All men are not created equal.

This was a lesson that Izuku Midoriya had learned the hard way at a very young age.

He'd always been a kindhearted, eager boy. He was always willing to help people in need, and his cheerful smile was an ever-present landmark on his face. It was only natural that a boy like that would become a hero, everyone thought. Once he developed his quirk, he'd begin training, go to U.A. and become the savior he was always meant to be. His parents were sure of it. He already had the spirit and the determination; all he needed was to get his quirk.

Except he never did get a Quirk. Because as he would find out sitting in that doctor's office on that fateful day, Izuku Midoriya was Quirkless.

At first, the four-year old hadn't understood. As long as he wanted to be a hero and worked hard, what was the problem? Wasn't wanting to save people enough? He didn't understand why the doctor spat out the word 'Quirkless' with a measure of disgust, or why his parents' faces seemed to darken when they heard it. He stared at them, tears forming in his eyes. He didn't understand. Then he did. He understood three fundamental things at the exact same time. Number one, that he was alone from the start. Number two, that it hurt so, so much to be hated by everyone around him, even his own parents. Number three, he wanted it to stop. To stop. Stop. It overwhelmed him to the point where he considered many ways out. Running away was second on the list. The first on the list... He refused to let himself dwell on that.

Quirkless. It was a word that would come to haunt Izuku Midoriya for however long he had left in this damned world of Heroes and Quirks. He remembered all too well every slur, every swing of a drawn back arm, every look. Everything. He wished he could forget. Yet after all he had been put through he hadn't forgotten his dream. Despite everything, he still wanted to be a hero. Sometimes he almost wanted to be able to move on from it all, live as normally as possible and stop setting himself up for disappointment reaching for something he could never accomplish. But he knew deep down that he'd never be able to do that. Because it wasn't just about saving people anymore. Of course that was still a big part of it, but now he also wanted to prove himself. He wanted to prove to Bakugo, to his parents, to the world, and to himself that he wasn't as useless as everyone said. That he could help people.

And so he started training in secret. He ran to and from school. He tried to learn how to fight through tracking Bakugo's movements every time he attacked him. He analyzed heroes and their quirks, memorizing the information since he didn't have anywhere to safely write it down. He convinced himself that his daily beatings were endurance and pain tolerance training for if he ever got tortured by villains. It didn't make it hurt any less, but it kept him going, kept him sane. It was probably the only thing keeping him sane.

For Izuku, being a hero wasn't just a dream anymore. It was a lifeline. He needed to become strong. To help people. To save them. This was something he would have to speak with fervor about, while not getting overzealous. Because if he couldn't do that, then there really was no point in his existence. A twelve year old Izuku cradled his burnt arm as he walked, courtesy of the resident explosion boy Katsuki Bakugo. It stung like hell, but he was used to this type of pain. Don't cry. He told himself. A Hero wouldn't cry over a small injury like this. But still, it hurt.

Before he realized, he was at his house. Not home- this place could never be called a home- but it was where he lived. He unlocked the door as quietly as possible and slipped inside. His body tensed on instinct, expecting Hisashi's harsh voice scolding him for being late, but the house stayed strangely silent. Slowly, he closed the door and looked around. It looked like no one was home. Izuku let his mind wander to the moving trucks he'd seen outside lately and the "Sold" sign in front of the house; his parents had told him they'd be moving soon, but they wouldn't... Right? That would be too far, even for them. It had to be too far.

Now practically running through the house, Izuku noticed an envelope on the kitchen table. He picked it up and began to read through the contents.

Izuku,

We've sold the house and moved to America. The new owners of the house will arrive in two weeks, so be out of there by then. We won't be seeing you again.

Your parents-

That was it. They had left him. Are you... serious?

The letter crumpled and shook in his hands- no, his hands were shaking- and he stared at it in disbelief. This was really it? A three sentence letter and then everything was over without a backwards glance? Sure, it's not like he cared what happened to his parents, but this just seemed too cruel. No. Too cruel? There was no such thing. He should have known better. He'd known Inko and Hisashi despised him. He shouldn't be so shocked at this. He should have seen this coming. But he hadn't. He hadn't and now he was here in this stupid house that wasn't his anymore, homeless, with no legal guardian and no idea what to do next.

Izuku began to cry. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care if he really was a crybaby like everyone said, or if he was overreacting, or if he was being an idiot. He was so tired of this. He didn't want to be left behind just because he'd been born different. He didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be treated like dirt. They... they couldn't really be doing this, they would be back tomorrow-

But they weren't coming back, were they? Of course they weren't. They had no reason to. No matter how much he changed or pleased or obeyed, that would never change. Maybe some part of him had always seen this coming, he wondered. Why did these things always happen to him? He was so tired. Tired of asking that question, asking why when he knew there was no answer. Tired in a way that no amount of sleep could ever fix. He was so tired. It wasn't fair. And Izuku was tired of it.

He woke up. He was still groggy, but he could feel wetness on his face. Another nightmare? No, he'd fallen asleep crying on the kitchen table. Oh, that's right. I've been abandoned. Izuku felt the familiar weight in his chest ready to crash back into him, but he forced himself to hold it back. He didn't have time for self-pity right now. He was alone, and he had to figure out how to get through this. Improvisation and independence were important skills for a hero. First, Izuku searched the house for anything he could use. His parents had left nothing except for a few cans of food and some of his clothes, which he put into his school backpack. You're lucky. He reminded himself. They could have left you with nothing. With this, you've got- maybe not a fighting chance, but it's something. Something to work with. Something to survive with.

He'd always been a survivor. The broccoli head was muttering up a storm, trying to figure out the best course of action to take. He ended up skipping school for the first and only time in his life and worked late into the night, furiously making plans for the future. Izuku Midoriya was many things, but a quitter was not one of them. If he let something like this stop him, then he'd never be a hero. And so he planned.

Izuku sighed as he set his backpack on the floor of his new one-room apartment. It had been three weeks since he found the note and he'd moved in last week, and it had taken all of five seconds to get all his stuff in, since everything he owned was either on his body or in his bag. He'd just gotten home after another tiring day of school, and was now standing in his cramped living space. Then he started on his homework. He was about to finish his math assignment when a scream rang out through the air before ominously being cut off. Considering the type of neighborhood this was, things like that weren't necessarily unusual, but this scream was from close by. Close enough that Izuku might be able to do something. With that thought, he pulled his hoodie over his face and slinked out of his apartment to find the source of the sound, only to find a woman being shoved roughly against a wall by a group of men. The sight made his blood boil.

Stop. Don't rush in. Make a plan first. There were four attackers: One clearly had a quirk that turned his fists into stone and was pinning the woman's arms to the wall, while another seemed to have some paralyzing quirk as the woman's face and body were completely frozen. Does it only work on one person at a time? The third probably had a boosting quirk of some sort that worked on other people through contact, because he had one hand each on the two other men's shoulders. The last one hadn't activated his quirk yet, but from what he could tell from the man's appearance and behavior, it was most likely a surveillance quirk to avoid capture.

It seemed to be weakened by a limited range, though, since he hadn't noticed Izuku about twenty feet away. He was definitely the one to take out first before he could alert the others- him and the paralyzer. He quietly ducked back into his apartment and grabbed two food cans. While he was at it, he also grabbed a spare 2-by-4 board that had been laying around outside. His plan better work, or both he and that woman would be in trouble. He crossed his fingers and threw one of the cans with all his might at the back of the surveillance man's head. Immediately after, he hurled the other can at the paralyzer.

Please knock them out, please knock them out, please knock them out- CLUNK.

The first can smacked against the center of the surveillance quirk man's head perfectly, sending him toppling forward into the ground. He was out. The second can hit the paralyzer hard- not quite hard enough, but enough to distract him. Izuku didn't have any time to waste. He shot out from his hiding place, and then everything happened at once. His leg extended, and he nailed a kick on the paralyzer's neck. Take him out before he uses his quirk on you. He swung the board out at the same time, catching the man in the same place the can had hit.

He crumpled. Stone-hands threw a punch. Dodge. Use his own momentum against him. He sidestepped. Dropped the board. Then grabbed the other's forearm and twisted. Using the opportunity, Izuku rammed into him as the booster flew at him from the other side, knocking himself and stone-hands to the ground as the man's head banged against the floor, his chin snapping into the air. An uppercut, and he was down. Immediately he turned, rolled out of the way of the booster's charge, snatching the fallen board. Stuck his leg out and as the booster went skidding out of control, Izuku lunged, striking the enemy across the head. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped. Unconscious.

It was over. He had won. Izuku stood up, panting. His senses were still on overdrive, high on adrenaline. Pride filled him. He'd never fought anyone before, but he'd managed to win against three more experienced adults. But don't you dare get too cocky, Deku. Although his win was partially due to his own skill and training, he knew it had mostly been luck. He still wasn't strong enough. Not nearly. He looked at the victim and gave her a once-over for any wounds. There were no visible injuries, but she was understandably scared witless. The still-shivering woman stared up at him with a mix of fear and awe. He gave her some time to collect herself before asking if she was okay.

"Y-yes. T-thank you." She choked out.

"No problem. You should call the police now. I'll stay with you until they get here. Is that okay?"

"A-ah, y-yes! Thanks." She stuttered as she reached for her phone and dialed 911. Izuku dragged the men so that they were leaning against the wall. He didn't have anything to tie them up with, so he'd just have to watch them and make sure they didn't get up until the police came for them. Meanwhile, the woman had finished her call and was staring at him with curiosity.

"Um, s-sorry, but who are you?"

"I'm-" He was about to introduce himself with his real name, but somehow that didn't seem right here. Izuku Midoriya was the weak, useless boy who couldn't stand up for himself, not a savior. Not a hero. He was...

"I'm Petit Lion. Nice to meet you." Even two years later, Izuku wasn't sure why that name was the first that had come to mind. It was just what he'd been his whole life, he guessed. Seen as something small, something little, something petit. But truthfully he was strong, like a tiger, like a lion. Petit Lion was French for 'little lion'. He had no clue why the French words had come to mind- granted he had taught himself French when he was ten.

But it was different now. If society told him he was just a little bug for them to squash, he would correct him. He wasn't a bug. He was un Petit Lion, a Little Lion. On that day, a vigilante was born.