Prologue: Value Equals Zero
Being quirkless was, on paper, a fairly common occurrence. One in five people didn't have quirks, roughly eighty percent of the population. On paper, it was enough of a percentage that discrimination while expected wouldn't go too far beyond a preference - one in five people after made a noticable chunk of a population, enough to sway a vote or effect profit margins. On paper, it shouldn't be a problem to be quirkless.
In reality, roughly nineteen point six of that twenty percent were either grandparents or great grandparents, people who had long since left the workforce and either lived at home or in a home. The remaining point four percent of the population were young adults or children. This meant most children either never met a quirkless person in their lives - or if they had, didn't know. A number small enough to be ignored, to be discriminated against openly.
In reality, being quirkless was seen as being wrong - like a disease that only thankfully doesn't spread. It didn't matter how smart or how strong you were, nor how carefully you sculpted your body through training and discipline to appear attractive - if you were quirkless, you were deformed, flawed, and worthless.
It didn't matter that a boy with green hair, oddly symmetrical freckles, green eyes, and a kind personality had consistently achieved the highest marks on paper, managed slightly above average physical grades, and went out of their way to help everyone around them even if they were insulted or assaulted by those they helped in return. He was quirkless, and therefore a disgusting freak that needed to give up on living and die alone in a ditch already.
It didn't matter if his uniform was ironed perfectly, that the patches used to replace the burnt pieces of cloth were seen on so perfectly they were invisible, that the make-up to cover the bruises and bandages and stitches was so well blended it was impossible to notice, that the stitches themselves were so well placed and covered that it was smooth to the touch.
He was quirkless, and therefore a useless, worthless waste of air and food that should just drown himself in the ocean so they won't have to waste space burying him or fuel cremating him.
Izuku, as far as his peers were concerned, only existed because they needed to work harder to get it through his pointless skull that he needed to off himself, so his death wouldn't show on their records and ruin their chances at higher learning. Izuku knew they thought like this - he saw it every day, experienced it every day. No-one attempted to stop them, so it must be either true or himself so unimportant that it being false didn't matter. It didn't matter if his mother still cared and therefore must disagree - at the end of the day she was outvoted by the rest of what Izuku could see of the world.
The more of the world Izuku saw, the more outvoted his mother became. People were their quirks, nothing else, thus if you don't have a quirk, you were nothing. This equated to two things. One, despite claims to the contrary not all men are created equal, and Two, not everyone is born with a purpose. He had no purpose, that is what being quirkless meant, and some people had quirks that were sought and valued while others were purely there to prove the person must have some value - if abstract.
There was no reason to argue these facts in Izuku's mind - one man couldn't change the world without a Quirk, and even then it'd take so much more than just one person. Izuku was ready to live a worthless life, he knew he'd struggle but he was already used to struggling. At least, he thought he was ready to live worthlessly until he finally died, too afraid to speed up the process and take his own life.
He really thought he was, and then the ten-year-old boy was kidnapped while walking home from school.
"It won't work."
The man who'd grabbed him put a finger against his mouth to shush him, Izuku looked at it and tilted his head so it would be on his cheek instead. "I'm worthless, so she'll just burn both of us. You need a different strategy."
"Like I'm going to trust my fucking hostage on how to beat-"
"You're foolish. Endeavor's Agency has never failed to ignore collateral damage - hostages don't work."
The man looked stressed, angry, and afraid. "Fine, what do you propose then?!"
Izuku looked at the alleyway the man had dragged him to, and pointed at a wall. The man looked up to see a ramen shop. "What, noodles!?"
"They have flour, and the trash truck drove through here before you kidnapped me, so the cans are all empty."
The man, scared further by the ten-year-old boy reciting reports of people being hurt during rescue to further prove his point, stole a large amount of flour from the noodle shop and loosely filled a number of trash cans and a dumpster with it. The man then used his quirk to poke holes in the bottoms and hide up behind one of the neon signs.
When the heroine was in range, he threw the last bag of flour and jumped through a window into one of the buildings. The heroines hair was made of fire, the flour bag burst and formed a large cloud of aerated flour, ignition was the result. Once that lit up, so did the rest.
The alleyway lit up, and then so did the buildings around it.
Izuku and the man left through another window into a different alleyway, the man booked it without Izuku. Izuku went home and watched the news - his actions, or at least the actions done because of his words, had value enough to be on every channel as Endeavor's agency was put on blast for allowing an intern to chase a villain unattended.
Izuku smiled as he felt a purpose well up in his chest. Having a purpose felt good. What if he helped other criminals in the same way, and brought the failings of those people more valuable than him to light? Surely then even someone as worthless as him could bring value to society.
He went to his mother and asked if he could learn about the equipment heroes used, how it was made, how to make it.
She cried as she hugged him and promised she'd figure out a way to help him make 'support gear'. Izuku felt that purpose build up again in his chest.
He cried in joy so he wouldn't burst.
A possible story I decided to drabble up a prologue for. If it gets interest and I can get back to a normal writing schedule to start posting regularly again I'll go further.