Tardiness was never a priority for Izuku. Despite that, Izuku showed up three seconds before the late bell rang. The class and his sensei watched Izuku enter with surprise. It almost has been three weeks since they last saw him. It's like finding a four-leaf clover or a pearl in a clam. For some reason, most had thought Izuku had finally left school—or died. Of course, for someone as rowdy as Izuku Midoriya, it would've only been a matter of time. However, amongst the crowd, the only one who wasn't surprised was Katsuki Bakugou. Katsuki was not nonchalant, and he did not care about Izuku's appearance. The blonde boy kept his emotions close to his chest. It was instead an out-of-character moment for Izuku to see. Katsuki was a bit off-putting, not dramatic or explosive, but he couldn't bother what Katsuki was and wasn't. Izuku had everyone's attention. And he hated every second of it.
Izuku brushed past his sensei through the almost dozens of desks to his seat in the back. Izuku skirted around and into his desk. Already, his classmates saw Izuku's black cast wrapping his left arm. Their whispers were hardly anything but quiet. Izuku's sensei was too focused on the muster sheets, probably looking through the last few days and weeks of attendance. Izuku didn't care. School has always been an annoyance that he had to go through. For once in his schooling career, Izuku needs to focus. It has been on his mind since that morning. You can hardly deem that dream a dream and more like an illusion cast upon Izuku while his eyes are closed.
"Midoriya," Izuku glances left, "What happened to your arm?" a classmate of his asked. Izuku couldn't recall his name at the moment. It would be too awkward to ask, but it would be rude to dismiss him. After all, only the school knows what "happened" to him. Izuku guessed by the way his sensei barely acknowledged him that he hadn't explained why Izuku had been out for a couple of weeks.
"Well," Izuku whispered, "To shortly put it, I got hit by a bus."
It's better to tell him as bluntly as possible. While the story is a bit (entirely) fabricated, it contains some truths. A few pieces of a bus did hit him. Hopefully, Izuku said enough to satisfy his classmate's curiosity. Izuku shifts his arm to a more right position. Sitting at these desks is uncomfortable.
"Huh? You got hit by a bus?" His classmate in a not-so-loud whisper. "How did that happen, Midoriya-san? Did you get into a fight?"
Where did the idea of him getting into a fight come from?
Izuku shrugs, "I don't know. I just got hit. One second, it wasn't there, and the next, boom." Within three minutes, Izuku set his notebook and pen on his desk. Taking his bag off his shoulder and the floor takes more time than it should, with only a single arm to work with.
His classmate wasn't the only one to ask about his arm. In every period and between periods, groups of classmates and students from other classrooms arrived to ask Izuku about his cast. Most of them came asking the same question about how he got injured. However, the students outside Izuku's class came with the most bizarre questions and gossip.
"Midoriya-senpai," a long-haired girl asks, "Is it true you fought with a dozen thugs simultaneously, only losing because they ran you over with a bus?" Izuku is assaulted with more stories, making him sound like an associated student with ties to the Yakuza. It's so dramatic. Izuku ignores the girl.
Everyone is so bothersome. Can't they leave him alone? Accept the story: he got hit by a bus, so what? There's no need to ask more questions. It's not any of their business, only Izuku's.
When lunch rolled around, Izuku escaped his classroom and headed toward the cafeteria. No matter what, no matter how, students of all years keep bothering him, asking small, minor, and personal questions. Too many, in fact, he might make him blow a gasket. What's so special about a quirkless boy? That is all anyone should know about Izuku. It makes him mad that everyone is paying attention to him only because of rumors. No one asked Izuku if he was alright. Or how his arm was, nor did he ask him how he felt.
The whole day was a drag, but at least the school day ended without trouble. Or so Izuku thought.
Class is over. Izuku stuffed all his class materials into his bag as three boys pushed through a sea of leaving students. They eyed him like prey. Katsuki was gone, and they didn't seem like the bunch (neither did Katsuki) to be involved with him. Their faces sparked a sense of familiarity. Has he seen them before? One tall boy with spiky hair hanging over his eyes, one broad and beefy with a round head and short height, and another plain-looking kid whose only defining feature is a crooked nose bent in two places. Izuku hopes they don't have any business with him, except Izuku has a feeling that he's not going to be lucky today.
"Midoriya," the plain one screams, "How's your arm?" The students around the trio become distressed. The teacher has already left. Izuku stood by his desk. The trio slowly made their way to Izuku, spreading around him. Izuku doesn't know why they're trying to trap him in the classroom. He won't run away. Students in Aldera already know the unwritten rule: they saw, heard, and did nothing. At the current moment, they're just a peanut gallery.
"Why do you guys want?" Izuku asks, trying to remember the boy with a crooked nose. He seemed familiar, but Izuku couldn't put his finger on it. Izuku guesses he's the leader. He marches toward Izuku, face to face, brimming full of pride.
"Nothing much, we just wanted to see the great and folly Midoriya wander around the school like a cripple," he says as the two boys behind him give a slight chuckle.
The boy with the crooked nose moved closer, whiffing his dandruff-filled up to Izuku's nose, "I'm here to put the pitiful bug in his place, finally."
Izuku clenched his fist, "Is that so?" he asks. The leader inches closer, mere centimeters from Izuku's face, with an ugly grin. "Of course, whatcha' gonna do?"
Izuku takes a deep breath and sighs. The room is silent. Izuku looks to the roof before deciding his next move.
It felt as if time were frozen. Crooked Nose's arm whips toward him, but Izuku ducks under the heavy blow; Izuku weaves under, grabbing at his arm. Izuku smashed his thigh with a knee. Izuku yanks Crooked Nose off balance, delivering a bone-jarring headbutt that sends him reeling across a desk. Pudgy and Tall Boy sprung into action immediately.
He kicks his desk into Pudgy's knees, sending him crashing to the ground, before lunging at Tall Boy. Dodging a wild hook, Izuku seizes Tall Boy's arm, his elbow crashing against his chin with devastating force—Tall Boy's world twists and blurs as he quickly falls over. Pudgy gets up from the floor and charges at Izuku like a bull seeing red.
Pudgy's body is wide. Despite him charging his fastest, he's slow. Izuku quickly shifts out of the way, kicking his foot out—pudgy trips and rubles into a set of desks.
Crooked Nose jumps on Izuku, bringing his arms around his neck for a choke hold and quickly squeezing like a snake.
"That arm makes this so much easier," Crooked Nose says, pulling back more and more. Blood slowly pours out from his nose as he still has an infuriating grin that Izuku hates. It's not like having a broken arm is his fault. But Izuku will not let it be his downfall. He sinks his teeth into Crooked Nose's arm, almost drawing blood. Izuku clasps Crooked Nose's arm and tosses him over his shoulder, crashing into the floor.
Tall Boy tries to get back to his feet, but Izuku grabs a desk chair and heaves it as harshly as he can at him. The chair wrecks his face, and Tall Boy falls into a pile of chairs.
Crooked Nose turns his back into the air, attempting to collect his senses. Izuku shifts himself next to him and cracks his skull with a stomp. Izuku gets on his knee, gripping Crooked Nose's hair, pulling him eye-to-eye.
"No wonder why I thought you looked so familiar. You're from Class 2-D, Takashi Nakamura. You tried attacking me for some pocket change. That's how I made your nose look as crooked as it is. Haven't you tried this already? You already knew that you and your buddies weren't even a close match for me, even with both of my arms. What makes you think you have even a slim chance you can beat me as I am now? You're nowhere near Bakugou's level."
"Deku," Izuku looks toward the reopened classroom entrance, "What are you doing with trash like them?" Katsuki Bakugou asks. Izuku immediately frowns after hearing his old childhood friend.
"It seems like trash attracts trash. People with useless quirks and quirkless aren't much different." Katsuki says. His arms crossed, holding his school bag in one hand, looking toward Izuku with a smug grin.
"What do you want Katsuki?" Izuku releases Takashi Nakamura, his face slamming into the floor.
"Straight to the point, huh? Well, a little birdy told me you are applying for UA's hero course. I guess not only you're a useless Deku and a piece of trash, but you are also a liar."
How did Katsuki already know? Izuku hasn't even seen his teacher yet. Unless All Might make the change for Izuku. And, of course, Sensei has weak lips.
"Why would I say anything if I knew how you'd react," Izuku said. He's going to try to play it off. But Izuku has no choice but to take to his guardian. Katsuki shrugs.
"I wonder what else you're lying about? Your "broken arm," or maybe you're not even quirkless?" Katsuki chuckles at that last part.
"Well, you do know who's my guardian, right?" Izuku moves away from Takashi and toward the front of the class where Katsuki stands, three desks away.
"Why does that matter?"
"I should keep up appearances. Since I am his "official son," at least those are my thoughts." How come Izuku is constantly cleaning up after All Might? He only makes it harder for him.
"Anyways," Izuku says, " We should go. We don't know when Kotaro-sensei will return. Plus, we got a crowd." Izuku points to the student to the window. Katsuki smacks his tongue in agreement. How come today was so busy for him? Why can't people leave him alone?
It didn't take long for Izuku's sensei to pin the mess in the classroom. But Izuku couldn't get in trouble. There were no witnesses, nor Takakshi and friends were talking about who hurt them. Still, Izuku stood outside the counseling room waiting for his sensei. The day was already over. Izuku knew he should've left quicker than a slow walk. It's not too late to leave. A simple twenty-second jog, and he's out of the school. It wouldn't be out of character for Izuku to not follow authority. Wasn't that him? Izuku was the kind of kid who would die on the street corner, probably due to some type of gang activity. Isn't that what everyone thinks of him?
Izuku's back leans on the drywall next to the councilor's room, deciding what to say to convince Akira sensei not to tell Inko. She would throw an absolute fit. Probably saying, 'You have a broken arm, and you still cause trouble,' and Akane would join in, like mother-like daughter. His life would probably be easier if he could use the Sharingan, his quirk. The way he is, it's all All Might's fault. Forcing him to hide that part of him. Forcing him to be pushed around by trashy people like Takashi, forcing him to—
"Izuku," Izuku looks up to his sensei, "I'm sorry for making you wait. I didn't think that meeting would take long." Akira Tensei usually wears a regular black button-up and a blazer of the same color, poorly trying to imitate that businessman style. He is not tall, at least compared to regular adults. Izuku hasn't entirely received that growth spurt. His hair is a mess, and he wears thin glasses. Akira looked like a guy who would be clumsy, unreliable, or a dunce despite being the school's career counselor. Maybe a mixture of all in-between, but he held himself to a high standard. He's primarily serious, like his current expression.
"Did you think I leave?" Izuku asks.
"Of course not. I'm sure a boy like you would be wise enough not to leave."
Akira unlocks the door, and both enter the counseling room. Izuku's first impression of the room is... unimpressive, to say the least. It looks like one of those offices you would find in a magazine. Books cleanly stuffed on a dusted bookcase, a picture of a family (it's not his Sensei's), two potted plants stuffed in opposite corners, one leather seat facing an 'L' desk set in front of a curtained window, and a small, uncomfortable swivel chair. Izuku strolls straight into the room and sits in the leather chair. Izuku tended to sit straight whenever he talked to his teachers. It made them speak to Izuku with more maturity than regular.
"Oh no, there's no need to sit down," Akira looks at his watch, "I want to go home as well." Izuku didn't get up.
Akira takes a couple of paces before halting in front of the bookcase. "I called you here to ask if you hurt those boys?" he asked.
"What boys, Akira-sensei?" Izuku shifts his weight a little to his right elbow, leaning on the armrest. Akira puts his finger on the spine of a book before running his finger across the row of books before stopping on a thin book. "Are you sure you don't know? I'm sure the incident has become widespread. I've already heard rumors of the fight in my classroom."
"What fight?"
Akira almost rips the book from the shelf. He holds the think book before setting it on his desk. The cover was blue, with a thin golden pattern swimming in spirals from one corner to another.
"You haven't heard, Midoriya?"
"No."
"Oh," Akira's face made a slightly disappointed blink, "well then, apparently, there was a fight in your classroom earlier with four boys. Three of those boys fought against each other and made a huge mess. I checked for myself, and, in fact, the classroom was a huge mess. There were crashed desks and ruined chairs, as well as some blood here and there. The janitor is currently working on cleaning." Akira said as he shifted around the desk.
"What would that have to do with me? I don't cause every incident in this school." Izuku leans more to the right in an attempt to relieve his left arm.
"That's true, Midoriya. I probably would've let you off if I didn't overheard a student mention your name in the gossip." Akira sits himself on the corner of the desk and looks eye-to-eye with Izuku.
"You believe gossip over my words, sensei?" Izuku asks.
"No need to act like that, Midoriya. I wanted to make sure. If you were involved hypothetically, I'm sure the school would've suspended the boys and you. Since you weren't involved, I don't have to fight for you. You're a fine boy. I'd hate for your education to stall because you merely defended yourself."
Izuku forgot that Akira-sensei was reliable. "Thank you for saying that, sensei. Is that all you wanted to say?"
"Of course, I wouldn't waste your time with gossip. I actually wanted to talk to you about your future. You're an intelligent boy. I wouldn't be surprised to get a high score on your exams. Earlier in the year, you said you wanted to join UA's general education course," Akira retrieves a pile of papers stuffed into a green folder from a drawer under the desk with Izuku's name stickered to it.
"Yet, a week ago, you changed your mind over the school's website and to me over your father's-"
"He's not my father." Izuku interrupts.
"Apologies. The changes were sent over by your guardian's e-mail instead of your own, but I waved it since it had your signature. I wanted to see why you wanted to join the hero course, with as you are."
"Quirkless?" Izuku adds.
"Yes."
Izuku isn't surprised. With All Might's resources, copying his signature, amongst other things, would be easier than punching.
"I wanted to try," Izuku says, "If I could do it, then that's awesome to hear. It was a childhood dream of mine. I guess I couldn't let it go without trying." Izuku didn't notice, stopped looking into Akira's eyes, and stared at his lap. Izuku chalks it up to fatigue.
"Are you, Midoriya? A hero is a dangerous job." Akira says. Izuku looks into his eyes, "Of course." he said. Of course, it's not true. But after lying enough time, Izuku has gotten too good at it.
"Very well, if that's what you want, Midoriya. I am merely looking after your well-being."
"Thank you, Sensei."
Akira and Izuku leave their seats and head to the door. As Izuku reaches for the door, Akira opens it before him. But before Izuku can step out, Akira's voice cuts through the air like a sharp blade.
"I am always here if you want to talk, Mr. Uchiha," Akira says, his tone laced with a hint of something Izuku can't quite place.
Izuku freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind races, trying to make sense of the words he just heard. "Mr. Uchiha?" he repeats, his voice barely a whisper.
Akira meets Izuku's gaze with a steady look, his expression unreadable. "Yes, Mr. Uchiha," he confirms, his voice calm but firm. "Your true identity."
Izuku's world spins. How could Akira know? No one should know that fact. Yet here stands Akira, his counselor, dropping bombshell after bombshell.
"You're mistaken," Izuku manages to stammer, his mind reeling with disbelief. "You must be."
But Akira shakes his head, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I assure you, Mr. Uchiha, I am not mistaken. Your secret is safe with me, but I urge you to remember who you are and the responsibilities that come with it."
A pulsating deaf tone pierces his ears. Never once in Izuku's life has he been discovered. No one knew about his cursed blood. Every single movement, every single word, thought, blink, breath, and thought was planned after that day. Those sleepless nights he spent attempting to forget the blood smeared on the walls and flies crawling on dead kin. Why can't this past go away? The past will go away. He will make sure of that.
Izuku bounced backward into the room, kicking the door closed from Akira's hand. Slamming the frame and shaking the wall. Izuku's hand digs into his shoe, seizing a small triangular blade as his Sharingan bursts a boiling crimson. Izuku looks at Akira's build: a sleek, lean body, hiding muscles until needed, a bulge in the left side of his jacket, which is most likely concealing a weapon. Izuku sees Akira's body is at full alert. They both wait and stay still, not knowing one another's skill or quirk. Izuku's vision surrounds the room. He sees every book, furniture, and window.
"Who are you?" Izuku asks. Akira's face is calm and composed. Can Izuku fight him? Should he? They're still in the school. There are bound to be students in after-school clubs. They might see him use the Sharingan.
"Put the blade down, Izuku," Akira says as he keeps his arms open and clear. Izuku doesn't know if it's a trick. Maybe it's how he activates his quirk, trying to block his view.
"No, tell me who you are. Why do you know who I am?" Izuku tightens his grip on the blade.
"Will that satisfy you? If I tell you who I am?"
"Of course!" Izuku yells.
"Well then," Akira slowly moves to his knees and removes his jacket. Then, he begins unbuttoning his dress shirt.
"What are you doing?"
"Showing you who I am."
Akira hesitated, his fingers trembling slightly as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. With each button released, the tension in the room seemed to thicken as if the air was holding its breath. Finally, the fabric faded, revealing the long, serrated scar arched across his chest like a lightning bolt. The reddish-pink hue of the scar contrasted sharply against his otherwise smooth skin, but it was the bits of purple circling the scar that made Izuku cringe. As the old first-degree burns crawled from Akira's chest up to his neck, the room grew eerily silent, broken only by the sound of their shallow breaths. Izuku's eyes were transfixed on the sight before him, unable to tear his gaze away from the scar.
"Who-"
"Someone we both know," Akira interrupts, "Itachi Uchiha."
Izuku drops his blade at the slip of those words. The comma-like wheel twirled within the Sharingan burst a deep red, much like a pool of blood. Before the blade could even clatter, Izuku dashed to Akira's neck, his palms wrapping his hands around Akira's neck, ready to squeeze him dead. Akira didn't even flinch. There is an unknown fury bubbling up from within Izuku that's hotter than magma. His hands feel like they're boiling. He wants to kill Akira for even mentioning Itachi. How come it's always his brother that will never leave him alone?
"How do you know him? Who are you?" Izuku roars. Akira remains calm as if there isn't a Uchiha to his throat. Shouldn't he fear for his own life? "Someone exactly like you, Midoriya. Affected by Itachi's treacherous actions, he took everything precious from me, Midoriya."
Izuku's grip grew tighter. Akira left his fate in Izuku's hands. His hands began to singe Akira's neck. They started to shake. "Why show yourself now?" Izuku said. He needed to calm down. He shouldn't make choices based on emotion.
"Well, I was going to leave you alone. Hopefully, you have a better life with everything, the past, behind. Moving on as I should. Yet, you chose your future by going to UA."
Izuku released his tight grip on his neck. "UA is not my choice. It was All Might's. You're wrong, but," Izuku paused as he stared at his hands, viewing blood. The space around him distorts. In the middle of the village square, facing a mountain of bodies of clansmen, Utachi stood on top with an evergrowing fire growing from the base. "Recently, I feel like the past is catching up." Izuku back to Akira, who fixes himself, moving to his bookshelf.
"I want to leave it behind. Despite how hard I try, it comes back to me."
"I know what you mean, Midoriya if you want to keep that name," Akira says. "Of course I do." Izuku's Sharingan flared ominously, its crimson hue reflecting off the desk's surface. Izuku's eyes darted toward the folder, his curiosity piqued.
His hand wedges between two thick textbooks, seizing a black vanilla folder and holding it close to his chest. "What's that?" he asked.
"The past that caught up." Akira opens the folder and tosses letters and pictures onto the desk, "Take a look," he points.
Izuku slowly creeps over to the desk, watching the pictures come into view. His eyes widen. It's a face Izuku will never forget—Itachi Uchiha. There are multiple pictures of him, but they barely capture his face or the rest of his body—every picture holding his vibrant crimson Sharingan.
"Where did—Where did you get these?" Izuku could barely grasp his words. Izuku stares at the letters as Akira comes around behind the desk, the letters containing every coordinate corresponding to a picture organized by a number followed by a letter.
"It took me many years, but I finally discovered where Your brother—"
"He's not my brother," Izuku said. With each word Akira spoke, Izuku's fist tightened, knuckles turning white as he struggled to process the information.
"Excuse me, Itachi Uchiha resides. It's in a small apartment near Kamino Ward."
"How come you never reported this to the authorities or heroes?"
"Bah," Akira exclaims, "I don't want justice. I want revenge. I want to see his face when you take a blade and put it right through his heart. I hope you'll remind him of all of the pain he causes, remind him how evil he is."
"You want me to kill him?" Izuku looks to his hands. There's no blood.
"Of course, I am quirkless. It is impossible even to touch a single sting of the fabric on his clothes. But you, Izuku Midoriya, the last other Uchiha, have the power to rival or surpass him." Akira's eyes lost his usual composure. It's the eyes of a fanatic, someone who clung to an obsession and won't let go. He's smiling, just thinking about Izuku taking revenge.
"Why do I have to do it?"
"Oh, please don't tell me you haven't at least thought about taking revenge. Slicing his neck for killing your mother, father, your friends, the old lady next door, and the many other women and children who could never live their lives."
"I'll think about it."
"Good, Midoirya," Akira takes a small strip of paper, takes a pen out of his breast pocket, writes a series of numbers, and gives it to Izuku. "This is my personal phone. Contact me when you make up your mind."
Izuku takes the small strip of paper and places it into his pocket. "Please, Midoriya, consider the opportunity to make your parent proud."
Akira comes around the desk, grabs a suitcase and a couple of folders, including the black one, and heads toward the door. "Where are you going?" Izuku asks.
"Call me, and you'll find out," Akira leaves his office.
The echo of the door shutting is deafening. The room is eerily quiet. Izuku takes another look at the strip of paper. He swallows whatever is hanging inside his throat. He almost killed Akira earlier. Izuku does not care if he hurts other people. Their cries don't phase him. But can one take life without hesitation? Can he kill his brother? No, of course, he won't. He should not let Akirs affect his mind or his life. All Might promised hell to bring Itachi to justice. But that was years. It doesn't seem right. Every fiber in his body tells him it's a bad idea. Except that boiling pressure in his gut wants to burst. It wants to see blood: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It's scary.