Izuku is almost five, and people have started noticing that he does not have a quirk yet. There is a doctors appointment set up for a few months down the line, one to confirm that he is just a late bloomer, or that his is one of millions of "invisible quirks." In the meantime, though, the kids from around the neighborhood and at school still taunt him. It has made him a target more times than he can count, and his mother has noticed that the scrapes and bruises and burns don't line up with the explanations he gives her. She begs him to tell her the truth and watches the children waiting for him to come out to play with wet green eyes that glisten like steel, waiting for one of them to step out of line so she can correct their actions and lecture them until their own eyes shine with tears.
They never do, though. Even at such a young age, they all know better than to push Izuku around where his mother can see. Izuku is relieved; even if they're not always very nice, these are the only friends he has. He doesn't want to see Kacchan get in trouble.
Izuku is almost five and he stands before bullies that he calls friends. His fists are trembling. His cheeks are wet. The girl crouched behind him has a hole burned in her skirt and her blonde hair is mussed up from falling to the ground. She sniffles, shielding her face as Izuku throws his arms out and yells that they are being mean, that he will stop them no matter what.
Kacchan sneers. The others laugh. The girl he was trying to protect runs away as her bullies turn their sights on Izuku instead. Even so, he still feels a sense of accomplishment welling up inside him, right alongside the bruises that litter his skin.
He limps his way to a park bench as the sun is disappearing from the sky, the world around him awash in shades of orange and stretching shadows. His bullies and his friends have wandered off, on their way home after a long day of play. His shoulder is burned and bleeding and the scrape on his chin is going to be hard to hide. Izuku is left alone, hoping that if he stays out long enough his mother won't notice when he sneaks in covered in dirt and patches of dried blood.
(Of course she'll notice. She always does. That won't stop him from telling her that it's nothing, though. He will smile and protect his friends; it's what a hero would do, after all!)
The streetlights have just begun to flicker on when someone approaches Izuku. He turns, wide eyed, to look the stranger over. The man just stares back with an unnervingly stoic gaze.
"Can I, uh, help you?" Izuku tries, doing his best to be polite. As he speaks, he stands and takes a step away from the stranger, looking him up and down, trying to decide what to do.
"I saw what you did earlier," the man says. His eyes catch the last few rays of the setting sun. They glow like dying embers among the shadows of his face.
"Uh, what? I-I don't really know—"
"The girl. You protected her. It was very impressive for a child your age."
Izuku finds himself beaming at the praise, cheeks flushing with pleasure. He ducks his head and mumbles a shy thank you. The man rasps out what he thinks is a laugh.
"What is your name, child?"
"Midoriya Izuku," he says, then adds, "I'm four. Who are you?"
The man rasps again, and this time Izuku is sure that it is laughter. His smile loses its shy edge as he directs it back towards the man that is not quite a stranger anymore.
"You can call me Stendhal."
Izuku hums, taking another step backwards in order to crane his neck back and take in all the details of the man. His hair is tied back and out of the way. His clothes are dark and practical, and if Izuku looks carefully he can see the glint of weapons amongst the folds of fabric. Izuku's eyes go wide as he notices the mask clipped to the man's belt and his smile drops into an expression of open awe.
"Are you a hero?"
"Perhaps a few might call me that," Stendhal says.
"Do you know All Might? He's my favorite hero ever!"
Stendhal's mouth is too wide as a smile breaks over his face. Izuku feels a creeping unease at the hunger in the man's eyes, but the excitement over meeting a real hero drowns it out quickly. He crouches down to look Izuku in the eye, blood red and bright green meeting, and Izuku can't seem to pull his gaze away no matter how much he wants to.
"You know what, Izuku-kun? All Might is my favorite hero, too."
Izuku is almost five when he meets the man who will one day become known as Hero Killer: Stain. He is almost five when he never makes it home from the playground.
This just came from a 4am random idea so I'm not sure if I'll continue it or not. I'm bnha trash but writing is hard.
Edited 12/12/2020 to give Stendhal his nose back.