Chapter Text
The soft, rhythmic beeping of the life-support machines fills the air, underscoring the bleak, clinical atmosphere. A man in a dark suit sits before the monitor, his face obscured by a black mask. Where his eyes should be are only patches of scar tissue, a grim reminder of the fierce battle that has left him crippled.
The screen shows a young girl, Izuku Midoriya, coming home from elementary school. Despite her efforts to hide them, burn marks and bruises are visible on her arms. She walks with an awkward gait, her forced smile not quite reaching her eyes.
As Izuku enters the house, her mother greets her with a warm smile. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” she says, her voice gentle but her eyes betraying concern. “How was school today?”
Izuku’s smile falters slightly, but she quickly steadies herself and replies, “It was good, Mom. Really good.” Her voice holds an edge of forced cheerfulness. Her mother’s gaze lingers for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Instead of pressing further, she suggests, “How about we make katsudon for dinner?”
The mention of her favorite meal brings a genuine glimmer of happiness to Izuku’s eyes. “That sounds perfect,” she says, her tone brightening.
All for One’s expression is a grim mask of frustration. He is trapped in this sterile, dimly lit room, unable to reach out to his family or protect them from the cruelty of the world. His inability to be with them, to shield Izuku from the harsh realities of life, is a constant, gnawing source of anguish.
His dark thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a crackling voice over a speaker. “Master, I have an update on Tomura.”
The voice belongs to Kurogiri, one of his loyal subordinates. All for One’s head turns towards the speaker, his expression a mask of strained resolve. “What is it?” he asks, his voice rough.
“Tomura shows no improvement in anger management. He has decayed ten controllers this week alone and stormed outside after something called ‘rage quitting.’”
All for One gives a small grunt of acknowledgment. He turns his attention back to the screen, the image of Izuku fading from view. A subtle longing in his scarred face is unmistakable.
He reluctantly tears his attention away from the screen and shifts his focus to the pressing matters at hand. “Worry not, Kurogiri-san. Tomura merely needs more time to mature. In the meantime, his behavior can work in our favor.”
****
As I walk home from school, my mind keeps replaying the laughter, the insults, and the jeering faces of my classmates. But this isn’t new. I’ve known since I was four years old that I wasn’t like them.
My mom tried to be brave for me, her voice trembling as she asked the doctor if I might develop a quirk later or if maybe there was some mistake. But there was no mistake.
He pointed to the X-ray of my foot and explained the “extra toe joint,” proof that I wasn’t part of this next stage of human evolution.
Mom cried all the way home. I remember tugging on her sleeve and telling her it was okay, that I didn’t need a quirk to be like All Might, my hero. And I believed it back then. I really believed I could still be a hero.
Dad was different, though. He didn’t cry or get upset. He knelt down beside me, his face serious but kind, and told me, “Izuku, you don’t need a quirk to be special. You’re already incredible, just the way you are.” His words gave me strength and made me feel like I could do anything.
Once, when I asked him why he believed in me so much, he smiled in that sad way he sometimes did and said, “You remind me of my little brother. He didn’t have a quirk either, and he was sickly most of his life, but he had the heart of a hero. He always stood up for what was right, even when his own body wouldn’t let him. He didn’t need a quirk to make a difference. He just needed his courage and his kindness. Just like you.”
Those words meant everything to me. I clung to them, even when things got tough. Knowing that Dad saw something special in me, something he had seen in his little brother, made me feel like I could be more than just a quirkless kid. It made me feel like I could be a hero, too.
But then he left when I was six. One day, he was there, making me laugh with his silly faces and stories, and the next day, he was gone. Mom never really explained why; just said that he had to go away for work. I used to wait by the door, hoping he’d come back, that he’d walk in with that big smile of his and lift me into a bear hug. But he never did.
I guess that’s when things really started to feel different. Without him around, it was just me and Mom, and she tried so hard to be strong for both of us. But I could see it—the worry in her eyes every time I came home with new bruises, the way she bit her lip when she thought I wasn’t looking. She never talked about Dad much after he left, and eventually, I stopped asking. But he must still be sending support somehow because Mom never had to find a job even after he disappeared.
To society, quirks are everything. If you have a strong or flashy quirk, you’re valued, admired—even worshiped. But if you don’t, you’re worthless. Invisible. Less than human. And without a quirk, I’m less than worthless. The most useless of all.
Every day, I hear whispers behind my back. “Quirkless Deku,” they say, using the cruel nickname my childhood friend, Kacchan, gave me when we were younger. It’s an alternative way to read my name ‘Izuku’, meaning useless. At first, I tried to ignore it. I thought if I worked hard enough and studied the heroes long enough, maybe I could find a way to prove them wrong. But no matter how much I try, I can’t escape the truth. To the world, I’m nothing.
I clutch my hero analysis notebook closer to my chest, my fingers brushing over the still-damp, charred pages. Each note I’ve made, every observation about the heroes I admire, is a small piece of the dream I’ve been holding onto for so long.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Heroes are supposed to be strong so they can protect the weak and stand up for justice. But here I am, a quirkless nobody, unable to stand up for even myself, trying to follow in their footsteps. Maybe that’s why Kacchan hates me so much—because I dare to dream when I shouldn’t.
My footsteps echo on the empty street as I walk, and the city around me buzzes with life. Even as I feel the weight of despair pressing down on me, there’s a stubborn spark inside me that refuses to die. The spark that was ignited when I first saw that clip of All Might saving those people with a smile on his face.
Because deep down, I still believe in what heroes stand for.
As I pass by a small park, I see Kacchan over near the swings, surrounded by his groupies. Katsuki Bakugo—Kacchan—my childhood friend turned bully.
Hopefully, he won’t notice me.
…
He turns his head, and I meet his red eyes. Crap. Suddenly he and his friends are making their way over to me.
“Hey, Deku!”
The tone is mocking, filled with cruel amusement.
I stiffen. My heart starts to race, a mix of fear and dread tightening in my chest.
“K-Kacchan,” I say, trying to sound calm. “Hi…” I force a smile on my face.
His usual scowl is in place, his eyes blazing with his usual intense energy. The others around him snicker.
“Don’t act so friendly, you damn nerd,” Kacchan sneers, taking a step forward.
I can’t help but flinch when his hands crackle with tiny explosions, the heat radiating off his palms. My arms are covered with little scars from those explosions.
“What’re you doing out here, huh? Planning to write down more useless notes in that creepy book of yours?”
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on my notebook. “I—I was just running an errand for Mom…” I stammer, my voice barely a whisper, but Kacchan cuts me off.
His grin widens, a predatory look crossing his face. “I see. You know Auntie Inko would be so much better off if she didn’t have to worry so much about a loser like you.”
The words cut deep, sharper than any knife. It hurts because he’s probably right. Mom would have a much easier life without me around.
My eyes sting, but I blink back the tears. I’ve heard this all before, the taunts and insults that have become part of my daily life.
“So, wanna play Heroes vs. Villains with us?” He asks with a sly smirk. I shake my head, “N-no, I’m good.” I’ve long since learned that ‘playing’ is just their excuse to beat me up.
“Oh, I see. The nerd thinks she’s too good to hang out with us. Hear that, guys?” He turns to the rest of the group. They all snicker amongst themselves.
“You’re not even worth the air you breathe.”He taunts.
Without warning, Kacchan lunges forward and snatches the notebook from my hands. I gasp, reaching out instinctively, but Kacchan is faster. He holds it up, out of my reach, a cruel smile on his face.
“Look at this crap,” he says, flipping through the pages with a sneer. “You really think any of this is gonna matter? You really think anyone cares about your stupid notes?”
“P-please, Kacchan, give it back!” I plead, my voice breaking. I reach for the notebook again, but Kacchan shoves me back with a burst of his quirk, knocking me to the ground. I land hard, scraping my hands on the rough pavement, but I don’t cry out.
Kacchan lets out a bark of laughter. “You’re such a loser, Deku. A worthless, quirkless loser.”
He tosses the notebook onto the ground and lights it with a small explosion from his palm. The pages catch fire quickly, the flames consuming my notes in seconds. I stare, frozen, as the fire spreads, my hard work turning to ash before my eyes.
A small, choked sob escapes my lips, but I force myself to stay calm. I clench my fists, feeling the sting of my scraped palms, and force myself to look up at Kacchan.
“I… I’m not useless.” I say, my voice shaking but firm. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove it to everyone!”
Kacchan’s grin fades, replaced by a look of irritation. “Tch. Whatever, Deku. You’re just a freak who doesn’t know when to quit.” He turns to his friends and gestures for them to follow. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m done wasting my time on this loser.”
As they walk away, I stay on the ground, my eyes fixed on the smoldering remains of my notebook. Tears blur my vision, but I refuse to let them fall. My father’s words echo in my mind, a distant but comforting memory. You don’t need a quirk to be special. You’re already incredible, just the way you are.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the pain and frustration. As Kacchan and his friends walk away, their laughter echoing in the distance, I remain on the ground, staring at the smoldering remains of my notebook.
I carefully gather the charred fragments, trying to salvage whatever I can. My hands shake as I brush away the soot, the sting of Kacchan’s cruel words still fresh.
Just then, I hear the sounds of a group of boys bullying another kid in a nearby alley. Their taunts and laughter pierce through the air, and my heart sinks.
Despite my own recent torment, I feel a pang of empathy and determination. I can’t just stand by and do nothing. I swallow hard, take a deep breath, and make my way towards the alley, my steps resolute.
As I peek around the corner, my heart sinks. A group of older bullies have cornered a purple-haired kid with tired-looking eyes. The boy looks resigned, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Look at you, Hitoshi,” one of the bullies sneers. “Thinking you can be a hero with that villainous quirk of yours. Brainwashing people? How could that ever be heroic.”
The others snicker, their faces twisted with mocking disdain. “Yeah, like anyone would want to hang out with a person with a quirk like that. You’re a freak, Hitoshi.”
I feel a surge of anger at their words. No one deserves to be treated like this.
I step forward, my voice is surprisingly firm for once. “Hey! Leave him alone!”
The bullies turn to look at me, their expressions shifting from amusement to irritation. The leader, a taller boy with a scowl on his face, takes a step forward. “Who are you? This isn’t your fight kid.”
“I don’t care,” I respond, my heart racing. “Bullying is wrong.”
The leader’s eyes narrow, and he sneers. “You think you’re so tough. What kind of quirk do you have? A strength enhancer, perhaps?”
I flinch instinctively but gather my wits and bluff, “Yeah, so you don’t want to fight me. Now get out of here!”
The bullies exchange looks, clearly taken aback by my confrontation. I feel my heart beating. Please believe my bluff.
After a moment, the leader scowls and gestures for his group to back off. “Whatever. We’re done here.”
The bullies shove past me and leave the alley, their laughter fading as they go. I rush over to the boy, who is still huddled against the wall, his eyes wide with fear and resignation.
“A-are you okay?” I ask gently, offering him my hand. He looks up at me, his expression a mix of surprise and suspicion. He shakes his head and stands up himself.
“I’m sorry to burst in like that, but you looked like you needed help. And I kept thinking about how awful it is to be bullied like that. And what they were saying about your quirk—I don’t think there are any villainous quirks. In fact, they mentioned it was brainwashing, right? What does that entail? How do you activate it? It could be such an amazing quirk for hostage situations! Think about it, you could brainwash the villain to give up without there being a fight! And then—”
The purple-haired kid’s eyes widen in surprise as he tries to make sense of the words pouring out of my mouth. He opens his mouth to say something but then snaps it shut. He turns sharply and begins to walk away.
“W-w-wait! I’m sorry for...“ I reach out to grab his arm. He turns around and stops, staring at me for a moment. I blush a little and feel awkward with his intense eyes on me. I shuffle from side to side as I wring my hands.
He must’ve found something in me that he likes because he hesitantly speaks. “Do you really think that? That I could be a hero?”
“Yes!” I yell. My voice echoes slightly around the empty alley, and I duck my head in embarrassment. “S-sorry… Yes, I really do think you’d make an amazing hero if that’s what you want to do.” I say in a quieter voice.
He cracks a small smile, “You’re the first person to tell me that.” I frown. I can’t believe no one has ever told him that before! It’s so obvious how useful his quirk could be.
He sticks his hand out abruptly. I hesitantly reach out and take it. “I’m Hitoshi Shinso.”
“Nice to meet you, Hitoshi. I’m Izuku Midoriya.” I glance at the scattered debris from the earlier fight.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask, glancing at Hitoshi's bruised and slightly disheveled appearance. "They didn't hurt you too badly?"
Hitoshi shakes his head, looking somewhat distant. "I'll be fine. I’m used to it." I nod, feeling a kinship with him. We stand there in an awkward silence for a moment, both of us absorbing the aftermath of the encounter.
"Thanks again," Hitoshi finally says, his voice quieter now. "You really didn’t have to help me, but... I appreciate it."
I smile a bit, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, I couldn’t just walk away. No one deserves to be treated like that. Besides, I know what it’s like to be bullied as well."
Hitoshi raises an eyebrow, curious.
I hesitate for a moment, then shrug. "Just the usual stuff. Being quirkless, you get used to it.”
He nods, seeming to understand. "Quirkless, huh? That’s rough. You probably have it even worse than I do.”
I give him a sympathetic smile. “ I don’t think it’s fair to compare, but it’s good to know I’m not alone in this. Maybe we can help each other out."
Hitoshi looks at me thoughtfully. "You know, for someone who gets picked on a lot, you seem pretty optimistic."
I chuckle softly. "I guess. I just try to stay positive. It’s not always easy, but I think it’s important."
Hitoshi seems to consider this for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright. I’ll keep that in mind."
As we reach the end of the alley, Hitoshi turns to me. "You’re heading home, right? I can walk with you if you want."
I appreciate the gesture. "Sure, that sounds good. I’d like the company."
We walk side by side, making our way down the street. The conversation flows more naturally now, and Hitoshi starts to open up about his interests and experiences. I listen intently, sharing bits of my own story as well.
As we reach my neighborhood, I stop at my front gate and turn to Hitoshi. "Thanks again for everything. It was nice meeting you."
Hitoshi gives a small smile. "Yeah, you too. Maybe we can hang out again sometime."
I nod enthusiastically. "I’d like that!”
“Great, let’s exchange numbers then.” He hands me his phone, and I quickly enter my number. He takes it back and types out a small message. Ding. I got a text. I grin at him. “See you around, Hitoshi.”
"See you, Midoriya-.”