As he awoke from his catnap in the burnt rubble of his now former apartment, clinging onto his now forever dead mother figure, hacking up smoke and ash, Midoriya Izuku, or rather, Kumagawa Misogi's first thought was the anticlimax to the rather turbulent ride his (unbeknownst to him) father figure was currently putting him on.
「Ah. I'm being manipulated.」
In a parallel, kinder timeline, Midoriya Izuku, age 4, would internalize a lesson that would set him on the path to becoming the Greatest Hero.
In this timeline, it was nothing more than an afterthought.
On the contrary, the first thing that came to Izuku, bloodied, battered, burned, bruised, broken on the ground, was slightly more pathetic than before.
"I just can't win, can I?" Blood, sweat, and tears, the hat trick fluids of wasted effort, dribbled down his supine face, staring hazily at the clouded sky as his choked laughter slowly gave way to wretched sobs, and eventually, unconsciousness alongside it.
He would lie there ten minutes undiscovered, and five more as to "not interrupt the nurse's valuable time."
Izuku, in a way, was correct. His victories, his defeats, all were out of his grasp at the moment.
The loser star had been eradicated centuries ago, but it's improbable to win a game that is being actively and adaptively rigged against you.
Especially if you are unaware of the game having been started in the first place.
Midoriya Izuku's life ended that day.
Midoriya Izuku's life started that day.
You see, six-hour old Izuku's ego, that of the powerless rags-to-riches Can-Do hero that would manifest itself in the main timeline, was crushed with nothing but a touch by his father, avoiding what would become the antithesis to himself ever manifesting to begin with by pure luck.
In its place, he installed a MacGuffin he'd been keeping fresh for centuries.
After all, Kumagawa Misogi was absolutely harmless if he couldn't think.
His consciousness wouldn't exactly miss his static body. And without his memories? Merely his ego?
He would fall right back into his old habits if he was given the right pushes, here and there.
And when push comes to shove, he'll be waiting, arms open.
He'll make a fine right-hand man for Tomura.
As if preprogrammed to react to the exact stimulus of the quirk used on the born-loser, a long-dead entity knew oblivion no longer.
Sayonara, my single-use only true self-resurrection skill.
Without its occasional resident, the next decade would be quite the uneventful period for the empty classroom.
The entity, however, would not be afforded that luxury.
Indeed, it had much work to do if it wanted to prevent the work she'd grown so fond of from getting axed prematurely.
She'd have to dispose of some of her single-use skills to do so, but one would fail to see the issue if a single grain of sand in the Sahara knowing existence no longer had prevented true oblivion for all that is.
She grimaced at the implications of her current path forward.
She sighed and moved on, as it was the only path forward.
"Forgive me, Misogi-kun. You'll have to become a protagonist." She said, to no one who could hear her say it.
Izuku knew failure longer than his own self-assured sentience.
Izuku was born in failure. Izuku grew up with failure. Izuku pressed on with failure.
He knew he could do nothing but. Yet he persisted.
He knows he will do nothing but. Yet he persists.
Even in the darkest hours, the times where his signature smile never leaves his face and he internally questions if he'll botch his inevitable suicide attempt too, there's a small part of him in the back of his mind that pushes him to live another day.
Could be spite. Could be self-delusion. Hell, could even be an untapped martyr complex waiting for the right time.
He must have watched that All Might debut video so many times they just stopped adding his hits to the viewer count. He could quote and perfectly mimic the cadence, pitch, accents, everything in that video. It was ingrained in his brain.
It would be a good party trick. That is, if Izuku was invited to parties.
That required people to at least somewhat tolerate his existence.
Oh, and the fact that he's about to graduate elementary school. Not much partying going on at that age. What a waste, honestly.
Anyways, back to his hero complex. If he doesn't tap it now, it'll only get bigger. Sure, it'll get bigger anyways, but it's not like his father left him with anything else other than his thirst for knowledge.
Right, his life story, that's important to understanding his wide array of psychological issues, is it not?
The first four years of Izuku's life were, how would he put it, almost utterly uneventful. His mother and father would alternate work shifts to take care of the toddler. After all, maternity/paternity leave? In this economy?
As he was internally monologuing, his mother practically raised him on heroism. She worked as a manager for a top hero agency, and would regale young Izuku with behind the scenes stories of how his favorite heroes acted when the curtains were closed.
This, to no-one's surprise, made Izuku a massive All Might fanboy.
His father, on the other hand, raised him on quirkology. The fascinating world of genetic superpowers, their applications, their potential, their history, how to break them down mid-combat.
The last one was a bit weird. Especially when he so openly disagreed with his mother about the "heroic influence" she was having on his child.
He tried not to dwell on these things much. It didn't matter anyways. Hisashi wasn't coming back.
He had friends. He had a stable life. He had some resemblance of social worth, even if it only came from practically attaching himself at the hip to Katsuki.
Everything fell apart when he went to the doctor's office that one day.
"Tough luck, kid."
"I'm sorry Izuku, I'm sorry!"
That's enough depressing backstory for now. Any more recollection and he'll start spiraling again.
Izuku was on his way home from school after treating his wounds. Izuku was a loser, but he was particularly good at losing - better than anyone else. He's found that for an eleven year-old, he's surprisingly resilient in fights; even when he's approaching being a pile of blood and bruises on the floor, he's able to pop right back up for some more torment.
Not that he's won any, but he can stall for all eternity.
His mother taught him first aid after one too many convenient delays at the nurses office.
His mother was probably the only thing keeping him sane.
Soon-to-beknownst to Izuku, his mother was also burning to death in a rapidly collapsing apartment building.
Izuku woke up in an empty classroom. Odd, he was just leaving the school. No, wait, he was rushing to unbury his mom from the pile of collapsed, burning rubble that was his old apartment.
No.
Wait.
Shouldn't he be dead?
Mom, wake up, please… don't be dead, mom… I can't lose you… I won't- I can't- I-
He choked on his tears and the rapidly building smoke content in his lungs. The Midoriya family may have been easy criers, but anyone would be bawling if they came upon this situation.
He was in denial.
His mother was dead.
Possibly the only person who still cared of his continued existence on this planet was dead.
Izuku could feel nothing but the warmth tickling his skin and the sting of the microparticles taking residence in his eyes.
He hacked, trying to laugh at the predictability of it all.
"I- *hic* really can't *koff* have any- *kh* anything nice, can I?"
Everything was getting hazier. He's probably collapsed, he can't tell.
This is how it ends, huh? How pathetic.
How utterly fitting.
He remembers it all fading away. Is he unconscious instead? Dying vision?
Is this the afterlife?
Not a particularly exciting afterlife if so.
He examined his surroundings. A blackboard at the front, windows on the side with nothing at all to look at, lockers in the back. A girl in a sailor uniform sitting on the lockers, neat.
So he'd be sharing this purgatory.
"You've taken your sweet time, haven't you?"
Sweet time what? Dying? Eleven years isn't that long, you know!
There's something familiar about her. I'm having trouble placing it.
Yellow headband, dark brown eyes, long dark brown hair in a double-tie pony tail with two yellow ribbons, pink and red sailor uniform two piece, thigh highs, I'm missing something, what's ringing the bells?
She smirked. Oh no. Bad first impression. So that's how it's gonna be, huh? This is hell, and I'm sharing it with Katsuki's long-lost relative, am I? "You haven't changed much. Long time no see."
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「Heya, Anshin'in-san! Is this another recording?」 11 year-old Izuku-no, 49 year-old Mis-no, 38+11 year old Misogi, or Izuku, take your pick, was unusually peppy, given the current circumstances. Sure, his mom died, yes, but he could probably undo it if he really wants to in the end anyways, assuming he still has his Minuses. What was a more pressing issue, however, was that his good trillion year-old friend had left a very conveniently timed message for him that stopped him from regressing back to the utter depths of Minushood just as he was about to do so.
"Nope. Alive, well, and responding to your questions. Also, no, you can't." Oh, that sucks. He'll process that one when he wakes up. "Arsonist behind this mess? Has an annoying Minus. Shishime Iihiko-level annoying." She scowled. "Counters all metafictional abilities. Can't conceptually alter anything in regards to him or the effects of his direct actions. Fucking plot armor." She muttered that last part, sharpening her glare at absolutely nothing at all out the window.
Wait.
Alive?
「If this is a prank, it isn't funny.」 The façade broke slightly. Anshin'in's seen worse, so it's not like it really matters in the end to Izuku.
"Why don't you see for yourself?" She handed him a note with an address in Kyoto Prefecture. He made note of it. "You can teleport, after all. Yes, your minuses are back. Book Maker's stronger than ever, you've got a lot of shit to work through, after all. Don't even think about discounting it now that you're back in one piece. I see that look on your face, don't you 「I would never, Anshin'in-san!」 me."
「I would never, Anshin'in-san!」 If only to get on her nerves for potentially pranking him after his mom died.
"Shut it. No more talking. I'm debriefing you now so I don't have to reveal as much to my current family, who I am quite fond of." Izuku resisted the urge to talk. He'll play along for now, at least until he opens that Schrödinger's box of a residence.
"It's not like Izuku Midoriya will just disappear now that you're here. Well, not this time, I guess. You're Kumagawa Misogi. You're Midoriya Izuku. Kumagawa Misogi has his shit compressed. Midoriya Izuku is a psychological time-bomb. Do not ignore Midoriya Izuku now that you're also Kumagawa Misogi. All Fiction is at full power. April Fiction and Unskilled need a bit more time before they're back up to speed. You are not in a mental state where you can use Non Fiction. The villain's name is All For One. Don't even think about asking around, he's got eyes everywhere. If you happen upon All Might in a secure location, and I mean secure, tell him All For One is still alive and after you. He's got vested interest in opposing the man, and there's a good chance he'll get you behind the Yuuei Barrier somehow. Do not pursue All For One. He's not Tooru, but he's not an opponent you can fight at your current power, and again, eyes everywhere. He's been invading your privacy for the past, let's say, few hundred years or so. Major creep. Trying to groom you into the perfect villain, or something. You can crash at my house for now while things settle. You're almost out of time, so I'll keep it brief."
She smiled.
"Good luck, protagonist."
As he awoke from his catnap in the burnt rubble of his now former apartment, clinging onto his now forever dead mother figure, hacking up smoke and ash, Midoriya Izuku, or rather, Kumagawa Misogi's first thought was the anticlimax to the rather turbulent ride his (unbeknownst to him) father figure was currently putting him on.
「Ah. I'm being manipulated.」
A/N: So, this is my first fic that I'm actually somewhat proud of how it came out in a while, and have the capacity, knowledge, inspiration, and material to continue. I'm writing as I go for now, given time I'll actually form a backlog, a schedule, a proofreading process or, well, actual creative writing skills instead of just self-indulgence given written form. I can't promise I won't indulge myself.
I'm not good at writing romance, since I'm probably aro or demiromantic at this point, enough time has passed for that to likely be the case, so I probably won't write romance into the main plot, maybe off to the side or something if I ever feel inspired to do something like that. Have to write Medaka/Zenkichi tho, that's canon, nothing has changed about the timeline of Medaka Box.
Also, this is probably gonna be controversial, but I'm cranking down the NisiOisin-brand horny from like a ten to a two with some teenage hormones on the side, especially from Kumagawa et al. They are mentally 40 something, they are surrounded by high schoolers, it's weird, and we are moving the fuck past this discussion. Don't test me on this.
Last time I tried writing fanfiction to publish three years ago, I kinda got really turned off of it due to instantly getting harsh criticism as my first review, which was somewhat immature of me but it really did suck since it put me off writing for a bit, so sorry in advance if I am hesitant to interact in the review section.
I'm writing this for myself first and foremost, because I want to see where it goes and what I can make of this premise, and will most likely not have the comments steer me as much as I did last time since, in the wise words of Araki-sensei, "I would like if people who wish to become a manga artist not only listens to what their editor says, but also goes forward without losing heart. You should not just receive advice, but assimilate it in your own way. And above all, never read Twitter!"
Feel free to drop reviews, criticism, favs, anything. I just want to write something, for myself, and share it with others. I might adjust if I get inspired by one of the comments, but other than that, I'm doing this for me and will write it for myself. Thanks!