world who believed in him.
Izuku lingered on the beach for a little while longer. Helping Mr Miajima sort the trash from the treasure and absorbing all the impromptu lessons he was giving about how to tell the difference. He wished he had a notebook on him to write things down with, but he resigned himself to a fate of just having to memorize as much as possible and write it all down when he got home. It might not have been his first choice to join the support course, and he wasn't even on the gear and costume design track, but if lectures like this were what he had to look forward to in homeroom he thought he would have a lot of fun learning something new.
About two hours after his shouting match with Poseidon, Izuku finally shuffled back home with a slight smile on his face and an immense weight lifted from his shoulders. Toeing his shoes off at the door he shouted into his apartment.
"Hey mom! I'm home!"
His mother rushed around the counter with a worried expression on her face, only to sigh in relief when she saw he was okay and in good spirits. She pulled him in for a bone crushing hug and swayed back and forth with him in her arms.
At first he was a little confused and alarmed by his mothers reaction. She was acting as if he'd been shipped off to war or something. But then he remembered all at once the context with which he'd left the house only to remain gone and radio silent for over two hours.
His mom looked him up and down appraisingly before tilting her head and raising a brow in slight confusion.
"Izuku honey, where's the milk?"
Yes. Izuku was certain he had already lived through the three worst days of his life.
But this story was not about the bad days. It wasn't about the times he was miserable or confused or ashamed or abandoned. It wasn't about all the mean words and cruel glances. Or the traumas, trials, and tribulations of growing up in a world not meant for him.
This was a story about the good times. About finding the hope and strength to carry on. About learning new things and finding your way in the world with the people you care about. About the people who care for you in turn. About making friends, and finding love, and repairing bonds with family. This was a story about the good days. The best days of Izuku Midoriya's life.
And it all started, on the day he met-