Chapter Text
At the age of four, Izuku Midoriya’s life was put on pause. His eyes went blank as those three damned words went through his mind on repeat, “unfortunately, he is quirkless”. He zoned out in the doctor’s office, unaware of what this elderly man was saying.
He vaguely felt his mother's hand squeeze his shoulder tightly; all he recognised was that this wasn’t done to comfort him, rather out of her own frustration. It knocked him out of his stupor, and he looked up at her face.
She had on a pained smile that looked as if it was supposed to comfort him, but her eyes, Izuku had never seen this look in his mother’s eyes before. Looking back, he could probably compare it to the looks he got when he eventually told a new friend that he had no quirk, a look of disgust.
The only thing he could remember on that car ride back was the sound his mother's teeth made, the god-awful sound of teeth grating against each other.
When he considered the rest of the day since he received his quirklessness diagnosis, he supposed his mother hadn’t been acting like herself at all; it might’ve been due to him being lost in his own head that he missed his mom mutter, “damn null brat doesn’t even have any meta ability” under her breath.
From that day onwards, Izuku Midoriya stopped living and started only existing instead.
If you asked twelve-year-old Izuku what the last eight years consisted of, he really couldn’t tell you. His eyes were dull and lifeless, save for one or two types of occasions. The first of those is the first-hand view of heroes in action.
If you asked someone present at a hero fight to guess Izuku’s quirk, they would guess some slight transformative quirk, as he stood up straighter and his eyes got brighter. Everyone around him could hear his muttering; he was muttering at a frighteningly fast speed, which was only matched by his scrawling in a notebook.
His fierce and bright green eyes kept glancing up at whatever hero in action he found himself watching, and glancing down at his notebook as he wrote out all his theories and quirk analysis.
These actions meant he was generally avoided by others interested in watching the heroes, although if anybody looked over his shoulder at his analysis, they would consider him a genius. The second type of event that would break his monotonous existence was new experiences, specifically new bad experiences.
He was used to his classmates bullying him, so he drowned it out. The first time that Kacchan had told him to kill himself had been a shock, enough for him to look up in surprise at the explosive boy’s face, which only served to enrage the quirked boy further.
The first, and only, time his mother went into the school to complain about the bullying occurred when Izuku was six, although even an optimistic mind such as his couldn’t think that his mother was arguing for anything other than appearances. That day, the principal might as well have said that nothing would be done to protect the green-haired child.
That day was also the day Izuku learned to fear his mother's fist.
She concluded that since the teachers knew he would be bullied, they could attribute the bruises and cuts to other students instead of abuse from a parent, which also gave her an outlet for her anger and fear from having birthed an unevolved null.
Every day for the last eight years had been repetitive, boring and a life not worth living, until it all changed. He had learned to keep his exam scores just above a pass; any more than that and he would be accused of cheating and get into more trouble, which wasn’t worth it.
However, he had managed to watch an All Might fight in the morning before school, which had him excited throughout the day, and he accidentally tried on his exam, scoring a 90%. The beating he received that day was the worst he had ever had from his classmates (the beatings from his mother could often result in far worse bruises and even cuts).
His classmates had followed Kacchan outside and brought Izuku to an alleyway after school, and beat him bloody. His head pounding and his skin broken in several places, he curled up and cried, trying to drown the pain out. Finally, they left, and he heard their cruel laughs as they went about their day as if they hadn’t assaulted him.
His vision was blurry, his eyes filled with tears, which made it so much more surprising when he opened them and found someone right in front of him, staring at him with two golden catlike eyes, sizing him up as if he were a tasty meal.
Six Months Prior
Himiko Toga was a side effect of human nature. Her parents would describe her as a dedicated young girl, able to correct her own behaviour if it was viewed as abnormal to society. Her friends would describe her as a friendly and proper young lady. Her teachers would describe her as a hard-working child who did her best to manage her grades.
Overall, the impression of her was very positive.
That was until one fateful day, when everyone around her turned on her. They betrayed her; she was ruined, sullied even, in their eyes.
And all because she indulged in her one itty bitty desire.
“How was that fair?” she thought to herself. “Quirks are bullshit, humans are bullshit, this whole world is bullshit”, were the internal thoughts blaring through her head as she ran as far away from the area she once called home.
Gone was the good girl persona; her true self was now there for everyone to see, and she was never going back.
Bit by bit, body by body, she learned the skills necessary for survival and honed them. She found herself to be a natural at stealth-born skills, such as moving without making noise, and erasing her presence. G
etting at her prey’s blood was harder than expected. At first, she tried to knock them out and break their skin using her teeth; however, a chance encounter revolutionised her way of thinking.
She was silently going through alleyways one night when she heard a scream. Hoping for a free meal and a new disguise, she snuck quietly to where the noise was coming from.
It was there that she first saw him.
He fought like he was making art; every movement of his body was precise and controlled, like a painter using specific paintstrokes.
And the gasp of pain from his victim as his sword went through the hero’s neck like butter was a musical symphony for Toga. She ran out of her hiding place, instantly putting this hero killer on alert and raising his sword towards her, ready to slice through her just as easily as he had through the man lying on the ground.
Yet he hesitated at the look of adoration in her eyes; she came up to him at a pace even he found difficult to track, and launched a barrage of questions at him. “What's your name? Do you like drinking blood as well? Where did you learn to use blades like you just did? Can you teach me?”
Then she meekly looked down at the ground and asked nervously, “Are you a freak like me?”
He looked at her with a baffled expression and a little bit of pity at this last question. “Begone, child, I have no time to train a child. The name of Stain must be quickly spread, to put fear into the hearts of those fakes that call themselves heroes”.
She looks at him with crazy in her eyes, whether or not that was a good thing, Stain couldn’t decide. As she stares at him, he pulls a knife out of thin air. “Where on earth did he hide that knife?” Toga thinks to herself.
“As someone who has obviously been failed by these fake heroes, I will take mercy on you”, he rasps, his snakelike tongue flickering as he talks, and hands the knife to her. “How you learn knifework is none of my concern, but as someone who has experienced the wrongness of this world, I trust you will manage somehow”, he barks.
As she looks down silently at her new weapon, he disappears into the night, leaving behind a psychotic blond teen with a creepy grin on her face.
When she wakes up on the roof of a building during the day, she's tempted to slice up the middle school kids in the alley below that have woken her with their loud voices and their even louder quirks, “Jesus, are those fireworks going off down there?” she thinks to herself.
The only thing that saved the lives of the kids in the Aldera Middle School was the green-haired boy crying on the floor, curled up.
Instantly, memories are flooding her mind: her first love, covered in bruises. Himiko rushed forth with a box cutter from class and the straw from her juice box. The look in her classmates' eyes when they saw her drinking from her beloved Saito’s wounds.
Her breathing was laboured, seeing this boy on the ground, her mouth salivating as she was feeling herself get all excited. Is the universe finally shining on her? Is this really Saito all alone and covered in blood, just for her?
“I need to be more careful this time round”, she mutters to herself. “If I can control myself, I can have him for so much longer”. She sneaks down and sees ‘Saito’ wiping the tears from his eyes, and disappointment strikes. “You’re not Saito”, she breathes, as she stares into his green, lifeless eyes.
They look down at the knife, and instantly his eyes come to life.
It was at this moment that Himiko fell in love once again.