It's amazing how simple words can be on the outside. It's almost shocking how many people miss those small, intricate details. Izuku is still amazed how long he'd been able to keep his Quirk down.

Through the years of torment and pain, he still managed, somehow, to keep the power at bay. He hadn't used his Quirk since he was four. He still had the scars; uneven patches of paler, whiter skin that covered his hands and arms up to his elbows.

It was amazing how not one person was suspicious of this. He didn't try particularly hard to hide them.

But, middle school was over now. The U.A. entrance exam was right around the corner. Izuku had only ten months to ready himself for the exam. He knew that he had dug himself into a ditch. Not using his Quirk had most likely weakened it significantly. But at the same time, perhaps he could actually learn to control and harness it while it was still weak.

Izuku was walking on the sidewalk right next to the Dagobah Municipal Beach Park. The boy didn't remember much about the place, but he did always have this calmer feeling while at the park. A strange sense of tranquility. It was easily unlike how he felt while he was at home, or even with Kacchan. It was calming.

Unfortunately, the place had been so loaded with trash that barely anyone went there anymore. It was a shame, really, that so much litter caused a once beautiful area to become what equated to a dump. Izuku couldn't help but stand there, overlooking the tons of shattered cars and full trash bags and piles of metal boxes that the boy wasn't sure had even held anything.

Izuku slipped down off the sidewalk and onto the beach. His shoes left indentations in the soft, yellow sand as he simply walked among the garbage, eyeing it all out. The high sun glared down with force, making the whole place smell of iron and rot.

Izuku walked among the beach for a long time. Perhaps an hour or two. The buzzing of the phone in his pocket stole his attention away from the shimmering ocean. He brought out his phone, unlocked it, and opened up his messages.

Hisashi
I heard you were getting into U.A.

Izuku
I figured it was better than working with you.

Hisashi
Why do you make it so hard for me to love you?

Izuku
Because I hate you.
You ruined my life.

Nothing was said for a long time.

Hisashi
Come home. Now.
I've got something for you.

Izuku simply stared at the message. Was there some deeper meaning? Was there something he just didn't realize? What if it was another trick? The boy slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Whatever it was, he could pay the price. Nothing was worse than living with Hisashi.

Izuku started walking back to the apartment building, letting his feet drag to make the walk longer.

Unfortunately, he got there all the same, and right at the beginning of the evening. He walked up the three flights of stairs and went to his and his father's apartment. He turned the knob and let himself in, quietly closing the door behind him.

Hisashi was sitting at the small kitchen counter, back toward the boy. Izuku flexed his hands, attempting to keep his nails from drawing blood on his palms. After only a moment, he knew he failed.

Hisashi looked over his shoulder at Izuku. "Come and sit down," he said, shoving another chair toward the boy. The man's tone wasn't an invitation.

Reluctantly, Izuku walked forward and sat down in the chair, crossing his arms on the countertop. Hisashi saw the sour expression on Izuku's face. It was obvious what he was thinking. What do you want?

The man grinned. "I just wanted to give a little present to my son." Izuku forced himself to stay still. That word "son" left a bad taste in his mouth. Hisashi reached into his pocket, pulling out a black box about the size of a television remote. "With love from me to you. How does that sound?"

Izuku gritted his teeth before biting his tongue. He couldn't trust himself to say anything. A bad metallic taste bled into his mouth.

Hisashi seemed disappointed. "It's not polite to ignore a gift, Izuku. You have to say 'thank you.'"

The boy bit down harder on his tongue. He hated the way Hisashi said his name. It was cold and mocking and he hated it.

"Say 'thank you', Izuku."

Silence for a moment.

"T-thank you, F-Father."

"Say it again."

"T-thank y-you, Father."

"Again."

They went on like that for quite a while. Hisashi wasn't one to ignore problems, and it seemed the biggest problem he had on his mind was fixing Izuku.

After fifteen minutes, Hisashi finally gave up and just slid the box over to the boy. Izuku had given up, too. He didn't even want whatever was in the box. For all he knew, it could be a long-forgotten memory that deserved to be forgotten or just some cheap pen.

But he took the box, slid off the chair, and went back to his room, shoving the box underneath the bed. After a moment, he just sat there on the floor, reveling in the little peace that Hisashi left behind for him.

Perhaps Hisashi knew he wouldn't open it. Perhaps Hisashi knew what he was doing. The man seemed to know everything else. Maybe it was another test. As much as Izuku wished he could just forget about that box, it always seemed to crawl back into his head.

During their sparring, Kacchan seemed to realize his head wasn't in the game. He landed a quick round-house kick to Izuku's ribs, sending him to the ground. "Oi, Deku, what the fuck's wrong?"

Izuku just laid there in the dirt, staring up at the sky. "You just kicked me in the chest, what do you think is wrong?"

"You weren't paying attention," Kacchan muttered, winding back his leg to kick again. "Now get up. Stop acting like a victim."

"Aw, you're quoting me now?"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

That was the entirety of their conversation about it. Though Kacchan didn't go out of his way to help Izuku, though the latter definitely found it easier to bare while he was sparring with him. But after a while, even Kacchan knew that training without Quirks wasn't going to help in the long run. That was the first time Kacchan actually demanded Izuku use his Quirk, and the latter found it rather strange that just a day before, Kacchan was asking him why he was even bothering.

But nonetheless, Izuku ended up with his chin pressed into the dirt of a small green park, his arms pinned behind his back, and one of his legs bent so far forward he thought it would snap.

"USE YOUR QUIRK!" Kacchan shrieked.

"NO!"

"ACTIVATE IT!"

"NO!"

Kacchan bent his leg further. It crossed Izuku's mind that this was usually how they played "Say Uncle" as children. With Kacchan on his back, pinning his arms, almost breaking his legs, demanding Izuku say uncle over and over again, and Izuku screaming "no" each time.

"GET OFFA ME!"

"USE YOUR FUCKING QUIRK!"

"I SAID NO, NOW GET OFF!"

Izuku was proud to say that Kacchan eventually gave up on using force, but even that had its disadvantages. Kacchan wouldn't stop bugging him, even when they moved from the dirt to the wooden bench in the park. Izuku was back to his loud although dignified self.

"Use your Quirk."

"I said no, Kacchan."

"Use your Quirk."

"Stop it."

"Use your Quirk."

"Kacchan, please—"

Kacchan gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, looking like he was physically forcing himself not to lunge and tear Izuku apart limb by limb. "Stop being a little bitch about it. If I had your Quirk, I'd be fucking lucky. You wanna get into U.A., right?"Izuku's lips thinned to a line. Kacchan could tell he was getting to him. "You wanna get into U.A., then you need to stop being such a fucking push-over. Use your Quirk."

Izuku's gaze flickered away. "It hurts," he muttered, almost glaring at the dirt.

"I know it hurts," Kacchan snarled. "Stop whining about it. My wrists are all fucked up because of my Quirk. Suck it up."

Izuku stared at him, at a loss for words. Kacchan openly admitted one of his few weaknesses.

Izuku's gaze snapped to Kacchan's wrists. They didn't seem damaged, but he did notice how Kacchan rubbed up and down on his carpals as if to soothe the pain. Izuku couldn't help but stare at his own hands, bleached mostly white by the thin scar tissue. It took a second of concentration, but a stream of smoke trailed from his fingers, dissipating into the air. Izuku could already feel the burning heat of the Quirk, and he hadn't even activated it completely.

Kacchan looked almost proud. "Good. Now catch yourself on fire before you pussy out."

Izuku could already feel his concentration slipping away. He tried summoning the flame, the smoke. But before he could grasp at the power, it died away, leaving his palms warm and pink. He slumped back, his hands dropping to his lap. "I can't do it," he muttered, breathing hard. "I can't summon it."

"Like hell you can't! Stop being a pussy and start a fucking forest fire!" Izuku raised his hands and pressed them onto Kacchan's forearm. At the contact, Kacchan jumped and slapped his hands away. "Fuck, your hands are hot!"

"I know. I should've been able to do it. I can't summon it," Izuku repeated. In a split second, Izuku cried out, covering his afflicted cheek. "What the hell, Kacchan?!"

"You're being fucking stupid," he growled, rubbing at his knuckles. "You're still acting like a shitty nerd."

Izuku grimaced, still rubbing his cheek. "I know, but you didn't have to punch me."

"You're so fucking dense it's the only thing I can do to get you to fucking listen to me," he muttered. "Now shut up and try again."

For the rest of the day, and despite his efforts, Izuku couldn't make a single flame. Kacchan seemed equally as disappointed in Izuku but made it horrifyingly obvious that he was going to put Izuku through absolute hell to get his Quirk to strengthen. After a few days, by the time Izuku got home from their training, he felt dead on his feet. Everything burned and ached and his hands were still warm from attempting that one, tiny flame. It was then that he realized just how hopeless it was for him to get into U.A.

Izuku couldn't say a thing to Kacchan about his second thoughts. Another punch to the face wasn't very appealing.

A few more days went by, and nothing changed. Izuku could just barely get his hands to smoke, but getting them to catch fire would take what seemed like years. Kacchan didn't let up, and he made sure that Izuku knew that. There were no breaks throughout the day. For twelve hours every day, both of them sparred and (in Kacchan's case) blew stuff up. The things that were damaged was mostly the metal crates on the beach park, and although Izuku couldn't blow anything to smithereens, he could still help out by pulling the smashed cars off the beach and carrying away what remained of the crates. And although every day he came home sore and hurting, it was the back of his mind that said yes, he was growing stronger, and he was heightening his chances of becoming a hero.

The work seemed to slowly be paying off. With Kacchan basically chasing him down with a weedwhacker while carrying a whip, his training never faltered in its effectiveness. A few months passed and Quirk training went along with the physical training. Despite Izuku not being able to conjure his flames, Kacchan was constantly demanding and yelling at him. Izuku didn't find that it did anything, but he was sure Kacchan would have already known that.

Or perhaps it was more helpful than Izuku once thought. During one of Kacchan's "pep talks," a flicker of light came from his finger. It went away so quickly that it was barely visible, but it made the boy have to fill a bowl with cold water to try and be rid of the pain. After hearing that such a flame would cause a burn, Kacchan was adamant about building Izuku's resistance to heat and fire and brought him out to the beach in broad daylight.

Izuku tried desperately to explain that that wasn't how resistance worked, but Kacchan was insistent on his claim.

"Shut up, just put your hand on the hood," he barked. Izuku ended up burning his hands again and had to wait a while until they healed.

After five months, Izuku wasn't sure he could do it anymore.

"Kacchan, this isn't working," Izuku stated. They were sitting on the wooden bench at the green park, under the shade of the trees. "I can't get it to start and it still burns me every time." His gaze went back to his scarred arms.

"You just need to stop being a little bitch about it," Kacchan groaned, stretching his arms up above his head. "You'll get used to the pain and then you can use it correctly."

Izuku rubbed the cheek that Kacchan had punched the last time they sat on that bench. "I don't think I can. Or rather, I don't think I can ever use it correctly."

"Deku, I swear—"

"I'm not putting myself down," Izuku interrupted. "I'm saying what's on my mind, which you haven't been letting me do since we started this pointless quest to get me into U.A. It's not gonna happen. I'm hopeless."

Kacchan gritted his teeth, crossing his arms. Even he seemed to know it was true.

Izuku walked home with his soles dragging. Without Kacchan as a distraction, Izuku was free to think of anything. And, after five months, it went back to that black box underneath his bed.

Despite having ignored it and refused to open it, his sheer curiosity made him consider opening it more than once. His thought process was an inner turmoil. On the one hand, there was the chance to cure his curiosity concerning the box. On the other, his father had called it a "gift" from him to Izuku. And although Izuku hated to admit it, he couldn't just ignore the secret that lay inside the box.

So when he got home, he found himself simply unable to stop staring at the box that he had moved to his desk, silently contemplating between the two choices he had access to. After a few moments, he got up from his seat and went to take a shower, hopefully helping with his unwavering interest.

It didn't do much, and Izuku was struggling to keep his mind away from that box. After a few more hours, he caved in, sitting at his desk with his hands clasping the lid of the box.

His breath was held, and he felt the strong urge to break down and cry. He wasn't sure what the reason for that was, but something seemed to weigh down his heart when he looked at that box, making him feel everything that he had been shoving down for years. Why was it breaking now? Why was it now?

Tears silently dripped down without his consent as he gingerly lifted the box's lid. Inside were two white gloves, folded up and placed with care inside the box.

His arms were crossed on the desk, his forehead resting on top. His quiet sobs continued for a while, but when it finally stopped, he was almost relieved that his anger and fear and sadness had leaked out in tears instead of screams of rage. It wasn't gone, and it wouldn't be for a long time, but after the small breakdown, at least it could be held back just a little while longer.

A/N: Okay, I know I said I wasn't going to be uploading any chapters until it was near to being done, but I was excited, and my birthday's coming up, so I decided to give you an early birthday gift! Chapter 3 is coming out on the 27th, and I swear that's the last one for a long while!