Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A soothing wind breeze past the rooftops where two people are standing. A young boy in a gakuran and a tall skinny man wearing baggy clothes face each other with mixed expressions. The boy is clutching his chest tightly, holding to it as if his life is on the line, with his eyes closed shut and his body trembling in front of the tall man.

The man's gaze, however, is unwavering as he looks down at the boy. His piercing light blue eyes seem to radiate from the depths of the dark shadow that engulfs his face. ‘Can a quirkless kid like me be a Hero?’ The question the boy asked echoes in his head repeatedly.

When was the last time he had met a quirkless person? Months? Years perhaps? With how rare they have become, ‘less than 20% of the world’s population’ he remembered the statistics. Technically, they still numbered in the billions, but in Japan that number dwindled to a measly few million, not even reaching fifty million if he remembered correctly. The death count of quirkless people in Japan has risen to a staggering rate over the past few years, with hundreds of deaths each week; most were caused by suicide.

He had been watching these events closely, but as a hero, as a symbol of peace, he had never felt so powerless. His whole life as a hero had been spent fighting and battling villains and giving motivational speeches. That was the surface of it, of course, but when it came to the human mind and emotion, he struggled a bit to understand them—just like the boy in front of him right now.

Taking a moment to ponder the boy’s question, he stares at his physique. He is of average height and very skinny (A concern); the more he looks at him, the more he pities him. If he were in the third year of middle school, he would have more or less ten months before the entrance exam starts in most hero schools. That is far from enough time to prepare, and unless he is gifted in martial arts or any physical skills, it would only end in failure and rejection. Even when UA announced that they would accept quirkless students in their Heroics program, up until now, not a single participant in the entrance exams was quirkless.

He needed to delve deeper into the situations regarding quirkless people – he will take action later because for now, he needed to answer this boy’s question. It will no doubt change the course of the boy’s life forward; he knew that much. The words alone that come from his mouth are impactful to the people who listened and believed. And this boy worships him like a believer in a god would

“My boy,” he began, “Do you have any other plans than becoming a hero? It is good to have a backup plan in case you cannot reach your goal after all.” The boy looked up at him; tears were starting to swell in the corner of his eyes, and his body was still trembling.

“N-No All Might sir, b-being a Hero i-is all I have ever w-wanted.” the boy answered in fear of, what he was about to hear.

Lack of confidence, stuttering, and fear. He could see it clearly; in his current state, this boy was not fit to be a Hero. It pains him for what he was about to utter. But a small voice in the back of his mind tells him otherwise that with enough time and training, perhaps, no matter how slim the chance is, this boy could be a Hero in a way never seen before.

He pushes that thought away. Even if he gives the boy One For All, would he be able to hold and cultivate the power? Or would he break down and risk losing One For All and his own life? It was too much of a risk to be considered. Years later, he would reminisce about the day he met the boy on the rooftop. Did he make the right decision? Or would there be a better outcome if he had considered him more?

“You have a good dream, my boy. Many people would love to achieve it, but very few have. Without power, your journey would be far more arduous than everyone else's. That is why I would advise you to search for a prospect different from a Hero.” He pauses, seeing the boy’s body starting to shake as if he was having a seizure before freezing suddenly. His eyes were covered underneath his dark green bushy hair, but he could see teardrops falling onto the rooftop.

Thinking fast, he tries to comfort the boy. “However, might I suggest becoming a doctor? A Hero’s doctor! What better honor than to save those whom you’ve admired! Or a firefighter, where you can work alongside heroes in the field and save civilians just like them, or even a police officer or, or –” his mind suddenly wanders towards the boy’s notebook and its contents.

“A Quirk Analyst!” He beams at the boy. Seeing his notes about the specifications and abilities of a hero, the pros and cons, suggestions to improve their capabilities, and the numerous ways to cover weaknesses with the help of other heroes, support gears, and possible self-training regimen. The boy has the mind and knowledge for it, and having him as a Quirk Analyst could greatly aid the next generation of heroes of Japan.

“You have great talent, my boy! I’ve seen your notebook and analysis, and I admit you have a keen intellect for them. Perhaps becoming a Quirk Analyst is your calling.” He gave the boy the biggest smile he could muster. It may not have been the same as his smile in his buffed form, but he hoped it was enough for the boy. “Of course, if you choose to follow this path, I will support you all the way through your journey, my boy. You have great talent, and it would be a waste not to nurture that into something great.”

He was genuine when he said he wanted to help the boy. Even quirkless, the boy has valuable skills in supporting the heroes in understanding their quirks better. The boy's current situation wasn’t any good either. It looked like he was almost at his limits and about to break; who knows what this boy has been through to reach that point in his early teen life.

Looking at the boy, he couldn’t help but see himself in his shoes and uniform. It brought bittersweet memories of him and his master–

“O-Okay. I-I will try becoming a Q-Quirk Analyst All Might s-sir.” the tone was more resigned and almost hollow.

All Might – Yagi Toshinori acts on instinct and immediately hugs the boy. What happened? Why did the boy sound so dead inside, so hollow? Did he make a mistake by rejecting the boy’s dreams of becoming a hero? Questions ran rampant in his mind as he tried to comfort the boy.

“I promise you, my boy. I promise you that you will be the greatest Quirk Analyst in the world. So please, light up the fire inside your heart and let your passion flare like wildfire.” his voice was on the edge of desperation. This boy he only met a few minutes ago needed to be saved, and he’d be dammed if he couldn’t save this boy from whatever is causing him this.

The boy’s emerald eyes blinked rapidly; light seemingly started to return to his dull eyes, if only slightly. Toshinori sighed quietly in relief seeing this. It was a small change, but a positive one in the right direction.

“A-All Might? Why a-are you–”

“Hush now, my boy. Are you okay? You went blank for a second there. Was it because of what I said?”

“W-What!? N-No it’s not your f-fault All Might! It’s mine for being t-too delusional in my d-dreams.” The boy replied hastily, pushing himself away from his Hero and creating a small distance between them. I don’t deserve it.

“T-Thank you for w-wanting to support s-someone like m-me All Might! I’m really h-honored sir!” The boy tried his best to look lively again, like a normal person receiving a once-in-a-lifetime chance. He was still a mess, and Toshinori knew this, but he made no further questions, accepting the boy’s answer for now.

Never in his Hero career life had he seen such a young, seemingly normal-looking boy, hide a broken self behind a mask. He’d seen a fair share of victims before: kidnaped, caught in the crossfire between his fights against villains, and more. The one thing they have in common could be how open and genuine they express themselves in the face of danger.

To see this young boy looking so broken and trying to hide it must’ve meant that he had gone through a serious traumatic past. Could it be abuse? Severe bullying perhaps? Self-harm and depression?

It would be best if he brought this boy to Recovery Girl for psychological and mental health treatment and maybe to Hound Dog too for therapy and counseling. Nezu would surely love to meet this boy; he has the intellect for it, and with his guidance, he could reach new heights with his talent.

“Then tell me, my boy. Where are you going after you graduate middle high? Could it be UA perhaps?” Toshinori shifted to a lighter topic, away from the negativity clouding his and the boy’s minds, only to remember that he had a villain in his pocket who needed to be handed over to the police immediately.

Gliding his hand over his baggy pants pocket, he finds it empty, with no bottle of the villain contained in it.

Just as the boy was about to answer, He cut him off before dashing through the rooftop door and calling for backups. In haste, he failed to see the boy reverting to his self-loathing mindset, blaming himself for what had happened. Worse, he had forgotten to ask for the boy’s contact number. It will be a while before he sees the boy again, but he will make good on his promise in that time.

Today was chaos; there was no other word to describe it. What was supposed to be another day he was going to survive became a nightmare that was almost enough to give him a heart attack. The death threat that caught him off guard by his childhood friend, the villain attack that nearly claimed his life, being saved by his number one Hero, All Might, someone he's been looking up to since he was introduced to heroes, the rejection of his dreams by said Hero, and the alternative dream presented by All Might with the promise of support by the Hero himself. Now, because of him, the villain that All Might had captured managed to escape, and All Might had to leave in a hurry.

It was too much. He never felt so overwhelmed by both positive and negative events in a single day. Often it leans toward the latter, afterall.

In the end, it ended on a negative note. So he picked up where he left off, walking back home. He could only hope that All Might could catch the villain again before he targeted another victim.

Thankfully, the walk home was uneventful. The apartment was quiet; his mother was still at work, and his father had yet to return from his overseas job. Midoriya Hisashi, his father, promised that he would be back during his high school year, but he hasn’t mentioned what year.

He still looks forward to meeting him again. Having someone other than his mom in his life would liven up the apartment a bit, and if the letters and calls were any warnings, he would need to be prepared for an unending amount of dad jokes when his father returned.

From the moment he entered his home, his mind worked on autopilot. He set his bag down in his room, quickly showered, turned on the TV, switched it to Hero News, and made dinner for himself and his mother. It was nearly five p.m., and his mom would come home in an hour or so.

Today, he made simple chicken karaage with rice, cabbage, and miso soup. It is a simple dish he usually makes on Fridays. Besides karaage, he could make simple Japanese dishes such as Katsudon (his favorite), Yakiniku, Udon, and Unagi. Cooking was his second hobby when he was not focusing on anything related to Heroes.

The process was always enjoyable; the smell was delectable, and the result was always satisfying. It was almost enough for him to detach from the current reality of his life and pretend that he was a chef cooking the most delicious dishes to serve himself and his mother.

Sitting alone at the table, he ate his meal in tranquility, with the TV as the source of sound and the food as the source of comfort. The events of this day will be forever etched in his mind, that’s no doubt, but there is something to gain out of this, even when he feels like he doesn’t deserve it.

The TV continues its news after a commercial break, reporting the latest incident in Musutafu. “A few hours ago this afternoon, a villain who manages to escape All Might strike again in the Musutafu Shopping Alley, causing chaos and kidnaping a middle school boy with a powerful quirk. Over half of the alley was engulfed by fire and debris.” The picture of the shopping alley was shown. “Multiple civilians endured burn injuries before police and Heroes could arrive on the scene.” Looking at the screen, he stopped eating and watched what had happened just a few hours ago.

“Unfortunately, the Heroes who had arrived there couldn’t do much to save the boy. Few support Heroes were trying to tend to the injured and halt the fire from spreading further, while the combat Heroes couldn’t do anything to subdue the villain’s liquid-like body quirk. It took what felt like a long time before All Might suddenly showed up, punching the villain, killing the fire, and saving the boy held captive.”

“Sadly, dear viewers, the boy held captive by the villain was recovered in a critical condition where he was nearly suffocated to death. His condition is currently unknown, but he is being treated in the nearest hospital from the shopping alley as we speak. The victim’s name is Bakugou Katsuki, a third-year Aldera Junior high student holding a powerful explosion quirk. May he come out of this ordeal well and in good condition as many Heroes on the scene approve of the boy’s power and potential Hero material–”

The TV was cut off abruptly. The room now reigned in silence; time slowed to a crawl for him, but when a notification on his phone beeped, he snapped out of his frozen state. It was a message from his mom telling him that she’d be home later than usual because of an overshift due to the influx of patients coming in.

Taking that in, he swiftly ran straight to his room. His mind was ravaged with self-hatred and guilt for what had happened this day. Everything was his fault. If only he didn’t tag with All Might to ask his stupid question. If only he had taken the usual way back home. If only he had died today so that dozens of people wouldn’t get hurt by the villain, so that Bakugou didn’t ruin his chances of becoming a Hero himself.

In his room, a shrine comprised heroes from all over Japan, with All Might as the prominent figure in every corner. It was so extensive that it could even make the most avid Hero merch collectors bawl their eyes at the number of rare and exclusive collectibles he owns. This was his crowning achievement up until now, and he was going to give it all away for Bakugou as a sign of apology. His mind is now a mess; everything is falling apart, and he is willing to do one last drastic action on this already chaotic day.

He was going to take Bakugou’s advice, and hoped for a better life next time.

Packing only his notebooks and leaving everything else behind, he grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down a letter, a farewell letter, for his mom and dad and even the Bakugous, from his childhood until today, as the only people he’d known personally in his life. Finishing the letter, he left it on the dinner table. He contemplated the consequences of what he was about to do and decided it would be better if he never existed.

He made his way to the front door with nothing else to bring. He made sure to leave anything relating to electronics or things that could track him down, ensuring no one would ever find him, not that anyone would care.

Taking one last look at the place where he’d lived his whole life, he took a deep breath before leaving the house for the last time, never to return.

It was still early in the evening, so he decided to walk somewhere far from the populated areas. He walked through dark corners of the streets and avoided people and crowds as a whole. Taking the train would mean that his steps could be traced, and he would be found immediately.

As he walks, his mind ponders what he is about to do, should he jump? Or drown? Or simply disappear? He is already halfway through this absurd plan, so how could he back down now?

The rooftops of tall buildings would surely be locked and bar access to the public; shorter buildings wouldn’t guarantee death and also would bar access to the public, not to mention his body would easily be found. He wanted to disappear from the world, and it seemed that it wasn’t as easy as he thought.

With the jumping option out of the question, he thought of drowning. The current would sweep his body away and it would be hard for the investigators to find it—the investigators. Would investigators be searching for him? Would they care enough to search a quirkless boy’s body? They won’t, right?

Is it better for him to die or to disappear? The question rang through his mind again; it didn’t make sense, he thought. What was the difference? Slowly, he regained his critical thinking skills and took a moment to sit down on a bench to think. His All Might hoodie would stand out in the open, but with no lights around him, he was one with the shadows.

Disappearing, dying, it didn’t matter. His actions would only bring hardships, frustration, and fear for his family and those involved. Does it matter if he’s quirkless? If his family are willing to pay to search for him if the investigators refuse to do so?

It was all idiotic on his part. Now he was hours away from home, and it was possibly already midnight. Could he just return home, apologize to his mom, and continue living with the guilt? Returning home and forgetting about this day just to live another day as the usual ten years of his life?

It was the most sensible act he would take. But after everything that happened today, he didn’t know. He went this far, going far away from Musutafu and ended up in a different prefecture, possibly Shizuoka.

But even now, with his senses and ability to think returned to him, he still couldn’t help but feel that the best option for everyone is simply ceasing to exist.

Wondering if the life of everyone he knew without him being around them is a thought he often daydreams, other than becoming a hero, that is. It never really occurred to him how wrong that line of thinking is, and even after knowing the truth, he still couldn’t help but repress.

With a deep sigh, he stared into the dead of night skies. Then he finally decided. He would not be going back; he was too far gone, and he could only hope that his parents would forget about him quickly. It was another idiotic thought, but he was firm with it, thinking they would live a better life than being stuck with a boy with no future.

So now, for the first time ever, he was lost, metaphorically and literally. For the foreseeable future, he would need to lay low and not be seen by anyone–which would be impossible given that almost every place is littered with people and cameras; his physical appearance did not help either due to his wild, bushy green hair and diamond-shaped freckles on his cheeks that is easily recognizable.

Hiding in public using his All Might hoodie and a mask was his best option for now. But not only that, he would have a daily problem besides simply hiding: food and water. He could get water from drinking fountains in the park, but food was another matter entirely. He didn’t want to steal; that’d made him a villain, and he would rather commit suicide instead of becoming an enemy of heroes.

With no phone, money, shelter, or anything that would sustain himself. He is simply fucked, and has no one else to blame for but himself.

Midoriya Inko is a hardworking and caring woman. She helps her husband through her work, even though Hisashi makes enough money overseas to support their family, and she is a careful mother around her own son—or so she believes.

Today was one of those restless days. Due to a massive villain attack, she had to work overtime and was finally let off after three hours of continuous assistance. Her trip home was thankfully peaceful with nothing to note. At this time, her boy would be writing in his hero notebook in his room.

She remembered when she bought those notebooks for him when he was little. She even named it for him: Hero Analysis for the Future. She bought it as a way for him to cope with his quirklesness, letting his mind grow and using that notebook as a stepping stone for something that may result in him becoming anything but a Hero—If her son ever heard that, there is no doubt he would hate her for the rest of her life.

As he grew, his drawings and analyses of the Heroes he’d seen became more detailed. This impressed her with what he could do. He has a sharp mind for analysis, so perhaps becoming an analyst would be a great career path for him, or even an artist with his drawing skills. The talk would come sooner or later, and the time was close, with him in his third year of middle school.

It would be hard to sway him out of his dream, but she couldn’t bear to see her only son be heartbroken if he failed the entrance exam for Japan's best hero school. She wouldn’t know if her son would have any more will to continue after that.

Not long after, she finally reached her apartment room. Checking the time, it was half past nine p.m. Sighing out of exhaustion, she inserted the room key and swung open the door. It was the usual sight she’d seen, with the exception of her son’s shoes. Anxiety starts to creep her out.

She called him out. No answer. Another call. No answer. Swiftly, despite her exhaustion, she streamlined towards his room—missing the scattered papers on the dinner table.

Knocking hard on the door, she received no answer. Swinging open the door wide, she saw no one inside. Her heart froze at the sight.

Calling was her following action, but to her horror, the sound of his phone was on the dinner table alongside what appeared to be letters. Her panicked mind read the assortment of letters carefully, each addressed to herself, Hisashi, the Bakugous, and Katsuki.

Reading the letter written for her, she recognizes the handwriting belonging to her son.

That fateful night marked a new low in Inko's life. She had let down her duty as a mother and the repercussions of her actions were already unfolding. It would be long before she could meet her son again and apologize with all her heart and mind.

To mom

Mom, these last few years we’ve been together now feel distant. I’m not blaming you for this mom, know that I’m happy for you. Today has been a really tough day for me, tougher than any other day, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Please don’t search for me because I will be long gone, and no one will ever find my body, and please don’t ever blame yourself Mom. You are the best mom I could ever ask for and I always feel like I don’t deserve you at all. So please live your life without me, a burden, and be happy.

There are so many things I want to say to you, but thinking about this, I think it’s better to keep it short and forgettable. I’ve already written my letter to Kacchan and in that letter I decided to give all my All Might merch to him, the rest you could sell for money. I’m sorry I couldn’t develop a quirk and I’m sorry for being such a burden for Mom and Dad and the Bakugous. You are all I’ve ever had, so I hope I can have someone like you again in the next life and achieve my impossible dream.

Love Izuku.

Chapter Text

Jirōu Kyōka and her parents just had a blast attending a concert played by their family friends. In fact, her father had taken part in the sound designs for the band playing. This night was an unforgettable memory that she will forever remember—the concert and the eventual meeting with him.

The time was nearly midnight, and she was eager to meet the band members with her parents. The show had just ended a few minutes ago, and while the audience was leaving for their respective homes, she went backstage using the backstage card as permission to enter and being led to the band.

It was already tiring for her, with school lasting from morning until afternoon, but the adrenaline and eagerness kept her up and pushed her tired body for one last event that night.

The meeting with the band will not be the first; after all, her father has worked with them several times already, and they are considered close family friends. She was excited to meet them again to show them her notes and progress on her song, which she’d been writing for the last year.

Coming from a music-oriented family: her father, a talented musical composer often sought out by well-named bands; her mother, a musician specializing in many different types of instruments; and herself, a third-year middle-high schooler with musical talents derived from her parents who dreamt of becoming a Hero. That’s unexpected, isn’t it?

She has the potential to achieve fame by doing what she loves easily. With her talents and guidance from her parents, becoming a singer, musician, sound designer, or composer shouldn’t be a challenge at all. But why a Hero? It occurred to her not long ago that she wanted to see people smile through her songs, and while becoming a singer/musician could achieve that, she wouldn’t be lying that heroes had an impact on her dreams too. Becoming a badass rock-singing, villain-kicking hero sounds awesome in her mind.

One might think that her parents might disagree with her new profound dreams, but the opposite happened. They supported her; her mother gave her full support while her father hesitated a little. They comforted her and told her it was alright for not following in their footsteps of becoming a musician—telling her not to worry because they would be right beside her for any dreams she pursued.

Having parents who supported your dreams and goals has always made her feel grateful to be so lucky to have them, even if their dynamics could be embarrassing at times when they are in public.

Her preparation for the UA’s entrance exam was going smoothly, in her opinion. She wasn’t the best at academics but she was definitely above average. As for physical abilities, she needs a lot of work to at least pass the physical part of the exam. Her petite, slender form is a part of herself she feels insecure about. Unlike other girls she knows and has seen, her body couldn't be compared to them, not her chest, waist, and overall looks. Pair that with her unenthusiastic, pragmatic, and blunt attitude; some mistook her for being a boy! A boy!

Her parents never questioned her looks or the way she chose to dress herself. They even encourage it, giving her a tomboyish look that matches many rockstar singers. While it is a trait for her to wear pants as often as she can, it is only a way to compliment her body instead of wearing a pretty dress and a way for her to look cool.

Being self-conscious of one’s own body is hard for her at times. Knowing that she’s not attractive, even with her pragmatic, disinterested thoughts, hurts her feelings. It also contributes to whether she could be a successful Hero/singer if she couldn’t garner fans to be interested in her. It didn’t make sense, really. Not everything is about appearance—she knew that—but actions and her contributions to society.

That still didn’t make her feel better about her body.

The meeting with the band was more upbeat than usual, as they will be going on a major tour to several countries next year. They even asked the family to come with them as a collaboration, giving them an opportunity to go overseas again after years of being stuck in Japan.

Her parents politely declined their generous offer, saying that next year would be her entrance exam for UA’s heroics course and that they were sure she would pass it with ease.

Her parent's statement made her a blushing mess. She wasn’t that optimistic about her chances of getting into UA. Still, she knew it well with her quirk: she could defeat any opponents—if it were to come to that—by vibrating them to oblivion using her earphone jacks or simply whipping them hard since her elongated earphone jacks are sturdier than they look.

Having the exact same quirk as her mother made it easier for her to learn how her quirk works and its little tricks. She mastered her quirk at a very young age, being able to defend herself with it or simply doing everyday tasks with her jacks as another pair of hands (fingers? appendages? tentacles?).

In many ways, her quirk is almost perfect for fighting or reconnaissance work, as it not only gives her something to fight or defend with but also super hearing. Without using her jacks to connect with an object, a wall, or the ground, her hearing was strong enough to pick out heartbeats in a certain radius away from her, even more so if she cut off all her senses and focus on hearing. Perfect for relaying information.

After letting her parents talk with the band for a while. She finally got her opportunity to show them her work. It was far from finished, but she held it proud at them, explaining every bit and detail of the notes and lyrics and what each of them related to or inspired by.

Even though she was a fourteen-year-old girl, her work was excellent, as each band member stated. She really did have her parents' talent and a whole lot more. The response was, of course, another blushing mess; she held both her jacks and tapped them together—a habit of hers when she is embarrassed.

The rest of the conversation involved them giving her many points and pieces of advice on how to improve her work, as well as stories of their highs and lows in the past months. Time seems to move fast as it is already past midnight, and the show's adrenaline is long gone.

The family of three bid their goodbyes and good luck to the band, hoping to watch them again someday. Just before leaving, they contributed a line for the song she wrote as a cameo of themselves. It’ll be a line she holds in her heart for years to come.

“To you, I dream a wonderful ecstasy!”

Walking home for the night because a certain dad had to get the car for repairs a few days ago was certainly annoying. She would’ve enjoyed the walk with her parents if she had not been exhausted throughout the day. Speaking of parents, they seem still active and chattering in front of her. She didn’t know where they got the energy, but she was too tired to care. It was already a great day; a little walk shouldn’t cause a problem.

Another reason they walked is that public transport was essentially nonexistent at this time of the night: no buses, trains, or even cabs. Nearly everyone was fast asleep by now. Thankfully, their house is pretty close; living near the city does have its perks afterall, as the walk should be less than thirty minutes from the concert’s location.

“Man, that was a great play! It's probably their greatest of all time! The number of fans watching was far more than the last time we attended their play.” Her father, Jirō Kyōtoku, commented on the night.

Her mother, Jirō Mika, replied. “Indeed, they have grown far more better than before. Ryota has improved the most as a bassist; he would often play too fast! But now he matches the tempo with the rest with perfect sync. I’m really proud of him.” Kyōtoku nodded at that before looking back at his daughter.

“How did my little girl enjoy the show huh?”

“It was really good,” she responded in her usual blunt tone. “I’m glad they liked my unfinished song. They even gave me their own line to use, and it’s perfect.”

“Haha! That’s my girl! Future hero and singer, I tell you. Just stay more on the singing side, ‘kay? I don’t wanna—” he was suddenly cut off by her mom's earphone jack stabbing him.

“We already talked about this Kyōtoku. We would let her choose what’s best for her, and we support her choice.”

“I know, I know! But I still can’t help but worry ya know?” he exclaimed.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. Don’t worry about it. I’m not some princess who needs to be saved. I wanna be the knight instead.” She was amused at her dad’s usual overprotectiveness of her well-being. Her mom also expressed the same. Like mother like daughter, they said.

As they continued chatting, mainly Kyōtoku being roasted by her mom and herself, they found themselves in front of a small park that cut through a few blocks to their home. The park was dark, with little lighting illuminating the area. They tread into the park, silently hoping no suspicious people lurk there.

The moment they entered, it was dead silent. The chattering was gone, replaced by the family’s controlled breathing. Suddenly, a feeling in her gut told her something was not right. If there is anything she’d learn from movies, it’s that if you feel something is wrong, then something is wrong. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but that night, she decided to trust her feelings. This decisive decision interconnects her path with another, forever changing her future.

“Wait,” she said, stopping her parents in their tracks.

“What is it, Kyō?” her father asked.

Instead of replying, she closes her eyes, trying to focus only on hearing. Everything falls silent before three heartbeat sounds pulse: herself, her mom, and her dad. But as she expands her hearing perception, an erratic, weak heartbeat sounds. It was something that she only heard when she was in a hospital.

Thinking fast, she deduced the situation as a homeless person sleeping somewhere in the park, or they are sick and dying, or someone in need of help. Whoever they are, they need help. Their health may be at risk, and if she doesn’t act now when the chance presents itself, she fears what could befall them if she chooses to ignore them.

What kind of hero would she be if she ignored those in need after all?

Sprinting toward the exact place she heard the heartbeat, leaving her parents behind for them to catch up. The park was dark, but it wasn’t pitch black—the lights from outside the park and the street lamps that worked illuminated parts of it.

Her eyes, now getting used to the dim surroundings, saw a piece of colorful clothing lying on a bench. The clothing—hoodie, now that she was closer—was colored red, blue, and yellow, reminding her of All Might. The heartbeat echoes in her ears, and it wasn’t good.

The nights are still cold. Even at the end of the winter season, in April, the temperature could go as low as ten degrees Celsius. There was a slight risk of hypothermia, but she kept her hopes up that it wouldn’t get to that.

Reaching the bench, she went to check on the hoodie-clothed individual. She called to see if the person was okay but received no response. Getting a better look at the individual, she could see a puff of bushy green hair slightly protruding from the hood. Looking closer at the face, she sees a boy around her age shivering badly. His eyes shut tight, and the lower part of his face was covered with a mask.

As she inspects the boy, her parents reach where she is with the quivering boy. Both of them expressed shock at the sight. Acting fast, Mika tells Kyōtoku to carry the boy to their house immediately. His temperature is low, lower than what is supposed to be the standard thirty-seven degrees, and his lightweight, skinny body makes it worse in the cold.

Kyōtoku followed without hesitation and ran towards their house a few blocks away. She and her mother ran to catch up with Kyōtoku at a slightly slower pace, with her mother comforting her and telling her that she was proud of her for being able to save the boy.

She retorted that the boy hadn’t been saved yet until he was in stable condition. The adrenaline from the concert came back full force at her, and she had just experienced what she possibly had to do on a daily basis as a hero. It was terrifying, knowing someone’s life was on the line. It was haunting, knowing that a mistake on your part could cost someone’s life. It was intoxicating, knowing that you have the power and capabilities to save someone’s life. Is this what it means to be a Hero?

Of course, this was still far from what being a hero is. But this was her first step, and she would ensure the boy was fine and saved. Even if she doesn’t know how, she will at least try.

When she and her mother reached the house, they found the door was slightly ajar. They both entered the house, making sure to close and lock the door behind them before entering the living room, where Kyōtoku laid the boy on the couch.

Under the light, they could see the boy’s face and condition better. The mask was removed, and they could see his slightly pale face and tear marks streaking from his eyes along his cheeks. The boy looked like shit, she thought.

Kyōtoku came down the stairs carrying blankets to give the boy some warmth. Meanwhile, Mika went to the bathroom to get warm water and a towel.

“Come on, let’s take off his hoodie. It won’t do good for him here, and we need to check if he has any wounds.” Her father instructs her to help.

Nodding at her father, she assists him in removing the hoodie to find a plain white long-sleeved shirt underneath, which is still clean, the opposite of what she thought. Did he get lost? Was he drunk—no, there was no smell of alcohol on him—did he ran away? Questions rang through her mind, and she wondered why a boy like him would be sleeping in the cold night outside while only wearing a hoodie.

But now was not the time for that; she could get the answers later after the boy was well.

“Holy shit, he’s skinny.” A stab from her mother and a yelp came. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to cuss dear. It’s just that I rarely see anyone this skinny, and he’s just a little boy! This cannot be natural, right? Or is it related to his quirk?”

Mika carefully applied the warm towel to the boy’s head. " It would be abnormal if it weren’t for quirks, so for now, who knows? I’d rather think it’s a quirk than malnourishment; he’s a growing child and needs the necessary nutrients to grow.”

“I’m going to check his bag. Maybe there’s something in there to show us at least his name or identity.” She grabbed the boy’s yellow backpack and rummaged through its contents.

“Anything, Kyōka?” Her father asked.

“Just books, lots of notebooks.” She pulled out all the notebooks inside, which totaled thirteen. Each notebook is labeled one through thirteen and has the same title: Hero Analysis for the Future. However, what confuses her is that the thirteenth book is charred as if it were burned by something.

“Just notebooks, with nothing else inside.”

“So he’s a runaway kid huh. . . must be pretty recent too, then,” her father commented while observing the boy’s body, now breathing in a more stable rhythm with the shivering almost gone.

Opening the first page of the burnt notebook gives her the first clue to the boy’s identity.

“Midoriya Izuku. That’s his name, Midoriya. He’s fourteen!?” Reading the age shocks her. The boy—Midoriya—was around her age! But his height is just a few centimeters taller than hers, probably not even reaching 160 cm if she had to guess.

“What!? That young?” Her dad yelled in horror. “I mean, I was a late grower too, but I suppose it’s kind of normal to be at that height at his age. But then again, he’s really skinny. And that burnt notebook of his.” He ponders.

“Could he be in an abusive household?” Mika asked, “Because that would explain why he is malnourished, his latest notebook being burnt and running away.”

“It could be dear. This is bad, really bad. Are there any injuries or marks on his body that show physical abuse? Cause even when we manage to get this boy saved from hypothermia, I’m more worried if there are any untreated wounds on him.”

A quick body search throughout his arms and legs first indicates minor injuries, such as small bruises and small purple spots on some of his limbs. However, what horrifies them lies underneath the long-sleeved shirt.

There were more bruises, shreds of evidence of being hit or kicked, and, worst of all, burnt marks. Most of them were probably first-degree burns, but they saw a single mark on his back that looked different from the rest; it could‘ve been a second-degree burn, they thought.

The number of minor injuries was staggering, while most of the bruises have healed or are slowly healing. It left the boy’s body looking even more fragile, paired with his malnourished body, which barely holds enough nutrients to sustain himself. It made them feel queasy to see him in such a state.

Mika rushed upstairs, getting the first aid box, before tending the boy’s body as much as she could with what the first aid box could offer. This was not a situation they would imagine it would be. Of course, having a daughter made these kinds of situations possible, and they want to be prepared for it, but actually experiencing this was terrifying. To think that someone would harm a boy this much was unthinkable.

Perhaps not unthinkable, thought one out of the three.

“This should help the boy for now.” Mika was sweating, her breathing ragged, and her hands shaking after tending to the boy. “Should we take him to the hospital later? Perhaps professional help could do better than us.”

She disagrees, “What if they called his parents? Wouldn’t they just take him back, and he would want to run away again?” She knew that giving him to the doctors would be the best choice, but the thought of him returning to his—possibly abusive—parents dissuaded the idea.

“We could inform the police about that; they could handle it.”

“No, I don’t think they would.” Kyōtoku’s comment shocked both mother and daughter.

He was sitting on a single-seat sofa, skimming through the rest of the boy’s notebook. The one he’s holding was the first out of thirteen; there lies his name, age, birthdate—fifteen of July—and aspirations to become a hero.

A Quirkless Hero.

It was such a romantic idea only children could dream of, impossible and unachievable in this time and age. This would explain his condition and how he was treated in his life. Seeing that quirkless people are still treated this way was painful, and this boy may fare worse than others at a young age.

This was an occurrence Kyōtoku had experienced at a young age; after all, he is quirkless too. Although he was blessed with a family that cared for and was protective of him, he was still not saved from the scrutiny he faced as a quirkless person in schools or later in adulthood. Children are the worst when it comes to bullying because they never know the consequences of their actions. They did it just for fun, to belittle others, to follow their parent's bad habits, or because of their undeveloped view of the world.

It was hard for him to grow up. He reminisced of the times when his friends—not friends—pitied him for being quirkless and watched instead of helping him when he was bullied. However, his past was nowhere near as bad as this boy's. He would receive verbal abuse from them but rarely physical abuse. He was grateful for that, and as he grew, he tended to stay away from people, preferring to drown himself in work and his passion for music.

Being an adult—quirkless adult wasn’t much easier either. Time after time, his application got rejected, forcing him to live with his parents and become a freelance music composer, posting his creations online. He still went to concerts and plays when he had the chance, alongside a handful of genuine real friends he has. It was during one of those concerts he found Mika. Hearing her play made him fall in love instantly, and as time went on for the two of them, hearing her reciprocate his feelings deafened his heart with joyous cries.

Slowly but surely, he made a reputation for himself. Quirk status didn't matter if you could do something of equal value or more; skills beat untrained talents.

In the world of music, talents reign high, and while some quirks help users reach new heights, it’s often all about skills that are not related to quirks at all. Simple passion and love for music are enough.

He was nearing forty years old and was blessed with a stable work life, a loving wife, and a talented daughter with dreams and aspirations to become a Hero—dreams that mirrored this boy's.

After reading his notebooks, from the oldest to the newest, there was no doubt that this boy was beyond talented in analysis. He had a gift for processing information and composing ideas to strengthen heroes and cover up their weaknesses. Using simple observation and limited data, he conjured pages upon pages of essays for each hero he analyzed.

With this talent, he still wishes to become a hero, knowing he has no power to achieve it. It is a far-fetched dream, one he will never achieve in his physical state.

“He is quirkless, like me. That would probably explain this whole mess.” He revealed.

Shocked faces paint both mother and daughter’s faces. Hearing a quirkless boy was one thing, but seeing his state was another. Do all quirkless people experience this?

Mika knows of Kyōtoku’s past, but Kyōka never knew the extent of the darker side of being quirkless.

“It seems he’s also dreaming of becoming a hero like you Kyōka. He has the mind and talent for analysis, but other than that, I don’t think he’ll even pass any physical exams.”

“So what will we do now?” she asked her parents while taking in the information being dumped on her about the boy.

Mika contemplates momentarily, “First, we’ll tend him until he wakes up. Then, we get his side of the story before deciding what to do with him. It has been a long day, so why don’t we take a break and clean ourselves before rest, kay? We‘ll deal with this in the morning.”

“You two go take a bath. I’ll watch him throughout the night.”

“You still need rest, dear.” Mika frowns.

“Don’t worry about it. Also, I want to read more of his notebooks; it’s really fascinating.”

Sighing, Mika went upstairs to bathe, leaving the father-daughter and runaway boy alone.

“Are you not going to sleep, Kyōka?” Her father asked, seeing her silently watching over the boy.

“I will, later.” A pause to think, “He’s quirkless, yet he wants to be a hero. A job that needs physical prowess and a strong quirk, or at least a quirk suitable enough to support heroes and protect the civilians. I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s only natural for kids to dream of becoming heroes when surrounded by them all the time, right? Maybe he has his own aspirations for it, or maybe he wanted to be like All Might? Hehe, he is wearing an All Might hoodie too.” He chuckles at that thought, not knowing how right he was.

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll be going now; call us if he wakes up early, Dad. Good night.” She bid goodnight with her dad for a bath and a long rest for the night.

“Alright, have sweet dreams Kyō!” A soft smile shaped on his face.

“Now then, let’s see what you’ve written. I hope I don’t intrude much.” With day the most hectic day finally comes to an end. This night was the beginning that would shake the small family for the future. As for the boy, Izuku, this will be the turning point of his life.

Dark, cold, and the feeling of emptiness ravages Izuku’s mind. It felt like he was floating in an endless abyss with no sense of touch, a mouth to speak, ears to listen, and eyes to see. Is this death?

Is it death, indeed? If so, he would rather live again than feeling the cold, isolating darkness that encompasses him. What a selfish boy. A crowd's worth of voices booms in the void.

This is what you deserve.

Useless, quirkless, waste of space, Deku—

A glimmer of light shines in the distance, cutting off all the shouting and hatred aimed at him. With no hesitation, he moves himself towards it. Swimming, floating, whatever he was experiencing, he couldn’t care less as long as he moved towards the light.

Call him selfish. But wouldn’t anyone in his situation do the same?

This may be what he deserved. But at least tell him why and what he did to deserve it.

Useless, quirkless, and a waste of space. Did he ever have a choice to begin with?

Reaching the small glimmer of light, hope, warmth like no other encompasses him, removing the tainting neverending darkness and giving him sight again, hearing again, and feelings again.

As if he had stopped breathing, he took a sudden deep breath the moment he came to his senses. His vision was still hazy, but he could at least make out a room and a blanket. It was a soft blanket, the softest he had ever felt. Looking around from where he sat, he saw multitudes of instruments hanging on the walls and wooden shelves hosting countless CDs. Whoever’s house this was, they sure are fans of music.

“Ah, you’re finally awake kiddo.” The sudden voice startled him.

Standing in front of the doorway to the kitchen stood a man of average height with shoulder-length blond hair and triangular eyes. His face looked stern and commanding, instilling fear in him.

“Ya got a lot of nerve breaking into this house, huh?” That statement broke hell's gate in his mind.

“W-w-w-what!? I-I-I-I b-broke in h-here!? P-p-please, I-I-I’m sor-sorry!!” He struggled to move to apologize, and his mind also struggled to form words to speak. Seeing this, Kyōtoku immediately regretted his action.

“Wait, wait, wait kid! I’m joking! I’m just joking! I didn’t mean to scare ya, promise!” Both the man and boy panicked together, not knowing how to calm each other down.

Kyōka came running down into the living room, followed by her mother. They both saw the panicked father and boy trying to apologize to each other profusely. With their deadpan looks, they waited them out until it was resolved minutes later, and now the weekend had already started with a hectic morning.

The morning started with a cup of warm chocolate milk. The family of three and their guest sat in the living room. The atmosphere was calming, as calming as it could be, because even in the warm air from their home's heater, Midoriya still fidgets. The Jirou’s cached his discomfort of being around them.

There was no eye contact, his hands clutching hard for something to hold, his head slumped over, and his heartbeat beating abnormally fast. It was honestly concerning seeing this boy having this kind of demeanor. If he weren’t already looking small and weak, his personality would’ve solidified it.

Glancing at her mom and dad, they silently agree to begin talking.

“How are you feeling, Midoriya? Are you feeling well now?” Mika began.

His eyes widen at that. Confused as to how they know him. However, the unspoken question was immediately answered by Kyōtoku.

“Midoriya Izuku is your name right? It’s written in this notebook of yours. Hope ya don’t mind us peeking inside for it; there was nothing else inside your back that we could use to identify you.”

He didn’t respond. Still slouching forward, making no eye contact.

“-rry.” A quiet, barely audible voice speaks.

“Could you say that again?”

“I’m s-sorry.” The words were much clearer now, but the meek and timid voice still made it barely a whisper coming from his mouth.

“For what kid? You didn't do anything wrong—”

“F-f-for s-staying in y-your house, s-sir, m-ma’am!” His sudden shout staggered the family.

“Y-you shouldn’t h-have b-bothered with m-me. I-it’s alright t-to left m-me there last night.”

Hearing this didn’t make sense at all. Does this boy not have any self-worth? Was his self-preservation so low that he would instead get sick and potentially face death rather than accept someone’s help in fear of burdening them?

“Kid, you listen to us well because you are not a burden to us. We saw you last night sleeping on a cold bench with no cover but your hoodie. You could’ve got hypothermia kid, and that’s a dangerous illness that might’ve kill you if not treated right. So don’t say you’re sorry for being a burden because we care for your life kid.” Kyōtoku’s sudden, short speech brings silence to the room. The boy’s sniffling dissipated, and finally, he slowly lifted his head to see the Jirous.

His wide emerald eyes shone slightly despite still being mostly dull; they could tell his true eye color should’ve been vibrant emerald or something similar. It was a small step, but a step in the right direction.

“W-why? Y-you’ve read m-my notebook, s-so y-you already k-know I’m q-q-quirkless. So w-why, why w-would you h-help me?” he asked in disbelief, seemingly unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

“Because you are human, a living, breathing being with life. Every life is precious, quirkless or not; it doesn’t define us or make us any different from others. And, well, I’m quirkless too just like ya kid.”

The revelation shook him to the core. A quirkless man? When was the last time he met quirkless people like himself? Never. Not once had he ever met one in his short life; sure there were places designated for quirkless people or people with mutant quarks, but he had never visited them before. It was so rare to meet one, but even rarer to meet one with a stable life in their life.

The ratio for quirked and quirkless people is 1:5, with over 80% of the world’s population inheriting quirks. However, not every country has the same statistics; some have more quirked people than others, and the countries' total population varies greatly. Japan belongs to the group where quirkless is few and far between.

Tokyo, one of the most populated cities in the world, has dozens of millions of quirked people but only a measly million quirkless people, and that number is dwindling fast each year. Suicide was at an all-time high in the past few years, disappearance, kidnapping, murder, and the unfairness between those who have quirks and those who don’t make it hard for them to live there. Only the top point one percent could live in luxury, or those who are lucky enough to have money, fame, and irreplaceable talent can survive and live a modest life.

The rest prefer to live in tight groups consisting only of them or in small towns and villages where discrimination is far lower than in the cities. While quirkless people often get discriminated against and ridiculed for their lack of powers in any way and form, mutant-quirked people take the blunt hit most of the time due to their large numbers and identifiable physique, leaving quirkless people forgotten by most. It was a blessing and a curse.

It has been around five generations since quirks were officially recognized in history. By then, the billions of quirkless people had long died and had been mostly replaced by quirked individuals. It was a fast and unprecedented evolution in human history; some scientists even said it was too fast for humans to change and adapt to the sudden emergence of quirks. Yet here in the future, people lived normally—average by their standards—and had comfortably adapted to quirks as if they had been through thousands or tens of thousands of evolutions, becoming a part of humanity.

It didn’t make sense to scientists in the past, as it baffled them about their true origin, how they adapt so fast, and how fast they spread. Theories sprout out from all corners of the world. Those with religious beliefs proclaimed it was a gift by their god or gods; some said it was a curse and a gift from the devil and that they must be killed and wiped from the face of the earth.

Geneticists, Human anatomists, epidemiologists, scientists, and those specializing in the human body have proposed tens of dozens of theories, mainly based on viruses. Still, none of them could prove it, leaving their theories incomplete and without answers and, therefore, not recognized by the people. With no concrete proof of where quirks came from, conspiracy theorists rise and find dame and opportunity by creating wild—mostly baseless and fantasy-like—theories: aliens, lizard people (ironic since they do exist now because of mutant quirks), government secret projects, etc. naturally people flocked with this idea, and so, chaos ensued for years to come.

Since the end of the Second World War came the next ‘World War,’ which was known as the Quirk War, a bloodied war that, when studied, feels like reading a pre-quirk superhero comic book, only far more gruesome. The quirkless should’ve won the war itself because of numbers alone and their long history of experience with wars. But, that war was anything but normal or conventional. They were unprepared for the amount of impossible actions quirked people could do. Infiltrating, stealing, killing and assassination, mass destruction, psychological warfare, and many more that they had never seen before. With the rapid growth in numbers, slowly but surely, the quirkless lost and entered a new age, a fantastical age.

However, this so-called fantastical age is a never-ending torment, ridicule, and dream-crushing life for him. He got the short end of the stick, and this is what he got. Never in his life would he ever think that he would get something more, or even positive things in life. Yet, just like the baffled scientists with the emergence of quirks, he is baffled at this family's kindness and selfless action in front of him. It was heartwarming, something he’d only experienced with his mom or occasionally his dad.

With that, the walls surrounding his heart, which he created to keep all the negative aspects away from the surface—broke down. For the first time in years, he cried not in pain or sadness or anger, but in the most profound and purest gratefulness.

Mika silently stood up and strode carefully towards Midoriya. When she is within arm's reach of him, slowly and gently, she embraces him in a hug. Midoriya was sobbing hard, with tears pouring down like a waterfall; everything, every feeling he had kept hidden, was now washed away.

Mika whispers heartfelt words to him, ensuring they are there for him to help. Meanwhile, Kyōtoku and Kyōka watched as Mika comforted Midoriya.

Kyōka observed as Midoriya slowly drifted to sleep again after what seemed to be a neverending stream of tears. It was disheartening listening to him talking about how he implied his life was meaningless, how it was better to let him potentially die on the streets.

His voice sounds so genuine too, like those emotional songs in which many singers pour out their true feelings to let the world hear their stories of hardships and overcoming them or breaking down with no hope. His heartbeat, erratic as it was, tells no lie. This was real, something that she would probably read in stories, things that are horrible to imagine, had happened to this boy.

She wanted to comfort him like her mother did, but she didn’t know how. Perhaps a song could help, but later, for now she’ll let him sleep and rest; even though the conversation didn’t even last fifteen minutes, it was heavy and taxing for the mind.

“Let’s get him to a more comfortable place to lay. Kyōtoku, could you please carry him to our guest room? I cleaned it mostly last night before bed, so it should be clean and tidy.” Mika was still caressing Midoriya’s hair as he gently gripped her clothes like a baby.

“Will do, dear.” He got up and helped his wife carry the boy without disturbing him much in his sleep. The two of them leave their daughter behind to contemplate what had just happened.

And so the chaotic, somber morning ended in a somewhat positive end. It was neither a disaster nor was it a perfect outcome where everything got settled that morning. For now, the family enjoyed their rest day while waiting for the quirkless boy to wake up again, and hopefully, things will be settled by the end of the day or even tomorrow. But, they must tread this path carefully, as one misstep could lead to an undesirable fate for the boy.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The family of three sat down in the living room once again. Having eaten breakfast and double-checked on the boy to make sure he was alright, they decided to have a family meeting to discuss how to proceed with Midoriya.

“Sooo, that went kinda well, did it?” Kyōtoku began.

“It was a step in the right direction, dear. But we are still in a precarious position. Midoriya is still unstable, and currently, there must be a lot going on in his mind right now.” Mika sighed at their predicament.

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting his reaction to be that bad. Even when I was around his age, I wasn’t that shy or meek. I tried not to stand out much, but this kid lowers his self-worth so much that it’s like he’s not considering himself to be human.”

“So for now, it’s best if we leave the heavy topics for later, or at least until he’s more comfortable in sharing them with us. I guess we can agree that we’ll be letting him stay here from now on?”

Looking at his wife and daughter nodding, Kyōtoku sighed. “Okay, but there’s still much we don’t know about Midoriya. I think, and this is just my opinion, we should talk to him more about his situation first before anything else like comfort. The sooner we get things cleared up, we can let him stay with no burdens in mind and focus on helping him.”

Mika thought for a moment before agreeing with him. They will handle this as quickly and carefully as possible, hoping to clear up his past so they would know the root problem other than his quirklessnes since it can’t just be quirklessnes that pushed him to run away right? They also haven’t confirmed their abusive parents and bullies theory.

“Alright then. It’s settled. Now, let’s just relax for the moment. I’m off to sleep. Good morning!”

With that, Kyōtoku leisurely walked upstairs straight to bed, expecting nightmares to play in his sleep based on the night.

Mika sees Kyōka, who looks lost. What she had just heard was definitely not something children should experience this early in their lives. However, knowing her daughter’s dream, she knew she would have learned this sooner than most. Despite not being well versed in these topics, Mika will try to help her daughter regain her bearings through her experiences.

“Kyōka?” She began.

“Hmm. Yeah. Mom, did Dad go through what Midoriya experienced in his past? There’s a stark contrast between them.”

Mika remembered the stories she’d heard from Kyōtoku about his past. It was far from pretty, but it wasn’t close to the worst kind of life he could’ve gone through as a quirkless. There were ups and downs, happiness and sadness, ease and hardships. From what they glimpsed at the boy, it seemed like he lived a life full of misery, hardship, and discrimination while forcing himself to look normal, to be normal.

“No, dear. Your Dad didn’t go through what Midoriya had faced in the past. He was bullied, yes, but not as severely as you might think. Your father overcame those challenges a long time ago, and I’m sure we can help Midoriya in his life before he does something that might affect him for the worse.”

“This is… harder to understand than I thought. It felt so surreal.” Kyōka said.

“You are still a young girl Kyō. You’re not meant to understand these kinds of stuff until you’re older. The world is not a pretty place; it’s full of suffering, pain, and sadness hidden behind shadows. Parents like me and your father would want to show the best of the world, so things like this, children like Midoriya who had lived a different life than you, will be shocking.”

“By now, you’ve listened to many songs, many different genres, and many different meanings behind them. You even learned lyricism by yourself! Songs can teach us and interpret messages written by the singers. They could be about happy things, sad things, or even nonsensical yapping just because they rhymed. So, through songs, you can glimpse into a singer’s life, a small experience they’ve been through and shared it using a composition of words and melody.”

“Sometimes, they exaggerate things, while others understate them. It is up to the listeners to interpret and harmonize themselves with the songs. From the songs you hear, you could already picture some of what Midoriya had experienced, right?”

The scenarios that plagued her dreams last night emerge in her head. Imagining him being pushed around by his bullies with no one to help, teens laughing and jeering at him for even the smallest things he did, and his parents beating him when he was around made her shudder. It wasn’t fair. It was even more unfair that he still dreamed of becoming a hero, probably knowing full well that he couldn’t be one.

He was physically weak, probably the weakest boy she’d seen so far. His personality is timid, and his mind is, not broken, but wrong. The way he thinks of himself and how he thinks others see him. How could he become a hero like that? What was the reason? What motivated him to become a hero?

Thinking critically, she ponders her questions. It can’t be money, it can’t be fame—right? Could it be his way of escaping his past? If so, then he’s almost not trying at all because if he did, then surely he would know that heroes have to be physically capable of fighting villains right? Even if, by any miracle, he managed to become a hero, wouldn’t that just be a very early death?

Thinking more about what he couldn’t do was starting to make her feel bad now. She needed more clues—anything that showed his reasons for wanting to become a hero. A sudden epiphany hit her brain! His notebook should at least have clues in it right? It’s like his diary.

Grabbing the charred notebook from the table and opening it, she searches for clues—anything that might’ve hinted more about his dreams. Meanwhile, Mika watches her daughter’s detective work with a soft smile on her face. Perhaps her daughter could be the very first friend Midoriya would have in a very long time. He really needed a positive relationship that would hold for a lifetime.

Kyōka scrambled and skimmed every page closely; she didn’t know why she was obsessing over his dreams. The only thing she could think of was that he was resolute—not physically or mentally, but determined to follow his dreams at all costs. The only problem is that he is not capable of becoming strong because he is denied the opportunity to be strong. Could it be that he had tried, only to get beaten down again and again until he couldn’t?

Suddenly, she found it. It was a page dedicated to himself. However, unlike the other entries, his is only two pages—a drawing of a costume and a few lines that explain possible future. There, she found it.

“A smiling mask to replicate All Might’s signature smile. A memento to become a Hero that always smiles when helping people out!”

She had found it, and, oh, was it shocking. Midoriya Izuku’s dream is an antiparallel aspiration of hers. Instead of creating joy or smiles on people’s faces, he wanted to be there for them and save them with a smile—like All Might—to reassure them they were saved now. When people think of All Might, it is always his herculean strength, fame, or wealth. His smile is a constant presence, yet it often goes unnoticed. It's easy to take for granted, to forget that he smiles not just to express joy but to provide comfort. His smile tells the people that everything will be alright, that he is there and they need not worry.

He wanted to become a hero just like All Might. Even if he stood at the very opposite end of the spectrum, he still wishes to save people with a smile.

“A hood that will connect with the mask with protrusions to resemble All Might’s hairstyle.”

He tried so hard to see himself as All Might, To become him.

“Could I become the world’s first quirkless Hero?”

An impossible dream from the beginning. Yet he’s still optimistic that he could one day become one.

“If I ever become a Hero one day, I promise to help all children like me reach their dreams with a smile! That’ll become my goal other than saving people with a smile.”

He aimed to be like All Might while making his hero’s dreams and ideals his own. Not only would he save people with a smile, but he would also save those who had been in his position before.

Taking this all in, she saw one last line scribbled out at the bottom of the page, making her unable to read the sentence. However, even with all of this, something was not right. If he’s still determined to become a hero, then the conversation her parents had with him wouldn’t feel so off. It wasn’t the timid part of himself but the detachment and resignation in his voice.

“He wanted to be a Hero because he wanted to save people with a smile. That’s why.” She had found her answer, but along with it, more came.

“Really? Just like All Might, huh? Ironically, he has a similar yet opposite dream to yours, Kyō.” She chuckles at that.

“Yeah, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is still not right, that he’s still hiding a lot of things from us.”

“Well, we haven’t even had a proper conversation with him yet. So be patient Kyō. We won’t rush, and in time I’m sure we’ll get answers—good or bad, we need to be ready.” Mika reassures her.

“Hmm, “ she hummed in agreement. “He even drew a costume for himself, detailed with pads with some parts holding meaning to him. It’s like trying to make an allusion or a song filled with ideas.”

“How can he be so optimistic even when he’s living a life like that?”

Mika smiled softly. “Everyone has obstacles and challenges in their life, you and me included. The only difference is how we tackle it and how much the world faces us with its obstacles. We were lucky to be faced with fewer challenges than others, while Midoriya faces a challenge most would’ve already given up.”

“Do you know how many people like him give up in their life so quickly? I saw some research data and statistics last night, and their numbers are in the hundreds each week. That is more than five thousand per year in Japan alone, and it keeps on growing. Midoriya—as frail as he looks and as terrible as he thinks himself as—is a mentally strong boy who refuses to give up and chooses to keep on living, hoping one day, he’ll reach his dreams or have someone help him, even if he refuses it.”

The last line struck hard on Kyōka. Because of his mindset, it will be hard for them to persuade Midoriya to accept their aid. She realizes that this will go on for a while; it will take time, but as long as they take small, correct steps, perhaps he can be saved.

Somewhere in the heart of Musutafu prefecture stood a tall, skinny man. His messy, golden wavy hair was swept back, and his face had a sharp line structure. His eyes were hidden under the shadow cast on his face. People on the streets who noticed him avoided contact and maintained distance.

He didn’t mind people avoiding him for looking like a zombie walking in broad daylight, but it did hurt his feelings a little. Usually, he wouldn’t be out on the streets often, other than heroing—he still didn’t know if that word existed or not; sounds too close to heroin he thinks—on his three hours limited time, and getting familiar with UA’s teaching system.

Currently, he was strolling toward his old friend’s office, a detective he had known for a while. Tsukauchi was one of the handful of people who knew about his true state, all because of an accident that left him with Tsukauchi alone in his weakened form. Just like yesterday with the boy on the rooftop, he thought.

The reason why he’s going to Tsukauchi, even knowing how busy he always is, is because he needed to contact the boy from yesterday as fast as possible. His recklessness let a villain on the loose and nearly took a civilian's life along with many others. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he left a mentally unstable boy alone, on a rooftop even!

He needed to find young Midoriya, fast.

Hopefully, Tsukauchi could help him with this predicament. There’s almost no one else he could trust with this matter more than him. Perhaps Sir Nigtheye, his former sidekick, could help, but there was no guarantee.

He made a promise to the boy. He will fulfill it; an extraordinary talent like that would be a waste if not sharpened with the right tools.

Passing by three-story-tall buildings and pavements lined with lush green trees and hedges made him feel calm. This was peace. As common as villain attacks are in this city and Japan, people are still able to enjoy peace. However, even with this peaceful atmosphere, he knew the world was still riddled with evil.

It always has and will always have. This illusion he created was the very least he could do to keep the world feeling safe, that goodness and heroes would always prevail and fight evilness and villains. This was far from perfect, he knew, as one day after his inevitable retirement—or death—someone would have to bear the title of Symbol of Peace.

The question is, how would the world react?

When he leaves heroics forever, will the world fall into chaos, or will more heroes rise to fill the enormous hole he will leave behind?

This was why he was still fighting, to await a turning point in heroism and to find a successor for his quirk.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to realize he’d already arrived at the station where Tsukauchi was stationed. The building is rough-looking, with thick grey walls that lack any other color to greet him. The atmosphere here is cold and weary, with a few officers outside lazing around with food to eat.

Passing by them, they paid no attention to him, too captivated by what they were discussing. Once inside, the atmosphere wasn’t any different from the outside. It was much more gloomy and desolate of people except for on-duty personnel. They could be out on the fields, he thinks, helping out heroes apprehending villains.

Reaching the registration, he sees a young man dressed in a standard Japanese police officer uniform nodding off on the desk with earbuds on. “Uhm…” He murmurs, “Excuse me, officer.” It’s louder this time. The officer didn’t respond or even notice him.

Tapping on the window separating them, he finally manages to get his attention. “Wa-wah, oh, welcome to Musutafu’s police station. Are you here to file a complaint? Or report something?” His voice sounds dull and boring as if he were giving his bare minimum to speak and follow text-book greetings.

“No, I’m here for a scheduled meeting with Tsukauchi Naomasa. My name is Toshinori Yagi.”

The officer checks the computer, looking for his name inside and the meeting he mentioned. There was a moment of silence before he sighed, “Yes, Mr Yagi, the detective is waiting for you inside the office now. You are over ten minutes late, though.” the last bit shocked him. Checking the time, he was indeed late for the scheduled meet-up.

“Ah! Thank you, officer. I will be on my way then—don’t worry; I know where his office is.” With that, he speed-walked his way through the building towards his friend's office.

Going further into the station, he sees how cluttered and brittle-looking the insides are. The desks are a mess, with files and documents scattered on every surface. Everything here is in a low tone, with the sounds of keyboard keys tapping nonstop. It feels so different than when he came in during his Hero work. There are no warm greetings, no adoration, no positive atmosphere, and things he would be welcomed as All Might.

Right now, he wasn’t The Symbol of Peace All Might, coming in to hand over the apprehended villain to the police force, but as Toshinori Yagi, a civilian who works as All Might’s secretariat. He loves being his true self most of the time—more like he has to because of his time limit—and with it, he could enjoy a much-needed peace and quiet instead of the chaotic and rowdy villains and reporters alike.

As Toshinori Yagi, he could truly see the true image of the society he’d help create. He’s proud of it—glad he could achieve his long-time dream of creating a peaceful society. However, while he basked in the goodness and positive developments of his actions, the darkness also grew larger accordingly. The brighter the light, the bigger the shadow it casts.

He’s seen the darker side of villainy; most heroes will eventually see it, but not the things he’d seen. Those things are better off to be left in the darkest part of the shadow, tucked away where it won’t see the light of day ever again.

Nezu, However, opposes this idea to a degree. His reasons are sound, and there are little faults in it.

Knocking on Tsukauchi’s office door, he could hear a man scrambling his way toward it. The door opened, and before he could greet his friend, he was immediately pulled inside with the door slamming behind him.

“Tsukauchi! Old friend, how are—” he was cut off. “Not now, All—Toshinori, I’m a bit busy, so there is no need for pleasantries.” He took a deep breath before going to his desk to sit.

“Come sit down. I'm sorry for this mess; the recent case has been demanding for me.” He gestured around his cluttered office. The wall on his left caught his eye, a wide board filled to the brim with pictures of men, women, and children connected with red lines. Handwritten notes and sticky notes filled the empty spaces in it.

“Are you handling a big case right now?” He asks.

“Yes. . . It's more than big, actually. This feeling I have ever since I was given this.” He waved at the wall. “It’s not right, Toshi. The recent case of people disappearing this year alone dwarfs the past years, and it keeps growing. It doesn’t matter if it’s a mutant quirk or an emitter quirk user; they just disappear! Worse of all, more than half of these cases are quirkless people!” He rubs his hand hard on his forehead, his face painted with anger, sadness, and inadequateness.

He looked at his friend stressing out the case he’d been working out. Perhaps he should’ve gone to Nezu for this kind of help instead of Tsukauchi and his ever-increasing workload. “You have a lot on your plate right now. Perhaps it’s better to leave my problem to someone else then.”

“While that would be helpful not to add more workload, you are still my friend Toshinori, so what is it that you need?”

He considered that for a moment before sighing. “I need you to find a boy. His name is Midoriya Izuku, a third-year middle school student I think, and is quirkless.”

“Did he go missing?”

“Ah—No! I just needed to find him because I had promised him something that could help with his situation. I kind of left him behind on a roof while searching for a villain that I carelessly dropped. . .” He chuckled lowly at what he said, only to be met with his friend’s deadpanned face.

“Has it not been time to consider retirement, Toshi?”

“No, not yet Tsukauchi. There’s still much to do, much to resolve, not if he’s still around and alive. Even if there is no proof, until I see the body with my own eyes, I refuse to believe that monster is dead.” His fist curled up at the words he uttered. Hatred and malice leeks out of his mouth.

Understanding that, Tsukauchi merely sighed again, worried for his friend. “I’ll check the database for this boy. He lives in Musutafu right?” He nodded. “Okay, that should make this easier. Give me a week or two and I’ll message you the info.”

Grateful at his friend’s answer, he jumped to thank him over and over again. “Will that be all toshi? If so, then I’ll be returning to work. This is the most complicated case I’ve had as of now.”

“Yes, yes, thank you again Tsukauchi. I’m indebted to you once again!” He transforms to his All Might form and beams him with a smile before reverting back.

Exiting the building where his friend was stationed, he breathed a sigh of relief. In a week or two, he would know the boy’s whereabouts, so he needed to prepare. There will be many calls and meetings this week in preparation for helping the boy. He was sure that Nezu would like this very much.

Inko was running frantically from station to station, begging them to find her son. The answer she received was a sync ‘wait’ because there were many cases of people disappearing like her son. She knew this, of course; the news of people disappearing was common this year.

But this was her son; he was the most important boy in the world for her. Losing him like this, she refuses; she refuses to believe he’s dead. He is still alive, she thought, she hoped, she prayed and begged to any of the gods above.

She had already visited three police stations in the last few hours. Dawn was breaking, and she was tired beyond anything she’d experienced. If this keeps going, she might pass out in the middle of the cold streets.

However, there was still one more station she had to visit. So she pushed on, even when she knew the answer was going to be the same. If the police couldn’t help, then she’d search for her son by herself.

A luminous shine was beginning to peek on the horizon, the sky now turning from black to dark blue with a glimmer of orange and yellow on the bottom. It was beautiful for a horrifying moment in her life.

Finally reaching the station, she took a few deep breaths and a moment to recover herself. She was sweating all over her body with her hand clutching hard on Izuku’s suicide note. The streets were still mostly empty, with a few bystanders walking past her, perplexed by her messy appearance.

Taking one final deep breath, she entered the station.

Ignoring the gloomy atmosphere like the other stations, she marched her way towards the registration. “Good morning, officer. I’m here to report my missing son. C-Could you please find him as soon as possible??” Slowly, she lost her composure while the young officer just sat and took notes.

“Please fill out this form with the details, and we’ll try to find your son ma’am. It won’t be fast due to the number of reports from other people also reporting their friends and family missing, so I hoped you could—” he was suddenly cut off by a hand slamming on the desk.

“P-Please!! My son could be dead by now!! H-He wrote a letter a-and it’s an s-suicide note! Please, please, please f-find him f-fast sir!” She couldn’t hold it anymore, and her sudden outburst caused the man to stagger back. The other officers in the building peeked out to see what the commotion was.

Taking a moment to compose himself, the officer positioned back on his desk. “Ma’am, again I’m sorry, but our forces are stretched very thin right now, and if your son’s note is true, then we’ll inform the search and rescue team to find his body. Again, on behalf of the Musutafu police force, we are sorry for your loss.” The sadness and incapacity to do anything were real in his voice.

Inko merely sighed, looking broken and disheveled, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. After a long night of worry and panic and fatigue, she finally passed out at early dawn in the station.

What felt like forever was suddenly cut abruptly with a gasp. His vision is hazy as he tries to rub his eyes out. For once in his life, after the unfortunate quirkless news, he slept well. It was a blank dream, but there was no mockery or negative thoughts in it.

Taking a look around where he was, he realized that he was sleeping on a soft bed, the softest one he’d ever slept on. The entire room was mainly blank, with a few CDs and posters hanging on the walls, but overall comfortable and wide enough to have two people or more rest in it.

After surveying the room, he glances at the digital clock beside his bed. It reads 12:07 p.m. How long has he slept? Four or five hours or more? He vividly remembered waking up this morning, meeting the owners of this house, and—and—”

A knock suddenly came from the entrance door. “Midoriya, are you awake?” a feminine voice came through it.

“H-Huh!? W-Who’s there!?” he blurted out.

“It’s me, Mika. We spoke this morning before you suddenly fell asleep. May I come in?” She responded kindly.

“U-Um, yes?”

The door swings open, and Mika enters the room carrying a glass of water in her hand. She smiles softly at him. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?” she asks while giving him the glass of water.

Taking a big gulp of the water, he nearly choked on it. “Careful Midoriya.” Like a doting mother, she grabs a few tissues to wipe off the wet spots on the bed and his face. “I’m s-sorry Mrs—”

“No need for that dear. You’ve just woken up, and with the state you were in this morning, it is understandable.” She reassured him. Giving him feelings he’d only get from his own mother.

A moment of comfortable silence stood between them; then, a faint sound of music was heard from the other side of the wall. “It seems she’s playing again,” Mika commented.

“Who?”

“Kyōka, my daughter. She’s around your age and loves playing music. She’s very talented at it too.” She explains.

Taking a moment to listen to the faint tune, he heard a soft guitar melody playing and a slow, mellifluous voice singing it. ‘—And then I can tell myself what the hell I’m supposed to do—’

“She sounds beautiful.” accidentally, he said that.

Realizing what he had just said, his face changed to a tomato color, and he apologized profusely to Mika. Mika, on the other hand, merely giggled and tried to calm him down by doing a ninety-degree bent while sitting.

“That is really nice to hear Midoriya. Not many have heard Kyōka sing, you know. She may act tough and cold on the outside, but she is just shy on the inside. Hearing you say her singing is beautiful is a lovely welcome.” Again, she chuckles.

He meanwhile tried to regain his composure but failed. He is in shock. She didn’t feel disgusted or angry at his comment. Usually, anything he said would be met with annoyance and animosity from his peers. Hearing her laugh and accepting his comment with a positive reaction was something he had hardly experienced before—as long as his quirkless status was kept hidden. It was. . . lovely, as Mika said.

Mika checked on the time. “It’s already afternoon. Come now Midoriya, let’s go downstairs and eat lunch, and we’ll get Kyōka on the way down.” She stood and waited on the door.

“W-Wha—No! I-I can’t accept—”

“I’m not taking a no Midoriya. You haven’t eaten since this morning, and who knows if you ate since yesterday. I’ve already cooked us a big meal and you will eat most of it; you are a growing boy Midoriya—also, have you been eating well?” An innocent question in disguise if he had eaten well.

“O-Okay, miss Jirō.” He finally relented.

“Please call me Mika, dear.”

He nodded at that. “I-I have been eating well, M-Miss Mika. I swear!”

She didn’t look convinced at that. “Are you sure? Because for a boy your age, you are very underweight and underdeveloped compared to most boys I’ve seen. It’s worrying Midoriya.”

She was concerned for him. Why? What did he do to receive this?

“I-I-I’m really fine! I eat three times a day every day Miss Mika! It’s j-just that, u-um, I’m a late g-grower?” He didn’t know himself really; every day, he would eat enough food to keep his body healthy, yet he wasn’t growing normally. Could it be because he’s sick? Or was it his quirkless—

“I’ll believe that for now. But now come, we will have lunch and I hope you like steak since I usually make it on the weekends.” The two of them made their way to Kyōka’s room to get her and then downstairs towards the dinner table.

Even though the temperature was warm inside the house, he couldn’t help but shiver out of nervousness. The table was filled with various foods, from appetizers to desserts, enough to feed a family of four to the brim.

Kyōtoku is with Mika in the kitchen preparing the drinks while he and Kyōka are left alone on the table waiting. Kyōka is sitting across from him while scrolling through her phone, almost avoiding him entirely. He was really grateful for that, knowing she’s the quiet and ignoring type of person. Mika mentioned that she has a cold and tough-like personality on the outside but the complete opposite on the inside.

He didn’t realize at the time that she was actually observing him through the corner of her eyes and hearing his low-mumbling talk to himself. Deciding to keep silent for the time being, she waits for the right opportunity to present itself—whatever that opportunity is, she doesn’t know yet.

A few minutes passed, and silence remained between them. Mika and Kyotōku came in with a tray of drinks and set it on the table. After taking their seats, they all began to dine on the well-made lunch cooked by the mother.

While dining, he tried to eat as little as possible, only to be shoved with more food by Kyōtoku and Mika. He couldn’t refuse, so instead, he tried to eat as slowly as possible. In his heart, he was scared that they would take notice of this and feel unappreciated for their efforts. But the meal tasted amazing and he felt undeserving of this. He knows how to cook sure, but nothing near this taste.

A small part of him encourages him to eat more while the other howls at him to stop and make excuses. Alas, he couldn’t decide, so he picked the middle ground to eat slowly while savoring each bite.

By the time they finished eating, he had never felt so full in his life. While it is true he ate three times a day; he would only eat a small portion or leave leftovers for his mom to finish. It was actually barely enough to keep his body working and healthy. Perhaps that is why he is not growing like the others.

“How did you like the food, Midoriya? Was it good?” Mika asked him while gathering the finished plates onto a tray.

He beams at her. “I-It was very d-delicious Miss Mika, m-maybe the best food I’ve e-ever had.” She smiles at that. “Thank you very much for the compliment, dear. I’ll be sure to cook up more for later.”

He didn’t respond, only giving her a slight nod while avoiding eye contact. As Mika went to the kitchen, Kyōtoku took this chance to converse with him. He didn’t know where to begin, but he knew he couldn’t just ask him specific questions yet; that’ll have to wait until he’s comfortable with it or if he decides to open himself more to them.

“I’m glad you’re eating well kid! Ya looked like ya needed more fat really.” No response. Kyōtoku cursed himself under his breath while Kyōka snickered, confusing Midoriya.

“Well, um, have you been eating well?” He landed on that question, not knowing Mika already asked the same one before.

“Y-Yes, I have been eating w-well sir.” He gave him the same answer.

“Hah, don’t call me sir kid! Ya can call me Kyōtoku!” He presents himself in a grandiose manner.

Kyōka interjects. “Or just call him old man; he’s slowly losing his mind every day.”

“W-Whaaa—Mika! Our daughter is calling me an old man!” Then, a loud voice came from the kitchen. “She’s been calling you that for a while dear!”

“But I’m not losing my mind! I’m me!” another answer. “Yes, yes you’re you, dear.” Mika came back from the kitchen to sit down on the table again.

He, meanwhile could only watch in confusion and awkwardness. He didn’t feel like he belonged here—that he should be here with them, wasting their weekend family time together. He feverly wished just to disappear or, at the very least, return to that comfy room where he wouldn’t be a bother to them.

While he’s stuck in his thoughts, the Jirous made a silent agreement to start.

Mika began. “Midoriya—is it okay to call you Midoriya, or do you prefer to be called by another name?”

Once again, he was confused by the question given. “U-Um, Midoriya is f-fine. B-But most usually c-call me Deku.” He didn’t realize the first blunder he made.

“Deku? As in puppet? Or useless?” Kyōtoku asks, being proficient in music theory and lyricism enables him to have a broader range to interpret different kinds of meanings from a word.

“Y-Yes, it means u-useless. K-Kacchan gave that n-name to me when we were l-litle.” He answered.

“Why would this Kacchan do that!?” Kyōtoku asked, a bit louder.

He flinched at that. Noticing that, Mika interjects in her calm and soft voice. “I’m sorry Midoriya, but hearing that someone called you useless—no, hearing that you’ve been called useless for most of the time sounds wrong. No normal human being should ever call each other that.”

“B-But it was f-fitting for m-me. It was t-the day after I received the n-news that I was q-quirkless.” He tried to refute.

“That is hardly a reason at all to call you useless. Whoever they are, they are no more than a bad person or a bully.”

“K-Kacchan is not a Bully! H-He’s going to b-become the greatest H-Hero!” his eyes widened at the sentence he uttered. Slamming his hands on his mouth hard, he prepares himself to run, unable to bear what he had just said—screamed—at them.

But before he made his attempt, a hand gently touched him on his shoulder. He looked up to see Kyōtoku leaning forward, trying to calm him down. At the same time, Mika looks at him dead serious in his eyes.

“Is it alright if we call you Izuku? We know this is all too fast to be on a first-name basis. But since last night, we have been thinking about why you were out there alone in the park. We wanted to know now if the reason you ran away.” A slight pause. “Was because of abuse. . . Are you being abused, Izuku?” The bomb has been dropped, and with it, an uncomfortable wave of silence follows.

He was in deep thought; everything else around him seemed to blur away. Was he abused? No! Of course not! His parents loved him very much! So that couldn’t be the question right? Was he abused, as in bullied? Was Kacchan wrong to bully him? The Jirous are the first to treat him differently from the rest, other than his parents. But they are just one in how many others? He wanted to scream, to run, to disappear. . . but not home, because he has no home anymore. He’s no longer Izuku Midoriya; he declared himself as dead, and his mother, father, and the Bakugous would already think that he was dead, as long as they don't go searching for him. He is the dead.

This was rebirth, an escape—he had already achieved one of his goals, to disappear. However, he was not in the clear yet. The Jirous are witnesses. Should he tell them the truth or lie to them about his situation? They are currently under the belief that he is a runaway from an abusive household or environment, but this misunderstanding could backfire horribly if they find out the truth. And he would lose the only source of comfort other than his parents.

Would he lie or speak out the truth?

He decided decisively right now that he would tell the truth. A lie can only be an illusion until it is not, while the truth is certain—though bitter as they are, the best option for this moment.

Everything slowly but surely came back to him; his senses and awareness came back tenfold, and what had felt like hours passed by in a few seconds. “I’m not living in an abusive household.” His words are firm and true, not wanting to tarnish his parent's name. “I have great parents, and they have been taking good care of me despite my quirklesness.” No stutter or hesitation. “I ran. . . because I planned on killing myself.” the truth is revealed; now they know, and now they are fully involved in the mess he had put himself in.

Chapter Text

Complete and utter speechlessness. The Jirous stare in horror at him, but there is no trace of anger or disgust in their eyes, only sadness, and pity, and a kind of fire that he’d seen on a single person before. Kyōka Jirou has that fiery look and determination, the look to save, like All Might.

“Why?” She asked, causing Mika, Kyōtoku, and him to look at her. “Why did you decide to give up now? You’ve already gone this far, so why now?” He knows the answer, but could he tell them?

“You wanted to become a Hero right? The world’s first quirkless Hero? You’re smart Midoriya, so you’ll be able to figure it out right? You just need more time and support right? If so, then I will be that support.” Her voice is absolute and full of confidence. Even if she doesn’t know how she will at least try.

“But I’ve given up. . . I don’t want to be a Hero anymore. . . He told me I can’t, so I won’t.” He said in a low tone.

“Who Izuku?” Asked Mika.

Should he tell them? He already told them this much, so he might as well fully commit. “All Might. . . “ he said in a hushed tone. “But. . . He gave me a new dream.”

“So that’s his signature in the notebook, huh.” Kyōtoku hummed.

“I don’t wish to become a hero anymore. . . I want to be a Hero analyst. That’s the new dream he gave me.”

Mika nodded in understanding. “It’s wonderful you have a new dream Izuku—it’s alright if we call you Izuku, right?” He nodded. “But that still doesn’t explain why you decided to. . .” She ponders on.

He looked down at his lap, his hands shaking, but his thoughts were still determined to confess everything, to let all of these feelings away, and just this once, he wanted to ask for help. “I. . . It’s better if I tell yesterday’s whole event. . .” Including Kacchan’s advice. Tell them. A tiny part of him encourages it.

Kyōtoku and Mika move to a more comfortable position while Kyōka sits motionless on her chair, her eyes focused on him. Mika opened her mouth to ask, is it alright for you to tell us this? But no words came out of it. They were the ones who wanted to know, so they would get their answers.

Preparing himself, he knew this would be the longest he’d ever talk to people other than his mom. He didn’t understand it yet, but the only times he felt comfortable talking were to those he fully trusted. The Jirous, even though he’d only met them recently, knew that they were trustworthy people. They were different from the others, and they cared about him. If they were able to trust him that much, then he’d repay that trust.

“Yesterday was supposed to be an ordinary day for me. . .” And so he recounts yesterday’s experience. He skipped the normal routine part of the morning, but Mika and Kyōtoku insisted that it wasn’t normal by any means, so he relented and told them his usual morning in school too.

He recalls the pickings, mockings, and jeerings of his dreams. Then he reached that moment—the first of many that deviated from his routine. “When school was finished, and the classes were empty, Kacchan took my notebook and. . . blew it up.”

“This Kacchan, is he the kid from the news?” Kyōtoku checked his phone for the news. “The one with the explosion quirk and the sludge villain. That’s the kid right?”

He nodded at that. “Yes. . . he was the one who gave me the name Deku, and my childhood best friend—” “Former. That kind of attitude doesn’t make him a friend of yours, Izuku.” Mika interjects.

“After he blew my notebook, he threw it away the window, and—and. . .” Say it, tell them! They will worry, they will care, they will comfort. Isn’t this what you wanted?

“Izuku?” Kyōka and Mika sense something wrong; his heart rate spikes and beats erratically. He was about to have an episode. “Izuku, stop! Don’t think about it! You don’t have to tell if—”

But he pushed on. What Kacchan had said yesterday was beyond wrong, and he was too stupid to realize it. What kind of hero would tell others to die? “H-He told me to take a s-swan dive off the roof!”

For the many times this day, the family is in utter silence again. Suicide baiting. This. . . was more complicated to take in than they thought. They knew about his situation, but they’ve only scraped the surface it seems. This boy. . . has the strongest mental fortitude they’ve ever seen; however, nothing lasts forever, and whatever happened yesterday other than the suicide bait nearly broke him completely.

He took the silence as his chance to continue. “It was probably the worst day of my life after what he said. But. . . it got worse.”

Snapping out of his frozen state, Kyōtoku could barely process what he had just heard, not even he was pushed that far during his school days. “Worse!? How can it become worse than suicide baiting you!?” His expression was frantic and terrified.

“U-Um. . .” He tried to find words to explain. “I went home after that through another route, a longer one, then. . . I encountered that sludge villain. He tried to use my body as a suit, I think, and I nearly. . . choked to death.” Bombshell after bombshell dropped with every sentence he spoke. “B-But I’m fine! All Might saved me! Just in time, I promise!”

Mika looked like she was about to faint while Kyōtoku. . . seemingly already passed out. Kyōka was covering her mouth and sobbing, unable to believe the event he’d experienced was just a day before. Was the entire universe wanted to fuck with him on that single day? The near-death experience couldn’t be the reason why he wanted to give up, though, and there was still his interaction with All Might and whatever happens after that.

Mika shook her husband awake, only for him to scream and mumble incomprehensible words to him in fear and worry. “T-This is hard to t-take in.” Mika’s voice stutters as she loses her usual calm demeanor.

A short break of tea refreshed them a little bit before continuing. He went on with the meeting with All Might, how he shut down his dreams and incentivized him to become a Quirk analyst instead, promising him full support. He nearly forgot about that himself.

Hearing the abrupt end of his meeting with All Might, the family concluded that the meeting itself wasn’t the cause of his giving up on everything. Instead, it merely nudged him into a different, more probable career path in the future. With his talent and skills as an analyst, there is no doubt that he’ll become one of the best in Japan, possibly the whole world, if sharpens enough.

This means there’s still more to his story, the story of a single day that they’ve barely even fathom. It was unfair for this boy in his early teens to experience such an event—events—in a single day. Although there are few good things to reap out of it (All Might’s promise to support him), it doesn’t cover the whole bad things he faced that day and the days before that.

He was encouraged to kill himself by his bully! And he nearly went through with it even! One clear thing, though, is that he is in good hands and currently has his parents worrying over him, whether they know he’s alive or not. As if things couldn’t be more complicated, it has now. The boy’s mental state has already been broken, and he is living the life of a victim being played by his tormentors.

“I immediately went home after that. There’s nothing unusual that evening. I was making dinner for mom and me. . . then I saw the news about Kacchan’s encounter with the sludge villain and-and the damage they caused to the district. . . It-it felt like it was my fault to begin with.” he tried his best not to cry, but his tears had already streamlined down his cheeks.

“If-if only the villain got only me. . . then a-at least no one else had to s-suffer. . .”

“Izuku,” Mika said, her calm, kind-hearted demeanor returning. “Yesterday was hardly your fault. It was a terrible encounter, and you were a victim above anything else.”

“Mika’s right kid; while I can’t say I’ve been through whatever yesterday’s mess that’s been slapped to ya. I can confidently say that it’ll get better over time, even as a quirkless. Ya have a dream, ya have the talent and skills, and even support from the number one Hero! Ya will make it to the top for sure! So all those bad things in the past, ya will overcome them, and as Kyō said—we’ll help ya along the way!” Kyōtoku said enthusiastically while giving him the biggest smile, hoping to elevate the grim atmosphere in the room.

Kyōka, who now had stopped crying, could only provide comfort through music for now. But she did ask him to help her with her quirk, Earphone Jacks. It’s more of a win-win situation in her mind, him being able to analyze her quirk and her getting suggestions and help from a soon-to-be professional quirk analyst.

Though, if she thinks about it, it will favor her more rather than Izuku, so perhaps she could compensate that with music or teaching him how to play? Would he even like music? She would ask him that later.

He was speechless again, baffled at their determination to help someone like him. They truly felt like a one in a million, he thought, just like his parents. This kindness, he promised himself to repay them tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousandfold even. They saved him from death, from himself. Now, he won’t let them down, not now nor ever.

So, he finished off his story with him running away, leaving his goodbye letter behind, and ending up where he was in the park on the cold, dimmed night. The family let out a breath of relief; they didn’t know if their hearts could take any more of the trauma he had.

“It’s finally over.” Kyōtoku let out a deep sigh. “I think we need to get ya a therapist, kid, and this is far beyond our capabilities.”

Mika agrees with him. “We’ll discuss that later. Now is the matter with your parents, Izuku. You can’t simply leave them thinking you’re dead. Do you want to go back?” Not will you go back. Guilt was now running through his body—another dilemma he now faced. Return or not.

“I. . .“ he decided. “I. . . can’t. . . not yet. I don’t want to go back. A-At least until. . .I don’t know.” He is truly lost now. He didn’t want to return yet, but in the future, he will inevitably face his parents again. So when will he face his parents again?

“You do know that you’ll have to see them again before they do drastic things right? From what we’ve heard, your parents sound like Kyōtoku’s parents. They cared about you a lot, and losing you wouldn’t do well for them, for any parents for that matter.” Mika explains. “However, if you need time to be away, then you can let us contact your parents so we can let them know you’re alright. You can call them to tell them about your situation and how you feel yourself. How does that sound?”

Unable to think of another plan or direction forward, he reluctantly agreed with the plan, giving his full trust to them again. He and Mika exchanged their phone numbers, and he gave her his parents' numbers, too. She tried calling his mother, only to be sent to voicemail. She tried calling his father, who is working overseas. No answer either. Perhaps it’s still nighttime there.

She finally left a message for them about their son, telling them he was fine and well and to please contact them as soon as possible. Getting that done, it feels like most of the weight burdening their backs has been lifted off. Most of their questions have now been answered, and they could see a possible path moving forward.

“Well, this is a very tiring day already.” She checked on the time. “It’s already nearing three! Why don’t we go watch something to pass the rest of our day yes?” everyone at the table agrees, even Izuku relented, choosing to relax after the long talk.

They went to the living room to watch A Star is Born, an old movie from the early twenty-first-century remake instead of the 1930s original film. The family sat down on the couch, Mika and Kyōka on the three-seater couch while Kyōtoku on the single couch.

He wanted to sit down on the carpet floor, only to be picked up by Kyōyoku and placed in between Mika and Kyōka. If he had any energy left, he would’ve tried to argue. But even after hours of sleep, mentally, he’s still drained. Everything that had happened in a span of just a day and a half took a heavy toll on his mind. For now and a while, he’ll just settle down and rest.

The warmth of the house, the family chatter about the movie and its rich history, and the heartbreaking end of the movie were the first times he was introduced to genuine music, and on that day, he found himself loving a new song: Shallow.

Somewhere on the other side of the world, a man of average height frantically packs his suitcases and bags, stuffing the bare minimum to maximize speed. His dark, bushy hair runs wildly as he runs back and forth double-triple, checking all his belongings.

“Midoriya! Is everythin’ packed and ready?” A man stood next to the door, completely opposite ‘Midoriya’s’ body proportion. Bulky and tall, with a heavy Western accent, he looked at him with worry in his eyes. He had heard the news, and it was a devastating one that hurt not just Midoriya Hisashi but the entire company.

Hisashi, a hardworking and gentle employee, loves talking about his family, his beautiful wife, and his intelligent son. Although it was hard for him to settle down and enjoy the true experience of living overseas, it was when he found out that several of the company’s workers were actually quirkless.

From there, he learned that America has the highest number of quirkless people in the world. On one faithful day, when asked about his son’s future career job, he revealed it to them.

“A Hero!” His coworkers cheered him on. “That’s a big dream right there!”

“Does he have a super powerful quirk or something? Ey Midoriya!?” One of his friends, Bruce, asked.

“A-Ah, Um, no, he’s uh, quirkless.” He braces himself for the pity looks, apologies, and— “Really!? A quirkless hero! God dam that’s a really tough dream to reach!” Instead, he got none of those things.

“That’ll be tough as hell, Midoriya. Has he gone through training yet? How old was he again? Nine—ten?”

“He better prepare himself thoroughly for that; I’ve heard Japanese heroes don’t fuck around much. They even house one of the world’s best hero schools, right?” another commented.

He was astonished by their reactions. Everyone was supportive of his son and even asked about his plans to become a hero. Often, he wished he could just bring his son here and have him live here instead of in Japan, but as a father who supported his son's dreams of going to UA, he couldn’t.

The news of his son's supposed suicide destroyed his coworker's hearts. Even his manager, Alita, who has a cyborg-like quirk, expresses her condolences. She and Albert helped him take care of the necessary documents for immediate leave back to Japan.

“Everything is packed and ready, Albert. I really can’t thank you and Alita enough for this.” He packed his belongings into Albert’s car.

“Hisashi. Think nothin’ of it. You have yourself and your wife to worry about. Call us when you reach your homeland, and please give our condolences to Inko.” They drove straight towards the airport in silence. Albert knew his friend needed that more than anything else.

It was still early in the morning, and his flight took off at eight-thirty. He still has a little over three hours to wait.

“Here we are,” said Albert, looking at the already-filled airport.

“Yeah. Again, Albert, I can’t thank you enough—”

“Bah, no problem!” he slapped his back hard. “You go and be with your wife until you're okay. It’s hard losing people we love, especially family. Nothing is more important than family.”

“‘No parent should have to bury a child.’”

“Theoden from Lord of the Rings. A cinematic masterpiece.”

“That is if they could find his body. I’m more scared if they can’t, and he’ll be lost forever. I don’t know if Inko could take that news well. Hearing him diagnosed as quirkless messes up her eating habits, and she gets sick often because of it.” He took out his phone to text Inko.

“Huh. . .” In his contacts appeared an unknown number. He would’ve ignored it if it wasn’t for his son’s name in the text. ‘Hello, Mr. Midoriya, my name is Jirou Mika and currently we have your son, Izuku Midoriya, in our house. He’s alright and healthy, we found him last night sleeping on a park bench shivering in the cold, and took him into our home to help him recover. Please call us as soon as possible. The situation is hard to handle.’ under it, there’s a picture of him sitting on a chair, calmly drinking tea.

“My god. . . he’s. . . alive?” He couldn’t believe it. His legs started wobbling until they gave out, and Albert had to step in and catch his falling body.

“Woah! Hisashi!” Airport security heard his cries and ran to help the two of them.

“He’s alive. . . he’s alive. . . he’s alright. My son. . . Izuku is alright.”

It was a miracle. He thanked the deities above. It took nearly an hour before he could get his bearings right again. Albert was ecstatic hearing the news and immediately went off—after escorting him as far as he could—to their workplace to tell them about Hisashi’s son still alive.

It took another hour to process his visa and passport and walk towards the departure gate. Once he was seated, he went straight to his phone and tapped the call button.

It rings once, then twice, then—”Hello?” A feminine voice called through it.

“Hello! I-Is this Jirou Mika?”

“Yes, this must be Mr. Midoriya, yes? It’s finally good to talk to you, sir.”

“Please, call me Hisashi, Mrs. Jirou.”

“Likewise then, call me Mika. Regarding Izuku, it’s a very long story, and he is not in the best condition right now to meet you or his mother. Do you have the time to listen?”

“I’m afraid not; I have a flight to Japan in less than an hour, but please summarize the important bits; I need to know why.” He checked the time before his departure.

“I will, then. We’ll have a more extensive conversation when you reach Japan later. It’s not for the faint of heart, and I mean it, Mr. Hisashi.” He was confused at that, only to know later the full extent of the horror his son went through yesterday.

On his flight, he would miss dozens of calls from the Musutafu General Hospital regarding Inko’s condition. Her health was worsening, and her mental state deteriorating. It will be a long day and a half flight there.

“Now that his father has been informed of Izuku let’s try calling his mother again. It’s starting to get concerning.” Mika dialed Inko’s phone again.

It is currently just over nine p.m. in Japan. Izuku and Kyōka are in the guest room: Izuku listens to Kyōka play guitar while she also teaches him basic chords. It is a calmer night compared to yesterday and this morning—a nice break to enjoy the rest of the weekend.

“Still nothing.” She closes her phone.

“Do we know where she lives? If she’s not picking up her phone, we could just go to her home and meet her directly, right? She’s somewhere in Musutafu.”

“We could. As for her address, we could just ask Izuku for it.” She hummed.

He went off to get the car key. “Yup! I’ll get the car ready. The kids should be—The kids Mika! We can’t leave those two together alone!”

“Hmm? What’s wrong with the kids? They’re old enough to stay alone at home, no?” She asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Kyōtoku’s arms flail wildly. “We can’t leave those two alone! They’re a boy and a girl Mika! And Kyōka—”

“Will be fine, dear.” She cut him off. “Izuku is kind-hearted and sweet, but don’t ever think of him like those bad boys. He’s not them Kyōtoku.” unable to counter that, he simply nodded. Mika knows best after all.

After getting Izuku’s home address, they both drive towards it, leaving Izuku and Kyōka finally having the first proper normal conversation.

“They’ve just left the driveway. Are you sleepy already?” Kyōka ask.

“Hmm, o-oh no, I’ve already slept enough. I think I’m going to be awake for a while.”

She hummed at that. “Alright, more time to practice then—you need to be more consistent with the basic chords.” Sitting down on a chair, she holds her guitar on her thigh, strumming C maj, A maj, and G major chords in succession.

Following her, using his own guitar (borrowed from Kyōka), he strums slowly while fixing his hand position on the strings. It wasn’t as clear as hers, but it was an okay start. The repeating pick and movements cause him to go numb. “Alright, let’s take a break.”

“How was it? Playing the guitar.” She asked as she drank a glass of water.

He opens and closes his palms; red marks can be seen on his fingertips. “It’s a bit difficult. But hearing the sound it makes from it is really nice.”

“Hmm. Glad you liked it; you’ll be a good musician in no time.”

He blushes at that. “A-Ah, but—I wanted to be—”

“Dude, I’m kidding, don’t take it too seriously.”

The two of them sat opposite each other: Kyōka tuning her guitar while Izuku sat awkwardly, trying to ask her something but too afraid. She noticed this, of course; simply hearing his heartbeats let her know what kinds of emotions he was having—but she kept silent.

He finished writing chords on his new notebook—given by Mika—for anything music-related. It was a simple notebook, one that he would treasure forever. The only times he would receive gifts were from his mom and sometimes the Bakugous, except for Kacchan.

“Those are some clean structures you’re writing.” the sudden voice made him jump a little.

“W-Wah!?”

Kyōka pointed at his notebook. “The way you write and list the cords are cool, but your handwriting. . . needs a bit more work. It’s uh, messy.”

“Oh, Oh! Thank you, uh, for the compliment? I usually write fast, s-so yeah, it’s always messy.” he rubs the back of his head, trying not to stare at her much.

“Could you teach me that? Might be useful for writing down things in a neat way.”

He perked up at that, him? Teaching others? That’s something he would’ve never thought of. “O-Oh, uh sure. But I’m not a good teacher. . .” he muttered in the last part, even though she could hear him clearly.

“Also. . . um, Jirō.” He slowly asks.

She looked at him, “yeah?”

“Could—could you. . . play Shallow? I-I wanted to hear that song again. . . I-If that’s alright—”

“Sure.” She answered him without hesitation. “You really like that song, huh?”

His face heated up at that. “Y-Yeah, I love it. I think it’s the first time I really like a song—o-other than Heroes or a-anything hero-related. T-The other songs were also really great.” Steadily, his voice increased in enthusiasm.

“Yeah, It’s one of the best song in the world back then. Always Remember Us This Way and I’ll Never Love Again were also iconic songs in the movie. If I were to make a movie, it needs to match A Star Is Born!” She said, with enthusiasm in her voice.

Hearing that only made his eyes glow slightly brighter, the dullness in his eyes slowly but surely being replaced with color. When all was set, she not only played but also Sang.

It was stunning to hear her sing clearly. His mouth was agape throughout the song—she didn’t notice this—looking at her playing with her eyes closed and her face painted with a similar look of the singer.

He couldn’t help but admire her more. She’s a talented singer, has a cool quirk, and dreams of becoming a hero—A singer Hero! There are so few of them since balancing the life of a hero and civilian is already hard enough. Except if you’re Present Mic since he balances his life as a Hero, teacher, and radio host.

As a singer, she could reach far-reaching civilians through her voice and music alone, and as a hero, she could save people and bring them comfort and safety in person. He was also sure her cool personality would make her a cool hero and admired by many.

“That was beautiful.” For the second time that day, he fumbled his words.

“W-W-Wah!? Huh!?” Her reaction was not what he was expecting either. The cool and calm side of her disappeared and changed to a flustered and shocked expression, one he found cute in some way.

He apologizes quickly, “I-I’m sorry!” before running towards the bathroom to wash off his face with cold water.

Kyōka, meanwhile, was left bewildered at his swift and sudden disappearance. Her face matches his red tomato face, albeit a bit lighter. She was used to hearing compliments from her parents and family friends but not from people her age nor the friends she has.

She had never once played or sang to her friends—not that she didn’t want to, but because she was nervous. None of her friends actually knew she could play multitudes of different instruments. She kept her music hobby mostly to herself and showed little interest on the outside.

Why does she do this? Perhaps it’s her taste in rock music that might put her friends off.

It was a childish reason, but one that she has kept on acting on to this day. Why was it different now with Izuku? Was it because of pity or sadness? Or was it because she genuinely thought that playing for him might heal him in some way. She wants to become a hero who uses songs as her persona for god’s sake! One way or another, she would have to sing in front of an audience, so she needed to be ready. Shying away won’t help.

This is an excellent opportunity for her to practice. A single audience is better than none at all. They say the first step is always the hardest to take, and they were right; she lost her usual demeanor over a small compliment; she needs to be better than that!

The door opens slightly. “U-Um, Jirou i-is it fine if I c-come in?” Accompanied by it, a meek voice came.

“Huh. Oh! Y-Yeah come in.” Get yourself together, Kyōka!

He entered the room slowly, avoiding eye contact or, rather, looking at her at all. “S-Sorry for um. . .” he couldn’t find the words to finish his sentence, being too embarrassed about it.

She tried her best to act cool and calm. “Yeah, no, that’s fine, thank you really—for the compliment.”

An awkward silence cuts between them for a moment. “Do you. . . want to continue our practice? We could stay up late today since tomorrow is Sunday. Or. . . do you want to hear me sing again?”

“S-sing, please. O-Or both! I-I could try to play while you sing!” He tried to find a middle ground for both of them, only to forget. . .

“But you’re not ready to play music chords yet. You haven’t even consistently played basic cords yet.” She gave him a deadpan look.

“O-Oh yeah, I guess I was moving too fast, huh.”

She chuckled at that, finally regaining her usual attitude. “It’s good to have faith in your abilities. But there are lines you’re not yet ready to cross.”

“Okay then. . . so sing first, then practice?” He sounded almost hopeful.

“Yup, any particular song you wanna listen to?” She took her guitar and prepared.

He knew little about music or songs in general, so he opted to let her pick any song she liked.

“Hmm, how about We Are by ONE OK ROCK? They’re a well-known band, and my family knows them personally. They have great songs you may have heard before.”

“Sure! A-As long as you sing, I’m sure it’ll always be great. . .” Realizing what he had just repeated.

Before he could do anything, she made sure he stayed in place. “Don’t you dare run away!!”

“Here we are.” Kyōtoku parked the car outside an apartment complex. “Their room should be on the fourth floor right? Number four-oh-four.”

Mika checked the note written by Izuku of his home address. “Yup, that’s the one.”

They both got out of the car and went inside the building. Taking the stairs to the fourth floor, the entire building was eerily silent. The sounds came from the streets outside the complex, and some white noises from the ACs surrounding the apartment.

They eventually reached the front door and saw the Midoriya family name hanging by a sign on it. They rang the bell and knocked on the door three times, but they got no answer.

“Strange. . . is she not home?” Kyōtoku scratches his head. He opens his phone to call Inko once again.

Mika hummed. “Something doesn’t feel right. We couldn’t contact her since this afternoon, and now, their apartment is completely empty—”

Then she heard it. The sound of a phone ringing inside behind the door. “Is that her phone? The sound came directly beyond the door.” She stabs her jacks on the door to get better hearing.

“Seriously!? Is she inside or something!? Where is the landlord of this apartment?” He quickly runs off somewhere to find someone, anyone who could help.

Luckily, he found a security guard in a post and told him of the problem and potentially dangerous situation they had. Understanding that the security guard searched for the keys to the apartment room and bolted towards the fourth floor, where Mika was waiting.

Once the door was opened, they saw the rooms inside were in shambles. It was messy and frantic, and on a table, Inko’s phone lay with a notification of more than a dozen missed calls. “What the hell happened here.” The security mumbled to himself.

Kyōtoku scanned the entire interconnected kitchen and living room: “It’s a mess here. Did she. . . did she have a panic attack? Is she even here?”

To answer that question, the three of them searched the entire apartment room, but they found no signs of her. “Could she be searching for Izuku right now?” Mika thought loudly.

The security left them inside while he made calls. Kyōtoku responded. “It could be, dear. She left her phone here too, so we won’t be able to find where she is. I think it’s best if we wait here rather than go out there and search with no clues.”

They are left with no choice but to wait. The security permitted them to stay for the night while he went to the police station to report Inko missing. Meanwhile, the two of them clean and reorganize the apartment, waiting—hoping—for Inko’s return.

Their hopes are thwarted when the security comes back and informs them of Inko’s condition and whereabouts. The station he went to knew where Inko Midoriya was and told him of what had happened and where she was brought to. The pair immediately took off with their car, thanking the security and towards the Musutafu General Hospital.

Kyōtoku drives as fast and safe as he can. “S-Should we call Izuku!? Is he even awake at this time?”

“Let him rest, dear. We’ll speak to him tomorrow after he’s well-rested; today has already taken a toll on him, and telling him his mother is in the hospital will only cause a relapse.”

“So this is another precarious situation huh. This is probably the worst kind of situation to be expected,” he said solemnly.

The drive to the hospital went smoothly, and they arrived an hour before midnight. Visiting hours had long passed, but perhaps they could be an exception if explained to the hospital staff properly.

“Good evening, sir and ma'am.” the receptionist greeted them. Before she could continue, they quickly explained the need to know about Midoriya Inko’s condition and whether or not they could visit her.

“Midoriya Inko. . . yes, she’s here in our ED. She hadn’t gotten any visitors, and she had no phone with her except for her ID. It’s worrying when we couldn’t find any relatives or friends to contact.”

“Are you friends with Inko?” a sudden high-pitched voice from behind caught their attention. Looking behind, they saw a short, older woman barely past Mika’s waist height, with long, pointy ears and a single sharp tooth visible on her lips. She wore a white doctor’s coat.

“Um, no not really. It’s complicated, but we know of her son, Izuku Midoriya,” Mika explained.

“Ah, little Izuku. It’s been a while since I’ve last seen him. And that sounds like an interesting story. Come to my office. We could talk there, and I’ll explain regarding Inko’s health. It was shocking to see her this morning suddenly being brought to the ED in an ambulance from the police station.” She led them swiftly to her office.

Once they arrive at her office, they take their seats while observing the room. On the table lies a desk name plate with the doctor’s name, Dr. Yuuna Kasumi - Orthopedic Surgeon.

“Drinks?”

“Ah, yes thank you.” Once refreshed, they introduce themselves to each other before explaining their dilemma.

Dr. Yuuna rubs her head at that. “Oh dear, that poor boy. And Inko. . . It’s not looking good for her either. She nearly had a heart attack this morning, her blood pressure had already reached hypertension stage two, not to mention she worked overtime last night because of the influx of patients coming in. . . Izuku’s sudden disappearance and suicide news was nearly enough to break her whole.”

Mika took another gulp of the water. “Will she recover, Doc? We don’t want to give Izuku the news of. . . who knows if he could take any more of this.”

Looking at them solemnly, she slowly shook her head. “I’m afraid no. She will not fully recover both physically and mentally; this kind of trauma will take years to cure, and even then, there’s no guarantee. Letting her see Izuku again would be the best choice and an opportunity for them to reconcile and be transparent with one another. However, that will take time; for now, let her rest, and in a week or so, I will call you to bring Izuku here. How does that sound?”

Mika and Kyōtoku glance at each other. Kyōtoku sighed. “Well. . . that’s another problem Doc, ya see, while one week sounds like a while, I think we need more time than that—I think Izuku needs more time.”

The doctor nodded in understanding. “Yes, I also understand that, while I do not have a degree in psychology, letting them meet again would probably cause emotional outbursts, and that’ll do worse for Inko, who's still recovering. For now, Inko will be in a state of medically induced coma for at most three days; after that, she’ll wake up.”

Dr. Yuuna took a piece of paper and wrote on it. “I’ll put my number here, and I’ll call you two again in two to three weeks. Hisashi should be here in about two days right? Okay, he’ll be here with Inko for the time being, but he needs to see Izuku as soon as possible before meeting Inko—Hisashi will be the middle ground between them.” She gave them the note with her number and instructions to them. “I’ve tried calling him multiple times now this evening, but it seems that he’s already on his way here; that’s good. I’m happy for Inko to have such a caring husband.”

“Indeed, perhaps Izuku inherited his kindness and appreciative personality from him.” Mika gave a soft chuckle.

“Hisashi is a timid man; he’s easily scared of things big or small—add his fire-breathing quirk and you have yourselves a walking fire hazard. But he has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. Little Izuku sure inherited that above anything else.” She smiles at them, reminiscing of her time with the Midoriyas.

The three of them finished off their drinks before visiting Inko’s room. There, she lie in a medically induced coma state, her face pale and a breathing mask strapped over her mouth. The heart rate monitor showed low heartbeats, which is barely normal for people in comas.

The couple finally got their answers and decided to finish the night. They thanked Dr. Yuuna and went on their way back home. The house was already quiet when they got home, stealthy seeing both Izuku and Kyōka in their room sleeping peacefully. Thus ended another day for the family and Izuku.

Chapter Text

Four days have passed since Saturday. Things went calm as usual for the Jirous, but with the addition of Izuku to their household, their daily lives have only gotten livelier.

Mika and Kyōtoku had gone and met up with Hisashi a day after his arrival. When they met him at a cafe that day, he looked like a walking zombie—messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, and pale skin. After questioning him about his looks, he said that he hadn’t slept at all since his arrival in Japan because of the sudden messages he received from the hospital and them.

Hisashi finds comfort in conversing with them, and they enjoy his company for the day. Hisashi’s constant worry for Izuku was prevalent throughout their meeting, and they made sure to assure him that his son was fine. They even took pictures of Izuku and Kyōka playing and talking together when they were alone.

Hisashi couldn’t help but shed a tear for them. During his calls with Izuku, he could never mention his relationships with his classmates or even mention the word friend once. Often, it’s just his studies, mom, and sometimes the Bakugous. Being quirkless made it very hard for his son to make friends; even if there were those willing to befriend him, they would surely be shut down by their peers just like him.

It was unfair and discriminatory and the school had done only the bare minimum to stop this behavior. It didn’t help that Izuku actually took all of this and hid it from his parents, saying that he was fine every day. It was only last week when all hell broke loose, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

There were many regrets Hisashi had faced in his four decades of living, but nearly losing his son to suicide is the worst one so far. Seeing his wife in a coma because she almost had a heart attack was equally horrible. He nearly lost two of the most beloved people in his life; if they were ever to die before him, there was no doubt he would catch up to them with no hesitation.

They promised to meet again with Izuku at a later date—decided by Hisashi—so they could have an open conversation and clear things out. After that, they would finally visit Inko to check on her health again.

Just before they parted ways, they made sure to let Hisashi know that they were more than happy to care for and facilitate Izuku's needs for the time being. Once again, Hisashi was grateful for their generosity and wished to pay them back. But of course, they refused, saying that his company alone was enough, and they did want to help him out as they could.

Meanwhile, Izuku was living what feels like a different life. He didn’t have to go to school—that was taken care of by his father and Kyōka’s parents, he learned—and the usual jeers he’d receive on the daily—except for weekends—were gone. This all felt surreal to him, like a dream, and he couldn’t believe he was living it right now.

When Monday came for the Jirous, they reverted back to their daily weekday lives—except for Mika, who was still on break from her position as the concertmaster. Kyōtoku was back to composing a piece for a band’s upcoming album this fall, while Kyōka, just like any fourteen-year-old, goes to school again.

Throughout the day, Izuku spent his time doing one of two things: analyzing or practicing. With his new profound will, he’s more determined to improve his analytical mind. He began his dive into Kyōka’s quirk, Earphone Jack, as this would be the first time he’d be implementing his theories into practice.

Unlike any of his entries in his notebooks, Kyōka’s entry was a special one. Instead of finding and searching for evidence and videos to see what the user’s quirk can do, Kyōka was right here with him, and he could simply ask her to demonstrate and explain what she knows of her quirk so far.

Her quirk he easily categorizes as Mutant due to the visible abnormality of limbs?/jacks?/tentacles? Elongated from her ears. Going into the specifics, she said her jacks could extend up to six meters each, and she can hear from dozens of meters across—more if she chooses to focus on a specific direction. The tip of her jacks is quite durable; he guessed it was some kind of metal since she said it was capable of piercing through concrete walls and even steel at one point.

She already made a few simple moves utilizing her jacks to attack and defend herself. By swinging her jacks hard at a distance, she could hit people and objects with surprisingly brutal force. Searching online for something to compare her jacks to—he found whips to be an identical match—and found out that when used right, she could easily rip out skin with a swing or even crack a skull.

However, this has its limits as her jack—as durable as it is—cannot handle the force exerted on the tip and might break because of it. A solution for this would be to use a support item to protect the tip and enhance it, or it could be done by sheer training and forcing adaptation to harden it. They decided a mixture of both would do well.

Jabbing things with her jacks was already a common habit of hers. She learned it from her mom, who often would jab her father when he got too overdramatic. She usually does this to her classmates, which she finds annoying, or a pervert to her friends.

Another aspect of her quirk he noticed was her ability to channel her heartbeat through solid surfaces or speakers when connected to her jacks. This created a shockwave strong enough to stagger or freeze people into place, giving them precious seconds to think or act. If stabbed directly at a person, she might even vibrate them until they passed out—for this to work, she would need to have control of her heartbeat, accelerate it, and increase its frequency powerful enough to cause damage to their whole body.

Since her quirk’s main damage output depends on how frequently her heartbeat beats and how strong those beats are, she would need to train in a way to control them at will or simply amplify them using support equipment. Again, they decided to mix both options.

For support items, she had already decided to use stereo speakers built into her boots. However, other than those two stereo speakers, she had nothing else to complement her costume except minor cosmetics. She had no protection, no weapons, and no style that particularly stood out to the civilians.

Although these kinds of hero costumes are common in the hero industry, often, they are related to their quirk or how their quirk works. The most prominent example of this would be Midnight and Mt Lady: Midnight and her somnambulist quirk require her skin to be exposed to use her quirk effectively, and Mt Lady with her gigantification quirk requires stretchable material that won’t tear when she’s in her complete twenty-meter tall form.

Midnight, especially as an older, more experienced hero, had made significant changes in the hero industry in terms of hero costumes. Whether or not it was a good thing, dozens of new rules have been established to limit skin exposure and prohibit many heroine costume designs because of Midnight. However, there are still loopholes that companies and heroes (mainly female) would take to increase their popularity over protection.

Both of them would not require armor or as much protection since it might hinder their quirk effectiveness and ruin their persona and image created by them. However, for Kyōka, he’s glad she hasn’t fully geared her costume yet. The best comparison he could make was an unfinished crude sketch, waiting to be filled and detailed as the artist improves their skills.

Every evening after dinner, they would sit together in the living room, or his room, to discuss Kyōka’s quirk, hero costume, music, etc.

It was conflicting sometimes; in his mind, there was an ongoing war of emotions—the thought of being worthy of this and the thought of taking advantage and being selfish. After so many years of unfairness, torture of the mind, and prejudice, surely he deserves this moment of peace, right? Even if this moment may not last forever, even if this moment would pass in the blink of an eye.

So he will enjoy this fleeting moment—every day, every hour, every minute, and every second—and burn it into his memories. There’s no guarantee this once-in-a-lifetime chance will happen again sometime in the uncertain future.

The Jirous, however (Mika and Kyōka), always notice this and tell him not to bother with those thoughts. Each of them has their ways of comforting him; Kyōtoku with his childhood stories and having a man-to-man talk (quirkless to quirkless talk as he’d like to call it), Mika showing off her plays and family photos and stories, as well as helping him with practice playing guitar when Kyōka wasn’t home.

And then there’s Kyōka, the first true friend he had in years. He enjoys being with her the most; perhaps it’s because of his age? Or maybe because she aspires to become a hero, and he fully supports that. Or maybe it is because she doesn’t care if he’s quirkless and willing to ask for a lot of advice from him.

He still doesn’t fully understand it yet, but he will (sort of) accept it as it is for now.

Practicing guitar was a whole different experience for him. The hand-eye coordination always looked impressive when Mika or Kyōka played them. Remembering each note played and when to play them while matching the rhythm seemed complex to him, but he was learning—albeit slowly.

First, just like any other beginner, he would learn and memorize beginner chords (E Major, A Major, etc.) and strumming in rhyme. With a new notebook given to him by Mika, he has his music notebook, complete with a manuscript inside for him to jot down music notes.

Memorizing the names of the guitar parts was easy for him. The guitar itself is divided into three parts: the body, the neck, and the head.

Body - The body of a guitar is the main resonating chamber that amplifies the sound produced by the strings. It comes in various shapes and sizes, such as dreadnought, concert, or electric guitar bodies. The body’s construction and materials greatly influence the instrument’s tonal qualities and overall sound projection.

Bridge - The thin piece of wood where the strings are tied on the soundboard.

Frets - The frets on the guitar are the metal strips placed along the fretboard. The first fret is the metal strip closest to the headstock of the guitar, and then it counts up from there. Standard classical guitars have 19 frets, and electric guitars have between 21 and 24 frets.

Head/Headstock - The square piece of wood located at the end of the neck. It holds the tuning pegs, which are used to adjust the tension of the strings and achieve the desired pitch.

Fretboard/Fingerboard/Neck - The long black piece of wood with inlaid frets located on the neck. It is divided into sections called frets, which determine the pitch of the notes produced when the strings are pressed against them. Typically, on the fretboard, there will be inlays or position marks usually found on the 3rd, 5th, 7th, 9th, and 12th frets.

Soundhole - A circular opening that allows the sound to escape and resonate, enhancing the instrument’s volume and tonal characteristics. The size and placement of the soundhole contribute to the guitar’s unique sound and projection.

Tuning Pegs/Tuning Heads/Tuning Gears - These small, cylindrical components allow you to adjust the tension of each string individually. By turning the pegs clockwise or counterclockwise, you can raise or lower the pitch of the strings to achieve the desired tuning. Proper tuning is essential for producing pleasing and accurate sounds.

He’d written down the essential parts and how each of them worked to form the whole instrument guitar. He didn’t want to just know how to play the guitar, but he wanted to know the guitar itself, how it worked, and its extensive history.

Kyōka and Mika were able to explain in detail the many instruments they played. Kyōtoku, having studied music theory extensively during college, was as more well-versed than Kyōka and Mika when it came to music language.

They are the best in their field and are equally as interesting as heroes. Unlike heroes (Post-quirk), however, music has existed for tens of thousands of years, from the simplest banging of a drum to as graceful as playing a piano. Music is like a river, constantly flowing and changing as time goes on, creating new curves (progress) and splitting into more rivers (genres).

The more he delves into music, the more complicated and rich its history is, and how it impacted the world equally, if not more than what heroes could. Everywhere he goes, some form of music constantly rings around him, whether or not he notices it.

Practicing and analyzing, the two activities he could only do since his stay at the Jirous. The nightmares and past seem to drown in obscurity, gazing at him from the corners of the darkest parts of his mind—waiting to appear and take away this moment of peace.

But he will face them again soon—mom and dad and the nightmares—and with the time and space given by the Jirous, hopefully, he’ll be ready by then. He’d already heard from his dad and his current whereabouts, but when asked about his mom, his dad seemed to avoid that question with ‘she’s not feeling well right now.’ That raises questions and dread in his mind. What had happened to his mom?

The Jirous didn’t help either, saying that it was not time yet and then changing the topic. He wanted answers, yet he was scared of them; he wanted to revel in this alternate life—never looking back.

So for now, he’ll wait. He won’t rush, and he’ll prepare himself better. But he has a feeling deep down that no matter how much preparation he made, he’ll never be truly ready to face it.

Checking the clock hanging on the living room wall, he sees it pointing at three thirty. Kyōka should be home from school soon. He always looked forward to talking to her again; it was—to him—a gift or a chance to be a normal boy again. He hoped this kind of relationship with her, with the Jirous, would never change. It would only improve and blossom into a lovely flower.