Disclaimer: I do not own Boku no Hero Academia, just Lucas.

Beware of really bad writing, and slight self-insert.

Now you may be wondering: Izuku, what took you so long to update this fic? Well it's your lucky day because I do in fact have the questions to your answers. Yes, you just read that correctly. Long story short… high school can kiss my ass. Yes, that was not a question. This probably doesn't make any sense to you because it's an inside joke. Just go on and read my update like a good samaritan.

Chapter 2: Preparation

I was akin to a deer caught in headlights, watching the computer screen as if it'd just foretold my death.

But was that not the case?

A number of events flooded into my mind... the slug villain, the attack on USJ, that god-forsaken sports festival, Stain. However, what truly frightened me, what truly forced my eyes to twitch and my hands to tremble and goosebumps to rise on my skin, was how blind I'd be.

Of course I'd read the source material. I knew the story, not all of it, but to a certain extent. I could recall major events of course, such as when Izuku — or I am supposed to receive All Might's powers. However, even a single step, a single glance in the wrong direction could put everything I knew in danger. The future… was extremely dark.

If my mother noticed my sudden epiphany, she said nothing. But it was her soft, caring touch that took me out of my stupor. Her hands found their way through my sea of green locks, which did an exceptional job at calming me down.

… Perhaps that could be a pokemon move. Inko Midoriya used Mother's Touch! It was super effective!

"Well, would you look at that. It's getting late, Izu-chan," she hummed as my eyes traveled to corner of the computer screen, realizing that she was right, "Let's get you ready for bed, okay?"

I simply nodded, allowing her to lift me up and into a set of warm, inviting arms. It was strange to me, the way my eyelids began to flutter close, and how my body began to squirm within my mother's hold as I tried to get comfortable. My thoughts threatened to devolve into a jumbled mess as sudden exhaustion overtook me. I truly felt like a toddler, despite the fact my conscious belonged to that of a fifteen — damn, I mean seventeen — year old boy. (Was I really seventeen? It didn't feel that way. I hadn't matured in the slightest.) With a single gesture, my worries of just moments ago had almost been replaced, and in favor of... bed time. It was frustrating.

How could I relax and pretend there was nothing wrong with the world's future? How could I relax when Izuku — when I was given the responsibility of becoming some dumbass hero? A good-for-nothing like me, destined to saving simpletons with a great, big, cheesy smile on my face... That isn't what I wanted. Hell, I didn't even know what I truly wanted out of life.

But getting my ass kicked by Bakubombtastic, or even Tododorki, was not number one on my list, let me tell you that.

I wish I had the ability to change my future without giving two shits, and live life the way I wanted to. However… the fact remains that I couldn't be playing God; it was too much of a risk otherwise, wasn't it? I wouldn't know about the negative effects I'd be creating, right? I could be toying with people's lives and have absolutely no idea … dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit all to hell. Fuck.

Why me, of all people? Why made me so special?

As my mother set me down into my bed, it really did look as if I had no problems with the world. I was only two years old after all; I was young and innocent and ignorant.

If it only it was like that in reality.

"Does Japan have churros with cheese dip? … Anyone?" - Lucas

Looking back on my first two years, I had kind of... screwed up, hadn't I?

I was never one for being patient. Not once could I recall waiting quietly in my past life, no matter if I was in a fast food restaurant, at school, or within the confines of my own home. Taking that into consideration... would a six month old child attempting to walk startle anyone? Or even forming their first word at only three months? (Shockingly, picking up Japanese was not an impossible task. Daunting, but not impossible.) It was a mistake to ignore my mother's reactions; I couldn't tell if I gave the impression that I was a genius, or that something was downright wrong.

Thankfully, she never seemed to expect much of me. At the same time, she also expected too little.

But then again, perhaps that was to be expected. My body was small and fragile and I had already acknowledged that; I bruised easy and was a little too clumsy at times. It was never a surprise to anyone that I constantly found myself tripping over my own two feet (a certain blonde haired terrorist—I mean… friend was always there to remind me of my gracelessness). Things had gotten to the point where she carried a first aid kit whenever we went out.

Yet in the midst of receiving antiseptic and bandages, self-preservation managed to overcome my laziness.

All that I was dealing with was only the start. It was only the foreshadowing to things that were much greater, things that were so much worse. From discrimination, to broken bones and countless bruises, to having to put my life on the line… I was destined for all of that.

This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all.

The thought left a better taste in my mouth, but it had to be done. So I rehearsed. I thought about the pros and cons, how to manipulate my baby features to my advantage. Yet on the day of my fourth birthday, when I politely and very cutely asked to start taking on some form of martial arts (or just anything to strengthen this weak body of mine), I was given a stare. It went from confusion, to disbelief, to worry. To be completely honest, it was an amusing sight.

Until she passive aggressively said no. Shit.

I tried using some crocodile tears, a few hiccups here and there. Made sure I did this enough to give my cheeks and eyes a hue similar to that of tomatoes.

She didn't budge. Double shit.

The confrontation had ended with me childishly marching away, pout and all. For a moment, I thought back to where my brilliantly simple and clearly ineffective plan could have possibly failed. Did I throw too much of a tantrum, or did I catch my mother at a bad time? Or perhaps… she was being too overprotective? I didn't think it would be strange to have children start training so early. I saw it in my past life all the time.

Plus it was my birthday! My old mother would have definitely folded.

(But this wasn't my old mom. No, she was gone, gone, gone—)

The gears in my head quickly began to hum and whirl then. They slowly fit together the pieces of a developed scheme as a devilish smile overtook my lips, an expression that was certainly not meant to go with Izuku's bright, angel-like face.

I'd finally realized what I had to do.

"Well… yes, I do have a reason for hating All Might. Yes, I also realize I hate a lot of things. One of those things, for instance, would be that abomination you have for a face—Ouch! What the fuck?!" - Lucas

"You know, that's not very nice, Kacchan."

The way he looked at me suggested that I had suddenly grown three heads. Or that perhaps my hair at long last turned into actual broccoli. (I had gingerly reached towards my green locks, finding comfort in the fact that no, they were not replaced with meager vegetables.) The feeling was only reinforced when his two lackeys copied the his exact reaction, just like the mindless drones they were.

"Who cares about being nice?" he said almost incredulously, as if he believed me to be stupid for even bringing up such a notion. However, I could only wince upon seeing one of his minions, the kid with blood red-wings, throw another stone at the crying boy on the ground.

The poor thing was holding himself, rocking back and forth. I could even hear the faint cries of "mommy, mommy, where are you?" It was pathetic.

The gentle breeze and warm sun that had graced the field didn't feel right with the scene playing out before me.

"I mean, all he did was bump into you," I started out, casually snatching one of remaining stones on the ground. It earned a cry of protest from the child with tree-like fingers, as I had apparently "stole" one from his pile, "... Do you guys have to bully him like this? You're better than that, Bakagou."

"It's Ba-ku-gou, idiot Izuku! Say that again and we're gonna teach you a lesson instead!" he snapped, crimson eyes lit with a barely concealed fury. I scoffed at that. While his glare clearly evolved in his later years, at that moment in time, it did little more than amuse me. Baby fat was hardly terrifying.

However, it was also in that moment my IQ seemed to drop down into the negatives. (Or perhaps it escalated, maybe multiplied tenfold—it really depended on who was being asked.)

I tossed the stone in my hand, a sense of satisfaction running through me as it connected with its blonde target, "Do it then! Wussy."

The sounds of mini explosions rang throughout the air as the faintest trace of a smile graced my face.

…

Let's just say I managed to land those martial arts lessons not too long afterwards.