Chapter Text
"No, you can't be a hero."
Those words echoed through Izuku Midoriya's mind like broken glass scraping his ribs. He'd clung to All Might's smile for so long, believing the Symbol of Peace meant what he said—that anyone could be a hero. But now, face-to-face with his idol, he saw the pity in those eyes. The carefully worded rejection. The quiet confirmation of what everyone else had always said.
He had no future.
As he stood at the edge of a rooftop, the wind tugging at his sleeves, Izuku considered the 'advice' Katsuki had offered earlier.
"Take a swan dive off the roof and pray you get a quirk in your next life."
The railing was easy to climb. Too easy. Like the universe had put it there more for show than for protection.
But then, he thought of his mother.
She would cry.
And he didn't want to make the only person who ever truly loved him cry.
So, Izuku turned away from the edge. He walked home slowly, as if dragging the weight of every shattered dream behind him. The "sorry, got called in for overtime" note on the kitchen counter felt like mercy. He didn't want to explain the smell of sludge or why his school uniform looked like he'd fought a sewer demon.
Thank god for leftover "Quirk-Away" powder.
He scrubbed away the physical reminders, but the ache stayed lodged in his chest. The words All Might had given him—about being a teacher, a doctor, a police officer—sounded hollow. They were placeholders for people like him. Broken dreams painted over with polite smiles.
He spent the evening researching careers. Police officer? Required physical enhancement quirks. Doctor? Must have regenerative or stabilizing quirks. Even the gopher in the hospital labs needed a quirk for logistics work.
The world didn't want him.
And then, by chance, he stumbled across a site called "IDen: Identification Solutions for the Ambitious."
It was sketchy. Bright red text. Hidden links. Terrible grammar. Probably a scam.
But what did he have to lose?
And maybe, just maybe, it could make him someone else.
When he finally told Katsuki he wasn't applying to UA, the other boy blinked, laughed, and left him alone for the first time in years.
His mother didn't cry anymore.
And Izuku finally breathed.
He sold his All Might figures. Every single one. It hurt, but not as much as staying Deku. The website let him pick his new quirk profile—something minor, unremarkable, something no one would ever question. He chose "Enhanced Spatial Awareness: Minor." Perfect for a delivery driver who needed to navigate the city quickly.
He dyed his hair black, cut it shorter, and chose a name that felt right for what he wanted to do: Haitatsu Takuma. A name that meant something new. A fresh start.
His mother had cried when he told her he was changing his name legally. Not sad tears, but relieved ones.
"If this makes you happy, Izuku—Takuma—then I support you."
He'd hugged her tight and promised he'd be okay.
And then he applied to Quirkazon.
Quirkazon was huge. The biggest delivery service in Japan, possibly the world. They hired anyone with a pulse and a quirk registration—no matter how minor. Haitatsu Takuma, with his "spatial awareness" quirk, was a perfect fit.
The uniform was bright blue with an obnoxiously large yellow arrow logo across the chest. The scanner device they gave him was older than his childhood All Might lunchbox. And his supervisor, a gruff man named Yamada with a quirk that let him grow extra arms (but only two at a time, making it functionally useless), told him bluntly:
"Deliver fast. Don't get complaints. Don't die. In that order."
Takuma nodded.
He liked the simplicity.
No one cared who he was. No one asked about his dreams. He was just another face in a blue uniform, hustling packages across Musutafu like his life depended on it.
And honestly? It kind of did. Rent wasn't going to pay itself.
It's day three, and Takuma is not entirely hating his new job. Sure, people don't exactly 'love' the delivery driver, but they don't seem to hate his existence, nor do they call him names. Most of the time, he's completely ignored. That's okay, he can deal with being ignored.
Takuma was supposed to deliver a package to an apartment complex in a quiet residential area. Nothing fancy. Just drop it off, scan it, move on.
Except the recipient wasn't answering.
He knocked three times. Checked the name. Apartment 3 B. Definitely the right place.
He sighed and pulled out his scanner to mark it as "delivery attempted," but then he heard voices through the door.
"—told you, we can't move the shipment until Friday. The heroes have been sniffing around—"
Takuma froze.
Oh no.
Oh no.
He was not getting involved in this.
He turned to leave, but his foot caught on a potted plant, sending it crashing to the ground with a loud, ceramic smash.
The voices inside went silent.
"Who's there?!"
Takuma's brain short-circuited. He did the only thing he could think of.
He held up the package and shouted, "QUIRKAZON DELIVERY!"
The door swung open. A man with a scar across his nose and a very illegal-looking pistol tucked into his waistband glared at him.
"...What?"
"Uh. Package for... Sato Kenji?" Takuma said, his voice cracking. He held the box out like a shield. "You, uh, need to sign for this."
The man blinked. "I didn't order anything."
"Well, someone did!" Takuma said brightly, shoving the scanner forward. "Just sign here and I'll be on my way! Company policy says I can't leave without a signature or a photo confirmation of refusal, so—"
"Get lost, kid."
"Can't! Union rules!" Takuma lied. There was no union.
The man looked ready to slam the door in his face when another voice called from inside. "Who is it?"
"Some Quirkazon idiot."
"Did he hear anything?"
Takuma's survival instincts kicked in. "Nope! Didn't hear a thing! I've got earbuds in! Music's way too loud! Haha! Anyway, gonna leave this here, take a photo, and go—"
He snapped a picture of the box at the doorstep, scanned it as "refused delivery," and bolted.
He didn't stop running until he was three blocks away.
And then he called the police tip line.
Anonymously.
Because he was not a hero.
He was just a delivery driver who happened to have really good hearing.
Day nine, Takuma was delivering to a small electronics shop when he noticed something was off.
The lights were on, but the "CLOSED" sign was flipped. The door was slightly ajar. And there was a very stressed-looking man sitting behind the counter with his hands on his head.
Takuma's gut told him to turn around.
But his scanner told him he had a package to deliver.
Damn you, Quirkazon.
He nudged the door open. "Uh... delivery?"
The man's eyes went wide. "KID, GET OUT—"
A villain with a mutation quirk—some kind of lizard-thing with way too many teeth—stepped out from behind a shelf. "Another hostage! Perfect!"
Takuma's brain screamed RUN, but his mouth said, "I just need a signature."
The villain stared at him.
The hostage stared at him.
Takuma held up the scanner.
"...You're serious?" the villain asked.
"Company policy," Takuma said weakly. "If I don't get a signature, my supervisor's gonna chew me out. He's really scary."
The villain laughed. "You've got guts, kid. Fine. I'll sign your stupid thing if you sit down and shut up."
Takuma handed over the scanner.
The villain signed.
Takuma scanned the package, set it on the counter, and started backing toward the door. "Cool. Great. Thanks. Have a nice day—"
"Where do you think you're going?"
"...To deliver my next package?"
"Sit. Down."
Takuma sat.
And waited.
And waited.
And then he noticed something.
The villain kept checking his phone. Nervous. Fidgety. The hostage wasn't tied up—just scared. And the shop's back door was wide open.
This wasn't a real heist.
This was a distraction.
Takuma's mind raced. If this guy was stalling, then something bigger was happening nearby. He pulled out his phone, pretending to scroll through his delivery route, and quickly opened a map app.
Three blocks away, there was a bank.
Oh.
He glanced at the hostage, then at the villain, then at the door.
And then he did something incredibly stupid.
He stood up. "Hey, uh, can I use the bathroom?"
The villain growled. "Sit down."
"I really gotta go, man. Like, it's an emergency. I'll be two minutes—"
"Fine! Just—make it fast!"
Takuma practically sprinted to the back, locked the door, and immediately called the police.
"There's a hostage situation at Yamada Electronics, but it's a decoy—the real crime is at the bank three blocks west—"
He hung up before they could ask questions and flushed the toilet for realism.
When he came back out, the villain was glaring at him.
"You took forever."
"Sorry. Spicy curry for lunch."
Five minutes later, sirens wailed outside.
The villain's phone buzzed.
His face went pale.
"You—YOU CALLED THE COPS?!"
"What? No! I was in the bathroom!" Takuma said, backing toward the door. "I think someone else must've noticed something weird—"
The villain lunged.
Takuma ran.
He made it outside just as a hero—some C-lister with a stone quirk—tackled the villain to the ground.
The hostage stumbled out, shaking but unharmed.
And Takuma?
Takuma got back on his delivery scooter and drove off before anyone could ask him questions.
Day fourteen started with a simple delivery to the warehouse district.
It ended with Takuma crouched behind a dumpster, watching a very illegal smuggling operation go down, and wondering why his life was like this.
He'd just been trying to drop off a package.
But no.
Instead, he'd walked right into what looked like a black market quirk-enhancement drug deal, complete with shady guys in suits and a truck full of suspicious crates.
Takuma held his breath and slowly, slowly backed away.
His foot crunched on a soda can.
Every head turned.
"...Quirkazon delivery?" he squeaked.
One of the men pulled out a knife.
Takuma did what any rational person would do.
He chucked the package at the guy's face, turned, and ran.
He didn't stop until he was six blocks away, gasping for air, hands on his knees.
And then he called the police.
Again.
Day twenty-seven, Takuma was halfway through his route when a news van pulled up beside him.
A reporter with a microphone and a cameraman hopped out.
"Excuse me! Are you the Quirkazon driver who's been involved in several recent crime stoppings?"
Takuma's brain stalled. "...What?"
"Anonymous tips have led to multiple arrests over the past few weeks, and witnesses have reported seeing a Quirkazon delivery driver at the scene each time. Is that you?"
"I—no? I just deliver packages?"
"But you were at Yamada Electronics two weeks ago, correct?"
Takuma's eye twitched. "I was delivering a package."
"And the warehouse district?"
"...Also delivering a package."
"And the apartment complex on 5th Street?"
"THAT'S MY JOB!" Takuma shouted, throwing his hands up. "I DELIVER THINGS! THAT'S IT! I'M NOT A HERO, I'M JUST TRYING TO HIT MY QUOTA!"
The reporter blinked. "So you're saying it's all a coincidence?"
"YES!"
"Fascinating," she said, scribbling notes. "The 'Accidental Hero' delivery driver—"
"I'M NOT A HERO!"
"Thank you for your time!"
The van drove off.
Takuma stood there, staring at the empty street, wondering if it was too late to quit.
On day thirty-five, Takuma was on his lunch break, eating a convenience store onigiri on a random rooftop, when someone landed beside him.
He nearly choked.
It was Eraserhead.
The underground hero stared at him with tired, unimpressed eyes. "You're the Quirkazon driver."
Takuma swallowed his rice. "...Yes?"
"You've called in five separate tips in the past month."
"I—uh—"
"All accurate. All anonymous. All from untraceable numbers."
Takuma said nothing.
Eraserhead sat down beside him, pulling out his own coffee. "You're not a hero."
"No."
"But you keep stopping crimes."
"I keep delivering packages," Takuma corrected. "The crimes just... happen to be there."
Eraserhead took a long sip of his coffee. "You're either the unluckiest delivery driver in Japan, or you're very good at noticing things."
Takuma bit his lip. "...Both?"
A pause.
Then Eraserhead said, "If you ever want to do this officially, let me know."
Takuma shook his head. "I'm not hero material."
"Clearly," Eraserhead said dryly. "But you're something."
He stood, his capture weapon billowing behind him. "Stay safe, delivery driver."
And then he was gone.
Takuma sat there for a long moment, staring at the city below.
He finished his onigiri.
And then he got back on his scooter.
Because someone had to deliver these packages.
And apparently, someone had to accidentally stumble into crime scenes while doing it.
Might as well be him.