Author's Note: I want to preface this by recommending all readers to read it on AO3. Not only does it have enhanced features (embedded photos for instance), I am also reserving my lengthy behind-the-scenes author's notes on the AO3 version. All author's notes on this version will be truncated. Please enjoy!
Izuku Midoriya sat in ample silence, observing the students in front ponder, a few tilting their heads toward the ceiling lights above, as if they're longing for the bright lights to illuminate in their minds a solid, heroic moniker.
Today served as a sharp contrast to the eventful and stressful Sports Festival days ago, with all in Class 1-A showcasing their talents for the entire nation to see. Normally, the event also established their presence to the same nationwide audience.
But these were heavy times.
A month ago, they came face-to-face with a villainous motley crew at USJ, unprecedented in U.A's history. Their actions in defending themselves and their teachers against the villains until help arrived ushered them to national—and international—attention.
They were now treading uncharted territory. People overlooked first-years, even at a prestigious hero school. Not this year. They were the stars of this year's Sports Festival, overshadowing every other class there, to their collective chagrin.
Now, the world awaited their forthcoming hero names.
The students understood, no, felt this pressure. While monikers were not set-in-stone, especially for a first-year class barely into their first semester, there was an unsaid expectation that whatever name they picked today will remain with them till the end of time.
Izuku glanced downward at his clean dry-erase board before leveling his gaze at the front of the class, watching the two teachers exchanging words in hushed tones. At the tall chair in the classroom's corner sat their fiery, eyepatch-wearing, red-haired homeroom teacher, her hair extending down to her waist.
She was a newcomer like the rest of them, unlike the homeroom teacher of their rivaling class. Under her belt was unorthodox outsider talent. She kept her narrowed, exposed red eye on them, even as she conversed with the other teacher, standing at the lectern.
Their homeroom teacher started the announcement for their current assignment, before Midnight-sensei sashayed her way into the classroom, continuing the explanation from where it left off.
The two teachers up front displayed an interesting camaraderie, exuding their confidence and strength, like the other two women on the staff. No wilted flowers were among them. U.A. High made sure of that in their faculty hires.
Of course, his hormones also awakened him to their gorgeous appearances. Midnight, in particular, emphasized her voluptuous figure and sexiness out in the field. Their homeroom teacher had a relatively svelte figure, belying her hidden, enormous strength. The USJ villains only wished they knew her full capabilities before she swept them under their feet or knocked them out in an instant with her powerful punches or tonfa strikes.
However, neither supplanted Ryukyu, a long-time heroine crush he nursed during his middle school days. His cheeks burned as a lingering remnant of a dream years ago rose to the surface. He bit his lip. The powerful emotions in the dream had faded overtime, but his heart still raced a little at the surprisingness of his heart's deepest desires.
Their gazes landed on him, and he instinctively tore his eyes away. A hand shot up in cupping his flushed cheek.
A few moments passed before he warily looked back. The teachers resumed their conversation, their gazes back to normal from the sudden diversion. Izuku didn't want a repeat invitation, so he shifted his eyes away from them and onto the classroom clock mounted on the wall. Only a minute passed since Midnight finished her instructions.
Izuku's gaze returned to his desk. He uncapped the marker lying on his desktop, and in neat, calculated strokes, wrote his hero name.
The name he settled on wasn't something he conceived. Not that he hadn't thought them up before. During his elementary school days, hero names came easily to him: Small Might, Mighty All Man, Captain All Might, and so on.
Names that made him want to keel over a decade later. A painful reminder of the time when All Might was his world, other heroes nonexistent to his one-track mind.
He banished those names from his mind and focused on his chosen name. A name given by grateful townsfolk, encapsulating someone who turned his dreams into action. A name eventually spread beyond Atami, certified and spread by news agencies with a nationwide audience.
His mind traveled eleven years back.
At four-years old, a trembling young boy with fluffy hair as green as the surrounding bush, with tears in his eyes, positioned himself in front of a kneeled, crying boy. Opposite them were three boys of similar height and the same age, gazing unperturbed.
Izuku's words wobbled out. "Kacchan, y-you can't beat them up at a whim. I-it's…" Izuku's fists clenched. "Unheroic!"
The three looked on in visible silence, before the spiky, blond-haired boy in the middle scoffed. "Can you believe it? The quirkless wonder thinks he knows the definition of heroic!" Kacchan smacked his fist against an open palm, a brief flame flaring up and dying at once. "For that, I'll have to put you in your place again, Deku."
The three rushed an unmoving Izuku, delivering blows and knocking him down on his back. They stepped away and gazed down at him, sneering, before departing, leaving the kneeled boy crying and observing his savior's downed figure.
Despite the throbbing pain and the sun beating down on him, a small smile graced his lips. He might've lacked the one thing an ever-increasing populace had in droves, but he prevented a further beat-down of the kid beside him. All without lifting a fist.
It all goes back to All Might, Japan—and the world's—number one hero for forty years and counting. Ninety-nine percent of the world's population recognized the name, no matter the nation, inspiring countless people across the globe to follow his example. He and he alone have pushed many to pursue a career in heroism.
Izuku and Kacchan—Bakugou Katsuki—were no different. The two, living in the same town, attending the same elementary school, befriended over their shared idolization of All Might. Both decided that professional heroism was their destiny, and that's where the similarities end.
In hindsight, their friendship was never meant to last, quirk or no quirk. They admired the same hero, but walked away with a different message. For Izuku, All Might always risked his neck out, rescuing people by the thousands, no matter the situation. Izuku's destiny cinched in a rewatched-hundreds-of-times, epic YouTube video recorded during All Might's early days in Japan.
The fateful video opened on a scene of death and destruction, an injured and terrified crowd observing the carnage of turned-over cars, collapsed buildings, a bus nearly turned-on-its-side, raging flames and billowing smoke in the background. All hope lost.
Until the camera panned to a man, who turned to the cameraman, and said something incredible. "Can you see that? He's already saved a hundred people!" The man turned back. "That's crazy! It hasn't even been ten minutes."
Words requiring extraordinary evidence. Evidence that soon arrived in a hunched man entering the frame, staggering up onto the bus roof, hampered down by the civilians he carried in his arms and on his back. The onlookers were astonished, even more so by the newcomer's boisterous laugh. The last remnants of hopelessness stomped out by All Might, a newfound hope growing among the crowd, as he said the words etched into Izuku's mind; words he could recount without thinking.
"It's fine now… Why? Because I am here!"
The video moved him like no other. He committed that winning laugh and smile to memory. Izuku didn't need to spend time like the other kids figuring out what hero they wanted to be. It was All Might or nothing.
Fate disagreed. A hospital visit upended his entire dream. Shattered into tiny fragments with the doctor's blunt assessment: no quirk, no chance. He might as well give up now and reconsider his goals.
Izuku returned home that day forlorn. He faltered into his room, crying in bouts as night rolled around. In a dark room, basked in the computer's glow, Izuku rewatched the video like before. Gone was the optimism, that yearning desire. The video played out the same. The hopelessness was gone for all those in the video. Except Izuku.
"He saves everyone with a smile, no matter what trouble they're in… He's such a cool hero…" Tears welled up in his eyes, turning the white swivel chair to face his mom, Inko Midoriya, also on the verge of tears. His hand trembled, pointing to the smiling All Might within the freeze frame. "Can I… be a hero, too?"
Her response? She slowly staggered to him before swooping to embrace him, tears in full force. "I'm sorry, Izuku!" It's all she said, repeating it a few more times, each one hammering his broken dream.
He tried not to let his mom's tearful apologies get to him. The doctor had no business deeming his chances, especially this soon. He clung onto his dream as he would a life raft. The rest eventually noticed. It was easy to distinguish when everybody showed off their quirks with reckless abandon in the elementary school classroom, while Izuku sat at his desk like a sitting duck, his abnormality obvious.
Everyone around him lapped up Bakugou's envy-inspiring "Explosion" quirk, who, Izuku had to admit, had joined in the endless chorus for a time. It served as fuel for Bakugou's ego, arrogance, and influence.
Bakugou's once fond, or at least neutral, looks turned dismissive, then disdainful. Izuku's friendship with him soon burned up in flames, especially after he lorded his newfound power over others.
Bakugou initially targeted rivals for his position and assaulted them, establishing dominance in his fights. His eyes then turned to the hopelessly outmatched, those who weren't direct threats, who tried to stay out of his way. Only for them to spark his ire somehow, someway.
Izuku's fists shook, his mouth agape. Bakugou's actions repulsed him, shedding a new, negative light over his previous views and interactions. His "friend" took the wrong message from All Might, that winning against villains was the definition of a hero. Granted, that alone wasn't bad.
Heroes should defeat villains, sabotage their schemes, cripple their operations, and arrest them to face justice.
The problem was that, to Bakugou, villains were all that mattered. The civilians trapped in a burning building in need of rescue? Not his problem. Someone else can handle that, or they should be stronger and escape on their own, nevermind how tone-deaf that kind of thinking was.
Despite the vast power gap, Izuku felt compelled to act. He began standing up to his former friend, putting himself in front of his victims. Bakugou, provoked, would redirect his ire to him, forgetting his original target altogether.
Izuku never threw a punch. It was futile. When they rushed him, he didn't resist. The beatings hurt. The pain lingered. His mom would question him, alarmed, when he returned home with bruises and nicks. He'd always excused it as rough housing. She accepted his answer after a moment's hesitation.
However, regardless of the beat-down, Bakugou and his goons would eventually become satisfied and depart. When that happened, Izuku could smile despite the pain. Even if he didn't get a thanks from the kids he saved, he still didn't regret sticking his nose in situations he didn't belong. He was of use to someone. It's all that mattered.
Izuku found no replacement friends in elementary school. Bakugou's power remained unchallenged. Teachers never intervened when Bakugou and his goons occasionally chased and smacked Izuku around. They eventually matured in the latter half of elementary school and ceased their physical violence, but the verbal abuse remained.
Two modes exist for Bakugou now: apathy or antipathy. The latter resulted in verbal "reminders" of Izuku's untenable position. His delusional dreams would remain pipe dreams. Good grades did not make a hero. His goons occasionally picked up that duty when Bakugou was indifferent and dismissive.
Still, Izuku powered through. Their words eventually became background noise.
At ten years of age, well into his fifth year, Izuku sat at his desk, his eyes focused on the opened composition notebook and nothing else. He never bothered to look up and observe his surroundings. Only when the teacher occasionally called his name, would he look up briefly, answer the question, or state his presence, before letting the lined paper fill his vision once more.
He jotted down notes as a matter of routine, even through the phoned-in lectures from his disillusioned middle-aged teachers.
At lunch, he would try to be one of the first in the queue, receiving his daily meal from the assigned group of elementary school students, before lunching on his lonesome at his desk. The other students' chatter went through one ear and out the other.
The class resumed. More of the same. Now he would spare occasional glances at the classroom clock, packing his backpack little by little as the hour approached.
Composition notebook and pencil packed as the dismissal bell chimed. Izuku rose from his desk, slung the backpack over his shoulder, and hurried out of the classroom. He'd keep the same pace as he navigated through the spacious utilitarian corridors, flash-stepping down the closest stairway to the main walkway outside. He passed by a collection of potted flowers and plants on his right, an etched mural on the wall to his left, crossing the courtyard in quickened strides and exiting through the slightly ajar gate. In just a few paces, he crossed the crosswalk on the busy side street and maneuvered left onto the sidewalk.
Only when he got some distance between him and the school did he slow and relax, allowing himself to enjoy the sunny skies and the familiar sights and sounds accompanying his daily five-year commute to and from school. He was thankful his elementary school—Daiichi Elementary—was only a two-hundred meter walk from home. He avoided many unfortunate encounters with Bakugou when he was younger by being the first to leave. A habit still ingrained, even with Bakugou's recent mellowing. The current peace might be temporary.
He strolled southbound down the slightly winding road. Rows of houses lined both sides. Further down in the distance, a familiar landmark: a railway viaduct with an overhead catenary carrying the daily Tokaido Shinkansen bullet trains. Something he saw a lot of because he lived on the third floor of an apartment overlooking the railway tracks.
The viaduct got closer until he arrived at the familiar four-way intersection situated right before it. On his left, across the crosswalk, was the Kinomiya Shrine's main entrance. A nostalgic place, one he'd accompany his mom to some years ago, after his quirkless determination. The countless prayers his mom offered there, in the faint hopes of a miraculous turnaround. One that never came. She'd still visit occasionally, but only by herself.
South of him, a pair of divided cobblestone tunnels ferrying cars underneath another set of railway tracks belonging to the Ito and Tokaido lines. Atami's central business district lies beyond.
He ultimately turned right, crossing the street and strolling up an increasing incline. He passed by his apartment complex on the right before it gave way to fauna-overhanging stone walls. Across the road, a protective fence guarding the Shinkansen tracks from unauthorized wanderers.
The stone wall ended at a minor side-road intersection. After that were more two-story houses and buildings. Before his turn was an unusually compact Toyota dealership. He looked to his right as he passed. A few Toyota cars parked in the driveway. His eyes glanced up a five-story white-and-red building in the back, the top floor leading out to the actual dealership entrance on a higher roadway.
He then focused on an open garage. Uniformed mechanics rushed in-and-out, shouting. A Toyota car was in the garage, undergoing repairs. Was there a deadline they had to meet? It was a stressful line of work for sure, but suitable for someone quirkless.
He shook his head. Not the time to ruminate on his situation. He maneuvered left at the fork, strolling onto a road that passed above the railway tunnels and paralleled the Hatsu River down below.
The road curved its way to the "Plum Garden" signalized intersection. He crossed and turned left, his pace increasing as the 7-Eleven convenience store came into view. The automated sliding doors open, chiming, ushering him into the air-conditioned space. He headed to the refrigerated section in the back, grabbing a bottle of Calpis before he ambled to the magazine table by the sliding doors.
Izuku grabbed the latest issue of Heroes Monthly before heading to the cashier, and paid for his items before exiting. He backtracked. Halfway between the light and the fork, Izuku, on a whim, crossed and turned left onto a narrow residential street that eventually led back to the same road.
He continued his stroll, glancing at the houses. An unusual sight on the gray, bricky corner wall caused him to freeze. He blinked, stepping up to the wall.
The wall was no stranger to neglect and time. Black stains on some portions of the wall, a few stones adopting an unusually lighter tone in stark contrast to the others. That wasn't what got his attention, though.
His eyes focused, dead center, on newly sprayed black paint, darker than the stains above. The hero nerd in him recognized the painted figure on the wall. Usagiyama Rumi—Mirko—an up-and-coming hero, renowned for her unorthodox approach. She was a nomad. No hero agency, no sidekicks. No place or person held her back. She went wherever she pleased. Bested whatever villain had the misfortune of appearing in her bloodthirsty gaze.
Her motivations… made his stomach churn. Rescues were not her priority. She always sought a villain able to challenge her, and so far, no one could… It was ironic that Bakugou, a professed All Might admirer, had overlooked a heroine more compatible with his morals.
Here, though, her motivations weren't the most discomforting thing. The portrayal did not reflect the normal "I'm going to kick your ass all the way to Hiroshima" pose. No powerful kicks, no intimidating aura. Instead, she looked unusually submissive.
Mirko leaned forward, her topless boobs pronounced. The graffiti didn't go below the waist, but if it had, she would've been naked there too. Her expression in-between the usual confidence and… lewdness. The ostentatious vulgarity was finished with provocative spray painted words to its right.
"She'll breed with you like a rabbit."
Izuku stumbled a step back. His eyes lingered way too long on this brazen visual crime and he should turn around, forget he ever saw this. He couldn't move, though. The sight entranced him, but not because of her.
His mind turned to the homeowners in the neighborhood, imagining their appalled reactions. A delinquent, raging at society and the world, spraying this on a wall unseen by most pedestrians and cars flitting by on the main road.
The city would drag its feet on removing it. Out of sight, out of mind. An unimportant priority, alongside their neglectful maintenance of non-tourist frequented neighborhoods.
It would be much faster if someone took the initiative and cleaned it themselves…
Hold up.
His mind went into overdrive. All this time, and he never even thought about this. Something that should've been so obvious to him.
Until now, Izuku saw All Might's grand heroics and sought to emulate them. The kind that saved hundreds of civilians from catastrophic disasters and vanquished villains with a well-placed smash. A hero that put fear into the villains, to the point the crime rate was at its lowest, all because no one wanted to chance being in All Might's sights.
All Might was one-of-a-kind. Not even Endeavor, number two in Japan's hero rankings, could come close. There might as well have been two categories: All Might, and the rest.
Only a few heroes were flashy enough to garner the media's attention. Most heroes were of smaller stature. They saved people too, but the media overlooked them. Some heroes were only known and regarded by fanatical hero nerds like himself.
Now, he realized there was a third, hidden category that almost everyone overlooked: anonymous heroes. They neither sought fame nor fortune, because their actions were so mundane anyone could do them. They didn't fight villains or rescue civilians. Instead, they became heroes by serving their communities.
They picked up trash on the streets, recovered and returned lost items to the kobans across town, giving directions to newcomers.
Small deeds, but good deeds nonetheless. Many were so caught up in the national and extraordinary that they forgot the local and ordinary. Izuku realized, to his great shame, that people these days couldn't even be bothered to help their community. Even with a prominent pro hero—Fourth Kind—emphasizing this aspect, he couldn't budge the general public in their forgotten civic duty. Izuku wasn't sure if it was because the media never talked about him, or if his appearance caused people to guffaw and not take his words seriously.
A small part of Izuku cursed himself. Maybe Bakugou was right in calling him a useless "Deku" because when did he actually put in the work or effort for his dream?
He swatted the eventual rebuttal of his many "Hero Analysis for the Future" notebooks. Sure, it was preparation, and it trained his mental faculties, but it was worth jack to his actions—which might as well have been inactions.
Heck, he barely paid attention to his P.E. classes. He barely did anything to improve himself physically. How can he be a hero when right now he was a scrawny twig that couldn't even lift a clenched fist to Kacchan.
His mind wondered why he never bothered.
You may as well give up now.
I'm sorry Izuku!
Izuku grimaced at the words from long ago. He had them all locked up, so how did they escape? How were they free, assailing his mind?
Another voice, deeper than the two voices from the past, answered both questions.
It's hard to pursue a dream when no one, not even your own mother, thinks you're capable of.
He clenched his fists in response to his treacherous mind. How his mind cut through the core. That it was right. He deluded himself in pretending those words weren't affecting him, and that he'd eventually prove them wrong. His notebooks were a perfect device to maintain his belief that he was getting somewhere.
He looked at the graffiti again, then down at his now unclenched hands. His resistance dissipated.
He had given up. His resolve whittled down overtime by each explosion-laden punch from Bakugou when he took his beatings for the helpless. The reminders from them that he'd never amount to anything. He pretended to ignore their words, but they wormed their way into his psyche.
All this time, he awaited an unlikely miracle to show up and turn his chances around. An excuse he could no longer abide.
He looked back at the graffiti, thankful at how encountering it had forced him to come to his senses. Now, he had a new motivation and mission in mind.
If I have to be the one in my corner cheering me on, then so be it.
A smile formed on his lips. He turned, resuming his walk in more confident strides, ready to dream into action.
Changes: Izuku's hometown name of "Musutafu" seems to be widely-spread fanon. The city U.A's in is canonically named "Korisato City," but for this universe, Izuku's hometown is a different municipality from Korisato, hence I've made his hometown "Atami" instead.