Chapter Text
Chapter one
“Why are you being so mean?” Izuku's tiny voice rang through the air, fragile and uncertain. His small hands clenched his baby blue shirt, the soft texture comforting him ever so slightly. “You’re making him cry, Kacchan,” he said as he glanced toward the other boys.
As he took a breath, Izuku's grip on his shirt relaxed just a bit. He raised his delicate hands to his heart, his fists filled with determination. With his eyes shut tightly, he gathered his courage. “If you don’t stop, um,” he stuttered, feeling a surge of resolve wash over him, “I’ll stop you myself!” His words hung in the air, a quiet promise of defiance against the cruelty surrounding him.
A confident grin spread across Kachan's face, with a fire in his eye. He scoffed, glancing back at his two ready friends, their quirks activating behind him. The atmosphere around them shifted ever so slightly as a loud boom erupted, echoing through the air like a thunderclap. Kachan's grin widened as he flexed. “You wanna pretend to be a hero?” he taunted, his voice brimming with arrogance. “You don’t stand a chance without a quirk, Deku.” The words hung in the air as an aura of rivalry filled the space between them.
After what felt like an eternity, Izuku found himself sprawled on the cold, hard ground, isolated and defeated. The dirt clung to his clothes; he learned a lesson that day.
…years later…
IZUKU
Izuku walked to school, staring at the sidewalk. An overcast sky loomed ominously above; the street lights felt dull, and the world was gray. A cold drizzle fell, soaking through his red shoes and turning his socks into a soggy mess. Each step felt incredibly uncomfortable, but he pressed on. He adjusted the umbrella on his shoulder; the once bright colors of All Might now faded, scuffed, and marred by the years.
He felt a wave of relief wash over him after he glanced up at the empty schoolyard, grateful that no one was out there. He knew all too well how they would react if they spotted him; laughter would erupt. Before he could think, they would snatch the umbrella away, and he’d most likely never see it again. It was cruel, but he had come to expect it. School always left him feeling more isolated than ever.
A dim, flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting a cold glow as Izuku stepped into his middle school. He made his way to his shoe cubby, leaving his umbrella forgotten in the stand by the entrance.
The familiar scent of leather mixing with the aroma of the school's freshly cleaned hallways filled his nose as he grabbed his shoes and made his way to the nearest trash can. The blades gleamed under the fluorescent lights. As he approached, he felt anger bubbling in his chest; this cruel prank his classmates pulled every school morning hurt a little more yet a little less each time. He flipped the shoes upside down, and he watched as a cascade of blades fell out of them. With unsteady hands, he scooped out some tacks.
When Izuku got to class, he approached his desk, a damp wipe gripped firmly in his hand. He couldn’t help but grimace at the chaotic scene before him. The surface was scarred with a collection of ink smudges, remnants of past insults. Today, just like every other day, there was a fresh new coat of slurs, insults, and threats on his desk. Some classmates even started carving them into the wood.
A fresh red spider lily lay on top of it all.
All morning long, nobody talked to him. Nobody even teased him. Nobody wanted anything to do with him. An invisible person would have a bigger impact on their environment.
Izuku sat hunched over his notebook, fingers curled tightly around his pencil, the only thing tethering him to reality. His homeroom teacher stood at the front of the class, clapping his hands together once to get their attention.
“Alright, listen up. This morning, we’ll be filling out your course application forms. I'd go into detail, but I already know you all want to go through hero courses.”
For a moment, the room was completely silent; then, it erupted in a childish excitement. Chairs scraped back as students jumped to their feet, cheers bursting from every corner of the classroom. Quirks flared instinctively; a student’s fingers stretched unnaturally long as he threw them up in the air. Some kids' eyeballs began to float out of their sockets. Izuku was pretty sure a student had used a fire quirk amongst the chaos.
“Yes, yes,” the teacher barked, waving his arms. “I get it, you’ve all got impressive quirks. That doesn’t mean you can use them in class!”
Reluctantly, the chaos settled, though their excitement was still obvious. A sharp voice cut through it. Small explosions popped like firecrackers, sparks dancing across his palms; Izuku flinched as the noise crashed over him. He kept his eyes on his notebook, heart hammering painfully in his chest.
“Oi. Teach.”
Kacchan leaned back in his chair, a confident smirk tugging at his mouth. His palms were still smoky, itching to prove a point.
“Don’t lump me in with all these extras,” he said. “I’m the real deal,” he points to himself as cocky as ever, “ While they’re busy ending up as some loser sidekick, I’ll be Japan’s number one hero.”
A few students laughed. Others were insulted, but some still nodded eagerly. Izuku’s shoulders tightened.
The teacher sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes, yes, Bakugou. We’re all aware of your… enthusiasm.”
Then his gaze drifted, almost lazily, toward Izuku.
“Oh, right,” he said, as if remembering something mildly amusing. “Didn’t you apply to U.A., too, Midoriya?”
The room went still. For one terrible, suspended moment, Izuku thought he might disappear entirely. Then the laughter started.
“What? Him?”
“But he’s quirkless.”
“No way, seriously?”
“That’s a joke, right?”
Izuku’s face burned. His fingers trembled as he clenched them into fists beneath his desk, nails biting into his palms. He didn’t look up. He couldn’t. Kacchans chair slammed on the ground as he shot to his feet.
“Don’t joke about that,” he snapped, glare sharp enough to cut. “You think you can just follow me around like this forever, Deku?”
The name hit harder than any punch could. Izuku swallowed, throat tight. His chest ached with the familiar mix of shame and stubborn resolve. Even now, even like this, his mind refused to let go of the image he’d carried since childhood.
He is running toward danger.
Saving people.
I can do it, he told himself, the thought fragile but unyielding. I have to at least try.
The teacher cleared his throat awkwardly. “Enough. Sit down, Bakugou, Midoriya… class just… fill out your forms.”
As if it were that simple. Izuku stared at the paper in front of him; the blank line labeled "Desired Course" made his hand shake as he picked up his pencil.
…
Izuku sat on his usual bench on the school's rooftop, the gritty concrete rough against his still damp shoes as he mindlessly ran them over the textured ground during his lunch break. The rumble of his stomach echoed in the quiet, a reminder that he needed to eat. He instinctively pulled his knees to his chest, seeking a bit of comfort.
“What are you doing here, you quirkless deku?” Kacchans' gruff, scratchy voice boomed.
Izuku didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t react at all.
Kacchan placed a hand on Izuku's shoulder. “Get out of here, Deku,” Kacchan muttered before letting a few explosions go off.
Panic surged through him, making him scramble away. As he hit the unforgiving cold of the damp concrete ground, the chill was quickly overshadowed by the shock of sour spoiled milk.
The solid liquid drenched his clothes and hair.
The laughter of his peers echoed around him, their faces lit up with cruel amusement. Loud. Someone snorted.
“You really think you can be a hero, Deku? You can’t even defend yourself against a carton of milk,” Kacchans' friends tease.
Kacchan just huffed and walked away from the pathetic scene before him.
…
The water that he splashed over his face did little to thaw the chill that had settled deep within him. As Izuku turned the faucet’s handle, its song came to a close with a protesting squeak, echoing off the tiled walls of the small, dimly lit bathroom. Seeking refuge, Izuku slipped into the solitude of a cramped bathroom stall, the cool metal door closing behind him with a soft thud. In that moment, he decided he’d stay there for the rest of his lunch break, craving the solace that the four walls could provide, away from the prying eyes and interactions that so often left him feeling exposed and frail.
He perched on the toilet seat in a crisscross position. With his backpack slung open in his lap, he rummaged through its contents until he found his well loved hero notebook #13, the spine slightly worn from the past few months. As he flipped it open to the back page, a wave of anxiety washed over him.
He began to pour out his frustrations in a flurry of scribbles, each word a cathartic release. Thoughts about Bakugou Katsuki swirled in his mind like a tornado: rivalry, insults, moments that made his blood boil. With each stroke of his pen, he tried to release the anger and indignation he felt; he thought of clever comebacks that escaped him in the heat of the moment. When the lined page was filled with his chaotic scrawls, he didn’t hesitate; he started back at the top, pressing down harder as he wrote over his earlier thoughts, layering frustration upon frustration like a painter adding bold strokes to a canvas.
…
After class, Izuku sat waiting for his peers to pack up and leave. As their hustle surrounded him, he found solace in his hero notebook #13, where his dreams of becoming a true hero came to life. He worked on a sketch of his own hero uniform. He felt a swell of pride as he looked over the page, absorbed in his dream reality. Suddenly, without warning, one of his classmates snatched the notebook from his hands, causing the pencil to drag across the paper in an unwelcome streak, marring the artwork he had just been working on.
“Guys, look at this, Deku has got a hobby,” a chubby classmate called out for Kacchan and some other dude. A small crowd gathered around his desk, two out of three of them snickering at the notebook's contents.
“You really think you can become a hero, Deku?” Kacchan said with a fierce look in his eyes. He clenched the notebook and activated his quirk, causing a powerful burst to engulf the notebook in a bright flash. The sound of the explosion echoed through the room as small bits of burnt paper and charred remnants flew through the air, scattering like confetti. Without a moment’s hesitation, he strode over to the window, flung it open, and sent what remained tumbling into a fountain down below.
“You're a useless quirkless loser,” a lanky boy with long black hair almost as long as his fingers said. His voice was accompanied by the slam of Kacchan shutting the classroom's window. “Don't you get it? You'll never be a hero. Better to learn now than later, I guess,” the boy continued as he followed Kacchan and his other friend to the classroom door.
“You know, if you really want to be a hero that badly, there actually might be another way,” Kacchan stood in the doorway as he spoke.
“Just pray that you'll be born with a quirk in your next life, and take a swan dive off the roof of the building.”
Izuku’s entire body stiffened. He didn't move for a moment. He just let the words bounce around his skull. He didn't realize he had started to tear up when he turned his head to look at Kacchan. They made eye contact for a brief moment before Kacchan looked away. He looked borderline regretful.
After cleaning time had finally wrapped up, Izuku found himself standing at the entrance to the rooftop. He analyzed the scene before him, searching for an opportunity to make his move. To his dismay, the rooftop was teeming with students scattered across the space, some absorbed in books while others conversed. Then there was Kacchan, who leaned on the railing, his sharp gaze sweeping across the area as if he were on the lookout for someone. The sun cast a warm glow on the rooftop, but it did little to ease Izuku's growing anxiety.
He sighed, recognizing that this was not the moment for any impulsive actions. The crowd made his plans practically impossible. If Izuku were to jump now, it was guaranteed that witnesses would shout for and try to help. The last thing he wanted was to traumatize an innocent bystander or, worse yet, risk falling on someone and causing them harm. So, with a mix of frustration and anxiety, he took a step back into the school building.
KATSUKI
The rooftop was still wet from the morning rain; the concrete was darker and slicker than usual. The cold seeped through the soles of his shoes as he walked across the rooftop. He dragged his feet across the ground, irritation buzzing under his skin. He hated days like this, wet, quiet, heavy, the kind that made people tired and stupid.
Then he saw Deku.
Curled up on a bench. Alone. Not paying attention.
Idiot.
His jaw tightened. Being up here like that was asking for trouble. The others had already been snickering on the way up; he’d heard them, seen the carton tucked in a pocket. If Deku stayed, it was going to get ugly.
“What are you doing here, you quirkless deku?” Bakugous' gruff, scratchy voice boomed.
Deku didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t react at all.
Bakugou placed a hand on Deku's shoulder. “Get out of here, Deku,” he muttered before letting a few explosions go off.
He had clearly scared Deku, seeing as he jumped off the bench and onto a very damp bit of concrete.
Deku startled, scrambled back, shoes slipping on the damp concrete. Bakugou's eyes snapped up just in time to see the carton tip.
The spoiled milk that came down reeked, soaking Dekus's head. Laughter erupted instantly, echoing across the rooftop. Bakugou felt it twist in his gut, sharp and sour as the smell in the air.
Too slow.
He clenched his fists.
Dammit.
There was nothing he could do now without making it worse. If he snapped, they’d pile on harder. If he tried to help him, neither would ever hear the end of it.
So he scoffed instead, loud and dismissive, playing the part they expected. But his steps were heavier as he walked off the rooftop; the sound of laughter was a failure he couldn’t drown out.
…
Katsuki stood with his back to the world, feeling the cool breeze tousle his spiky blond hair to the left. The rooftop offered a panoramic view of the campus below, but his focus was elsewhere, anxiously scanning the rooftop for him. He cursed himself internally, replaying the harsh words he had carelessly thrown at Deku earlier that day.
“Can you believe you actually told him to off himself?” one of his friends said next to him, a smirk plastered on his face. “That was pretty messed up,” he continued, seemingly in awe of Katsuki’s bravado.
“Ugh, just shut it,” Katsuki muttered, irritation bubbling beneath his hardened exterior. His red eyes caught a flash of green; Deku, standing hesitantly at the entrance of a nearby doorway, just 12 feet away. The sight ignited a crushing wave of regret within him. “I know it was messed up,” he whispered to himself, his voice trailing off as he berated himself, spiraling into a cycle of self loathing.
Deku unexpectedly stepped back inside the school. Without a moment's hesitation, Katsuki began to follow him, his determination evident in the tightness of his jaw. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the usual group of annoying extras trailing behind, their intentions clear. He rolled his eyes, knowing they probably wanted to continue their relentless teasing of Deku. Katsuki's focus remained solely on his classmate as he disappeared into the school.