In the distance, a little girl jumps up and down, her excitement contagious as she shows off her glowing fingernails to her parents. You watch, longing in your heart.
Oh, how I wish I had that quirk...
Nearby, a loving parent reaches for your binky, her hand outstretched as it floats gently towards her with every subtle pull.
I wish I had that quirk...
A little boy raises his palms, tiny explosions sparking energy that dances across his hands. Each spark grows, his grin widening until it twists into a scowl as his gaze locks onto you, filled with hatred.
I WANT THAT QUIRK!
A towering man pulls a civilian from the flaming wreckage, his booming laughter and radiant grin bringing hope to everyone—everyone except you...
YOU BASTARD! MY QUIRK! GIVE IT TO ME!
Suddenly, a door slams in your face. Your desperate cries for someone who left, for reasons unknown, echo into the void, unheard.
I just want my quirk...
The feelings of betrayal, loss, and hurt spurred the green-haired teen awake, his memories of what woke him fading too fast to recall most of it—except for that last, painful image of his father walking away. Tears stung his eyes, not so much from the dream's contents as from the mere fact of having it. It made him feel childish, still having bad dreams about his father. Logically, he knew they hadn't been abandoned—money kept arriving in the mail—but the truth of his father's absence hurt just the same. The only reason he knew what his father looked like was a framed picture in his mother's room.
Wiping his eyes, he glanced at the alarm clock. It was a full hour before it was supposed to go off. He knew there was no point in trying to reclaim that extra hour of sleep, so he rolled onto his back and sleepily reached for the string of his bed lamp. With a tug, the dark room exploded into a riot of red, yellow, and blue. The All Might themed lamp illuminated an All Might themed room, but he was so used to the visual clutter of heroic memorabilia that he didn't so much as squint as the bright colors barraged his waking eyeballs.
As he moved through his usual Friday morning routine, he made a few adjustments for the day. Instead of the scarily boring Aldera Junior High uniform, he donned their equally boring sports uniform, though he kept his favorite red shoes. Pausing before he opened the hair gel he typically used to tame his wild bedhair, he hesitated, then closed the cabinet. A blush crept up his cheeks as he remembered overhearing one of the girls mentioning they liked it when a guy's hair looked a bit scruffy and natural.
Once ready, he double-checked his equipment, ensuring everything was in place. Tiptoeing down the hallway to avoid waking his mother, he was surprised to find her already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Her tired eyes met his, hinting that she'd likely been up long before him despite her late work hours. She was already assembling their packed lunches.
"Morning, Izuku," she greeted softly, as if someone else in the house might wake up if she spoke too loudly. "You're up early."
"Yeah, I had a dream that woke me up before my alarm," he said, walking past her to a cupboard and taking out the new Fatgum-sponsored Cereal-Os they bought last week on special.
"Was it a good dream?" she asked, her hands still busy assembling the ham and cheese sandwiches she insisted on packing as extra treats for him, even years after they became a strain on the food budget.
"I can't really remember anything from it," he half-lied, feeling slightly guilty about how proficient he'd become at telling half-truths to his mother. After finding a bowl, he began pouring the oversized O's into it, trying to focus on something else.
Inko hummed in acknowledgment, finishing the last of the ingredients for her own salad. She had started a new diet recently, growing increasingly self-conscious about her health. She also knew, though she kept this to herself, that homemade salads were one of the more affordable food options given how expensive groceries had become.
She paused her preparations when she noticed his outfit, taking a moment to process it.
"You're dressed in your sports uniform again. Don't you usually have P.E. on Thursdays?" she inquired, her tone shifting slightly. "That was yesterday. Is it clean?" Mother mode fully activated as she unashamedly gripped his shirt and pulled it closer to sniff it, bracing herself for the smell of teenage boy sweat but instead finding the clean scent of soap and flowers.
"I-I took the opportunity to wash it yesterday since you were coming home late," he stammered, gently prying his shirt free from her grasp, which she released after a little effort.
"Wait, is today that pre-quirk era sports event? What was it called again? The Olympics?"
"Yep." He decided not to correct her, knowing that the full explanation—about how its actually called athletics, and that it was just one category in THE Olympics, which used to be a massive cultural event before quirks—would likely bore her this early in the morning.
She continued making her salad, placing a lid on the bowl before shaking it. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she went through a mental checklist.
"What time should you be there?" she asked.
"It starts at 10, but I want to be there by 9 to hang out with Tsubasa and Katchan." Another half-lie.
"Do you have sunscreen?"
"Yes."
"What if you get hungry?"
"I saved up some money for lunch today."
"Is your phone charged?"
He held up his bulky flip-phone. "Yes, it's at 100%. I also have its protective casing." They couldn't afford a support-gear level device, but the casing did a decent job of protecting it from most unintentional quirk-related dangers.
"How are you getting there, and how are you getting back?"
"I checked the train schedule. There's one that stops two blocks from the venue. After the event, about 30 minutes later, there's a train that connects to a bus route that can take me home."
"If there's a villain attack?"
"Don't panic, don't fight, don't approach, just wait and trust the heroes nearby," he recited, the line ingrained in him from years of drills in Japanese primary school. A small part of him was relieved that, being quirkless, he wasn't expected to recite the rest of the lines.
(I want a quirk.)
The thought hit him suddenly, accompanied by vivid images of how different—how happier—his life could be if he had one. He snapped out of it when he realized his mother hadn't said anything in a while. Looking at her, he saw the tears welling in her eyes and immediately felt guilty. But this time, her tears seemed different, softer somehow.
"Mom?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with concern.
"Oh, Izuku," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "you're so prepared… I'm so proud of you." The tears began to flow uncontrollably, her family's "Water Works" mutation kicking in, causing an alarming amount of tears to stream down her face and onto the counter.
"Mo-om!" Izuku exclaimed, half-embarrassed, half-touched. He wanted to help her stop crying, but his own tear ducts betrayed him. He felt a swell of happiness at hearing his mom's words, and as anyone who knew the Midoriya family could tell you, the tears really did run in the family.
After a brief ride on the train, Izuku hopped off at his stop, the station bustling with early morning commuters. He began the long walk to the local Athletics Stadium, assuming it would be uneventful. Although the streets were full of people, civilians weren't allowed to use their quirks, and Izuku was careful not to stare at anyone who looked different, knowing how easily it could be misinterpreted as quirkist.
The most exciting routes were usually the ones where heroes patrolled frequently, allowing Izuku to catch glimpses of their quirks in action. But today, the area seemed unusually quiet. He had checked the local hero enthusiast forums that morning, only to find that no heroes had been spotted nearby recently. Those trying to boost their numbers tended to patrol large areas with unpredictable routes or focus on hot spots where crime was on the rise. As a result, certain areas, like this one, occasionally became cold spots—left without much hero activity for days at a time.
A sudden, pained yell ahead snapped him out of his thoughts. His eyes widened as he saw a large man with a bald, rat-like face and long, matted brown hair shove an elderly businessman to the ground before darting into a nearby alleyway, a large briefcase in hand.
"Someone call for help!" Izuku shouted, his voice breaking the startled silence that had fallen over the street largely due to people avoiding the scene, at most casting concerned glances. Not one to be ruled by the bystander effect, he quickened his pace, jogging over to the elderly man who was struggling to get up.
"Are you alright, sir?" Izuku asked, extending a hand to help. He got his first good look at the man—a bald head with three fork-shaped, skin-covered growths protruding from his scalp. Izuku's mind instinctively began analyzing the mutation, wondering what quirk it could be related to, but he quickly pulled himself back to the moment.
The old man hesitated, eyeing Izuku's outstretched hand with suspicion. Izuku remembered that the older folk in the area were typically wary of quirks, especially from someone they didn't know. "My quirk has nothing to do with my hands, sir," Izuku reassured him, offering a warm, reassuring smile, the kind he imagined All Might would give.
With a surprisingly firm grip, he accepted Izuku's hand and pulled himself up with a bit of assistance. The man brushed off his clothes before turning to Izuku, a warm, grandfatherly smile spreading across his wrinkled features. "Thank you, young man. I apologize if I offended you with my distrust. It wasn't wise or fair of me to judge you so quickly," he said, his tone sincere. Glancing down the alleyway, his expression darkened as he searched in vain for any sign of the thief. "Even after just being robbed by someone."
"N-no worries, sir. I'm not offended," Izuku replied quickly. "I understand why your generation might be cautious of strangers."
The old man paused, his eyes studying Izuku's face, and for a moment, Izuku worried he'd said the wrong thing. But then the man chuckled, a dry sound that held a surprising warmth. "And here I thought your generation didn't care about the past. You're a good one, kid."
"Thank you, sir…?" Izuku began, unsure how to respond.
"No, I should be thanking you," the old man replied. "Now, you should be on your way. Wouldn't want your principle to be angry that you didn't show up in time." He pointed to the Aldera Junior High emblem on Izuku's chest.
"Yes, sir!" Izuku responded, realizing he might be late meeting Tsubasa. He darted down the pavement, turning back briefly to call out, "Goodbye, sir!" before continuing on his way.
Izuku's pace quickened as the venue came into view. While it wasn't a monumental structure, it certainly stood out in the neighborhood, exuding a sense of grandeur. For many athletes in the past, it might even have been considered a prime location. Some questioned the wisdom of allocating so many resources to what was now a rapidly dying form of entertainment, but Izuku understood the reasoning. Despite the decline in mainstream popularity due to quirks, athletics and other sports still played a crucial role in promoting physical health and capability among the younger generation, which had led to renewed interest in several countries, including Japan.
This particular venue was built as part of an initiative spearheaded by Yoroi Musha and a handful of other heroes. The goal was to rekindle interest in sports, thereby reducing the burden on hero schools to bring their students up to standard in terms of physical education. As part of the initiative, smaller venues were constructed in each prefecture, with nine larger ones like this one spread across the main regions of Japan.
As Izuku approached on foot, he had to cross a street and then walk a long path along the chain-link fence to reach the main gate. This gave him plenty of time, and so he began to admire the venue's architecture, its sleek yet fortlike structure catching his eye, it closely resembled the large quirk training domes built by many affluent heroes in America. The almost utilitarian structure, while not an eyesore, didn't have much going on, so he spent the rest of his walk keeping an eye out for any familiar faces wandering the parking lot, hoping to spot Tsubasa.
Just as Izuku spotted a familiar set of dark-red draconic wings, his attention snapped to the violent crack of cement splitting—a sound that echoed from less than a block away. His eyes darted toward the source, a rising cloud of dust above the rooftops giving away the location. The roar that followed, guttural and feral, sent a shiver down his spine.
The dust slowly settled, revealing a towering figure—an enormous man who loomed above the surrounding buildings, the tallest of them barely reaching to his waist. Izuku's heart skipped a beat as recognition set in. It was the same criminal who had assaulted the elderly man earlier, only now, Izuku could make out more details, like the scraggly ginger goatee dangling from his chin.
(I want that quirk.)
Izuku's mind almost immediately flipped through all the different ways he could use a quirk like that. Petty thievery seemed a waste.
"You foul villain!" An almost comically self righteous yell rang out throughout the streets. All present turned to the lone figure perched gracefully upon a lamp-post, pointing accusingly at the towering man, who almost fearfully looks back towards the voice. "Committing quirk assisted robbery, assault and destruction of property is bad enough as it is, but doing so during rush hour does untold amounts of damage to the local economy!"
Izuku squinted, already half-certain who it was. The dark, skin-tight suit with wooden accents confirmed it. "Kamui Woods!" he exclaimed, his excitement drawing a few curious glances from the gathering crowd.
"I HEREBY VOW, YOU WRETCHED VILLAIN, YOU WILL RUE THIS DAY!" The wooden man bellows, before leaping surprisingly high, performing a well executed front flip, and diving headfirst to the pavement. Just as a handful of people beggin to gasp at the idea of him hitting the ground, he reveals his ability to stretch his tree-like limbs, grappling the railing at the top of one building, causing his freefall to turn into a swing that propels him forward towards the villain. Said villain, recognizing his situation, chooses to fight, letting out a challenging roar of his own.
"Who?" Tsubasa's voice interrupted Izuku's reverie as the dragon-winged teen joined him, his large frame and dragon-like wings making several people give way.
"Kamui Woods," Izuku explained, not taking his eyes off the battle. "He did his internships and work studies under Edge Shot. He debuted in Saitama last week—stopped a runaway train but got pretty badly injured."
They watched as Kamui Woods narrowly dodged a clumsy swipe from the giant, using the villain's momentary imbalance as an opportunity for a counterattack. He expands wooden fist to a size similar to that of the giant's own, before delivering an inertia powered haymaker. "Nature's Fist!" That sends the rat-like man reeling, nearly stumbling into the building behind him.
"Looks like he recovered fast," Tsubasa whistles in admiration. "What are we thinking? Healing factor?"
Izuku winces as the giant manages to grab the extended left arm of the hero, snapping it in two like a twig. The hero, barely grunting at all despite the severe injury, retreats to a nearby rooftop. As he lands, he retracts it to it's normal length, and they could see that it was already beginning to reshape itself, little tendrils at the end of his stub shaking as it slowly heals.
"Probably." He says jokingly, and they both chuckle.
The villain seemed somewhat emboldened now that he had landed a hit. The taunting smile he threw at Kamui Woods was accompanied by an improvement in his posture, reminding those watching that he was a human and not a wild animal. For Kamui, the taunting only emboldened his righteous anger, raising his healthy arm and pointing at his opponent with outstretched fingers.
"Oh, he's going to do it!" While Tsubasa didn't know what Izuku meant, it was clear that we was nearly jumping in place from excitement.
"Do what now?"
"He's going to use his ultimate move! He used it to reach the finals in his 3rd year at the UA sport festival, it's called-"
"Lacquered Chain Prison!" Izuku shouted as in tandem with the hero as Kamui's wooden hand exploded into a web of tendrils that shot toward the villain, wrapping around him and holding him tight. The crowd erupted into cheers, delighted that the villain would soon be apprehended.
"Tch, dumbass extras, it's not over."
Nearly snapping around at the voice of his childhood friend, "Oh, hi Katchan! I didn't see you!" Izuku greeted with a nervous smile.
Bakugo barely even acknowledged Izuku in return, which gave Tsubasa his chance to talk.
"Explain." he demanded, turning to Bakugo, who regarded the larger boy's attitude with a snarl. "Huh!?"
"You said it's not over, what do you mean by that?" Tsubasa proded, Bakugo rolled his eyes.
"It's a good thing you're not going into the hero business, Tsubasa. Anyone who can't see what I see shouldn't even try." Izuku clenched his fist, ignoring the sting of Bakugo's words.
"If you use your eyes," he points to the gaint, "You'll see he's brought his arms up in a boxer-like defense, Kamui's trying to use his freaky wooden fingers to choke him out but his fat arms are in the way, and he's still got a lot of fight in him."
"Kamui Wood might not have fully recovered from his debut, and his ultimate move drains a lot of his energy." Izuku continues. "That means this is a battle of attrition that Kamui is going to loose, unless he can overpower the villain in time."
"But he's only using one hand." Tsubasa points out.
Izuku looks over at Kamui, realizing for the first time he's no longer looking at the giant, but down at his arm, the little tendrills at the end where it was snapped of moving much more rapidly than before.
"He's trying to buy time for his arm to regrow." Izuku concludes, it wasn't a battle of attrition in the usual sense, it was a race to see if Kamui's healing factor could outpace the strain of his ultimate ability and the increasingly violent thrashing of the captive giant. A race he's losing.
"Bingo." Bakugo comments sarcastically.
A new voice cut through the tension of the group, accompanied by thunderous footsteps. "Thanks for holding him still for me, toothpick! I got it from here! CANYON CANNON!"
A powerful dropkick slams into the villain's side, sending shockwaves through the ground below the spectator's feet. The sound of wood splintering, and possibly a giant-sized rib cracking, echoes across the space as the much larger hero effectively punts the villain straight into the pavement.
For a moment, everything was still. Then, the hero stood up, towering over the scene. Where the tallest buildings had barely reached the villain's waist, they now came up only to her thigh. After surveying the area, she flashed a confident smile at the crowd and struck a pose, clearly designed for the cameras. "Hi there~ The name is Mount Lady. I'm glad I could help with your mischievous little troublemaker~" She winked playfully.
(I want THAT quirk.)
Izuku's hand moved so fast it was a blur, whipping out his notebook to document Mount Lady's quirk. Tsubasa did a double take, then chuckled at his friend's reaction. He gently nudged Izuku towards the venue, realizing how it might look—a teenage boy furiously sketching in his notebook right after such a suggestive display.
Izuku buried his face in his hands, steam practically rising from his head as Tsubasa relished in his successful teasing. "I really did that?" Izuku mumbled, his voice muffled by his palms.
"Yeah, you did," Tsubasa replied with a grin, shifting his gaze to the stadium below. Only a handful of people were scattered across the track, field, and stands. It was still early; most spectators wouldn't arrive until much closer to the semi-finals and finals. The rest of participants would only show themselves when it was time for their events.
"Aggh!" Izuku groaned, slumping further into his seat. "I feel so dumb."
"Hey, no worries, man. It's still better than that one time—"
"Please don't," Izuku begged, peeking through his fingers. "I don't even like her anymore." He flopped backward, staring up at the stadium ceiling. The support beams above weren't particularly interesting, but counting them seemed like a good way to avoid the current topic.
"Yeah, right," Tsubasa said, clearly not buying it.
"It's true!"
"Izuku, I've been telling you for months that your hair looks better without the gel," Tsubasa pointed out, his tone teasing. "All it took was one offhand comment about her liking scruffy hair, and you showed up the next day without the gel."
"..."
"See?"
"Fine! I still like her, okay?" Izuku snapped, sitting upright and glaring at his friend. "But it's not like it matters anyway."
"If you say so," Tsubasa sighed, growing bored with the conversation. He shifted gears. "So, is your mom cool with you hanging out with me again?"
"I think so. She didn't say anything when I mentioned it, but I smoothed it over by saying I was hanging out with Katchan." Izuku's mouth feels a bit dry, so he starts fishing out his water bottle from his bag.
"Seriously?" Tsubasa raised an eyebrow. "She still thinks you're best buddies with him? The guy barely acknowledges you're alive half the time, and if he does, it's to berate you."
"Yeah, he kind of made a deal with me when we started junior high," Izuku admitted, looking down at his hands. "I'm just making the most of it."
"What kind of deal?"
"If his mom thinks he was up to no good, she'll ask where he was. If he says he was with me, she usually backs off because she thinks I keep him out of trouble. If she doesn't believe him, she'll ask my mom, who will ask me. My job is to lie and say I was with him."
"And his end of the deal?"
"He does the same. My mom worries that I'll get hurt because I'm 'innocent, frail, and quirkless.' She feels better if she thinks I'm with Katchan."
Tsubasa couldn't hold back his laughter. "That's hilarious! It's like they think you're some cute, innocent cinnamon-roll little twink who keeps Bakugo in check, and Bakugo's the mean alpha strong manly man who secretly cares about and protects you."
Izuku's response was immediate—a spit-take followed by a coughing fit. "I did not need that image!" He shot Tsubasa a glare, regretting that his friend was the only option available and wishing, just for a moment, that he could trade him in for a less embarrassing model.
This only made Tsubasa laugh harder, and Izuku decided it was time to change the topic.
"You said you wanted to hang out early before my events start, but that plan seems to have fallen through," Izuku remarked.
Tsubasa looked at his analog watch, an older model—digital watches were rare these days unless they had some kind of protective casing. "Yeah, they could call your group at any moment now. That villain attack outside ate through most of our time."
"And all that time buying those spicy snacks at the tuck-shop?" Izuku raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the empty snack wrappers piling up next to Tsubasa.
"Hey!" Tsubasa protested. "I had to make sure Bakugo couldn't get any. And besides, you know I stress eat."
"Stress eat?" Izuku asked, surprised. "I thought you didn't care about doing well at your shot put event since you're not going into heroics. Why would you be stress eating?"
Tsubasa's playful demeanor faltered, the grin slipping from his face. He hesitated, looking down at the wrappers before gathering the courage to speak. "Izuku, you know how my grandfather helps support my family, right?"
"Did he die!?" Izuku's face went pale with worry.
"No, no, you're jumping the gun there, pal." Tsubasa chuckled softly, though there was a sadness to his voice. "But… he's added a new condition to the payments."
Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the intercom announcer. "Non-Heteromorph Boys, 14 and Under for the 100-meter dash, please report to the changing rooms. I repeat—"
Izuku scrambled for his bag. "That's me," he said, ready to dash off, but Tsubasa grabbed his arm, his grip unexpectedly firm and maybe even a bit painful. The desperation in Tsubasa's eyes made Izuku pause.
"But I—"
"I get it, today's big for you," Tsubasa said, his voice strained. "But I need to tell you this in person now, or I might not get another chance."
"Okay," Izuku replied, not really sure what to expect.
"My grandfather wants me to come live with him. In some area in northern Kyoto."
The news hit Izuku like a truck, leaving him speechless. The idea of Tsubasa moving away was too much to process in the moment.
"Attention Please, this is our final call. Non-Heteromorph Boys, 14 and Under for the 100-meter dash, please report to the changing rooms. I repeat—"
Tsubasa gently ushered Izuku toward the stairs. "Hey, chin up. We can talk about this later. Right now, you have a race to run."
"S-sure," Izuku stammered, still reeling from the news as he headed toward the changing rooms.
"What did you say his time was?"
"10.4."
"Dang, that's fast."
"It's not really, though. Most finalists our age run 10 flat."
"Yeah, but he's quirkless."
"No way! Isn't that like record-breaking for them? Why's he so fast?"
"Imagine how fast he would be if he had a quirk."
(I want a quirk.)
The background chatter, usually just a low hum to Izuku, drilled into his mind, although only the latest comment was truly registered in his brain. His brain begain turning the thought in his brain. His eyes were wide with anxiety as he stared at the checkered blue and white tiles of the changing room floor, blurring under his unfocused gaze. His hand tightened around the race number he'd been assigned.
"Does that really change much? All Reggie's quirk does is turn him to stone. Is that really going to make you faster?"
If he had a quirk, he could be running in the finals.
"Yeah, if he used his quirk while running. But if he didn't, he'd still be faster than the average quirkless person. Stronger too."
If he had a quirk, his mother wouldn't treat him like he was so fragile
"Smarter too."
"Hey! That's rude. He's sitting right there, and is it even true?"
If he had a quirk, his teachers would respect him.
"It's true."
"Yeah, imagine how dumb you would be without a quirk, right, fellas?"
Laughter echoed around the room, mingling with an indignant cry from someone who was the butt of the joke.
If he had a quirk, people wouldn't look at him with pity.
"But being serious, people with quirks are way tougher than those without. It's why in those old movies, they die so easily."
Maybe… Dad wouldn't have left.
"Yeah! I always wondered about that. Like, really? You broke your arm falling down some stairs?"
"Or died getting hit by a car in a slow zone?"
If he had a quirk, he would have friends besides Tsubasa.
"OI! Will you idiots shut up!" Bakugo's voice cut through the chatter like a knife. "I'm sick of your yapping. People in here like ME," he mocked, gesturing to himself as if talking to cavemen, "And HIM." He made the same exaggerated gesture toward Izuku, "Are trying to focus because we actually have our heads in the game."
The room fell into a tense silence, save for a few grumbles of "rude" and "asshole" under breath.
Izuku's heart pounded, his grip on the race number loosening as he dared to look up. His eyes met Bakugo's, who, noticing Izuku's gaze, scowled. "What're you looking at? You're still the most annoying idiot in this room to me if that's what you care about."
Maybe Katsuki Bakugo wouldn't treat him like dirt… if he had a quirk.
The viewing boxes that hovered above the stands buzzed with quiet chatter. Despite them responding to Yoroi Musha's invitation to the event, meant to project an image of a united front among heroes regarding improving young talent, few seemed truly invested in the events unfolding below. Conversations drifted between unrelated topics, the majority of heroes more interested in socializing than in the spectacle they were supposed to support.
"When Edgeshot suggested we come here, I figured he'd show up himself." Mount Lady remarked, sinking into the plush couch. Now at her regular size, she would look somewhat like the average well-built civilian, if not for her skin-tight cream-colored suit with bold purple and orange patterns, mimicking high-knee boots, gloves, and a breastplate. Her horned purple mask sat carelessly on the table beside her, dangerously close to an alcoholic slushy.
"I assumed much the same," Kamui Woods replied, his posture rigid as he dutifully observed the events below. He hadn't removed the wooden mask-like portion of his suit, fueling ongoing speculation among some in the VIP section about whether it was part of his body or not. "I believe he might be giving us some room to grow on our own now that we are no longer under his wing as students."
"Or he's late." She quipped.
"Punctuality was the first lesson he taught you, remember" Kamui countered, shooting her a sidelong glance, she gave him a harmless glare in response. "I doubt he'd break it himself."
"You two talking about Edgeshot?" came a deep voice, followed by a grunt and the groan of a couch protesting under heavy weight. Death Arms settled in his own safe beside Mount Lady's, his massive frame filling the space it offered. "The Ninja is probably kicking his feat up at the Tokyo event."
The younger heroes turned toward their elder. Kamui blinked in disbelief at his statement, while Mount Lady's gaze lingered on Death Arms' outfit—steel-toed boots and tight dark blue track pants clinging to bulging muscles, giving him the look of a construction worker with too many hours at the gym. His upper body was even more eye-catching, with a skin-tight, unzipped crop-top jacket that exposed his abs and chest. The whole ensemble was made from the same reinforced material as Mount Lady's suit, complemented by his slicked-back, greasy gray hair. As she understood, his hero aesthetic was hyper masculine, but designed to be appealing to middle-aged women, not teenage boys.
What caught her attention most, though, was the absence of his iconic heavy metal bracers. They were central to his quirk.
"'Kicking his feet up'?" Kamui asked, skepticism lacing his tone. "I feel that you are perhaps undermining Edgeshot's diligence as a hero."
Death Arms chuckled, reclining further into his seat. "He's a Top 10 hero. If anyone's earned the right to take a break without really taking one, it's him. Hell, that's why I'm here."
Mount Lady shot Kamui a grin, leaning back in her seat. "See? Even the big shots know how to relax. You're way too uptight, Kamui. Nobody's that strict about being the perfect hero."
Kamui frowned, crossing his arms, the sound of groaning wood caused a slight wince as his injured arm protested the movement. "Except All Might."
"Ha!" Death Arms barked out a laugh, reaching for the beer offered by a passing waiter.
"What's so funny?" Kamui asked, his frustration slipping through.
"I've heard that line since my own training days," Death Arms replied with a grin. "All Might's a different breed. You can't compare him to the rest of us."
Mount Lady nodded thoughtfully. "True. He's what, pushing 60? Most heroes retire long before that. Even Yoroi Musha has managed to stay in the national Top 10 his whole career, but All Might was the international number one hero for longer than I've been alive. The fact that he's still in the global Top 10 is a miracle."
"Wait, did you say All Might's in the global Top 10? I thought he was still number one," another hero chimed in from a few seats away.
"No, he's dropped a few spots. What's his current rank, 3rd?" another hero offered.
"4th, actually. Stars and Stripes, Godzillo, and Axel-R8 outrank him now," someone else corrected.
"Damn, two of those are Americans," someone remarked with a whistle of surprise.
As the chatter continued, a figure seated quietly in the middle absorbed every word without drawing attention—or at least, tried his best not to. Despite the VIP pin on his wrinkled white button-up shirt, Yagi Toshinori still received a few curious glances. He couldn't blame them. His long, graying hair and business clothes that hung loosely on his beanpole-like frame hardly painted the picture of a hero. His frail proportions made it clear he was far from pulling any feats of heroics short of pulling a muscle.
It wasn't as if the floor was strictly reserved for heroes, but a civilian among them seemed out of place. Thankfully, no one had pressed him for an explanation, though Yagi had a solid cover story if anyone asked. Even so, he prefered not being asked at all, it was difficult to pull the wool over the eyes of a suspicious hero.
He'd secured his spot through his faux position as a staff member at Might Tower, granting him access to observe the junior high sports event from the safety of the VIP section. Though the press wasn't as relentless at these smaller events, part of him still worried about potential headlines: All Might Scout Spotted at Junior High Competition—New Protégé on the Rise?
That risk was usually managed by sending lesser-known employees to scout events like these. Avoiding unwanted media attention wasn't a mandatory skill in his line of work, but it was one Toshinori had learned to appreciate.
Some might see his secret attendance as indulgent, a frivolous errand for someone of his stature. But Toshinori had his reasons. Chief among them was a blue-and-white envelope sitting unopened on his desk. Its sender had been in touch recently, and their conversations echoed the very topic that had dominated the chatter around him.
All Might was fading. No one understood that better than Yagi Toshinori. Age spared no one, and though he had once dared to believe that the Symbol of Peace might defy that truth, he knew now that he had been wrong.
All Might was human—just like Yagi Toshinori.
The unopened letter weighed on his mind. An offer from Nezu to join UA's faculty. The principal had mentioned more than once that retiring on a high note might be wise, stepping down before All Might slipped out of the global top ten. Doing so would allow them to control the narrative—showing that All Might was passing the torch by training the next generation to shoulder the burden he can no longer bear in his old age. And maybe, just maybe, he would find someone who could be the spiritual successor to the Symbol of Peace.
Toshinori and Nezu both knew the search for a "spiritual successor" was far more than a metaphor.
Today wasn't just about attending a junior high event. It was about finding out if any of these young talents could rise to become the next pillar of hero society. The next All Might.
Izuku wanted to throw up. His legs trembled beneath him, weak as if he'd just run 100 miles, not 100 meters. Every step down the tunnel leading back to the changing rooms echoed with his failure, his chest tight with sadness and shame. Tears dripped down his face, onto the cold cement.
He wanted to disappear. He was done—completely, utterly done.
"Not all men are born equal." The words escaped him, a bitter mutter that hung in the air. Maybe it was time to finally accept it.
He pushed open the door to the changing room, expecting solitude. The rest of the boys had left the track long ago—he'd lingered, hoping the ache of failure would dull before facing anyone.
But the room wasn't empty.
"Tch. Figures you'd waste my time."
Izuku's heart plummeted. He froze, staring at the scowling figure leaning against the lockers.
"B-Bakugo?" His voice came out shaky.
Bakugo's arms were crossed, eyes narrowed. "Who else? You think any of the others care enough to wait around for your sorry ass?"
Izuku clenched his fists. He wasn't going to cower—he didn't have the strength or patience anymore. Not after today.
"Why are you even here?" Izuku forced his voice to steady, meeting Bakugo's gaze with a strained defiance.
"Why?" Bakugo pushed off the locker and stepped forward, his presence looming over Izuku. "Because I want to make sure you understand exactly what today was." His voice was devoid of its usual anger, replaced by something sharper. "You messed up. All that 'hard work,' all that 'determination,' and you still choked. Pathetic."
Izuku's fists tightened. "I know I failed, alright?" His voice rose, trembling with frustration. "I don't need you to remind me! Today was my chance to prove that I could—"
POP!
The sound of Bakugo's small explosion echoed off the tiled walls, orange light flashing in Izuku's vision. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his feet.
"Shut up." Bakugo's voice cut through the silence, his hand still sizzling with leftover sparks. "I wasn't done."
Izuku froze, his pulse racing. Bakugo's calm was unnerving, more threatening than any of his outbursts.
"You're lucky," Bakugo continued, voice low. "Today, all that happened was some embarrassment. Out there? In the real world? A screw-up like that means people die. You die." He leaned closer, his eyes cold, analytical. "You're not cut out for this."
Izuku's breath caught. His mind raced, grasping for some excuse, one rose to his lips. "But I-"
"Yeah, I know you had a bad day," Bakugo sneered, "but guess what? Bad days happen. And if you can't even handle your friend moving a few hours away, how are you gonna handle life as a hero?"
"You knew?" Izuku's voice was soft, but filled with surprise.
"Don't ask dumb questions."
"How long ago?"
"A week ago? Why does it matter?" Bakugo's eye twitched in annoyance. "God, it's so frustrating talking to you. You're missing the point. Let me guess—now you feel betrayed because he told me first, right?"
Izuku stayed silent.
"Tch." Bakugo glanced away, lips curling into a sneer. "You're so pathetic."
(I want a quirk.)
"And useless, and stupid, and all the rest," Izuku said, his voice rising in frustration. "Yeah, I get it. You've been saying that ever since I didn't get my quirk. Isn't that what this is about? You wouldn't be on my case so much if I had one."
Bakugo raised his eyebrow "Wow, you are so obsessed with that." He began walking to the door, obviously done with the conversation.
"Can you blame me!? Could you honestly tell me that you'd have such a problem with me if had even the most useless quirk for hero work? Like Aya's nail polish quirk, Tanaka's stretchy neck. Or what about something useful like Tsubasa's dragon mutation?"
Bakugo threw a look back, "I can. Because unlike you they don't seem like they're suicidal enough to into the hero game when they know that they don't stand a chance."
Izuku left the event shortly after, walking along a route he knew should be safe based on the research he did that morning. He avoided the crowded train and bus stops—he needed time alone, a chance to clear his head.
But no matter how far he walked, Bakugo's words echoed in his mind. Or more specifically, one word:
Suicidal.
Was he? Bakugo wasn't entirely wrong—heroes who messed up often faced dire consequences. But real pros, the ones like All Might, always seemed to come out on top in the end.
However, they had quirks, could he really survive in their would without one?
(I want a quirk.)
Izuku's mind was dragged back to a painful memory from years ago. He'd been on a local online forum for quirkless people, looking for support. But instead, a troll had taken over the space, spewing hate. Taking advantage of the fact that their community was too small to have 24/7 content moderation.
Izuku could still remember the cruel words they'd thrown at someone lamenting the same thing he always did.
"If you're so concerned about not having a quirk, why not just game end yourself and hope for one in the next life?"
The automated filters had stopped the worst of it, but even as a kid, Izuku had understood the message. He'd never seriously considered it back then.
But now, as he replayed Bakugo's accusation, it was harder to push those thoughts away.
(But I really want a quirk.)
He shook his head, trying to snap out of it, but the darker thoughts clung to him, thick and suffocating. Without realizing it, his feet had led him down the wrong street, into a neighborhood he'd meant to avoid.
It was another hero cold spot, although this one had remained one for much longer than a few days.
Izuku didn't notice at first. His dark thoughts blinding him to the surroundings.
That's why he didn't notice it at first—the faint, wet sloshing sound of slime dripping from the metal grate beside him as he waited to cross the street. A thick, sewer-tainted liquid oozed onto the pavement, glistening under the mid-day sun. Then came the teeth—sharp, jagged, dispersed throughout the slime like shards of broken ceramic. Two eyeballs followed, rolling into view, scanning their surroundings frantically.
The creature's shadow loomed over Izuku, a grotesque mass reassembling itself piece by piece. Its form twitched and convulsed, panting from exertion. With a wet squelch, the slime began to shift, teeth and eyes arranging into a nightmarish approximation of a face that threatened to meld back into the body of slime.
"No need to worry, pal," it spat, its voice wet and mocking. "All the heroes are too busy at that dumb sports festival to bother with scum like us. Well I guess the No. 1 isn't a big fan."
Its eyes swirled in the muck, darting around as if hunting for salvation. One of them swiveled, locking onto Izuku.
"Bingo!" The voice warbled, twisted with a glee that pierced through the mental fog, sending a shiver down Izuku's spine. "A medium-sized body to hide in!"
Izuku barely had time to react before the slime surged toward him. His body moved on instinct, leaping back with surprising agility—but not fast enough. The slime crashed into him, the wet slap of its body against his own sending a cold shock through him.
It was like being struck by a wave of sludge. The slime was thick, suffocating, wrapping around him with a strength that Izuku couldn't hope to muster without a quirk.
(I need a quirk)
Izuku's mind raced, his heart hammering in his chest as he thrashed against the suffocating, slick mass. His thoughts kicked into overdrive, his panic feeding into a relentless analysis, driven by instinct to survive.
What kind of quirk is this? No sign of an external controller—unlikely to be an Orchestrator type. Definitely not an Emitter. Could it be a full-body transformation or hyper-heteromorphic quirk?
The villain's words echoed in his mind—"a body to hide in." A parasitic ability? Could it infiltrate his body? That made it less likely to be a full-body transformation, which rarely had secondary abilities. No, this was a hyper-heteromorphic quirk. A strong one.
(I want this quirk.)
The slime slithered across his skin, cold and slick, seeping into his clothes. The sharp, nauseating stench of rot and sewage invaded his nostrils, burning his throat. He gagged, and a rancid taste flooded his senses as the slime forced its way into his mouth. He choked, his efforts to fight back growing frantic, hands clawing at the slime with no grip to find.
"No point fighting, kid," the villain's voice slithered through the mass, cold and mocking. "You're just prolonging your pain. Let it happen—this will all be over soon."
Izuku's mind screamed in protest, his body flailing in desperate attempts to resist. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, and for a heart-stopping moment, a terrifying thought took hold.
He was going to die.
(I'm going to get a quirk!)
Unnatural excitement gripped him as though some deep, unspoken part of him was celebrating for his own death. Shame flooded in immediately, crushing the aberrant feeling. His mind jumped to his mother, her worried face, and how devastated she'd be. His brain listing off people he'd be letting down with his death.
Tsubasa. Bakugo.
ALL MIGHT?
Through the haze, his eyes flickered open, catching sight of something golden in the distance. His mind struggled to process it, but the sight was unmistakable—the hair, the towering frame. The shadow of a legend moving swiftly through the chaos. All Might.
But as hope bloomed, his body betrayed him. The last bit of strength drained from his limbs, and the world around him began to fade. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision.
Toshinori held back a sigh of frustration. He had hoped to spend a few quiet hours observing the event, but it seemed several of the heroes on duty were more interested in taking a break than doing their jobs. He couldn't blame them—if anyone understood how exhausting the life of a hero could be, it was him. But of course, that left him to pick up the slack.
The creases in his oversized shirt smoothed out as his lanky form bulked up, the power of his quirk surging through his muscles. His long blonde hair, which had fallen limply over his face, now stood upright, two locks defying gravity in the signature style known across the world. His once-tired eyes gleamed with youthful blue energy that almost outshone his iconic confident smile.
He had stumbled upon a robbery in progress—several stores hit in quick succession by a group of petty thieves, their latest target foolishly close to the stadium.
"HAVE NO FEAR, FOR I AM HERE!" His voice boomed down the street, and the effect was instantaneous. The panicking civilians paused, their fear replaced by smiles and cheers. The thieves, on the other hand, scrambled to flee, terror etched across their faces.
Taking them down had been easy—none of them seemed to possess any notable quirks, or if they did, they were smart enough not to use them. After all, the law came down far harder on villains than it did on common thieves.
But just as he was wrapping up, a new problem emerged.
Sewer Surfer.
This one wasn't just any petty thug. Sewer Surfer was notorious in the area—a villain known for his combat skills, and infuriating ability to slip away at the last second. Agile, durable, and surprisingly strong, he was the kind of villain who usually didn't go down without a fight. Worse, he was often the one who bought his allies time to escape by distracting or holding off heroes.
From what All Might had read in the reports, Sewer Surfer had the overconfidence that plagued many big-name villains—he relished taking on top heroes.
Despite this, the moment Sewer Surfer spotted All Might, he didn't engage, choosing instead to retreat in the face of the number one hero. Springing into action in a much more cunning way than expected. He launched streams of his foul-smelling slime in all directions, splattering it onto several civilians nearby. Then, with a deft flick, he threw the bags of stolen goods directly into the street, causing suitcases to scatter dangerously close to oncoming traffic. In the same fluid motion, he darted towards a nearby sewer grate, his escape route of choice that had earned him his moniker.
All Might narrowed his eyes, four urgent problems demanded his attention.
The criminals—two still active, a threat to civilians as they remained above ground. Said civilians, now covered in slime—was it harmless, or something worse? Then the scattered bags, lying like landmines in the street, threatening to cause a major accident. And finally, the villain himself, already inches from slipping into the underground maze, and as soon he was there, he might as well be gone for good. Sewer Surfer had unprecedented ability to lay low and escape notice once having escaped, which was impressive considering his unique physiology.
All Might's instinct was to rush after Sewer Surfer, but years of experience held him back. A younger hero might chase the villain and leave the others in danger. But All Might knew better—lives came first.
A sharp intake of breath filled his chest as he made his decision. He would have to be fast. Very fast.
With a burst of speed, All Might dashed toward the civilians. His arms spread wide, he clapped his hands together in a sharp "Florida Smash!" The air pressure created by his movements was perfectly controlled—a wind strong enough to blast the slime off the civilians, but gentle enough not to harm them. The goo splattered against nearby walls as the civilians stumbled backward, free from the muck.
"Stay calm, you're safe!" All Might boomed reassuringly, even as his eyes scanned the next target.
In a blink, All Might was at the street, snatching the suitcases before they could cause a pile-up. Without missing a beat, he hurled them with precise force, the bags soaring toward the two retreating criminals. They struck the back of their necks just as they reached the corner, and with a soft thud, both hit the ground, unconscious before they even knew what happened.
Three problems down. Now for the villain.
But Sewer Surfer had already vanished into the sewers, true to his reputation of being surprisingly agile. Most would consider it a small price to pay for ensuring civilian safety. After all, sometimes the bad guys escape, and you can't win them all.
Except All Might doesn't lose. And as a veteran in the field, he had learned a thing or two about chasing down slippery foes.
He ripped the grate from the ground and scanned the dark tunnel below. Especially in a panicked retreat, villains always left clues. Sure enough, a trail of slimy skid marks streaked along the south wall.
Heading south, huh? All Might mused, already anticipating the villain's next move. Most crooks, once they fled, overestimated the thoroughness of their pursuers. Sewer Surfer would likely bolt in a straight line, thinking distance was his best defense.
All Might knew better.
Rather than plunge into the muck and give chase underground, he made a smarter choice. It was faster—and cleaner—to pursue from above. Running along the surface, he could cover more ground without damaging the infrastructure below. Plus, villains like Sewer Surfer had a habit of changing escape routes the moment they thought they'd lost their pursuer, so he was likely to resurface soon.
All Might clenched his fists, a grin spreading across his face. He dashed from grate to grate, his sharp eyes catching every clue of movement. To the untrained eye, this might seem an erratic chase, but All Might had done this dance plenty of times. And soon, sure enough, the villain's possible routes narrowed down to a single path, one he was heavily pursuing.
Suddenly, the sound of a grating voice cut through the air: "No point fighting, kid. You're only making this harder. Just let it happen—it'll be over soon."
All Might's eyes narrowed. It didn't matter if that voice was Sewer Surfer or not, he was certain the voice belonged to a villain—and said villain was attacking someone.
Rounding the corner, All Might's heart sank. A kid, no older than high school, was struggling beneath the Sewer Surfer's suffocating slime. All Might's eye caught vaguely familiar green hair, but...
There was no time to think.
In an instant, All Might sprang into action. This was no longer just about protecting civilians—it was about saving a life.
"Detroit Smash!" he roared, his fist rocketing forward with precision. He couldn't afford to go wide—this blow needed force, but it also had to be controlled. One wrong move, and he could crush the kid instead of freeing him.
His punch landed with a concussive blast. The sheer force of the blow didn't just scatter the villain—it splattered him across the street, chunks of slime flying in every direction as Sewer Surfer's body disintegrated into harmless puddles. Not enough to kill him, but enough to incapacitate him long enough to contain him.
With his other hand, All Might gently gripped the boy's arm, yanking him free from the remaining tendrils of slime without causing injury. As he pulled the boy to safety, the resulting air pressure from the punch ripped through the air, lifting debris and drawing the clouds overhead until they darkened, rain beginning to fall in slow droplets.
All Might ignored the droplets wetting his face, his eyes fixed on the boy. Something seemed familiar about the young man.
But now wasn't the time for such thoughts. The boy was in obvious need of medical aid.
"Hello, yes, this is Suto Takako reporting. Can you hear me, Mr. Miyagi?"
"Loud and clear, Ms. Takako, and we're live! I understand you're at the scene of a 'villain cleanup'? Did I get that right?"
"That's correct. As you can see behind me, the police have cordoned off this intersection and are in the process of cleaning up what looks—and smells—like garbage. But witnesses tell me this foul-smelling sludge is actually the remains of a villain who, well... was blown apart."
"Blown apart?" Mr. Miyagi chuckled. "Now that's a literal villain cleanup! But tell me quickly, is he still alive, or do we need to issue a content warning for our viewers?"
"No need for that, Mr. Miyagi," Takako reassured him. "The villain is very much alive—just... scattered. He's known as Sewer Surfer, a notorious heteromorphic villain made mostly of slime, only exception being his eyes and teeth. It's quite the grotesque sight as witnesses have told me."
"A slime villain? Yikes." Miyagi's shudder was audible. "But you called him notorious. This guy's made a name for himself?"
"Yes, he's no amateur. Sewer Surfer has built a reputation as acting as muscle for hire, often acting as the rearguard or vanguard for villain groups. He's durable, fast, and tough enough to hold off pro heroes while his allies escape. Then he slips away into the sewers—hence the name."
"Impressive! I'm reading here that he's even given heroes like Backdraft, Slugger, and even Death Arms trouble. This guy's no pushover."
Takako smiled. "True, Mr. Miyagi. But today was different."
"Oh? Who finally brought him down?"
"Witnesses say it was none other than All Might."
Miyagi gasped. "All Might? In the Shizuoka prefecture? That's big news—maybe he's planning a visit to his old school?"
"Possibly, I'm excited to see what he's planning. What's certain is that he arrived just in time to stop Sewer Surfer, who was attacking a young boy. A single 'Detroit Smash' was all it took to scatter the villain across the street."
"It's not the first time we've heard of All Might doing something like that, but hearing it again just reminds us how powerful he is. Sorry, one moment..."
"..."
"Apologies for the interruption, Ms. Takako, but we've just received an update on a sudden weather shift in the Shizuoka and Tokyo areas. Our viewers will want to know—"
"Actually, Mr. Miyagi, my report may be linked to that. Some witnesses claim that the force of All Might's punch was so powerful, it caused the sudden rainfall!"
A pause followed by Mr. Miyagi's laughter. "And people worry All Might's getting too old! If he's causing weather changes with his punches, I think we can hold off on that retirement party."
Yagi Toshinori muted the television, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he saw the boy's reaction to the news story. He was used to seeing his life events broadcast to the world, but watching the teen's slack-jawed expression was a reminder of how surreal it could be for someone new to this kind of exposure.
Still, even as he observed the kid—Midoriya, as the nurse had informed him—Toshinori couldn't shake the nagging thought at the back of his mind: Why am I still here?
He had no real reason to stay. The boy had been saved, the villain taken down. Normally, Toshinori would have left already, but something about Midoriya tugged at him, the same gut instinct that had saved him countless times in the field. It was telling him there was more to this boy than just being a victim of a villain attack.
"Um… sir?" Midoriya's voice pulled Toshinori from his thoughts. The boy was sitting up in his hospital bed, his body battered but clearly healthy. "I know how I ended up here, but... why are you here?"
Toshinori gave a gentle smile, one that felt more grandfatherly in his civilian form than heroic. "No need to worry, young man. I work for All Might, and I was sent to make sure your medical bills are taken care of—just in case your family couldn't afford them."
The shift in Midoriya's expression was almost comical. His initial worry melted away at the mention of All Might, replaced by wide-eyed amazement.
"Oh! That makes sense," Midoriya mumbled, his gaze drifting to the window. "All Might always looks out for people, doesn't he? I read once that some people get stuck with huge hospital bills after a hero saves them, but… never with him."
Toshinori felt a flicker of pride at the boy's words. Midoriya was right. Years ago, he had made it his mission to ensure no one he saved was ever burdened by debt. Too many families had struggled with medical bills they never asked for. With the wealth he'd earned over his long career, covering those costs was a small price to pay. After all, how heroic was it if you left their bank accounts in ruin after you save them.
He pointed a bony finger at Midoriya's sports clothes, recognizing the outfit. "I was at the Chubu Regional Athletics event earlier today," he said. Midoriya tensed immediately, eyes darting away. It clearly wasn't a subject he wanted to discuss. "Didn't go as planned, did it?"
Midoriya shifted, his hands clenching slightly. "I came last," he muttered.
"Is that so?" Toshinori asked gently, leaning forward. "You made it past the provincials, though. Which prefecture are you from?"
"Shizuoka."
Toshinori let out an impressed whistle. Shizuoka, home to UA, was notorious for its competitive spirit and the sheer number of hero hopefuls who trained relentlessly.
"That's tough competition. You shouldn't sell yourself short, young man."
Midoriya's shoulders slumped further. "Yeah… but I blew it. The pressure—it was too much. I choked when it mattered most."
Toshinori studied him carefully. This wasn't just about a race. There was something deeper, a frustration that went beyond just the sport.
"This meant a lot to you," Toshinori said quietly.
"Y-yeah," Midoriya admitted.
"Why is that?" Toshinori prodded gently.
After a moment of silence, Midoriya looked up, hesitation clear in his eyes. Then, as if he couldn't hold it in any longer, he blurted, "Do you think someone without a quirk can be a hero?"
Toshinori felt a flash of surprise but quickly masked it as understanding dawned. The boy's anguish struck a chord in him, reminding Toshinori of his own younger self. He knew how delicate this moment was—the wrong answer could crush Midoriya's spirit.
"What do you think?" Toshinori asked, his voice calm but probing. He wanted to see what the boy truly believed, what lay beneath his uncertainty.
Midoriya's hands trembled for a moment before he gripped the hospital sheets tightly. "I don't know anymore." His voice wavered, but he pushed through. "I used to think… maybe. I watched Knuckleduster, and I always felt that if he could be a vigilante without a quirk, maybe I could be a hero." He paused, biting back a sniffle. "But I'm not like him. I'm not special."
Toshinori nodded slowly. He knew the man behind the mask—Knuckleduster, Iwao Oguro, had surprising strength and speed despite his lack of a quirk. But what few knew was that Oguro hadn't been born quirkless; his abilities had been taken from him.
Toshinori leaned back, the soft pop of his spine breaking the silence.
"So," he said slowly, choosing his words with care, "you think you need to be special to be a hero?"
Midoriya winced. "No… I mean, I know anyone can be a hero. That's what they say, right?" He repeated the words he had likely heard a hundred times, though disbelief lingered in his voice.
Toshinori raised a bony finger, pointing thoughtfully at Midoriya. "Then what makes you different? Why do you think you need to be special?"
Midoriya faltered, gripping the sheets even tighter. "I'm quirkless... too weak."
"So, being a hero is about power?" Toshinori pressed gently, watching Midoriya closely.
"No! Not really…" Midoriya's voice cracked with frustration.
Toshinori sensed he was losing Midoriya in the tangle of philosophical discussion. Teenagers didn't always have perfectly thought-out dreams, but those dreams were often fueled by strong convictions.
"Let's put aside what makes a hero, for now," Toshinori said softly, his tone firm yet comforting. He leaned in, his gaze steady. "Tell me—why do you want to be a hero?"
Midoriya's eyes widened slightly at the direct question. For a moment, he stayed silent, but Toshinori waited patiently, knowing the answer to this question was more important than any other.
Finally, Midoriya spoke, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "I want to be like All Might."
Toshinori raised a brow. He had heard those words before from countless others, their motivations often shallow or self-centered. But something in the way Midoriya said it felt different—genuine.
"When I was little, I saw a video of All Might's return to Japan," Midoriya continued, his hands still gripping the sheets. "It wasn't how many people he saved or how fast he was that amazed me." He smiled faintly, a faraway look in his eyes. "It was his smile. The way he made everyone feel safe, like everything was going to be okay."
All Might remembered that day. He had been hunting one of that man's goons, and a skyscraper's foundation had been tampered with to serve as a distraction.
The memory seemed to well up inside Midoriya. "When the other kids would shout, 'I AM HERE,' they meant it like, 'I'm here to win' or 'I'm here to save the day.' But I meant it differently. I wanted people to know that if I was there, they didn't have to be afraid."
Tears shimmered in Midoriya's wide, green eyes, but he didn't stop. "That's why I want to be a hero. I want to be someone who makes people feel safe and protected. I want to be the symbol that lets people know they don't need to be afraid."
Toshinori couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips, though it faltered when Midoriya's tears of sentiment turned into tears of sorrow.
"I-I guess I just finally realized today," Midoriya said, his voice breaking. "I can't reach that dream… because I don't have a quirk."
Toshinori let the boy cry in silence. The ambient hum of hospital equipment and distant traffic were the only sounds accompanying his grief.
An idea came to Toshinori as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, it was collateral for his disguise for the sport event, but it's information was genuine.
"Young Midoriya," he called softly, drawing the teen's attention. "You know, I don't believe that people are defined by their failures."
Midoriya took the card, confusion flickering across his tear-streaked face.
"Keep that," Toshinori said, standing and moving toward the door. "If you ever feel like chasing your dreams again, give me a call. I'll see what I can do."
Before Midoriya could respond, Toshinori had already disappeared down the hallway, his long legs carrying him swiftly away, leaving the boy alone with the card—and his thoughts.
In the main office building of UA, designed in the shape of a large H as an homage to the word "Hero," the smell of brewing tea filled the air. Nestled at the heart of the middle section, the principal's office faced west, offering a sweeping view of the beautiful gardens that stretched from the front gate. From his vantage point, the principal could also see the classroom buildings flanking either side of the main pathway.
As the golden rays of the setting sun poured into the room, they enhanced the peaceful atmosphere. The day's work was done, and the soft light, paired with the rich aroma of his custom tea infusion, served as a well-deserved reward for his hard work. He leaned back, savoring the quiet moment of relaxation, the fading sunlight warming the scars on his face and highlighting his chimeric form—a bittersweet reminder of his non-humanity and unnatural origins.
Normally, he would have retreated to his on-campus accommodation for his special brew, but this evening, he awaited a call from UA's star alumnus. Nezu had ambitious plans for the next few years at UA, and acquiring the best talent for the upcoming first-years was a crucial part of those plans. He hoped All Might's successor would be among them.
As if summoned by the thought, the telephone rattled, vibrating the desk. Leaping from his seat, Nezu gripped the landline with his paws before deftly returning to his office chair.
"All Might?" he greeted with anticipation.
"I accept." It wasn't rare for the genius rodent to be caught off guard by the odd behavior of humans, but it was rare that he was caught entirely flat-footed.
"I'm sorry?" It was clear to him that the hero was not operating in the same context. However, the conviction in the man's words aroused his curiosity.
"The letter. You sent me an offer to teach at UA, did you not?" All Might continued, his tone steady.
This unexpected development wasn't what Nezu had intended, but it was far from unwelcome.
"While I'm glad you've come to that decision, I suspect you haven't actually read my letter, have you?" Nezu's subsonic rat giggles were not heard over the phone.
"... I have not," All Might confessed. "Let me do that now, actually."
"I'll give you your time," Nezu replied. As he waited, he wondered what could have spurred on the decision, was his time at the athletics event that impactful.
Speaking of, Yoroi Musha might have his own intentions when it came to his initiative to improve physical competency amongst hero hopefuls, but Nezu was glad that he could reap the benefit of those plans for his own goals.
"Ah-" All Might sounded a little less confident, a slight bit disheartening for the mouse-eared principle. "I do want thank you for your efforts, Nezu. But-"
"You're not comfortable making such a decision yet?" the rat completed. His plan hadn't succeeded but he could see an opportunity to salvage the conversation before the hero decided to change his mind. "That's fine with me. I don't mean to rush you into anything."
"Thanks, Nezu."
"Now, let's talk about your sudden desire to teach at UA. Was the athletics event that inspiring?"
A low chuckle followed. "No, I actually spent very little time there. With so many heroes in attendance, a number of criminals took the opportunity to get away with some crimes."
"So you stepped in."
"Yes."
"Then what led to your decision to teach?" Nezu pressed, intrigued.
"I met a young boy and saved them from a villain. They have real potential to be a hero—someone like me. They just need the right push. I realized I might be the only one who can give that to them." Nezu made a mental note to learn more about this kid later.
"And becoming a teacher?"
"I'm getting old, Nezu." All Might's voice carried a weariness so out of place on the paragon that it thoroughly unnerved the principle. "Even if my body holds up, my mind will eventually falter. Today made me realize that if I can help this kid become a true hero, why can't I do that for more of them? Like you said before, it's best to hang up the suit before its colors fade."
Addressing the topic of aging was difficult for Nezu, who had no way to know how long he would live given his aberrant genetic makeup. Still, he empathized with All Might's situation.
"Well then, I accept your offer, All Might."
Having managed to convince his mother he was alright, Izuku retreated to his room and dramatically fell onto his bed. Exaggerating his fatigue provided a moment of catharsis, allowing him to sink into the comforting softness, even as conflicting thoughts raged in his mind.
After a moment, a realization hit him, and he scrambled for his phone, dialing the top number on his frequently called list. Sitting up at the edge of his bed, he anxiously awaited an answer.
A click indicated the call had connected. "Tsubasa?"
"Hey, Izuku." He sounded sickly and oddly tired.
Izuku's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Are you sick? You were fine this morning."
"...No, my grandfather just flew me over in a helicopter. Turns out I'm airsick. I'm still coughing up chunks of vomit."
"That makes no sense—your quirk prevents that kind of motion sickness."
"Never mind that." Tsubasa sounded a bit defensive. "How did you do?"
"I blew it."
"That sucks." Only Tsubasa could make that sound genuinely comforting. "You'll get them next time, though."
Izuku swallowed hard. "There is no next time."
"What do you mean? There are still the entrance exams, and those are ten months away."
"...I know." Izuku admitted, his voice shaky. "But what if Kacchan is right? I mean—"
"Screw what that asshole thinks!" Tsubasa yelled, followed by a cough and a gagging sound. "Sorry, found more slime."
"No worries. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes. Now listen, my grandfather doesn't like me being on my phone, so I won't be able to talk much for a while." Izuku's heart sank at this news. "I want you to promise me something, okay?"
"I-I sure, what is it?"
"And I want you to mean it."
"Yes."
"Never, ever give up on your dream of being a hero. If not for you, do it for me, yeah?"
"That's not fair! What if I can't—"
"The world isn't fair, Izuku!" Tsubasa yelled again. "I don't care if you can't; I want you to at least try, dammit! Do what I didn't have the chance to do!"
"What—"
"My grandfather says time's up. Please, Izuku, promise me!"
"I promise! But you need to promise to call me whenever you can. I don't like this!"
"I know. Sorry, and thank you. I promise. I gotta go. Bye."
Click
That would have been the last drop in a damn that broke the wall, but surprisingly his well of tears had run dry.
Falling back, Izuku stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. How long he lay there he couldn't tell, but the paralysis of his thoughts was eventually overcome with a determination to keep the promise his friend had forced upon him.
Refocusing his eyes led to him observing the signed special edition All Might poster above his bed, which in turn reminded him of the offer he had been made earlier in the day.
Fishing the business card out of the side pocket of his bag, he noted with some humor that the Might Tower branding upon its surface fit right at home in his room.
He dialed the number, fully intending to get straight to the point to avoid any awkward interactions, but...
(I don't have a quirk. I want, I NEED a quirk.)
"Hello, this is Yagi Toshinori—"
"Do you think I can be a hero even without a quirk?"
"Oh! It's you, young man. It's pretty late," he chastised lightly.
"I know, I'm sorry. Also, I didn't mean to be rude with how I started the call."
"Never fear; I understand. Now, why are you asking this question?"
"I—I don't know. Originally, I just wanted to tell you I want to accept your offer, but..."
"But?" Toshinori prompted patiently.
"It feels like there's a very big part of me that still thinks I can't do it without a quirk... and you didn't give me a direct answer at the hospital."
"Indeed I didn't."
"And I want you to be honest, please. I don't want you to give me false hope."
"Very well. I'll tell you the truth." Toshinori sighed deeply. "For a long time, I didn't think it was possible. Realistically, someone without a quirk is outclassed physically by even the most mundane quirk users. Plus, quirkless individuals face enough peril as civilians considering how fragile they are by comparison."
Izuku clenched his eyes shut, his heart bracing for the worst.
"However," Toshinori continued, his voice steady, "I think meeting you changed that."
"What?" Izuku's eyes shot open, disbelief coursing through him.
"I'm serious, Young Midoriya. I had someone look into your record. Your physical abilities are phenomenal for a quirkless person. You have the talent and grit to become a hero. But what really convinced me is your heart, young man. Your conviction for being a hero resonated with me. Do you know who you sounded like when you told me why you wanted to be a hero?"
"Who?"
"All Might."
As hope swelled inside Izuku, tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes.
But it was what Toshinori said next that shattered his composure.
"Izuku Midoriya, you too can be a hero."
Hi again, I want to re-iterate that any speculations about lore, story and characters are welcome. Even if I have plans of my own, hearing the perspectives of my readers can help me refine ideas or even come up with new ones I hadn't thought of.
Also, any questions are welcome. It'll help me figure out how I can take the tornado of brain thoughts and put them to text coherently.