[-Edited for Grammar and readability purposes as of July 1st, 2024-]
No identity.
No power.
No rights.
That was his existence, dangling in a void above a bright swirling white light, taunting him as he hung in the airless vacuum. Tight, metallic chains constricted his body as his head hung low. His thick long white hair drooped over his cut-up and mutilated body. Blood seeped from the open, untreated, puss-filled wounds as he dangled there, aimless and without purpose.
No breath.
No mind.
No soul.
It was torture. Dangling just above a chance at a new life. What did he do to deserve this? All he wanted was to overcome his weakness—to overcome his illness. Was that not the right thing to do? To prove the world wrong? To spit in its face? To prove that he was not weak?
The ends justified the means, did they not? Those he turned into Demons wanted to be turned. Sure he stepped on some toes and killed a few people who, in the grand scheme of things needn't be killed, but it was all to get to his ultimate goal.
And yet, he fell short. His ultimate goal—immortality at its absolute was always just out of his grasp—dangling in front of him like a carrot on a stick to a starving pig.
The irony was palpable. Dangling just out of his reach…. He found that hilarious, if not insulting.
"Can you feel it?"
He was surrounded by an endless void, darkness filling his vision in its totality. Every corner, every inch, every surface was nothing but an empty, pitch-black void of nothingness, bereft of light with the sole exception being the pool of life beneath him.
"It's just around the corner."
That voice…. That sickly sweet, almost taunting voice rattled around in his lifeless mind—dead, but not quite. Constantly on the verge of passing, but never being allowed to. Such was his fate for all of what he had done.
His torn, useless wreck of a body dangled above that light—the light of reincarnation. With each passing day, the chains around his wrists would get tighter and tighter, then loosen, then tighten again—taunting him just like that voice.
Every now and again, that sickly sweet voice would speak to him cryptically. All it would say was "It is not your time" on repeat for what felt like hours, and it slowly drove him insane—at least, moreso than he already was.
But now, as if a means to mess with him further, it said something different. Why the sudden change? He didn't know what to think—to be angry or happy. Why now would it change what it was saying to him? What kind of trickery was this?
"What… do you want?" He hissed, his voice hoarse from what felt like eons of disuse.
"What is your name?"
A question that he could actually answer? That was a first. Although, there was one small hiccup. What was his name? He forgot it after so long….
No.
No, he didn't…!
How could he forget who he was?
He was the bane of humanity in his time. He killed and devoured hundreds of thousands of those who dared to get in his way! He was the Demon King! He was feared for centuries, bordering on a thousand years! His very name wove fear into lesser lifeforms!
To forget who he was…! It was a crime of the utmost!
"Muzan… Kibutsuji…!" His hoarse voice roared into the void and it was as anguished as it was furious. When he spoke out his name, blood spewed out of his mouth at the same time as he spoke, forcing him to cough.
To feel as weak as he was when he was human…. It was a crime. A very stain on his existence. To be reduced to this… sack of flesh was disgusting. But it was not undeserved. Hell had a way to punish those who it deemed the worst of the worst. This was his punishment. To be made a weak, pathetic old man chained above a chance at a new life.
Minutes passed by, as dread sunk in. There was an unmountable silence, and just when he thought the void had tricked him—just when he was made to look even more like a fool—he was answered by that voice in his head.
"Do you want a second chance at life?"
Now there was a question with an obvious answer. Of course, he wanted it! To be alive again, and to be out of this hell was a blessing by Kami itself! But… did he deserve it? After what he did? After all the pain he had caused?
He was the Demon King. He was a monster.
Did a monster like him truly deserve to be alive once more?
Oh, who was he kidding? Of course, he did! He suffered long enough, both as a Demon and as a human. He suffered his entire life, even when a Demon, constantly haunted by that man and those stupid Hashira and their feckless organization.
But now, in a new life, where those didn't exist, he would be able to live a life with purpose. Getting reborn was something that he wanted—no—needed. Of course, that would entail that he himself would cease to exist. A fool he was not. Frankly, he didn't care. He just wanted out of here.
At least then, he would be able to rest in peace, even if he lived as a different person.
"Y-Yes…" He rasped, coughing as the voice in his head went silent. The seconds carried on for what seemed like forever, and rather than the voice speaking to him, the chains loosened in their entirety, and as he fell into the light, its warmth washing over his body as he felt every ache, every wound, and every pain he had ever felt melt away, the voice spoke.
"Welcome to the world…!"
"…My precious Izuku," a tired-sounding feminine voice greeted him. He could not see, but he could hear, and his ears heard right. Izuku… that was his name now. It meant "long exit." The irony. After all of what he went through, to be reborn as a person whose name meant "long exit" almost felt like one last spit in the face by Hell.
As his soul settled into his new vessel, he felt his memories fade, knowledge of who he once was disappearing as he felt the loving embrace of his new body's mother. Not awakening in a cremater about to be burned due to having been perceived to have died, but to be a healthy baby boy.
It was like everything he ever dreamed.
However, just before Muzan faded away like a terrible memory, he noticed that his new body was pathetically weak. It was a gut feeling, and that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. So, using the last of his Transformative Blood ability on his new form, he altered it to be that of a demon.
He could feel the change immediately. The cries of his new vessel became louder as his newfound mother tried to hush his new form. The body was acclimating to his blood, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this new vessel would endure.
He didn't need to fear the chance of death. He was guaranteed a new chance at life. As Kami granted it.
And, of course, what reincarnation of The Demon King wouldn't be complete without his powers? His Blood Demon Art: Combat Form, his Progenitor abilities, his Body Modification, his Biological Matter Absorption, his Transformative Blood, his Telepathy with anyone who shared his Demonic blood, and his Nigh-Absolute Regeneration. That way, his new life as this Izuku individual would be perfect.
And the best part? Because he was born a Demon, and because the sun was currently shining down on his new form without it killing him, he knew from the start that this new form would be immune to the sun! It was as if he was getting exactly what he wanted!
"Your time is up, Muzan Kibutsuji. Is this vessel to your liking?"
Was it? Was there anything that he was forgetting? No… He was pretty sure that this vessel was perfect. It was him without any of the drawbacks. If there was anything wrong, he was sure that this new him would figure it out….
"Oh! One more thing…" How could he forget? He would need to remind himself as to who he was at some point. So, he put in a message. One that would play for him once he turned his very first Demon. That way, it would remind him exactly of who he was supposed to be, and what he was supposed to do.
To overtake humanity as the dominant species.
And with that, it was finally time to rest. He felt the very essence of his being become absorbed into his new vessel as it stopped crying, calming down as it should. Most people would panic, but he didn't need to. He more than deserved to fade away, especially given who he was. He only didn't panic because he knew his fate was in the right hands.
"This is it… Do me proud, boy. Make the world fear the name Izuku Midoriya, just as it feared the name Muzan Kibutsuji…."
When Izuku Midoriya opened his eyes for the very first time, his pupils were sharp like a cat, and they shone a bright red.
[Four Years Later]
Izuku knew he was different. He always felt that way for some reason or another. For one, out of everyone in his class, he was the only one who exhibited the measures of a Quirk since the day he was born; his red cat-like eyes proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Only, the confusing part, was that neither his mother nor his father shared that trait. They both had round, normal-shaped pupils. His dad had brown eyes, and his mother had green eyes. Neither of those colours made red, and neither of their families, be they his fathers or his mothers, had any traits of someone with red eyes in their lineage.
They chalked it up to it being a facet of his Quirk—whatever it was supposed to be, as even the doctors didn't know. It was clear from a young age that he had one, but his body did not show signs of it, aside from his cat-like eyes, which again made no sense given that, once again, neither of his parents exhibited that trait.
In that sense, he was unique. An outlier even in his own bloodline, for better or for worse.
Izuku was short, but then again any boy his age would be short. He stood at around 88.9cm, or two foot eleven inches, his skin was pale, and he had freckles dotting his cheeks. His hair was green with black highlights—the black was thanks to his dad, and the green his mother.
He wore a simple light green long-sleeve shirt and brown pants, accompanied with black shoes adorned with red highlights, and white ankle socks. On top of his head was a yellow sun hat that protected his eyes from the sun.
Due to the paleness of his skin, he was prone to getting rather nasty sunburns. It was a side-effect of his Dad and his fire breath Quirk. It was ironic, given that he had no fire breath of his own. Just his creepy, cat-like eyes, as everyone was keen to point out.
That aside, a part of the reason why he was different from everyone else was due to his intelligence. He was able to read at a college level and do math up to fifth grade. Whereas most kids his age, around four years old, needed help with ten minus seven, he was doing algebra and beginner calculus.
It stood to reason that his teachers believed that his Quirk was Hyperintelligence. But, then, if that was the case, why did that mean his eyes had to be red and have cat-like irises? Why was his skin sensitive to the sun? He ruled that idea out, especially given what else he discovered about his Quirk.
Moving on, his parents, specifically his mother, one Inko Midoriya, was one of the kindest people he knew. She was sweet, nurturing, and caring, and was a bit of a mess when it came to emotions. She cried. A lot. But that was fine. Being emotional was normal, and he took that in stride.
Not that he cried a lot, mind you. Sure, he cried when something emotional happened. He smiled, he laughed, he played—just like a normal child. The only difference was that he was really, really smart.
Not that his father was a big fan of that. Speaking of his father, Hisashi Midoriya, he… Well, Izuku didn't have much to say about him. After all, what was there to say about a man who was absent after his birth? He claimed to have moved to America and sent them money once a month on the first of each month. It was just around 20,000 dollars American.
That was quite of money, and if one were to convert that to Yen, it was well around 3.2 million. If this had been the early 21st century, that would be enough for someone to live per year, let alone per month. But, this was the late 22nd century, and 3.2 million yen a month was enough for a month's rent, a month's worth of groceries if someone were to live in the city which his family did, fresh clothes, bills and appliances, and even left over to carry over into the next month, which typically went into savings to let it gain passive income.
That aside, Izuku had never seen his father in real life, only through family pictures or the occasional video call. From what he could gather, the man was tall and typically had the starting of a beard on his chin that looked like aftershave. But that was it. Oh, and he had freckles.
That was all he knew and saw about his dad. Despite his harsh appearance and his judgmental stare in the photos that his mother had of him, she said that he was a nice person, further compounded by the fact that he was a Pro Hero in America known as Flashfire. It made sense, given his flame breath Quirk.
As for his mothers, her Quirk wasn't very proficient or good for heroics. It was a weak psychic quirk that allowed her to bring small, yet also useful objects closer to her within a small distance from her person. It was a decently useful Quirk for day-to-day life, nothing more, nothing less. Though, he figured that if she had trained it enough, it could be a good close-combat Quirk if she ever decided to pursue a later career in heroics.
Which then came to him, and his Quirk.
His Quirk did not have a name. The reason for that was simple: why give a name to something that was still developing? His Quirk was unique, in that it was so powerful that his body was still adapting around it so that he could manifest it fully.
Right now, all his Quirk had been was heightened intelligence, and regeneration of some kind, along with whips that could come out of his back that looked like something ripped right out of a horror movie. It was a rather monstrous Quirk, and his parents forbade him from using it in public for any reason. The last thing that they needed was for him to be dubbed a villain because of his Quirk.
Thus, they told him to lie. To lie to his class that his Quirk was merely "Hyper Intelligence." If they questioned about his eyes being different, then he was to tell them that it was a mutation.
He didn't understand why he needed to lie about his Quirk. It was his Quirk. Nothing else, nothing more. Why did it matter what other people's opinions were about his power if it was his and his alone?
Whatever the case was, his parents doubled down on that he had to lie—all for his sake, so that his life would be easier. So, against his better judgment, he lied. He lied to everyone about what his Quirk was.
And all it did was make him a target for bullying and harassment.
There was one thing his parents forgot to mention. It was that, in a society that idolized the strong so that they may one day become Pro Heroes, having a villainous Quirk was bad. But, having a useless Quirk was even worse, even if his supposed useless Quirk wasn't even useless, and that it was a lie.
Which then brought him to someone who had become a bane to his everyday life. A loud, rude, abrasive brat of a child who he once called friend—Katsuki Bakugo.
"Hey! Cat-eyes!" A voice called out to him as he sat alone at the edge of the sandbox. He looked up from where he was staring at, that being the sandy pits of the sandbox, as his eyes met the eyes of Bakugo, who flinched upon seeing them.
Katsuki Bakugo had short, spiky sandy blond hair, red eyes like his own—only minus the sharp pupil—cream-coloured skin, and stood around his height if not a little bit taller. He wore a blue and yellow striped shirt, brown shorts, and black sneakers.
Bakugo used to be Izuku's friend. The keyword there was "used to" because after he lied about his Quirk being merely Hyperintelligence, Bakugo saw him as useless. Brawn over brains, as was the saying, and with Bakugo's Explosion Quirk, he was seen as the strongest. As previously mentioned, the strong had no use for the weak. So, he was thrown to the curb, cast away like trash.
It was funny. Because the only person who was trash in this was him.
Izuku knew, deep down, that Bakugo was inferior to him. It was a gut feeling, and one that was filled with a little bit of anger thanks to his recent treatment, but it was a gut feeling nonetheless. But, aside from that, there was another reason why he loathed Bakugo.
That damnable nickname. "Cat-eyes."
It was innoxious to most. A simple nickname that pointed out the obvious. But to Izuku, it was more than that. It was a taunt—to remind Izuku that he was alien to them. Detached from them. Weaker than them.
That obviously wasn't true. Izuku knew he was stronger than anyone here. That they were weaker than him and that he was better than all of them. He could prove it. He just wasn't allowed to.
That, and Izuku hated his eyes. He hated how creepy they were. How much they put people off; even his mother. She, like everyone else, would flinch upon looking him in the eyes. As if staring at them hurt. Bakugo knew he hated his eyes, and used that to taunt and poke at him. To make him feel lesser.
"One day… One day you miserable jerk! I'll show you who's better!" Izuku thought, gnashing his teeth together from behind his neutral expression.
"What do you want, Bakugo?" Izuku asked, his tone dry and devoid of anything. It made Bakugo frown.
"Gah! Why do you sound like a robot?! You're lame, Cat-eyes! Lame! He's lame! Lame like his lame, useless Quirk!" Bakugo taunted, poking at him like he was some kind of plush toy.
"Leave me alone, Bakugo…" Izuku said, getting up from where he sat, only to be pushed into the sandbox by him. Izuku's hat fell off of his head, exposing his eyes and face to the sun, which made him flinch. He hated that burning ball of gas in the sky. He wished he could make it go away. Even if it was only for a little while.
"Ha! Like hell!" Sparks flew from Bakugo's hands, a sign that his Quirk was in use. For those who didn't know, Bakugo's Quirk, Explosion, gave him the ability to sweat out nitroglycerin and use it to create explosions from his palms to great effect.
For a time, before he lied about his Quirk and what it did, Izuku thought Bakugo's Quirk was cool. It was powerful, and if in the right hands, could make for someone with amazing potential to be a hero.
But then Bakugo started using it on him.
That was when Izuku realized that Bakugo was not his friend. No friend would use their Quirk on one another, especially as a means to hurt each other as Bakugo did. All because he was "weak" "pathetic" and "useless." All things he, objectively, was not!
"Bakugo! Please st—"
Izuku wasn't allowed to finish, as he was dragged up from the sandbox by Bakugo, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. "Oi! Ito! Tsubasa! Come 'ere!"
"Damn you! Damn you all! Damn you all to hell!" Izuku cursed in his head. He hated this. He hated being ridiculed and mocked. Which made it all the worse when Bakugo called out those names. The names of his lackies. The names of those who he had grown to hate with every fibre of his being.
Ito and Tsubasa were two of Bakugo's 'friends,' though as he noted, they were better off being called lackies than anything else. Everywhere Bakugo went, they were never far behind. At his beck and call, they would appear, and it was always so that they could mock and ridicule him or some other poor kid who didn't deserve it.
All so that they could be in Bakugo's good books.
It was pathetic how they treated Bakugo as if he was some sort of Kami. Bakugo was not, nor would he ever be. He was a waste of air. He was dirt! If only he was allowed to prove that! But, all it would do would make things worse.
Tsubasa was a rotund boy with a shaved head of brown hair. His eyes were always closed, and he, like Bakugo, had a smirk on his at all hours of the day. He had two massive draconic wings sprouting from his back, and he wore a white tank top, black shorts, and wooden sandals.
Then, there was Ito. He was a thin stick of a boy who had long shaggy black hair that hung over his eyes. His chin was pointed like a dagger, and his Quirk gave him the ability to extend his fingers past his knees. He wore a black shirt, orange shorts, and white velcro runners.
"Look, guys! Look who it is! It's useless ol' Cat-Eyes! What a joke! He can't even stand up for himself with his useless Quirk!" Bakugo mocked as his grin widened, flashing his teeth.
"What're we gonna do, Bakugo?" Tsubada questioned, his voice mocking, only made worse by how nasally it sounded. "Oh! I know! I can fly him up into a tree and leave him there to squirm!
"Nah, we did that last week. Gotta be a little more original than that," Bakugo said, waving off Tsubasa's idea. Rather than be upset, he went back to thinking, tapping his chin as Ito spoke up.
"How about this! I can lift him in the air with my fingers, and then you can blow him up! Go for a new record!" Ito suggested as Bakugo's toothy smirk turned into a wide grin, his eyes flashing manically as sparks flew from his palms in bated excitement.
"Yeah! Then Tsubasa can throw him up into the tree! Great idea, Ito!" Bakugo said, slamming his right fist into his open left palm, a small explosion bursting from his hand as he stared Izuku down. "Doesn't that sound fun, Cat-eyes?"
"Bakugo… please!" He was begging… It was pathetic, and he knew it was. Maybe, if he begged, Bakugo would leave him alone. He just wanted to draw in the sand. That was all he wanted to do. Why couldn't Bakugo just leave him alone? "Please, just leave me alone…"
Bakugo stood there for a second, thinking it over as he tilted his head to the side once, then twice, before shrugging."Nah! It's fun to watch you squirm!"
And so, what Ito suggested happened. He was raised in the air, then pelted with about ten explosions all over his body, before he was dropped to the ground and subsequently picked up and flown into the nearest oak tree just by the entrance of the playground that was attached to his school, all the while Bakugo, Ito, and Tsubasa laughed at his expense.
When Tsubasa left him there, dangling from the collar of his shirt in the oak tree, all Izuku could do was sit there and sneer down at the group of three. His body had burns and bruises all over from the attack. But, they all quickly faded away as if they never existed. His healing factor had kicked in, and while the attack happened, he had to suppress it until he was out of sight.
His mother had made it apparent that he was not allowed, under any circumstances, to show any facet of his Quirk unless he had no choice. Even something as benign as his healing factor. All to keep up the lie. To keep up the lie that his Quirk was just Hyperintelligence.
The whips he understood. That was fine. They were very villain-like, that much was obvious. But the healing factor? He didn't know why even that was forbidden. Plenty of people had healing Quirks. They were seen as rare, sure, but they existed. So why wasn't he allowed to show off his?
His mother never elaborated. She simply said that it was not allowed and that Kami forbid his arm was taken off in some freak accident or he broke a bone, that only then would be allowed to show it off. Anything else, and it was a no-go.
Izuku would've been fine with that, had it not been for how he was being treated. How he was being mocked and bullied.
He told his Mom time and time again that it was getting him bullied. But, out of fear of being ridiculed by everyone else, she told him to endure. Those words were like a curse to him, but he understood.
He had seen how people were treated on the news for raising children with villainous Quirks. They were attacked, made to look like awful people, and harassed daily. The police did nothing to stop it, seeing it as a good thing. It was disgusting and made him hate how society was built up to be.
And thus, he endured.
He endured until he couldn't endure any longer.
And now, he was starting to get to his limit.
Izuku wiggled himself off of the branch and fell to the gravelly ground below, falling on his face as Bakugo, Ito, and Tsubasa all looked back, pointed, and laughed at him. A small trail of blood fell from his lip as he gritted his teeth.
He took in everything. He remembered all of their faces—their Quirks, their mannerisms, their bodies—everyone who ignored him and his plight. He burned their appearances in his mind and made sure that he would never forget them.
All of them. All of them would pay for neglecting him. For ignoring him and letting Bakugo and his cronies walk all over him. Why didn't they show the same care and attention toward him as they did Bakugo? Was it really all because he lied about his Quirk?
A part of him believed this to be karma for lying. But then, what would be better? Being labelled a villain? Or this?
He honestly didn't know, and it frustrated him deeply.
But all of that aside, just as Karma had cursed him, he wanted to do something—anything to make Bakugo squirm. Just once, and only once. Quick enough to where he wouldn't see it.
But what to do? What could he do? He didn't want to draw too much attention to himself. This was supposed to be sneaky. A way to jab at him without having him be seen as a culprit.
"Ah, I know…" Izuku thought as Bakugo approached the drink table. It was a games day at his school for grades kindergarten to three. As such, there were snacks and drinks aplenty. Seeing as Bakugo was about to go get something, he figured he could sabotage him, even if it was only for a brief moment.
As Bakugo reached for a juice box—a cherry juice box, which stained the worst on shirts—Izuku felt something shift underneath his skin. A small tear formed in the back of his shirt, as a thin, barbed-wire-like whip came out of his back. They were thin, and barely noticeable in the sunlight. Like a snake, ready and willing to strike.
Bakugo picked up his juice box and held it for a second in the air as if it were some kind of trophy. Izuku snarled, a guttural little thing, like an animal poised and threatened, and in the blink of an eye, faster than someone could perceive it, the tiny vine-like whip zipped forward and slashed open the juice box, spilling it all over Bakugo's fresh, clean shirt, all the while his vine-like whip merged back with his body.
He could've lashed Bakugo himself, but that would've made it too obvious. He wasn't that cocky to think that he wouldn't be deemed responsible. That, and as he had found out when he had whipped a rodent, his whips were poisonous. So, he definitely didn't want to hurt Bakugo with them.
"Eh!? What the hell!? Which one you jerks did this?!" Bakugo screamed, looking down at his shirt as Ito and Tsubasa took a step back.
"N-Not me!" Ito balked, looking at the mess made by Izuku, unaware it was made by him in the first place.
"It ain't me, either!" Tsubasa said, shivering under Bakugo's hateful stare. It then shifted to Izuku, who faked trying to get up from the ground. Bakugo glared at him, and Izuku stared back, his expression forced neutrality as it always was before Bakugo huffed.
"Whatever… Doesn't matter. It's just a shirt. C'mon, I gotta get a spare now…" Bakugo grumbled, storming off as he was followed by Tsubasa and Ito. Izuku snickered to himself. It was a little victory. Nothing more and nothing less, but it was those little victories that gave Izuku that little bit of an extra confidence booster.
As the day went on, Bakugo left him alone. He guessed once was good enough for today. He was thankful for that. If he had to put up with any more of Bakugo's harassment today, he would've lost his cool, just like he had almost back there. When the day finally went out, his mother picked him up from school, and when they got home, he went straight to his room to do the one thing that gave him solace.
Study.
Izuku was, as stated before, a unique child. He had unique interests and unique hobbies. Due to his intelligence, he constantly found himself buried in books about human anatomy and biology. Constantly wanting to study and experiment, yet not having the necessary tools to do so.
His mother would get him books, and those books would be biology books. Anatomy books. Books about the deep science of the human body and how it works. Books about how animal biology functioned—and that was just one shelf on his bookshelf, which was stationed next to the entrance of his bedroom. All of those books were written by different people and had different perspectives, so of course he had to have multiple.
It was how his mind functioned. He wanted—no. He needed to know more. It was like an itch. As if his mind was trying to piece together some kind of puzzle. A puzzle as to why he was so special and smart.
One of his hobbies, aside from studying human biology and anatomy, was studying history. In recorded human history after the Quirk Boom, Izuku was the first person to exhibit multiple Quirk-like abilities all wrapped under one Quirk, of which he did not give a name as of just yet.
He was special. His mother and father said he was. His doctor said he was. Everyone said he was special, but Izuku didn't know why. Not exactly, anyway. That was why he was studying human biology and human history. So that he may one day figure out what made him so special, aside from what everyone had told him thus far.
As for the rest of his room, it was a bog-standard child room. A bed, a dresser, and posters of some heroes, but most of all, All Might. Izuku looked up to All Might, but not for the reason that most children would. He saw All Might as a bar to surpass, for if All Might was the pinnacle of human evolution, then why not see him as a bar to surpass?
If Izuku was to be special, then he wanted to be better than All Might. He wanted to be stronger, faster, and better than All Might. It was similar to how Bakugo viewed All Might. But unlike Bakugo, Izuku knew he would be better than him.
After all, Izuku was special.
Izuku was unique.
And one day, sure enough, Izuku would be better than All Might. With or without society's approval.
But that begged the question: What would Izuku be? What was his ultimate goal supposed to be? If he was to beat All Might and be better than him, did that mean he wanted to be a Pro Hero?
No.
Because that would mean he would have to conform to society and follow their rules. Rules that made it difficult to exist freely as who he wanted to be. If he were to be a pinnacle, perfect, shining example of humanity then why should be kowtow to their whims?
That was where he saw All Might as going wrong. He let the system control him rather than become the system. If being a Hero meant bowing down to that, then forget it. He would much rather be the very thing his mother feared him becoming.
He would much rather be a Villain.
"Izuku! Dinner!" His mother called out to him from the hallway. Izuku got up from his bed, closed the book in his hand and put it back where it belonged on his shelf, before exiting his room and joining his mother at the dinner table.
What was for dinner? Katsudon, of course. Even though Izuku could not taste, and even though he hardly felt full after eating Katsudon—or anything that his mother cooked for that matter—he still ate it.
Izuku never mentioned this to his mother. She was always worried about him. Constantly fretting over whether or not he was doing alright or whether he needed or wanted anything. He loved his mother to death, but there were some times when she was just a little on the overprotective side.
Speaking of his mother, she was short, standing around 160cm, or around five foot three inches. She was dressed in a pink short-sleeve shirt and blue pants. Her hair reached down past her shoulders with a bun atop her head. Her eyes were a lighter shade of green compared to her hair and like Izuku she had slightly pale skin. She was also rather on the slim side of things, even thinner than most school girls.
As they ate in relative silence, having already discussed each other's days on the walk home from school, he pondered his original thought before he came to eat dinner. How he would rather be a Villain than a Hero. He looked over to his mother and tilted his head.
"Mom. If I became a Villain, would you still love me?" Izuku asked, genuine curiosity in his voice as Inko had to stop herself from choking on her food. She blinked a few times, before looking at Izuku with concerned eyes.
"Izuku! You shouldn't joke about that, you're smarter than that!" Inko reprimanded as Izuku frowned.
"But I'm not joking, Mom. I'm serious. Would you still love me if I decided to become a Villain?" Izuku probed, as Inko met his frown with a frown of her own.
"Izuku, stop asking me stupid questions," Inko said, shaking her head, before reaching over the table and ruffling Izuku's hair. "I don't care what you do, Izuku. I will love you forever and always. You're my sweet little boy. I will always be there for you. Through thick and thin. You got that?"
For a moment, he had been worried his mother would've said "No, why would I love a Villain?" But then, of course, he had to remind himself that his mother was unique. She had an undying love for him. Of course, she would love him no matter what.
"Thank you, Mom," Izuku muttered, slightly embarrassed at his mother ruffling his hair, which earned him a light-hearted smile.
"Oh, please, you don't need to thank me for doing the bare minimum."
And with that, once Dinner was all said and done, the two sat down to watch a movie, specifically, a movie from the pre-Quirk era called "Akira." It was something his father always watched with his mother, and neither of them got sick of it.
As he sat there, watching the old-era movie, Izuku couldn't help but feel as if today was the start of his life turning around for the better. Deep in his bones, he felt as if today was just the start. The start of what, however, Izuku didn't know.
What he did know, however, was that he was meant for something grand. Something beyond this society's scope.
After all, he, Izuku Midoriya, was special.
And special people were always beyond what others believed. No matter what.
-To Be Continued-