CHAPTER ONE – Take Flight

I had a dream when I was younger, a naive but commonplace dream. I remember watching that video, you know the one. Where All Might, the greatest hero of all time made his massive debut, saving countless people from a fiery death. It was awe-inspiring, and in the end, sparked the flame to become a hero.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one inspired. I had gone to school the next day as usual, except the great All Might was all anyone was interested in. My friends, all the students, hell, even the teachers. And that video didn't leave conversation for months, and even after the video hype died down, All Might had since become synonymous for hero.

I couldn't believe one man could achieve so much.

So yes, I was moved. He stirred my dream to become a hero. Well, me and every other kid under the sun. We all dreamed of being as great as the great All Might himself.

That aspiration didn't last long for me though. No, because as my quirk manifested it was replaced with a new dream.

To not be a goddamn bird.

I had always wondered what quirk I would get. My father, Haruto Koizumi, was a sidekick, taking down criminals by transforming his arms into steel blades. On the other hand, my mother, Natsuko Koizumi, owned a flower shop and could speak to birds. A curious combination of powers for sure.

At the tender age of four my maple coloured eyes grew sharper, my field of vision increasing more than I ever thought possible. Just like a bird of prey. Cool, I had thought.

But the rest of it? Was decidedly uncool.

Around the same time, I began sprouting feathers from my arms. The feathers were a vibrant, magenta eye-sore and were painfully uncomfortable, like some sort of grotesque growing pain as fledging feathers sprouted from the underside of my forearm. My arms eventually turned into a very sad impression of wings, with short, dark pink tufts of feathers lining the underside of my arms. The vibrant colour certainly contrasted with my mousy brown hair. However, as well as these feathers, there was another side effect to my bird-like features.

The problem didn't manifest itself until a year later when I was playing with my friends. Being children with supernatural abilities, playing tended to get a little rough, because we could take it. Or at least, everyone else could.

But not me apparently.

My mother came to school to pick me up early. I was in the nurse's office with a throbbingly painful arm and a crying Riku Fujita, who thought she had destroyed my arm. She wasn't wrong, it hurt goddamn it. It also was bending the wrong way.

My mother looked a little green as we talked to the doctor. I had just come out of surgery as the full extent of my quirk was explained to me.

"Your daughter's bones are hollow."

They were lightweight, delicate and breakable. I had to be the only person in the world with a quirk that hurt me more than it helped me. My quirk was...

"Useless."

My parents stared down, startled by their five-year-old daughter.

"I have a useless quirk, I can't be a hero," I cried, tears of hopelessness dripping down my beet-red, puffy eyes.

"I-I," I hiccupped in between sobs, before breathlessly explaining, "I wanted to be like tou-san."

I stared up at them as they quickly shared a distressed glance, and my father knelt, his own eyes glassy, "Asuka... don't cry."

For some reason that made me cry more.

"If you want to be a hero Little Sparrow, you can't cry, you wanna know why?"

I nodded, attempting to wipe the tears from my eyes, but only succeeding in wiping my snot all over my face.

He continued gently, "when a hero encounters an enemy, they don't cry. They fight," he put a large hand on my head, "they fight because they need to overcome the enemy. Here, your enemy is yourself. But you can overcome it, and you can learn the great things about yourself, instead of the things you hate. That is what a hero does, and you absolutely can be a hero Asuka."

Mother leaned down then as well, pressing a handkerchief to my swollen face, "and you have us to help you Asuka."

And suddenly their hopeless five-year-old had hope. But as the saying goes, things will get worse before they get better.

My sixth birthday passed, as did my seventh, eighth and ninth. With my father's help, I quickly realised my quirk was not as useless as I first thought. Of course, my bones were hollow and thus, fragile, but they were also lightweight and quick.

I was enrolled into Aikido classes, a martial art that focused on avoiding a muscular struggle, so I could focus on honing my speed and mechanical skills and avoiding a head on collision which would be sure to damage my delicate body. The first year of training was the roughest and conditioning my body was painful and difficult, but I worked hard to overcome my fragility. My father also taught me to work smart. We soon realised the feathers on my arms could be more than a pink monstrosity. I could use them to change my direction mid fight and after overcoming my clumsiness, I became the speediest student in the class.

Even though I was only ten at the time, I knew that my hopeless disposition had quickly changed into something more ambitious. Something greater than I ever thought I could achieve.

U.A. High School.

My father had taught me that I was not useless, that my quirk wasn't what I first thought it to be. That I could be great. He taught me that maybe I could even attend the greatest hero school of them all.

"How was your lesson today Little Sparrow?"

I looked up at my father, face cherry red from exercising, "it was good tou-san! Matsumoto-sensei is still teaching us nerve techniques and pressure points... Sensei called it Yonkyo."

He nodded along to my ramblings as we made the walk home. He still wore his spandex hero uniform as he often came straight from his work to walk me home. We stepped between the tall buildings of Hosu, the evening tinted with an Autumn orange as the bright sun set in the distance, casting long, dark shadows on the pavement. It was amongst the dark shadows that something even darker emerged. My bird-like eyes picked up on the figure first, a hunched and ragged looking man.

The world would know him as the hero killer.

Bandaged with chipped swords in his hands and torn, rotted clothing swaying behind him, this man approached us with wide eyes.

Father was quick to recognise the situation. He knew this man, Stain.

I, however, did not, but I could feel his lust for blood and power like I've never known. Power that rooted me in place, frozen by the fear that only the impending threat of death could bring.

My father stepped forward, towards the swordsman, placing himself in front of me, "Asuka, you need to run!"

But I couldn't. I couldn't even blink. My only movement was the intense shivering that wracked my body.

The whole experience didn't last very long, my sidekick hero dad was no match against Stain, and I watched as dad transformed his arms into steel, parrying the swords with his own, blade-like arms. But the hero killer pierced my father with his sword, causing a sickly squelch to sound as the sword was driven into fresh meat. Stain pinned him to the pavement by his shoulder before roughly slitting his throat.

Blood sputtered around me, soaking my Aikido uniform with red. The sight was messy, but it was the metallic smell that made me gag, my stomach desperately churning to empty its contents. Stain seemed to watch my dad for a moment as he quivered, making futile, raspy gasps for air, before the villain turned his gaze to me. I fell to the gravelly concrete at his gaze and he stalked towards me with a grin so wide, it was all I could see in the darkening evening. That, as well as his eyes. Veiny. Wild. Red like the blood that spurted from my father's neck.

Stain swung his sword, and for the first time I finally moved, throwing my hands in front of my face. My arms rattled with a clang.

Opening my eyes, I jumped back in shock. Stain had pointed his sword towards me, not going for a killing blow. In the process however, his blade had grazed my feathers, my steel, blade-like feathers.

But I didn't have time to concern myself with the sudden change in my quirk.

Stain leaned towards me and my back hit a wall, "I'm not against killing children," his hot breath smelt rotten, "it depends on what you say next."

But I was beyond terrified, I was a coward, coward, coward.

I didn't say anything.

Stain seemed amused as he vanished into the darkness and I remained there against the wall with a blood-soaked Aikido uniform and my father's cold, dead body beside me.

The death of my father was not something I would ever forget. That day I learnt the ugliest truth of heroism. I learnt the overwhelming guilt of not being good enough, a guilt that weighed down my heart like a tonne of lead. I was failure who let her own father die, who did nothing but watched as he was murdered. I couldn't be a hero like this. So, I decided to hang up my Aikido uniform.

How could someone like me even think about becoming a hero when I was such a coward? My mother was quick to stop me. Even through her grief and bitterness she had my best interests at heart. More importantly, she knew that dad would never have wanted me to give up my dream. He'd never want me to quit fighting. So, I reluctantly kept up my Aikido lessons, if only for my mother's sake. I did get a new uniform, one without the reddish-brown stains of blood, but I knew I would always feel the blood on my clothes. That feeling would never leave.

A few years passed, the Summers bleeding into Autumns and the Winters bleeding into Springs. I honed my technique, my speed and the newly discovered facet of my quirk. I could will the feathers that lined my arms to harden into a steel-like quality, the vanes of the feathers becoming knife-like whilst the thin quill became as sharp as a needle. My mother saw it as a gift my father had left behind, a reminder of him.

Finally, it was time to apply for high school. I had long-since abandoned thoughts of attending U.A. High, complacent about which school I went to. I, of all people, didn't deserve to get into a school such as that. Nonetheless, it was one a few schools I sent an application to.

On the day of the entrance exam, I was sure my mother was more nervous than even me, flitting around the house like a canary. As soon as I finished my meal, I bid her good bye as she smothered me in a hug, wishing me good luck at least a dozen times.

I slowly made my way to U.A. High, soon reaching the gated structure. I couldn't help but gape at how huge the campus was, with buildings towering a couple stories high and courtyards that seemed endless. The backdrop of the school was matched with pea green grass and the baby blue skies of Spring. As I took in my surroundings, I followed the bricked pathway into U.A High.

I guess this is where my story truly begins; as a reluctant applicant for a prestigious school. As a girl who still had so much to learn about what it truly meant to be a hero.

Thanks for reading :0